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#this has happened like three times in a row now. the first twist is included in the synopsis

thankskenpenders · 5 months

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Sonic Prime Season 3: Final episodes, final thoughts

Well, here we are. The final seven episodes of Sonic Prime are out on Netflix, concluding the story of Sonic's adventures in the Shatterverse. I've previously shared my thoughts on the first and second seasons, which I was pretty mixed on, but there were still glimmers of hope. The fluid animation, Shadow being fun in all his appearances, Nine being fairly interesting as a jaded alternate version of Tails, etc. There was enough to make me believe that after some highs and lows there was still the possibility that this show could end on a high note - or at least a decent note.

This did not happen.

Sonic Prime's final season sucks. The ending sucks, and the road to get there sucks. It's left me wondering what the point of all this even was. There are still moments I like that I'll try to highlight, and the animators and voice cast are still clearly giving it their all, but these efforts sadly don't outweigh the overwhelming mediocrity of the story. I would barely even recommend other Sonic fans who are on the fence go out of their way to finish it. I won't begrudge people who got more out of this show than I did, but I think overall I just really, really dislike Sonic Prime.

...The problem, of course, is that all other discussion of the show has been overshadowed by needlessly hostile arguments over its place in Sonic's canon. So we've gotta talk about that, too.

(This post will contain full spoilers for Sonic Prime.)

The show's out of ideas but they've gotta stretch that shit out to hit the 23 episode mark somehow

Season 2 ended with the big twist that Nine decided to betray Sonic and Shadow, taking the Paradox Prism for himself so that he could go turn the empty world of the Grim into his own little paradise, since he doesn't believe he'll fit anywhere else. Nine has made himself the true big bad of the show.

The main impact this has is that now, instead of fighting endless identical Eggforcer bots and members of the Chaos Council over and over, the good guys and the Chaos Council have to fight endless Chaos Sonic-style robots sent by Nine while he goes "grrrrr I need Sonic's energy to stabilize the Paradox Prism." This continues for six whole episodes until the series finale, when the show decides it's time for Sonic and Nine to quickly make amends, fix everything, and send Sonic and Shadow home.

That's pretty much the whole season.

I cannot emphasize enough just how much of this final season is just fight after fight after fight against Nine's bots, and how fucking boring that gets. The season feels like one long, drawn out final battle that did not need to be nearly this long, but Nine had his big heel turn 2/3 of the way through the show and we've gotta fill up the rest of the time somehow. The novelty of the bots being based off of Sonic's friends (including the Chocobo-sized Birdie from the jungle world) really wears off quickly when they're just used as generic, silent mooks that the good guys have to fight by the dozen like it's the climax of an MCU movie. The first episode of the season with Sonic and Shadow fighting the new bots is pretty good, especially because Sonic and Shadow's dynamic is one of the few redeeming aspects of this show's writing, but after that it just gets boring. Three full episodes in a row are spent showing all the characters fighting robots in an empty wasteland while Nine scowls next to a big beam of energy. I found myself missing the in-your-face attitude of Chaos Sonic so much. He truly was one of the best parts of this show.

While the cast is busy fighting all these robots for what feels like an eternity, various things of varying levels of interest happen. There's a halfhearted attempt to have some kind of rivalry between Shadow and the main Grim Sonic throughout the final battle, but it completely falls flat because Grim Sonic has no personality whatsoever. It's like Shadow beefing with an above-average Egg Pawn. (Actually, no, that would be funny.) There's also a death fakeout with the two other versions of Tails, where they make a makeshift bomb and throw it a little too close to themselves on the battlefield and seem to get vaporized. If they had actually died there they would have had the funniest, most pointless deaths in the entire franchise.

I also realized at one point that they were trying to do the Avengers girl power fight thing with the three versions of Amy fighting a bunch of Rouge bots. This was very funny to me. Actually, so much of this is just following the tired MCU formula to the letter. Fighting over a macguffin, two armies just kind of running at each other and clashing in a big empty field, constant one-liner quips instead of actual jokes, the need to take out key targets to make the whole enemy army disappear, a villain who has a point but has to randomly hurt people so that there's an excuse for the heroes to fight him. When combined with how shit the multiverse stuff is, this whole show really is just Man of Action tackling some of the most played out storytelling tropes in modern pop culture in the most bland way possible. What a bunch of hacks.

By far, the one truly fun thing that happens in this protracted final battle is when a giant robot based on Big appears. It doesn't have arms or legs, but it can swing itself around to use its tail like a giant mace, and it can also shoot Froggy-shaped missiles out of its mouth. I wish the rest of the show was even half as fun as this. Again, Sonic Prime has just enough good moments to make you mad that the rest of the show isn't better.

The thing is, all this repetitive (but well-animated) action and the thin excuse plot would be totally serviceable if I just gave a shit about the characters involved. But I don't. I don't care what happens to the pirate version of Amy who goes "arrr." I don't care about what happens to Hipster Eggman. And unfortunately, by the end, I didn't really care about Nine, either.

Nine as a villain

It's hard to criticize the story here without it coming off as a broad condemnation of the tropes at play. The thing is, I like many stories that try to do similar things. I love clashes between heroes and villains that are really just fantastical exaggerations of more personal conflicts. I love stories where a tragic, sympathetic villain lashes out at the world as an expression of the pain they feel, and a compassionate hero just has to get through to them. I eat that shit right up. Undertale is my favorite game ever made. Shit, I love other Sonic stories that do these exact things. And Sonic having to fight an alternate timeline version of Tails also has so much potential for drama!

So I can very easily imagine a version of the show where all this works for me. That just isn't the version we got.

Like I said last time, Nine's motivation is just too sympathetic and understandable for his sudden turn to supervillainy to make any sense. He just wanted to start over somewhere where he can be happy after a childhood filled with bullying and loneliness. Nine betraying Sonic and stealing the Paradox Prism to go make his own world? That tracks! Especially since we don't even know if Nine will still exist if Sonic goes through with his plan to restore his original world! But trying to kill everyone in New Yolk City by tilting the world 90 degrees, intentionally targeting the civilian population because it'll get to Sonic? Nope! Sorry, that's a bridge too far. I don't buy it. He's jaded and antisocial, but he doesn't strike me as cruel. Writing in an excuse about him needing Sonic's energy to fix the Prism does not make this make more sense.

This was really just one of those conflicts where it felt like everyone should stop and talk it out. Instead we got six episodes of fighting before one of Sonic's many, MANY attempts at reasoning with Nine throughout the season finally works. This isn't me pulling some Cinema Sins bullshit where I complain about characters in a work of fiction not always behaving rationally - the real problem is that it's just so damn repetitive waiting for this conflict to resolve. This could have been wrapped up in two or three episodes and instead it takes seven.

A brief aside about that weird Dorkly-ass Sonic Advance 3 flashback scene hacked together with mismatched sprites where Gemerl happens to be present, presumably just because he's a part of the sprite for the Sunset Hill boss, and seeing him briefly makes me remember the extended cast from the games and how much I wish they had just made a cartoon about them instead of a bunch of stock characters wearing the skin of Sonic's friends, but then Gemerl just explodes with the boss machine at the end while Eggman is shown to get away so I guess Gemerl just dies in this flashback

Yeah that sure happened huh

The ending

Despite having a final battle that felt like an eternity, Sonic Prime is a show that just kind of... ends. And that ending is weird and haphazard.

The understanding I had was that Sonic's normal world had "shattered" when the Paradox Prism was destroyed, and from those remnants these new worlds were created. This is why they use terms like "Shatterverse" and "Shatterspaces" and why there's shattered glass/crystal/whatever imagery everywhere. This is a broken, fragmented version of the real universe. Right? Right?? Isn't that the entire premise of the show? And therefore, if the universe has been shattered, then fixing it means putting all the shattered pieces back together. Which I would assume means that the Shatterspaces cease to exist.

So, in the ending... Sonic's world seems to just exist as another Shatterspace. Restoring the Paradox Prism doesn't seem to combine the worlds or anything, it just fixes the broken portal to Sonic's world that exists alongside all the others. So... what exactly was the point of all the shattered glass symbolism?

Things only get more confusing as the ending progresses. Shadow brings Sonic through the portal before the draining of Sonic's whatever energy makes him disappear, and they're transported back in time to right before Sonic broke the Paradox Prism. Only Sonic seems to remember what happened (Shadow might remember, but he doesn't say anything), and with the Paradox Prism never shattered, it's unclear if the Shatterspaces exist now.

I'm not particularly hung up on the time loop ending. It's very much in line with all sorts of classic morality tales like A Christmas Carol or It's a Wonderful Life, where the flawed protagonist goes through some kind of magical experience and then returns home with a new appreciation for the people in their life. It's always been pretty obvious that was the type of story they were telling. I'm more bothered by the fact that there's no time whatsoever spent on whether or not the other worlds and the characters in them continue to exist. Sonic seems to act like the worlds will go on without him before he leaves, but it's not like we get an ending scene that shows how the other worlds are doing, so they really truly might as well not exist anymore. Sonic just wraps up the adventure from the first episode when he gets home, and before he can explain what happened from his perspective he's interrupted by a mysterious energy wave from off-screen and it's off to the next adventure.

(Despite this odd cliffhanger ending, the show is extremely over and not coming back. I have to imagine this is just a "the adventures never end" type ending and not a hint that more shit is going on with the Paradox Prism.)

This ending is also a terrible resolution to Nine's whole arc, despite him being the driving force of so much of the show. The way I see it, there are are three possible fates for him:

The Shatterspaces continue existing, and things go as Sonic expects them to go. Nine is allowed to make the Grim into his own little utopia, and everyone else leaves him alone instead of punishing him for all the trouble he caused. Instead of finding love and acceptance so he can heal from a lifetime of bullying and loneliness, Nine is allowed to run away, isolating himself from every other living being in the multiverse, and live alone as the god of an empty world with only his own creations as company. Sonic was his only friend, and he's gone forever now.

The Shatterspaces continue existing, but because of the time travel ending, most of the events of the show never happened. Sonic never helped defeat the Chaos Council, so they still control New Yolk City. Nine is back to living in this dystopian city with no friends. He never met Sonic.

The Shatterspaces have been erased. After fighting so hard for his right to exist as his own person and not just a "wrong" version of Tails, when the timeline is altered, he just... stops existing. Along with almost every other character in the show.

Do I even need to explain why these are all unsatisfying?

Misc. thoughts

I skimmed over this, but a lot of the final season is just spent seeing Sonic's friends bicker with the Chaos Council and then Sonic has to beg them to get along to save the universe. It gets old.

We also never really got an explanation for why the Chaos Council exists. They can't have come from other Shatterspaces because there ARE no other Shatterspaces. If the original Eggman was just split into five guys or time travel was involved or whatever, it never comes up. I can live with this, but it seems like an odd omission for a children's show that's constantly bogged down in technobabble explaining the mechanics of its extremely small and finite multiverse.

I have no idea where Shadow was for the first part of the final battle. I figured Nine must have captured him off-screen after Sonic first left the Grim, but Shadow was just... hanging around until his cue in the script, I guess?

Sonic saying "help a brother up" to Shadow was funny

Hipster Eggman pointing to one of the few nameless extras who tagged along for the final battle and going "Who are you? Seriously, does anyone know who this is?" was the only funny thing he did in the entire show

Mangy Tails randomly pressing buttons on the Chaos Council's generator like a curious animal and managing to improve its output was cute

Rusty Rose randomly realizes that the Birdie in her chest actually isn't being used as a power source, and that the Chaos Council was just... using that to manipulate her, somehow? I don't really know how that works but whatever

The Sonic Advance 3 flashback uses the actual boss music from the game, but they can't use the real Sunset Hill theme because they didn't wanna pay Masato Nakamura for using the Green Hill motif, I guess

To my fellow fans of bad games: did you know that Man of Action wrote the story for the bizarre Square Enix game The Quiet Man? The one where the lengthy FMV cutscenes play out with muffled audio and no subtitles because the protagonist is deaf, so you can't tell what's going on? And you had to do a New Game+ playthrough to actually hear the audio and understand what's going on? The worst-reviewed game of 2018? That one? I only learned that recently and it blew me away

So yeah, that's the end of the show. I didn't like it, and I don't think I liked the show much as a whole. I am far from alone in this sentiment, but the reasons why people dislike the show... those vary a bit.

The canon conundrum

More than anything else, it seems like most other discourse surrounding this show has been consumed by one talking point:

How can this be canon? Why is it canon?

I want to state very clearly up front that I, too, am a person who's noticed and complained about the inconsistencies with the games in Sonic Prime. Some of the characters are a bit off - or, you know, completely unrecognizable when discussing the writing of some of the AU counterparts. I think it's lame to say Sonic and friends all live in Green Hill and act like that's the entirety of their world. That sort of thing. But if Sega says it's canon to everything else? Sure. Fine. There's weirder shit in the canon.

Really, most of this can be explained away pretty easily. The show was written at a time when Sega was still figuring shit out and there were looser restrictions. Why does Sonic act a little more immature? Probably just because Prime is aiming for a slightly younger audience than the games or the IDW comics. (And also it's, y'know, written by Man of Action, who people have accused of only knowing how to write one kind of protagonist for years.) Why do Sonic and friends live in Green Hill? Because that's the most recognizable location from the games, and the game world doesn't get enough screentime to justify modeling multiple different environments, so they just focus on Green Hill. Why is this considered canon to the games? Because this is the first Sonic cartoon that outright references events from the games as things that have happened to Sonic in the past.

But announcing early on that Prime would be canon certainly let fans' imaginations wander. It was one of the few things we knew about the show before it premiered. People wondered if characters from the games and comics who had never made any appearances in Sonic cartoons might get their time in the spotlight. We wondered if it would tie into the lore or any existing storylines in interesting ways, like the IDW comics do. But above all else, we hoped that its canon status would mean that Sonic Prime would finally be the Sonic cartoon that was faithful to the source material with no catches. We've literally never seen the actual world of the games brought to life in a TV show. Sonic X came the closest, but that still took its liberties. And so hype built for this Canon Sonic Cartoon.

And then it actually came out, and after a brief intro in Green Hill based loosely on the games, it spent most of its running time focusing on things like "what if there was a version of Eggman who was a bratty teen who just wanted to play video games?" The disappointment among fans is understandable. I am disappointed. Look at how much I've bitched about this aggressively mid cartoon.

Some fans, however, came up with an elaborate theory about the series. You see, when asked about the show's place in the game timeline during a live Q&A, Ian Flynn (who only served as a consultant on Sonic Prime and did not write any of it) said this:

"I cannot answer because I know the answer, and you haven't finished watching the show yet."

A couple days later, when answering another question about Prime's place in the timeline and also about a writing discrepancy, he said this:

"As to where it fits on the timeline, I can't speak to it because that would spoil the show to a degree. So you're just gonna have to wait 'til it's done. Towards the other point, I don't know how much I can say, so it's probably better that I not comment. That's a really dissatisfying answer, I know, I'm sorry, but my hands are kinda tied on that one."

I feel the need to quote Ian directly here, because these very basic statements about how he can't talk about behind the scenes shit or anything from unreleased episodes was GREATLY misinterpreted by the fandom. People clung onto Ian's claim that we had to keep watching like a life preserver. Some took it as Ian saying that the ending would explain everything. Finally, we'd have a definitive answer for every little discrepancy and the apparent differences in worldbuilding. An explanation for why Sega and the producers repeatedly insist this show HAS to be canon.

And to these fans, the only explanation that made any sense... would be if the ending of Sonic Prime pulled a Flashpoint.

As this theory explained, the Sonic we were following in Sonic Prime wasn't the Sonic we know from the games and the IDW comics, and likewise the world he comes from isn't really the game world. This is a different Sonic who fights a different Eggman in a world that's literally just Green Hill. It was a hint that something was off all along! But in the end of the series, this Sonic would sacrifice himself to merge all of the Shatter Spaces together and form a brand new world, and that would be the more visually diverse world of the games and comics. According to this theory, Sonic Prime was canon because it was a new origin story for the entire franchise.

I want you to really stop and think about how asinine of an origin story this would be. Really drink this in. The idea that there was another, slightly different version of Sonic who went on a kinda shitty multiverse adventure and then sacrificed himself to create the real Sonic that we've known since 1991. People convinced themselves this made more sense than the simple explanation that a different team of writers got some stuff wrong and Sega didn't make them change it. Interviews where producers talked about drawing on Sonic's "mythology" (ie: they reference the games in the show) were taken very literally - they must be saying that Prime's story is mythological in nature, and that this show would be integral to the games' mythology. Why bother making a show that's canon if it's not going to be crucial to that canon, after all?

The final episodes dropped, and none of this happened. Because of course it didn't. It was all Sherlock fandom-level copium. But fans were left confused by the lack of a grand reveal of where Sonic Prime fits in the timeline, believing they had been promised this, and they turned to Ian for an explanation. Ian's answer:

It doesn't matter, b/c Prime wipes itself out. It's sometime after Advance 3*, but otherwise, it's moot. I didn't want to sour anyone's expectations or investment by spoiling how Prime resolves, that's all. If you enjoyed it, awesome. Savor it. If you didn't, then you can safely ignore it. Simple as that.

* About a trillion people have um, actually'd Ian to point out Orbot and Cubot briefly appear in the show, but if we're really being pedantic here we don't actually know how long before Colors Eggman built Orbot and Cubot, so it wouldn't be fully accurate to say a story featuring Orbot and Cubot couldn't be set before Colors. Either way, a story set anywhere around Colors, or at any point later than that, could still be described as "sometime after Advance 3." Advance 3 is just the most recent game that has specific in-game events referenced in the show. Yes I can feel myself morphing into the nerd emoji before your very eyes

Anyway, this is the latest reason Ian is getting death threats on Twitter. This time it's over a show he barely even had any input on!

I'll cut to the chase. It is truly wild to me that people are getting this heated over canonical inconsistencies in a series as historically inconsistent as Sonic, to the point that they think threatening Ian is justified. The aesthetics of the entire world Sonic inhabits change every other game. Sonic Chronicles may no longer be canon due to the Penders lawsuits, but it was canon at one point, and it took huge liberties with Sonic's world, moving Green Hill off of South Island and reinterpreting Station Square as a tiny outpost in a snowy alpine forest region. Characters' personalities change from writer to writer and based on what Sega wants at the time, with some being WILDLY different across different games. One game Sonic will be stoic and cool, the next he thinks "Baldy McNosehair" is the funniest thing ever. Sega's STILL trying to figure out what Amy's personality is supposed to be. We still don't have the explanation for how the two seemingly contradictory backstories for Blaze can fit together. There have been multiple huge, sweeping retcons, and retcons to those retcons. Sonic Forces claims that Classic Sonic is from an entirely different universe than Modern Sonic, and the plot only makes any sense if that's true - otherwise, Modern Sonic would have already known Eggman was going to beat him and take over the world when he did, because his younger self had already lived through that war. All of that makes no sense in the newly reunified timeline, but Forces is very much still canon.

For fuck's sake, we're talking about the series where Eggman blew up half the moon and then it looked completely normal in every other game after, explained away as "the moon just rotated so we can't see the destroyed side from Earth." This has never, ever, ever been a franchise where everything lines up perfectly with no issues. It's not that serious.

The real core problem with Prime isn't that things don't line up 100% with our current understanding of canon, or that Sonic's characterization means this can't be the real Sonic, or anything like that. The problem, as I've been saying this whole time, is that the story is bad. None of these discrepancies would truly matter if the story was better. They'd just be nitpicks. The fact that Sonic and friends live in Green Hill would be the farthest thing from my mind if the drama was more engaging, if the villains were better, if the jokes were actually funny, if more of the alternate universe counterparts of Sonic's friends had more than one generic character trait each, if the multiverse was more creative and varied, if the final seven episodes of this show didn't devolve into the third act of an MCU movie and then just arbitrarily end, if Nine's character arc actually had a satisfying conclusion instead of ending with either isolation or nonexistence. Maybe we'd be seeing people talk about more than just whether or not it should be considered canon if the writing was any good.

"Canon" is not real, and it sure as hell isn't worth sending people death threats over. It's a storytelling tool. Real human beings decide what does and doesn't go into that canon, or how much they do or don't want to draw on past stories, when creating a new story. Serving that canon is secondary to creating a story where the emotional truth resonates with the audience. And Sonic Prime failed to do that. That is its true failing.

And finally, to close out...

Since people will ask, here are my current ranking of the Sonic TV shows, now that Prime is finished.

Sonic Boom

Sonic SatAM

Sonic X

The Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog

Sonic Prime

Sonic Underground

Yes, I'd say Boom is my favorite. It's far from my ideal Sonic cartoon, but it gets a lot of points for being as funny as it is. But the top four are all shows I'd say I like, more or less. They all have their pros and cons.

So now, uh... I guess let's hope the live action Knuckles show coming to Paramount+ is better than the underwhelming synopsis of "Knuckles helps deputy sheriff Wade train in the ways of the echidna warrior" would imply? Maybe we'll get lucky?

#tkp post #other media

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heartsoulrocknroll · 3 months

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Holiday World Trip Reports July and October 2023

This is late, so this is just an amalgamation of my thoughts from the four days I spent at Holiday World in July and the two days I spent there in October.

1) The Voyage - 20 rides!!!!!! (1 night ride) - I've already made a post just for this ride, but I can't and won't shut up about it. There is absolutely nothing else like The Voyage. It has everything. The drop is fun, especially in the back row. The first two hills give good floater air. The valleys in the tunnels on the outward leg are super intense (more because of the pure wooden coaster feel at such high speeds than because of strong positive Gs). The rumbling of the train along the track echoes violently in the tunnels, further amplifying the sense of intensity. Perhaps the things I love most about this ride are the abrupt laterals that occur in the middle of airtime moments, such as the small hill after the first tunnel and the small hills on the return run. The spaghetti bowl is filled with small banked hills that give quick, sudden pops of airtime. And when you think it can't get any better, all hell breaks loose after the midcourse. The triple down in the tunnels is maybe my favorite element of the ride, offering great, intense airtime by the third drop. By this point, the ride is absolutely flying, and it only continues to pick up speed as it flies downhill through a series of small, banked hills that offer the some of the craziest, quickest pops of floater air I have ever experienced. This ride is an endurance test. By the end, I struggle to keep my hands up. But it is an endurance test in the best way. After trying and failing several times due to the park closing early for thunderstorms, I finally got a true night ride, and it was fantastic. But honestly, this must have been a much better night ride before Thunderbird was built. There is too much light back there now. It is really dark in spots, but I can't imagine how much more insane the night ride would be if it were truly pitch black, like the setting of the Beast. Still an insane, out of control experience though.

2) The Legend - 8 rides (2 night rides) - This ride goes so hard. I love lateral forces on wooden coasters, and Legend does them like no other, with the double helix providing the strongest, most sustained laterals of any coaster I have ridden. This element pins you to the side of the car for a solid ten seconds, and it rocks. This ride also has a few good airtime moments, including the first part of the double up that travels underneath one of the water slides and a couple of small hills toward the end, following the double helix. My controversial (?) opinion is that Legend may very well be the best night ride in the park (and one of the best in the world). I was a 10 on the "WTF is happening scale" riding Legend in the pitch dark (so much darker than Voyage). It is just pure insanity.

3) The Raven - 6 rides (1 night ride)- This is a short ride, but it packs in some great elements. The first drop is aggressive in the back of the train. The turnaround over the water offers a beautiful view and great laterals. Then the ride kicks into high gear, starting with the fifth drop that gives a shocking pop of airtime and dramatically increases the speed of the train, so that it feels like you are absolutely flying through the S-curve and into the brakes. This is another awesome night ride as well.

4) Thunderbird - (6 rides) - This is easily my favorite of the three B&M wing coasters I've done so far. The launch is punchy, the Immelman and vertical loop are forceful, and the slow inline twist at the end is perhaps the only hangtime moment that I have ever really enjoyed. For some reason, I can prevent the restraints from tightening on me on this ride in a way that I can't on Wild Eagle, so the comfort aspect is better as well.

#roller coasters #holiday world #the voyage #the legend #the raven #thunderbird #personal #amusement park adventures

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 1 year

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UnintENDed consequences | E.N.D. | Trial 2-2 | RE: Names, Fighting, and Time of Death

END frowns as the part-pity party, and part-guilt trip happens for a few moments. When Just Erika implies Lyrica may have done this to themselves, she grits her teeth and bites her tongue, but the displeasure and anger are clear on her face. She’s finally about ready to say something, to scold multiple people–in particular Byrne and Erika–when Erik A steps up.

He doesn’t address everything that’s on her mind, but it’s enough to let her anger shift down a gear and cool again. She really should thank him for doing that what, two trials in a row now? For better or worse, he’s a good way for her to vent her frustrations without burning too many bridges.

Back to the subject at hand, including the accusation…..

“Okay, I don’t even know where to begin addressing that…. Erika, you know we can’t really take you at your word for that, right? You have to give us some kind of Evidence, especially if no one can vouch for a lot of where you both were. Also, did you see the note when you were in the Eatery, earlier?”

At the very least, E’s alibi is the weakest, probably…..

“I’ll let you figure that out, and I’m not saying I think either of you did it, just yet. I’m still working stuff out, so let me just run through my thoughts, yeah? First of all…

Yeah, AIRika nailed it with the hair fluffing thing–that’s probably the most people we’ve had in our room at once? And I definitely didn’t keep track of things there. Other than that…. Well, in addition to the people who have visited AIRika, I’ve had Ae-ra, Erika L, and Eureka over to my rooms at different times, though much less so since the motive. People are withdrawing more, y'know? Anyway, while there’s potentially something there on the chicken front–

Our list of names isn’t all that simple, isn’t it? At the very least, we never found out who matched the identity theft listing on the crimes, which specified a fake name, and on top of that, both Kenshin and KOKONE use names that aren’t Erika in any obvious ways, despite An and Calluna saying everyone here is an Erika. On top of that, we still don’t know E’s real name, either. So that's up to four other people who could have Erika as a first name, if any of those three aren’t the identity theft person. Maybe any of the three of them have told someone else their real name who can vouch? But I don’t know any of them, so floating that there.

(CW: Broken Bones desc) Also, as someone who has had their fucking legs shattered before? No, Lyrica absolutely did not reach the cabinet themselves. You can't imagine how much pain that puts you in, unless you’ve felt it personally. I’d thought for a moment, perhaps, they could’ve used the chicken and tape to try and reach something, but no–even just twisting your hips and back to do that would’ve left you wracked with pain. It didn’t happen.”

(CW Over)

She has to take a few seconds to compose herself after that one. Her hands tremble faintly as she recalls those feelings.

Right, we keep talking about a struggle, and the blood under their nails. I think that pretty well suggests the gummies had to be forced into their mouth, since there are no other wounds on them aside from their leg, from the trap. As far as we could guess, their head wound was likely from the fall, but if anyone would like to argue that, be my guest.

Anyway, I was thinking about it, and if I were down on the ground and someone were trying to force me to take those gummies? The easiest targets would be for me to scrape would be the arms of my attacker. So, since some of us wear long sleeves and gloves–which are not a defense because there’d be thread, since we could just take them off–I’m proposing that everyone takes off any gloves they’re wearing and roll up their sleeves, so we can all check for scrapes. I’ll even do it myself to rule myself out, as long as everyone else agrees.

Also…. Well, I don’t have really any damn idea on how to clear or disprove anything on the motive, front, other than to assume that the serial killer’s the one most likely able to plan this out for a while? That crime kept floating near the top four, and so they would know about when to act to keep it hidden. But thinking on it…. I do wonder something–The Aiding and Abetting crime said they helped a loved one kill many other people. While it's possible, I guess, to have two unrelated serial murderers in this group…. What about the possibility that the person that person’s been aiding and abetting in the past is the same serial murderer we’ve got here? Maybe that’s nothing, but if someone’s already got that connection…..“

She rubs her face a bit. Man. This sucks. Why couldn’t the dramatic parts of this group be about car repair, instead?

"One last thing, Calluna, An, I wanna verify our time frame just a bit, tighten things up just in case. If someone took one to three of those DeLight Gummies, about how long would they take to take effect?”

#END #chapter2 #trial2 #submission

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 3 years

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The Midnight Coconuts

Summary: Bucky and his girl take a trip to the grocery store. Several things are involved, including coconuts, a 25cent gum-ball machine, Avengers branded Jell-O, chocolate milk straight from the jug, and tampons. Characters: Bucky x Reader Words: 3k Warnings: Some swearing. Insane levels of fluff. Dangerously adorable Bucky. One (1) random reference to Not Another Teen Movie.

A/N: Listen, I will never be over silly domestic Bucky! I originally started this story before TFATWS came out and when I imagined Sam had a niece, so just go with it. Part of me wrote this, because I needed to convince myself that I love grocery shopping (one can only eat takeaway and Trader Joe’s Orange Chicken for so long) and the other part wrote this because I firmly believe domestic routines can be the most romantic adventures out there.

When the doors to the grocery store whoosh open with a gust of stale manufactured air, Bucky skids to an abrupt and dramatic stop.

“WAIT!”

Behind him, you stumble in panic, fumbling with an armful of reusable grocery bags. Instantly you’re imagining spilled blood and stab wounds and clean ups on aisle three and god dammit, how can there be a problem? This is a grocery store at midnight on a Wednesday. Shouldn’t the forces of evil be sleeping? Why is it so impossible to get a day off work? Don’t they know you need rest? And peanut butter? And that you’re dangerously low on toilet paper?

The forces of evil are the worst.

Raising weary fists, you huff.

“What? Where is it?”

Bucky sidesteps toward a row of small red and green machines beside the entrance, falling to his knees and smushing his nose eagerly against the glass. Reaching a hand behind him, there are several impatient grabby motions, before he glances back.

“Babe, can you give me a quarter? I need a gum-ball.”

Planting a sneaker clad foot on his ass, you shove. Hard.

“Bucky, we talked about this. Remember how you agreed to lower the drama and keep things in perspective? I thought we were under attack.”

“If I don’t get a green gum-ball,” he declares dramatically, “there will be an attack.”

Throwing the cloth bags at his face, you stomp off to retrieve a shopping cart, plunking your purse in the front and hunching over the handlebars.

“I thought you said you were a millionaire now. Buy your own gum-ball.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Like I carry loose change,” he scoffs. “C’mon, just one quarter. Please?”

This time, he gives you the Look. That patented Bucky Barnes stare, with the wide eyes and full pouty lips and faux innocent expression, and if this man wasn’t the love of your life you’d quite happily stab him in the heart.

Instead, you open your purse and fish out a quarter, flinging it at his frustratingly pretty face. It bounces off his forehead and he scoops it up with a grin.

“So just to clarify. You came to the grocery store covered in knives, but you forgot to bring money?”

Giving you an indulgent smile, he jams the quarter into the slot. With a twist and shake, a gum-ball rattles free, and Bucky crows with delight when he sees the green candy. He pops it in his mouth.

“I didn’t forget. I made a conscious decision to remove the temptation. If I bring cash, I’ll spend it. You know I ain’t great with that whole self control thing.”

“How encouraging to hear, from the man with knives pouring out his ass.”

Jumping to his feet, he throws an arm around your shoulders.

“Ass knives sound painful.”

“Depends on how sharp they are,” you mumble, pulling a carefully folded sheet of paper from your jacket.

“Excuse you? My knives are always perfectly sharpened, thank you very much. What kind of expert assassin runs around with dull knives? Damn baby, it’s like you don’t even know me.”

Ignoring him, you flatten out the paper and smooth the edges, sighing happily at the block letters and structured diagrams drawn in deep blue ink.

Here it is, your masterpiece. A monument to productivity. The gold standard by which all optimization models should be benchmarked. This isn’t just any list, this is The List.

Everything is grouped, first by aisle, then by product location within the aisle, and then from top to bottom shelf order, to maximize efficiency. This is the dream list. The kind that inspires jealousy. The kind people hold up at TED talks when they talk about time management techniques. Marie Kondo wishes she had this list.

Bucky snorts when he sees the carefully printed boxes.

“God, you’re such a square,” he says adoringly. He plants a sugary wet kiss on your temple and you grind an elbow into his ribs.

“We discussed this, Bucky. Don’t mock my lists.”

“Sorry babe, I ain’t mocking. Your lists are beautiful, they always get me all hot and bothered,” he agrees, dipping lower to lick behind your ear. “And I really love that list you keep with all those dirty, filthy, sex things you wanna do to me.”

“I don’t have a list like that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, “and I don’t know how many more hints I can drop here.”

Reaching under his shirt, you rub his belly consolingly. “Okay then. This weekend I’ll sit down and make you a special list. One so disgusting and dirty and depraved, it would make Wade Wilson cry.”

Bucky laughs and squeezes you tighter.

“About damn time honey. I’m equally parts terrified and horny. So where’re we headed first?”

“Produce,” you answer promptly, plowing forward, Bucky still chuckling beside you.

The whole scenario was ironic, actually. There was no need to grocery shop - automatic ordering mechanisms across the Avengers tower rendered the task meaningless - but sometimes it was a welcome relief to partake in such an ordinary thing. Unable to sleep after one particularly terrible mission, you found yourself wandering the aisles of your 24-hour supermarket, dressed in pineapple adorned pajama pants and one of Bucky’s rattier sweatshirts, searching for ice cream. The unexpected symmetry of products arranged along the shelves, the rainbow hued produce, the hint of baking bread wafting from the ovens, all those everyday trappings of normality, they washed over like a soothing balm. Soon enough, the boiling bad thoughts simmered to nothing more than a cache of blurry memories.

When you got home, sleep came fast, deep and dreamless.

One month later, the idea struck again.

After 36 hours of Bucky tossing and turning, dark shadows bruising beneath weary blue eyes, you took his hand and led him down the dark street for a midnight adventure. He was skeptical, disbelieving that something so simple could chase away the insomnia. But he dutifully followed you, strolling aimlessly through the aisles, throwing odds and ends into the cart.

The tension gradually eased, he began to relax, and suddenly?

He was hooked.

An hour later, after arguing the health benefits of frosted Cheerios over oatmeal, poking each hunk of cheese in the display, and loading the cart with every single flavor of spaghetti sauce on the shelf, the heavy weight of remembering began to ease. When he collapsed into bed, he slept for eight hours straight.

I don’t know what that was, he swore the next morning, munching through his third bowl of frosted Cheerios, but it was magic.

And with that, a midnight ritual was born. Sometimes you make the trek alone, sometimes Bucky does the same, but whenever life permits you go together. This small slice of domesticity brings a warm comfort to this strange life.

There is no doubt, this is your favorite area of the entire store.

Barrels filled with tart oranges and smooth red apples. Tables piled high with bananas, some just shy of yellow, others sunshine perfect, and a few with speckles of black (which are the best). Shelves lining the walls, overflowing with bundles of herbs and lettuce, all coated in a fine layer of mist.

Bliss.

Heading straight for the apples, you plunge into the Gala pile, rummaging until you come up with ten perfect ones. Peaches follow, fingers rubbing along the delicate pinky-orange fuzz. Squeeze, smell, squeeze, smell. Five are chosen for a pie (Sam pleaded shamelessly until you agreed to make him one), and in the cart they go. Heading toward the wall of herbs, you’re reaching for the basil when a metallic bang makes you jump. Spinning around, you find Bucky lobbing coconuts into the cart.

“We need these.”

“We really don’t, Buck. I hate coconut, it tastes like suntan lotion.”

“They’re not for eating,” he grabs an apple, wipes it on his shirt, and takes a juicy bite. “They’re for security.”

Sticky juice drips from his lip, catching in his beard. When you reach over to swipe it away, he nips your finger with a grin.

“Explain please.”

“See it’s like this. We’re just here shopping, doin’ our thang -”

“Don’t say thang.”

“- when someone attacks. What happens? BAM. One of these furry beauties breaks their face. Problem solved.”

Giving him a slow perusal, you raise an eyebrow.

“Were the 47 knives you’re carrying not enough to deflect this attack?”

Finishing off the apple in three sloppy bites, he carefully tucks the price sticker in his pocket so he can scan it before leaving and sets the mangled core beside your purse.

“Babe, these are my back-up plan. A good soldier always has a back-up plan.”

While you grab a bottle of extra-pulpy orange juice, Bucky picks two jugs of chocolate milk, snaps one open and takes a swing. Ever the thrifty shopper, he pulls a familiar bag from his back pocket, fishes out a crumpled piece of newspaper, and dangles it before you.

“Found a coupon for this,” he says gleefully. “Buy one, get one free. It’s called a BOGO. A BOGO. Hilarious, right? Fuck me, I love the future.”

Still laughing, he takes another long drink of chocolate milk and smacks his lips.

It was a lazy Sunday morning when you discovered this particular habit. Walking into the living room, you found Bucky buried in a sea of Sunday newspaper, tongue between his teeth and scissors in hand while he clipped coupons. He wasn’t picky, if it was remotely interesting, it went into the YES pile. It was one of those random things that brought him inordinate levels of joy, so of course you encouraged it. On his last birthday, you gifted him with a green zippered bag decorated with angry looking owls and official looking letters stitched across the front:

Bucky’s Coupon Bag Thriftn’ Machine Since 1917

He laughed for five straight minutes and then stuffed it full. The bag accompanies you on every trip and the sight of Bucky excitedly rifling through his wad of coupons still makes your heart swell.

Setting aside his BOGO, Bucky continues down the aisle, leaving you to pause in front of the yogurt. While you contemplate the merits of blackberry vs strawberry, Bucky slides over holding three cans of Reddi-Whip.

“Are you actually planning to eat that? I thought you said whipped air is for, and I quote, ‘spineless, tasteless trash heathens’?”

Bucky shakes the can of spray whipped cream and wiggles his eyebrows, leveling you with a sultry stare.

“Hell no I’m not eating it. This is for the bedroom. Last week I watched this god-awful movie where some blond guy - who looked exactly like Steve, by the way - made himself a whipped cream bikini for his girl. Decided I’m gonna do that for you. You’re welcome.”

“That sounds gross and unsanitary.”

“If by gross and unsanitary you mean spicy and sexy, then yes. Yes it does.”

Whistling what sounds like the theme music from a bad porn, he adds two tubs of honey swirled Greek yogurt, pats your butt, and strolls ahead, throwing a roughish wink over his shoulder. Imagining the melted whipped cream soaking into your bedsheets, you mentally add more laundry detergent to the list.

“Hang on, turn here.”

Tugging the cart behind him, Bucky stalks toward the feminine hygiene display. It takes him a minute to scan the products before squatting down to the bottom shelf. Grabbing two jumbo boxes of tampons, oddly enough the brand you prefer, he pops back to his feet.

“Dare I ask why you need these?”

A faint pink flush crawls up his neck.

“Well, you know, two reasons. They’re really great for stopping bloody noses, you know? Just poke ‘em up there and they soak it all up.”

He mimes the execution and adds a thumbs up.

“And the second reason?”

Squinting at his boots, he shuffles his feet a bit. The pink flush deepens.

“Um, you know - I know you’re out, since I stuck the last one up Steve’s nose last week, and yeah. Anyway. It’s about that time. Of the month. For you.”

Clearing his throat, he reaches for his chocolate milk, but you grab his wrist.

“You know when my period’s going to start?”

He shrugs self-consciously and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt.

“Well yeah. You think it’s just a coincidence when all your favorite candy shows up every month?” Looking up, he shoots you a crooked smile and leans over the cart to kiss your forehead. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, you haul him in for a real kiss instead and his startled laughter tickles your lips. When you break away, those bright blue eyes are shining.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you murmur.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he whispers.

This is the aisle where the cart officially explodes.

Lasagna noodles.

Egg noodles.

Spaghetti noodles.

Penne.

Linguine.

Fettuccine.

Literally one of every noodle is selected, because Bucky Barnes is a self-proclaimed noodle slut.

As you organize the boxes and search for orzo, you see him furtively add an extra bag of elbow macaroni. A quiet cough hides your laughter.

The last time Sam’s four-year-old niece came to the tower, she and Bucky spent hours making glittery elbow macaroni necklaces, which they ceremoniously gifted to everyone. When Sam casually mentioned her enthusiastically telling everyone at pre-school about her friend Bucky and how much fun she had visiting him, Bucky ran to a craft store and bulk bought supplies of glue, string, paint, and glitter, just in case she comes over again.

Months later and the entire team are still finding puddles of glitter all over the tower, but the delight on Bucky’s face anytime someone mentions that arts and crafts afternoon?

It’s worth the mess.

Gathering up brown sugar, instant oats, and chocolate chips, you turn to drop them in the cart when Bucky makes a strangled noise. Glancing over, you find him bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement.

“Babe. Babe. Are you making monster cookies?”

Adding a can of raisins, you search for the good vanilla. The kind that actually tastes like vanilla, not a cheap car wash air freshener.

“I promised I would,” you remind him. Bucky plasters himself against your back, wrapping you in an enthusiastic hug and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“I love those fucking cookies,” he declares. “They’re my favorite thing ever. Next to you I mean.”

Finding the vanilla, you spin in his arms and return the squeeze.

“I know you do. But you have to share them this time, okay? You can’t just eat them all yourself like the last two times. Agree?”

“Agree…to disagree. They’re wasted on other people, no one else loves as much. It’s for the best when I eat them all, it’s proof how much I love you. I’m doing it for you. I’m supporting you. Because I love you.”

“You’re completely full of shit,” you reply.

“I swear I’m not! Just listen!”

The excuses grow longer and wilder as Bucky outlines his rationale against sharing, walking backward and dragging the cart with him as he pleads his case. He’s diving into the science of super soldier metabolism levels and caloric requirements and the fact that his sister never shared anything with him, when he bumps into a tall display.

He pulls up short, eyes narrowing. Plunking his fists on his hips, he growls a disgruntled sigh and glares at the rows of packaging.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

Lined up in neat rows, you see boxes of Jell-O organized by color and flavor. On the cover of each are an assortment of familiar images.

“Are these Avengers themed Jell-O?” you ask, picking up a box with Sam’s image and the words Wild Berry Wilson. The rows extend further, filled with Lime Green Hulk and Blue Raspberry Rogers and Black Cherry Widow and Strawberry Lemon Stark. Exasperated, Bucky grabs the Sparkling Orange Spider flavor.

“Is this for real? The kid gets one and I didn’t? Someone in PR is getting fired.”

“Well there’re only so many flavors, Buck,” you point out practically, but Bucky’s not in the mood for logic. Instead, he swipes an entire shelf of Jell-O flavors into the cart.

“I swear to god, I have to do everything around here. Fine then. I’ll make my own flavor, Blackberry Kiwi Soldier or Winter Watermelon Rainbow, or something.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Anyway, I’ll work on the name. But I’m bringing it to dinner tomorrow night and everyone is gonna eat it.”

He dumps in a bag of mini-marshmallows and grabs sprinkles for topping, before marching down the aisle. Cringing at the volume of sugar in the cart, you make another mental note to schedule a dentist appointment.

“Go do your manly duty and find the meat. We need two 5lb rump roasts.”

“I like your rump roast,” he instantly responds and reaches over to smack your butt again. Anticipating the move, you catch his arm and twist it behind his back. He barks out a breathless laugh and you slap his ass in return.

“Your innuendos are tragic.”

Releasing him with a gentle shove, Bucky snatches up his three coconuts and ambles away, laughing while he juggles them. When he returns, he has the requested rump roasts, several packages of bacon, and a bundle of cocktail shrimp.

“If my innuendos get better, then can I touch your butt?”

“Maybe. But they better be real good.”

An added benefit to shopping at midnight? Not a soul in line.

Loading everything onto the conveyer belt, you automatically organize for bagging. Boxes together, produce together, meat together. Bucky adds a pack of batteries, a tin of mints, and some trashy magazines.

The last three items in the cart are his coconuts. They rattle around until you toss them at him, motioning back to the produce department.

“We made it out alive. Go put them back.”

Still chomping his tasteless green gum-ball, he shakes his head and plops them down.

“Nah, I have another idea for them. Got all those craft supplies at home, I’m gonna make you something.”

“Should I even ask?”

Bucky blows a huge, wet bubble and looks you up and down.

“Have you every worn one of those coconut bras? Like on TV, with the ladies in grass skirts? I’m gonna make you one. I already have string and glue. And glitter.”

“I think you may be overestimating your crafting abilities.” Digging out your credit card, you wait for the final tally.

“Well, if it’s terrible then you’ll just be naked. Either way, I win.”

Shaking out your grocery sacks, he packs everything with Tetris-like efficiency and slides all of them up the vibranium arm.

“How about I make you a deal. I’ll wear a coconut bra, if you’ll make yourself something to wear as well.”

Bucky blows another sugary bubble, pondering the idea.

“Like a coconut man thong?”

“Exactly like a coconut man thong.”

“Deal. Add it to that special dirty list you’re making me honey. We got loads to do.”

Outside, the night air smells sweet and cool, the barest hint of a spring rain and fresh grass lingering on the breeze. Already, your eyes are feeling heavy, tonight’s quiet adventure ushering in that sought after peace.

In your right hand, the three coconuts swing gently in their plastic sack. Humming under his breath, Bucky yawns, reaching for your other hand. His warm, calloused palm squeezes tight, his thumb stroking lightly over your skin.

He turns to you with a sleepy, lopsided smile.

Midnight and coconuts.

It always does the trick.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine

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captainkirkk · 3 years

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

BNHA

see the light of day by achievingelysium

no1allmightfan I got my U.A. acceptance letter yesterday and I haven’t stopped crying… Taking the first steps toward my dream. Plus ultra! #no1 talks 22 notes | Reply Reblog Like

Or, Izuku, social media, and the journey to becoming a hero.

Lugubrious Alarmism by Briarwitched

Magic is always a pain. Superman might temporarily be a toddler, but the League's knows they've gotten off easy this time: everyone's in the proper dimension, there's no annoying entity trying to teach them a lesson, and the de-aging spell should wear off without any weird consequences in less than a fortnight. Babysitting duty gets ten times more adorable with the purchase of a Justice League plushie set. Now Clark can continue his heroic adventures with his friends: fighting crime, spreading justice, and... beheading Batman?

It's gotta be a fluke. Right? Right.

Accidents can happen twice in a row-- no, three, four?-- times. Though probably not by the twenty second. It's definitely intentional by the thirtieth time. Probably.

What the hell, Clark? We thought you were friends.

straight on 'til morning by mindshelter

Kon whistles at his first glimpse into Tim’s living room, grinning with teeth when Tim reflexively rolls his eyes. “Sweet digs, dude,” he singsongs. “Love what you’ve done to the place.”

“I said,” Tim hisses, even as he slides the balcony door open to let Kon inside, “what are you doing here—”

Kon shrugs, peeling his jacket off. If I left it up to you, buddy, he doesn’t say, I’d see you once in a blue moon. “Couldn’t sleep. Gotta say, the empty Gatorade bottles really give this place personality.”

“Like you’re one to talk. I’ve seen your room,” Tim snipes back. “And I actually need the electrolytes. What’s your excuse?”

or; on a whim, kon pays tim's gotham apartment a late night visit. and then he visits again. and again, and again.

The Clone Wars

we hold on together by notquiteaghost

The Republic hasn't had a standing army in over two thousand years. Even before the Reformation, there was no war on a grand enough scale to justify the expense. It feels like a bad joke, when the Chancellor decrees it, when the Senate allows it. The Jedi aren't a military. The Jedi have never been a military.

They give Obi-Wan a battalion. They give him a battlecruiser, a Marshall Commander, they knight his Padawan. He looks over all the clerical minutiae a military runs on and wishes they'd given him a secretary.

cody, obi-wan, and ghost company at the beginning of the war, learning to work together, trust each other, maybe even like each other.

Rescues, Attempted by glimmerglanger

A moment later, the figures leaned over the edge and, without preamble, tossed Obi-Wan in.

Cody jerked, unthinking, to put his body between Obi-Wan’s and the unforgiving stone. It was not that far a fall, but, unconscious, Obi-Wan could not protect his head or neck. Cody caught him as he plummeted, weight catching at his arms and shoulders, but not enough to inconvenience him.

OR, the one where Obi-Wan falls into the wrong hands, and Cody does his best to get him out alive.

J'adoube by hellowkatey

There are only two scenarios that make sense in this moment:

1. The Force has caused a divergence in the flow of time for reasons still unknown. or 2. Obi-Wan has a more active imagination than he thought, and the last twenty-eight years of his life have been one very long, very elaborate dream.

[or, the Force gets fed up with Obi-Wan not taking care of himself and takes matters into its own hands.]

Count My Little Scars I've Got Dozens Inside by nuclearturtle

Ripped from the streets of Melida/Daan by the Force, Obi-Wan finds himself in the middle of a firefight between strange droids and troopers. With no idea of where he is or what is going on but in desperate need for help, so he turns to the only familiar presence nearby, his Grandmaster Dooku.

Unfortunate that luck has never really been on his side.

To Fall, and To Be Alright by Pandora151

Obi-Wan falls, almost at random.

Anakin watches it happen from across the briefing room. He watches Obi-Wan trail off mid-sentence, eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown. He watches Obi-Wan look at Cody and Waxer, at Ahsoka, and then at Anakin. He watches Obi-Wan place a trembling hand on the table in front of him.

And then the moment breaks, and Obi-Wan falls.

Belief by CallToMuster (Note: I enjoyed a bunch of whump fics form this author, but this list would've gotten too long if I'd included them all. So definitely check them out)

“It’s me,” the man tells him for the fourth time. “It’s Anakin. I promise.”

Obi-Wan says nothing. He has heard this before, from others. They too claimed to be Anakin Skywalker and shared his face. This is the eighth such person, in fact. But they were just a product of Ventress’s twisted imagination. Whether this person is the same remains to be seen.

He must be cautious either way.

{Written for Whumptober 2020. Day 11: "Defiance | Struggling". Sequel to my Day 5 Whumptober fic Mine.}

#this round-up is a bit early #but i think there was a whump!obi-wan fic event #so i did a lottttt of star wars reading #bless all the h/c writers out there for keeping me fed #also i can feel myself falling down a deep timkon hole please send help #my posts #fic recs #weekly fic round up #sw recs #bnha recs #dc recs

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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years

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42 Hours (II)

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

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

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 32k

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

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d kill a bunch of kids?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N tries to protest. “But—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“We should go out tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N. Up here, love, c’mon.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

Last night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“So? What do you think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“Uh, hello. Can everyone hear me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

“They look happy, don’t they?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But for the record—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not anymore.”

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

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

…

“Are you sure I can’t drive?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop the car.”

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 3 years

Text

#246

“Here boy. I know who and what you are. Do you know who I am?… Liar. You’re a faggot liar. Yes you do. You have been drooling over me for weeks now. Follow me. I got us a room at the motel next door….

“The regulars here at the diner don’t care that I prefer fucking faggots like you over broads. I just don’t broadcast it like you do. I’ve seen you talking to some of the boys I have fucked. You know I have a big dick and that I pile drive boy cunt.

“I’ve seen you in the parking lot. You watch the guys like me going into the bookstore across the lot. You want to follow them in, but the bookstore won’t let you. They know you’re underage. Until today. Now you are legal to fuck. Yeah, I know your 18th birthday is today. I know a lot of things about you. I know you cruise the bookstore, and the bathroom the bar shares with the diner. I know you are finishing up at high school.

“Here’s our room. I fuck the owner and he let’s me use a secluded empty room whenever I need. So, you can scream when I tear up your cunt. Having a big dick has many many many advantages. I need to let off some steam from a long day on the farm. Get naked, I’m gonna get the ropes out. My reputation is well known that I am a twisted fucker. Hell my conquests told you the such, and yet you came with me here.

“Always remember this, I am always in control of everything. Right now, that includes you. Naked. And then get on your knees and face me. See, it’s natural for you to follow orders. And where’s your phone?… Hand it to me…. Continue stripping. Well,… You’re kinda scrawny. You’ve never worked a hard day at anything, and it shows. Damn your pecker is tiny. That’s the way I like it. My cock is fucking huge, and you need to realize your place is on your knees in front of real men. You will never be a real man. You do know that, right?…

“You know what I want you to do. I want you to beg me to fuck you. I want you to beg me to brutalize your cunt. And while you are begging me and degrading and humiliating yourself, I will be jacking off to you. Having a big dick requires a little extra tugging to get hard. I know you wouldn’t know anything about that. You are too focused on your cunt. And call it a cunt a number of times, especially when you are fingering it. I want you to tell me that you need for me to rape you. Your goal is to degrade yourself. Tell me how much of a faggot you are. And focus on your tiny clit there. Tell me how you envy any real man with a real sized dick. And the thing I need for you to beg me to rape you—not have sex, not make love—rape. Use that word often.

“Here look up at me, at your phone. Thanks for letting me use your face to unlock it. I will be recording this on your phone. I want you to have a record of how low you are. I want you to watch this every morning as you are about to jack off at home. Speaking of jacking off, I should take my cock out for you. Damn, even totally limp, it’s way bigger than yours hard.

“You have three minutes to fully degrade yourself. Go!…

“…That’s time. Ok. See how big you got me? The full nine and a half inch dick, ready to rape the hell out of you. Crawl over here and blow me, but first put on this blindfold. I don’t want you to see anything. Good, now show me how good you are as a faggot cocksucker. Throat me to the nut. Put as much spit on it as you can. That’s pretty much the lube I will be using to tear your cunt up. Maybe if you are good, I will use some spit on the cunt. Take your time, but throat me. Get into it faggot. I’m gonna chill here… Open that fucking throat… Gag on that monster….

“You really are pathetic. Get your ass on the bed, face down. Need to tie you down. What? Now you want out? Aww hell the fuck no. I said on the fucking bed. Ok. You really want this to be a rape don’t you? Look I know my way around ropes and tying up livestock. I do work in a farm, and I am a part of the local rodeo. Calling out for help ain’t going to help.

“And, I sent myself a copy of that video where you are begging me to rape you and to show you no mercy. Nobody will believe you. Just a few more seconds, and there! You ain’t going nowhere now. You are going to be in that position for some time. Your cunt is on display, ready to be mounted.

“But first, I’m going to fuckin’ welt you up. I got my son’s belt here; mine doesn’t move through the air as nicely as his, and besides I’m still wearing mine. You don’t even deserve me stripping for you. When it comes to whipping, I don’t stop to let you recover.

“Being your birthday, It’s eighteen strokes in a row. Start your fucking screaming now. One, two, three,… louder fucker, you deserve every one of these strokes… Eight, nine, ten,… I can already see the welts forming. Oh yeah, bright red cheeks get me leaking. When I hit number twenty-five, I’m going right to the root whether or not you are ready. And it’s not going to take me very long to nut in you. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and… eighteen.

“Quit your crying faggot. Here, bite down on my son’s belt. You really have me leaking here. And… all the way in. Fuck yes! This cunt hasn’t been fucked much, has it? Stop your screaming, I asked you a fucking question. You get fucked much?… No?… Wait, that was a cherry pop? Oh fuck yeah. I’m close to giving you some cream to go on your cherry pie. Oh yeah. Fuck. Take it bitch. Feel my load fill you up. Faggot.

“That’s what you have to look forward to for the next few days. Oh man, fuck. I’m gonna lay here for a while. Watch your head, my cigar is only an inch or two from your cheek. I don’t want to brand you,… well at least not yet. Let go of the belt. Holy shit. You really did bite down hard. I can’t wait to give this back to him and tell him how the teethmarks came about.

“Oh yeah, he knows I’m gay. He doesn’t care. He’s totally straight, and I mean totally straight. Now just lay there; you ain’t going anywhere. But I want you to hear this. Yeah, I kept my sex life away from him until one day when he walked in on me fisting his math teacher, Mr. Gunter.

“Oh yeah, he goes to the same high school as you. He too is ready to graduate. You know him, oh yes you do. You’ve been texting him all year, ever since he transferred to your school. You were not very nice to him. In fact, you and a few of your friends beat him up. And what reason did you have for giving him a black eye?… Don’t remember? You called him a faggot. You told your friends that he hit on you in gym class. Talk about projecting.

“When he came home suspended for fighting and with a black eye, I wanted details. He gave me your name and showed me your pic in the yearbook. And wouldn’t you know, I recognized you from your attempted bookstore runs. A week later you start hanging around the diner. You couldn’t get into the bar area, but you sat every Friday afternoon in that same spot in my line of vision, pretending to read that book while groping yourself. So subtle.

“I had your background run by a this cop I regularly fuck. He told me a shitload about you. He’s the one that informed the bookstore across the street that you were underage. There’s a boy—a year older than you—that I fuck who is a Facebook friend of yours showed me your wall. I got to go through every word you wrote while he was giving me head. And unlike you, he knows how to deep throat. Again, having a big dick has its advantages.

“And about that time, you and my son were suspended, you posted a viral video of a bullied kid getting revenge on the bully by sleeping with the bully’s mom. And your comment was something like, ‘Best served cold.’

“Funny thing is, I’m out. While I don’t broadcast it in this tiny town, but I don’t hide it. My son and ex-wife know. The ranch I work at knows. Hell, the main reason how I got the job was that I fucked the owner and told him that I was looking for a job. The guys at the bar all know. So how were you going to humiliate my son? He probably would say, ‘He fucked you? You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.’ or something like that.

“So, what’s happening next for you? Certainly not humiliating my son. No, for you, I have plans. I’m gonna fuck you again. I’ll leave you tied up. The motel is going to get full later on tonight, mostly truckers. I’ve let the motel owner and the guy that works the bookstore that you are here ready for all horny truckers.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to pass you over to this biker club one of my friends is a member of. He already set up something really nasty for you. The gang already knows what a piece of shit you are. They can’t wait to get their hands on you, and I can’t wait to hear all about it. By the end of the weekend, your cunt will be destroyed. I will give you two black eyes to make up for the one you gave my boy. Most likely your hair will be removed. You are going to be beaten. Hell, my cop buddy is a former boxer. He’s going to string you up and use you as a punching bag.

“And in the end,… I will decide if you keep your balls. Wow. That’s the first time you have flinched while lying under me. Aw, shut up. I work with livestock every day. I know how to castrate a bull. I haven’t decided about you. Just keep that in mind throughout the weekend. You complain or resist, your balls will be in jeopardy.

“You probably won’t see much of me. But I will you. I have it arranged to have it all filmed for me. I expect to see a cum hungry faggot whore knowing his place of being used by real men. Your balls will depend on it. For me, I’m going to be with my son doing dad things.

“And I don’t plan on letting him in to the fact that you are a faggot whore lookin to get raped seeing, he already knows. How do I know? I text him, while you were trying to give me head. I wrote, from your phone, ‘I have to get this off my chest. I am a faggot whore. I can’t live in the closet anymore. Please share this video.’

“Then I sent him your video. While you are going to be in a living hell for the next four days, you won’t be able to stop him or anyone from finding out. This is how I want it. As I said before, I am always in control of everything. Oh, and happy birthday.”

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

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Hi can I request a zsasz mask x male reader where reader gets in a argument with victor and roman and reader just gets tired of their bull so he goes to get ready for his match (readers a boxer) and it's a big match for him. After being mad for a bit they go to the match and see that reader is injured really badly but keeps fighting anyway cause he's going to win no matter what.

Match | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz x Male!Reader | ZsaszMask x Male!Reader

I am so sorry it took me this long! I hope you're still interested in it and enjoy what I've done with your request! Again, I apologise for taking so long.

summary; See above.

notes; TW // Open Wounds; Blood; Fights. Brief Mention of Sex in the end. Polyamorous/-sexual relationship; Declarations of Love.

Fuming, your blood boiling under your skin, and shaking with the force of your anger and the effort of holding it back, you got ready to go out for your boxing match in an hour. You clenched your jaw, almost painfully so, as you zipped up your bag. Then you practically stomped out of your room and the penthouse, slamming the door behind yourself.

Fucking Roman and Victor.

While you got fully dressed and prepared for your match, you thought about what had gotten you so angry in the first place.

It was a stupid fight with Sionis and Zsasz.

All you did was bring to their attention that they could at least try to pay more attention to you as well, and actually show you that they liked you, that they liked having you around.

Roman flew off the handle right after it had left your lips, which wasn’t surprising, but it didn’t help your situation and only agitated you. So you yelled right back at him. Victor, always so fucking protective of Roman, got a bit physical, grabbing your wrist in a bruising tight grip glaring at you and telling you off in his deep, gravelly voice. You weren’t scared of him, though.

So you just twisted your arm out of his tight grip and shoved him, yelling at both of them now that this was exactly what you meant. They were always an item, even in a fight; they ganged up on you, instead of including and actually talking to you, instead of looking for a solution and being open for suggestions.

In a way, you wished you hadn’t brought it up at all, but it needed to be said, no matter what. You were unhappy with the way things were at the moment and you didn’t just want to break up with them over it. You loved them after all. You just wished they’d show you they loved you, too. And now you might have just ruined all chances of that. Fuck, they were probably packing your things while you were here, and throwing you out the moment you’d get back.

“Y/N, you’re up in 10,” your coach told you and you nodded.

Taking a few deep breaths, you shook your head to clear it of the fight. The match was more important now. You couldn’t let something like this ruin your chances of winning, although the anger that was still thrumming through your body might help you.

All the while, Roman and Victor have stayed home. Sionis had been blinded by rage after he’s heard you leave. He was screaming and trashing things.

Zsasz could just barely get through to him at all, breathing a quiet sigh of relief, when he finally did, holding onto Roman’s wrists and seeking intense eye contact with him, so he could bring him back to the real world, the here and now.

Breathing heavily, Roman’s face was still set in a deep scowl, frowning, his eyes piercing with anger, yet still a little glazed over from how overwhelming it was.

“Do you think he’s right, Victor?” he asked eventually, his voice broken and raw, abused from all his screaming.

“Maybe,” Zsasz conceded. He hated to think that anyone but Roman and he himself could ever be right, but he had to admit that they may have neglected you a little bit.

“Fuck.” It was weak, but carried all of Roman’s frustration nonetheless.

“We need to make it up to him. Where did he go anyway?” he continued after a short moment.

“Match. Big one tonight, remember?”

“Right, of course. Why the fuck couldn’t he have chosen any other fucking day to bring this up?”

Zsasz just shrugged, not knowing a good answer to that. While he knew Sionis better than he knew himself, Victor still struggled to get on that level with you, too.

“Whatever. Get dressed. We’re going to that match and make it up to him afterwards, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

When they arrived and got into the front row (thank fuck for their connections and having people naturally fear them, so that they made way), you have already been far into your match. Both of them took in the sight of you in your element.

As Roman got a better look at your front, though, he immediately grabbed onto Victor’s arm, tightly. “What the fuck?!” he muttered.

You were bleeding out of your mouth and a pretty big gash on your forehead. It was a lot of blood, too. He wondered if you had even noticed it, or if you were just too focused on winning that you didn’t take in anything but your opponent anymore. It has happened before.

“He’s going to get fucking killed if he keeps going,” Roman hissed.

“I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s tough, you know that.”

Sionis shot Victor a piercing glare. “Yeah, and everyone has a limit, even you and me. Especially he, though! Fuck!” His grip on Zsasz’s arm only tightened, sure to leave a bruise.

“It’s not his time yet, I promise.” With that, Roman loosened his hold just slightly. He knew Victor wouldn’t ever lie to him, and he also knew that he had a very well working intuition for these things, so he believed him.

For all it was worth, Sionis knew he couldn’t stop it, anyway. You were too stubborn and determined to win; you would fight until you truly dropped dead if you had to.

Fortunately for him, another right hook from you had your opponent fall back to the ground, and not getting back up within the required 10 seconds.

You had won.

Booming loud cheers erupted around the facility. Victor and Roman cheered for you, too, while relief washed over Sionis in waves.

After a couple of minutes you were led away by your coach, back to the locker rooms. You sat down on the bench, pressing a clean towel to the gash on your forehead.

“You really need to stop doing that, Y/N,” your coach chided you.

“Yeah, yeah, next time,” you muttered.

“You’ve said that the last five times already. Get a grip on yourself, or else you can look for a different coach. I don’t want your blood on my hands, son.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t worry. I promise it won’t happen again. Okay?”

“Fine–,” your coach probably wanted to say something else, but was interrupted by Roman and Victor coming into the room.

Wait, what the fuck were they doing here anyway?

“What the fuck,” you greeted them.

“We should be the ones saying that, Y/N,” Roman replied, frowning.

You desperately wanted to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows that had deepened significantly with his frown.

Fuck. No, you were mad at them!

“I suppose I’ll leave you alone then,” your coach said and walked out. He knew when Victor and Roman were with you, he needed to be gone.

Your eyes were fixed on Roman as he walked over and sat down next to you on the bench. Then you looked over to Zsasz, who retrieved the first aid kit from your locker and started getting out supplies to sew your wound closed.

“I thought you’d kick me out,” you near whispered in disbelief.

“What? Fuck, no!” Sionis said, looking as offended as he sounded.

Victor then sat down on your other side where your wound was and gently, yet firmly, grasped your hand and pried out the towel from your grip. Silently, he got to work, disinfecting the skin around the gash, picking out the sterilised tools and thread. Promptly, he started closing up the gash with practiced ease.

It did have some advantages to have someone like him as your boyfriend, you mused.

“Look, uh, I’m sorry for the fight. I should have known better than to- I don’t know. Bring that shit up. I knew it’d upset you.” Now that all your anger was gone, washed away by the sheer presence and treatment you were just receiving from them, you really felt a little stupid and apologetic for it all.

“It’s not your fault. You were right. We didn’t pay you enough attention and you were right to talk about it with us. Or try to, anyway. My bad for exploding like that.” Roman took one of your hands in both of his. Despite the tape and boxing gloves, your knuckles were bruised. He stroked over them with his leather-clad thumb.

“Will you promise me to change it?” you asked then, quietly, cautiously, as if afraid to destroy this dream-like moment.

“I promise to at least try, ‘kay? Is that fair enough for you?”

“Yeah, I guess. And you, Victor?”

Snipping the thread and unpacking a big band-aid to put that over the suture, Zsasz nodded. “Sure, I’ll try. Promise.” He smiled at you, crookedly, his two golden teeth glinting in the fluorescent lights of the locker room.

“Alright then,” you breathed, smiling at them both. “Thank you.”

Instead of answering, they both leaned in and kissed either of your cheeks.

“I love you guys. So much,” you chuckled.

Then you first turned to Victor and kissed him on the lips, passionately, but briefly. After that you did the same with Roman.

“We love you, too,” they said simultaneously, making all three of you laugh. It was a magical moment, really. And in the back of your head, you were a little rattled at them admitting they loved you. It was the first time they had ever uttered these words to you.

The fight between you completely forgotten now, you were only eager to get back home, shower and have make-up sex with them. Maybe even both at the same time, you smiled to yourself.

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis x male reader #roman sionis fanfiction #victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #victor zsasz x male reader #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask fanfic #reader insert #reader fic #mlm fiction #mlm fanfic #polyamourous

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wh0re-4-techno · 3 years

Text

12. Lipstick ((PROFESSOR TECHNO))

Description: After a quick makeout session in his office before class started leads to someone finding out about the two of you. Now, will your friend keep it a secret or not? Should you tell Techno?

Warning(s): Nothing too much, just making out and you sitting on his lap.

Words: 4110

Last part :: Next Part

Kissing him was like you were in a fire, you felt hot and tingly whenever his lips connected with yours. Slowly growing into a flame you couldn't resist

Your hands twist and tangle themselves in his hair carelessly. And before you know it he has you in his arms carrying you to one of the side sofas he has, letting himself sit down as you placed rather nicely on his lap.

You continue kissing him, his hands playfully wander down your body. His fingertips pressing against your skin as he starts lifting up your shirt.

Breaking off the kiss, your lips softly kiss his cheek. Going down towards his jaw and down his neck. Not hard enough to cause hickeys, but enough for him to breathe heavily to steady himself. Going slightly more down, a tad of your lipstick gets on his white collar. You didn't worry too much about it, in fact, it slipped completely out of your mind once it happened. To focus on the flame growing inside of you.

Techno didn't care to take notice, just you on his lap and kissing him up and down was enough to make the world disappear.

But then it came to him, lifting his arm up to see his wrist and looking down at his watch. "Fuck." He mumbles quietly, which you didn't think too much of as other than he was enjoying your touch. As his hand stops and slowly pulls you away you realize, what time is it? The look on his face was the answer to what you were asking.

"Class started a few minutes ago." He grunts, clearly an annoyed man. You quickly kiss him to calm him down, then getting off his lap and sit beside him on his sofa. His hands straightening his white button-down and stark black vest that matched perfectly with the slacks to his loafers.

You watch him try to fix his hair into the right places and without a mirror, it was obviously not looking so good.

Standing up from the couch you take a step in front of him, he slowly stops doing what he was doing. Looking up at you with admirment. Your hands reach to his hair, fixing it from your own work. As you do so he places his arms around your waist and pulls you closer. You softly giggle at his actions but continue to fix his messy hair.

He watches silently as you finish doing his hair, you were his. "We should just stay here, I could cancel a class you know." He lifts himself up, now it was you looking up at him with admirment He wiggles his eyebrows with a goofy smile as he truly thinks of that as an option that he doesn't teach today. "You and I both know I would love to stay here and continue what we were doing but, no. No, you should have class." You breathe out, pulling back down your sweater. He nods in response, realizing that might not be the best thing to do. "And I like hearing you talk about ancient history. You look rather handsome when you do so." The smallest hint of blush flashes on his cheeks as you compliment him. He smiles at you, "Good to know that Y/l/n." He winks down at you, you start walking toward the door where your bag was laying.

Turning back as you grab your book bag, you spot something on his lips. "You have a little bit of lipstick." You point out with your own lips, gesturing that he had it. It was slightly smudged and mute color from your own. His thumb comes to his lips and starts swipping away the residue, getting rid of the evidence you were with him.

And while you're at it you finally spot the kiss mark on his collar, you also point out that. Which he tries to remove but it inevitably smudges even more into the white-collar. "Hopefully no one will notice this." He somewhat awkwardly says while bending over behind his desk.

"So, how do you want to do this?" He questions while grabbing his own bag for class, which was a brown leather side bag almost like a briefcase, which was behind his desk. "What?" It took a few seconds for you to realize what he meant. "Do you want to go to class first or me?" He elaborates his question. "I could walk in first." You contemplate that was the best option for the two of you, not wanting anyone to suspect either of you.

He grabs a coffee cup that was on his desk, he didn't look like the person who would drink coffee he was more of a tea drinker. "You go in first, I'll come in a few minutes with this coffee cup and pretend I was late." He walks up to you, both of you looking at each other. "Sounds like a plan Mr. Blade." You smile up at him, he smiles down at you. Sounds like a good damn plan.

Hand on the door, you lookout to see if anyone was also late to class or would spot you. Seeing as no one was in the hallway you were in the clear. Walking out in a rush, acting like you were late to class as well.

Opening the main doors to the lecture class, you step in fast. With a fast pace, you reach your seat in no time.

The three boys you'd come fond of are already sitting in the same row as you would normally, waiting for you to come in and chit-chat. All had a smile waiting for you too, quick greetings from them all. "How's your morning going so far for you?" Toby asks, he sat in-between Wilbur and Tommy, where Wilbur sat right next to you.

"So far good, just a few minutes late to class." You tell him, reaching down in your book bag for your class notebook ready to take notes of the presentation today. "Well that's good, Tommy didn't want to get out of bed this morning, I had to physically drag him out." Toby chuckles at the remembrance of this morning, where Tommy just scoffs at it. "Never have him as a roommate," Toby confesses to you and a little to Wilbur as well.

The two of you laugh at Toby's expression. "Wait, Wilbur who's your roommate? You've never told me." You turn to Wilbur, he softly chuckled at your question. Toby and Tommy now look at Wilbur too, you soon learn that they also don't know who is Wilbur's roommate. "Why do you want to know?" He asks, looking at the three of you. "What if we go to your dorm to hang out and your roommate is there and we don't even know how name?" Tommy speaks up for the rest of you and Toby. But it wasn't a bad argument.

Wilbur sighs at you all, admitting his failure to avoid the answer. Muttering a "Fine." before telling you, "His named Sam, I haven't really gotten to know him that much. But he seems really nice so far." He says while communist hair with his fingers, but before you can speak more to the subject Techno slams open the door in a huff.

"Sorry, I'm late class! Needed something to get me through the day." He lifts up his coffee cup in hand, gesturing to the class. Which a couple of students, including you, chuckle at him.

Techno, already knowing where you normally sat looks over to you, just a quick glance. But seeing as those boys were already sitting next to you, he looked away and back to his desk.

-----

It was already 20 minutes into the presentation on Archaeology and Tommy is already "super bored" in his own words. You sit silently, listening to every word that comes out of Techno's mouth. Writing down some simple notes of the subject ever so often.

While Toby was dealing with Tommy's annoyance, Wilbur also takes notes but would look over at you.

He would steal glances, seeing what you wore or what make out you wore for the day. Today was a soft red. But what caused him to also look at you was how to stared at the Professor.

Everyone does it to look like they were listening to him, but you did more than listen. You and he knew that at this point. Wilbur must have thought this was a simple and careless crush on a teacher as most people have had that thought about a teacher before in their life. But as he continues to see how you react when he was near and how you slightly changed. He thought maybe you were trying to impress the Professor, trying to act on the crush you might have had.

That when he spotted it.

His eyes broaden as comprehends the thoughts. It couldn't be, it shouldn't be. There was no way he could be correct about the allegations that were filling through his mind, mere seconds. Slightly parting his lips as he continued to go back and forth it started to connect, all the time you went to his office for getting help with assignments or any other excuse you came up with.

He looked back to you and to Mr. Blade. No fucken way, he thought to himself.

Now with that red lipstick smudged on his color bone, from where you seat it was clear that he at least tried to get rid of it, but it still was bright compared to his white button-down. It matching the same color on your lips.

It felt as the world was going in slow motion, turning himself towards you. Concern forming on Wilbur's face by the seconds, he leaned in slowly, still looking at his Professor. Wishing what he was about to ask you was ridiculous and would never become true. So slowly that you didn't even notice till his head was right next to yours. Slightly jumping in your seat, "Holy shit, you scared me, Wilbur." You whispered yell at him, your hand pressed firmly on your chest. At least it broke your hyper fixation on your professor. "Oh, I scared you?" He huffed out an airy chuckle, which confused you of what he meant by that context. For some reason beyond your control, he was acting strange. Turning your head ever so slightly to look at him. A questionable face was clear to him, "You and the Professor?" He simply says, once of the words flying from his lips he regrets saying it altogether. These allegations he found in his mind were clearly not true, was it?

Your eyes shoot open.

How. Does. He. Know.

Turning fully toward him, "What?" You say angrily, that was a good sign to see from Wilbur's point of view. Of course, you would get mad or upset by his allegations. "Excuse me? I think I misheard you?" How the hell does he know? How the hell did he find out? There was no possible way he could figure this out, but somehow we did and now he was asking questions.

"You and the Professor, correct me if I'm wrong. Which I hope I am because you know... Isn't that like a huge issue?" He still implies that you and the professor are together, but you sit there in shock. Words weren't forming to correct nor deny him. Still confused at his conclusion.

He places a hand on your arm, "I promise you that I won't tell anyone if it's true." You breathe out scared, "But I do think it's a little funny- Wait! Where you the one that left that jacket on the floor in his office?" He questions quite loudly, pulling Tommy and Toby out of their conversation. Giving Wilbur the death glare to shut the fuck up before you punch him right where he sits. He hunches his back up as he cringes at how loud he got and your expression. "Sorry. But was it?" He raised his eyebrow in a question still. "How the hell do you remember that, that happened like a few weeks ago." You finally give him an answer, which he looks down at his lap, it was true.

"Holy shit, you're actually sleeping with your Professor." He slowly whispers down, conflicted on what he just found out, which happened to be true compare to him think it was fake."Will you shut up Wilbur. I don't want anyone to find out." You slap his shoulder. Even hearing him whisper it was loud enough for you to hear for another human, it was embarrassing enough to hear it from a friend.

At this point, Techno is glancing at the whole interaction going on between the two of you.

"How did you find out?" You look away from Wilbur, you were still somewhat scared that he knows your affair with your Professor. Swallowing harshly as you turn back to Techno. Who is still presenting to his class, but kept his eyes on you? You give him a fake reassuring smile that he can see right through, hoping that he does suspect anything. "I saw the lipstick on his collar, you two should be more careful." He breathes out, he was shocked by the revelation. You close your eyes, how could he spot that minor inconvenience. You mentally curse at yourself. "Fuck." You place your hand on your face, fuck fuck fuck fuck.

You felt like crying at this moment, how could you not cry right now. Scared shitless at your secret coming out, shaking in your seat. Gripping tighter on your pencil as you come to terms that Wilbur knows your hidden unofficial affair.

Wilbur watches you in such dismay, "I swear I won't tell anyone Y/n." He awkwardly places his hand on your arm, trying to calm your state of mind and somewhat of his too. Breathing slowly as you were gently coming from the realization of the intensity of your relationship between you and the Professor.

"So how long have you to been together?" He asks politely, not in a rude not mean way, the way you thought he was going to ask in disgust. But he was genuinely asking like it was a huge difference between the two of you. "I rather not talk about that now." You say quietly, "Not here." Wilbur nods, knowing it was probably not the best to talk about his out loud.

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through, it felt so different between the two of you now. It was just a regular secret the two of you could laugh about, this was way more serious and now he could get in trouble because he knows about the two of you.

It was going to be impossible.

He rubbed his hand on your arm, drawing your attention towards him. "Y/n do you consider you and me friends?" He questions, you didn't really know where he was going with this conversation but you followed him anyway. "Yes, would you?" You follow him up with the same question. "Yes, and friends tell each other secret now and then. Friends don't tell other people their secrets. And being your friend Y/n, there are no worries that I will do that. I won't tell anyone about this." He confines with you, which really puts you at ease from the situation. Glad that it was Wilbur to figure it out rather than Toby or Tommy, knowing that they couldn't hold a secret at best.

"Pinky promise me you won't tell anyone." You stick out your hand, a raised pinky waiting. "Picky promise, really?" He blinks at the thought of this elementary way of holding secrets. "Please?" You look at him, with pleading eyes for him to do so, which he does.

Your other hand that held your pencil reaches for his. Patting his hand, "Thank you, Wilbur, really." You tell him. Truly you were glad that you had Wilbur as a friend.

-----

After the lecture finishes Techno speaks, "Alright students. I know that we start Thanksgiving break on Thursday, please be safe if your traveling in or out of state." He looks out at the class, with a smile on his face. Ready to tell them, "No assignment over break either." Which most of the students audible thanked him for the no work as others silently thanked him. Then there was Tommy who stood from his seat and whood out that he didn't give us homework.

The class laughing at his antics, which seemed to put a smile on his face, full of pride.

Then Techno's phone started to buzz, signaling that it was time that class ended and was time to kick everyone out beside you. "Go have fun on break and please don't do anything stupid!" Everyone starts walking out, "Especially you Tommy." He calls him out as he passes the Professor, putting his hand to his chest acting as he was deeply hurt by his words. Which Techno laughs at.

You walk with Wilbur slowly starting to stop, he looks at you. "Text me later, okay?" He asks nicely. You nod, "Okay." He continues to walk out with another look over at the two of you.

Standing next to Techno and waiting for the clear.

And once it was he went behind his desk, sitting in his chair. You let go of your book bag and place it in front of his desk. Walking closer towards him, "Now, where were we?" He speaks seriously and somewhat sexy. You giggle softly, a little confused about what he meant, but soon to realize what exactly he meant.

His hands-on his lap, patting for you to come to sit on his lap once again.

You strut beside his desk, which he turns his chair to face you. Following his comment you go and sit on his lap, slowly throwing each one of your legs side highs, softly sitting on top of his pants. Face to face. Leaning in ever so much for him to follow-up, lips connecting with ease. It felt as the flame came back to passion the kiss, but you really didn't want to get that heated right at this moment. It hurt to break it off with him, almost painful for the both of you. Techno could tell something was off and you weren't exactly in the mood.

"I have to tell you something Techno." You pull out of the kiss, resting your head onto his. "What is it darling?" He questions, where you actually going to tell him that Wilbur knows about this relationship, what would happen? Could you even face up to it and tell him? There was not a way to could...

Taking a deep breath, "What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" You pass in the opportunity to tell Techno about Wilbur, you didn't have the courage to. "That's more of an ask than tell." Techno chuckles at his own response, still clueless on your own thoughts which were eating you from the inside out. It was inevitable that it would come out actually, but not today.

"I know, just my words getting mixed up." You slightly shake your head, trying your hardest to get those thoughts of everyone to know that you're sleeping with the Professor. You lift your head up and look at him directly. "I'm going to have my father over at my house, that about it. Why do you ask?" He tells you honestly, but still questions as to why you ask. But as he continues to think upon it becomes clear to him. "No particular reason." You somewhat lie to him, it wasn't obvious, or hope it wasn't obvious to him.

He smirks as he thinks he knows why you ask, "Do you want to have Thanksgiving with me? Is that what you're asking me?" He presses on the question, watching how you react to his bluntness.

Your lips parted, "Techno, I-" You struggle to get your words out. Of course, you thought of having Thanksgiving with him. The thought of you and him in his kitchen cooking and baking, finally meeting his dad, which he talks very highly about. Sure you've seen photos of him and his dad together but that was pretty much it in his family just the two of them. Maybe you wanted to know where he gets his traits from or maybe meet his dad was a way to make it official with the two of you.

"I shouldn't have put you in that spot. You probably have plans don't you." Techno knows what did, he really shouldn't have put you there. Feeling sorry that he has, he kisses your cheek.

Leaning in for another kiss on your cheek you pull him into your lips. Softly sighing in contempt. "I do have plans with my friends. I'm sorry." Breaking it off once again. "There is no reason for you to say sorry to me." He smiles at you, "Maybe next Thanksgiving." You smile at him brightly. He has this way to lighten the conversation so easily, you wished you could do that.

Laying your head on his shoulder, "Next Thanksgiving it is then." He says while his hands go up to your back, gently and slowly rubbing you up and down, it was very calming. Just the both of you in each other touch and comfort.

"By the way, I have your bra that I left on my desk. Here." He says quietly as to be careful not to ruin the moment, he leans to the side and pulls out a drawer of his desk, the very bottom one. And there it was, laying on a couple of papers was your bra, you felt your face getting hot from embarrassment. Bearing your head into a shoulder, how could you forget that? Mentally cursing at yourself.

He knows that you were embarrassed by that, his other hand pulling your face from his shoulder to look at him. Your face was flushed with pinks and reds. "Nothing to be embarrassed by darling, I just want you to have it before the break." You thanked him and took a hold of your bra.

"Now I don't want to keep you for too long, I'm sure you have lunch with Minx." He's correct, you did in fact have another lunch date with Minx on the grass field to talk about the break. And knowing Techno, he didn't want to purposely take you away from that. "Go on, I got last assignments to grade anyways." He reassurance you that you could and most likely should leave him.

Kissing him one last time, you get off of his lap. "I'll talk to you later Techno." You grab a hold of your bookbag, ready to leave. "You better Y/l/n." He winks at you, smiling at him you walk out.

-----

As you sit down, criss-cross in the same checker plaid picnic blanket as you always do when eating or hanging out at the grass field.

Minx hands you a brownie, that was the snack she packed for today's lunch. It was the famous cosmic brownies by Little Debbie.

"So I a huge announcement to tell you, super important for the Thanksgiving break." She throws up her hands in excitement, the excitement from the anticipation from telling you. You take a bite of the brownie while nodding your head, eager for her to tell you as well.

She grabs your free hand that rested on your thigh, taking it in her hand. Her eyes filled with joy. "We're going to New York!" She shakes your hand, you continue to chew through the brownies before speaking.

"New York, huh." You sit a little puzzled as it wasn't a huge thing like Disneyland, but you can see the excitement around it. But you nor Minx has ever expressed the arousal for New York so you were a little confused as to why she choose that. "Schlatt used to live there for a little while so he knows the perfect spots. He also says it would be fun for us all!" Minx smiles at you, letting her word sit in for another few seconds, realizing what she said.

"Who's all of us?" You question her.

Taglist:

@roygbivvie @alexandrium @aplainart @sadassflatass @sugarcoated44 @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @sammyxn @bbnoloves @l-O-ser @elly-isabelle @fudrudy

#mcyt #mcyt fic #mcyt fanfiction #technoblade #technoblade x reader #techno #techno x reader #professor #professor technoblade x reader #x reader

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Note

Hi! your writing is so amazing and I always come back to the Geto x reader works you did. I’d love to request a strong female reader whos a warrior that catches Geto’s eye. I know this is vague but I hope it can give you some ideas. Again thank you for your amazing writing its so entertaining 💗💗

The Commander: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.7k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

Suguru knew what might happen if he began allowing females into the King's Guard.

He knew what circumstances he would be putting his men - and himself - in if he did this.

But his troops were so few... and the King himself even had the grand idea that it would be best if they had women in the Gaurd to boost morale in his regime.

He caved the day Satoru - with his glassy blue eyes and somber expression - told him that he had to fix public opinion in his favor - or else. Suguru knew this threat was hollow, but the fact that Satoru - his best friend since childhood - thought it was time, well... that was enough to persuade him.

As announcements went out around the country, Suguru didn't really expect anyone to show up for training. Training as a King's Guard was brutal, and the regiment would include fasting, staying awake for three nights in a row, and building rapport with the others in order to complete the final task - a trek up the highest peak in the middle of winter.

And at first, no one did. Suguru smirked to himself every day that passed, bringing forth no new women into the fold. Perhaps things could be kept as they were. Things could remain as they always had been, and no one would get hurt.

But on the third day of recruitment, you came swaggering in through the gates of the training grounds, pack loaded up on your back and eyes determined.

Everyone held their breath - that's something that Suguru remembered quite well - until you stated your name loudly for all to hear, and dumped your pack onto the ground with a thud.

"I'm y/n from the Whispering Hills," you stated, hands resting on your hips. "And I've come to join the King's Guard."

____________________________________________________________

Everyone knows better than to laugh at a child of the Whispering Hills. The people from that area of the country are famed for their ruthlessness, unwavering loyalty, and quick tempers. They also believe in the Old Gods, which were banned from being worshipped long ago by the king before Satoru's father.

But no one seems to care that you wake up at the crack of dawn, walk out into the field with your nightclothes still on, and kneel in the direction of the hills with your eyes closed and hands folded in prayer.

No one says a word when you stay behind to eat and the others go off to pay tribute to the New Gods with offerings of wheat, grains, and fruits.

No one, not even Suguru, bothers you when you slay an animal and burn it on a makeshift altar (animal sacrifices are also forbidden) because they know you will cut them to pieces without even blinking an eye. And you'd be fully justified in doing so.

Suguru watches you do all of this, his eyes assessing you carefully as you train with the other men without missing a beat, without being injured or tapping out.

And for some reason, the deepest fear he had begins to blossom in his chest like an unbidden guest taking residence in his space. He's watched you for a few weeks now, just being yourself - but has never spoken to you one-on-one. Why hasn't he just--

"Commander."

The voice belongs to you, and you stand above him, looking just as you did on the first day you arrived. Suguru's eyes dilate and he swallows hard past the lump in his throat.

"Yes, y/n?"

"I must request a short leave of absence to meet with my people at the foot of the hills. It is festival season."

"I cannot permit you to leave training for your festivals," Suguru looks back down at his papers, shrugging. "You made a commitment to remain here with us during your training. You must keep that promise or be kicked out of this year's recruits."

Suguru doesn't see the shift in your stance, but he can feel the air around him shift from respectful to hostile. When he looks up at your expression, though, you look perfectly fine.

"Understood."

_____________________________________________________________

But things were not fine.

"Sir! She's refusing to do anything, and we can't complete the trek up the mountain without her in our group."

Suguru's had enough of your non-compliance. Ever since he said "no" to you going back to your hometown, you'd been unmoved from your station in your tent. Festival season was long over, but you'd remained in your tent, alone, and unwilling to reemerge.

The flaps on the tent swing open as Suguru storms in, his hair and eyes wild with disdain.

"Get up," he mutters, and you rise from your bed, looking over at him with bleary eyes. "You made a commitment."

"You do not honor my gods," you begin, wiping your eyes. "I will not come out until the moon has completed its course."

"I said, get up." Against his better judgment, Suguru pulls you up out of your bed by your arm and drags you to your feet. You sneer at him and bark the command to let you go, but Suguru ignores you - again, a poor move on his part. Because then, without speaking, you launch into an attack.

Suguru's been studying you carefully, and he knows your go-to moves, dodging them with ease and skill. You can hardly catch him off guard as your fight spills out into the open, calling the attention of all of the guards-in-training around you.

Suguru's long hair flies in the wind as he ducks, avoids, swiftly blocks, all while you're on the offensive, face turning a deep shade of red as you try to land a single blow on his body. If you could just get him once... then you'd have a personal achievement and a justified temper.

"Your temper is unyielding," Suguru pants, face splitting into a wild grin. "But your body cannot last as long as mine."

"We'll see about that," you reply, hands and fists flying with precision. After a few more moments of this back-and-forth, Geto stops you with two well-timed punches; one to the stomach, and one to the chest. You stumble back to catch your breath, vision blurring, but his hands grip yours behind your back, twisting them painfully.

"Yield."

"I will not yield," you grit out, pain shooting up your arms.

"Yield and I will spare you the punishment that follows."

"I will not yield!" you scream, bucking against the brute strength of the man.

"Your pride will cost you, then."

_____________________________________________________________

Your pride cost you more than just discomfort.

As you lay at the foot of Suguru's bed, your mouth whispers silent curses upon the Commander.

"Hush," Suguru gripes from his perch at his desk. "Your cursing is much too loud for my ears. I must focus."

"I hope you're never able to focus again," you snap, hands tied behind you.

"Such a sweet thing to say to your commander, soldier."

"I hope you choke on it." Suguru looks up from his book, but not at you, contemplating taming that snarky mouth of yours. But he decides against it, returning to his scribing.

Why are his hands shaking so bad, though? Had it really been so long since he felt challenged in a fight? And not only challenged but terribly aroused?

Suguru tries to fight these feelings day in and day out, looking at you with some terrible form of lust in his mind circling around him and making him go insane.

What could he do?

What should he do?

When he sees you laying on the floor with a death glare, he wants to break out into laughter and tell you to lighten up, but he knows if he does, he'll be ruined as a commander in your eyes. He must be stern, tough, unyielding, unshaken. All the things he's always been.

"You take yourself too seriously," you whisper, and Suguru looks over at you again, his brow raised.

"And you don't?"

"This isn't about me," you mutter, looking over your shoulder at your tied hands. "This is about your appearance." She's not wrong. "You want to seem strong. I've been eyeing you, Commander. I know how you work."

"Then you know I'm not going to let you get away with anything because you're a woman."

"But you do have a soft spot for me." Suguru rolls his eyes, despite you being absolutely right. "That's why I thought you'd let me go home for a few days. I see the way you look at me. Have you seen the way I look at you?"

"Don't," Suguru bites out, trying his best to avoid looking you in the eye. "Don't do that."

"Have you thought about me in your bed, Commander?" Suguru's breath hitches and he wonders if you'd snuck into his mind at some point, watching him watching you. "Or should I call you Suguru?"

The alarm bells in his mind are ringing, but something in Suguru lurches anyway, wanting you to say his name like that again.

"Y/n, this is neither the time, nor the place, nor the man you want to test you womanly wiles on."

"Oh?" You produce both of your hands, now untied, for him to see. "Or is it the perfect time, the perfect place, and the perfect man who has me all alone in his tent for the evening?" Suguru stiffens as you walk around to where he's seated, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "You going to show me who the strongest is, Commander? Or are you going to sit there and let yourself be taken by a woman, again?"

The answer is clear by the third hour of the morning.

Your hips smack backward, and Suguru hisses, hand coming down on your asscheek again.

"Tell me who the strongest is," Suguru huffs above you, one hand holding both of your wrists on the bed.

"You are," you breathe, looking over your shoulder at his pleased expression, dark eyes drinking in your features with the lust you'd preyed on earlier. "You're the strongest."

"That's right," Suguru exhales, leaning over your back and whispering in your ear. "I'll always be the strongest between the two of us. Don't forget that, y/n."

#geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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kellyvela · 3 years

Note

Has GRRM ever said in any interview or on his blog that he hates Sansa's complete storyline after 4th season? I dont really follow all of his fan/media interactions but from what I can recall he has spoken abt how LF in books wont give sansa to ramsay or how noone had issue when Jeyne was given the Ramsay storyline in books etc. Asking this question to you bcs you rightly point out how ppl misunderstood his interviews/posts ( sansans/targ stans etc) & I cant recall him ever saying he 'hates' sansa's story in the later seasons of the show ( not s5 in particular but even s6 to s8).

Capclave 2013:

A change that has repercussions for season 4 is Marillion’s tongue removal from the first season. Martin said that the change was made (from an anonymous singer being the victim of a de-tonguing) because they wanted Joffrey to maim someone the audience would recognize. He believes this is an issue because of the part the singer plays in Sansa’s storyline, how he affects her interactions with others in the book, and he doesn’t believe another character will be fulfilling that role on Game of Thrones.

—GRRM talks season 4 & beyond - Winter is Coming - October 13, 2013

2014 Fan Reports about Capclave 2013 (*):

In a convention panel this year, George said on the record that he had no idea what they were doing with Sansa or where they’re taking her storyline, which now makes sense perhaps. He was not pleased when he was talking about it, so who knows what’s going to happen with her! Knowing GRRM, that could mean they’re going off the canon reservation, and/or that they’re going to be making a lot of shit up

I have notes I’ll be responding to (thanks!) but enough people commented about Sansa that I thought I’d share that tidbit, since it happened back in September iirc (was the same panel where he criticized the exclusion of Tyrell brothers)

—starkalypse - June 3, 2014

GRRM’s comments at capclave about Sansa (which I was in the third row for, for those asking about legitimacy) were among others during the panel that had a general theme of dissatisfaction with show changes. He was not in good spirits for that con and didn’t really have anything positive to say regarding the show. So take it with a grain of salt; there are deviations away from the books in the episodes he gets writers credit for, so maybe they’re doing something stupid or they really don’t have a gameplan!

—starkalypse - June 4, 2014

(*) These reports were posted in June 2014, during the airing of Game of Thrones Season 4, about Capclave 2013 that happened in October 2013.

Just after the rape episode:

How many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Three, in the novel. One, in the movie. None, in real life: she was a fictional character, she never existed. The show is the show, the books are the books; two different tellings of the same story.

There have been differences between the novels and the television show since the first episode of season one. And for just as long, I have been talking about the butterfly effect. Small changes lead to larger changes lead to huge changes. HBO is more than forty hours into the impossible and demanding task of adapting my lengthy (extremely) and complex (exceedingly) novels, with their layers of plots and subplots, their twists and contradictions and unreliable narrators, viewpoint shifts and ambiguities, and a cast of characters in the hundreds.

There has seldom been any TV series as faithful to its source material, by and large (if you doubt that, talk to the Harry Dresden fans, or readers of the Sookie Stackhouse novels, or the fans of the original WALKING DEAD comic books)… but the longer the show goes on, the bigger the butterflies become. And now we have reached the point where the beat of butterfly wings is stirring up storms, like the one presently engulfing my email.

Prose and television have different strengths, different weaknesses, different requirements.

David and Dan and Bryan and HBO are trying to make the best television series that they can.

And over here I am trying to write the best novels that I can.

And yes, more and more, they differ. Two roads diverging in the dark of the woods, I suppose… but all of us are still intending that at the end we will arrive at the same place.

In the meantime, we hope that the readers and viewers both enjoy the journey. Or journeys, as the case may be. Sometimes butterflies grow into dragons.

—The Show, the Books - Not A Blog - May 18, 2015

Report about the last Game of Thrones Script that GRRM wrote:

No Wedding for Sansa and Ramsay: Without question, one of the most controversial changes the show made in trying to streamline the books was by slotting Sansa into the role of Ramsay’s wife and rape victim in Season 5. In the books, Ramsay marries and assaults Sansa’s best childhood friend, Jeyne Poole—who is being forced to impersonate Arya—instead. (You can actually see Jeyne briefly sitting next to Sansa in the show’s pilot.)

At the time Martin wrote this script, though, substituting Sansa for Jeyne was not yet the plan. Martin has Roose Bolton tell his bastard son: “We have a much better match in mind for you. A match to help House Bolton hold the north. Arya Stark.” It should be noted, however, that in Martin’s script, Sansa isn’t free from menace either. At his own wedding-day breakfast, Joffrey still threatens to rape the older Stark sister—once he’s “gotten Margaery with child.”)

—Game of Thrones: The Secrets of George R.R. Martin’s Final Script - Vanity Fair - December 7, 2018

A month before the Game of Throne S8 Finale:

Sansa’s story, in particular, has really deviated from the books. Ramsay Bolton — that marriage obviously was with a different character. When they start deviating like that, did you initially have any emotional reaction, even though you worked in Hollywood for many years yourself?

GRRM: Well, yeah — of course you have an emotional reaction. I mean, would I prefer they do it exactly the way I did it? Sure. But I’ve been on the other side of it, too. I’ve adapted work by other people, and I didn’t do it exactly the way they did it, so ….

Some of the deviation, of course, is because I’ve been so slow with these books. I really should’ve finished this thing four years ago — and if I had, maybe it would be telling a different story here. It’s two variations of the same story, or a similar story, and you get that whenever anything is adapted. The analogy I’ve often used is, to ask how many children did Scarlett O’Hara have? Do you know the answer to that?

I know it’s different in the book and the movie …

GRRM: Three children in the book, one by each husband. She had one child in the movie. And in real life, of course, Scarlett O’Hara had no children, because she never existed. Margaret Mitchell made her up. The book is there. You can pick it up and read Mitchell’s version of it, or you can see the movie and see David Selznick’s version of it. I think they’re both true to the spirit of the work, and hopefully that’s also true of Game of Thrones on one hand, and A Song of Ice and Fire on the other hand.

—George R.R. Martin on the Stark Sisters and Ending ‘Game of Thrones’ - RollingStone - April 22, 2019

James Hibberd’s Book:

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: Jeyne Poole was included in the pilot—she’s shown giggling next to Sansa—but she’s never seen or referred to again. I actually wrote Jeyne into “The Pointy End,” my first script, when Arya killed the stableboy. I had some stuff with Jeyne running to Sansa being all hysterical and dialogue in the council chamber with Littlefinger saying, “Give her to me, I’ll make sure she doesn’t cause any trouble.” That was dropped.

DAVID BENIOFF: Sansa is a character we care about almost more than any other. We really wanted Sansa to play a major part in that season. If we were going to stay absolutely faithful to the book, it was going to be very hard to do that. There was a subplot we loved from the books, but it was a character not involved in the show.

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya. The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead. But this girl has been in Littlefinger’s control for years, and he’s been training her. She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like? When you’re a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around? So she can pull off the impersonation. Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that. Is that better or worse? You can make your decision there. Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much. They care about Sansa.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

GEORGE R. R. MARTIN: My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books.

—Fire Cannot Kill a Dragon: Game of Thrones and the Official Untold Story of the Epic Series by James Hibberd - October 6, 2020

I hope it helps you.

Thanks for your message.

#sansa stark #grrm

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bastillia · 4 years

Text

First Lesson (NSFW)

Read on Ao3

Summary: Commander Kylo Ren needs a competent officer to accompany him on an important mission, and he has requested you specifically. When he discovers that you don't know how to pilot a TIE fighter, he takes it upon himself to fix that. Turns out cockpits are good for other things, too.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 7.4k

Content Warnings: possible dubcon, choking, spanking, inappropriate use of the Force, rough sex, minimal aftercare, cockwarming… yeah.

A/N: Wow so this is officially my first published work after lurking in the fandom for a good 4 years??? Holy shit. I'm super nervous, but hey, I've got to start somewhere! I've had this silly idea gnawing around in my little rat brain for fucking ever, so it feels good to finally pound it out (heh). I have... literally never written smut before, sooo I welcome any feedback. Thank you for reading this!

"Take a fighter. Follow me to the surface."

The commander strode powerfully over the gangway, dismissing you with a flick of his gloved hand as he approached the yawning cockpit of his TIE silencer. Engineers scrambled aside like rats to sunlight as he moved, conveniently parting a clear path for you to follow the rippling tower of black robes across the platform. You stumbled and jogged slightly to keep up, your gaze shifting nervously along the sinister row of TIE fighters. They sat anchored to the dock, still as a cavalry line at dawn, each black durasteel destrier awaiting its chance to charge into battle. But there was no impending fight here. Why weren't you taking the command ship?

"Commander. Sir, w-wai-" You collided with an unyielding wall of black, having not been looking where you were going. Ren had stopped and was now turned to look at you, posture stiff, eyes burning with impatience. You straightened sharply and jumped back, shying away from your next words as your cheeks burned under the dark beam of his stare.

"I... I don't know how to fly one. S-sir." You managed to say, and your heart plummeted into your stomach with the admission. It seemed childish. Silly. But-- what would he think of you now? You had always admired the commander more than you'd ever admit to your peers, and if you were honest, you found him wildly, dangerously attractive. There was something about the way he barely held back. The fire that shone behind his dark eyes like they were the only living part of a face cast in carbonite, that made you dare to wonder what he would look like if he let go. The power that radiated from him was always so visceral, yet restrained. Except, of course, when he had his outbursts. You only ever saw the aftermath: a shredded, glowing control panel, a dazed and heaving officer slumped against the floor after being Force-choked within an inch of death over a particularly inconvenient mistake. You'd be lying if you said such unbridled evidence of his power didn't stoke a flame of intrigue. And perhaps something else.

You had only recently been promoted to lieutenant general, but you had a feeling Kylo Ren had watched you closely for some time. You saw it in the shift of his eyes whenever you passed him by, the particular burn of his stare when you delivered reports on behalf of your superior general. You'd never known a commander to hold such a piqued interest in the drabble of stormtrooper reconditioning scores. Or why he had to fix his gaze so intently on you that you could swear he was trying to turn your blood molten.

You knew that you were more than competent in your position, yet you couldn't quell a desire to impress the commander. Whether it was with your sharp aptitude for command, tactical maneuvers, or securing risky strategic alliances, you always tried to establish presence. To command the room, intimidate both your peers and subordinates with your sharp wits, and earn those rare, blood-branding stares of approval from Kylo Ren when your steel confidence washed a hush over the room. What you'd never admit was how that steel later melted down into gushing whimpers under the forge of your sheets, imagining the kinds of things that your commander might do to you.

You'd had to forcibly smother your elation when you received the order for your aid specifically on this mission, not even knowing until a few minutes ago that it was you, and only you, that Kylo Ren had requested to come along. It sank like a cold blade into your gut now to know that your ineptitude would make him think less of you. The knife twisted with the realization that you would be left behind on the only opportunity you might ever get to spend some time alone with the commander.

He looked at you for a moment, expression unreadable. How had your command training not included basic piloting by default? A brief flash of anger lit his eyes and set his jaw tight as he thought about whoever's incompetence he would have to deal with later when he reviewed the training program. But for now, there was no time.

Your eyes were fixed to the metal grate of the floor, stomach knotting, as you steeled a calm mask over the disappointment that tightened your throat. You began to speak, your voice coming out smaller than you intended. "I’m sorry, Commander. I will inform mission control that you are in need of--" Before you could finish, Kylo Ren clamped his arm around your waist, pulling you firmly to his body as he leveraged his hips in one fluid motion to drag you with him into the small cockpit of the TIE silencer.

Your brain reeled, a small yelp escaping your lips as your ass landed firmly into his lap, one of his arms anchoring you there while his other hand reached to flick a control above him. Before you could stammer out the question of what the fuck he was doing, the cockpit was already hissing closed around you both.

"First lesson."

Your pulse was a flurry. He began to flip the controls absently, looking easily over your head as you awkwardly adjusted yourself on his thighs. The space was so small, there was absolutely no position you could assume that didn't involve your ass planted into his hips, your back against his broad torso, and your calves draped around either side of his ridiculously long legs. Your head spun. The thrusters hummed to life. Fuck. Everything was moving too fast. His gloved hand began to point individually at each control he had just engaged.

"Auxiliary."

His voice was dead even as he pointed to the first switch on your left, the movement of his arm making his chest ripple under your shoulder blade. Your brain was a mess of thrill and panic. Was this really happening right now? Heat flowed in a river down your spine and pooled in the roiling cauldron of your belly. Whether it wanted to wash you away, or pull you in like a rip current to his body, you couldn’t decide. His hand moved to a lower control panel where the second switch sat, affording you little time to take in what he was saying.

"Compressor."

You tried hard to focus on his words, blinking the spinning confusion out of your eyes as you dumbly studied the path his hand had just taken. You blinked again, hard. Auxiliary. Compressor. Okay. You forced yourself to bid the controls to memory, trying to catch up as he moved along. Four adjacent switches to your right had been next.

"Ignition,"

His gloved finger drew languidly against the curved switch in a way that suddenly made your skin light up against every solid line of his body pressed flush to yours. Your thighs tensed. Heat climbed your neck as you struggled to hold onto a fragile thread of focus.

"Thrusters."

He gestured to the final three buttons. Fucking breathe. Ignition, thrusters. Okay. Simple enough. You sobered yourself sternly and nodded your understanding as you flicked your gaze along the control path that started the engines, internally repeating it several times as your heartbeats became distinguishable again. It was quick. Concise. Fitting, you thought, for a state-of-the-art starfighter prototype that might need to get airborne in a hurry. It was certainly far less brain-scrambling than the orchestrations you'd seen performed upon the control panels of freighters to wrangle them towards liftoff. Why don't they label anything in those damn ships anyways?

"Now," Ren’s hands gripped your hips, instantly shattering your moment of composure. Stars, why did he have this effect on you? And why did a part of you never want it to end? He adjusted your seat, pressing you slightly straighter against him, and you could feel the warm, solid contour of his abdomen flex under your spine. You swallowed hard.

"Steering is intuitive." His palms smothered the backs of your hands as he picked them up, guiding them to grasp the vertical steering grips. Your blood felt uncomfortably hot in your veins. He kept his hands wrapped firmly over top of yours, arms encircling you like a gigantic fucking scaffold, coaxing you to lift the handles very slightly upwards. The craft lurched to life in response, and you were suddenly thankful for his hands holding yours steady as your heart threatened to explode from your ribs.

It was intuitive, you'd give him that, even if your intuition felt starkly absent from your brain at the moment. The body of the craft lifted smoothly, almost sentiently, with the subtle upward press of the handles. Still, the sudden g-force of liftoff sank you firmly into the commander's lap, amplifying an alarming and far too pleasant stir that agitated the pit of your belly.

You breathed slowly, trying to stay as still as possible on top of him, your brain still coming to grips with what the fuck was occurring right now. You thought maybe you'd had a dream like this once. Come to think of it, the enigmatic commander had starred in many of your most pleasant dreams -- with or without the mask. Oh, stars. You screwed your eyes tight, inwardly cursing your useless fucking brain. Did you really have to think about that right now? You were definitely blushing. A puff of breath hit the back of your neck. Wait- Did he just chuckle?

You didn't have time to figure out the answer as his gloved hands flexed over the top of yours and your eyes flew open, finding that the fighter was now hovering a comfortable distance from the hangar floor. He pressed your joined hands forward, and the ship responded gorgeously, accelerating towards the mouth of the docking bay in a smooth departure that made your veins flutter with a thrill of adrenaline. Vacuous darkness swallowed the viewport as the Supremacy was left swiftly in your wake, and you released a lungful of air you didn't know you had been holding. An unexpected calmness suddenly blanketed you as everything fell to the periphery. As your wide eyes adjusted to the void, a spattering of stars slowly blinked into view, decorating the expanse. It was... silent. Still. Breathtaking.

Ren pulled the grips under your hands back like the reins of an obedient steed, and the craft responded as such. The only indication that the fighter had stilled was the slightly quieter hum of the idling ion thrusters vibrating softly through the air of the cockpit. Your respite was brief. The tranquility of space was magnifying your far-from-tranquil realization that you were now decidedly, irreversibly alone with the commander, and your insides folded in half.

You hardly dared to breathe, let alone move, your senses suddenly augmented and trained sharply onto Kylo Ren as you sat pressed into his lap. His lap. Maker, have mercy. Your clean-pressed uniform suddenly felt tight and stifling around your neck, and you swallowed thickly.

"Take over."

He spoke curtly into the silence, almost making you jump as the baritone rumbled close to your ear. Stars, everything he said was a fucking command. You couldn’t deny how much you’d always enjoyed the rich color of his natural, unmodulated voice, taking secret reverence in the way he could paralyze a room with it. Nor could you ignore the way that every word he spoke was now having the opposite effect, riling up that dismayingly persistent heat between your legs.

He slid his hands off of yours, leaving you in full command of the sleek starfighter. Nerves needled a patchwork in your gut as you stared disconnectedly at your own bare hands gripping the controls. They might as well have been someone else's entirely. Two palms settled over the tops of your thighs, and the gesture pierced all the way to your brain.

By the void, calm the fuck down. You grounded yourself sternly, tightening your grip around the contoured handles and forcing yourself to feel their texture, the ridges that dug into your skin, the tension that rippled up your arms and into your shoulders as you squeezed them. Breathe. There was a reason you'd been promoted so fast: it was your aptitude toward levelness and situational control under pressure. You could do this. Just... treat it like another test. Taking a steadying breath and fixing your brow in determination, you pressed the grips forward.

If you thought takeoff was intuitive, now that you somewhat had your frayed wits about you, this was like an extension of your own consciousness. The silencer handled like a dream, and you quickly got the hang of its basic movements, almost forgetting your strange predicament as you took surprising delight in steering the agile craft through the vacuum of space. Kylo Ren hardly moved beneath you. He seemed to be letting you feel the ship out on your own, but his hands occasionally flexed over the curve of your thighs, his fingers splaying into a wide grip that pressed heat into your veins. An alarming reminder, each time, that he was paying attention. Always paying attention.

You cut the silencer back towards the Supremacy after a short while, and were surprised to note that the stifling mega class dreadnought seemed much… smaller, from out here. It felt strange, looking upon the massive vessel that encompassed your entire life, whose halls and chambers you had meticulously memorized, as if it were no more than a distant memory. The perspective settled a quiet feeling inside you that you couldn’t quite formulate.

Also in view, and framing the silhouette of the star destroyer impressively, was your ultimate destination. A large planet, twinkling with tiny rivers of light between clouds, and crowned in a halo of white flame from this system's central star. The planet would be the site of your mission, which, you noted -- the commander still hadn't even briefed you on. You funneled the nervous pang at the thought into determination as you caressed the controls again, considerably braver now about handling the craft.

In a moment of spontaneity, you locked the arches of your feet under Ren's calves and accelerated sharply, whipping the silencer into a tight barrel roll. A breathy, delighted laugh swelled in your chest before you could catch it as you righted the ship to its initial orientation again.

"Good," Ren murmured into your hair, a large hand sliding up to your belly as you reined the ship smoothly to a halt. He pressed you slightly tighter to him with a splayed palm, his strong nose grazing your ear, and the responding thrill between your thighs set your brain back to spinning. You suddenly became aware of a firm knot under your seat that you hadn't noticed before, and your breath stopped. You'd been so distracted maneuvering the ship, you couldn't be sure. You cocked your hips slightly, daring to shift against him, and with the movement it was undeniable: Kylo Ren was hard as a rock.

You gasped, and the moment you tensed, a gloved hand snaked up to slam into your throat and pull you roughly back against a solid chest, breath hot and immediate in your ear.

"Don't think I haven't noticed..." His voice was dark and dangerous as his free hand slid to your inner thigh, gripping the sensitive flesh there, your airway closed tight. You trembled, pulse galloping, as a spear of adrenaline ignited each of your most primal instincts at once.

"...How you can hardly keep those eyes to yourself around me." His lips were warm against the shell of your ear as his nose grazed the baby hairs at your temple, the feeling adding a confusing tingle to the sharp claws of terror that gripped you. Your pulse was deafening, and you struggled to find either breath or coherence under his iron grip. His hand on your throat loosened slightly with a creak of leather, and the sweetness of air crashed into your lungs.

"I could say the same," you breathed without thinking, suddenly wondering if you actually had a deathwish. His hand flexed threateningly on your throat and you flinched, but he simply breathed a dark chuckle into the hollow of your ear. Oh. That made you fucking shiver.

"Observant." He slowly ground his hips up into you, more or less fucking his prominent erection against your ass. Needles of fear laced confusingly into a wash of desire as a soft noise escaped you, and you bit your lip to catch it in its tracks as he continued. "But I know every thought you've ever had about me, lieutenant." Oh, stars. Fuck. You knew he’d paid attention to you, but not that closely.

"It's pathetic, really… " He continued to grind torturously against you, his broad hand pinning your thigh the same way a predator might hold down a piece of live prey that it wants to toy with for a while before killing. "...The way you try so hard to impress me." His growl bottomed out on the emphasis with a decisive roll of his hips that sent an electric shock careening to your core. You squirmed against him, but his grip on your neck and leg had you on an axis that allowed precious little freedom. His hips continued their disciplined pace as he spread his knees slightly, forcing your own to follow, and his thumb traced electricity into the tender patch of thigh just below your most intimate parts. You clenched at the closeness of it.

"But…” he purred, tone shifting slightly.

“The things that cross your mind at night?" You froze with dread, wishing the ice in your spine would somehow percolate into the space around you, freeze it into stasis so that he wouldn't continue with his next words. But Kylo Ren was a furnace, burning the unlimited fuel of your fear, and he rumbled on.

"When you touch that wet little cunt, and think about me?" He lifted his palm away briefly - the predator's illusion of mercy - before delivering a hard, stinging smack straight to your inner thigh. Your cunt convulsed.

"Filthy."

A silent pause filled the cockpit, allowing both the word and the impact to sink into your nerves before he slowly circled his glove across the tingling flesh under his hand. Your bones went gelatinous, and, stars, you whimpered. It was a sound so foreign to even your own ears, that you startled yourself.

His straining cock pulsed against the curve of your ass, and he swore darkly, sliding his hand on your thigh up to cup your sex through the fabric of your pants. You were already wet and aching, you could feel it, but the slight pressure of his hand over your sensitive heat drove your need to a frenzy. Another whine leaked unbidden from your lips.

“Tell me, lieutenant, how do you prefer me?” His voice was cruel and dark, drawing out your torment as he began to tease your slit with a pressure so light you thought you might die on the spot.

“With, or without the mask?” He pressed down, rolling his forefinger over your clit in a firm motion that sent sparks into your brain. Your mouth fell open in an obscene moan that echoed around the cockpit. Kylo Ren stiffened, tightening his grip on your throat and stilling the pressure on your aching bud.

He didn't have to say anything for you to know in your gut that an answer was required. Your stomach quivered. This was his game, and you were going to have to play at it if you wanted any of your deepest, most secret desires to come to fruition now. And stars, you wanted it bad. You found a few breaths, collecting fragments of your voice.

"Any w-way you'd have me, C-commander." Your voice was hardly intact, but you managed to breathe the words out through your daze of terror and need, finally pushing your own ass back into the motion of his hips. He released a warm huff of breath into your ear, seemingly pleased. Thank the Maker.

"That's right."

His soft hair dusted your ear as he dipped to latch a hot kiss into your neck, pulling your head slightly aside for better access. His tongue was molten and wet against your skin, and the feeling sank straight to your core. You reeled and whined as he sucked a bruise into your throat, taking his time tasting you, his hand over your pants drawing an embarrassing volume of wetness from your aching cunt already. You dropped your hands beside you and sunk your nails into the fabric over his thighs, need overflowing from your skin and into his body.

Kylo Ren sucked a breath through his teeth and slipped the hand on your throat upwards, gripping your jaw instead and pushing the leather pad of his forefinger through your lips. You accepted it a little too eagerly, sucking it in delicately and running your tongue across the ridges in the supple material as you relished the expensive taste. He hummed and slid a second thick digit into your mouth as his lips and teeth continued to worry the tender skin of your neck, and you were sure you would bear the dark purple evidence of his possession for at least a week. You didn't care.

His ministrations had your body pliant and wanting in no time, and your thighs had involuntarily begun to relax, falling wider around each side of his lap even as the sharp edge of a control panel dug into your leg. You felt the rigid hilt of the saber on his hip as well, a sensation that paralyzed you for a moment with a new spike of fear and thrilling desire. He ascended from your neck with a sharp nip.

"So eager, lieutenant." He clicked his tongue once and landed a sharp spank straight to the mound of your pussy. It made you jump, and clench hard with a small, leather-muffled yelp. He deftly switched hands, removing his fingers from your mouth as his other hand closed around your neck. His moistened digits dipped below the waistband of your pants, and you felt his own breaths quicken underneath your shoulders, exciting you. The smooth, warm leather slid easily down your folds, drawing a gasp from you as he collected and spread your arousal. Now, this, you had definitely dreamed about before. He circled slowly across your clit, slicking it over in a motion that sparked white ecstasy through your nerve endings, and you whined pathetically.

"What would your superiors think," Kylo Ren's deep, mocking voice dripped through you as he slid one finger down to tease your entrance. Your hips bucked, trying in vain to draw him in. "If they knew what a desperate little whore you are for your commander?"

Your brain stuttered then. An involuntary smirk pulled at your lips as you conjured the image of your superior general, and how his eyes always seemed to darken when they wandered a little too far down your uniform. You didn't consider the fact that your mind was on full display to Ren before the brat center of your brain produced one clear thought.

They'd envy my commander.

You bit your tongue hard the second the thought formed, as if you could banish it with the flash of pain, hoping desperately that he hadn't read your mind. But the way that Ren’s whole body went rigid suggested otherwise. Maker damn your smart ass.

His hand fisted into your hair, wrecking your neat bun, and he wrenched your head to the side, forcing you to look up at him. Your brows knitted together in pain, but you dared not whine about it as you met his stare. His eyes were black saucers, clouded with such a tenebrous fury and lust that it made your walls flutter in time with your stomach.

"Is that so?" The ice in his voice squeezed your veins.

Gone was all that confidence that you prided yourself on in your profession, all the poise and tact and sharpness of wit. It slipped as easily as water through your fingers now as you drowned in the inky depths of his stare, fear anchoring your words to your diaphragm with no means of escape.

Ren studied you, embers flaring in the pits of those live irises, framed by the beautiful stone hearth of his face. He moved your head back and forth a bit by his grip in your hair. You winced, but your muscles might as well have been liquid, unable to resist him in the slightest. He was testing your pliancy, considering.

"Open your mouth."

There was no warmth, no tease behind the words, and as if they flowed straight into your neurons directly, you obeyed. Your jaw fell open, your pink tongue pushing slightly against the pillow of your lower lip as it rested over your bottom teeth. He spat into your mouth, holding your stare in the tight space as… Oh. He sank two thick fingers straight into your soaking core, stretching you full, holding them rooted inside you. You might as well have been vibrating.

"Swallow."

The command was deadly. You snapped your jaw shut and complied, heart thrumming with fear and a hot, blooming need originating from the delicious ache that now filled your walls but refused to move. You whined, trying weakly to shift your hips for any amount of friction on his hand, but his hold on you tightened, immobilizing you.

"Impudence will get you nothing." He uttered warningly, never breaking your stare as his fingers began to pump slowly, agonizingly inside of you. You could feel yourself dripping around him now as the ridged leather of his gloves did something delicious to your walls. "Don't you want to come, little whore?"

You were putty in his lap. "Yes, Commander, sir." You managed to groan out quietly, embracing the pain that screamed through your scalp. His plump, gorgeous lips were parted slightly, a signal of desire to underlie the tempest of his stare. You relaxed more into his grip, hoping your show of submission would drive him just a little more wild, just a little closer to... Yes.

He yanked you closer and stroked his hot tongue into your mouth in a fucking vulgar kiss that spun your brain like a top. You suppressed a sigh as the taste of him filled you, his plush lips divine and remarkably soft against your mouth as you melted into the heat of his possessive kiss. He jerked you away by your hair long before you'd had your fill of his taste, a thin string of spit connecting you as you squeaked a pathetic sound. Your disappointment was fleeting, though, because his fingers were now curling faster against a heavenly spot inside of you that was beginning to coil you tight.

"Then be good."

You sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, bit down, and nodded as well as you could with his fingers rooted into your follicles. He watched the ecstasy blossom across your face as his thumb began to pass in quick circles over your sensitive clit. A cry fell from your lips as your pleasure began to overtake you, his fingers building you towards a crescendo that threatened to split you clear in half with a galaxy between. You didn't even have to try to keep your mind blank now as he consumed your every nerve ending in rippling pleasure, and soon you were barreling towards the event horizon of climax with every stroke of his digits and every slick pass of leather over your delicate pearl of nerves. Sparks flowed like hot plasma to your extremities as your walls began to flutter tight. You whined the warning of it as your brows drew together in restraint, pleading silently for the commander to send you halfway to hyperspace with the orgasm that teetered in your core.

"That's right, cum for me, little whore." His voice was harsh and cruel and delicious and everything your reeling brain needed to send you barreling over the precipice. Your orgasm split you, blanching your vision as your walls slammed down around his fingers and you sobbed out the waves of your release. He didn't slow, drawing out your climax to an impossible length as each clench sent you spinning and wailing again. Ren groaned and cursed under his breath as he watched you come apart, leaning on the familiar edge of desperate self control as his stiff cock twitched violently under the confines of his trousers.

He slowed and withdrew his hand from your pants, allowing you to come down with shallow breaths. He brought the hand up to taste you slowly from the glistening leather of his fingers, eyes never leaving yours, and the sight made your insides combust. He hummed a low, appreciative sound before shoving the cum-slicked digits roughly into your mouth. The sweet tang of your juices flooded your senses as he sat you back up against him, such that you faced the viewport again. Impossible as it realistically was, it suddenly felt as if the entire Supremacy may as well have just watched you cum like a trained whore around Kylo Ren's fingers. The thought tickled your belly as you laved your tongue over his glove, still warm from your cunt, your body thrumming with the high of post-orgasmic ecstasy as you diligently cleaned the ridges. Your insatiable pussy clenched hard when you felt his length grind against your ass, reminding you of its presence, and you suddenly ached to be filled again. You whimpered into his hand as you rolled your hips.

"You want my cock?" His voice was ragged in your ear, hardly restrained as he fucked his bulge against you. You nodded with an obscene whine, clutching the sides of his thighs and using them as leverage to grind yourself into his throbbing length. He cursed.

"Filthy girl."

Ren released you, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and hair, and you collapsed back against his chest, panting. He shoved at the waistband of your pants, and with a thrill, you lifted your hips as far as you could to allow him to yank them down around your thighs, panties and all.

He propped you forward slightly, bringing a hand behind you to wrestle with the clasp of his own trousers. He unleashed his cock and sat you back over it, so that it rested thickly between the flesh of your thighs, flush with the swollen line of your wet slit. You looked down and gulped. Stars, he was big. Not that you expected any different -- you'd be the first to admit that this man carried himself like he was packing. Still, you couldn't suppress a twinge of nerves as you looked down at the fat head of him, swollen beautifully at the end of a thick shaft and leaking a bead of pre cum between your thighs. He rocked his hips up, and the thick, velvety length of his cock parted your lips, coating the top of his shaft in your wetness as it slid against your tender folds.

You whined, your walls screaming to be filled, to be stretched, and you strained your pelvis down towards his dick, but the angle was all wrong for you to have any control. His glove snaked into your hair and fisted it roughly, yanking you immobile again as you gasped.

"Beg."

Your pussy throbbed, dignity a distant echo in your brain as you keened and clenched around nothing. You'd never been known to beg for anything in your life, but with the way that every nerve ending in your body felt like it was curling towards him, trying to take root, to feel him in every way possible, you were sure you'd do anything to earn his cock now.

"P-please-" it came out in a whisper, your voice absent from your chest, and he jostled you by your scalp sharply. Pain shot through your nerves, somehow only kindling the flames of need that were licking up your spine and you yelped, the roughness punching your voice back into you.

"I can't fucking hear you." He growled through his teeth, breath crackling in his throat as he fought his own restraint. The sound shot a thrill through you. Oh, you were gone.

"Ple-ase, s-sir, please f-fuck me," you moaned louder, and your voice sounded foreign through the ring in your ears. Your thighs strained against the hobble of your waistband as your body tried to spread and arch back for him like a bitch in heat. Thoroughly carried away, heady pleas continued to pour from your mouth. "I n-eed your cock in me, Com-commander, please." He huffed a pleased sound, pulling you back until his lips grazed your ear.

"Good girl."

He released your hair and gripped your hips hard, lifting you up just enough for the head of his cock to slide down towards your entrance. You found yourself pressing your palms eagerly into the seat, pushing yourself up to give your commander better access. You tipped your hips until you felt the swollen head of him perfectly align with your soaked entrance, and-- Oh, fuck.

Even thoroughly lubricated with your own cum, it was a tight fit as he began to sink you down. You whimpered as the angle forced you to take the entirety of him, struggling to relax your tight walls through your descent. You were sure you'd never taken a man nearly this big, sure that your body might break open around him, and yet you were determined to withstand his challenge. He hissed slowly through his teeth as he buried into you inch by steady inch, until you finally sat flush with his lap again, keening from the pleasant sting of complete fullness.

Ren choked on a stifled groan as you reached the hilt of him, his grip bruising your waist as he held you there for a moment. He shifted you both forward, allowing him to brace you up with his arms, and pumped his hips once slowly to test the position. The feeling of his thick cock sliding tight against your walls until it pressed your cervix was as obscene as it was delicious, and as he buried himself again, you couldn't hold back the wanton moan that tore itself from your diaphragm.

"Fuck," You heard Ren mutter raggedly behind you as he adjusted his grip. He began to rut his hips up into you at a punishing tempo, and your thoughts evaporated as his cock slammed over and over into the epicenter of your core. You cried out, voice hitching from his pace and ferocity, as you wildly clutched at the side of a control panel for stability. Somehow the pain of taking him over and over began to morph into blinding oblivion, and the viewport swam before your eyes as you lost yourself in the furious rhythm of his cock.

Ren grabbed your neck and arched you back against his chest, slowing his pace enough to allow shards of air to fight back into your starved lungs. The slower thrusts, the slick feeling of every ridge and vein of him, sent a spike of voltage through your limbs that jump started your senses again.

"Was I wrong to assume you could handle me, lieutenant?" He purred breathily as he slowed to nearly a stop, though clearly not intending to cease his torment altogether. You whined your dissent and tried to roll your hips down into him, hoping to fuck yourself on his cock, to feebly prove that you could take him. "No?" His voice dripped warm with mockery. "We'll see."

His grip anchored you fast. You gasped, almost panicking for a moment as a foreign pressure began to flit and squeeze around your clit. It wasn't his hand. One was controlling your neck, the other a vice on your hip. You didn't have much time to register the fact that he was using the Force until his hips were moving again, his cock filling you whole at a steady pace as that strange and wonderful pressure swirled faster at your bud.

Then suddenly his hand was closing like a leather serpent around your neck, slowly, expertly constricting your pulse. A primal burst of adrenaline blinded you for a moment. He could kill you. It rang between your ears, imploring you to resist, but your body was so pliant, so wholly under the spell of submission, that the thrill melted into something warmer. Something perhaps like trust, but with a much sharper edge as it cut a path through your veins. He squeezed your arteries steadily until your hearing began to fog and inky motes crossed your vision. Pressure swelled in your head, the cockpit beginning to drift away around you until all that grounded you to reality was the steady pumping of the cock inside your cunt and the Force at your clit shooting effervescent waves of pleasure into your darkening brain.

Just as the cusp of total unconsciousness began to seduce you, the pressure vanished. Ren slammed his length into you, and you gulped a massive breath of air as the Force jetted against your clit. Your orgasm crested hard, and shot you over the edge faster than you'd have ever thought possible as he held you steady and pounded into your core. You screamed as your release tore through your body in a perfect harmonic overtone to the oxygen flooding back into your brain, and the combined relief washed such a powerful bliss through your nerves that in that moment, you felt as if the very fabric of space could part for you.

"That's it, fuck, good fucking girl." Ren’s snarls were filthy and delicious in your ear as he continued to fuck you hard, the pace of his cock refusing to let your body come down from the orgasm. You keened and moaned in an incoherent stupor as he slammed up against a spot inside you that was somehow, impossibly, pushing you towards the edge again already. Another orgasm ripped through you, this one singeing your nerve endings as you felt his thrusts become unsteady. Ren bellowed through gritted teeth as he came, cock pulsing inside you while your quaking walls milked him through his release. He pumped you slowly through your aftershocks, tensing with each clench of your cunt around his oversensitive dick, until your bodies stilled in a tranquil beat of silence and shared breathing.

You didn't know at what point he had wrapped both of his arms around you, but you snapped to the realization that Kylo Ren was now holding you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he came down through shuddering breaths. You blinked, slowly bringing the geometric planes of the viewport back into blurred focus, and then beyond it, the distant Supremacy.

It hung suspended like a leviathan in the void, a staunch and silent voyeur to the star-shattering sequence of undoing and accretion that you had just experienced here at the hands and cock of your inscrutable commander. You couldn't be totally sure this hadn't all been another dream, but the feeling of him now was so real, so warm, so human in the depth of his breathing and the slight dampness of his skin against yours, that you were sure no version of Kylo Ren you'd ever conjured in your dreams could feel like this.

You didn't move, didn't dare, but simply felt him encase you, afraid to break whatever spell was holding you in this moment. In a place where maybe, maybe, you could pretend that you weren't just a rank. Or a strategist, or a minuscule pawn in the grander scheme of First Order rule. Here you were a body, yes, but a body that intertwined with something beyond material. Something that laced gently with the threads of humanity behind the frozen carbonite mask of Kylo Ren, which now seemed to thaw for the smallest moment as he held you wrapped in an embrace that could almost be mistaken for tenderness.

Almost.

Your high descended on clipped wings as he finally stirred, settling colder in your stomach as he loosened his arms and you waited for whatever would happen now. He was still inside of you, and half-hard at that, but even so, you felt filled to the brim with his cum and stretched tight around him. Your body bemoaned the idea of vacancy, but if time was up, then it was up. You weren't about to push it. You started to move, shifting to lift off of him.

"No. Stay." He murmured against your neck, and you almost questioned whether your brain had shorted out and you'd misheard him. He coaxed you back against his chest with a press of his palm, and you hesitantly allowed the gentleness of it to malleate your rigid spine. Your brain misfired again as you felt the soft brush of his thumb running slowly up and down the contour of your ribs. Your pulse skipped into your throat. You didn't dare allow your body to think that this was anything akin to intimacy. You had been starved of it for so long that if you let it believe so, you might fully lose sight of the fine line you were now walking. And if you fell, it would be straight onto a saber's edge. The vibration of your body fighting against its own tension ricocheted to the walls of your pussy, and as you squeezed him slightly, you felt his cock already beginning to harden again inside you. Your breath hitched.

Kylo Ren made no acknowledgment of the exchange as he peeled his face from your neck, straightening slightly. He reached his long arms around you to grip the controls of the silencer, but didn't move the craft. He sat still. Contemplative, perhaps.

You were leaned back against his shoulder, forehead resting just by his jaw, and you dared to let your face tuck gently towards him. You waited for a reaction -- to be pushed away, for some signal that you'd overstepped. But he was still. You cautiously nestled the bridge of your nose against his neck, feeling the steady thrum of pulse there, the soft currents of breath that drifted from his nose down to trickle across your skin. You tried to memorize the warm, masculine scent of him that drifted up from his collar, magnified by body heat, stirred by the gentle tide of his breathing. Oh, how long it had been since you'd had this…

The oxytocin-riddled valleys of your mind echoed with a sudden and deadly urge to tilt up and press a soft kiss under his jaw, but a harness of fear held you still as you remembered your place, and the fragility of whatever this was. Instead, you squeezed his cock with your warmth again, a flame of lust already flickering against your belly and providing a welcome distraction from the confusion that was drawing and quartering your brain.

Ren's chest swelled with a soft "mmph" as he seemed to come out of his own trance of thought. You wondered if he'd even been listening to yours at all. He rocked his hips once, the slide of his stiffening cock making your walls leak, and you sighed. Yes. This was fine. This was simple. He pressed his hands forward, beginning to guide the craft towards the twinkling planet in no particular hurry. You gripped his thighs and rolled your hips, squeezing and riding him slowly so as not to break his concentration as he guided you both through the silent expanse of space.

Yes, it was best just to enjoy the simplicity of this. Of two bodies exorcising your respective tensions through the physical release you could pull from one another. And soon it would be over, and the chaos would resume around you, and you'd carry on like your spirits hadn't just fused like two atoms -- for a microsecond -- within a supernova of passion in the middle of space. And that was fine. That was for the best.

So you fixed yourself on that tangible goal of physical pleasure, on the rhythm of your hips, on keeping your commander nice and hard and ready for whatever he decided was next.

Because if you were good enough, then maybe.

Just maybe.

You'd earn yourself a second lesson.

***

Update: Part 2 here.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #star wars fanfiction #first lesson #my works #masterlist

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jesuisgourde · 3 years

Text

gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

#squash transcribes books of albion #peter doherty #feel free to request compilations of other kinds too

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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

92 days

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer and the reader’s relationship is tested when he ends up wrongfully imprisoned.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ lots of tears, imprisonment.

word count ↠ 3.2k

“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” — Lewis Carroll

Life was good.

Y/N was exceeding at her job, receiving praise from her boss for her hard work, and she was happily engaged to Spencer, the love of her life. They’d just spent their savings on a gorgeous five bedroom home for their future family to live in, a big space for their future children to grow. After suffering so much hardship, and Spencer having taken hit after hit in recent years, it seemed he was finally getting the happy ending he deserved. He got the girl, the job, his friends and family, what more could he ask for? Everything was just so good.

“Y/N, It’s JJ. You need to come quickly, Spence has been arrested.”

and just like that, the world seemed to stop.

She was at the BAU in record time, rushing to flash her visitor badge to the security guy to gain access to the building. The elevator ride up to their floor seemed to take longer than it ever had, and she had to keep swallowing to keep the nausea at bay, the nervousness making her almost physically ill. Her hands shook as she played with the sleeves of the jacket she was wearing, breathing heavily, willing the air to fill her lungs.

The doors opened and she walked forward determinedly, pushing open the bullpen doors, noticing JJ, Garcia, Tara and Stephen in the middle of the room. She rushed towards them, trying to make a sentence out of the thousands of thoughts that ran through her head.

“W-what happened? Where is he?”

JJ stepped forward, sadness on her face. She gently placed her hand on Y/N’s arm in a comforting manner. “Y/N, did you know Spence had been going to Mexico?”

Y/N’s mind went blank and she shook her head, confused. “Mexico? He told me you guys were in Florida for a case, I don’t-” Her voice caught in her throat. “I don’t understand what happened.”

“Reid was involved in a car chase in Mexico. When he stopped, they found drugs in his trunk.” JJ murmured, as though she couldn’t understand it either.

“What was he doing in Mexico?” Y/N asked, turning to the rest of the team for answers.

“He was trying to get medicine for his mother.” Tara started. “But the Doctor he bought it from, she was murdered. And they think Spencer did it.”

Y/N shook her head frantically, looking at the team. “No he wouldn’t. You know him, Spence would never-“ She choked up. They thought Spencer, her gentle and loving fiancee, was capable of murder?

Garcia leaned over to hug Y/N, and she accepted the gesture, but still held the shocked expression on her face. “We know he wouldn’t. Which is why we’re gonna figure this out. Prentiss, Rossi and Luke are in Mexico with him now, and we just got word they’re bringing him back here, okay?”

Y/N nodded, trying to calm herself down. She had to be strong. Spencer was gonna need her. JJ told her to take a seat, worried she might pass out from how her face had paled. She sat down on one of the desk chairs, staring blankly at the wall as the team quietly discussed what their next move would be. She tuned it out, her fingers trembling as they played with the diamond ring on her left hand.

The sound of the elevator beeping broke her from her trance, and when she looked up she had to stifle a gasp at the sight of her fiancee. She took a moment to take him in. He looked fragile, almost like if she touched him he’d shatter. She looked down, and saw his cuffed hands covered by an FBI jacket. Before she could process much, she was stood up, walking toward him. The sound of her shoes hitting the floor caused Spencer to look up from where his eyes had been trained on the floor. As soon as she reached him, her arms went around him, holding him to her tightly and trying desperately hard not to sob.

He hated that he can’t hold her back, and he nearly fought against the cuffs preventing him from touching her. Knowing their time was short, he settled for leaning into her, burying his face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, he knew he wouldn’t be smelling it for a while. She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands. She gave him a small smile, and that’s one of the reasons he loved her, because in this awful time she was still trying so hard to make things better.

A single tear trembled down his cheek as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so-“

She stopped him, shaking her head. “Don’t apologise. It’s gonna be okay, I know you didn’t do this, Okay? I love you, so much.” Her voice cracked on the last word. She caught Emily’s eyes over Spencer’s shoulder, who gave her a look that said ‘We don’t have much time’. Y/N didn’t waste another second, bringing her lips to his in a quick, gentle kiss.

Spencer was never very fond of PDA, but right then he could easily forget that his team stood watching them. He was more focused on memorising how her lips felt on his, how that might be the last kiss he could ever give her. and so he poured so much into it, everything he had. She pulled back, resting her forehead on his, and Spencer nearly let out a whimper at the loss of contact.

“I love you too, Y/N. So fucking much.” Her eyes meet his and she nodded at his words. She knew how much he loved her. God, she knew.

She hesitantly moved away from him so that JJ and Garcia could hug him too, and then he was being taken away from her again. Their eyes met as he was walked out, an unspoken word that said ‘I’ll see you soon, I promise.’

Y/N took a seat on one of the desk chairs, an empty feeling filling her.

How would she breathe without him?

A few days later she was stood in the hallways of the courthouse, surrounded by the team. They were anxiously waiting for Spencer’s case to be called, and Y/N could only hope that he would be granted bail so he could come home. It had only been a matter of days since his initial arrest, but Y/N missed him greatly. Their house didn’t feel like home without him.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Rossi. The man had become a sort of fatherly figure to her. In the years she’d dated Spencer, she’d grown very close to his team; his family. Rossi offered her a smile, and y/n gave him a nervous one back.

“It’ll be alright, kid.”

She nodded, desperately wanting to believe that he was right. The door to the courtroom opens, Spencer’s defence attorney stepping out.

“They’re calling his case.”

She took a seat with the rest of the team in the front row, where Spencer sat in front of them. When she saw him, her heart broke. He already looked so drained, so exhausted. He turned to face her, almost looking relieved that she’d even turned up to support him. They didn’t speak, instead locking eyes and letting them say all the things they couldn’t say aloud. Spencer gave her a little smile, one that filled her with hope for the first time since the whole mess had started. He then turned back to face the judge. That flicker of hope was diminished when the judge spoke after hearing both the prosecution and defence.

“Bail is denied. Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

The tears filled Y/N’s eyes, the realisation of what was happening filling her.

No , no, no, please god no-

Emily shot up from her seat next to Y/N, grabbing the attorney’s attention. “How long until his case goes to trial?”

“It’s a complicated case, three months.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Three months.

Spencer whipped around catching Y/N’s eyes with his as his hands were being cuffed behind him. “Y/N, Y/N I love you. Don’t you ever forget that okay? I love you.”

“I won’t. I promise. I love you too.” She called back to him, and all the time he was being taken away, he was twisting around so he could look at her. He was memorising her face, every detail, every crease and freckle. He didn’t want to forget, he couldn’t let himself forget.

but three months was a long time.

It made her feel sick, watching him be dragged away in handcuffs like a criminal. Her sweet, innocent fiancee. Would he survive three months in a place like that?

Her head fell onto JJ’s shoulder, who was sat the other side of her. The blonde put her arms around Y/N, though the tears burned in her own eyes.

“It’s okay, we’ll get him out. We’ll find a way.”

She was the first one to see Spencer after Emily.

She walked slowly towards the large common room, where they allowed prisoners to talk to their loved ones. As she walked, she took notice of the greying walls and the odd scent she couldn’t place that hung in the air. She’d never stepped foot in a prison before, and she’d hoped she’d never have to. But there was nothing that would stop her from seeing the man she loved. She wouldn’t stop visiting him, he had to know she supported him, that she was waiting for him, that she’d wait forever if she had to.

As soon as she walked in, her eyes scanned the room for the mess of brown hair that she belonged to the man she loved so dearly. She eventually saw him, sat at the table waiting for her, a piece of glass separating them, preventing them from touching. And she hated it because all she wanted to do was hold his hand.

She sat down across from him, and she noticed how he still looked at her like she put the stars in the night sky. He’d been there for barely three days, and already she just wanted to demand they let him go home, she couldn’t bare for him to be on there any longer.

“Hi.” She squeaked out, unsure of what to say.

“Hi sweetheart.” He smiled, though he knew she could see the tears building in his eyes.

“I missed you.” It was the first thing that came to her mind. She really didn’t know what else to say, nothing could describe how she felt. There weren’t words.

“I’ve only been gone for three days.” He attempted to joke.

“That’s three days too many.” She replied. She wanted to ask a thousand questions, he knew she did, but she decided to try and brighten his mood a little instead, which he was grateful for. “You know, I think Penny can tell something’s wrong, she misses you.” Penny was the little female tabby cat the pair had adopted shortly after moving in together. She quickly became very fond of Spencer, always cuddling with him on his lap.

Spencer let out a dry chuckle at this. “I’m sure she can. I am her favourite.” He teased, and they laughed a little at that.

A sharp whistle sounded through the air, catching Spencer’s attention. It was then he noticed that Y/N’s presence had attracted the attention of some of the other inmates. Spencer frowned, his ears tuning in to the disgusting words the other prisoners used to describe his fiancee. Y/N wasn’t particularly phased, she’d expected as much from the other men inside this place. She noticed the angered expression on Spencer’s face and frowned.

“Spence, it’s okay.” She attempted to reassure him.

“I don’t like them looking at you.” He near whispered, seething. “You’re not a piece of meat. You’re my girl.”

“Spence, don’t worry. It’s okay. They don’t bother me. My only concern is you.” She smiled, and he nodded unconvincingly.

She was his most regular visitor, coming nearly every day and writing him letters whenever she couldn’t make it.

By the time the second month of his imprisonment rolled around, she could see the physical change in her fiancée. She finally saw the impact that prison was having on him. His face was covered in scrapes and cuts, and a large bruise was forming on the side of his face. That was the first time she’d seen him with any physical injury.

She gasped in shock when she sat across from him. “Spence..”

“Its okay. I’m fine.” He glanced down at her left hand, a sigh of relief leaving him as he saw she was still wearing her engagement ring. “You’re still wearing your ring.” He stated happily.

Immediately, confusion covered her face. “What? Of course I am. Why would I not be?” She choked on her words but managed to compose herself, even if it was just a little.

“I thought you would’ve left me by now. You didn’t sign up for this, Y/N...” He trailed off.

“Oh god, Spencer no. I wouldn’t leave you, never. Why would you think that?” She asked quietly, and prayed it wasn’t because she’d said or done anything to make him think she didn’t want him.

He scoffed, and it first it took Y/N aback, but she figured he had every reason to be skeptical. “I’m looking at 25 years. Like Emily said, that’s a lifetime.”

“You’re not going to be here for that long. The team- they’re gonna figure this out. They’ll find a way to prove Scratch did this to you.” She tried to reason but he shook his head. This was all he’d thought about every night in his cell.

“Y/N. I understand If you don’t want this anymore, if you don’t want me anymore.” His eyes glossed over but he subtly wiped them on his shirt sleeve. Y/N noticed this, and it broke her heart because she knew why he was trying so hard to be emotionless. He couldn’t afford to seem weak in here. In this place, being weak got you killed.

“Spence, I’m not going anywhere.” She desperately tried to reassure him.

“You don’t understand. 25 years. If I ever get out... I won’t ask you to wait for me. You have a life to live, and I’m not going to keep you tied here. You deserve a better life than that.”

She shook her head. “Spencer, you are my life. You mean the world to me. It feels like I can’t breathe without you. So no, I’m not going anywhere okay?”

He didn’t speak, but she could tell he was so fucking exhausted and he was pretty much convinced. Of course he didn’t want her to leave him, he loved her more than life itself. But he had to at least give her an out, give her the option to leave if that’s what she wanted, if that made her happy.

He just wanted to make her happy.

“When you get out of here, I am gonna give you the world, Spencer Reid.” She promised, a smile on her lips. His head perked up at this, and he gave her the tiniest smile in return. “We’re going to have a beautiful wedding that we’re gonna let Garcia plan because she’ll kill us if we hire a wedding planner. We’ll have four kids who will play in our new home, who you can teach everything you know to. We’ll have the perfect life, I promise you. Just please,” She paused, fixing her eyes on his as she pleaded. “Don’t lose hope.”

Her speech really had him struggling to contain his emotions, but he managed. He wanted nothing more than everything she just described with her. It filled him with the first bit of hope he’d felt in months.

He chuckled quietly, using his sleeves to rub at his eyes, to conceal the fact he’d been tearing up. “Four kids? You’ve only ever wanted two.” He muttered, his smile only growing at the thought of their family, their future.

“Yep. But you’ve always wanted a big family, and you talk about having lots of kids. So I’m willing to compromise with four?” She chuckled lightly and he nodded his head in agreement. The guards from across the room interrupted the touching moment, shouting that everyone’s time was up. Spencer reluctantly stood from his seat as Y/N looked up at him.

“I love you Spencer. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I love you more.” He promised. “When I get out we’re gonna do all of that. Everything you said, all of it, I promise.” And then he turned and headed back towards the door that led to his cell block.

Y/N stayed sat for a moment. She smiled to herself, noting how that was the first time he’d said “when I get out” instead of “if”.

She’d restored the flame of hope burning within him, and she prayed that would be enough until the team could prove his innocence.

A month later, after a huge break in the case with the team working tirelessly on any and every lead, they managed to prove Spencer’s innocence.

Y/N stood outside the prison, holding Garcia’s hand tightly as she waited to see her fiancée come through the gate.

A loud buzz sounded, and the gate opened. And before anyone could process it, Y/N was running toward him, throwing herself at him with so much force that it would’ve knocked him back had he not have seen it coming. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a vice-like grip. Tears sprung to his eyes as he held her to him. He buried his head in her hair, desperately breathing in the scent of her shampoo, the same as he remembered. He’d almost forgotten what it smelled like, and now he hoped he’d never have to go without it again. After three long and horrible months he was finally holding her.

She was filled with such relief that he was alive, that he’d made it, that she let all her emotions hit her at once.

He held her to him, whispering soothing words, running his fingers through her hair. “I’m here, baby. I promise I’m not going anywhere ever again, I’m so sorry.”

She moved back a little to look at his face, her hand coming up to cup his cheek delicately, flashing him a stunning smile when he nuzzled his face into her palm.

“I love you.” She whispered.

“I know, baby. I love you too.”

He gently gripped her jaw and tilted her head up, kissing her quickly. It said all the words they couldn’t speak, it held three months worth of longing and loving from afar. When they pulled apart, he smiled, a genuine one. After 92 days of hell, Spencer finally felt home again in her arms.

He wished they could’ve had more time, but he had other priorities, and he knew Y/N wasn’t going anywhere. So he tentatively took her hand in his for his own comfort before turning to look at his team members. “Let’s go get my mom back.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #criminal minds

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cuddlepilefics · 3 years

Text

Every step of the way

Fandom: Stray Kids

Sickie: Hyunjin

Caregivers: Stray Kids

TW: cancer (remember this blog is about fluff and comfort, we don’t do sad here....)

No one’s POV.:

It had been almost half a year since that fateful day, the day a doctor told Hyunjin he wasn’t as fine as he always thought. The dancer had pushed the thoughts as far away from himself as possible, maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be true. His mom was the first one who learned about his diagnosis, urging her son to get treatment immediately. The doctor had advised to try chemotherapy first, prescribing a bunch of pills the dancer would have to take for three days in a row, wait for three months and repeat. Planned were four two six cycles, depending on how well the boy would respond to the treatment. Hyunjin’s day to day life now included frequent doctor visits, which he somehow managed to go to in secrecy. He had done two cycles so far and both had left him throwing up for days afterwards. Both times his friends had been there, comforting him and holding his hair out of the way as they tried to help the dancer get over his ‘stomach bug’ quickly. His hyungs prepared him light meals while the youngers cuddled him, not getting tired of the dancer’s movie requests as they watched the same few dramas over and over again with him. Little did they know.

Hyunjin knew he had lost weight, which was a miracle since he didn’t even weigh much to begin with. Dancing which was one of the things he used to enjoy most, suddenly didn’t sound as appealing anymore. His stamina was decreasing and he felt fatigued most of the time, dancing just seemed way too tiresome to be fun. Minho and Felix were the first two to notice their friend not being himself. The dance-line often practiced alone and Hyunjin’s lack of drive soon showed. His dance was lacking the usual energy and he called for water-breaks more frequently. Their concerns were often brushed of with simple statements like ‘I should have gone to bed earlier last night’ or ‘I’ve already practiced earlier’. Changbin had gotten concerned when they were fooling around backstage and he had picked the younger up, noticing how shockingly easy it was. Was the dancer on a diet? He certainly didn’t need to.

With the next cycle of his therapy approaching, Hyunjin knew he needed to talk to his members. Their schedule was packed and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up. The dancer had dreaded the conversation with his group, having to tell them he wasn’t ok and that he needed a break. He didn’t even know how to do it, the thought of calling a group-meeting making his heart beat loudly and his hands shake. Pulling out his phone, he quickly typed a short message and asked if they could all talk after dinner. That way he wouldn’t be able to chicken out again. It was only a few hours till the other members would come back from their individual practices. Hyunjin had settled for memorizing his lyrics and practicing his rap in the safety and comfort of their dorm. Rubbing at his face and patting his cheeks a few times, he tried to get himself to focus on the lyric sheets in his lap, the letters and words muddling together and losing their meaning as his thoughts were everywhere but on the task on hand.

The time passed a lot faster than expected, and soon there was a knock on the door before Seungmin poked his head in to tell Hyunjin dinner was ready. The dancer sighed, putting his lyric sheets away. He had been less productive than he had hoped he’d be. Sitting down between Seungmin and Changbin, he accepted the plate Chan handed him. The leader had meant well, piling up a generous amount of food. Hyunjin frowned, he didn’t feel too hungry to begin with and the anxious knot twisting in his stomach certainly didn’t help his appetite. Mainly pushing the food around with his chopsticks, the dancer rearranged the words in his head and tried to figure out how he’d start the conversation later. The members noticed him spacing out but left him be, knowing their friend would talk to them later. The majority of the group was already done eating when Hyunjin hadn’t even finished half of his meal. He simply helped clear the table when the others were done, dumping the rest of his food into the trash since he didn’t feel like eating anymore than he had already forced down. “You really didn’t want to eat any more?”, Chan frowned, he didn’t want his dongsaeng getting even skinnier than he already was. The younger shook his head and walked over to the living room couch, sitting down while he waited for the others to join him.

They were all gathered and Chan sensed the nervousness radiating off of his dongsaeng, so as the leader he decided to start: “You wanted to talk to us, Jinnie? Go ahead, you have our attention.” The dancer cleared his throat a few times, scrubbing his sweaty hands against his pants to dry them. “I-I have cancer”, he blurted out, his mind blank and the carefully prepared speech forgotten. There was no reply, just eerie silence. His friends had heard him but were unable to grasp the meaning behind his words. Minho was the first to shake off the shock, patting the younger’s shoulder: “Not too bad, you got me there for a second.” A tear rolled down Hyunjin’s cheek and he shook his head. “Damn, you weren’t joking”, Minho cursed, pulling his dongsaeng into a tight hug. He didn’t want to let go any time soon, so he didn’t. Chan bit his lip, he knew something was up but he didn’t expect this. “We kinda figure something was off about you, just… ohh well. How long has it been?”, he sighed, slowly letting the news sink in. Avoiding the leader’s gaze, the dancer admitted: “’bout half a year. Those last two times I got sick were actually the side effects of the treatment.” Minho let go of him and settled for sitting on the floor against Hyunjin’s legs, which cleared the space for Jisung to come over and cling to his youngest hyung. “I had to tell you now because I’ll have to take the medication again in a few days and it will obviously take me down again for a while like the last times”, he hummed quietly, shuddering at the thought. Chan knelt down next to Minho and squeezed Hyunjin’s hand, assuring: “It’s okay, I’ll talk to our managers. We’ll clear your schedule and you just focus on resting and riding it out, yeah?”, the younger nodded, sniffling quietly as the leader continued, “Should you ever need to go on a hiatus, talk to me, okay? I know our livestyle is stressful and doesn’t allow much time to rest, so if you need a break, we’ll get you one.”

After a long silence, Hyunjin admitted with tears in his eyes: “I’ll probably need to at some point. It’s getting so hard to keep up with you when dancing but what if Stay will think Stray Kids is as good or even better without me?” – “That is not going to happen! Stray Kids is not Stray Kids without you hyung. Stay would want you to take care of yourself, just like we want you to. Do you remember what you told me when my anxiety got really bad? You said ‘there’s no shame in taking a rest, you come first, your job comes second’. Same goes for you too, hyung”, Jisung reminded, “We just want you to be well.” – “It’s j-just, I really loved dancing and now I can barely do it anymore. What if I’m not as good as before when all of this is over”, the older mumbled, playing with his sleeve. Tapping the dancer’s knee from where he was sitting on the ground, Minho spoke up with a firm expression: “Look at me, Jinnie. I’m good at dancing, so I can judge. You have so much natural talent as a dancer, that’s nothing that just suddenly vanishes. Yeah, you might forget about some of the moves but we are all here to remind you again.” Felix nodded along promising: “We’re the dance-line, we work on our dancing together, always have and always will. How many nights have you stayed behind with me to help me get it right, don’t you think I’m willing to do the same for you?” – “Thank you, Lixxie”, he smiled, drying his eyes with his sleeve.

“You got this, Jinnie”, Changbin smiled, ruffling his dongsaeng’s hair. The younger cringed at the touch, pleading: “Please don’t do this, it’s falling out quick enough as it is”, twirling a long strand around his finger he whimpered, “I don’t want to lose it all, I’d be so ugly being bald.” – “Jinnie, look at Chan, for now he has less hair than you. Is he ugly?”, Changbin asked. “Of course, he is!”, Hyunjin joked, snorting and earning an irritated “Excuse me???” from the leader. Changbin just continued, ignoring his hyung: “We’ll simply make sure he’ll dye his hair again for the next comeback, so he’ll lose it faster”, he winked, “and if you feel self-conscious, wear a beanie. We always do. It won’t be so much different and you can also borrow some of mine if you get tired of your own collection. We all know I have an endless number of them, you will always find one that goes with your outfit.” The dancer nodded gratefully while Jisung removed himself from his side, dashing to his room. He was slightly out of breath when he jogged back to the living room, with a black beanie in his hands. Upon further inspection, the older could make out a pair of cat ears on top of it. “Here, I haven’t worn it in an eternity but I thought it would look really good on you”, the rapper announced with sparkling eyes, “Try it on!” Hyunjin complied earning a bush of squeals, while Jisung pinched his cheek exclaiming: “Cute!” The younger fixed it a bit, so it was facing straight, beaming at his hyung: “You should keep it, it looks so much better on you anyways.” – “Thanks, Sungie. But what if I don’t want to walk around the dorm wearing a beanie 24/7?”, the dancer worried. Frowning at his hyung’s insecurity, Jeongin spoke up: “Hyung, you don’t have to hide from us. You are so handsome, you know, there’s a reason you are called prince. What’s on your head won’t change that, plus we care about you, not your hair. To us it doesn’t matter what’s on your head, if you’d walk around with a chicken living up there, we wouldn’t care.” – “Well, I would be mildly concerned if there was a chicken on his head”, Felix’ deep voice cut in. Seungmin tapped his lips, thinking deeply before considering: “I mean, a raven or a snow owl would be fine but a chicken, come on Jeongin, Hyunjin has more style than that.” – “Guys, you don’t get the point”, the maknae whined. “I do, Innie”, Hyunjin chuckled at the heated discussion that broke out about the bird bread that would fit him best, “Thank you.”

It took a few minutes for Chan to calm the maknae-line down, without agreeing on a certain bread. “How long is it till your next treatment?”, the leader asked. Counting in his head, the younger replied: “Four more days or considering today is mostly over, three days.” – “Well, how about we go for sushi during lunch tomorrow? My treat. It’s you favorite, so you can enjoy some delicious food while you can still stomach it”, the oldest offered. An excited smile spread on Hyunjin’s face and he nodded, as it had been a while since he had sushi. “Good, you need to eat well to give your body the energy it needs. You’ve been losing too much weight lately”, Minho approved, nudging his dongsaeng’s knee. Wordlessly walking over, Jeongin dropped himself on Hyunjin’s lap before announcing: “Well, now that that’s settled, as the maknae I call dips on cuddles.” – “Yah! I do not agree with this line of argument!”, Felix yelled frustrated. Soon the entire group was piled up together cuddling their sick dancer. “Thank you, guys. I wouldn’t know what to do without you”, he sniffled getting emotional from all the affection he was receiving. Chan just squeezed him a bit tighter and whispered: “You don’t have to think about that because you will always have us by your side.” – “Promise?” – “Promise! Every step of the way.”

#stray kids #fanfiction #fanfic #sickfic #sick #whump #fluff #comfort #hwang hyunjin #skz

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