#but i got lazy and well phones can text so its for the texting prompt now
Note
hello, this is my first time asking here so im kinda shy... maybe can u do a emily prentiss x fem!reader where emily for some reason finds a cowboy hat and put it on to show reader and that turns reader on, then reader needs emily to deal with her... maybe smut if you into it ? thanks, also im following you for a little time and im loving your stories, bye angel
Reverse Cowgirl 18+
*Authors note~ I was unsure on which direction I wanted to take this due to writers block but I low key love it and the last word of the ask seemed to incorporate itself well here, I hope you love it*
Trigger Warnings~ roleplay?? dom em sub r daddy Emily cowboy hat reverse cowgirl position strap oral praise kink degrading kink
Prompt~ see ask^^^^^
It was so rare that you ever had time to spare from chasing serial killers all around the world, but thankfully today seemed to be a rare restful day. No phone buzzing at ungodly hours of the morning with the words "we got a case." No this morning you'd awoken to your favourite agent peacefully sleeping next to you. Your girlfriend, not that anyone else knew. These mornings were definitely your favourite. You often wonder how she gets away with looking so damn gorgeous but then again your too busy starring to care why, instead admiring her beauty.
A lazy morning with your love sounded absolutely perfect until your phone began buzzing on the nightstand. A silent pray for it to not be work, you answered the call to be greeted with an excited shriek form the one and only miss Penelope Garcia. "Pg!" You whined, "my ears Garcia, what do you need?" A little scoff made its way over the line, "you me JJ and Prentiss, shopping at noon. No excuses we need a girl day and I need to spoil my god sons. I'll text you the address, bye sweets!" And just like that she was gone. It wasn't a few seconds later, and your girlfriends phone buzzed too. Trying to contain your laughter as she attempted to wriggle out of the girls day, and her side glance at you while mouthing "traitor" before giving in and accepting that she needed to get up. After the phone call ended you promised if Emily got out of bed you could shower together, apparently that was all the motivation she needed.
After a shower that took twice as long as it normally would've due to Emily's wandering hands you finally secured breakfast and both left to meet the girls. Emily drove you both and honestly you'd be lying if you said her driving with a hand on your thigh didn't drive you insane, soon enough you were separating ways after a final kiss to avoid the suspicion. A part of you wished you could hold her hand in public or kiss her cheek but another part was too scared they'd try and reassign you to keep you both apart. You'd like to think Hotch wouldn't do that but you knew it was out of his control. Plus they didn't even know you were bisexual with a preference for women.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't have fun watching Garcia absolutely raid the toy stores and clothing shops while JJ insisted they didn't need anything since the absolute flood of gifts on six months ago. Garcia always won those arguments, finding some kind of loophole somewhere which made you giggle, Emily grabbed everything a coffee in order to slip a little I love you on your cup and every chance she got she discreetly joined your hands under tables. Small things like that made your heart yearn for her.
Now to end up in a sexy shop wasn't on your to do list but with JJ and Wills anniversary coming up it wasn't surprising she wanted to get him something or someone to unwrap. Garcia wondering off to another toy store left you and Emily waiting for JJ. Both of you pretending to look around separately while mentally compiling a list of outfits to get,
Emily even going as far to look at some of the strap ons. Seeing a cow boy hat in a sex shop was certainly something unexpected yet you still couldn't resist putting it on.
"Fetch me my horse daddy" you giggled adding a southern drawl into your accent causing Emily to spin around in confusion. There you stood with a cow boy hat on your head, going surprisingly well with your braided hair, and a riding crop in your right hand, "I believe I found my ride" you whispered before cheekily winking at the stunned woman. While you were putting it back where up I found the accessories you completely missed the raven haired woman buying a certain something and slipping away to hide it.
By the time JJ returned with her gift Emily was back looking at objects in the room as if she'd never left. The imagine of you being her perfect cowgirl never leaving her mind, all the ways she could fuck you in that outfit. On all fours her hand gripping and tugging on your braids as she absolutely rails you from behind. Oh and you'd be so good for her, you always were. Her sweet little cow girl. Unbeknownst to you a silly little dress up would result into an absolutely desperate Emily tonight.
The journey back to Emily's apartment was blissfully normal until you arrived. There she went to the boot of the car and grabbed a cow boy hat. The hat suited her so well and you found yourself to distract to try and find out where she got it from due to the sticky wetness now dripping down your thick thighs. "God daddy so big! I need you" you whined pitifully as she came to hug you from behind, purposefully rubbing her bulge into your ass. That was new. She definitely wasn't packing when you left this morning that was for sure. God she knew how to drive you absolutely wild.
Emily allowed you to practically drag her into the apartment and straight to the bedroom, secretly loving how desperate a simple had made you, before pushing you into the wall and claiming your lips with hers. It was lustful and needy as if neither of you needed oxygen to breathe. Emily's right hand crept up your body until it made its way to its rightful place, your throat. Now with the gentle squeeze of her hand you were begging her to take you already. The nerd becoming unbearable for you. And Emily wasn't handling the need any better than you.
Clothing was torn from eachothers body before Emily gently lifted you so you could wrap your legs around her waist all while never losing your lips. A squeak of surprise flooded the room when your back hit the mattress, "Emily! Oh my gosh" you gasped, "what's got into you?" Perhaps it was a rhetorical question but she answered you anyway with a nip to the base of your throat, "you and that damn hat." You couldn't help but smirk, a harmless silly thing had turned her this needy for you.
Any reply you may have had died on your tongue as you felt her mouth creeping lower and lower until she met your needy cunt. By now your wetness was seeping onto the sheets, "god I need more" you whined impatiently, moving your hands to her hat to hold her in place. Emily was always talented in ever aspect of life, but the way she would plunge her tongue into your tight little hole and curl it just right was enough to drive you insane, but then when she would add two fingers and move her mouth to your aching bundle of nerves you honestly saw the stars. If there was one thing Emily prides herself on is how well you scream her name as she fucks you with her tongue. In fact she swears that she would spend forever between your thighs and die a happy woman. Yet when your tugging her up for a break from the overwhelming sensations she still feels a little glee at what she planned to come next.
A few sweet kisses and some soft praises found you straddling her lap, the new strap on pressing against your soaking slit. "Please daddy" you whimpered only to be met with a shake of her head. "Nahuh angel, you're gonna ride my cock like a good cowgirl for me" she purred in your ear before helping swivel you around to face her legs. Then the hat was settled on your had before she finally slipped into your awaiting core. "Oh fuck yes so good, so big daddy fuck" you mewled as you slowly began to bounce on her cock. "God you're so fucking sexy, bend over cowgirl I wanna see how I spilt you in two."
The moment you finally bent so she could see how her faux cock moved in and out of your slippery hole she could've swore she almost lost her composure. But her patience was rewarded when soon all you were was a whiny mess hardly able to keep a rhythm. Hands gripped onto her thighs like a life line and yet you still couldn't do as you were asked to. "Such a pathetic whore for my angel, and you were being my sweet girl and yet now you can't even do what a common whore could. I'm disappointed Angel" she murmured placing her hands on your hips. A whine escaped you, "mm sorry daddy I be good girl mm sorry" you whimpered over and over until she finally took pity on you.
With a pace that was perfectly fast and rough Emily slipped out of your cunt, ignoring your whines of protest and flipped you on your hands and knees before slamming back into your needy pussy. From there on she kept a punishing pace. Her hands gripping your braids to steady herself as she attempted to burry her cock into your womb. And you came over and over for her that night until you were nothing but her little angel absolutely fucked dumb.
"Shhh sweetheart you did so good for me darling" she murmured in between kissing all over your face to distract you from her pulling out. "Such a pretty cowgirl for your daddy" was what caused you to blush like a mad woman. You knew the routine Emily would get up to get a cloth and clean the strap but you didn't want her to go. But you didn't have the brain function to do more than whine at her, trying to convey what you wanted. "Shh two seconds my love, we have to clean up then I'm all yours baby."
Two seconds was all it was, and then Emily was back in before allowing you to snuggle up on her chest as her hands threaded through your beautiful hair. "So proud of you sweet girl" she whispered not expecting you to whine and mumble "disappoint you" the clearest you could. "No angel, you're my good girl, I love you my little cowgirl, you did so well baby, now rest angel, I'm right here."
Word count 1880
#anon answered#v3nusxsky answers#fanfic#anon requested#emily#emily prentiss smut#emily prentiss#ssa emily prentiss#emily prentiss x fem!reader#emily prentiss x reader smut#emily prentiss x y/n#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss fanfiction#emily prentiss x you#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds
377 notes
·
View notes
Text
And They Were 'Just' Roomates? [Levi Ackerman x GN!Reader]
Synopsis: Levi and reader are roommates and he is stuck with his feelings while you are dating Zeke Jaeger. Two years after graduating university, they now live together and Levi is still stuck pining for you whilst you're with Zeke... until you break up.
Tw: alcohol consumption, reader is a drunk, emotional mess, some drunk making out, levi being a diehard SIMP and Zeke being kind of an asshole.
This was part of july prompt event 'Roommates', hosted by @anlian-aishang ! thanks for hosting this!
--
From fellow students, to friends, to work colleagues, to roommates and… well, that was it, right?
Levi Ackerman walked down the hallway of the apartment, his hands trailing against the architrave. Leather satchel was thrown around his shoulder that was full to the brim of English papers and his other hand had a glass of water. He was wearing a buttoned up blue shirt and grey slacks and his nice shoes. One would say he was dressed nicely… but could the same be said about his roommate?
“[F/n].” He called out to you through the door after knocking.
It was Friday morning, and anyone would be in a good mood on a Friday, right?
Wrong; not you, anyway. After what happened last night, you traipsed into the apartment late at night and the sight of you made Levi stand up from the sofa and pause the nature documentary he was blindly watching while correcting papers. You walked through the door with the spaghetti straps of your dress hanging down your shoulders, your mascara dripping down your face from your tears and your eyes red-raw as you continued to gasp in massive strokes.
It was an ever-evolving situation with your ex, Zeke. He had grown increasingly angrier and more jealous of your living situation with your friend. Loads of fights and resentment from him towards you and the raven-haired man you lived with had you questioning your feelings towards him. And perhaps towards the end, your love for him had run out… You don’t know how they zapped up so quickly; you and Zeke had once considered marriage and a life together, and it was going well even when you and Levi moved in together initially. After all, Zeke was over at your apartment basically all the time.
And perhaps he noticed the way the raven-haired man looked at you, or the way his hand rested on your shoulder a bit too much, or the way he had your takeaway order memorised.
Perhaps he had figured out Levi’s secret feelings for you…
But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when he dumped you in public last night. At you two’s favourite café. At the place of your first date.
And so you wandered in late last night sobbing your heart out, instantly throwing yourself onto the couch next to Levi, despite you knowing he wasn’t the most touchy-feely person out there. Still, to your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you after a few seconds and rubbed your back in circles as you cried. You looked and felt disgusting; fat teardrops and snot dripping down your face, and yet he still chose to hug you
He was just such a kind person. Such a kind friend. A kind roommate.
He wasn’t an idiot. He had been listening to you cry yourself to sleep for the past month now, watching you intently type away on your phone when you two were probably having another fight. He heard you crying and yelling over the phone during arguments from your bedroom. After all, he had his failed relationships too. He knew the process and the path this was taking. And you were there at his side when his relationships had failed.
Being roommates and teachers at the same school did have its perks. Levi had rang ahead of you and told your principal you were taking a sick day.
Levi sighed when you hadn’t opened the door. He wasn’t running late by any means, but he loved to be early. Loved it.
They’re alive… right? Yeah, of course, he said to himself. He leaned down onto the door handle - hands being full and all - and pushed inside.
Curtains were drawn shut, your takeaway from last night knocked over on your desk, teddies and various gifts from the relationship were torn apart on the floor… Levi did his best to walk around every obstacle in his way until he came across the bundle of sheets and blankets. He walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down. He peered down at the floor below him and saw all the tissues you had tossed out over the side.
You wasted the entire box of tissues - the lavender scented tissues and that were his favourite! - but he’d lecture you another time. You were clearly not having a good time.
“[F/n]...” he called out gently. You shrivelled up in response and he sighed for the umpteenth time. “Will you at least crawl out of your blanket prison and drink some water? Damn it, I can’t have you getting dehydrated from your crying last night.”
Oh, but he couldn’t resist the urge to lecture you even the tiniest bit!
“And you used all my good tissues… Erwin got those for me.”
“Erwin can take those tissues and shove them up his ass!” you yelled.
Levi’s face softened at the fact you were still so miserably looking. You didn’t show it on your face - in fact, you looked totally emotionless and empty - and you didn’t respond to his advances. He peeled away the covers and saw you lying in a fetal position clutching your phone, eyes staring at the text messages intently. He snatched your phone and typed in the PIN - you two were that close that you knew each other’s PINs - and he saw you had been texting Zek And he had sent a few messages back.
Zeke: You still don’t know why I dumped you? Are you that slow?
Zeke: I have seen the way he looks at you. I have seen the way you look at him and the way you smile at him. You two are so-called ‘roommates’ but don’t pretend I have forgotten you two’s history in college! How can you two ever expect to be just roommates?! Never contact me again. What a damn waste of two whole fucking years.
The raven-haired man shook his head and he made the decision for you to block his number and delete all media and traces of him from your phone.
“You’re not texting him anymore,” he told you, “He wasn’t good for you. He was never going to be good for you, [F/n].”
Your hand reached out for your phone and you plugged it back in to charge it and you rose from your lying position. Good heavens, you looked… not good. The bra you had worn to bed was poking out of your camisole and your hair was a mess. Levi reached forward and pulled the strap up, being careful to not let his hands linger too long.
You didn’t seem to be in the mood for talking, and he didn’t blame you. He was just trying to look out for you, as a roommate… right?
He pressed down on his knees as he stood up and stretched. He reached down for his leather satchel and told you when he’d be back and to try not to let this take up more of your sick days. “Drink your damn water, too.” He warned.
Levi left with a ruffle of your hair and you collapsed back into bed, pulling the covers back over you. He procured his blazer from the coat hanger that he normally wore over a button-up and put it on. He felt around for the keys and wallet in his pocket and hurried down the stairs to the carpark. He opened the door to the car and buried his face in his palms.
Was he really not that subtle? Had Zeke seen through it all?
How could he help himself… not when he had been hiding his feelings for you for over two years now… He thought that by being roommates and by living with you, he secretly hoped your living styles would conflict, or you two may not have clashed as friends but maybe living together would be too difficult…
...Or was that all an excuse just to be closer to you? After all, you were two freshly out of college looking for an apartment each, but when he told you he found a nice enough place that was decently priced - and how he was your best friend - how could you say no?
Levi wasn’t one to fake innocence or naivety; he knew exactly what Zeke was referring to when. By which you two had drunkenly hooked up four times throughout your degree. And so started the intense feelings he had for you.
He remembered his feelings started out so innocently. You two were in the same education programme and you took a few modules together and naturally by spending more and more time together, you two got closer. Feelings developed and were repressed time and time again. You’d go out together all the time on walks in the middle of the night or grab a drink at the end of exams, but by not giving this a label, nothing came out of it. You two were just hanging out - not dating - and over time, you convinced yourself that that was all you two would ever be: just friends. Friends with feelings for each other, but friends nevertheless.
And this worked until you two got obscenely drunk at your twenty-first birthday party in your dorm, and woke up in the same bed together the following morning, clothes strewn about and his muscular arms wrapped around you.
And you both told yourselves that it would never happen again, and that it was a one-time thing. That you two would remain friends and never cross that boundary ever again.
Until it happened again not too long after… and again and again and again.
And you two both knew the last time that you two weren't even all that drunk…
He shook his head. No, he couldn’t allow this to clog up his mind and leave him feeling mentally congested. But of course his mind couldn’t help but wander to how good you looked - not including today - or how kind you were. And he recounted the sounds you made and the way you moulded to his touch those few times.
Fuck, I’m in too deep, he says to himself as he begins to drive.
.
.
.
By the time the clock ticked five in the evening, he checked his phone again having not checked it for a few hours. He was sitting in his car now and removed his blazer. He was sitting in the private teachers’ carpark but that didn’t stop a few people knocking on his car window. He would get startled initially but he would give a lazy wave of his palm.
[F/n] [L/n]: Hey Levi. Sorry for all the tears last night. But a few friends have invited me out to get my mind off of… everything. I’ll be heading out at around 5 for a meal and then I’ll be back a few hours after that I think!
Levi shrugged. At least you told him you were going out so he didn’t have to worry.
Alright, see you then and be careful. Don’t lose your keys while you’re out, he texted back.
A notification came through right away.
[F/n] [L/n]: You’re too mean! :( You have no faith in me bestie?
He rolled his eyes. No, he texted back and put his phone onto the phone holder and headed home. He was happy you managed to crawl out of bed as it is, never mind you heading out with your friends. This would do you some good. You normally hung around with the same friends from college too and he knew they’d take care of you in this more fragile state.
Good, he didn’t have to worry about you not eating properly - because, no, Ben and Jerry’s did not count as a meal - or you staying in your duvet prison. He could go home and relax and watch his favourite series he was watching. Perhaps he’d order food or do some yoga…
Wow, he was so easily pleased.
Normally you would text your roommate every couple of hours or so. By 10PM rolled around and no update from you, he eyed his phone and placed it down again. You were fine, surely. He just needed to know you still had your keys so that he didn’t have to stay up waiting for you.
They’re fine, hopefully, and I’m getting tired, he said to himself, his eyes fluttering shut. He reclined onto the sofa more, head connecting with one of the plump cushions and sleep overcame him for a short while.
Or so he thought.
He woke up again when he heard a crowd of young people parading outside the alleyway where his apartment block was located. He inhaled sharply and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and leaned over to check his phone. Damn, still no update from you.
He stood up from the couch and knocked on your bedroom door. “[F/n]?” he called out. No answer.
Okay, clearly it was more than just a meal. You were probably out drinking. No, he wasn’t going to fret.
You didn’t drink too often, but if you were ever emotional while drinking, you were definitely wild and more prone to danger. As soon as the intrusive thoughts began, his phone began to ring. He could feel his palms sweating already. He wiped them off the slacks of his pants he had not changed out of and answered the phone.
“H-Hello? [F/n]?”
“Hi, this is Levi, right?” the female voice came. A little bit slurred but the person seemed okay. “We took a few classes together in college, it’s Christa Lenz.”
“Ah, Christa, yes. Is [F/n] alright?”
Christa seemed hesitant at first. “Um, well… no. Not really. We had a meal and whatever and they were fine then, and then another girl, Sasha, suggested a few drinks. [F/n] seemed up for it and it was all going okay. A bit tipsy but they--”
“Get to the fucking point.” He snapped.
“--[F/n] saw Zeke enter the bar around an hour ago, and they panicked and drank a lot more… Like they downed seven shots already.”
“Is [F/n] okay? Are they awake or conscious?”
“I mean… we’re outside Trost Bar now not too far from your place, but we’re sitting down because they feel nauseous standing. That, and they’re crying a lot. Uh. They’re kind of a mess right now.”
Christa didn’t hear Levi say anything else, but once she heard the footsteps, the door opening and the jingling of keys, she knew he was on his way. Levi momentarily stopped and ran back inside your apartment and grabbed a bottle of water, some painkillers, an empty shopping bag in case you needed to get sick and a few other essentials. He raced back down to his car as fast as his legs could carry him to rush and collect you.
He stepped on the gas. Thankfully, Trost bar was no more than a ten minute drive away but that didn’t mean he was going to take his sweet time.
He could recall the bar vaguely, it was an ideal location for students. It was spacious, but it was also popular so people crammed into it leaving little to no space for anyone else. The bar is hundreds of conversations all trying to compete with the rock music that dominated the atmosphere. It would boom in the speakers and there were speakers everywhere. At first he was confused how he could recall so little else about it but he remembered how much the loud music used to deter him and he’d only ever stay for an hour at a time.
He slowly came to a halt when he found your friend group sitting with you on the pavement. He parked across the road and after looking both ways, he ran across to you. Christa looked up, followed by Mikasa and Sasha. You on the other hand had your head buried between your legs. Levi knelt down and pulled your face into his hands.
“Sheesh, you’ve seen better days.” He remarked. You were clever to have worn waterproof mascara but everything else smudged and rubbed away. He pulled you up by your hands and slung your arms over his shoulder. “Thanks, you guys. I appreciate this.”
He walked you over to his car, but he heard the not-so-silent remark from one of your friends.
“There’s no way they’re just roommates, right?”
He only sighed, sat you down in the seat and passed you the shopping bag he brought from your apartment. He went round to the boot of the car and got you a bottle of water before sitting into the front seat. Leaning over to the glove compartment, he tossed your makeup remover wipes at you with the simple command “wipe” and he pressed on the accelerator.
You could say he was prepared, for sure.
An inexplicable feeling of anger had overcome the short man once you saw you in this drunken, emotional state. You would be able to see it in the way his thin brows had knitted together and the way his teeth ground against each other. Even in your drunken state, you could tell he was driving a bit faster than normal.
The ride home was silent, the tension was palpable. You finished removing the makeup and most of it had gone. Levi noticed you toss the wipe on the floor in your half-sleepy, half drunk state. Under normal circumstances he would have snapped at you to pick it up. Not tonight, though.
“Leviiii…” you drawled, your speech still slurred. When you didn’t get the response, you poked at his muscular thigh repeatedly until his hand reached down to seize your wrist. “You’re-” followed by a hiccup, “you’re angry at me.”
He was angry and he was trying to piece his emotions together. He felt anger towards you for drinking yourself into this state rather than dealing with your emotions in a more healthy way. He was thankful and appreciative that as a roommate, you never drank too often so he never had to come collect you like this, but he hated being held to that title.
Maybe he was angry he was only your roommate. Or he was angry at himself for being jealous of Zeke and angry that he wasn’t the one who got to wake up to you in the mornings after a night of euphoric, raw passion. Because, wow, that man had to grit his teeth and put on headphones many times when Zeke came over.
He was angry at Zeke for upsetting you this much and getting you so upset in the first place. For being so awful to break up with you in the place you two had your first date. He was angry at the thought of not realizing how much more you deserved. If Levi had gone to the bar, he was sure his first would have connected with the bearded-man’s jaw at some point. He was angry that Zeke never appreciated you the way he would have, even if he wasn’t the most emotive or touchy-feely person.
“I’m sorry, Levi…” you murmured, and Levi found himself slowing down. He didn’t want you to apologize, but the tone in your voice that was laden with guilt made his heart lurch forward. He saw a hazy light in the distance and began to glide towards the side of the road. In your blurry state you could make out where he was taking you to. “Levi?”
“Get out.” He said, plainly.
You blinked a few times as you prepared to get out of the car, knowing you’d probably wobble a bit. The dimly lit sign of the OPEN above the diner did make you suddenly hungry.
“I need coffee.” Levi muttered as he opened the door for you.
“Y-You could have used m-mine…” you mumbled, speech still slurring but you were becoming more lucid now.
He could have used yours, but he knew how nice it was to get some fried food after having a few too many drinks. Plus, he knew that you have gotten quite sensitive before when drunk or even a bit hangry. He walked to the double doors that were polished so clean you couldn’t see the glass. He walked in ahead and opened the door and held it open.
When the pair of you sat down, you ordered a cheeseburger and a vanilla milkshake which came with a side of fries. The already forming hangover was starting to hit but the smell of fried food was doing well to neutralize it for now. Fluorescent lights kept the counter lit and the slight hum that came from them was giving Levi a headache, but he tried to zone in on the jukebox in the corner that was playing some classics from the 70s. Still, Levi’s anger continued to brew and he knew he’d pop if he didn’t get home to sleep away his turbulent feelings. Once the food came, Levi quickly stood up to go to the bathroom and you eagerly ate, too engrossed in the saltiness of your burger and the sugar of your milkshake to even realize he had gone. He did swipe a chip from your bowl though and dipped it into some tangy garlic mayo once he came back, once he had shoved something into his pocket. You eyeballed him for a second.
“You didn’t actually go pee, you paid for me.” You deduced.
“You have no proof.”
“I can check your online banking,” you said, leaning over to swipe his phone. You heard him mutter something about how you didn’t know his PIN or login-details. “Two, five, one, two...” you whispered, the date and month of his birthday.
Levi only blinked and leaned over to snatch his phone. “Just shut up and eat your food.”
You munched in more tense silence. Once you finished, you two left and walked back to Levi’s car. Given how no one chased after you two, that confirmed that Levi had paid.
The more you babbled on the way home, the harder Levi gripped the steering wheel. The sooner you get over this breakup, the better for him. He knew it was just drunk rambling but he was getting so obscenely frustrated. He was tired, he wanted to sleep.
When you two arrived back home at the apartment, he walked inside and held the door open for you. If anything, he needed the paracetamol more than you now. He walked over to the counter to get a glass of water for himself until you beckoned him over.
You weren’t an idiot, you knew he was pissed. And you hated going to bed if you knew someone was angry at you.
“Sit next to meeeee!” you called out in a sing-song. You patted the seat next to you. “You’re so grumpy! Can we talk about it?”
“No. Don’t wanna talk about it. You’re drunk.”
“Am not!” you cried, standing up.
Levi leaned back against the countertop, chugging on the glass of water. “Oh, yeah?” he challenged. “Go on, then. Stand on one foot, hold it for thirty seconds.”
“Nooooo problemoooo…” you replied. You raised the sole of your foot to touch the side of your knee and calf and brought your hands into high prayer. You were doing it… you were doing it…
Until you stumbled and fell after four seconds.
“Hammered.” Levi declared.
You pouted. Okay, if he wasn’t going to talk, you’d have to make him. And what better way than to try to cheer him up?! You sprang to your feet and ran around behind the opposite side of the countertop, before crawling on top of it. You heard Levi beginning to question your actions but he had no time to react when you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. You just managed to force Levi into giving you a piggy-back.
“Smile for meeeee!” you beamed, pulling at his lips.
“Fuck off!” he yelled as he walked you over.
“Pleeeeeeeease!”
“NO! Get off me!” he cried, louder this time and flipped you onto the couch. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking annoying and dense and you never know when to shut the fuck up!”
His uncharacteristic outburst shocked you as you looked up at him with doe eyes. He was tired and fed up, and he was feeling his jealousy simmering over. Like, hell, this never would have happened if you were never dating that furball to begin with. You never would have drank yourself silly. Even if you were dating Levi and you broke up, he could safely say he’d hate to hear you drinking away your emotions. He hated seeing you so upset over a man and he had to listen to this for over a month. For the past two years of him sitting with his feelings, he’s had to see you with a man who never appreciated you and you didn’t see just how much you deserved. Even if you didn’t find it with him, he was so convinced that anyone would have treated you better than Zeke.
In fact, he didn’t care if you never looked at him the same way he did you; just as long as you were happy with someone. He’d get over it eventually, even if it killed him in the process.
But how many more men would come and go because they could never accept the fact you lived with your best friend - your best friend you have been intimate with?
He’d never be able to forget those moments with you. Especially the last time you two slept together.
You two were basically sober, and yet you still wound up with Zeke not too long later…
Maybe hearing it from you as to why you could never give him an answer. He was your best friend after all… why couldn’t you tell him you weren’t interested?
He stood before you as the thoughts circled in his head like a never ending merry-go-round; one that had a scratchy, out of tune melody but still droned on and plagued him. He glanced up at you and saw your eyes were now beginning to water.
Shit, he forgot how easily sensitive you were when you were drunk.
"You know, Levi… I think you're so mean and grumpy at times, and that you don't understand me!" you cried. Even though you were deep in your feelings and a slobbery mess, you still threw your arms around him, always finding comfort in his arms.
Levi sighed and relented, guiding the two of you down to the sofa and he waited for the emotional, tearful outburst to pass. You sat on the right and he made what could be considered as a potentially suggestive gesture to rest his hand on your thigh. But that was it, he just rubbed your leg up and down as you continued to bawl and be a mess.
"Yeah, perhaps I don't understand you…" he murmured once you begun to calm down.
You sniffled and looked up at him. "What?"
"I don't understand you at times, [F/n].."
You blinked owlishly. "I don't get it. What are you referring to?"
Gosh, he was going to lose it. He knew he was going to lose it but he knew you couldn't help it if you were still confused, even if you were beginning to sober up.
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, don't say it...
"Why him, why Zeke, huh? You knew I loved you two years back. I still do. I knew at the very least liked me. So, fuck-- why would you even tough it out with him that long if he made you so unhappy?"
Fuck, he said it.
“Why couldn’t you at least tell me you didn’t like me back?” he asked, smoothing his black hairs back. “It’s been both great yet simultaneously agony living with you.”
You were silent, uncomfortably silent. He wanted to just tell you to forget what he said, but how could you? Not when he openly confessed.
Why did you get with Zeke… He never captured your heart the way Levi did in the first place. You tried thinking back to two years ago, but your mind was still fuzzy. It was a shame he did this while you were still a bit drunk, but at least you’d be most honest this way, no? Drunken words are sober thoughts after all.
At the time, were you, perhaps, scared to get romantically involved with your best friend? Was the timing of it all too wrong, close to graduation, where afterwards Levi planned on moving away? Could you have coped with long distance after being with him for the four years of your undergraduate?
“Maybe because I knew we were graduating soon and you wanted to study more out of state…” you murmured. “Maybe because you were my best friend and that would have made things messy… And if you were going to leave, I guess I needed to find someone else because I assumed nothing would happen…”
Levi looked at you as he spoke. Sure, that was the original plan - to move away - but he realized he’d be better off finding a job first to pay him part of the way and maybe take a sabbatical of sorts a few years from now to further his education. And it just so happened you two both ended up applying and getting accepted at the same highschool. And that you had been dating Zeke for four months now so what could he do except live with it.
“Maybe I was scared you only liked the times we were physical together and nothing more…” you added.
Levi sighed heavily. He had watched you the entire time as you spoke before turning to look at the countertop in the dimly lit kitchen area. He pressed down on his knees as he went to stand up. “Look, I’ll just--”
“N-No!” you interjected, grabbing him by the hand. “Stay.”
Levi’s eyes widened marginally and he sat down again, not shaking away your hand. Your lower lips trembled as you continued to stare at him, and he back at you.
You leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. It lasted just a second and there was no time for you to savour it.
“I’m sorry, Levi.” You mumbled.
But before you could babble another apology, Levi raked his fingers through your hair and placed a kiss to your lips.
“Don’t be. But fuck, wow, we really need to work on communication. Even if we are just roommates.”
You shook your head and you quickly moved to straddle him. This action shocked Levi to his core, evident by his wide eyes but they quickly became clouded with lust as you ground against him and leaned in for a soul-sucking kiss. His hands found your hips and his mouth moved in tandem to your own. He let you explore the recesses of his mouth with your tongue and he could only respond in kind as he removed the jacket you were wearing. He could tell you were definitely eager by the way you hand cupped his cheeks and smoothed over them constantly, pushing yourself in for more and more.
He was displeased at how much you had dominated him so quickly and had his head spinning and was quick to tighten the grip on your hips and pushed you down onto the cushion of the sofa. The two of you continued to kiss and grind against one another, your fingertips raking across his back. You arced your head back as Levi moved to leave sloppy kisses against your neck, sucking and biting occasionally until he was sure to have at least left some sort of mark in his wake. You pulled his head back to yours and bit on his lower lip. He let out a soft yet animatlistic groan and it only spurred you further. Every blissful noise that escaped you made his blood overheat and left a burning desire in his bones.
Fuck, he wanted this so badly. He had been waiting so long. It was just perfect; you fit and moulded to him perfectly. He’d love to take you right then and there on the couch but his conscience just wouldn’t allow him.
You weren’t entirely sober.
This could all change in the morning.
He groaned and pulled away once your fingers tried to pull at the fly of his slacks. He was quick to grab your hand and sit back up. He looked down at you again. “I respect you too much to do this now, not until I know you want this as much as me.”
“But, I do--”
“You’re drunk, you’re not able to properly say you want this or to consent. I can’t allow myself to do this now. It’d be different if you weren’t.”
“I can sober up quickly, look!” you pestered. You closed your eyes for a few seconds before they opened again. “See? Sober!”
He scoffed. “You just counted to five with your eyes closed and opened them again. The answer is no, [F/n].” He said, and stood up. “I’ve waited too long for you not to properly enjoy this anyway…”
You couldn’t help but blush at his last words. “Alright, roomie, will you at least come to bed with me then?”
He scoffed but you could see him smiling amidst the murky darkness of your apartment. “I guess so.”
You two pattered down the hall, you stopping to remove your heels halfway. You opened the door to your bedroom and changed while Levi put on his nightwear. You shuffled into bed in just a vest and cotton shorts and Levi was soon to follow. He extended an arm and you sidled up next to your roommate.
“Depending on how this weekend goes, you and I may just need to take a sick day on Monday also.” He uttered after a few minutes of both your eyes being shut.
“What do you mean?” you asked, yawning.
“I haven’t had you in two years, ‘s been far too long…” he replied. He knew that alone would get you to blush so he settled in closer to you. He smirked and said, “sleep well, roomie” before heading off to dreamland.
You, however, continued to fantasize for the next hour or so before sleep overcame you too.
Was this the right decision to make after getting out of a long-term relationship just a day ago? You couldn’t tell. But you did realize back then when you were kissing him that there was something that was never there with Zeke. Maybe it was more love, or it was sensitivity. Maybe it was more attention to detail and consideration. Maybe it was the pining and the restraining he had to do that left to unbridled passion.
Well, you had a whole weekend to yourselves now - and perhaps Monday, too - and you were already excited for what was in store tomorrow.
.
.
.
Once your hangover goes away, of course.
#cece; levi#cece; writing#cece; levi ackerman#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman#levi x y/n#snk#aot#snk x reader#aot x reader#shingeki no kyojin#attack on titan#snk fanfiction#aot fanfiction
164 notes
·
View notes
Text
Promise
Anon asks: Hey there, love! Can you write an angst drabble about yoongi having a hard time finding balance between work and relationship? It can have a fluffy ending if you want to but hit me right in the feels while you're at it please. ⊂(◉‿◉)つ I hope you're comfortable with the idea. Thanks ❤️ Lovely blog you got here. ❤️
Thank you for requesting. Angst is one of my favorite things to write, so I was happy to do this!
Pairing: Min Yoongi/reader
Summary: Struggling to balance work and his relationship, Yoongi realizes he may loose you for good.
Warnings: Angst, breakups
Word Count: 2k
Dating an idol was never easy. Dating Min Yoongi, despite being a dream, always had its ups and downs. Unfortunately, it seems that most of your relationship the past few months had only been downs. Balancing work was hard and sometimes Yoongi struggled with it more than he liked to admit, but the last few months have been worse. Missing dates and important days with you, forgetting to call you back, or just ignoring you outright. Yoongi didn’t seem to notice the shift, or if he did he didn’t say anything about it. It made you wonder if it was intentional at times if he just wanted to ignore you or drive you away because he was too afraid to just come out and say he didn’t want you around anymore. You knew from the beginning that dating would be hard, Yoongi made it painfully clear that you would never have a normal relationship. It wouldn’t be like a fairytale in the movies. He was an idol, adored by millions, and constantly caught up in his work and passion.
It would always be hectic, but you didn’t mind. You loved Yoongi and took on the challenge and made it work for so long. You both always made time for one another. Early in the morning when he would kiss you goodbye, on lunch breaks filled with phone calls or texts. His days off always came so far and few in-between but you both planned and looked forward to them. It feels like it’s been months since he’s taken a day off. When he comes home you’re long asleep and mornings no longer felt like fluttering dreams where he’d kiss you and talk before leaving. You tried to hold on, remind yourself that things always bounced back. It was just a rough patch.
But you were getting tired of waiting. It was lonely, discouraging to just sit and wait for him. You went about your life as usual with his absence nagging at the back of your mind. Today you decided to stop by and see him for lunch. The two of you hadn’t actually seen each other in about a week, so you figured bringing him some lunch and sitting down to talk would be good.
Yoongi hadn’t quite felt that way. You had knocked and come in to find him at his computer, eyes glued to the screen as he worked. “Hey, I brought-”
“I’m busy Y/n” Yoongi cut in, not looking away from his work.
“I know, but you’ve been working nonstop the way few weeks, I thought it would be nice to have lunch-”
“Y/n, I’m busy” Yoongi repeated, sparing a glance back at you. It was more a glare.
“Yoongi you need to take a break- we need to talk.” You argued, setting the food down and coming up to him. “Things haven’t been the best between us and I think-”
“Things would be fine if you just left me alone” Yoongi huffed, “I’m busy, you know that.”
“Things wouldn’t be fine! They haven’t been for months!”
Yoongi finally tore himself away from his work, turning to face you with knitted eyebrows and a frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Please, don’t act like you haven’t been ignoring the past few months!”
“Are you kidding me Y/n?” Yoongi scoffed, “I can’t drop work just to spend time with you whenever you want. Do you know how much I have to do? All the pressure that’s on Bangtan right now?”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “For three months? We’ve barely had a conversation, I can’t even remember the last time you kissed me!” Both your faces were beginning to heat up in anger, “I know you’re busy and I’ve been so understanding of it for so long, but you’ve taken things to a new level!”
“You knew what you signed up for when we got together,” Yoongi argued.
“I didn’t sign up for this Yoongi! You ignore all of my calls and texts and when you do have time off you’re with the boys. You don’t even come home half the time! I didn’t sign up for you to ignore me every minute of the day! What happened? We were balancing things great, why did you change? Do you not care about our relationship anymore? Too much trouble for you to just try?”
“Maybe it is!” Yoongi snapped.
Your eyes widened at his outburst, taken back that he would say something like that. “Well, I’m sorry that you feel that way” you dug your nails into the palm of your hand. “I’m sorry for asking for the bare minimum from you.”
“Just leave Y/n” Yoongi waved you off. “You just want to start arguments right now, I don't have time for this.”
“Yoongi-”
“Go! Just leave me alone Y/n!”
You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding as he turned back to work. You grabbed your, stopping to look back at him before leaving. He didn’t look back, just kept working. “Bye Yoongi.”
You sniffled as you made your way out of the building, tears threatening to spill as you tried to keep yourself composed. You kept your head down as you hurried through the lobby, wanting to escape the public eye as soon as possible. “Oh, Y/n!” You slowed your steps as you noticed Taehyung heading your way. “Come to see Yoongi?”
“Please Tae, now isn’t a good time.”
“Are you okay?”
“I- yeah, everything's just fine.” Taehyung frowned, grabbing at your sleeve to pull you aside to sit.
“Why are you crying?”
“It’s just- Yoongi and I, we…” You sighed, unable to figure what to say. “We got into an argument and I think….I think it’s time we break up.” You admitted, a rush of tears falling from your eyes.
“What?” Taehyung’s face shifted from concern to confusion, “but you guys have been together for so long-”
“Well, he made it very clear that he doesn’t have time for this relationship anymore. I’m sorry Tae I need to go back to the apartment, I don’t want to be there when he gets home.” You admitted. You didn’t give Taehyung a chance to say anything more, afraid of breaking down any farther if you stayed to talk.
He never said he wanted to break up with you, but you couldn’t see anything changing even after this argument. He had been so nonchalant, still so absorbed with his work to even talk to you. You went home, waiting around for the afternoon. A little shred of hope that he would come home hung in your mind. He will come home, you told yourself, he’ll come and we’ll fix things. You waited and waited, tried to call him once but was met with his voicemail. It was beginning to get dark when you decided to call it quits, calling a friend to stay with and packing your things. You sat down on the bed, your things resting at your feet as you waited for your friend to show up. Holly pawed at your leg, prompting you to frown at the little dog. “Sorry for leaving you alone Holly” you sighed, reaching down to scratch his head. “Don’t worry, Yoongi will be home for you soon.” You looked around the room, thinking about all the lonely nights you had spent staying away and waiting for Yoongi to come home just so you could talk to him. You always fell asleep though, or he was too tired to talk.
You sniffled, feeling a new wave of sadness strike your body as you started to think about the good times the two of you used to have. Lazy afternoons cuddling and talking, dinners made together or evenings spent getting ready to go out together. It felt like years since you had that feeling with him.
Your phone lit up and you stood, grabbing your bag and leaving Holly with one last pet. You texted Yoongi as you headed out.
I’m leaving, won’t bother you again.
Don’t forget to come home and see Holly.
Bye.
You thought maybe he would text you after that, sitting in your friend’s car hoping to feel your phone buzz with his name. It never did.
After leaving that night you never went back. He tried to call a few times, but after a few days of ignoring him, he stopped. You were staying with your friend, for now, looking for your own place in your spare time. You continued working and living normally, you had already grown used to Yoongi’s absence in your life. It didn’t mean you didn’t miss him though. It hurt that you had to leave him so quickly, but things had been so bad for so long. Fixing them didn’t feel like an option anymore, especially after he said it was too much trouble to try. You didn’t care if he truly meant it or not, it still cut deep. You had your bad days. Days where you would go through your life sluggishly, sensitive to all the memories that still ran fresh with Yoongi.
Today was one of those days. You had just gotten off of work not long ago and we’re planning to head to a restaurant to grab some dinner before going home. It was on the way to the apartment, and it had always been one of your favorites. It had been just over a month since the last time you saw Yoongi and you thought grabbing your favorite dinner would help you feel better.
You were wrong because he was there.
Yoongi was sitting with Namjoon and Hoseok just across the restaurants, towards the corner quietly talking and eating. You were sitting at a little table near the windows, debating whether to leave or not. You had already ordered before you noticed them, so you decided to just wait it out and hope they left soon and didn’t recognize you. Seeing him brought a stab to your heart, almost bridging tears to your eyes as you distracted yourself on your phone.
“Y/n?” You closed your eyes, setting your phone down. Yoongi’s voice was quiet despite the fairly empty restaurant.
“Yoongi.”
You looked up, your first mistake. Yoongi was staring at you with wide eyes, almost disbelieving that he had really run into you. “Y/n, uh- can I sit?” He asked, taking a seat with you nodded. “You never answered my calls…”
“I couldn’t talk to you.”
“I know...I don’t blame you” Yoongi sighed, “but I just wanted you to know that I...I didn’t mean what I said to you.” He sighed, “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
You shook your head, “It wasn’t just that Yoongi. Things had been falling apart for months, you just never noticed.”
“I know, I know” Yoongi rushed to say, “I realized that after you left...Taehyung and the others told me. Said I wasn’t treating you right.”
“You weren’t.” You sniffled. “I don’t understand why. I was always so patient for you, I understand that you were busy, but you just kept getting more and more distant.”
“You were amazing, I got too comfortable I guess, and just- I never stopped caring about you Y/n. I promise I didn’t. I loved you- I still love you and I want to make it right again-”
“Can you promise me things will change?” You asked. “Can you promise me?”
He stayed silent, staring at you with unsure eyes. You scoffed, moving to grab your bag and leave, only for him to grab your hand gently. “Wait Y/n-”
“Yoongi, I can’t go back to what we were! I can’t do it, I’m sorry.”
“Y/n please, I-I can’t promise things will always be perfect with us. We both knew that things would be hard, but the way I acted towards you, I promise I will never hurt you that way again.” His eyes shined with tears, and once threatened to fall at the corner of his eye. “I can promise to try my best for you, to be a better boyfriend. Please, let me try to fix thighs Y/n, please don’t want away.”
“Yoongi,” you whispered, biting on your cheek as you tried to steady your breathing. “I just need time Yoongi, let me think about all this.”
He nodded solemnly, “call me if you want to talk.”
“Maybe.” You spoke, pulling away to leave. Yoongi sat alone for a second, watching you hurry out.
He wasn’t sure if you would call, but he prayed that you did.
#bts#bts x reader#bts imagines#bts reactions#bts fanfic#min yoongi#suga#bts suga#yoongi#angst#bts angst#min yoongi x reader#bts yoongi angst#bts suga x reader
305 notes
·
View notes
Text
AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry
☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️
word count: 22.9k
warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol
//
Time, mystical time
Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine
Were there clues I didn't see?
- Invisible String, Taylor Swift
//
Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.
His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.
“Rough day?”
“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”
“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”
“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.
He’s referring to the umbrella she got roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.
Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”
He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.
He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.
When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.
“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.
“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”
“I’m good.”
Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before. Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.
It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other) who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.
The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter, “Is Blake not coming tonight?”
“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped. “Quite fancy if you ask me.”
Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.
With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.
Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.
“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.
“The Grammys.”
Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”
“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”
“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”
“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”
He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”
“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”
“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”
“Are you going?”
“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”
Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.
It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.
Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.
It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he learned how to desensitize himself.
That doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.
“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”
“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship. “We dated before she even set foot in America.”
“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”
He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”
“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”
“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”
“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown. He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”
“Julia…”
“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.
“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”
“Why not?”
“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”
“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”
“She won’t.”
“You seem very sure of that.”
“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”
“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”
“Not everyday.”
The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit, until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.
He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown four years ago.
Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?
//
Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.
Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.
He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.
Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.
“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.
“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.
You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.
I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me
“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.
Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”
Your smile widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”
“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.
You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.
Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.
“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”
You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,
“I love it.”
You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.
She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.
Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?
Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.
So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.
It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.
“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.
“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.
“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”
“I don’t—“
“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”
In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.
So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.
Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.
This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.
Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.
The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.
“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.
“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.
It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice. “I love this song.”
“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”
“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks. “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”
“Sure is.”
Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.
Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.
“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.
“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Nervous?”
The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”
“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”
“I guess.”
“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee. “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”
“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.
“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”
“I know. I know.”
“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”
“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.
“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”
“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.
True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.
It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.
From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.
You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.
The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.
A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.
It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.
Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.
It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.
“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.
“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”
“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”
“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”
“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.
From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.
“Nothing I’ve never done before.”
“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”
There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”
You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”
You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”
“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.
“Tired.” You repeat. “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”
“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”
“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”
A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”
You sigh. “I know.”
“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”
“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”
“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”
The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.
It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.
The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)
What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.
The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.
Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.
It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.
Because they call out your name.
Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.
Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.
Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.
Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.
The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?
There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:
Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?
//
Harry’s not having a good day.
He’s not having a good week, actually. Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.
On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it. Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.
But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)
He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.
He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.
Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.
“Fucking--”
His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”
Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”
There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.
At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.
Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.
“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.
“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”
“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”
“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”
She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”
“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”
Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.
The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.
Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.
From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.
Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.
It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.
Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.
The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.
So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.
Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.
Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.
“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”
Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.
Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.
It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.
He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.
What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.
He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.
It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.
Why does this place have to be so fucking small?
His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.
Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.
The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.
“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.
His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”
“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”
“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.
“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”
“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”
You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”
“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.
“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.
True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.
As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.
His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).
Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.
“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.
“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist, “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”
At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.
Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.
It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.
As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.
His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.
“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.
She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.
The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.
Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.
“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.
With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.
Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.
After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.
During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.
It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.
Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.
It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.
The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.
“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”
Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.
“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”
“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”
“Thank you.”
“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.
“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”
Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.
“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”
“Oh.”
He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”
“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”
Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”
You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”
“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”
“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”
He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.
Which could explain why he feels this nervous.
“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”
“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”
“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”
“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?
“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”
“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”
“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”
He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”
“I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief. “With my mum?”
The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.
He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.
“The same one, yeah.”
“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”
“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”
“Still, that’s…”
“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”
The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.
How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.
Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.
After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.
That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.
So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?
The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.
After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.
And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.
Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.
Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.
And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.
The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.
Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.
But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.
You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.
“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”
To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”
You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.
Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.
The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.
Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.
For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.
It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.
Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.
Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”
“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.
He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.
Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.
Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”
“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”
He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”
Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.
You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.
But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response, “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”
He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”
“I guess that’s it, yeah.”
There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.
You shake your head. What is wrong with you?
You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.
Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”
“What?”
“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”
You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.
“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”
Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”
“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”
“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”
He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”
“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”
Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”
“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”
“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”
You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”
His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”
“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”
You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.
“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”
“You don’t have to talk about it.”
“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”
His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.
It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.
You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.
Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.
You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”
“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”
You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”
“I took the tube here.”
“Let me drive you back.”
“You don’t have--”
“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed. “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”
He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”
“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”
“Okay, then.”
//
As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.
That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.
You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.
It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.
So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?
But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.
The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.
Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?
He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.
It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).
Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.
Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.
He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.
When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”
“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.
“Hi.”
“Are you home right now?”
His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”
“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”
“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.
“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.
“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.
“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”
“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”
Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.
He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.
From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.
Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”
“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.
“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”
The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.
Oh.
You’re drunk.
“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.
You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.
His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”
He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”
You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.
Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.
Because that’s the thing.
He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.
A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.
He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”
“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.
Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.
He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”
“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.
“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”
“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago. “I think so.”
“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”
“I’ll be right here!”
Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.
He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.
“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”
He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”
“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”
“No!” Harry quickly asserts, “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”
When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”
“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”
You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Come join me here.”
“I don’t think it fits us both.”
“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”
He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”
He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”
“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”
“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”
“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”
He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.
It’s all much too confusing to him.
“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.
The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.
“Yeah?”
You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”
Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”
“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”
“I do.”
“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”
He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”
When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”
Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.
“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”
“Yeah.”
You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”
He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”
“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”
A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”
“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug. “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”
“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”
Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”
Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”
Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”
Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”
“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”
“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”
“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”
“Sounds great.”
You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”
He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”
“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”
“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”
//
A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing
555 notes
·
View notes
Text
white christmas | thomas
word count; 16,567
summary; after some unexpected snow ruins your christmas day plans, you spend your first christmas as a married couple making it up as you go along.
notes; this is a follow up (and the final part to!) ‘Sin City’ and ‘Sun City’. I was actually originally going to call this ‘Snow City’ but I wasn’t sure how that would go down. anyways, go enjoy.
warnings; smut, unprotected sex, cum play, breeding kink
When you woke up, it was to the sound of the coffee machine whirring slowly in the kitchen, and you rolled over, patting at the spot next to you, and pouting when it came up empty. The sheets were still warm to the touch, and you sighed, cracking an eye open to look at the place. The bedding was still crumpled, tucked back up and over you, and there was a barely visible sliver of light creeping in from the crack in the curtains, lighting up the room.
The alarm clock read just after ten, a sleep in for the both of you, but you deserved it on Christmas Day, and you smiled, the joy of the day washing over you once again. It was cold, unusually so for Vegas, and a chill ran over you as you sat up. Your legs were bare beneath the covers stretched out and staying warm, but the tank top on your upper body did little to warm you now that your human furnace of a husband had left you.
When you finally found the motivation to move, it was only to find a cardigan, tugging it over your arms and rolling the knitted sleeves up and out of your way to sit at your mid-forearms, and searching for a pair of pants. A plaid pair of sleep pants that belonged to your lover, tying them at the waist nice and loose as they sat over your stomach, just enough to be comfy, before you were trailing through the house. He was facing the counter, scrolling through his phone and chewing on a piece of a granola bar idly, the machine still dripping coffee through slowly.
He scarcely even flinched as you made your presence known, your arms slipping around his waist and face pressing between his shoulder blades as you left a kiss to the material of his shirt covering his back, before pressing your cheek over the patch. His free hand came down to settle over your own, squeezing lightly, and humming as he acknowledged you.
“Mornin’, baby.”
“Merry Christmas.” You teased, a sweet chuckle leaving him, before he was putting his phone down, and twisting in your arms to see you instead. Cupping your face, he leaned down, pressing a sweet hiss to your lips, and you licked the slightly sticky residue of honey away when he pulled back, the faint traces of his pre-breakfast snack still lingering on his mouth.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
You only nodded, bumping the tip of your nose against his needily, and he caught the hint, laughing lightly and letting his breath wash over your face as his lips brushed yours. “More? What, all the love and affection you got last night wasn’t enough for you?”
“Yesterday was a completely different day. I haven’t had nearly my quota for kisses yet today.”
“Well, guess I can’t argue with that logic.” His words were mumbled, thumbs smoothing over your cheeks, before dipping down to catch your lips with his own, a slow and lazy kiss that was perfect for the mood. You didn’t need much, and you were past the thrill of overexcited Christmas mornings, you weren’t a child anymore, and one day, your house would be filled with kids of your own, to have those over-excited Christmas mornings again, so you were simply soaking up the bliss of a quiet and hazy one with your husband now.
His tongue teased along your lower lip, pressing lightly at the seam in which they connected, prompting you to part them for him, and you were more than happy to grant him that access. He fell backwards when your hands disconnected from around his waist, smoothing up his back and around his body, until one was sitting on his chest, the other weaving into his hair. His back pressed to the counter, supporting you as you leant up on him, sighing against his mouth.
A breathy groan sounded in the air, deep from him as it originated in the back of his throat, vibrating through you in a way that made you tremble a little under his touch. Your head tipped to the side, a raspy breath taken in before letting him dive back into you once again, your heart racing in your chest and the tips of his fingers dug a little harder into your jaw. You loved knowing you still had this kind of effect on him, and that he had this effect on you, even after being married and having been together for so long, and you truly hoped that the passion between you both never dulled.
When the machine beside you beeped to signal the end of its rotation, he finally pulled away, lips shining and red, the hints of beginning to swell, and he ran the pad of a thumb over your own, before he was pressing back into you, stealing a series of small kisses again, dipping you backwards, until you were out of breath but laughing, cheeks flushing as the need to breathe overwhelmed you, but the way his teeth were scraping lightly at your lower lip was far more intoxicating.
He was beaming when he pulled away, bringing you in close to him again, a hand dropping down to sit on your lower back, pulling you into his body, and letting him spin you both around, so that he could reach for the coffeemaker with the other. He poured two mugs, adjusting the sugar and creamer for you both while never letting you go, holding you close, even when you leaned away for utensils and condiments, working together, a laugh on your lips at the overly wet kiss he pressed to your cheek.
His declaration of love may not have been verbal, but it was clear in everything he did, from the littlest touches to the way he held you close, and the way he made easy gestures such as coffee in the morning or tucking the sheets back over you to keep you warm when he left the bed, endearment in every action he took.
“What are we going to do about today, hm?”
He sipped his drink after asking the question, staring at you pointedly, and your brows furrowed, pausing as you lifted your own hot drink into your hands, and frowning. “We’re going to Newt’s, he’s having everyone over for Christmas, and this is the first year that we can kiss under the mistletoe and exchange gifts without pretending to just be half-friends and half-colleagues, tight smiles and seemingly forced hugs when really, I just want to kiss you senseless and wipe the foam away from the edge of your mouth when you get cream on your lip every single time we have hot chocolate.”
“Oddly specific, have you been daydreaming a lot?” He teased, your cheeks flaring up with heat as you shot him a false glare, but he only grinned, before pouting, and tapping at his lips for a kiss. You hesitated, for only a moment, that second being long enough for punishment, before you leaned up and kissed him sweetly. He seemed satisfied with it, but his original question was still ringing in your mind, and he seemed to pick up on that too, being able to read you like a book at this point; “Go look outside the window, honey.”
He tipped his head towards the tipped up blinds, and you padded over, pulling one down and peeping out, gasping a little in shock at the thin blanket of white that was covering the garden, and the roofs of the other houses, the roads undisturbed as nobody had yet dared to drive along them.
“It’s bad luck, I guess.”
“It’s not that bad, right?” You turned back to him, the realisation of just why it was that it had been quite so cold this morning coming through, and you rubbed at your arms a little, wrapping your cardigan around yourself a little tighter. “What, it's like, two or three inches? We can handle that!”
“Yeah, but, it was a bit rainy yesterday, and the temperatures dipped under during night, so it froze over. There’s going to be hidden ice on the roads, and I’m not used to driving in snow. I don’t want to risk it, baby.” You frowned, staring up at him with wide eyes as you stopped before him, and he ran a hand over your cheek, kissing the other side, but it did little to raise your low spirits. “Not when I’d have such precious cargo on board.”
“I’m not precious cargo.” You grouched, and he chuckled.
“You’re the most precious cargo to me.” He denied, and your arms crossed over your stomach, rolling on the balls of your feet as he turned away, making his way over to the fridge. It was somewhat empty, only a large bowl of mashed potatoes that would have served fifteen people being what you were supposed to be taking, and yet you still had no idea what you would whip up for your breakfast or dinner, but you supposed you’d make it work. “Anyway, Minho just texted and said he and Brenda aren’t going to make it either, and Newt’s boyfriend can’t get over from his parents who he stayed with last night, so we figured we could just video chat, or something, instead.”
“Yeah, okay.”
He turned around to face you at the sound of disappointment in your voice, growing a little at the dismayed look on your face, and he closed the refrigerator door, leaning against it and crossing his arms. “Hey, c’mon, cheer up. Maybe it’ll be nice to have our first Christmas as a married couple to ourselves. Didn’t you say you wished we’d have a white Christmas?”
“Yeah, but I was excited to see our friends.”
“We’ll make it work, angel, don’t worry.” He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, tempting you to let go of the tense distress you were holding, and it worked, your shoulders slumping as you gave in, offering him a smile when he cheered lightly at feeling you melt a little under his persuasion. “Want me to warm you up, sweetheart?”
A scoff left you, and you shoved at his chest, letting him snicker as you walked away, flipping him off a little over your shoulder, and moving back to the bedroom to get your phone. There were notifications from the girls, and your family, all wishing you a ‘Merry Christmas’ and good thoughts, and you returned it to them as you walked back through, straightening the bedsheets back out and opening the curtains before you did.
When you returned to the kitchen, the sweet smell of fruit and pancakes filled the air, a batter being whipped up by the man you loved, and you hopped up to sit on the kitchen island in the centre of the room. You were just beginning to open your emails when your phone lit up with a call, and you jumped slightly, before answering it, cheering a little as you greeted your friend.
“Hey, Newt! Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you as well, love. Tommy, too, is he there?”
“Yeah, he’s here, standing right in front of me at the stove.” You reached a foot out, tapping at his ass with your toes and giggling as he jumped, turning to glare at you for the action, red tinging his cheeks, before he was slapping your foot away gently. “Sorry we can’t see you today, who would’ve guessed we’d get snow in Vegas, huh?”
“Maybe it’s because of your wish for a ‘white Christmas’, you jinxed it.” Your husband taunted, reaching for a pan, and you scowled at him, rolling your eyes fondly, and you could hear your friend laughing down the line of the phone as he listened in.
“You two have always bickered like a married couple, and we always wondered why. Now you really are a married couple, and it’s still the biggest reveal of the century.”
“What can I say? Keeping you lot in the dark made it all the more fun for us. The sneaking around was hot.” Thomas cheered loudly at your words, heating up some butter over the flame, and beginning to cook your breakfast, Newt gagging falsely into the speaker.
“I didn’t need to know what kinky shit the two of you use to keep your relationship alive, thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah. If that’s not what you wanted, then why did you call, huh?” You leaned over again, poking at your husband with your foot, and he reached down, a hand wrapping around your ankle, thumb smoothing over your skin, and he held onto you lightly, using his other hand to flip the pancakes over to let the other side begin to cook.
“Just wanted to check if four was a good time for you both, that’s when everyone else can get online. Some of us have familial commitments and such, not just fucking like weirdly-secretive bunnies to fill the schedule, so we figured it’d work for you, too?”
“Hey, Tommy, four works for us, right?” He held up his other hand in a thumbs up, before piling pancakes up on a plate, and letting go of your leg, allowing it to fall back to swinging under the counter, and beginning to fill the pan up again. “Yeah, four o’clock works for us.”
“Great, see you then, love.”
“Bye, Newt.”
The line went dead, and you placed it down, laughing a little to yourself once again over his comment, and Thomas offered you a smile over his shoulder.
As the pancakes were finished, he created a pile of them on a plate, before bringing them over and placing them on the counter beside your legs, blueberries shining through within them, steam rising up from the plate, a knife and fork following, and he grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge, shaking it up.
“Feelin’ a little more cheery now, angel?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Like, a seven out of ten.” You sighed, picking up the cutlery, and he stuck his lower lip out in false sympathy.
“Only a seven? We gotta’ fix that.” He nudged the plate closer to you, a dollop of cream sprayed onto the plate beside the heap, and your stomach grumbled happily at the sight of the meal before you. “Eat your pancakes, sweetheart.”
“What about you?”
“I already know what I’m gonna’ eat.” He winked, a lazy drop of one eyelid, before he was filling his mouth with the whipped treat and leaning in to place a messy kiss to your lips, the taste of the sweet and creamy condiment spreading to your mouth as your groaned, feeling rough hands slide up your thighs and squeeze roughly. His hands were tugging at the ends of your shirt, your cutlery clattering back to the counter to shuck off your cardigan, before he was pushing your top up and over your head, breasts falling free and nipples pearling in the cold air. “Let me warm you up, honey, make it all better.”
You could only nod, back arching into his touch when you felt the nozzle of the canister run down between your tits, before crying out when the chilled dessert was sprayed in a swirl over one of your nipples. He repeated the action on the other to match, before a line was moving along your chest, right to your navel, and you lay back on the counter, head hanging over the other side.
“You look so sweet, baby, and I know just how good you taste, can’t wait to get my mouth on you.” Two fingers pressed to your core through the plaid pants you wore, rubbing softly and you keened up into his touch. A hot mouth descended to your neck as his fingers worked slowly, kissing lightly along your neck, drags of his teeth to make you shiver, and he sucked roughly at your collarbones in a way that made you shake. He knew all of your weak spots, and all of the pieces that made you weak, having learned your body like the back of his own hand, experience over years of patience and testing, and when he finally moved down to your chest, you knew there would be marks all along your skin come tomorrow, showing up in dark bruises that matched his mouth perfectly.
He bit down, just enough force to make you cry out his name, on the side of your breast and licking it to soothe it, before his mouth was closing over one perky nipple.
The topping there was lapped away, tongue dragging in deliberately slow and teasing motions, your head spinning at the feeling of the bud being rolled along his tongue, nibbled on slightly until the skin was raw in a delicious way that always made everything feel ten times better, beginning to grow sensitive under the attention he gave to you, before he switched to give the other the same treatment. Your hand laced into his hair, holding him to your chest, a groan leaving him as your nails scratched over his scalp, the feeling vibrating along every nerve in your body until your fingertips were tingling, toes curling from where your legs dangled.
“Tommy..”
“God, I love the way you sound when you moan my name. So fuckin’ hot.” His words were a little slurred, his own arousal seeping through, and he was cleaning your skin of the cream he’s left there, licking his way down along your body until you were no longer coated in the substance, and he was sinking to his knees, fingers hooked into the band of your pyjamas and you could barely lift your hips up to help him, body trembling with need and desire, and he tugged them away, discarding them to the floor, along with your panties. “Pretty little pussy, dripping for me, so perfect.”
Kisses along your inner thighs, and you whined out, legs being lifted up to rest over his shoulder, ankles loving behind his neck, and for a moment, heat simply washed over your centre from his panted breaths, before he was indulging himself in your sodden core.
A loud cry, bouncing off of all the walls in the kitchen was emitted from you as you felt the tip of his tongue parted your folds, teasing around your entrance before flattening along your middle. He took his time, cleaning you of everything that you had to give, juices dripping out of your more and more, the longer he teased you and waited, and you could already feel yourself finding it harder to breathe, white-hot heat scorching along your body as he treasured you, devouring you like his final meal.
There were times when Thomas was quick and rough, sucking and biting at your clit with just enough pain to make you cry and scream in all the best ways, before fucking you with his tongue until you were shaking and no longer sentient, but then there were times like today.
These were the moments when he really took his time, tongue swirling along you, dragging around your clit until it was throbbing, tears lining your eyes from desperation, before is lips were brushing over the bead, enough to make a jerky motion journey along your entire body as you reacted to that simplest and lightest of touches with so much need.
“Oh, fuck, please, Tommy..”
“Want my mouth, huh, baby? Look at you, all whiny and desperate. Love it when you’re like this, needy for what only I can give you.” He gave into you when another pleading noise roe up from your throat and into the air, thumbs smoothing up along your thighs to part your folds, revealing the little bud to him entirely, and he dragged the roughness of his tongue over it slowly, broken gasps leaving you as your body spasmed a little, the stimulation so welcome and craved that your head went blank as he finally gave you what you wanted. “Needy baby, all for me.”
You would’ve retorted, snapped back, had anything to say, had it not been for his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking on it harshly as your hips bucked up into his face, and your eyes rolled back in your head. A finger prodded at your core, a single digit slipping into your velvet channel with ease, and your walls clenched frantically around the finger from the moment he had sunk right down until his knuckles were pressed to your flesh. He could reach deeper than you ever could and you couldn't drag oxygen into your body in even half-lungfuls anymore because he was driving you insane, twisting and curling that finger, just enough to rub at your walls, teasing you as he searched for that spot that drove. you wild.
He knew where it was, his fingertip brushing against it, and when you keened up, loud sobs of his name falling from your lips, he chuckled into your skin. Abusing both patches that made you crazy, inside and out, he was a deadly combination, slow motions making you wish he’d speed up, but he was dragging it out, knowing that if he kept it up, you’d melt, become utterly senseless and completely empty of any thought or complaint about the day, and that was where he wanted you.
You knew he did, he wanted you blissed out, cum-drunk and dazed, so that you wouldn't be sad about missing your friends or not getting to celebrate how you wanted, and you were more than happy to give in to that whim if it meant you were allowed to chase the orgasm that was steadily building within you at the momentum because as that spring wound up tighter and the heat rose, there wasn’t a single thought in your head except reaching climax, and chanting your husbands name as his mouth worked you over.
Your hand was tangled in the dark chocolate locks atop his head, still messy and mussed from sleep, now even more fucked-up as you tugged at them limply, body going weak as you teetered on the edge of your peak. As though sensing how close you were, his attention moved from your swollen bud, down further, slurping up hungrily at everything you’d given him, everything he’d drawn from you, before this tongue was plunging into your centre.
At the touch, you exploded, stars flashing behind your eyes as you came undone around his tongue, and he moaned himself, loudly and unashamedly as his fingers flexed against your thighs, wiggling tightly and holding them apart as they trebled, legs attempting to snap closed around his head and he never let up on his assault, tongue fucking in and out of you as your walls fluttered.
He’d given up on the soft and lazy act, becoming impatient himself, and he’d always been vocal about how much he loved to be buried between your thighs, but sometimes, it still surprised you, times like now, when he was selflessly desperate to feel you come undone again, to lick you clean as juices flowed from you, and your head was spinning as you neared yet another edge.
He pulled back, two fingers delving into your folds, moving at speeds you could barely comprehend as they slammed in and out of you, your cries growing in volume until you were screaming his name, arching up and quivering against the marble countertop, before he placed a final nip to your clit, humming proudly and contentedly as he felt you cum again. Juiced dripped down his wrist, pooling on the floor in droplets, tears dripping from your eyes, chest heaving for breath, and when you couldn’t take it anymore, he pulled back. Licking you clean and leaving you to beg and plead, spasming atop the tabletop, he left you clean of slick and cum, kissing his way back up your body until he was standing between your parted thighs, the tip of his nose nudging under your jaw.
“Better?”
You made a vague sound of questioning, too fucked-out to even open your eyes, and you were sure Thomas’ chest was puffing out, ego swelling at just how he managed to get you like this, and he pulled away. Sucking wet fingers into his mouth to clean them off, he used his other to pull you up into a sitting position, goosebumps rising along your skin as the chill in the room began to seep back in.
You waved a hand around loosely for your top, finding it and tugging it back on, barely checking it was on the right way, before your cardigan was following. Large hands were still massaging along your legs, which were now wrapped around his waist, and you jumped a little as his thumb smoothed over a deliciously sore bite mark that he’d left on your inner thigh.
“That was fucking fantastic.” You murmured, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he beamed, pride rising within him, but he didn’t comment on it. “Best Christmas present ever.”
“Don’t say that, you haven’t even opened my gifts yet. I’ve got you beat this year, there’s no way you can top it.” You cracked a smirk, shrugging at him and resting your cheek to his shoulder.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, I have a pretty great gift for you myself.” His hands smoothed up and down your back under your jacket, warming you up through and through just with the loving touches he gifted to you. It was moments like these that you would always remember; sex with Thomas was mind-blowing and spectacular every single time, but it was the moments after that were what made your relationship what it was, the way he’d hold you so lovingly, touch you with such tender adoration that you felt your heart may actually explode, ad he did it all because he wanted to, not because e was expected to or he thought t would make you happy, but purely because he desired to be with you as much as you with him. “Can I have my pants back now?”
“Think you need new ones, yours are pretty wet.” There was a tone laced to his voice that made shy and embarrassed warmth flood your face once again, making you glad he couldn't see you from where you were buried in his neck, but not missing the way his foot was rubbing the garments across the tiles to dry the floor, before flicking them away a little.
“Okay, but let me down, because I’m still hungry, and I want those pancakes.”
He held you a second longer, a light squeeze, before he stepped back and let you go, tapping at your ass in a cheeky spank as you bent to collect your discarded clothes to take to the laundry, before you were walking away from him with a skip.
A new set of clothes, a trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up, and running a brush through your hair to fix it and pull it out of your face and into a reasonably controllable bundle on your head. When you reentered the kitchen, Thomas was sitting on one of the stools, using your knife and fork to eat the half-cold pancakes, and you grabbed your own set, sitting opposite him, and tucking in.
The meal consisted of laughs, and jokes, hinting at gifts for one another without ever quite giving them away, and then, making a plan for your day. You didn’t have the right ingredients to make a Christmas dinner, and an entirely free day, where you would have been leaving in half an hour to make your way over to Newt’s place. Instead, you would exchange your gifts together, and make your attempt at a decent Christmas dinner, before video chatting with your friends for a while, and finishing off the day with a movie.
It wasn’t the Christmas you’d planned, but it would be perfect in its own way.
The tree lights were twinkling softly, glittering on the wrapping paper you had covering your gifts neatly underneath, a matching set in a different colour, reindeers dancing across the front in a gift wrap Thomas had chosen for you. Your untouched coffee was now cold, and you tipped it away, getting a new mug out and filling the kettle under the tap, before setting it off. A herbal tea bag was placed into the mug, a spoonful of honey and a slice of lemon to follow, before a pair of arms were wrapping around your waist.
“Hurry up, I want you to open your gift already.”
“Patience is a virtue.” You hummed, and he sighed loudly, shuffling in a little closer to you. His chin hooked onto your shoulder, hot breath fanning over your cheek, followed by a seat kiss, and you leaned back a little into his chest. Your hands rested over your hips where his hand had joined, squeezing lightly, and nuzzled a little further into you. “Besides, I already told you that my gift is going to win this year.”
“I won for the last two years and Valentine’s Day, you don’t stand a chance.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning a little at his competitive side beginning to shine through, and as the kettle finally clicked off, water boiling, you filled your mug, stirring it lightly to spread the flavour, before nudging him backwards with your hips, hearing him groan a little as you did, a false glare on his face form the way you’d pressed your ass up against him to get him to move, but then, he was following you to the living room.
You blew the steam from your mug, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic, the smell of apple and cranberry drifting up to your nose, surrounding you and soothing any worries you may have as you settled down onto the couch. Thomas stood before the tree, one foot poking at the gifts sitting under the decorative branches, assessing them all, before turning to look at you. “Save the best for last?”
There was a smirk on his face, and you mirrored it, his eyes narrowing on you a little bit. “Works for me.”
“Great, so I’ll give you a gift last, then?”
“For now.” His cocky tone was enough to make the game a little more exciting, and he rose a brow, turning to motion at the gifts that you’d placed there, before lifting one up for you. He handed it over, before looking back at the ones for him, and waiting for you to guide him. “Open any, the winning gift isn’t under the tree.”
“I think you’ll find it is.” He teased, pointing to the one he’d wrapped himself, before grabbing the first glitter package with his name on that he could reach.
“Actually, it’s over here, sitting on the couch.” A wicked grin on your lips, and his eyes scanned over you, jaw dropping a little, and you watched as his eyes went half-lidded for just a second, wondering just how filthy his mind had gone, and then he was chewing on his lower lip, seeming to snap back to reality, his gaze snapping up from your tits to your eyes.
He pounced, two strides closing the distance, before one hand was supporting himself on the back of the couch as he leaned over you, pressing a long kiss to your lips, licking his way into your mouth, and groaning a little at the way you pressed back into him just as eagerly, one hand lacing into his hair, pulling on the strands slightly. When he pulled back, it was with your lower lip between his teeth, growling lightly, before letting it go. “I can’t wait to unwrap that gift later, then.”
“Alright, hot stuff.”
He beamed, taking a seat beside you and placing the sparkly package onto his lap, a few pieces of glitter falling away to decorate his pyjama pants, but he was too excited to steady himself anyway. Tearing at the paper, he left it scattered along the living room floor, stripping the gift of its concealment, and lifting it up to take a look. The pause only lasted for a second, before he was lighting up with joy, and turning to look at you with wide eyes.
He'd been talking about it for months, but he had no idea what it was called, or where he would find it, and he was pretty sure he’d never find it. It was a printer for his earpieces, creating custom little cases that he could put on them, so that the boring piece of plastic that he had to wear in his ear all day, every day, on the casino floor, could finally be something a little more exciting.
“I can’t believe you found it!”
“It wasn’t easy to find, at all. What are you going to print first?” He considered it, staring down at the box, before shrugging his shoulders, mind coming up clear.
Flicking your finger under the edge of the wrapping, it popped loose, and you continued to go, watching as he twisted towards you a little more. It was a set of your favourite skincare products, ones that you’d been running out of and kept intending to get more of but always seemed to forget about somehow, and he’d clearly been browsing the website, because the box was stuffed full of all different types of new products, samples and new things to try, as well as bath bombs and room sprays.
The rest of the gifts followed along much the same pathway, simple gifts that were more practical than special, but meaningful nonetheless. You got him new boxers, with reindeers and baubles on, and he smirked as he gave you a new set of lc that could scarcely be counted as underwear, before following it with a filthy kiss and whispered promises for later.
You got him new cologne with a matching shampoo and body wash set, and he got you a new blazer for work after your last one ripped, and you opened all the gifts from your friends and family that were still sitting there. Your last gift to him has been tap bracelets, ones that he could wear at work for when he was feeling anxious, so that yours would buzz whenever he tapped it, and he got a little teary at the gesture.
As the room was littered with ribbons, bows, and torn paper, he picked up the last gift and waved it a little, the couch bouncing underneath you as he flopped back onto the cushions, sitting beside you. “So, not that those bracelets aren’t amazing - because they are - but they can’t top this. Are you ready for the best gift of the year?”
“I suppose so.” You wiggled your fingers, in a ‘gimme’ motion, and it handed it over. You were no longer delicate with the opening, tearing at the paper roughly to reveal what was inside, and shucking it of the silk that hid it, before lifting it up to get a better look.
It was a scrapbook, a beautiful fake-leather design that had golden-embossed letters across the front. Opening it up, there was a small gasp on your lips, pictures of yourself and Thomas that you’d never seen before, right from the very first hours of your wedding.
You hadn't even put on your dress yet, still standing with your hair pinned back waiting to be styled, make-up half done, and a glass of champagne in hand as you laughed with you friends, a shot clearly taken by one of the girls who’d been with you that morning as you got ready. Another beside it was of Thomas, face red and a slightly panicked look on his features as he stood with his shirt half-buttoned, one shoe in hand as he stared around the room for the other, a note written underneath that Newt had hidden it from him just to fuck with him.
Turning the pages, you found ones that were more professional, outtakes from the photographer that weren’t ones that had ever made the cut, slightly blurry ones or the sun shining across the scene, ones where you weren’t looking or weren’t as visible in crowds, and yet they were perfect. Every glance you had cast Thomas, all the moments between you both that the photographer had somehow seemed to capture, memories you didn’t even realise you had all flooding back, the little moments that weren’t staged or pressured like a first dance, your lips sat parted in awe. They had gone one, too, print outs and pictures from your honeymoon, photos you had taken together, or hadn't realised he had taken at all.
“Did you make this yourself?”
“I had a little help, but mostly, yeah. Is it okay?” He lifted his hand to his face, chewing on his nail lightly as he stared at you, and you reached a hand out, bringing it away from his face, and leaning in a little closer to him. He sighed in relief, sensing where this was going, and moving in close enough to rest his forehead against your own.
“It’s perfect, I love it.”
He let out a little laugh, nodding his head to himself in confirmation, before closing the gap. It was a sweet and soft kiss, one that conveyed everything that needed to be said, and paper crinkled loudly as he shifted, pushing it away to the side, falling to the floor after being removed from where it was pressed between your bodies as he pulled you in closer, and you held his face with both hands, nails scratching lightly at his jaw, freshly shaven and soft skin making him shudder as you scratched at it lightly.
“I love you.”
“I know, I love you too.” His mouth moved, trailing along your skin to your cheek, kisses being pressed all the way along, up your temple to your forehead, and your face screwed up at the ticklish feeling, making him laugh as he felt your features wrinkle under his lips. “Gettin’ on into the day, want to go find something to make for Christmas dinner?”
“Absolutely.”
He stood first, offering his hands out to you and pulling you to your feet when your fingers slid into his and held on tight, and he winked a little, hands slipping around behind you, pinching at your ass cheekily and making you jump, shrugging when you gasped and fixed him with a questioning look. “You’re just hot. Your ass has been looking great lately.”
“You’re so horny, all the time.”
“Because my wife is hot, that’s why.” You rolled your eyes, letting him walk a step ahead of you, and you placed a loud smack on his ass as he went, watching as he turned to face you with a dropped jaw and pink cheeks, grabbing at his own ass for protection as he walked backwards. “You did not!”
“What can I say? You’re just hot. Your ass has been looking great lately.” He mimicked you childishly, a grin taking over his features despite it, and he snatched up both of your hands in his, holding them up high like a revered and feared weapon, dragging you into the kitchen as you stumbled over your own feet.
In the freezer, you had a small batch of chicken, some frozen vegetables and an apple pie. In the fridge, you had some potatoes, and enough spices in the cupboards to make decent gravy. He boiled water while you sliced the potatoes, dropping them in to begin boiling, and turning up the radio to listen to the Christmas songs that were playing. Once your chicken and potatoes were in the oven, you chopped up some veggies for roasting, hearing him clatter around in the cupboards, and he insisted that you stayed turned around to face the counter.
When he finally let you look, there was a tablecloth that you had forgotten you even had laid out, white with a few stains around the edges, and a faded and slightly purple mark in the middle from where wine had been split on it and never property come out before it had been permanently put away, but he’d carefully covered it by placing your vase full of winter flowers in the middle. There was cutlery laid out ready, and bowls and plates, and he was overly proud of himself for the decorations, chairs pulled around a little so that you’d still be able to see one another, instead of being blocked off by the centrepiece.
“So, guess what I found while setting up the table?”
“What did you find, baby?”
The sloshing sound gave it away, before he ever pulled it out from behind his back, and he waved it at you a little. “A super nice bottle of wine that was a wedding present. Wanna’ get us some glasses?”
“Not right now, I don’t want to drink when we’re on video chat with our friends.” His face fell a little, brows raising, before he was fixing you with a quizzical glance, and you laughed, shaking your head at his speculation. “Maybe later, okay? I’m having a great time with you right as we are. Besides, don’t you think wine that special is more of a late-night drink, when we’re watching a movie, all alone? Don’t you want to save it for some fun later?”
You dragged a nail along his chest, catching lightly on the fabric on his shirt, and he followed it with his gaze, licking at his lips and nodding his head. “Shit, you’re totally right.”
“Mhm, always am.” You grinned, and he scoffed, but pecked your lips, offering his agreement to you, and placing the bottle down on the counter.
The clock ticked over, half an hour until four o’clock, and you started off the mashed potatoes on reheating, and the rest of the food on cooking, and you had everything that you needed to have a meal. You worked together to clean up the living room, scooping up all the leftover scraps, and you vacuumed all the sparkles that were going to get stuck in the carpet. Once you were finished, you settled down together on the couch, laptop set up before you, and waiting for the group to become active, and to click through onto the camera.
Thomas was pressed up to your side, arm stretched out along the back of the couch behind you, fingers brushing against your shoulder, waiting as everybody joined, until noise was filling your living room, seeing everybody else light up.
As the evening went on, you listened to each of them talk about what they’d done with their day, and show off their presents, and the men had been overly excited to see how their scrapbooking efforts had gone down, Minho complaining about the paper-cuts he’d gotten at every possible chance there was.
You were drunk on the feeling of pure joy, hearing your friends laugh and share stories, the sadness that you’d held about not being able to see your friends ebbing away to be replaced with simple happiness, at getting to hear what their days had entailed despite it. Brenda had dropped an entire tray of roast potatoes, and they had to start again, Minho had fed his dog turkey and vegetables, and the sweet little puppy had thrown it up on his foot after getting over-excited about playing fetch ten minutes later, and Newt had accidentally spilt the water at the bottom of his tree and almost lost an eye on the lower branches while mopping it up. There was a graze just below his left eye.
They shared their gifts, and got progressively more drunk, and some of the other families even stopped by at some points to give a wave, and well-wishes, and talk with you for a quick moment. It was lovely, and perfect in its own way, and when it had been over, you’d been hesitant to end the call at all and let them go. As the screen of the computer had gone black, you’d turned to your lover, legs swung across his lap and cuddling in a little closer as the temperatures began to drop down once again, awe evident on your features as snow was beginning to flutter down once again.
The look on his face was soft as you brushed the strands of hair back and out of his eyes, before they were fluttering shut upon feeling your thumb brushing over his cheek. Your dinner was only minutes away from being ready, and you were content in one another’s company, simply letting the day drain away as you soaked up how it felt just to be the two of you, spending your first Christmas in a home you owned, as a married couple, with everything in the world to look forwards to. Resting your cheek on his shoulder, his arms tightened around you leaning back and into the cushions comfortably, as the two of you sat in loving silence.
The oven-timer dinged, and you were hesitant to move, a groan on your lips, lingering a few minutes longer, before you shifted, his grip on your loosening as you got up. The smell of freshly cooked food filled the air, steam pouring out of the oven from the second that it was opened, and it drifted around you as you began to pull out the trays, hearing your husband clattering around behind you as he gathered plates and cutlery.
Bumping his hip against yours as he came to stand behind you, he had a spoon in his hands, laying the plates out and beginning to dish up the vegetable as you stood beside one another, serving up food in comfortable silence. Warmth was pouring off of the man, he’d always felt like a human space heater, always making it extra comfortable to be wrapped up in his arms, and you were tempted to just fall into his grip right now, but resisted, your stomach rumbling happily as your meal came together.
Leaving all of the equipment stacked up in the sink, that was definitely something you could deal with later, Thomas taking his seat first, leg reached out under the table as he pushed your chair out for you, fingers twitching atop the table cloth as he tries to resist the urge to start eating until you were ready. Placing a glass down for him, you were drinking water yourself, and Thomas raised his brows, accepting the drink you were holding out for him, eyes flicking to the counter.
“No wine?”
“I have plans for the wine later.” You teased, one eye dropping in a wink, and pink spread over his cheeks in an adorable blush, despite him being a cocky as he always was, and his lips twisted up in a slight smirk.
“Oh, yes, I almost forgot that you’d promised me one more gift.” His eyes dropped down for a second, scanning along what he could see of your body above the table, before stabbing at some of the vegetables on his plate and chewing on them happily. It was an odd mix of foods, making the best of your Christmas dinner that you could, and yet, it was one that you’d always remember and be able to tell as a story at parties and to friends in the future, a Christmas that you’d never forget.
This year was undoubtedly the biggest one to ever change your life, a turning point, not just the start of a new chapter, but the ending of one book and the beginning of a whole new one. “We got married this year.”
Thomas glanced up, pausing with his fork halfway to his mouth, and you saw the look of mischief flash through his eyes before his lips had even quirked up into a smirk around the words he was forming; “I know. I was there, or do you not remember?”
“Oh, hush.” You frowned, rolling your eyes at him, and he stretched out under the table, toes poking against your foot, before you stretched back, locking your ankle with his own, and he continued to eat as he waited for you to expand on your point. “I just mean, well, look at us. We have a house, and we’re married, and it’s all just ours. We made it all ourselves. Five years ago, I would’ve been at my parents’ house eating turkey and listening to my cousins bitch about how I shouldn’t still be single.”
“Five years ago, I would’ve been drunk by now, listening to Minho flirt with his holi-date and listening to Newt pine after hot magazine models, while I pictured you and how much I loved you, and I didn’t even know your name yet.” Your breathing got stuck a little in your throat, your brows raising at the soft tone in his voice as he placed down his knife and fork across the centre of his plate, shrugging as he leaned back in his seat. “I just knew that one day I’d find the perfect woman; then, a few months later, I met you.”
“I still get butterflies when you tell me you love me.”
“I love you.” He beamed, watching as you squirmed a little in your seat, watching your reaction and knowing the effect he had on you, snickering to himself a little, before sobering up once again. “I still get that tingly feeling when you kiss me sometimes, all the way down to my toes. At the most random of times, like in the milk aisle at the supermarket, or in the bathroom when I'm brushing my teeth.”
“Glad to know I still have that effect on you.” You took a sip of your water, smirking over the rim of your glass at him, and he just continued to stare, a lazy and distant kind of look on his face, and you could tell that his mind had slipped far away, lost in his thoughts, but it was nothing that you weren’t used to. You finished up your own food, and sat with him for a while in silence, fading in and out of your thoughts, slipping to and from for a while, until the chair grew uncomfortable, and you stood up, stretching your limbs out and shaking yourself down.
He watched you go, sighing a little as he did, and taking your outstretched hands when you offered them to him. As he stood, you went from looking down at him to looking up, and he leaned down, just enough to bump his nose against your own.
“Wanna’ go cuddle on the couch with a blanket?”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.” He teased, pushing you a little toward the doorway. “Go find a blanket and pick out a movie, I’ll put everything in the dishwasher and set it off, I’ll be there in two minutes, okay?”
“M’kay.” You whispered, pushing up onto the tips of your toes long enough to steal a kiss from his lips, and he pressed back eagerly upon feeling your mouth against his own. Hands on your waist pushed you back, his lips still puckered as he pulled away, urging you to go and get comfortable. The kitchen tiles were chilled underfoot as you walked away, and the floorboards were still cold to the touch too, but the carpets of the living room were a little warmer, and as you picked up the knitted blanket that was rolled up on the back of the couch.
Wrapping it over your shoulders, you grabbed the remotes, turning on the TV and waiting for the channels to adjust, before you were loading up Netflix to scroll through the Christmas movies. Thomas was clattering about in the kitchen, the sounds of cutlery scraping on plates and of them being loaded into the racks, set up to be washed. As you settled on one, you heard him toying with the controls, beeping signalling that the machine had started up on cleaning the dishes used, and the flooring creaked under every step he took, before the cushions were dipping and caving beside you as he settled down at your side.
Wrapping an arm over your shoulders, he pulled you back into his chest, letting you get comfortable as he did, spreading one leg out along the couch, and one remaining where it was, planted on the floor for support as you settled back into his chest, lips brushing across your head. “I chose us a movie to watch.”
“Whatever you want is fine with me, baby.”
“Such a sap.” You mumbled, receiving a teasing squeeze around you in retaliation for your words as you pressed play, and feeling him tugging at the blanket a little until you shed it, spreading it out over your lap and his legs, until both of you were tucked snugly underneath it, the beginning credits beginning to play.
Yo almost dozed off only a few minutes in, a combination of feeling so full and content, loved and safe in the arms of the man you loved. One hand was sitting in your lap, fingers waived with your own loosely above the covers, while the other was sitting underneath the edge of your shirt, sitting over your stomach, holding you anchored to him.
You barely registered the movie playing, more caught up in your mind over everything you found yourself with, every situation and scenario, every night being able to go to bed alongside the man you loved, and waking up to him in the morning.
Only a few years ago, you were alone, with no idea you were about to meet the love of your life. Then, you’d started a new job, and met a sweet security guard with a cocky attitude and a heart of gold, and he’d stolen your heart right out from under you while sweeping you off of your feet, even when you hadn't planned for it to happen. You had thought you were happy, that you were content with being single and focusing on yourself, and yet, just by being himself, he had somehow become everything you wanted and needed.
You wouldn’t change it for the world.
Halfway through, Thomas had grown bored of sitting quietly, as he usually did, his fingers stroking a little over your skin as he tried to grab your attention, and his lips moving along your shoulder, the ti of his nose stroking stray strands of hair out of his way, until he could get to the column of your throat.
His teeth nipped a little at your flesh, just enough to tease, a light laugh falling from you as you trembled in his arms a little bit, and you twisted around to face him, straddling his lap as you did, and he smiled up, hands coming to sit on your hips as yours sat on his shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the base of his neck. “Bored, Tommy?”
“Little bit. This film kinda’ sucks.”
You tried to suppress the snort of a laugh that you wanted to release, nodding your head as you knew it to be true. It wasn’t the greatest, but it was new and trending on Netflix, and so had given it a go. Shifting out of his hold, he whined a little as you went, but watched you walk away, scooping up one of the boxes you’d given him, and bringing it back over, shaking it excitedly. “Why don’t you try your new gift out, huh? I’ll help you pick something to print!”
He stood up to meet you, nodding his head and taking it from your hands, before trying to undo the tape sealing the box shut, and tipping the components out onto the couch.
“I’ll take everything else to the bedroom, you get it set up, ‘kay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He teased, offering you a little wink, before he was padding across to one of the only remaining empty sockets now they were filled with Christmas lights and decorations, and sitting down on the carpet, legs crossed as he plugged it in and reached back for the instruction booklet.
Grabbing the remaining boxes and bags, you made your way through the house, backing through the door and pushing it open with your butt, before using your elbow to flick on the bedroom light. The boxes were stacked in the corner, everything else sitting on top, a job to be dealt with in the morning. The beautiful leather-bound album that was sitting on top of them all had the embossed lettering glittering under the light, and you picked it up, taking a seat on the bed and placing it down in your lap.
It was physical proof of the love between you both, a record of every moment that you’d been able to map throughout your wedding, your relationship coming to an ultimate peak, and blossoming into something even more incredible. Every page brought you a little closer to tears, as you realised just how much you loved him, and how you wouldn’t be who you were anymore without him. Placing the beautiful album back down, you grabbed the final bag, discarding the tissue paper and pushing the bedroom door closed a little more, a smirk on your lips.
You could hear whispered curses and mumbles coming from your husband as he tried to work out how to operate the machine you’d bought him, and you slipped your clothes from your body, dropping them into the laundry hamper. It only took you a moment to rub a freshly scented moisturiser over your body, skin still smooth and clean from the last shower you’d had, and a few spritzes of the perfume you knew drove your lover mad.
Taking off the pretty tags form the new lacy set laid out on the covers, you slipped the garments onto your body, suspenders clipping once you’d pulled the stockings up your legs, and your breasts were swollen in the bra, and you couldn't deny how good you looked, and felt. Once you were dressed, feet moving softly on the floorboards as you returned to the living room, you ran a hand through your hair, messing it up just enough to be sexy, and leaning on the doorframe.
“You figure it out yet, baby?”
“Almost.” He mumbled, never looking up, and you waited, brows raising a little when he continued to be completely preoccupied with the task at hand. He placed the booklet between his teeth, a huff on his lips as he tried to press a series of buttons again, only for it to beep and flash red at him, and he huffed, not noticing you making your way towards him.
“Little cold in here, don’t you want to warm up?”
“Blanket is still on the couch.”
You grinned, thrilled to know he was enjoying your gift so much, but ready for him to be busy with something else for a little while. Placing a finger under his chin, you twisted his head toward you, his eyes finally leaving the device he’d been tinkering with, and his jaw dropped. The paper fell from his mouth and fluttered away, his eyes dragging along you slowly, down to your feet before moving back up to your face, and then it was all the way down once again. He took in every feature, eyes lingering on the pace where your stockings were held up, the soft flesh there, his fingers twitched a little before he was taking in the intricate lace detailing covering you.
“Holy fuck, baby.” He put the device down, twisting to face you, moving to kneel instead of sitting, and his hands hooked onto the back of your legs, fingers flexing against your calves. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
He leaned in to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your upper thigh, an equally wet one to match on the other side, kneeling before you as he kissed at your flesh slowly, dragging the tip of his nose over the front of your covered core, just above where your would’ve really wanted him, and your hand slipped into his hair. His fingers were kneading at your muscle as he worked his way up, until he was taking handfuls of your barely covered ass in his hold, beginning to stand slowly, kissing his way up your body with every inch that he rose upwards, until he was standing fully before you.
Your head tipped back as he sucked on your neck, working to leave a pretty mark on the junction between your throat and shoulder, his hands smoothing over your sides, until he could squeeze at your breasts, making you arch up into his body, a chuckle washing over your skin.
“Jump for me, angel.”
He caught you as you did, more than experienced in the act, lifting you up into his arms as your legs wrapped around his waist, never once stumbling or tripping as he guided you to the bedroom, never letting up on his assault along your neck. Your back met the covers, pressing you down into the soft material carefully, letting you inch your way up until your head was in the pillows as he crawled after you, body covering your own.
Finally, you pulled his mouth to meet yours, a hot and wet kiss, long overdue and sorely needed, his teeth all but clashing with your own from the intensity of it.
He held himself up above you with both hands, his body pressing to your own as one thigh came up to settle between your legs, a whimper leaving you, swallowed by him as the muscle pressed against your already wettening core. When you finally ran out of breath, he shifted his kisses along your jaw, nipping as he went, and you knew that there would be red patches and dark bruises to follow, the slight scrape of his stubble along your skin making you tremble a little underneath him, and your hips bucked up against him.
“S’okay, sweetheart. Go ahead, rub up on my thigh, I know you want to.” His words washed over your jaw in hot breaths, a whine leaving you, before you were doing exactly as he’d offered, hips beginning to roll up against him. The friction sparked something in your gut, a soft sigh leaving you, pressing down harder with each movement you made, seeking out the climax that was slowly beginning to build. As you did, Thomas was shifting further and further down your body, pulling out the ribbons and strings that were holding the lace closed around your body, each bow delicately undone revealing a little more of your body to him. “You look so hot in this. I have good taste.”
He caught your eyes, just for a second, but long enough to wink at you to follow his comment, before he was kneeling back, sitting on his heels and pulling you up alongside him. Settling you in his lap, your arms looped around his neck, legs kneeling on either side of his waist, sitting atop his thighs, a whine leaving you as you could no longer grind against his thigh.
Rough hands on your hips centred you across him, licking over his lips to bite down on his lower lip as he pushed you down against the bulge in his sweats, a quick breath expelled as you did, and his eyes seemed to darken even further, twinkling in the low light pouring in from the corridor.
One arm wrapped around your waist to support you as you leaned back from him, a grunt spilling out as you pressed down harder into him, his cock throbbing through the material against your centre. As you flicked on the lamp, warm light flooded over the room, lighting it up enough for you to see one another, casting shadows over you both that sharpened his features, catching the golden flecks within his eyes as he looked at you.
“Do you feel what you do to me, angel? Pretty lady in my lap, all dolled up in lace. You’re incredible.”
“You have the same effect on me, don’t you worry.” You whispered, leaning in to catch his lips with your own again in a slower kiss. He was holding you to him tightly, mouth working with yours in the slow rhythms that you set, perfectly willing to take all the time in the world, because you had nowhere else to be except right here, with one another. Tracing your tongue song his lip, he let out a soft sound as he parted his lips for you, head twisting to the side so that he could dip into you a little further, tongue exploring your mouth as though he’d never kissed you in such a way before, butterflies rising in your stomach at the delicate way in which he held you.
Tugging at the hem of his shirt, you inched it up along his body, legs tightening around him to hold yourself steady as his arms raised over his head to let you strip it away, before he was peeling the lingerie from your body down, letting it pool around your waist as his shirt fell away from your hands to the floor, discarded for the time being. The second your upper body was able to him, you were being laid back into the bedding, letting him follow after, your head resting a month the pillows, hands on his cheeks to hold his kiss to you, legs wrapping around him as you did.
Fingers inched along your body, the muscles in your stomach fluttering as he did, until they were slipping under the fabric, pushing the crotch of your panties aside to tease a finger through your slick folds. His lips twisted up against your own, a smile that was borderline a smirk against your lips, and his forehead met your own as he pulled back.
“I love knowing I can get you like this.” His lips still brushed against yours as he spoke, a single digit slipping into your entrance, and you arched up into him as the pad brushed along your walls slowly. He set a steady pace, picking up speed as he went, your jaw dropping a little, breath shared between you both as he moved.
He was taking his time, what you had expected would be fast and rough was turning out to be slow and passionate. You’d expected him to take one look at you in the pretty little number he’d bought you and almost tear it right off of you, to fuck you senseless until you were tearing up his back and screaming out loud enough that you’d bother the neighbours if the houses were connected, but instead, you were getting a night of lovemaking and torturous teasing.
A second finger prodded at your entrance, slipping into you with ease as your slick coated his fingers, arousal flowing from you without difficulty, and a cry of his name was dragged for your lips the second he crooked them while buried deep within you. “That’s right, baby. Call my name.”
“Tommy, please, stop teasing me!”
“Tell me what you want, baby love.” He pecked your lips sweetly as you whimpered, fingers slowing even more within you, deep and penetrating movements each time, though, your breath shallow in your lungs as your head began to spin and stomach began to tighten. “Use your words, pretty girl.”
The way his voice had twisted into something a little darker, something condescending that made you cry out, because it was just enough to leave you desperate and gasping as he dominated over you. “More. Faster, harder, anything, I just need more.”
“Yeah? I can do that for you.” He scissored his fingers as he pulled out, stretching your entrance to warm you up, that delicious burn creating a dull ache that was chased away by pure lust, your body shaking as he plunged his fingers back into you. He took it up, doing just as you’d asked, your eyes rolling back into your head with every subtle scrape of his blunt nails against your wall as he fucked your roughly onto his fingers, a filthy sound filling the room as he worked, your hips rocking up into his palm as you tried to meet his motions, clit rubbing against his palm through the layers of bunched up and pushed aside materials that blocked your entrance form him. “Feel you squeezin’ my fingers, angel, so tight. Just like you do when you’re wrapped around my cock. You want that?”
“Yes, yes, I do! Please!”
You could barely form words, the looming climax that was hanging over your head was making you dizzy, and he chuckled, kissing at your jaw, sucking what would become a dark bruise onto the hinge of your jaw, licking wetly over it once he was finished, and blowing cool breath over the wet patch, watching you tremble underneath him. “Tell me what you want, pretty baby. Use your words, or have I fucked you stupid, already?”
A growl on your lips, despite the fact that you’d never speak up, because every time he took on this kind of personality with you it drove you insane, and so you leaned dup inside, catching his lower lip in your teeth and tugging a little, a much louder and more threatening growl in return. His motions stilled, fingers buried deep inside of you, pads pushed up against your g-spot, the pressure making your entire body twitch and tremble at the stimulation, gasping out in need as you groaned.
“I said, use your words, not get sassy with me.”
“You stopped, don’t stop. I’m close, Tommy.” Your fingers brushed over his wrist, trying to get him to move, but he tutted, shaking his head, the tip of his nose brushing over yours.
“Use your words, honey, and you can have whatever you want.” He pulled his fingers out of you, a dirty sound following, and you cried out in distaste, before he was sucking on his fingers, and watching you carefully.
Heat flushed over your face as you watched him, tongue lapping at his fingers noisily as he cleaned them of your arousal, waiting for you to speak up with what you wanted, and you had to force yourself past your shyness, watching his eager enthusiasm as he stared you down, brows raised and waiting with a sultry look on his face. Kneeling back, he settled between your parted thighs, one finger snapping the soaked lace back into place over your folds, and your body jerked at the sting, legs snapping shut as a short but loud moan sounded from you as he did.
He grinned as he felt your thighs clamp around him a little, large hands smoothing up over your legs, undoing the clips that were holding up your stockings, eyes fixed on yours as he moved, in no hurry.
“Tommy..”
“Yes, my love? You got something to say to me?”
You pushed up on your hands, propping yourself up before him, and his eyes dropped down to the swell of your tits momentarily, caught in awe momentarily, and the confidence it gave you rushed through your body. “I want you to fuck me, Tommy. Fast and rough, real good, like I know you can. Make me scream, Thomas.”
“See? Now that wasn’t that hard, was it?” His hands hooked into the rest of the fabric, yanking it down your hips and off of your body, throwing it away to the floor. Calloused palms landed on your knees, pushing your thighs apart, and your body collapsed back into the bedding. “That’s all you had to say.”
You sneered a little, jumping as he pinched at the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh, before he was standing from the bed, palming at his evident erection through the worn thin cotton of his sweats, a slight wet mark forming on the front of his pants from the precum dribbling from his cock, before he was pushing them away down his legs. They pooled at his ankles, kicked away, and you reached out to him, curling a finger as you beckoned him closer to you.
Instead, he caught your hand, pulling your hand in towards him a little and curling your fingers around his length, a breathy sigh leaving him as you took the hint and pumped him slowly. Swiping the pad of your thumb over his head, he hissed a little as you brushed across the slit on his cock, collecting up the wetness that was beading there, and pulling your hand away, sucking the digit between your lips as he watched through half-lidded eyes.
Rolling down onto the bed beside you, the mattress dipped under his weight, bounding you up into his body, and he took your momentarily elevated height as an opportunity to press a rough kiss to your lips, one hand tangling in your hair. The taste of your own essence was spread to your lips, matching the salty taste of his arousal still lingering along your lips, making everything seem even more erotic.
Lining himself up, you felt him gasp into your mouth as he sank into your awaiting heat, your breath forced from your lungs as you felt him stretch you out in a way that had always worked so perfectly, the two of you syncing up in perfect harmony just the way you always did, his cock sitting snugly between your walls. He filled you up, a delicious friction with every ridge within you that dragged against him, every pulse he made making you pulse around him, a connection so deep and intimate that it made you flush every single time it happened.
One of your hands sat on his shoulders, the other weaving into his hair to scratch at his scalp lightly. “Kiss me, Thomas.”
“Thought you wanted me to make you scream?” He whispered, leaning down enough to catch your lips with his, not waiting for your response, soft kisses that seemed completely fractured from the moment, out of place or wrong, and yet completely and utterly right. Drags of lips over your own, making your racing heart skip a beat on your chest at the tenderness of the way he held you, your hand tightening in his hair until he groaned a little as you tugged on the strands, and your lips were stinging a little when he pulled back, his own red and swollen to match.
“I do want that, I just wanted some lovin’ first.”
“I'm always lovin’ on you, baby.” He smiled, stealing a final kiss from your lips, before he was pulling out, every inch of him dragging over your inner walls, pausing for only a second to prolong your sensual suffering, before he was slamming into you. A rough thrust that made every nerve within you light up, and you barely had time to process your own thoughts, to take a breath or cry out his name, before he was repeating the action.
The hand in his hair twisted even tighter, pulling on the soft strands as you held onto him, trying to ground yourself down to the earth. Every time together and you feel like you were floating in the clouds, reaching heaven with every thrust he delivered. The telltale signs of another climax were beginning to show, the coil in your stomach tightening and your body was lighting up with fire.
Cupping his face, your thumb smoothed over his cheek, feeling him lean into you, before he was slowing down for only a second in order to pull your hand down pinning it to the bed and lacing his fingers with your own. The tip of his cock was pressing up to the sweet spot inside of you, your back arching up, sweat beading along his skin with the speed of which he was filling you up, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “You’re always so damn tight, honey. Love the way you feel.”
You could only nod, the stretch of him tucked within you making every thought in your head seem to evaporate, and your hand slipped along his shoulder to his back. Nails digging into pale flesh, tearing tracks in mole-speckles skin that would show up red and raw, and he pressed up into your touch, the slightly biting pain being something that you knew he loved, especially when he really wanted to go wild. A deep noise in his throat, something between a groan and a growl, before he was pulling back, both hands slipping down your body.
He started at your chest, large hands cupping around and plump tits in his hands, groping tightly until you keened up into him with a whine, your hips rolling to meet his movements as he kept them going. You could barely breathe, the weight of your oncoming peak was crushing you, while burning you from the inside out and as though he had sensed it, he slowed down, barely moving now, letting you fuck yourself against him as you tried to coax him into action, but it was of no use.
Dipping down, he caught one stuff nipple between his teeth, a light nip that made you cry out, a sound that was high-pitched and sharp as your head spun, sense and focus fading away as your vision grew fuzzy, walls clamping around him. His mouth closed further over your breast, sucking the supple flesh into his mouth, teeth grazing soft skin as his tongue lapped leisurely at the buds that were standing taut for him, and he knew exactly how to press all of your buttons, years of experience working well for him. The other hand furthered your pleasure by toying with the mound on the other side of your chest, skilled fingers tugging and taunting until you couldn't take it anymore.
Your second orgasm of the night, spurred on simply by his obsession with your breasts, and yet it hadn't been the first time he would make you come simply by playing with them, and it wouldn't be the last.
“So reactive for me, sweetheart. How do you feel, hm?”
He pulled away, chin and cheeks a little shin from his own spit, a cold breeze sweeping over your chest, and he dipped down, giving the other the same treatment, without quite as much ferocity, and you could barely form words as you tried to reply, to tell him how good he always made you feel, but there wasn’t any competent ability left within you.
“Oh, have I fucked all the sense out of your pretty little head, huh?” You could only nod, watching as his ego inflated a little more before your very sights, his eyes sparkling with mischief and chest puffing out. One hand dragged along your stomach as he sat back fully, fingers spreading out across your stomach, his gaze following, and you grinned, watching as he did so. “How about I fuck something into you, huh?”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He bit down on his lip, his cock pulsing within you, and you longed to know just what kind of images were going through his head that had garnered a reaction like that, and soon, his mouth was opening to spill it all to you, without you even needing to ask; “Thinkin’ ‘bout how pretty you’d look all swelled up with my baby in you, tits getting bigger, ready to feed our kid. Prettiest mom on the whole damn block, you’d be. All mine, making our family, one of these next Christmases, maybe they’ll be little feet wandering around, or you’ll be all around, ready to pop, give me a son or daughter, huh?”
“That what you want? You wanna’ put a baby in here, huh?” For emphasis, you squeezed around him, a threatening sound making itself known as a warning glare was mixed upon you, one that only fueled the inferno raging within you as you teetered on the building of your next peak. “Big talk, think you can live up to the hype? Been months now, you still haven’t knocked me up, Tommy. Better get to it.”
“You’re circling dangerous ground, baby. Better watch your fuckin’ mouth.” He hissed, leaning back over you, a dark look stitching into his features and you shrugged, trying to calm your heart as it threatened to break your ribs and burst right out of your chest.
“I don’t know, I’m just saying. Maybe, you’re not fucking me good enough.”
“Oh, I’m gonna’ show you who fucks good enough. I don’t want you to be able to walk or talk after this, I want your throat so torn up your attitude is kept inside.” Red flushed along his face, right down to his neck, and excitement was bursting through your body. With rough hands on your hips that would leave dotted bruises on your flesh come morning, you were flipped over, your stomach pressing into the bedding.
You gasped, his hands smoothing up along your back, before he was leaning over you, dripping and wet cock pressed to your thigh as he pinned you down to the bed. Hot breath washed over your cheek, before he was biting lightly on your earlobe, the bed dipping on either side of you as he knelt over you, and you pushed back into him. Rolling your hips up, he growled a little, pressing you back down into the bed even more.
“Behave, sweetheart, or I’m not letting you come until you’re crying for it.”
You stilled, going stiff at the simple threat, and he chuckled, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your shoulder, hands tracing up along your arms as he trusted you to keep them in place. Settling behind you, a loud smack was placed to your ass, the skin stinging deliciously as the patch flared up with heat, feeling him palm at the patch as he soothed it over a little, a yelp tearing from you when he repeated the action on the opposite side without warning, and you bit down on your lip just to muffle the sounds.
Your hips were pulled up, before hands on your shoulders were following, pulling you up until you were kneeling before him, a hand smoothing around your waist. He patted lightly at your stomach, rubbing over it carefully. His hands then dipped further down, two fingers parting your folds, rubbing lightly at the button nestled between your thighs, and your hips jumped up into his hand, a shaky sound emitted from you.
“C’mon, Tommy, it’s Christmas. Stop teasing me.”
“Okay, sweetheart, since you asked so nicely.” He mumbled, fingers dragging up your body, wet trails of your own arousal left on your skin, before he was slipping them between your lips. You sucked tightly, the taste of your own slick covering your tongue as you lapped at the digits, cleaning them off as he hummed happily into your ear, chin hooked over your shoulder. Your hand slipped down between your bodies, lining him up behind you, before he was easing into you.
His groan in your ear was drowned out by the loud mewls that you let out, fluttering and overly sensitive walls welcoming him back, gripping onto him tightly as he sank his full length within you. The second he was within you, his fingers were leaving your mouth, pushing you back down until your cheek was flush to the bedding, fingers digging into the blanket and nails threatening to tear at it as he wasted no time.
Hips snapping into your own, a bruising pace that would leave you with that ache between your thighs that always made you shake in the morning to follow as you remembered the way that he’d fucked you into oblivion. The sounds you were making were sure to be echoing off of every wall in the house, your throat raw, and you pushed back into him each time, trying to meet his motions, but the pace he was setting was far too fast, and your movements were sloppy in comparison. Your chest was tightening, every muscle in your body going stiff, and your fingers became fists as you tried to hold out a little longer, to not give in as quickly as you thought you might.
You could feel him nearing his edge, the husk of his voice getting a little deeper, cracking each time he edged closer to his own orgasm, his cock throbbing within your walls as he fucked you into the bed. One hand tangled in your hair, tugging at the roots as he pulled back your head, screams loud and uninterrupted for him to hear.
“That’s right, baby, nice and loud.” He tugged you back even further, a sharp cry in pain that made everything go into overdrive, before your back was pressing to his chest. One hand came to seal around your throat. Squeezing lightly, your noises cut off, going silent in your throat as your vision spotted. “Tell me again, baby, who doesn’t fuck you good enough?”
Your mouth opened again, no sounds coming out, simple squeals as he loosened his grip a little. The other hand was on your waist, gripping so hard that the area was beginning to tingle, blunt nails pressing into your skin, and your climax began washing over you. Your jaw going slack, your eyes rolled back as your head sat on his shoulder, and your screams had gone completely silent as white heat shot through your body. Every nerve lit up in your body, like fireworks going off in your core. He didn’t stop there, fingers slipping down to rub at your clit, your body jerking in his grip as broken gasps spilt out.
Sparks ran all along your body, tears lining your eyes as he abused the bud with his rapid-paced motions, and a scream tore from you as that same climax became doubly as strong, bliss taking you over as you felt boneless. He didn’t let up, not until your cheeks were wet and you were going limp in his arms, legs slick from your gushing arousal. When you couldn't take it anymore, crying in his grasp, he let you go, your entire body quivering while you settled on the mattress. His cock slipped from you for only a second as you were turned over in his arms.
He all but collapsed down on top of you, face pressed into your neck, chest pressed up to yours and you could feel his heart thudding against his chest and straight through to your own. With a few final thrusts, weak and desperate, he stiffened, ribbons of hot cum pumping out with your walls, making you whimper just at the feeling that would never be anything other than otherworldly bliss as he filled you to the brim.
“Fucking hell, I’ll never get used to that.” He mumbled, words muffled by where he was still pressed up against you, nose nuzzling into your hair, and your arms wrapped around him. He hissed a little, feeling your fingers smoothing along his body and brushing over the raw rips along his flesh, made by your nails in the heat of pleasure.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s hot as hell.” He teased, making to roll over when he felt you trying to laugh underneath him, and you squeaked as he took you with him, rolling your exhausted body up and on top of him. His hands found your hips, holding you down firmly onto him when you wiggled back towards the bedding. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?”
“Preferably onto the cool blankets. I love you, but you’re hot and sweaty, and so am I.” You mumbled, pressing yourself up over him, and his hands ran up and down your sides lightly, shrugging as he did. His hair was messy, skin flushed and shining with sweat, accompanied by swollen lips, looking like pure sin as he lounged beneath you.
“Nuh-uh, angel. I told you I was going to fuck a baby into you, and we’re not letting a drop go. Stay right where you are, keepin’ my cock nice and warm, and keeping you full of cum.” As if to emphasise his point, he tugged you down into him, and you chuckled as you found yourself leaning against a slightly sticky shoulder, nails scratching at the hairs on his chest as you tried to catch your breath properly. “Guess I gave you another kind of white Christmas, huh?”
You couldn’t contain your laughs, your body shaking a little above him as the pair of you snickered at his joke, yours out of exhausted embarrassment and his out of genuine humour and pride. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
“Hm, I didn’t marry you for your bad jokes, they were just an addition that I got burdened with.” You teased, a light spank landing on your ass, before both hands were settling on your cheeks, squeezing lightly, before he was jiggling gently, entertaining himself with those basic actions, your cheeks heating up and eyes rolling a little. “Having fun there?”
“A lot, actually. I love your ass.”
“Yes, well, not that I’m not used to it, but how long do you want me to lay here?” You mumbled, hand smoothing out over his chest, slipping around to sit on his side over his ribs instead, and snuggling down a little more to get comfortable.
“Just ‘til you’re pregnant.”
“Oh, great.” You teased, finding him puffing his chest up underneath of you, one of your fingers ping at his chest. “Excited to be a daddy?”
His half-hard cock twitched within you interestedly, and he groaned. “Don’t you dare ruin that word for me.”
“Which word?” You mused, one hand on his cheek, kissing along his stubbled jaw, up to his ear, licking lightly at the shell as he trembled under your touch. “Do you mean ‘daddy’?”
“Baby, please, stop it!” He whined a little, and you hummed, before pressing back a little along him, his length hardening with you as your hips rocked back into his own. He grunted, hold tightening on your body, but never stopping you, letting you rock back into him. Your clit was pressed up to his pelvis from this angle, a perfect friction for every grind, and he whined a little when you propped yourself up even more.
Nails digging into his chest, he stared up at you, tits bouncing and skin glowing in the dull light of the room, hair messy to match his, and you felt beautiful under his stare, watching as he licked at his lips, jaw gaping and eyes scanning along your body.
He eventually settled on the place where the two of you were connected, the simple rolls of your hips becoming more, as you settled into your position of riding his cock, bouncing up and down along his length, and beads of creamy cum leaked from you as you did. You could feel it, the mixtures of both of your arousals leaking from your body, a stick messy dotting the dark hairs curled at his base, before he was reaching a hand down, thumb pressing loosely to your clit, making bored motions as his other hand reached out.
You knew exactly what he wanted, the way his lips puckered, hips thrusting up to meet yours as he grew lazy underneath you, his eyes hooded and dark, a smirk on his lips, before he was bringing your mouth down to his.
Sloppy kisses that barely met the mark as such, his teeth dragging over your lips, tongues clashing and tangling together in wet knots as you moaned into his mouth, sounds quietened by one another as the sounds of teenage-style making out filled the room instead.
It was messy, and filthy, and completely effortless, but as you shook above him, a much lighter climax washing through your body, the final bit of energy that you had being spent, he chased after you, giving you what last he had, until it was dribbling out of you.
“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.” He whispered, never letting up on his kisses, rolling you over a little as you tried to pull away to catch your breath, his mouth following in an unceasing assault against your own, giggles filling the air as he did. One leg hooked over his hip, the other flattening out, and he let you lay down at last. Pushing him away with one hand, he finally did as told, cock slipping from you, making out whimper a little at the soreness you craved finally being present, and you tried to roll away from the bed.
He reached out, with no energy left, his hand coming into contact with the bedding instead as you stood up. His eyes follow you though, a ridiculous boasting look glimmering in them as he watched his cum drip down your skin, barely being properly cleaned up by the handfuls of tissues you used.
You hadn't even made it two steps away from the bed, before he was reaching out, yanking you back down into the bed beside him, so that he could lay his head across your chest and wrap you up in his arms.
“Tommy, let me up.” You giggled, poking at the man who was half splayed out across you, the covers pulled up loosely over your bodies, pooled around his waist, and he grunted with discontent when your fingers stopped running along his back, nails dragging at his skin soothingly, to instead push at his shoulders. “Thomas!”
“Mh, no. I’m comfy, you’re warm.” His words were whispered, eyes fluttering a little, and you groaned, using all the strength you had to push him off of you and roll him over, placing a pillow to his chest as he reached out to latch onto you. He cracked an eye open when he felt the bed dip, watching as you edged toward the door, feet hitting the ground. “Where’re y’ goin’?”
“I love it when you get clingy and sleepy.” You teased, leaning back down to peck his lips, before making your way to the drawers, grabbing some fresh clothes for yourself, he made a grabbing motion at you, snatching loosely at the clothes you threw to him, catching none of them as they scattered around the messed up bedding around him, and his hand fell back down to the covers. “I have one more present for you.”
“I thought we did all the presents.” He sounded strained, sitting up as you pulled on a robe, tying it at the waist to keep the chill away, and shrugging a shirt onto his shoulders, a tremble running along him in the chill, before reaching for his boxers, watching you inquisitively.
“Well, I had one more. I wanted to do it with our friends, but we didn’t get to, and this gift just wouldn't be the same over the camera. We can tell them at New Years.”
“What does that mean?” There was a playful curiosity in his voice now, and you winked, backing out of the door, and making your way through to the bathroom, and into the cabinet where you kept all of your feminine products, a place Thomas only ever entered upon your request, to retrieve the secret little bag stuffed with wrapping paper that lay within. “Baby, what does that mean?”
“Have some patience!” You yelled back, wiping up a packet of tissues as you went, before padding back along the cool floorboards to the warmed carpet of the bedroom, jiggling it a little at him. He was sitting up now, rubbing at his eyes as he tried to shake himself awake, and you moved to kneel beside his legs, clutching onto it and placing the tissues down onto the bed beside you.
“Is it messy?”
“What?”
He took the package, ribbon on top sealing it shut, and he nodded his head to the packet you’d put down. “The tissues; is it messy? Oh, is it flavoured condoms?” He smirked, your jaw dropping a little as you laughed.
“Would you want to open a packet of flavoured condoms in front of your friends at Christmas Day dinner?”
He cringed, shaking his head. “Okay, you got me. I’m at a loss. Can I open it?”
You nodded, thumb flicking under the packet of the tissues to open them up, watching as he nimbly undid the ribbons, and you pulled one of the soft, folded papers out. Parting the sides of the bag, he stared inside, a single object sitting within, and he squinted at it for a moment as he tried to decipher what he was holding, and what exactly it was said, before his eyes widened.
He flipped it over in his hands, holding it carefully now within two fingers, dropped jaw and watering eyes, before finally looking up to you. “You win.”
“Told you I would.”
“You win this year, you win next year, you just won every Christmas for the rest of our lives.”
“I know.” You teased, watching as a tear dropped from his eye, wiping it away gently, and he trembled a little, bringing his hand up to your wrist to pull your hand away from his face, tugging you in closer.
“It’s real?”
“You think I’d fake it?” You joked, your own eyes watering, and he let out a breathless and shaky laugh.
“And you’re totally sure?”
“I had an appointment the other week to confirm it, they called a few days ago. One hundred percent positive.” He was crying again, snatching the tissues from your hand to instead pull you closer, a needy kiss pressed to your lips, as he tried to calm himself down, to bring himself to earth, and wet cheeks slid against your own, a smile on his lips despite trying to kiss you.
“I’m going to be a dad?”
“Yeah, baby. This is the start of our family.” He pushed you back, rolling you into the bedding as the packaging and gifts were discarded. He pecked your lips one final time, before he was tugging at the knots on the front of your robe and lifting your shirt, hands pressing over your stomach lightly.
His fingers were smoothing over your skin, featherlight touches, complete awe on his face as he stared down at your torso, and he grinned widely, dipping down to kiss at your navel lightly. “I love you so much, little one. I already know you’ll be amazing.”
“It’s about the size of a grain of rice right now, Tommy.” You laughed a little as his hands smoothed around to your sides, cheek pressing to your stomach as he laid down, and your fingers wove into his hair lightly.
“I don’t care, I love them. Boy or girl, whoever they become, they’re perfect.”
“Merry Christmas, Thomas.” You whispered, his eyes meeting yours, chin balanced on your flesh, and he smiled, a kind of content softness that only you ever got to see.
“Merry Christmas, my love.” He turned back, nose nuzzling at your stomach. “And, Merry Christmas to you, little one.”
#thomas#thomas x reader#thomas x reader smut#thomas/reader#thomas/reader smut#12 Days of AUmas#dylan o'brien#dylan obrien#dylan obrien thomas#dylan obrien the maze runner#dylan obrien x reader#dylan obrien/reader#dylan obrien x reader smut#dylan obrien/reader smut
280 notes
·
View notes
Text
playing the game | {m} ; slight {f}
oneshot | 4k words
“Because the only way to catch your boyfriend’s attention is to play a game of your own.”
s u m m a r y >> all you wanted was some nice, alone time with your time with your boyfriend, only to have the prick playing rounds of call of duty with his friends. so, you concoct a plan, starting a game which he could not help but take part in, and thoroughly enjoy the consequences.
w a r n i n g s >> teasing, making out, (kinda) dirty talk, handjob, aggressiveness, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!) hyunjin and felix try to be massive cock blockers, aftercare (kind of lmao)
a / n >> this is made thanks to ali’s request and my ass getting horny over minho’s orange hair dear god he’s so hot - anyway, i hope you enjoy, homies!
back to masterlist
YOUR BROWS KNITTED IRRITABLY WHEN YOU WERE IGNORED ONCE MORE.
“Minho.”
No response. Once again, the said-boy chose to dismiss his name on your tongue.
Crossing your arms, you watched your boyfriend sit cross-legged before the TV, eyes trained on the match before him as his back barely touched the bed behind him. The sound of the joysticks clicking harmonised with the bullets firing in the screen, the first person player ducking behind shelter. Various junk food surrounded his settling, crisps and chocolates scattered to be eaten between breaks.
A roll of eyes escaped you.
Minho looked like an animal. His orange hair was disheveled from all the hand raking, bulky headphones covering his ears. His black jumper had its sleeves rolled up, meaning only business, and sweatpants of the same colour hugged his thighs a little too nicely, his phone sitting atop his knee as it buzzed with every text from his friends.
It was ridiculous. Crazy how he had not changed his position for the past four hours. There had to be a time when he paused, but the moment did not arrive to assist you.
“Minho!” You exclaimed. Once again, no response.
Like you said. Ridiculous.
It was a lazy weekend evening, and you had hoped to spend this rare opportunity to relish each other’s company, possibly become wrapped up in your own little games with him. Unfortunately for you, the piece of shit was too engulfed with ‘the boys’ to even notice you standing at the doorway, calling his name countless times.
His complete ignorance made you incredibly annoyed. It didn’t help much that you were feeling a little aroused moments before — it was the reason you arrived in his room, expecting to have your insides rearranged, but your boyfriend was already doing that, but to another player by rifling him bloody.
“Yes, yes, yes! Wait, there’s a man to your right! Hyunjin, to your fucking right!”
A hard scoff left your lips, stepping into his room, an expanse of mint-coloured walls and books everywhere, evidence of his hard work. His bed was made perfectly, you noticed with a swelling heart, knowing he had probably cleaned it for your arrival.
You walked over to where he sat, staring at his player stalking forward, reaching for ammo in a nearby storage box. A string of curses caught your ears, listening to Hyunjin scream in frustration as he’s killed off.
Settling yourself down beside him, you looked to him. “Minho,” you got out.
His eyes were still glued to the screen when he said, “Hey, baby.” Suddenly, he cursed, pressing on the buttons aggressively. “Felix, stop shooting in the fucking leg!”
The more he opened his mouth, the more you wished to smack his annoyingly beautiful face, but an idea, a drastic, incredibly insane idea entered your mind.
Your lips curved into a smirk, going unnoticed.
“Minho?” You asked, sweetening your voice as you snuggled closer to your boyfriend.
“Hmm?” The clicking grew louder as the boy began to grin, killing off the first of the last three left in the opposing team. “Aww, fuck yeah!” He brought the headphone mic to his lips, malice smeared upon them. “I’m gonna be in the final, pricks!”
You ignored the incessant complaining of his friends, turning to face him. “Minho, can I please cuddle?” You asked, eyes wide.
Hands pressing on the volume button, he lowered the sound of his annoying teammates, glancing at you with a soft smile. “Course,” he said, holding his controller in one hand as he stretched his arms out, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck, completely attached to him like a koala, legs on either side of him. The boy then locked the hug with his hands, using the controller once more as he started the final part of his match. “Alright, dickheads, let’s win this game. Save for Hyunjin, fucking loser.”
You smiled against his jumper, grip on his neck tightening.
You better hope you win.
Raising your head just lightly, you spare one last look at your boyfriend before you closed your eyes, and planted your lips upon his neck.
And began your own game of the night.
You felt Minho still, ever so slightly, beneath your touch.
However, he became preoccupied with the game, as you heard prompting within his headphones from his friends. You furrowed your eyebrows in annoyance, but quickly reigned in your irritancy as you slowly opened your mouth, teeth skimming over his skin to test the waters.
Minho, who was about to tell Hyunjin to fuck off for the nth time, paused, and a small hiss escaped him when you carefully sucked onto his supple skin, so slow, so gradual, knowing the boy you were trying to ruin was using every ounce of his patience not to groan into the mic.
His friends would instantly know if he let a moan escape. Call of Duty isn’t exactly a sexy game.
You slithered out your tongue, and lapped it over the raw creation upon his neck, earning a bated exhale from your victim, who could only stare at the TV screen to not lose his game. Or his sanity.
Tutting, you planted his lips, repeating the sensuous action with a new sense of determination.
Poor, poor Minho. Should have focused on the game I’m playing.
Your hands, which were vacant upon his neck, began assisting your plan, one finding comfort within his fire-like locks, and the other, the more important, the more fatal, sliding down.
And down. And down.
It stopped right to the base of his sweatpants, fingers tracing the treasure hidden a few layers beneath. The moment your hands touched the rough outline Minho yelped, dropping his phone onto the carpeted floor. His clumsy thumbs directed his player right in no man's land, exposing him to the opponents fire range.
Chuckling onto his skin, you painted another hickey onto him, ravishing one side of his throat as Minho whined softly at your efforts, restlessly working on the controller to get back to safety. You heard the confused voices of his friends in the loud headphones, asking him what that “weird ass sound” came from. The flustered boy muted his mic and paused the game, seconds ticking till the shoot down would continue on its own.
You were about to mould him another bruise when Minho’s hand on the mic gripped onto your chin, yanking you from his neck and making you face him. The moment your eyes locked, you gasped.
If you thought Minho looked like an animal before, the opinion had changed. The boy now looked like an aroused demon, staring at you in a way which had your core singing at the warnings. Curving your lips, you challenged him with your gaze, daring him to end the game entirely and spend the night the way you wished so ardently.
Perhaps he wanted to as well, because he whispered, iron in his voice, “Do not tempt me,____.”
You scoffed at his warning, distinctly remembering the hand that was planted upon his crotch, fingers still roaming. “And what if I do?” you taunted, smirk still playing on your lips.
Minho was ready to risk it all when the game signalled its continuance, and immediately his focus shifted to the screen and the bullets firing at his player.
“Minho, you son of a bitch, turn the mic on!” Complaining voiced into his headphones, and the son of a bitch obliged, turning his mic on once more, leaving you look more or less like a fool.
You gritted your teeth. Dear God, I’m going to make him pay!
The hand which casually rested on his semi-hard crotch, with a new objective, wrapped around the outline, fingers grazing its form with your nail. With a smug quirk of your lips you found it twitching slightly against the fabric.
A strained grunt emitted from his mouth, and he gripped his controller hard enough to snap. “You’re not going to make me lose,___.”
“Bro, the fuck? You’re playing games with your girl—?”
“You better not, Minho,” you whispered, using your free hand to grab a headphone side, craning it back to give access to his ear.
Your words had the man nearly mewling right into the mic.
“Or else you’ll lose my hands on your cock.”
Minho jerked at the threat, causing the controller to slip from his hands. The object thudded on the floor, upturned upon the carpet among the sugary mess of his snacks.
“___,” he guttered, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood erect, much like the cock that thrummed within the pads of your fingers soon. “Don’t fucking play with me.”
“Let me get that remote control for you, babe,” you only offered, losing your hand from his crotch, earning a small whine from your boyfriend. You stretched, grabbing the controller, and turned once more to him.
You placed the object in his hold, cupping his hands and stroking the slender fingers which held the sole object of his victory. Victory not only in the battlefield, but in his bedroom, claiming it through the ravishing of your body underneath him.
“Minho? Earth to the motherfucker who’s gonna lose the game—”
“Shut up, Hyunjin,” the boy snapped, and grumbling was heard before his friend was silenced, chuckling emitting from Felix through the headphones.
Eyes taking you prisoner, Minho grabbed onto the controller with an iron will, continuing the game.
“Go on,___,” he taunted, a small smirk sharpening his mouth. “We’ll see who wins the game.”
Your answering grin was enough to have his cock twitching.
Your hands, now vacant, found home straight there, the fabric risen slightly. With your fingers wrapping around the covered shaft, you trailed your hand down, and up, and then down, creating friction within his layers.
With a sucked in breath his cock shot upwards, angrily outlining itself against his sweatpants. His focus wavered on the screen, barely able to avoid death as he hid behind a vandalised building.
“You’re going to kill me,” he rasped out, you surprised to find his breathing already a little ragged. Malicious pride flooded your features, and you only kissed the corner of his mouth in response, earning a hiss from his truly.
“Don’t lose focus, babe,” you murmured, planting another open mouthed kiss upon his cheek. “Or else you’ll lose.”
“Minho, what the fuck is happening?” Hyunjin’s irritated voice crowed into the mic, but the boy, with a single hand, ripped the headphones from his ears, tossing them across. “Minho?!”
“Shut the fuck up, prick!” He shouted, desperation laced in his tone as he frantically tried to kill his opponents.
You, on the other hand, closed yourself further in, your other hand cupping his jaw while the more important travelled to the band of his sweatpants, sliding inside.
“Fuck—”
You ignored his string of further curses, melting at the heated member which stood furiously erect at your actions.
“Already so affected by me, babe?” You cooed, index finger tracing the thicker skin, the length of him, the idea of this raging cock driven inside of you.
“If you don’t shut your mouth,___, I swear to God—”
“Or what, Minho?” You pressed your lips upon the corners of his jaw. “You’ll shut me up with your cock?”
When you journeyed to the top of his member you feel the warm pre-cum, starting to stain his sweatpants. You wrapped your fingers around him, beginning your first action to his downfall.
The moment your hands descended down his shaft he let out a rather loud moan, aggravated and fuelled with pleasure. You repeated the action, up and down, slowly, careful not to pick up the pace, not to have your boyfriend already cumming into your hands. You refused to let him have the satisfaction.
“Jesus, fuck—” he breathed out, and perhaps you threw him the bone of your gradual rapidity of your ascending and descending upon his cock, his incessant groaning gradually getting louder. “___, I’m going to—”
“Minho,” you started, pausing your task. The boy complained, but you held strong, caressing his ear with your lips. “You better win the game first. Eyes on the screen.”
Lee Minho, who never listened to anyone or anything, shocked you when he almost broke the controller trying to find the last man standing on the battlefield. “I don’t see your hand working, babe,” he provoked, and you giggled at his over-enthusiasm laced in his torment, and obliged when you began your faster pace of moving your hand, already making the boy pant over your skill.
Your mouth, in the meantime, occupied itself with peppering kisses upon his face, avoiding his lips because you knew he’d melt right into your touch. Even then he leaned in more to your kisses, causing him to avoid death countless times within the game.
“You better be prepared when I win the game,___,” he declared in a husky rasp. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”
Although that had your core tightening in pleasure, you smirked. “I’d like to see you try,” you countered back, increasing your speed and having Minho practically eating off your hand. You gave kudos to his self control, but you had a small feeling it was on a tight leash.
And every tight leash is more likely to snap.
The boy, shaking hands fumbling on his controller, advanced on his enemy, weapon out and ready to obliterate his final objective.
It was then you smacked his lips against his, enveloping him in a kiss which completely threw him off guard.
You heard the sound of bullets firing in the TV screen, and a thud! of a body hitting against the concrete floors of the destination.
Minho pulled away from the kiss, eyes wide with shock as he observed the results.
His player, slumped in shame behind the winner, proudly standing with his prized gun and camo gear adorned.
You looked back at the results board showing up on the screen, and see the lack of your boyfriend’s name on the top of the leaderboard.
“Tsk, tsk, babe,” you mocked, the most smug little smile upon your lips. You slithered your hand out of his sweatpants, both hands now upon his thighs. “Looks like you lost the game.”
His eyes locked with yours, and something was shifting, but you dismissed it, chuckling as you heaved up, dusting yourself off as if you hadn’t just given your boyfriend ultimate blue balls.
You turned on your heel, about to leave the room when Minho’s satanic mumble froze you entirely.
“I still have one more game to finish,___.”
You whirled back, and you yelped to see the boy standing not two inches before you, gaze so predatory you felt your legs weaken at the mere sight.
“You didn’t,” you started, but the more you stared the more your words began to fade. Jesus in his sweet little stable, you really did think you were going to fall. “You...you didn’t win, Minho.”
With a harsh scoff the boy gathered you up in his arms, a startled noise escaping you when he carried you bride-style, and practically threw you on that crisp, clean bed he had prepared all those hours ago.
“Sure, I didn’t win the last one,” he drawled, and you were about to leak with the way he prowled towards you. He secured his position atop you, legs on either side of you, and leaned in till your face was a hair’s width from yours.
“But I’m not losing in your game.”
You nearly moaned straight away when he imprisoned you with his kiss, capturing your lips and moving them perfectly with his. Your hands instantly found refuge in his hair, his locks which tickled your face as he kissed you crazy.
His own fingers travelled to your waist, creeping inside your top, each touch of his skin against yours like fire licking against the expanse. God, it was like you had dropped yourself in the underworld, and his hands were raging waves of fire, threatening to decimate you. The worst part was you welcomed this destruction.
He broke the kiss, gasping for air before attacking the rest of your face with his lips, fingers still spreading heat while the other hand began its descent down your jeans, palming his desired destination.
A loud moan shamelessly emitted from your mouth, and Minho smirked with the same lack of shame you possessed, ravishing your throat the same way you did not so long ago. His teeth painted love bites down his trail, and you ravaged his hair, tugging at his shirt in pleading to take it off.
“I’m already winning, huh?” He whispered, ragged voice so incredibly hot you grabbed the hem of his shirt and peeled the useless piece of clothing off him, tossing it to the floor.
“Just shut up and kiss me,” you got out, and with wicked laughter he made you wait, tugging at your own shirt to even the odds. You took it off, joining Minho’s clothing, and were back upon each other’s mouths, opening up enough for Minho to slide his tongue inside you.
Your bare chests collided as you raised yourself a little higher, hands on the band of his sweats as you yanked them down. Minho abandoned his sweatpants upon the floor, and did the same of you, mouth watering at the sight of your red lace, a little present you hoped he would see earlier. His blatant staring had you flushing the colour of your underwear, and he caught you, grinning wildly at your flustered nature.
“Awww,” he cooed, throwing your jeans in the pile. “Now you’re getting shy?” He hooked a finger under your lace, slowly, too fucking slowly dragging the material down. “Where was this blush when you were playing with my cock?”
“Minho!” You whined, digging your nails in his skin. “Damn it, just fuck me!”
Cruel laughter rang around the bedroom. “Oh, so when you’re needy, I just obey you? Just like that?” His lust-blown eyes regarded your slick cunt, and pride engulfed him, knowing your arousal was completely his doing.
“Please,” you let yourself beg, because at this point, your desire had conquered your common decency — the need for your boyfriend to pound you till morning had overtaken the need to slap the conceited smirk off his face. “Please, Minho—”
The pleading had him bruising your mouth with his, as he too pried off his underwear, cock still throbbing from the teasing you left unfinished. The recent memory of you sliding your hand up and down his shaft still drove him to near insanity, and by God if he did not drive the bloody thing inside you he truly would become deranged.
Pulling apart, Minho presses his forehead against yours as he guided his head to your entrance, gleaming with arousal and a promise of one hell of a fucking night. “Say the words,” he demanded, and this time you gritted your teeth. Stubborn till the end, I see.
“Fuck you.”
Your response was a shit-eating grin, as he slowly retracted his member. “Wrong,” he jeered.
“Minho—!” You exclaimed hysterically, reminding yourself that you’re going to kill him when all of this is over. As of now, you were silently hoping he would kill you with his cock.
“Beg for it,___,” he ordered as he grazed his head against you, and you cursed yourself for being so pig-headed, for depriving yourself this opportunity.
“Please!” Your breathing turned short, clinging onto the boy for dear life. “Please, just fuck me already—”
With the magic words, Minho clasped his lips upon yours as he drove his cock straight into you.
Your pleasured scream nearly brought down the roof, but he drowned it out with his lips, stubborn as they moved so amazingly, almost in sync to each thrust he sent your way, each time he slid his cock in and out, in and out till you were certain you were going to see stars. Although you had fucked Minho many times before, today, your mewling was louder, your grip on his shoulders a little tighter and your heart more inclined to burst in your rib cage.
Your consistent beseeching was music to his ears, and you felt your peak nearer and nearer, whimpering the warnings to Minho that you were going to die, and you would gladly accept this demise if it promised such unadulterated pleasure. The boy hastily nodded, sweat-slick locks sticking to his face, burying his face in your neck as he held you close.
“Minho, please, I-I’m going to—Ah!” You yelped with the sheer force of his thrusts, rolling your eyes back subconsciously as your grip nearly slipped on his back. You did not care that your peak would probably snap you in half. You did not care about anything but Minho’s cock, showing you the constellations of the universe.
When your orgasm finally caught up on you it threatened to break you — your moans were bellowed across the room, were so obscenely loud but had little in you to care when Minho held onto you every minute of it, the last grip of stability in your fucked out vision. The one man who brought you down from your myriad of fantasies, washing all over you.
The boy’s own cock sought relief, barrelling his release inside you, some escaping from your cunt and staining the sweat-slick sheets. The symphony of panted breaths harmonised with the heightened groaning of your voice, and at last Minho pulled out, slumping beside you on the bed.
You tried to calm your breathing, ragged and almost painful with its irregularity moments before. His breaths were laboured too, one hand upon his rising and setting chest. A strange sense of calm washed over you, and was confirmed further when, with a small gasp, you felt the sheets being pulled over you.
Turning, you faced the tired, yet happy face of Minho’s, lazily smiling as he closed his eyes, leaning against the divan. You returned his smile, snuggling up to him, planting your head against his chest.
His voice reverberated against your cheek as he said, “Looks like I won, baby.”
You looked up, shooting him a fatigued, yet incredulous look which had him huffing out a laugh. “You’re insufferable.” You mumbled, and were about to leave his presence when he wrapped his arms around you, refusing to let you go.
”And you’re exquisite,” he responded, propping his chin atop your head, stroking your arm with a soothing hand.
Heart fluttering, you wrapped his your arms around him, breathing him in, relishing in his presence, secretly thanking the stars above that he’s real and he’s beside you, moments after fucking you.
You were about to say something sweet when a familiar voice screeched into existence.
“OH MY FUCKING GOD—!”
Both of you jumped at the exclamation, eyes widening when you both caught sight of Minho’s headphones in the corner of the room.
“MINHO, YOU DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER—”
When the two of you locked eyes, disbelief crossed your features.
“Babe,” you began, stare widening, “Did you... not...mute your mic…?”
Your question was answered, but not by your boyfriend.
“Minho, if you were gonna rail ___ then you could have muted the goddamn mic—”
“Oh fuck,” Minho got out, and you cupped your mouth with your hands in shock, watching the boy run towards his mic, despite being stark naked. He picked up his headphones, saying, “Guys, I’m so sorry, holy shit—”
“I hate you, Minho!” You screeched, all the blood in your body rushing to your cheeks. You could only pull the sheets over yourself, hoping the bed could swallow you up forever.
Guilty laughter escaped from the boy, and you didn’t even perk your head over to flip him off.
You could hear the grin in his next words, and although you wanted nothing more than to strangle his dumb ass, it still made you blush even harder, letting yourself smile at his response.
“I love you, too!”
#stray kids imagines#lee minho imagines#stray kids smut#lee minho smut#minho smut#kpop imagines#kpop smut#lee minho#lee minho fluff#stray kids oneshot#skz imagines#stray kids#stray kids fluff
857 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Road To Somewhere.
For prompt: road trip
Hypnos/male!reader
Thanatos/Zagreus/Meg in the background.
5.7k total, link to part two at the end.
Warnings: some sexual stuff are talked about but the most that happens is kissing and cuddling. Jokes about cannibalism as well. Alcohol uses. No beta.
Summary: Why talk about your feelings with your childhood best friend when you can just go on a road trip?
A/N: sorry for going silent, I was dealing with some medical issues on top of helping my partner with stuff.
To the Anon who requested this, I'm sorry about the wait, I hope you like this and feel free to always hit me for another request!
At three in the morning, your phone rang.
You groaned as you rolled across your bed. and you squinted at the brightness of your phone.
Hypnos' photo flashed on the screen, the one where he stole your letterman jacket to nap in on the school bus that Zagreus had sent it to you. And if you kept the photo five years after high school, well that is your business and nobody else's.
You hesitated, not sure you want to talk to him right now. After that night, the only thing you and Hypnos traded was polite, almost cold texts. not your usual meme or lazy chatting about whatever. But something about the picture of Hypnos' sleeping face pushed you to respond.
You swiped the green button.
"You are coming with me." Hypnos said, or rather slurred.
You covered your face,"Hypnos, dude. Are you drunk right now?"
"You- you said you have never seen the ocean right?" Hypnos asked, ignoring your question.
"Where are you? I am coming to get you." You turned on your lamp, looking for a pair of jeans to wear.
"No- no." Hypnos said firmly and very drunkenly. "Y/N, dude. I'm fine. I'm at my shitty apartment." Hypnos paused, "You know, the one where my brother hooked up with Meg. And Zagreus. At the same time. Which is really effing weird for me."
"I - Hypnos-" you tried to think of what to say. The said incident happened over a little month ago and Hypnos had the misfortune of walking in at the wrong time. Which of course because Hypnos got his heart broken by Meg lead up to Hypnos trying to hook up with you to get over her.
"Look, you always said you wanted to see the ocean right?" Hypnos yawned, which you took as a good sign. Hopefully it means your dumb best friend will pass out soon and not ruin his liver for rest of the day.
"Yeah, what of it?" You asked, frustrated at Hypnos for doing this to himself and to you.
"Road trip!" Hypnos dragged out the words with a laugh. "I will be picking you up tomorrow. Love you bestie."
"Hypnos wait no, we can't just leave." You said. You waited for a response, "Hypnos?" You asked worriedly.
A snore came through the phone and you sighed. You turned off the lamp and laid back down, listening to Hypnos' deep breathing.
You stared at the ceiling, and tried not to think about the last time Hypnos got this drunk. Or about that night or how Hypnos acted like nothing happened the next day.
You rolled over to face your phone and closed your eyes.
You will just stay on the line in case Hypnos wakes up.
💤
"You can't be serious, Hypnos." You said as he went through your clothes, uncaring of any boundaries you may have.
But honestly with Hypnos, you had long lost any boundaries. You knew you should actually try to enforce some but you craved just being near him.
"I am! I need to get away for a bit and you told me you were taking a week off right? And it starts today or last night technically." Hypnos held up a lime green shirt and made a face at it.
"Yes for a staycation, I don't have extra money for a motel or anything like that." You replied, and took the shirt away to place it back on its hanger.
"It's my treat, Y/N." Hypnos leaned on you, his head on your shoulder. You tried not to notice how warm he was against you or his big golden puppy dog eyes. "Come on, a free trip away with your best friend aka me aka the best thing ever with your favorite person ever-" Hypnos rambled.
"Fine, only because you said you will pay for everything." You sighed, You hated how hard it was to say no to him.
Hypnos cheered and pulled you into a bear hug. You savored the warmth despite not wanting to.
You just needed a vacation too. To clear your head. And who knows, you and Hypnos could finally get back to being normal.
💤
Hypnos was in the driver's seat as you closed the truck and joined him in the car. A pen dangled from his teeth as his golden eyes flicked across the map. He glanced at you as you strapped in.
"It will be a two days drive if we only stop when we need to. That gives us three days at the beach or wherever else we end up doing." Hypnos took the pen out and marked a couple spots on the map.
"Couldn't we just use our phone GPS?" You asked.
"Nope, the place I'm taking you isn't a normal public beach and we have to drive through some mountains and mountains always win over gps." Hypnos pointed the pen at you. "Always." He said in a mock doom voice.
You rolled your eyes, and with a finger pushed the pen out your face. "Alright but if we get lost in the mountains. I call first dibs on eating you."
"Ha, jokes on you, bestie. I got almost no tender fat on me. So enjoy gnawing on my worthless bones." Hypnos crackled as he started the car. He tossed the map in your lab and peeled out of the driveway.
His deft fingers quickly found some music as Tom Petty sang through the radio.
Hypnos sang along badly. You covered up your smile, it feel good just near him again even if you didn't want to admit it.
Within minutes, Hypnos had weaved into the midmorning traffic. But even with the traffic, you already feel a little lighter.
💤
The first day of the drive went surprisingly well, even with traffic for the first hour. The skies were a vivid blue with fat, lazy clouds that casted shadows across the land.
Hypnos had the windows rolled down, one arm out of the window and music blasting. His shades should have made him look like a frat boy but you actually liked how they looked with his messy white curls and dark red shirt.
You kept your mouth shut and just watched the landscape change from suburbia to the fields dotted with cows and horses.
It was the most peace you had felt in a long while even with the elephant in between you and Hypnos.
It wasn't until twilight had followed you to the motel that the problems started.
"Is that a permanently closed sign?" Hypnos asked flatly, his shades resting on his head.
You nodded, "I had a feeling the trip started a little too well."
You and Hypnos both stared at the sign, the red and white words mocked you.
"I knew google was lying to me." Hypnos murmured.
"We can just sleep in the car, Hypnos." You followed him as he turned back. "We probably shouldn't drive anymore tonight."
Hypnos shook his head, "Nope, we would get murder so fast." He snapped his fingers to make his point. He threw an arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the car. "Come on, I bet there's another place just up ahead."
"And if there is not?" You asked, noticing how easily you fit next to him.
"There will be." Hypnos said confidently.
At your doubtful look, he said cheerfully,
"Or we could just get murder in a much nicer area."
💤
It was almost an hour before you saw the faint vacancy light just peeking behind the trees.
You gasped, "There! Do you see it?"
"Yeah, I see it." Hypnos replied, perking up. The rundown motel looked like someone's idea of what an old western inn looked like without actually never seeing one before.
But after driving for an extra hour and half, it looked like heaven.
Hypnos pulled up in the first empty spot he found which was plenty of.
"Stay here, keep an eye on the car. Don't get murdered." Hypnos said as he locked the car up. He only looked back once as he entered the building.
You slumped in your seat, exhaustion overtaken you. Your phone buzzed in your hand, Zagreus's name popped up.
'Is Hypnos with you??'
You stared down at the text, why is Zagreus asking you?
'Yeah, why?' you replied.
Immediately, Zagreus responded.
'He hasn't responded to any of our texts or calls.'
In a separate text, 'Is he okay? I knew my talk with him was rough but I didn't expect this. '
You bit your lip, just realizing that you haven't heard Hypnos' phone go off all day. Normally, Hypnos' phone was glued in his hand and he was always constantly texting or playing a game.
You looked up, making sure Hypnos was still in the building.
You replied, 'I think he just needs a break. I will let you know if anything happens but maybe just give him some breathing room. Also what talk?'
Three dots appeared and disappeared a few times before Zagreus' response came.
'No, I know. We just wanted to make sure he wasn't alone. Thanks.'
You rubbed your face, unsure what to make of the texts and that Hypnos, a known phone addict, hasn't been on his phone all day. And that Zagreus didn't bother to tell you what 'talk' he had with Hypnos.
You looked back up and saw Hypnos walking back a grin on his face. When your eyes met his, he waved the roomcard and a plastic bag triumphantly.
You pushed your worries aside for now, Hypnos will talk to you when he is ready.
💤
"Uhh, dude. There is only one bed." You said blankly when Hypnos turned the lights on. All the room had was a single hotel bed and a little table with two chairs. The whole area looked like it never left the seventies.
"And a sofa." Hypnos pointed out as he flopped down on it. The sofa creaked loudly as if threatening to snap in half. "I can sleep on anything, remember?"
"If you are sure." You grabbed the plastic bag from the floor as you sat down on the bed.
You dumped the goods on the bed. There was a healthy mix of spicy ramen bowls, candy bars and cans of soda.
You picked out the one you knew Hypnos liked and set on making dinner.
The sofa kept creeking each time Hypnos twitched or even breath. Hypnos' eyes were close but there was a tension to his body that kept him looking truly relaxed.
You debated on telling him that Zagreus had reached out to you but the tight frown on his face kept you from saying anything.
The microwave gave a high pitch beep and you quickly pulled out the ramen and placed the hot bowl on the table. "Hey, Hypnos. Soup on." You told him as you got your bowl ready.
"Oh. Thanks. Wanna have a soda?" Hypnos asked.
You thanked him as you dug into your own dinner and honestly the cheap ramen was the best thing you tasted after not getting lunch during the drive.
Hypnos was unusually quiet during dinner and while getting ready for bed. You couldn't help noticing that Hypnos never once picked up his phone.
Hypnos yawned and sat on the sofa much more carefully yet the beast still creaked in warning.
You sighed, there was no way you or him would sleep with all that creaking.
"Hypnos, just come to bed. I think it's a queen so we got plenty of room." You told him as you got under the covers. You met his gaze, his eyes bright even with the dark circles under them.
"Okay." He agreed softly. He gave you a look that you ignored as he joined you. He turned off the lights. "Good night, Y/N."
You rolled on your side, back facing Hypnos. "Good night." You yawned widely, already halfway to sleep.
💤
You didn't quite wake up all the way, not at first. You blinked at the wall, small cracks in the blinds allowed for small rays of sunlight to break though. It made the motel room feel cozy even with the ugly decor.
There was an arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders and you sank into its hold with a sigh.
Your eyes closed before your brain realized that you could feel another body pressed against your back, legs tangled together.
You snapped awake, your body went rigid and you heard Hypnos grumbled against your nape.
You relaxed, letting out a breath when you remembered Hypnos was in bed with you. Hypnos, during sleepovers when you were children, always ended up clinging on to you.
It was almost nice, a return to a simpler time. Almost.
It was a very different experience when you both were adults. You flushed when Hypnos pressed a little harder against your body, a pleased, sleepy hum rumbled in his chest.
You could feel him pressed against your lower back and damnit, your traitor of a body was responding. You squeezed your eyes shut, flushed from shame and want.
Your mind flashed back to the last time you allowed Hypnos this close.
You could still remember how he pushed you into his dark bedroom and kissed you again and again. How it felt being under him on his bed. How you almost let him have more.
And you knew you wouldn't survive if Hypnos acted just like he did the morning after.
With the small strength you were able to find, you pulled out of his hold or rather you tried to.
His arm went tight and kept you in the bed, "Where are you going so early?" His sleep rough voice mumbled against your skin.
You ignored the goosebumps he caused and you sighed annoyed. "Come on, you're being a jerk. I need to go get ready for the trip."
"Hmm, we drove more than we planned. We still have some time." Hypnos murmured, clearly going back to sleep. You grabbed the blanket with your free arm and yanked it off the both of you.
Hypnos yelped at the sudden cold and let you go. You darted out the bed and grinned at the scowl Hypnos had. You tossed the blanket over his face and walked away. "Early birds get the worm Hypnos!" You called out as you headed to the bathroom.
You bit back a laugh at the loud groan Hypnos made.
💤
After a quick stop for coffee and pancakes with bacon which Hypnos immediately drowned in syrup much to your disgust of the sheer amount of sugar, you were back on the road.
After an hour of staring out the window at patches of woods between the farmlands, you turned to look at Hypnos.
"What is it about this place that made you pick it? I looked at the map, we could get to the ocean quicker if we went along the other route. " You thought for a moment, "And you know, not to have to drive past the mountains."
"Yeah, if you want to see what everyone else sees and deal with the crowds." Hypnos scoffed. He pulled his shades down a bit to look at you, his windblown curls bounced with the movement.
You prayed he didn't notice your blush.
"Also my mom told me about this place a million times. Trust me, it is going to be worth the wait." And with that, Hypnos focused back on driving.
You turned back to the open window, silently hating yourself for still being attracted to him.
"Hey- is that a cow?" Hypnos asked, already slowing down. You looked down the road and saw the animal. You couldn't help the laugh that came out. "Yeah it is."
The stray cow stared down at the car. It was apparently unconcerned about being hit as it chewed on the grass in its mouth.
Hypnos pressed down on the horn repeatedly and long. The cow kept chewing on its bit of grass, blinking slowly.
"Dumb cow. It knows what it is doing." Hypnos muttered.
You laughed again, "I think that is an oxymoron."
Hypnos scowled and waved his hands at the cow whose tongue had found its nose.
"Well, what bright ideas do you have, Y/N?"
You looked into the bag of snacks down by the footrest. And pulled out a bag of barbecue chips.
"I'm going to lure it out of the road, first chance you get, drive past."
Hypnos pulled his shade down, an eyebrow crocked.
You shook the bag at his doubtful look.
Hypnos' eyes narrowed, eyes sharp and calculating. "That won't work."
"Oh?" You raised a brow. "And why not?"
"Those are barbecue chips, I'm pretty sure even that dumb thing know that smell. And when it smells the barbecue, it will just run you over enraged about the chips."
You leaned toward him, "Wanna make a bet?"
He matched your lean, a bright glint in his eyes. "Sure. If I win, you have to agree to everything I say until we get to the hotel."
"Fine." You agreed. "And if I get the cow out of the way, you can only speak in moos until we get to the hotel."
"Deal." He leaned back into his seat. "Easiest win ever."
You scoffed at him as you got out. "Gee, thanks for believing in me."
You stared down the cow who merely blinked at you.
Hypnos poked his head out the window, laughing "Hey Y/N, when it's moving, start running!"
You shushed him and crinkled the bag at the cow. It took a wary step forward and you opened the bag and it took a sniff.
The cow immediately tried to bite the bag but you took several steps and it followed you. You couldn't stop your smirk at Hypnos' outraged face. "Good cow." You cooed. "Good cow."
You took several steps back into the tall grass and dumped the chips on the ground.
The moment the cow started eating the chips on the ground, you took off like a shot and almost fell into your seat. You barely had a chance to close the door before Hypnos drove off.
You pulled your seatbelt on and waited, a huge grin on your face.
When Hypnos refused to say anything or even look at you, you poked him in his cheek.
"Hypnos." You called his name in a sing-songy tone. "I won the bet. Hypnos. Hypnos." You poked him with each word. There was an evil, childish part of you enjoying this too much.
Hypnos batted your hand away. "Moo fucking moo." He replied sourly.
You playfully frowned, "I don't think cows can say fucking."
"Oh my god."
"They don't say that either."
Part Two
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
MBJ Alphabet | Choker.
twenty-six fluffy/smutty stories, long over-due. a mixture of reader/oc fics divided amongst mike & the characters he has played. based on the word suggestions received for each letter of the alphabet. updated out of order, based on your votes. can be tracked under mbj alphabet in my tags for mobile users. check out the prompts & submit your vote for what you’d like to see next. feedback always welcomed
Link to the MBJ Alphabet Masterlist | Sign up to be tagged
Pairing: Erik Stevens x Black!OC
Summary: It’s midterm season again at MIT. Cue copious amounts of coffee and group study sessions. Erik’s distraction comes from Jaz’s favorite accessory
Words: 1.8K
Erik doesn’t play when it comes to his grades, but that’s not the reason he’s in the library at nine-thirty on a Saturday night. Any other Saturday, you wouldn’t dare catch Erik in the library. By this time, he is typically done working over one of the many girls he has wrapped around his finger.
Speaking of "one of the many girls" -- that’s why Erik has interrupted his usual Saturday night routine with a trip to the library.
Jasmine Stewart.
She may be one of the many girls that have entered the orbit of Erik Stevens, but she is definitely not wrapped around his finger. If we consider the sole reason Erik is in the library, it might be the other way around.
Erik can’t remember the last time he actually studied. He’s never had to. He hears the information once, and he’s good. That’s why he received the sight of rolling eyes upon his arrival.
“What?”
Jaz bites her tongue as she watches Erik drop into the chair next to hers. When he chased her down, after class, with a smile and "you got one more spot on that list?" Jaz had extremely low expectations.
She has crossed paths with Erik for the last year and has never witnessed him step foot in the library or attend a single study session. This is why, as her eyes pass over his lack of-- well lack of anything -- Jaz shakes her head.
As she meets his playful eyes, she redirects her attention to the study guide before her.
“You’re late, Stevens.” She replies, raising her pencil to point towards the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes late to be exact, without a single book. Which is why we started without you.”
“You didn’t think I’d show up?”
“Can you blame me?” Disregarding the rolling of Erik's eyes, Jaz easily swipes his hand away preventing him from dragging her chair closer to his. Instead, he settles for moving his chair closer. “It’s Saturday night, and trust me, we all know what you do on Saturday nights.”
Jaz’s eyes roll as Erik's arm drapes along the back of her chair. She knows pushing it away is pointless. Primarily because the smile she had intended on suppressing, has already made its way across her face.
Now that her previous statement has had a chance to set in, Jaz's smile is gone. Erik's smile, however, has grown in size as he watches Jaz's gaze drop from his. It lingers on his lips for a brief moment before she pauses to clear her throat.
Blinking, Jaz redirects her attention to the stack of study guides before her.
"Um...I made these for everyone," she offers, blindly pushing a copy in his direction.
"Thanks."
Even after her focus has shifted, Jaz knows the remainder of the session will be useless. At least with Erik seated alongside her. He doesn't bother to read the study guide she spent hours creating. His gaze, instead, is preoccupied with regarding her.
The worst part about Erik's gaze is that it is unapologetic--shameless. It lingers on each of her features, somehow evoking vivid memories of how they felt beneath his lips.
An all too familiar heat that only rouses in his presence spreads across Jaz's skin as she attempts to concentrate on her notes. Shifting forward, she rests her elbows against the table, trying to increase the space separating their bodies. The feeble attempt does little to help her focus.
And he knows it.
The last time Erik was this close was a week ago. Jaz was pinned against the fridge in his apartment. And Erik's hand wasn’t rapping against the back of her seat. It was wrapped around Jaz's throat while he watched her come undone for the second time that morning.
The memories of last Saturday, that melded into Sunday morning, quickly flood her mind. The smile on Erik’s lips morphs into a grin as Jaz shifts in her seat, her legs uncrossing, fingers toying with the black lace around her neck.
It was a nervous tick. One Erik noticed she only seemed to display beneath his gaze. No matter how quick she was with her words, Jaz toyed with her necklaces when nervous. A tick that made it impossible for Erik not to think about kissing her neck each time he witnessed it.
Today’s distraction is Jaz's favorite black lace choker. With her long, dark locks pulled into a high ponytail, it’s easy for Erik to see that the evidence from their last encounter still marks her skin.
If it weren’t for the fading hickies meticulously placed along her skin, barely covered by the thin lace, Erik would’ve accepted he dreamed their encounter.
Because after he’d interrupted her making coffee for a round of half-sleep, lazy sex, Erik had stopped to take a shower. By the time he had found a towel and stepped back into the kitchen, Jaz was gone.
She hadn't even bothered to leave coffee in the pot for him. Once they saw each other in class that following Monday, Jaz was back to addressing Erik Stevens with the same amount of energy she had the past several months. Little to none.
When she came home with him that first night, Erik hadn’t initially planned on calling her the next day.
Relationships aren’t really his thing.
But he did at least anticipate a phone call -- shit, even a text.
They always come. No matter if Erik never bothers to respond half the time, they always come. Not from Jaz.
“Speaking of Saturday night,” Erik sighs. His eyes drop to follow the action of her fingers as they trace the lace against her skin. “You lose my number or something?”
This question is enough to raise her eyes from her notes. Erik earns a smile as Jaz’s eyes meet his.
"When you popped smoke-"
“Or something.” A light shrug accompanies Jaz's words. Putting her pen down, she shifts in her seat to find Erik's eyebrow raised, his lips turned up into a grin. “And I did not pop smoke. Especially when you're Mr. Can't Sleep With The Same Girl More Than Once."
"Okay," Erik chuckles. He runs his tongue across his lower lip, dragging Jaz's mind straight back to the last Saturday. “Last I checked, we definitely went more than once-”
Shaking her head, in a feeble attempt to clear it, Jaz ignores the smile she receives in response.
"So, what?" Jaz huffs, the sarcasm in her voice surprisingly strong. "Is this where you tell me that you showed up tonight to say I'm the exception to the rule, and you suddenly wanna take me out?"
"I didn’t say all that-"
"Good," she smiles as she pushes her chair back. Standing, she retrieves the sticky note from her notebook. “I don’t have time for a boyfriend, so you can save the whole I'm not emotionally available speech."
"And pick up with what comes after?" He chuckles as he falls into step alongside her.
She's not sure why the proposition throws her off, but Jaz glances in Erik's direction.
"No," she laughs. The sound does not sound nearly as convincing as she intends. "Did you get up to annoy me or help me?"
"I'll help you," Erik shrugs as she stops to double-check the author on the sticky note. "Just tell me what you need."
"You wanna help me out?" Jaz lifts the sticky note. She presses it firmly against his chest, stopping his hands from finding her waist. "Help me find this book."
Jaz may have had pure intentions when she stood up from the table. Erik, on the other hand, might not have.
In fact, if anyone in their study group could find the brainpower to look up from their notes, they would notice Erik is nowhere to be seen.
And has been M.I.A. for nearly ten minutes.
While his classmates stress over the quickly approaching midterms, Erik is deep in the stacks. His teeth cutting into her lip, catching the whimpers that spill from Jaz as his fingers stretch her open.
His thrusts are relentless and meticulous, melding into a torturous rhythm. Each time Jaz manages to regain control over her breathing, Erik's fingers move as fast as the stuttering of her heart. The second her fingers squeeze into his arm, her hips rolling forward to match his movements, Erik’s pace becomes teasingly slow. A chuckle is lost against her lips each time she whispers a protest.
Erik’s tongue passes over his lips at the beautiful sight before him.
Jaz’s head is tipped back, pressing into the books behind her. Her eyes gripped shut, chest heaving as she struggles to steady her breaths.
“We're in the library, babe," he teases. "You gotta be quiet."
It is the same taunt that comes each time he manages to pull a sound from her, and each time his pace slows.
Jaz would try and shoot back a snarky remark, but the fear of something much louder slipping out presses her teeth deeper into her lip.
They both knew the problem could easily be fixed.
All Erik has to do is lift his hand. Press it against her mouth, but that would be too easy. Instead of moving to muffle her voice, Erik's touch drags along the curve of her jaw. His lips follow its path, the brush of his tongue mixing in with heated kisses.
His grip tightens as it finds the base of her throat, his thumb tracing the pattern of the black lace against her skin. Pushing it up, he allows his breath to pass over the bruises on her skin. The shiver that passes over her spine, arches her body into his. Each brush and suck of his lips work to pull out a fresh bruise. Between the pressure from Erik's mouth and his fingers, Jaz's legs are trembling in a matter of seconds.
The wave of pleasure she has spent minutes chasing comes to an abrupt halt the moment “E-” passes her lips.
In an instance, Erik’s touch is gone. His chuckle muffles the gasp that escapes Jaz’s lungs.
“You should head back.” Jaz’s hooded eyes open. The deadly look in her eyes is enough to make Erik’s smile morph into a cheese-eating grin. “Wouldn’t want your group to start wondering where you went.”
“I’m going to kill you,” the promise in her voice earns Jaz a chaste kiss.
“You might need this,” Erik smiles.
Jaz's gaze falls from his sparkling eyes to the deep navy book in Erik’s hands. The slowly ebbing high has left her mind hazy, meaning it takes her a moment to realize it’s the book she had initially set out to find. Pressing it against his chest, Jaz tries her best to ignore the smug look on Erik’s face as he takes a step back.
“Use my number if you wanna finish later.”
If you would like to be removed from tags, let me know
All Stories:
@ladyofsoa @liquorlaughslove @pearlkitten33 @chaneajoyyy @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @mariaxliliana @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @keithseabrook27 @starrynite7114 @awkwardtayler @toni9 @vannabanana1995 @queenbeered @kaystacks17 @thesandbeneathmytoes @star017 @richonne4life @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @rosieposie0624 @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @partypoison00 @myakai13 @appropriate-writers-name @demonquartz @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @linziland13 @mrsmarvelous1995 @sadeyesgf @beiroviski @oldstuffnewstuff @making-starsdance
#let me know what you think?#nafessa williams#michael b jordan#michael b. jordan#michael b jordan imagine#mbj alphabet#erik stevens#erik stevens imagine#erik killmonger imagine#erik killmonger#black!oc
80 notes
·
View notes
Note
lover to lover and or new romantics 👁️
lmao Fir you know exactly what it is for lover to lover :idonotseeit:
lover to lover:
not quite my usual writing process in the sense that I wrote this for a prompt — I had a very clear idea for what I wanted it to be from the moment I got the prompt, but did not quite realize what I had committed myself to until I was in the middle of it. as I say in the notes to this fic, that was the first time I'd written debauchery and then I somehow was dumb enough to make it three people. yeah idk.
now, on to specifics:
“Well, it’s not hard,” she says.
“I mean, clearly it is,” George quips and chuckles before he can stop himself.
for those who weren't witnessing my breakdown over this fic live, I came up with The Joke™️ about 500 words into writing the debauchery and then it took another solid 12 hours and 1500 words to actually work it into the text. that is very much typical for the way I usually write (or used to? idk man things have changed over the past few months): start more or less somewhere in the middle with something I know that's going to happen, then come up with bits and bobs that will happen after that, fill that out and bridge those gaps, and then eventually figure out some way to start. oh, and take notes on what sorts of pants who is wearing at what point and when they're taking them off. important!
this fic was very much a series of increasingly escalating horny thoughts while suffering through one writing sprint after the other. it was an arduous process but ultimately worth it, I think!
lastly, I've never been happy with the intro to lover to lover and I keep meaning to go back and fix it, but where's the time for that... I was in an (admittedly self-inflicted) intense time crunch and had to have something and I just could not make it work in a way I liked. that's on the long, long list of things to sort out in the future.
new romantics:
VERY different experience and process to lover to lover, lmao. the first scene was the big one! I wrote it on my phone on the train and through months of working on this fic, it never really changed. part of my struggle with this fic was that I wanted it to actually do justice to the concept, because I love it so much — Lando reading romance novels! and doing some self-discovery! so many fics have a great premise but don't really follow through, they're just 500 ultimately irrelevant words of whatever fun premise before it devolves into debauchery, and while that can be nice it felt lazy and not worth the idea I had, you know? so it took a while to pad it (in a way that felt meaningful and appropriate and shockingly like a plot, yeah I know I can't believe it either) and even longer to write the debauchery that would have to happen at the end.
for a while, I considered whether this should be a fic about Lando getting romance/sex tips from books, but I was never fully convinced by that so that part only found its way into the fic as a little joke, is that what they’re teaching you in those books of yours.
other bits I had really really early on that made it into the final cut:
“My mum reads those!” Max says, half in mock-outrage, half serious.
and of course, If he completely stops watching porn and instead perfects wanking one-handed with the other one holding up his Kindle and tapping to the next page at somewhat regular intervals, he really doesn’t want to talk about it. He’d also rather not think about the staggering number of times he’s had to wipe come off the Kindle’s screen.
if all of this makes it appear like I have a plan for my writing, rest assured I do not. it's vibes only plus whatever occurs to me in the heat of the moment.
#thamk for distraction <3#juncosracing#fic things#as always if you somehow don't know my ao3 but are interested#dm me or send an ask or whatever#wow this got long i'm so sorry
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Keep You Safe
Peter Parker x Female!Reader
Prompt: “I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath”
Warnings: slightly creepy Peter, but like the endearing kind of creepy, also Petey being a dork,,,as always, protective Peter Parker, Endgame related angst but only for a sec, cuddlesssss, and fluff, lots of fluff, because I’m a hoe for fluff... and Tom Holland’s biceps but that’s a story for another day
Word Count: 2167 words
Estimated Reading Time: 9 minutes
A/N: School has officially closed which means that I’m now forced to stay home all day (which wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t locked at home with my dad and he’s getting on every single one of my nerves) and do the homework our teachers send us by email... I didn’t even know Microsoft Teams and OneNote existed until a week ago... so that’s something.
I usually write stuff on paper during class cause let’s be honest, I only pay attention to what my teachers are saying when I’m forced to (don’t do this kids, listen to teachers, God I’m a such a bad example) so I’ve got about 5 stories written and I thought “Hey, since I’m too lazy to do my physics homework, why not post it all on tumblr?” So yeah, hi, this is my version of “quarantine is driving me crazy and I need an escape”. And before you ask, yes, I’ve succumbed to the toilet paper juggle thing already, it was not pretty.
Masterlist
Peter Parker was not a creep, he was simply a worried boyfriend.
There is nothing wrong with following your girlfriend after school to make sure she gets home safe before going back to the Tower. Or asking Karen to alert him whenever you leave the house so he could follow you to make sure you were safe. Or gifting you one of those morse code bracelets that monitored your vitals and location because he knew you’d never take it off and that way he could constantly know where you were and how you were feeling.
Peter Parker was not a creep.
He watched from his vantage point on top of a building as you and MJ left the mall, Slurpees in hand and carrying at least five shopping bags each, most of them being from art stores and only a couple from clothing. The sight of your bright smile made his heart burst with affection and he listened intently, still able to hear your melodic laugh over the hustle and bustle of the busy street.
He followed you at a safe distance, losing sight of the two of you as you entered the subway. Karen kept him aware of your whereabouts though, and he saw you again when you exited the subway station, now alone.
You walked a couple more blocks and entered your apartment building, but Peter only truly relaxed once he saw you entering your bedroom, having a clear view through your window.
He stayed for a few more minutes, admiring how beautiful you looked doing something as mundane as cutting tags off your newly bought clothes and throwing out the plastic wrapped around your new art supplies.
He then made his way to the Tower, where the Avengers chose to live again, for practical purposes.
“Hey everyone!” He immediately greeted his teammates after walking into the kitchen, mask off and hair slightly messy.
“Hey Pete,” The twenty-year-old witch gave him a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, already knowing that the boy would be parched.
Peter kissed her cheek and did the same to Pepper, Carol, and Morgan who were all sitting at the table playing Uno, no doubt to make the young Stark happy.
“Where is everyone?” The young spiderling asked after downing his water bottle.
“Bucky and Sam are in the gym, Bruce is messing with something in the labs, and Sharon went grocery shopping with Rhodey.” Carol set down a blue five, not even looking up from her hand. For a superhero, she sure sucked at card games.
“Oh, okay. I’m going to my room, be back to help with dinner!” He called back before walking to the elevator and pressing the button to his and May’s floor.
After everyone returned from the Blip, the Parkers lost their home and Pepper immediately offered them a floor at the Tower, not wanting her not-really-but-still-kind-of-feels-like-it son and his aunt to be living on the streets. Peter was very happy to be living with some of his favorite people in the world and very grateful for the opportunities it provided him.
He entered his room and pressed the button on his chest, the suit retracting to a simple spider pendant that hung around his neck, looking like an ordinary chain. He took it off and put it in his charging cradle before changing into a pair of grey sweatpants (your favorite though he still doesn’t understand why) and his blue Midtown sweatshirt.
He sat on his desk chair, ready to start his homework but a vibration from his phone made him postpone the task, choosing instead to open the messaging app on his custom made StarkPhone.
Princess 👑 ❤️: heyy :)
Princess 👑 ❤️: can i meet you at the tower later?
Princess 👑 ❤️: i want cuddles :)))
He smiled at that and immediately texted you back.
Baby🕷️ ❤️: i’ll ask Rhodey and Shar to pick you up on their way home :)
Baby🕷️ ❤️: love you <3
Princess 👑 ❤️: love you more <33
He texted Sharon and after receiving confirmation that you were in the car with them, he turned his phone face down on the desk to avoid any distractions and started on his English homework, hoping to be done with it when you got here so he could cuddle in peace with his beloved girlfriend.
Twenty minutes later, he was almost done with his homework, fully engrossed in the words on the page that he had to meticulously read, highlight and analyze. He barely noticed when you entered the room, his spidey sense no longer detecting you as a threat, but took a much-needed breath of relief when he felt your hands around his shoulder, rubbing softly.
No words were needed as you kept rubbing his shoulders while he finished his homework, relishing in the soft kisses you left on the crown of his head from time to time. He finished the last sentence on his analysis and set his pen down, sighing. He closed his eyes and put his head back so it rested on your shoulder and you kissed his forehead, hands around his neck, hugging his upper body from behind.
“Cuddles now?” You asked, voice soft and soothing reaching his over-worked brain.
“Yeah, baby, let’s go.”
You kissed him on the forehead once more and took off your shirt, staying in your white lace bra and pastel pink sweatpants before laying down on the king-sized bed. You made grabby hands at him and he took off his own shirt, laying down between your legs and resting his head on your breasts. Your right hand made its way to his soft brown curls while your left rested on his upper back, hugging him close to your chest. His arms tightened around your waist and a pleased sigh left his lips, his lashes fluttering and tickling your skin as the tension rolled off of him in waves with every gentle pass of your manicured nails through his scalp.
Peter loved this position. There was really nothing sexual about it, he just loved hearing your heartbeat and feeling your colder skin against his naturally overheated one. He loved protecting the city and all of its inhabitants but here, in your arms, in this bed, he wasn’t Spider-Man, the newest Avenger. He wasn’t the Starks’ unofficially adopted kid that would take over SI alongside Morgan and Harley. He wasn’t the kid who brightened up everyone’s day and felt solely responsible for their happiness and well-being.
He was just Pete. Your Pete. Your fragile, vulnerable boyfriend who just really needed a hug, and you were more than happy to provide.
“How was your day?” He asked, voice slightly muffled because of his mouth’s position, buried in the valley of your breasts.
“Pretty good. I went to the mall with MJ after class and we bought a bunch of new clothes and art supplies for our trip to DisneyWorld.”
“Why do you need new stuff just to go to DisneyWorld?”
“I need Disney themed stuff.”
“You already have Disney themed stuff.”
“But I need new ones so that every time I see them they’ll remind me of our trip to DisneyWorld.”
He chuckled at your over-the-top-ness and nuzzled his face deeper into your chest.
“‘M hungry.”
“Must be cause you didn’t eat.”
“Did too!” He snorted at that.
“A Slurpee doesn’t count as food, princess.”
A silence enveloped the room and he felt your heartbeat quicken.
“I never told you I had a Slurpee.”
Oh shit.
“Y-Yeah, you did, you said you went to the mall with MJ to do some shopping and had a Slurpee after.” He was panicking but focused on playing it off as best as he could.
Spoiler Alert: he’s a very bad liar and can’t hide anything from you.
“No, I didn’t so how do you know that?”
He stuttered and incoherent sentence your way, trying and failing TRYING VERY HARD to defend himself.
“Have you been following me?”
Shitshitshit.
“N-No?” He hated that he couldn’t lie to you, one look at him and all his secrets would come out like some kind of verbal diarrhea.
You pushed him off your lap so the both of you were sitting up, looking at him with nothing short of hurt, confusion, and betrayal swirling in your beautiful sparkling eyes.
“Have you been taking advantage of EDITH and your powers to spy on me?”
He didn’t answer, simply hung his head, closed his eyes and waited for the blow-up that was bound to happen next... but it never came, only a broken whisper followed by a heart-breaking sob reached his ears.
“Do you not trust me?”
“What?” His head snapped up and he stared into your eyes, seeing the tears threatening to leak and cursing himself because he caused that, he caused his babygirl pain.
“W-Well if you're following me it must be because y-you don’t t-trust m-me.”
Your words were punctuated by a particularly loud sob and he quickly gathered you up in his arms, nuzzling his cheek on the top of your head soothingly and threading his fingers through your hair.
“Nonononononono, baby that’s not it, I promise.” He took your face between his hands and kissed your tear-stricken cheeks, resting his forehead on yours. “It’s just that... with everything that happened with Tony and Beck and my identity being revealed, then almost going to prison, thank God for Pepper, I just... I’m constantly worried that someone’ll come after you because of me, because of what you mean to me, and that I won’t be able to protect you and I just need to know you’re safe, always because you’re the most important person in my life and I don’t know what I’d without you, so I followed you and asked Karen to update me on your vitals every hour so I know you’re safe and alive, and real, and... I just need to know you’re safe.”
He took a deep breath after finishing his jumbled up explanation, finally shining light on the fears deeply installed within him for months.
“I can’t decide if that’s cute or something characteristic of a psychopath. Cause you wanna protect me but you do it by following me and invading my privacy.”
“Wha- psychopath?” You both burst into laughter, foreheads still resting against one another.
“Well, you’ve been following me around for a while. Do you have a camera in my bedroom?”
“No! Of course not! Just... in the lobby... and one facing your apartment door... and on your fire escape facing your window...”
His cheeks were flushed red and he was looking everywhere but at you, seemingly embarrassed by his predicament.
“You said you had Karen monitoring my vitals... how?”
“Oh, um... remember the bracelet I gave you for our six-month anniversary?”
You lifted your right wrist, cocking an eyebrow as if to say ‘this one’.
“Yeah, so um... I actually made that. It’s got nanosensors that monitor your heartbeat, blood pressure, sugar levels, emotional state and a bunch of other things along with a tracker that’s constantly activated. It’s all connected to Karen, so she can let me know whenever you’re in trouble...”
“Is that how you always know when I’m having a panic attack or when I’m on my period?” Your eyes softened up and an adoring smile graced your face when he nodded.
“You’re a dork.” You straddled him fully and properly, then kissed him on the lips softly.”But you’re my dork, and I love you. And I love that you want to keep me safe and that you’d be willing to sacrifice your dignity and do something quite illegal to make sure I stay safe.”
He smirked at you.
“You know, out of context that sounds a bit twisted.”
You rolled your eyes but smiled fondly at him.
“What can I say? From time to time, I sure do love me a bad boy.”
He smiled and kissed you on the lips, slow and passionate, filled with all his love and adoration and relief, pure and utter relief because you’re here, with him, and you know, and you don’t hate him, in fact, you love him even more.
He fell back on the bed, taking you with him as you resumed your previous position, only this time with you on top.
“So are we gonna mention that when Tony did the exact same thing to you you threw a fit and had Ned hack into the suit?”
“Shut up.”
That night, when Peter got back home after dropping you off, EDITH alerted him to movement on your fire escape. His heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s as he pulled up the live footage but it all turned into a breathless chuckle when he saw the surveillance video.
You had put your whiteboard in such a way that it would be seen by the camera and scribbled a ‘Goodnight baby <3′ on it.
Baby🕷️ ❤️: goodnight princess <3
And this is what I do during my English and french classes... English because I don’t need to (perks of being trilingual) and french because the teacher spends the lesson talking about stuff I already know so I really don’t care.
With that said, please stay in school and listen to your teachers... do as I say, not as I do.
Anyway, I hope you liked this little one-shot. Please don’t forget to like, comment and/or reblog if you feel like it!
Love you all, Libby <3
#peter parker x reader#peter parker#mcu spiderman#spiderman x reader#reader insert#female reader#tom holland#tom holland imagine#pepper potts#morgan stark#carol danvers#mj#michelle jones#tony stark#peter parker needs a hug#protective peter parker#avengers#marvel#avengers x reader#libby writes#liberty-barnes#libbys stuff
667 notes
·
View notes
Text
walks & paws
pairing: jeno x reader
genre: strangers to lovers au / fluff
warnings: none
prompts: none
summary: walks were never your favorite; but maybe after an encounter that changed your life, you can manage to appreciate them a little bit more.
requested by anon.
word count: 1.5k
note: *smashes hands down on table* this is so adorable! thank you anonnie for requesting such a lovely scenario!
cherrysung’s navigation
Destiny was something you strongly believed in. A phenomenon that had no logical explanation, but somehow worked according to one’s actions and decisions. Everyday, you hoped faith had something awesome in store for you, and often wondered what your future would be about in years to come.
On a Friday afternoon; when the shining sun wasn’t as burning hot as it usually was during the peak of daytime, and the never ending skies were covered beautifully in warmer tones—you decided a walk through the park near your small apartment would do you good to start off a fresh weekend. Although you absolutely detested walks, one every two months felt fine.
And to top it off, you brought your lazy cat along.
Birds were chirping loudly in perfect melodies, and the breeze was blowing nicely against your face. Your cat’s fur flowed comically with the wind, it’s tiny legs struggling to keep up with your much bigger steps as the two of you walked through the sidewalks, the familiar sound of an electric fountain and children’s laugh pleasantly invading your ears the closer you got.
Upon arriving at the small park, you realized it was not as crowded as it had appeared to be. A few families were having picnics, sitting on red and grid blankets with a couple of bamboo baskets storing food, snacks and drinks for a decent variation. Kids were running around the green grasses, occasionally playing around with the water that splashed out of the huge fountain located at the center; or watching the colorful Japanese koi fish that swam happily in the beautiful pond not far away, with their parents worriedly holding onto them in fear they’d fall into the waters.
A smile etched its way onto your face, your unbothered furry friend had chosen to take a much needed seat on the grass, realizing you had yet again stumbled into nostalgia. With a slight pull on the leash hooked around its collar, the two of you continued an improvised path around the park. The smile never left your face, admiring the emerald green oak trees as their leaves seemed to dance along with the winds, or the countless sunflowers that stood with exuberance pridefully in an extensive sea of daisies and gardenias.
Your eyes were everywhere but the path in front of you, and due to your already clumsy nature, you failed to catch sight of the boy that walked the same cute, dirt trail. The opposite way.
“I’m so sorry!” He apologized profusely when your head hit his hard chest and you went flying backwards, landing with a light thump on the ground.
In a failed attempt to remain aware of your surroundings, you clashed against him with an embarrassing amount of lack of elegance, your cat scurrying quickly to the side in fright as your bottom slightly cushioned your landing. Your cheeks were burning red, and your pet could only lovingly lick your wrist with its rough, pink tongue. Maybe if you looked anywhere but him, he would leave.
“Are you alright? I’m really so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going!” He continued to endlessly apologize, offering you his hand to help you up to your feet. “Are you okay? Is your cat okay?”
“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry—”
“You got a scratch on your elbow!”
You turned your arm to confirm for yourself before he became even guiltier; indeed, there was a tiny scratch. Tiny.
Letting out a laugh of disbelief, but thankfulness nonetheless, you waved your free hand around dismissively with a sweet smile on your face. “That’s the smallest scrape I’ve ever seen! Don’t worry about it! You did nothing wrong, I was the one who wasn’t looking, I should’ve been more careful of my steps.”
He sighed in relief, and only now had you noticed he was walking two cats. “My name is Jeno,” you shook his hand, “I noticed you have a cat too!”
“(Name), and yes, but I’m starting to think yours are way cuter.” You joked with a chuckle. “Mine has been lazy this entire walk.”
Jeno laughed at your confession, eyes creasing adorably into crescents as his grin lit up his features completely. He had a sharp facial structure, and had it not been for his smile, you would’ve never assumed he was capable of pulling off such a sweet expression. Then his eyes beamed so brightly, and you were proved wrong.
“Well, I’m genuinely glad you didn’t hurt yourself. Except for that scratch, though. Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”
“I’m totally fine,” you soothed his worries with a nod of your head, “I’m more concerned for you. Your chest is hard, Jesus!”
Jeno blushed a deep shade of pink, small eyes widening adorably as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head with a soft smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I work out occasionally.”
Neither of you had become aware of how long the time you had been speaking for was, only then noticing the beginnings of a new sunset to come. You’d argue you were in the middle of a recent golden hour, flocks of starlings flying by the gleaming sun. The skies appeared as if they were painted, random shades of faded orange and yellow slowly engulfing it whole as the minutes ticked by and the clock announced the nearing of an early evening.
You turned to face the boy again, eyes widening at how red and itchy his neck was. “Jeno! Are you okay? Your neck is very red.”
He smiled, “I am. I’m allergic to cats, this is normal.”
“You’re allergic to cats but you have two of them?” You laughed, crouching down to pet his companions. One was almost entirely black, and the other was mostly brown with a few black spots located in random places.
“I actually have three, but my mom said I wouldn’t be able to keep up with all of them.”
“That’s cute.” You admitted simply before standing up, prompting yet another wave of rosy red to fill his cheeks, the tip of his ears also burning with embarrassment.
Needless to say, although the darkness of night was getting closer and closer by the moment, Jeno thought staying to watch the sunset would be a great idea. One you did not oppose either. The two of you took a seat on a random wooden bench that was in great needs of some new paint, as its previous one was already scraping off.
He sat next to you, your cat surprisingly happy under his touch as it rested on his lap, hand running over its fluffed up fur due to all the breeze it had endured. One of his cats slept between the two of you, while the other one also laid lazily on your thighs.
The rash on his neck has simmered down a tiny bit; yet, to you, he still looked handsome under a dim lamp post light that shined over the both of you.
Soon enough, the sun had set, the sky now darkened with a few tints of lavender and pink fighting to show up. Most families had left, and only a small amount of people remained besides you two. You turned to face Jeno, finding with shock that his gaze was already on you, eyes scanning your features swiftly before finally locking with yours. He smiled again, and you weren’t sure if the butterflies in your stomach were the ones tickling you, or if it was his cat’s fur that brushed against your legs.
“Would you want to hang out some other time again? Without cats that give me allergies and actually planned beforehand so you don’t end up bumping into hard chests anymore?” He thanked whatever god was above that nighttime had arrived, and that you weren’t able to see how flushed his face was.
“Are you asking me out on a date?”
Stutters stumbled off his lips at your unexpected question, “do you—do you, um, want it to be a date? It doesn’t have to be! But if you want to, it can be—”
“A date sounds fine to me, Jeno,” you smiled sincerely at him, pulling out a notepad from your small crossbody handbag and writing your phone number on it before placing the small paper on his palm. “I would love to. I had a great time with you.”
Jeno gratefully returned your smile, nodding with utter happiness as the both of you got hold of your respective pets, standing up with a sigh and warmth that refused to leave your cheeks. “Want me to walk you home?”
You shook your head, “it’s fine. I live very close, so don’t worry. Just make sure to text me once you get to your own home and you’ve taken some pills for that rash.” He chuckled, nodding at your words as he looked down at you with a loving stare. “Goodnight Jeno, it was nice meeting you and your cats. I’m looking forward to our date.” With a quick peck on his cheek, you turned on your heel and on your way back to your apartment, not needing to look back at his face to know he was unbelievably flustered, red as a tomato.
Destiny surely had something awesome in store for you.
#neohours#jeno#lee jeno#jeno fluff#lee jeno fluff#jeno imagines#jeno scenarios#jeno drabbles#jeno blurbs#jeno timestamps#jeno fics#lee jeno scenarios#lee jeno imagines#nct dream#nct dream jeno#nct#nct jeno#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#nct dream scenarios#nct scenarios#nct timestamps#jeno angst#nct jeno fluff#nct dream fics#nct fics
170 notes
·
View notes
Text
Unwanted Company
Day Six - Blitzo is lonely and Stolas is horny. Together, they make a wonderful pair.
Christmas in Hell was an interesting affair.
Being a commemoration of the birth of their tormenter, most demons chose to celebrate the holidays by burning Christ memorabilia or getting drunk and cursing his names in the streets. Sometimes both. Others merely ignored the holiday, seeing it as just another winter day, or in other words just another day as winter in Hell was essentially the same as every other season in Hell, i.e. terrible and on fire.
Stolas was an exception to this rule. As a mortal he had loved the holidays, and that love had transferred over into the afterlife. He liked to see it as less of a celebration of Jesus and more a celebration of capitalism and beautiful aesthetics. That was more his style. Unfortunately, the rest of his family did not share his love for the season. He was subjected to another series of lectures by Estelle when she discovered wreaths hung about the house, lectures that involved the catapulting of many an object towards his face, and Octavia merely groaned and left the room whenever he tried to coerce her into a Christmas carol.
Thus Stolas was forced to turn to his one source of comfort when his family decided that even they were fed up with his shenanigans. He twirled the phone wire around his fingertip as he waited for the call to pick up.
“Oh Blitzy~!”
On the other end of the line, Blitzo felt one of his eyes twitch. He was already in a terrible mood and this phone call was the cherry on top of the shit sandwich. As it happened, Blitzo was not a Christmas person. He was happy to take advantage of the season’s marketability for his business, but even that only served to sink his spirits more than they already were. It was depressing to watch the atrocious acts that greed prompted humans to commit.
Now he found himself curled up in his office chair, all alone with not even Moxxie or Millie to keep him company; both of them had taken a day off for the holidays even though Blitzo knew for a fact that neither of them bought into the Christmas spirit either. He had invited Loona to join him but the conversation had lasted for about two seconds before she flipped him off and went to go burn down a building with her friends for anarchical reasons.
He was lonely. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but it was true. So it was just his luck that he was to receive a phone call from the one person he would never choose to spend the holidays with.
“What do you want you piece of shit dicklord?” Blitzo grumbled, slumping down on his desk so that his chin rested in his arms. He was too tired to be genuinely angry at him and so his words were devoid of their usual ferocity.
“You flatter me. I was wondering if you wanted to join me for the evening? I was thinking we could…” Stolas smiled as images flashed through his mind. “Entertain each other?”
Blitzo opened his mouth to tell him to fuck off but found himself pausing. He had caught a glance of the picture hanging over his desk, one of him and the rest of I.M.P smiling after a successful kill. Blitzo had his arms clutched around them and the others smiled up at him, admit a bit reluctantly. He stared around again at his empty office and before he knew what he was doing, he said, “Okay.”
“…Okay?” Stolas, who moments before had been lounging casually upon his bed, now sat up, a hint of hope and confusion coloring his tone. “Okay, you want to join me for Christmas?”
“Yes?” Blitzo cringed further into the safety of his arms. What the hell was he doing? Surely he couldn’t be considering spending any amount of time with the horniest owl lord in hell, and yet… It was too late to take back his words so he pushed forward, hoping not to regret them further. “We’re not doing anything, just to be clear. However, I don’t… entirely hate the concept of your presence right now. So… what do you say?”
Stolas had no idea what had prompted the change of heart, but he wasn’t about to turn down an offer like that. “I would love that. And you’re sure this is what you want?”
Weirdly, Blitzo was.
When he arrived he was greeted with a text that merely read Meet me on the balcony ;), thus implying that the use of a front door was one they would be forgoing that night. Blitzo sighed and prepared for the painful climb up the tangled tresses and onto the sculpted balcony. He pulled himself over the last rung with a pained grunt, using the length of his tail to secure him the rest of the way over. At first he didn’t see anyone and he was almost worried he had fallen for one of Stolas’ tricks despite himself. That was when he noticed the owl demon skulking in the shadows of the doorway, the light from the moon casting specters on his looming form.
“Hello Blitzy,” he greeted softly, his head tilted incredulously to one side. “I didn’t think you’d really come.”
“Yeah, well, I almost didn’t,” Blitzo confessed bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Truthfully speaking, I have no idea why I’m here. I hate a lot of people, and I mean a lot of people, but you take the cake for the filthiest scum of the earth I’ve ever encountered.”
“The night’s still early for talk like that.” Stolas waltzed forward, his steps a lilting, sensuous thing. Blitzo found himself staring, hating himself for doing so. As much as he insisted it was purely business to friends and co-workers, Blitzo couldn’t deny that he didn’t entirely hate their nights together. It certainly beat whatever plans he would have had for the evenings. Stolas leaned on the railing besides him, his gaze piercing as he stared down at Blitzo. Later the imp would deny the blush that crawled unwanted up his neck.
“I’m fairly certain I said nothing was happening tonight,” Blitzo reminded him, brushing off his pants. “I just wanted some company and you happened to be the easiest solution.”
“Of course,” Stolas agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “I would never think of doing anything untoward to you. I know our past has been mostly, or rather completely, sexual in nature, but I do have interests outside of intercourse you know.”
Blitzo scoffed. “Oh, like what? And please never say intercourse like that again. I feel like I need to take a shower.”
Stolas traced a fingernail across the railing, a slow, lazy path. Blitzo’s throat went dry and he reminded himself again that nothing was happening that night. His body, however, did not seem to get the memo. “I am a fan of stargazing myself and I’m actually quite a good herbalist. I’ve also been known to enjoy conversation from time to time. What about you? Any interests outside of your own personal pleasure?”
“Every interest is to serve my personal pleasure,” Blitzo said smugly, his tail coiling tauntingly behind him. “It’s the only real thing worth pursuing in this dump of a hellhole we’re all living in. I don’t have time or use for hobbies.”
“Is that why you’re so interested in killing?” Stolas prompted. “It provides you pleasure to watch others fail and die?” There was no malice or judgement in his voice, just plain curiosity. Blitzo hesitated a moment before answering.
“It pays the bills,” he said at last, the current line of questioning making him strangely uncomfortable. “I don’t really like it so much as it’s convenient. Not to mention those assholes deserved it. Not a single human gets by without doing something disgustingly rotten to someone else and damning themselves for all eternity. Why do you think we have such an overpopulation issue?”
“But you can’t really believe that, can you?” Stolas insisted, drawing closer to the imp. Blitzo’s skin prickled with goosebumps and he took an instinctual step back. “Surely there’s some good in people. At least one of them?”
“There isn’t,” Blitzo snarled, anger fueling into his voice to make up for his discomfort. “And I know for a fact you don’t believe so either.”
“Ah, you caught me,” Stolas admitted, but instead of moving back in defeat he only drew in closer. This time Blitzo found himself unable to move, his feet seemingly stuck to the floor. “I find humanity to be quite undeserving of any kind of mercy. But I know you don’t.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Oh but I do.” Stolas met his gaze, but something had softened in his eyes and it was no longer the predatory look from before. “I don’t just want you for your body, you know. I’ve watched you with your supposed ‘co-workers’—I’ve seen the way you look at them. You care for them. That’s why you’re here with me tonight. I’m a replacement for them, aren’t I?”
Angry heat flashed through Blitzo and he moved to step away but Stolas caught his wrist in one hand. His grip was surprisingly strong, a fact that did many things to the imp. “Don’t lie to me. Not on Christmas.”
“Oh please,” Blitzo snorted, rolling his eyes and ignoring the pounding of his heart. “You don’t really buy into all that cheap Christ stuff, do you? It’s just a scam to sell candy and toys to desperate parents. Christmas spirit is just a lie we tell ourselves to sleep better at night.”
“Maybe I don’t believe all of it,” Stolas admitted, his other hand sliding down Blitzo’s throat and curling around the base of his neck. Blitzo felt a shudder work its way down his body and he cursed the fact that this always happened whenever he got around the other demon. “But is it so wrong to want to celebrate, to spend time with the people you love?”
“What about your own family, huh?” Blitzo shot back, the words his only defense mechanism as Stolas slowly unraveled him. “You have a real one so why don’t you spend this stupid holiday with them?”
For a moment the seductive façade faded and it was just Stolas, eyes widened and beak tightened into a frown. “They’re busy,” he snapped quickly, and the look was gone before Blitzo could evaluate it too heavily. “Besides, I’m spending it with you. Per your agreement, if you remember.”
He took another step forward so that their two bodies were pressed flush up against the railing. Blitzo’s hands tightened on the cold metal and he averted his eyes. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Then stop me,” Stolas said in reply, knowing for a fact that the imp wouldn’t. As he leaned down, the heat of their bodies mingling, Blitzo considered breaking the moment, pursuing the look on Stolas face from earlier. In the end though, he decided they would have enough time to discuss it later that next morning, after the events of the night had faded into a distant dream.
Right then, though, Blitzo had a horny demon owl to attend to.
#hazbin hotel#blitzo#stolas#stolitz#helluva boss#stolas x blitzo#twelve days of ficmas#fanfiction#christmas
40 notes
·
View notes
Text
started writing Maruki/Rumi for V-Day, stalled slightly on how to progress the not-quite-date (Shibusawa third-wheeling lol) but I’ve gotten far enough (2k!) that I want to share what I did get down.
half-cute half-angsty half-devoted to dragging Maruki because he’s sweet but he’s a mess lol
-
Maruki pulled into the Shibuya scramble with his eyes wide open for Amamiya-kun and the other Phantom Thieves. He'd gotten a text from Amamiya-kun that he wanted one last meeting before he left Tokyo, and if that were the case, Maruki couldn't refuse. Nor did he want to. He'd stayed away, aware that Amamiya-kun had enough reason to want no further contact, but on his own side...Maruki had nothing but respect and admiration for the teenager who had used his year of probation from an unjust arrest to right so many other injustices in Japan. Even if it turned out Amamiya-kun wanted nothing more than to receive an apology in-person, Maruki would happily give it so that he could move on.
As it turned out when the former counselor spotted the group, it seemed Amamiya-kun might want something more practical. The kids had borrowed a white van that was currently stopped on the side of the road. Most of them were still in the car, Niijima-san in the driver's seat, but Amamiya-kun, Morgana-kun, and Sakamoto-kun were gathered in front of the vehicle's open hood. Engine trouble? And other trouble as well, it seemed, when Maruki took note of a worried look from Takamaki-san in a completely different direction. He followed her gaze and spotted a dark car parked farther off, occupied by two men in suits. Were they being followed? The Phantom Thieves were still notorious, apparently...
Making up his mind, Maruki slipped through the traffic in the scramble to pull up closer to them. "Need a hand?" he called, pressing a button to neatly pop open the back door of the taxi on Amamiya-kun's side. Hm...strange. Morgana-kun was no longer perched on Amamiya-kun's shoulder--had he just dropped down to the street, below sightline, or had he decided to get back in the van? Maruki had assumed that Morgana-kun would accompany Amamiya-kun back to his hometown, given their inseparability during the school year, but now he wondered if he would have two passengers or only one.
Or none at all. Amamiya-kun approached the taxi, but simply pushed the door closed again. "Thanks," he said as Maruki rolled down the window, "but we've got things handled."
"You're sure? Even with..." Maruki glanced in the direction of the dark car and the presumed government agents. But perhaps the Phantom Thieves had a contact whose help they preferred--Sakura-san had glanced at him once, but her attention now seemed devoted to her phone, on which she was rapidly texting.
"Positive," Amamiya-kun said. "Besides, I think you'll have another passenger soon."
Maruki laughed, a bit uncertain. "I'm not on the clock," he told Amamiya-kun. "Well, I was, but I'm taking a break."
"You don't want to miss this fare."
The confidence in Amamiya-kun's voice got Maruki to glance to his other side, wondering if someone was trying to hail him, but no one stood out--and who would be more important than Amamiya-kun, at the moment? He'd promised him a meeting. "...You've lost me. But if I'm in the way, I'll--"
"Dr. Maruki. You might need to update your glasses if you're driving for a living. Look again, please."
Amamiya-kun smirked as he spun his pointer finger in a lazy circle, prompting Maruki to once again look away from him, out the driver's side. He scanned farther now, now sure he was meant to spot someone...oh. His friend Shibusawa was still at a distance, but crossing the scramble toward him, strolling alongside a woman who--
Maruki's breath hitched. Her outfit was new, and her hair had grown out a little, soft choppy waves nearly touching her shoulders, but its shade of dark red was instantly recognizable, as was the face it framed. He blinked quickly, sure he was seeing wrong, but he couldn't stop himself from murmuring: "Ru..."
She looked well. Alert, aware of the world around her. She was looking around the scramble herself, and pulled up short when she caught sight of him, prompting a laugh from Shibusawa as he urged her along.
Wait...wait. Why would she react like that? He was a taxi driver with ordinary looks. Why should seeing him surprise her? Their conversation at the hospital had been so long ago, and he doubted his stilted bumbling would have made a favorable impression, let alone a memorable one. So why...why was she straying from scramble's crosswalk, closely followed by Shibusawa, coming straight toward him?
Dumbly, Maruki thought: ‘she's coming toward the taxi, not you. Amamiya-kun mentioned a fare. She needs a ride.’ He knew that didn't add up, was far too coincidental, but he couldn't get his mind wrapped around the sight of Rumi actually in front of him, looking uncertain, which made his heart hurt, but also looking at him like she wanted to talk to him, like she knew him, which had him ready to pull out his heart and back out over it the minute she asked if he could take her somewhere and reminded him he was just a stranger, just a strange taxi driver who'd been staring far too long--
"She remembers," a voice said quietly. Amamiya-kun seemed to be taking pity on him. "At least, enough that she wanted to meet you again. That's one desire I think you should grant."
"Mren! Gah th' plug!" a higher-pitched, strangely muffled voice said. Maruki heard something being spat out, and then Morgana-kun's voice became clearer: "Ohhh, there's Rumi! She really is pretty! Cognition tends to embellish, you know."
If any part of Maruki had been able to think clearly past the question of "how could Rumi remember?", it was instantly demolished by the reminder that all of the teenagers currently watching him had been inside his mind and yes, must have seen quite a bit of Rumi.
(There had been statues. She deserved them, yes, but that didn't keep his face from heating up.)
Shibusawa called out and waved, and Rumi waved as well, if more shyly, still with uncertainty, and Maruki heard a reprimand along the lines of "that is your lady love, how can you sit there like a lump?" interrupted by "no pressure, Dr. Maruki. Morgana, let them figure it out" and then he fully appreciated that Morgana-kun had a point. He was just sitting like a lump, and he scrambled to open the door and stand to meet Rumi, except he'd forgotten to take his seatbelt off, and while he fumbled with the button to get free he heard a boy guffaw before making a half-hearted attempt to stifle the laughter--Sakamoto-kun.
At least Maruki's brief stint at Shujin had gotten him used to embarrassing himself in front of teenagers. When he was at last unbelted and out of the car, even Shibusawa looked faintly amused, but Rumi...
Rumi's smile was so warm, and some of the nervousness had left her face, leaving a fondness that Maruki nearly found overwhelming. He didn't deserve it. Still, he found his tongue so that he could at least greet her. "Hello, Rumi. It's been a while," he said, and maybe he shouldn't have said that, because her expression flickered, becoming a little quieter. He tried to move on quickly, though it was difficult to know what to talk about when he still didn't understand how she was even here. "Have you been well?"
"I'm fine, Takuto," she answered. "What about you? You're a taxi driver now? How did that happen?"
Her tone was polite, but Maruki was sure there was a plethora of questions behind it. Rumi knew--or at least she had known, and she seemed to remember now--how dedicated he'd been to cognitive psience and his research, wanting to find ways to help victims of trauma. She must be wondering what had pushed him to leave the field, and that was a heavy subject, especially since it started with what he'd done to her.
He'd tell her, of course. It was just a matter of figuring out how, and the appropriate time, which wasn't in the middle of the scramble. "Ah, well," Maruki said. "You know how it can be in academia--sometimes the funding just isn't there." Half-truth for now; it was, at least, what had pushed him out of research and into counseling.
But it wasn't enough. He needed to tell her what he'd done, if she hadn't already figured it out, and apologize.
Shibusawa had been watching the two of them, but he glanced up as the Phantom Thieves' van rumbled to life. Maruki let himself look as well. "Nice job! On the first try!" Niijima-san was praising someone. Most of the teenagers seemed to have lost interest in the adult drama unfolding nearby (Maruki was unsurprised to see Kitagawa-kun being the exception, staring quite intently and meeting his gaze without shame), but as the car started to pull away, Sakura-san stopped texting and Amamiya-kun glanced to Maruki and then Shibusawa, who was checking his phone.
...Of course this had been coordinated. But how much did Shibusawa know?
Enough, at least, that he seemed understanding of how awkward the situation was, offering both Rumi and Maruki a smile as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Rumi, you had a long train ride here, didn't you? Let's grab a bite to eat. You don't mind driving, do you, Takuto?"
"Oh--oh, no," Maruki said quickly, "Hop in, both of you. No charge."
Shibusawa frowned. "You know I'm inviting you too, right?"
"Er, right! Of course." It hadn't completely registered that the invitation was also for him, no.
"If," Rumi spoke up, one hand clutching the strap of her purse. Maruki dimly registered the silver chain bracelet on her wrist; he'd bought it for her their first White Day. Did she remember? "If I'm making you uncomfortable--"
"No! Rumi, it's nothing like that." God, he was screwing this completely. "It's just...after everything that happened, I...I didn't think we'd be able to talk again. Not like this." He leaned over the open car door, quickly popping over the back door for passengers again. "Let's go eat somewhere. What do you feel like?"
-
They decided on an okonomiyaki restaurant. Shibusawa knew a good one in the area and gave directions from the back. In between turns, the conversation stayed safe, neutral. Rumi was still living with her grandparents. She was working as a financial counselor again, though at a different bank than before. She got along with her coworkers, and her boss was the genial sort, if a bit over-talkative at times.
She'd been seeing someone for a couple months, but they'd broken up in January. She offered the information haltingly, and Maruki quickly flashed her a smile in the rearview mirror to show he wasn't hurt by it. He wasn't her fiancé anymore, after all.
Of course, it also helped that he'd already known about most of that, having checked on her in January to make sure she was happy in the world he was creating for her sake. The only thing he hadn't known about was the breakup. "His loss," he said lightheartedly, even if he found it puzzling. When he'd checked in January, they'd both seemed content in the relationship, and he'd done nothing to alter that part of Rumi's life, all too aware his feelings might cloud his judgment. He remembered easing her grandfather's back pain, making two coworkers happier, and reopening her favorite store that had closed in October. Nothing with the boyfriend. He couldn't even remember the guy's name now, just that he'd had a job that paid well. Maruki probably wouldn't even remember that, except that at the time it had caused an odd stab of jealousy and remorse that Rumi's parents would most certainly have approved of this man, someone well-suited to take care of their daughter. An irrational feeling, despicably petty. He'd known to stay well away from touching Rumi's relationship when it was already happy. So how was it that they'd broken up in the same timeframe in this reality, yet been so happy in his, even though Maruki hadn't changed anything? But it wasn't any of his business. "You're wonderful, Rumi. I'm sure you'll find someone who knows to treasure you."
"Takuto..." Rumi sounded happy, but also hesitant, and Maruki glanced up to see that she was blushing while looking out the passenger window. "Thank you."
Shibusawa, seated next to her, was staring at Maruki the same way he had that time in college when Maruki had called him in a drunken panic about being locked out of his apartment at 2 a.m., only for his hand to finally land on the key in his jacket's pocket the second his friend had shown up to help him.
The trio got to the restaurant, got themselves a table, and started grilling okonomiyaki once the ingredients were ready. They kept up small talk, Maruki filling in the gaping pauses that opened up at questions like "how are you doing?" and "are you seeing anyone?" with stories about Shujin's faculty and student body and the more colorful customers he'd already met as a taxi driver. He thought they did a good job of covering up how empty his life had been. He didn't want to cause Rumi any concern, not when she could be laughing and smiling and he could actually witness it, bask in her delight.
Shibusawa seemed amused too at first, smiling a little, but he became more serious when Rumi excused herself to the restroom. "Hey, man. I know I'm in the dark about what happened between you and Rumi before. All I know is that it was terrible for both of you. If you're not interested, I get that. But...you do realize she is, don't you?"
"She's not," Maruki said automatically, because it just wasn't realistic. She shouldn't even remember him. Not knowing what had changed her cognition, he couldn't even be sure it wouldn't revert at any moment. She might come back to their table and ask who he was. She might walk past them and simply leave the restaurant. He'd already let her go once--he couldn't get attached again.
Even if it was already a bit late for that.
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Flufftober 1 - Coffee Shop AU
SF Papyrus (Mutt) x Reader. Requested by @leandersluckylady.
Summary: You finally gave into the “reusable coffee cup” trend. You brought your new cup to your favorite coffee place and met the new barista. He makes a mistake, but it all turns out okay. SF Papyrus/Reader.
Welcome to Flufftober! Thanks for @vex-bittys for the prompts! This first one was super fun to write, and the plans I have for the rest of them are going to be fun too!
I’ve decided to post these on AO3 as well, so if you’d rather read it there, you can! Otherwise, it’s under the cut! Enjoy!
Read on AO3
You hadn’t been too keen on the whole “reusable cup” trend. It seemed like extra work. Having to remember to bring the cup, and then to bring it home with you and wash it so you could get it filled the next day? Wasn’t that why disposable cups were invented? Yes, but apparently it was cool to bring your own cup to a coffee shop now. It was saving the planet. (You were all for saving the planet, but the lazy, forgetful part of you was still annoyed.)
You’d finally caved on the cup thing because you found one that was supposed to be a “decorate your own” kind of cup. It was meant to be drawn on and that pleased your little artistic heart to no end. You had no idea when you’d find time to doodle on your cup with your busy schedule, but you were enticed by the pure whiteness of its porcelain...and the fact that it could hold a LOT of coffee.
“I can take the next person.”
The voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up from the empty white expanse of your cup to see a...skeleton monster? Yeah, that was a skeleton behind the counter. His nametag read “Papyrus”. He had an orange hoodie with a big fluffy hood on under his apron, a scar over one eye socket, and a gold fang. He also, somehow, had the look of a lost puppy. He should have been scary, but you found yourself smiling at him.
“Hi!” you said.
“Hey,” he said. His voice was deep and softer than you might have expected. He gave you a small smile, his golden tooth flashing in the light. “What can I getcha?”
“I’m gonna be really basic,” you said, “and say pumpkin spice latte?”
His smile widened. “That’s not basic, it’s classic. What size do you want?”
“Um...whatever size fits in this?” You held out the cup.
He took it carefully and studied it. “Looks like you’ve got a grande there,” he says. “That’s a grande idea, gettin’ a cup you can use more than once.”
“You think so?” you asked before you got the pun and snickered. “I mean, I thought so. I figured it was worth a shot.” You trailed off, unsure if your puns worked.
He laughed, so you must have said something right. “Well, brew can’t go wrong with a cup like this. I throw away enough used paper ones to build a house, so I’m glad you’re savin’ me some work. Just gimme your name and I can that pumpkin spice started for ya.”
“I’m Y/N,” you said, grinning at him. “Thanks a latte.”
“No problem, Y/N. That’s $5.50. I’ll call ya when it’s ready.”
You handed over the money and he took your cup and began working on the drink. You stepped away a little to wait. Your phone buzzed and you spent a few minutes texting a friend before Papyrus called your name.
“Pumpkin spice for Y/N?”
You stepped back to the counter. Papyrus handed your cup back to you with another grin. “Have a gran-day,” he said.
“Thanks!” you said with a laugh. “See you tomorrow!”
“I’ll be here.”
You left the shop and got back in your car to head to work. The drink was really good! You’d had pumpkin spice lattes before, but this one was definitely the best one you’d ever tasted. There was something in it, an extra spice or more cream or something, that just made it taste amazing! You didn’t mean to, but you nearly finished it before you got to work! You were definitely going to have to go back and get this again!
It was only when you set your cup on your desk that you noticed the doodle. Someone had drawn on your cup in black sharpie. Someone--and you were pretty sure you knew who--had written your name and the letters PSL on the cup along with a little picture of a smiling skull. The fresh white surface you had been looking forward to drawing on was no longer pure and full of potential. Papyrus had drawn on your cup before you could.
You weren’t sure if you were actually mad about it, though. He hadn’t intended to permanently mark your cup. He’d probably just forgotten that it wasn’t a disposable one. And the little skull was cute. The more you looked at it, the more you liked it. You were still going to go back and talk to him about it, but hey, maybe it was a good thing. Maybe this could just be your Pumpkin Spice Latte cup.
You kept thinking about the cup and the doodle and Papyrus all through your work day. At lunch, you dug out your own sharpie and added your own drawing to the cup--a little picture of a pumpkin. You made sure to remember to bring it home with you and wash it. By hand, just to make sure the marker didn’t wash off.
The next morning, you went into the coffee shop, cup in hand, and waited in Papyrus’s line. Once you reached him, you put the cup down with the doodle facing him.
“Morning!” you said.
“Mornin,’” he replied. Then he picked up the cup and looked at it and a rusty orange blush covered his cheeks. “Oh shit,” he said, rubbing a thumb over the doodle. “I wrote on your cup. Shit...I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I’ll get you a new one.”
You smiled at him. “Nah,” you said. “I don’t mind. I was going to draw on it anyways, so I guess you just beat me to it.” You shrugged. “I added my own little doodle to it, though. What do you think?”
He turned the cup in his hands and found your little pumpkin. “Cute,” he said. “Way cuter than what I did. You sure you’re okay with it? I think rubbing alcohol will take it off if you don’t want it there...”
“I like it,” you assured him. “It’s pretty cute, actually. I mean, not my name, but the little skull you drew there? I think he’s adorable.” You grinned. “He looks like he might be a little bonely, though. If you wanted to make him a friend while you made me a drink, I wouldn’t object.”
“Really?” He looked hopeful.
“Yeah! Go for it, dude! Espresso yourself!”
That pun got him to laugh. “Okay. One pumpkin spice latte plus one bonus doodle, coming up.”
“How much do I owe you?” you asked. He shook his head.
“I’m payin’ today. I still wanna make it up to you for my mistake. It’s on me.”
“You don’t have to--”
“I wanna. Seriously.”
“Okay...” You stepped away and waited while he worked.
A couple of minutes later he called your name and handed you the cup. This time, you saw the picture right away. It was another little skull with a sad face and a little speech bubble that said sorry...
“Aww,” you said. “It’s cute! But seriously, like I said, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Papyrus grinned at you. “See you tomorrow.” He waved at you as you walked out the door.
A month later, your cup was a true work of art. You’d added your own doodles to it and Papyrus had drawn something on it for you every day. He’d eventually branched out from skulls. Most of his doodles were puns, actually. Some of your favorites were the little coffee cup that said “brew can do it” and the pumpkin with a little crown that said, “i’m a pun-king!” You’d added mostly fall-type doodles--more pumpkins and leaves and a moon...Both of you had used multiple colors of Sharpie.
The cup was a masterpiece, and you’d gotten a friend out of it too! Papyrus was funny and sweet. You learned little bits and pieces of information about him over the month. He had a brother who hated his jokes. He was working here mostly because he hadn’t found anything else he liked doing. He loved to draw but didn’t think he was that good at it. (You were quick to correct him on that one! His art was awesome!) You really liked him.
As you left the shop that morning, you realized that there was only enough space for one more drawing. You grinned. You knew exactly what you wanted to put there.
The next morning, before you could put down your cup, Mutt pulled a gift bag out from under the counter. “Gotcha something,” he said.
“What? You didn’t have to!” you said. You reached into the bag and pulled out a blank white reusable coffee cup.
“I figured you could use another one, since we kinda filled the last one,” he said.
You grinned. This just made things perfect. You held out your colorful cup. “Awesome,” you said. “I was planning on giving this to you anyways.”
Papyrus blinked. “What?”
“I want you to have it,” you said. “I put one more doodle on there for you.”
He turned it in his hands and found your final picture: a little coffee cup with the words “I like you a latte! Call me!” followed by your phone number.
“You mean it?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “You’ve been the best part of my days for a month now. I’d love to spend more time with you.”
“I’d love to spend time with you too,” he said. “I’ll call you later and we can mocha plans for a date?”
“Sure,” you grinned. You handed him your new cup. “One pumpkin spice latte, with a side of doodle?”
“Coming right up,” he said with a matching grin. He took your cup and you watched him draw on it. When he handed it back, he’d drawn a heart with a phone number underneath. You could already tell that this was the start of something amazing.
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reverie
Summary: Spencer and Maeve visit the Folger Shakespeare Museum. Written for @railmereid's 2K writing challenge/prompt: "Do you think we could pretend?"
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Maeve Donovan (PG-13)
Category: Fluff, Angst
Warnings: Allusions to stalking. No explicit spoilers, but this won't make sense if you're not familiar with the beginning of the Maeve arc (Season 8).
Reverie
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
-William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
"Do you think we could pretend?" she asks softly.
"Pretend?"
"That we're together."
He looks up, past the scratched and dirty fiberglass casing of the phone booth, down one of hundreds of similarly featured streets from which he might have called her. "How?"
"Your mind is an amazing tool, Spencer. Convince me," she says with a gossamer laugh. "Tell us both a vivid lie."
"A rare vision?" he suggests, warming to the idea.
"Take pains," she says. "Be perfect."
"OK." He slips his hand into his pocket to pull out his own phone. "I'm going to hang up and call you on my cell."
"That sounds like a great start."
He settles the heavy pay phone receiver in its cradle with a satisfying thunk and hits the first speed dial on his cell.
"Hey," she answers right away.
"Hey." He smiles to himself. "You're still there."
"I'm still here."
"Great." He exits the phone booth and walks towards his car, three doors down in front of a coin-operated laundry. "I'm parked outside of Georgetown Laundry," he says, unlocking the door of his horizon blue 1965 Volvo Amazon and sliding behind the wheel.
"I'm right around the corner," she says, voice light with mirth. "Come pick me up."
He follows those welcome instructions, turning the corner at a lazy crawl just in time to see her emerge from the door of her brownstone. Her face is hidden from him by a curtain of rich brown hair as she turns to lock the door behind her. Her figure is mostly hidden, too, beneath a loose white sun dress that falls just past her knees and a gray cardigan that is at least one size too large. She turns at last, her eyes shaded by sunglasses but her smile bright and genuine. She trots down the steps to street level, waving cheerfully as she crosses the sidewalk to his car.
He's out of the car before he knows it, rushing to meet her on the sidewalk. He holds out his hand and says breathlessly, "Maeve."
"I think we're a little past that, Spencer," she says warmly, ignoring his proffered hand and wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that feels like early summer. She smells of cotton and lilac, light and sweet. Without a thought, he buries his face in her shoulder and wraps his arms around her tightly, as if she will float away, an ephemeral thing he must cling to if he is to have any chance of keeping it at all.
"You're really here," he murmurs against her skin. She shivers. He wants to make her do it again, so he says, "Maeve."
She laughs, her hands dancing the length of his spine. "I'm here. Now," she says as she pulls back just enough to see his face. "Where should we go?"
He breathes deeply, soaking in the warm summer air and the tethered feeling of her finally standing beside him. "Where do you want to go?"
She pushes her sunglasses up to reveal pale blue eyes, crinkling with excitement. "Where do you want to take me, Spencer?"
He barely has to think, when she says it like that. "I know a place." He pulls open the passenger side door and offers her his hand again. "Get in."
This time, she takes it, her skin cool and dry against his as she lowers herself into the car. "I should have known you'd drive something with character," she says as he climbs in the driver's side, running her fingers along the vintage console.
"I don't drive it much," he admits, pulling away from the curb and pointing towards their destination.
"I know," she says. "I'm glad you drove it today."
He turns his head for just a second to appreciate the childlike wonder on her face. "Me, too."
"Can I roll down the window?" she asks.
"Of course."
She works the crank until the window is as far down as it'll go, turning her face to the breeze. "I haven't been out of my apartment in so long," she says wistfully.
After a beat, he answers, "I know."
She turns back to him with a reassuring smile. "I can't wait to see where you're taking me."
They drive through tree-lined streets to the historic part of town, calling out landmarks well-known and esoteric, until finally he pulls over and puts the car in park. "I think we're here," he says, squinting through the windshield.
"You think?" she asks playfully.
He chuckles. "Yeah. We're here."
Before them rises a long two-story building with a facade of white Georgia marble, worn by more than 80 years of east coast weather but no less stunning for its age. Tall vertical windows line length of the building, art deco grilles adorning those and the entryway closer to the ground. A series of themed bas-reliefs pose under the windows, figures of stone so well-hewn they seem to not to have been carved from the marble, but to have emerged from it.
"Oh, I haven't been here in ages," she says, hand in his as she leads him up the stairs. Her fingertips hover over the figures, but she doesn't touch. Hers won't be among the hands that slowly erase the figures from the stone from which they were birthed. All the best tragedies already constructed, in word and stone, from Macbeth to Hamlet to Romeo and Juliet , those stupid, star-crossed lovers.
"This sort of artwork is usually installed near the top of the building," he says, watching her face flush with happiness as she traverses the path towards the doors. "The Folgers asked the sculptor to place them closer to street level to give the public a better view."
She pauses a moment in front of crowned Titania, dwarfed by an attentive Bottom, idiots in love. The Fairy Queen's face is turned out, in soliloquy or reverie. Titania's body occupies the same space as her lover's, but her mind is far afield. What a privilege.
She hums appreciatively. "Is there a show today?" she says, turning her hopeful face to his.
He smiles. "What would you like to see?"
"Surprise me!" she says with a grin.
They tour the library until the sun sets, gasping softly at the details of the collection on exhibit in the Great Hall. They admire the finer points of the room itself, with its soaring plaster strapwork ceiling and intricate terracotta floor, inscribed with the masks of Comedy and Tragedy, secreting in its tiles the titles of the Bard's plays. They hover as close to the First Folio as they're permitted.
Their hands never part.
They take in the Elizabethan Theatre, with its three-tiered balconies and carved oak columns, but that's not where either of them want to spend their evening, so he takes her at last out to the garden. And for all the things they've seen today, it's the sight of the formal garden, the smell of lavender and honeysuckle and thyme that pulls the breath from her lungs and she says, "Oh, Spencer."
Palms pressed together, he pulls her closer to his side. He bends his head and whispers, "There's more."
They traverse the garden slowly; she pauses often, to touch an unfurled leaf or inhale the scent of a flower rising brilliantly from the heavily mulched earth. While she drinks in their surroundings, he only has eyes for her. Her dark hair, blunt bangs playful over clear blue eyes, the pretty pink of her cheeks when she catches him looking, the sly curl of her lips that tells him she knows she's got him wrapped around her any way she desires. She has only to say the word.
"They're setting up for the show," he says, pointing down the path with his free hand.
She looks up at him, so pure and full of hope. " A Midsummer Night's Dream ?"
"I can't imagine anything else," he says honestly.
She laughs, soft like a blanket. "I imagine we have our choice of seats."
They do, and when they're settled on a blanket the color of a late summer sunset, she leans over and whispers in his ear, "I brought us something to drink."
"I don't…"
"I know," she interrupts. "It's sparkling apple cider."
Night falls around them and the lights come up. The players on the stage dance and sing through the text seamlessly, interlacing the stories of lovers and actors, tales of fairies and humans, crises of self and burgeoning feminism that make A Midsummer Night's Dream one of Shakespeare's most widely performed works.
As the play proceeds, they turn towards one another, until they are reclining, somehow watching the stage as well as the stars above. Puck makes their appeal to the audience at last, an assurance to the perturbed that what they have witnessed may be nothing more than a dream, to be whisked away by another sleep. There is no applause as Puck sees themself out, only the lingering silence of a theater long after the audience has gone.
They are the players now, alone on the stage.
"Maeve," he says softly, just for her. "Can I kiss you?"
"I think you should," she says, and before he can make a move, she presses her lips to his. Stunned, he reacts only after a moment, his fingers threading into her hair as he pulls her closer. He follows her lead, afraid of taking this ephemeral thing they've made too far. The kisses are passionate but chaste, not that he knows any other way.
Too soon, he feels her stiffen against him. "Spencer."
"What's wrong?" he asks, looking down at her face. The tone of her voice has painted her features ashen. She's only a shade now. A phantom.
He hears a series of beeps, a staccato succession of three.
"I… I have call waiting," she says, her voice truncated with fear.
"Maeve?"
"No one has this number."
"It's OK. Don't hang up. I can get someone to trace it," he tries to reassure her, but the terror in her voice has infected him.
"Spencer, I have to go."
Before he can say anything…
"Goodbye."
"I love you."
"I'm sorry."
"How will I know you're OK?"
…she's gone.
He's standing in a phone booth three doors down from Georgetown Laundry, listening to a dial tone.
-End-
Read on AO3
#renswritingchallenge#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfic#romance#angst#fluff#writing prompt#writing challenge#codeandcreativity#cc reverie
8 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
tansdiary
the art of letters
fade-to-half-light
Fade to half-light
blarffy
now @niymue
ivicons
only girls
