#also giving belle a personality finally is a delight

[sashaisready]

Chapter Four - You’re both idiots

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 5

Series Masterlist

And so begins the routine. Bucky comes in once or twice a week, clearing out half your stock each time. Sometimes he’s alone, sometimes with his various men. Thor and Steve come by a lot - Thor is always overly sweet to Wanda and treats her with renewed respect under your watchful eye.

You also meet Sam, who seems to hold a similar rank in the organisation as Steve. Sam is one of the nicer ones, he’s cheerful and personable - always makes an effort at small talk. Most of the others just glare at you over the counter.

You’re fascinated by the dynamics, often able to gauge a man’s status in the group based on how Bucky interacts with them. Some, like Steve, he listens to carefully and seems to take on board whatever they suggest. Others he just looks at with utter disdain, annoyed he even has to speak to them.

Despite your fears about becoming a ‘mob’ establishment, they’re never anything but respectful and polite to you, Wanda and the other customers. You’re certain Bucky makes sure of that. Pepper is delighted that the profits have soared since Bucky’s frequent visits so you can’t imagine she’d have an issue with the clientele either.

Each time he comes in he makes a beeline for you and you feel butterflies in your stomach as your heart races. He'll smirk at you as he approaches. Never quite a proper smile, but a smirk you'll take for now. The way he looks at you almost floors you every time, the intensity of those eyes is suffocating. Sometimes it feels as if he can see into your soul, see each of your silly little thoughts, raking over them and seeking out your essence. 

If you’re not there then he’ll ask Wanda where you are, but strangely he always seems to know when you’re on shift, even if they’re changed at the last minute. He starts coming in on certain days of the week and soon it becomes your highlight of those days, the exciting anticipation of knowing he’ll be in soon. You'll glance up expectantly every time the bell goes knowing eventually it'll be him standing in your eyeline. 

The two of you engage in a routine now. He teases you, you tease him. Sometimes he makes fun of your mucky overalls and you’ll rag on him about his tips. You’re careful not to be too cheeky in front of his men, understanding where his boundaries lie. Still, sometimes you’ll push them for a little excitement and he’ll give you a warning look if you’re being a bit overly familiar, but you can tell from his trademark smirk that he’s not really fazed.

The furthest you’d gone was when he came in by himself one morning. The shop was empty bar Wanda working out back so you thought you’d really test the waters. You were on his side of the counter tidying up stock when he started playing with you about a smear of frosting you’d somehow got on your face. You’d allowed him to continue for a little while before wordlessly picking up a cupcake, sticking two fingers into the frosting and rubbing them across his cheek in retaliation.

He froze and you froze. For a terrible moment you thought you’d finally pushed him too far until he grabbed the mauled cake and tried to push it back into your face as you squealed and attempted to throw yourself backwards to get away. He was fast though, somehow ending up pinning you against the counter with his sturdy thigh holding you in place. Your breaths were short and shallow as you gripped his wrists and tried to fight him off, hypnotised by his gaze as he leaned his face closer to yours and-

Wanda came running out from the back, terrified you were hurt based on all the noises you were making. Bucky quickly released you and you shot back behind the counter, smoothing your hair and clearing your throat as you rung him up. He just grabbed a napkin and casually wiped his cheek like it was all a typical transaction. Your heart was beating hard in your chest as you sent him on his way, you could feel the heat radiating between your thighs as you calmed down.

Wanda just stared at you with her arms crossed, her face spoke for her.

Sometimes, when it's just him, you talk. No games, just conversation as you pack up his cakes. It started with idle chatter and then it somehow developed into everything from your childhoods to politics. Sometimes he stays long after you've rung him up, chatting away as he clutches his boxes, perpetually hovering by the door as if he's about to leave. You find it easy to talk to him, as if you’ve known him your whole life. It’s always organic, simple. You forget who he is and then Steve will walk in and whisper something to him and it's like a rude reminder. 

You feel yourself developing feelings for him, despite the warning voice in the back of your head. You find yourself getting caught up and daydreaming at work. You think of his perfect face and his broad shoulders, the way a strand of hair will fall forward and he'll absentmindedly scrape it back. Imagining what it would be like to kiss him…to wake up with him....to feel his fingers dance across your hips...

Wanda is baffled by this burgeoning friendship or flirtation or however you choose to categorise it. She’ll watch from afar as you stare at him from across the counter and play your little games.

“So when are you two going to get it out of your system?” She asks late one afternoon as you’re both closing up for the day.

“Huh?” You respond, unsure what she means.

“You and Bucky” she scoffs. “You’re practically fucking on the store floor every time he comes in so you might as well get it over with”.

You turn to face her, shocked by her directness. Wanda always speaks her mind but she’s not normally so…plain speaking about it.

“Whoaaaaa” you exclaim. “I mean yeah. Obviously he’s gorgeous. And obviously I enjoy…whatever it is exactly that we do. But it’s just flirting. It’s just a thing he does when he comes in here. Doesn’t really mean anything” you shrug.

Wanda just stares back at you, unimpressed. “Uh huh. Yeah. And how many hundreds of dollars has he given you, exactly?”

You jeer, shrugging your shoulders and shaking your head dismissively.

“Not…that much. Besides, he’s rich. It’s like giving me a dollar each time when you look at it in relation to his net worth…”

Wanda just rolls her eyes. “Right. Yeah. Sure. I’m sure he does the same with all servers at any store he goes in…”.

You chew your lip. “I mean…maybe? None of my business what he gets up to in his free time…”

“Why don’t you just ask him out?” Wanda asks.

You glare back at her like that was the stupidest suggestion you’d ever heard.

Wanda takes one look at your face and instantly backs down, holding her hands up in surrender. “Alright…sorry”.

“I don’t even know if I want to go out with him” you admit. “I like him a lot. And wow, he’s a babe. But…his whole world you know? The mob? That life isn’t for me. I’m just a baker” you tell her bashfully.

"First of all, you're not just anything - so get that through your skull..."

You smirk appreciatively at her.

“Second of all...I mean, I get it. I never would’ve seen this particular development coming for you” she laughs, and you laugh too. It is all quite ridiculous, after all.

“But it’s clear to anyone who’s been in the bakery at the same time that there’s something there” Wanda continues.

“I’m not saying you need to marry the guy and be the glamorous mob wife at his court dates wearing a show stopping outfit…but a date might be just what you need. Even if it’s to prove that this is just a fun flirtation and you don’t have anything else in common”.

You nod thoughtfully. “I mean you’re right, I would look great in court…”

Wanda throws a cleaning rag at you and you both giggle for a minute.

“But I can’t let him win, Wanda”.

“What….?”

“I can’t let him win. If I ask him out then he’s won. But if he asks me out then I win. You see? I’m doing well so far, I can’t throw the race” you explain.

Wanda just stares at you like you have two heads.

“You’re both idiots. You know that?” She deadpans.

You nod. “Oh of course. But I still want to win”.

*

As you’re walking home that evening you’re lost in thought, pondering your next move with Bucky. Maybe Wanda was right. Maybe you should just bite the bullet and go for it. What have you got to lose? Yes, he was scary - but not to you. Never to you. In fact you’d seen softness within him. A genuine, sweet and funny guy under the frightening surface. Dating that guy very much appealed to you. A mobster not so much, but you liked the other guy. Besides, it could be an adventure, right? A fun story for the next time you met up with your friends at least. Shit, you really should call them.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you saw a dark SUV parked up across the street, and your stomach dropped momentarily. Maybe it was your imagination but you could’ve sworn you saw that same one this morning hovering near your apartment block.

Was that…Bucky‘s car?

No. Surely not.

You racked your brains trying to remember any distinguishing features of his car when you’d helped him with the boxes that time…but nothing came to you. You couldn’t even remember a single digit of the license plate.

You looked over at the car again and it suddenly took off, disappearing down a different street. The windows were dark so you couldn’t make out the driver or any passengers.

You were being silly.

Still. You added the last three digits of the plate into your phone notes. No harm in that, right?

This was New York City. There were SUVs everywhere. In fact you probably had seen that one before. You worked in this neighbourhood, the driver probably did too. They were probably travelling to and from work just like you were.

You knew this was the logical explanation.

Still…a small part of you suddenly felt a sense of dread deep within your gut.

#mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #bucky barnes #mob bucky au #mob bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sweet and sour fic

[stardustjie]

𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚢

oh, this one took a lot. i apologise for the wait, it was quite a busy month. i'm not even that proud of this drabble if i must be honest, but i hope you like it anyway ♡ there might be some mistakes, but thank you for being patient

buying books and reading books are two different hobbies, but very few things could give the reassurance to have every title in your "to be read" list already bought and patiently waiting on the shelf. when you would read said book was a mystery for everyone, you included, but it was there for when the time will come. there was this feeling of comfort, knowing you didn’t have to buy it and you just had to wait for the right moment in your life to actually enjoy the reading. this might seem a bit strange, but you are lucky your girlfriend understands your literary philosophy. except she had a whole library in her home.

the first time she mentioned it, you thought she was joking. you were talking about your favourite book again, illustrating all the characers and the specific things you enjoyed. at some point she said the word library, but you didnt really pay attention to it. until she finally invited you in her home and with the most natural expression she showed you the biggest collection of physical books you have ever seen with your own eyes. you realized oftentimes your girlfriend didnt need to endure the bother to buy those books, rather than to find them.

now you are in the same library, with lara explaining how she bought the book you are holding in your hands so carefully. you lightly touch the title, gently. you are scared the littlest mistake will ruin it despite the other girl reassured you its not that fragile. you haven't been together for a lot, her stories are so new and interesting. you could listen to her for hours until she got bored. lara was telling you about one of her expeditions, how she found this little market stall in iraq a few months before.

"how do you manage to remember which one you have and which one you dont?" you ask at some point. your girlfriend watched you with curiosity, doe eyes wide open, and giggles. apparently she has list of them. everytime she is interested in a new book she looks for the title in a list she has on her personal tablet to see if its already in there. every title is in alphabetical order under its group genre. lara wasn’t as organizza and one would think, but she tooks her library quite seriously.

"its easier than it seems," she explains "its just a matter of habit and willpower. also, most of those books arent really my own. they are my father's or my ancestors' i think." but you were still suprised. you were still used to her little apartment in with the paper on the wall in front of her desk and books on the ground. now she is telling you she spendt her first week in the manor taking care of the library (and her other stuff, but that's not the important part).

"of course, if you see anything you like just take it. i dont mind" lara says and in your head it definitely sounds like a marriage proposal. you could hear the bells already. she probably notices your heart-eyes and giggles a little. you spend the rest of the day with her in thr library, talking about the numerous editions and books you could find and learning about the ones she used to read when she was little and her favourite characers. you are delighted when she explains her interpretation of enjolras and grantaire and lara listened carefully to your there about that duology you are reading.

you never thought you would be like this, talking for hours with your girlfriend surrounded by the biggest collection of books you have ever seen. sometimes she moved her hands a little bit to highlight a concept, other times she quickly showed you the paragraphs she was referring to. you really could listen to her until sunset came, the passion in her voice was addicting.

and you didn’t even know next time ahe was going to show you the art room yet.

#lara croft x reader #lara croft #tomb raider #lara croft hcs #lara croft headcanons #lara croft tomb raider

[walker-extended-universe]

Why I love Larry James

Larry James is, of the regular cast, one of the least explored. While this is largely due to him being more of a recurring character than a regular character, I can't help but latch on to him with all my questions. But beyond my overanalytic brain, there's something very heartfelt about his character that makes me appreciate every moment he's on screen. That's what I want to talk about today.

One of the first things we come to understand about James is that he takes his job and responsibilities very seriously. He worked hard to become captain and he doesn't want to give any doubts on whether he deserves it. While that means he can be hard on his people sometimes, it also means he knows when to listen to them. The latter is a skill he's gotten better at as the show goes on and that really speaks to his ability to learn and grow, both professionally and personally.

Another thing I've come to appreciate about him is how calm he is in a crisis. Whether it be personal or professional (or both), James has a steady hand and a steadier voice, something that's needed when you have a ranger crew of Walker and Cassie. I think this is shown best when he's trying to talk Tessa out of treating Cordell like the only suspect in 3x15. While everyone else was ready to throw hands, he was trying to focus on logic and getting the case solved, something that deserves more respect than he got in that moment. I can only hope he'll manage to hold onto that going into season 4.

Aside from his professional growth, I've also very much enjoyed his personal plots over the last few seasons. His growth as a father figure with DJ was an absolute joy to watch, from DJ's first appearance to when he was named as James' best man. That said, I think his best plot by far was him reconnecting with Kelly. Despite their divorce, his love and care for her was displayed from her first introduction in season 2. Watching him work on himself to become the kind of man she wants to be married to for the past few seasons has been a joy and an inspiration. Their wedding in the season 3 finale was a beautiful culmination of that and I hope they keep it up going into next season.

To round this off, here's a short list of things I love about Larry James:

Coby Bell

Best Dad in the show

Wears the badge well

His team is family

Patience of a saint

Growth(tm)

Partner banter with Walker

Just a delight on screen

TL;DR:

I love Larry James

#walker #larry james #larry james day

[illegal-heartbreaker]

Hey, how are you?

I had an idea reader makes matching rings/necklaces (you can decide on that) for Marilyn and we give it to her for no reason but also to show her we love her a lot

Heartstring Rings {m. thornhill}

summary: req above !

relationship: marilyn thornhill x reader

extra/warning: marilyn is around the age of 32/30 & sorta slow

__________________

You sat in the middle of your apartment room slowly packing things into boxes, ready to move when you come across a small red box that you had thought you lost as a child.

Untying the red ribbon that adorned the small box, you lifted the lid only for a small note to float down to your lap. Curiosity hit you, this was something that wasn't there when you last opened it - but then again, you were only 5-9 when you last remember having it.

' something so rare and yet so unique, is graced to a person once through their lifetime. yet only a few will truly understand the true love, of a soulmate. '

No signature, yet the writing was so familiar. That wasn't what was on your mind though, your grandmothers last words to you were.

"y/n/n, the rings will only work once you find your true soulmate." It wasn't that you didn't believe her, but it was far fetched even for a nine year old. But at the age of 27, you were ready to do anything it took to find your one just like your family before you did.

Stood before your old apartment for the last time, with one small box under your arm and the rest in your car, you wish farewell to the memories of your teenage years and start your journey to Nevermore Academy where both Marilyn worked and you were starting.

It wasn't as long as you'd originally thought but the relief was still there when you arrived and so you were glad when you checked the time and saw that the final school bells would of rung half an hour ago.

The school was easy enough to navigate with a few directions from some students, letting you get to the door that held the small golden slip that held "Ms Thornhill" on it.

Lifting your hand to knock on the door twice, you wait a minute before a women opens the door and literally jumps on top of you in delight. "you're here!" she lets out, finally releasing you from the hold she had you in.

"i'm here!" you try to mimic as you let yourself get dragged into the room after her.

"You need to tell me everything that has happened since the last time I was here - which was 2 months now!" laughing at the way your girlfriends face drops a little at the mention of how long it's been. "oh! and don't let me forget, i've got something for you."

Slipping your hand into your pocket, you pull out the same small box that you had found yesterday evening and hand it to Marilyn for her to open. Silence fills the air for a few minutes before she finally speaks up.

"They're so pretty! What are they?"

"My grandmother used to tell me that they were Heartstring Rings. That they'd be able to alert the other person of the emotion the other person was feeling at the time."

"so like a connected mood ring?" she asks, you can see the interest on her face which is refreshing from all the other reactions that you have recieved in the past, "that only works for soulmates?"

"yes," you smile "and you're mine." you say, gently taking her hand and slipping one of the rings onto her finger to show her before doing the same to yours.

"and i'm yours.."

#marilyn thornhill x reader #wednesday #nevermore #marilyn thornhill #laurel gates

[twistedboxy]

Meet the teacher

Happy Birthday (Belated) @too-old-for-this-mix

I finally sat down to write this that spawned from a convo we had and I said I had to write it. It was going to be a small little thing but turned into something longer.

Also thanks to @mythicalamity for bouncing ideas off each other

Collum said Rhett looks like a yoga teacher who got dressed up to go to his kids parent teacher meeting.

It was Rhett’s turn to go to Charlotte's parent teacher meeting this year. That is what he and his ex agreed upon. He knew he had to at least look presentable except most of his wardrobe was for teaching his yoga classes. There were a few sporadic button downs and jeans. He grabbed a blue printed button down, jeans and some slip ons.

Once at the school, Rhett quickly found his daughter’s classroom. Inside sitting at the head desk was a man close in height and age with salt and pepper hair. The man seemed to be grading papers.

Rhett hesitated,”Oh excuse me. Am I in the right room?”

The man chuckled behind his glasses,”That depends, would your child be in this class?”

Rhett got a good look at his face being drawn in by the blue eyes before he answered “I’m Rhett McLaughlin, Charlotte’s dad. What happened to Mrs. Ellis?”

“She’ll be out for a bit for some surgery and recovery. Nice to meet you Mr. McLaughlin. I’m Link Neal.” Standing up to shake Rhett’s hand.

“Nice to meet you too. Link huh?”

“Lincoln is my middle name but I’m the third in the line of Charles the third.”

“Oh gotcha. Anyway, how's Charlotte in class?”

“She’s a delight. She is so kind and bright. Here’s her latest vocab test.” Link hands over the test. Rhett looked at it proudly, she only missed one which was Wednesday but who wouldn’t that’s a tough one. The meeting continued casually, the two really hitting it off. 

“I should be headed out. It was nice meeting you.”

“You too. Goodnight.”

Everyone’s lives mostly went back to normal, routines repeated again. It was almost the end of the day on Wednesday. Link has been in most of a haze since he met Rhett. He really enjoyed their connection. He kept trying to come up with an idea to ask for a date but he didn’t really like any of them. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize one of his students was standing at the desk.

“Mr. Neal? Here’s my worksheet.” Charlotte said placing the paper on the table, as she turned to walk away Link was struck with an idea. He quickly scribbled something on some kind of form but not for it’s intended use. 

“Hey Charlotte, can you give this to your dad to sign and return to me?” Handing her the paper the bell rang signaling the end of the day. The students shuffled out.

Rhett was waiting to pick up Charlotte from school. It was one of her visit nights. She got into the car.

“Hi Daddy!”

“Hi Kiddo! How was school?”

“It was good.” The two head home. 

Rhett makes dinner and helps with homework. The two watch a movie before it’s time for bed. He makes sure she packs up her school bag. As they are doing that, she stops and pulls out a folded paper.

“Mr. Link wanted me to give you this to sign and give back to him, Daddy?”

“Oh yea, I’ll look it over in a bit and make sure it’s in your bag?” Rhett takes the paper, placing it in his pocket for later. Once Charlotte is set for bed, Rhett does the same. He remembers the paper in his pocket. The note read:

“I didn’t know how to get in touch with you without it being weird.  I shot down all my ideas. I really felt a connection with you. I hope we can go out some time!  Here’s my number.”

Rhett is a bit miffed that Link would use his own child for his own personal gains but actually really admires the bold move. He goes to grab his phone to message Link.

R: “Nice stunt you pulled, sending a note with my daughter.”

L: “Oh I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for it to be awkward. You can get rid of it. I’m really sorry.”

R: “No no, I really admire the bold move you took. I’d love to go out with you! I think we really have something.”

L: “I’d like that.”

The two continued chatting until they both had to force themselves to go to sleep. Rhett wrote his own note back to Link putting it into Charlotte’s backpack.

Days passed with two of them sending flirty messages and planning their date that upcoming Sunday. Before Rhett knew it, date night arrived. He was getting ready but unsure what to wear. 

“Daddy, what are you doing?” Charlotte asked.

“Hi honey, I’m going on a date tonight and I don't know what to wear.” 

“You're so cute! Let me help!” She ran towards the closet glancing at his wardrobe. Rhett sat on his bed watching her browse. He loved watching her get in a zone. After a few choices she chose his outfit. It was pretty similar to what he originally met Link in.

“There you go, wear this. And if they don’t like it, direct them to me.”

“Of course. Thank you for helping me.” He scooped her up in a hug.

Rhett and Link met at a local coffee shop.

“Hey there.” Rhett said.

“Hey yourself.” Link said. The two went in to order drinks and desserts. They found a nice little corner to spend time together.

“It’s almost like deja vu. You're wearing something similar to when we first met.”

“Heh yea, my wardrobe is kinda limited. Charlotte helped me pick out my outfit. She said if my date didn’t like it, they could answer to her.” Rhett replied. 

Link laughed, “She doesn’t have to worry because I do like it.” The conversation flowed naturally between the two of them until the shop was just about to close.

“Hey Rhett, I think they’re trying to close up shop. That may be a cue to end at least this date.”

Rhett looked around at the pretty empty shop. “I’d love to go on more dates with you.” 

#rhink #rhink fic #twistedboxy writes

[anxiouslyfred]

A Meaningful Message

For @dukexietyweek prompt Fantasy

Summary: Remus is an angel tasked to visit a village and gain believers for their god. Virgil is the centaur in charge of transcribing messages from the gods that come to visit and has no time for meaningless greetings messages. It takes a few visits for him to accept a message from Remus

Warnings: Religious talk, lots of it, also mentioned drought/ dehydration deaths

/\/\

Looking in from our universe, you'd be surprised how complicated religion, belief and faith gets when gods and their messengers are actually prone to visiting, to meeting with anyone really. How in worlds like that tribes and villages have holy people not as leaders of society, but as necessary delays to a new god coming in to request believers.

Of course on our version of Earth it would be just as confusing to them. Why, when there's no knowable person behind a religion, are people still trying to claim power over others due to gods?

This story is not about that though. It's about an angel on this planet who's just been assigned to visit a village their God hasn't visited before. Remus has been the angel chosen to do these messages a few times and they still wonder why. Each time is met with the same criticism and threats of punishment that God usually lets be forgotten within a week. They were too blunt in calling out not only the flaws of the people they meet but the issues with their God and jealousy that other beings were able to chose who to believe in while they had belief enforced by way of their creation.

At least the village Remus was now flying down to didn't need the more unpleasant of greeting messages they were able to give. They'd been chased out by other gods the few times that happened, given it was rare for any village to only have one spiritual power visiting at any time.

Virgil's house was the first building visible to any visitors and had 2 signs pinned to the door; one directed Earthly beings to the next building to confirm their reasons for traveling and the other directed “Gods, Messengers and other Immortal Ilk bring your words inside or get chased out of town from the next building”

“I'm Immortal Ilk!” Remus laughed in delight at the name, and the clear disdain seldom found in the people elected to greet gods to their village, following the arrow around to the front door and trilling a tune out when there was no bell or knocker to get the attention of the inhabitant.

A call came from in the house, listing various gods and the times they were booked for, ways to get Virgil's attention but Remus kept repeating their call after each one, wondering when the door would be opened. The list became more hesitant the more their call was repeated and Remus was sure Virgil was actually coming close to the door until it opened after one last trill.

“Of course, an angel finally got assigned to our village. A few of the other gods were surprised I hadn't met one yet. Who are you?” The centaur who opened the door sat back on his hunches, making no move to let Remus in.

“I'm Remus, angel of the Lord and I'm here to bring you his word.” They began, making big gestures to give the words more weight even though they knew just about everyone used something similar for these types of greetings.

Virgil rolled his eyes, “And there better actually be some message in there worth passing on, since I'm pretty sure I could read a book to learn about your god's word more easily than this. I'm Virgil, this village's transcriber for the gods and I don't pass on meaningless hellos beyond the weekly report of which gods or gods messengers have come to the village.”

“Not really. I can't give more of a message than just saying the guy who created me is God and looks down with interest on your village. He sends blessings upon your crops and I'm tasked to ensure your village's wells and spring will run clean for years to come on this initial visit.” Remus shuffles, unused to their current body since as ever they had to reflect the being before them in form while first meeting him.

“Is that going to require you physically visiting them or have you already done it?” Virgil immediately asked, pulling a folder from a shelf the door was hiding.

Remus shook their head. “Already done.”

“Great, thank you for the greeting then, and please only return when you have a meaningful message for me to take to my village. As you've already heard, I've got an appointment in half an hour and would prefer to be prepared for that.” Virgil's dismissal was obvious and Remus had been about to follow it before they paused.

They looked over the centaur for a moment before grinning. “I like you, Virgil. You're polite and blunt in a way I bet God would prefer me to be. See you next time and I'll try to get a better message to bring.”

Time passed before Remus had a reason to return to the village although they did try to receive a full message to bring before that. In fact they had come to see Virgil 2 other times on the orders from Heaven who thought that repeating the initial greeting would somehow ingratiate them to Virgil enough that their presence would be properly reacted to by the village. Remus's god remained nothing more than another deity to the people however and Virgil carried on saying the angel brought greetings without a substantial message.

On their fourth visit, Remus had a message and they were fairly sure that Virgil would accept it as being meaningful. The seasons had changed since they first came to the village and Remus had been enjoying the fact that they couldn't be blamed for lack of progress in gaining believers now but they probably would be if the message they had today was refused.

“Remus, you've changed your look.” Virgil blinked, opening his door to see a form somewhere between a reptile and a jellyfish waiting. He'd been used to them looking like a centaur despite being well aware they weren't.

“The restrictions on reflecting your form to reduce causing fears have lifted and aren't I so much more interesting like this?” Remus writhed in place, letting the transcriber look his fill. “And I actually have a message for you, consequences of ignoring it and all, even if they can't be caused by God.”

“Yeah, consequences don't tend to be how your god currently works. Not since his method shift a few centuries ago.” Virgil pulled the folder he'd grabbed on Remus's first visit out, shuffling through a few pages before pulling a form out. “Okay, what's your message?”

Remus took a deep breath, mentally checking their memory before speaking, “When the hot days come and the choice has to be made between watering crops and drinking yourself, it's each person's choice how they survive. A dehydrated soul might collapse in the fields and lose the crops they try to keep alive, but a hydrated person whose crops whither and dry will not get much further. Helping each other and moderating what's given to the land is the only way God shares for dealing with the heat of Summer's hand.”

Virgil frowned at the message, stepping out of his door to look towards the village once he'd finished transcribing it. “This is the turn of Spring. For any god to warn about Summer so early means we need to work to store water now.”

“It does! And I don't wanna be bringing messages to a shriveled dry Virgil!” They agreed, bouncing slightly. “Since you're the transcriber does that mean they share their supplies with you?”

“Everyone gets an equal share of the food our village grows with amounts over that being saved for trade. Those of us with roles beyond animal care and crop growth are given wages to trade for other things.” Virgil shrugged, turning to close his door. “I'm going to take your message to town now. Thank you for bringing it.”

“See you next time.” Remus agreed, ready to head off on other earthly errands they'd been given.

It was a rule that Virgil has started to follow since becoming the transcriber for his town, that only the entities he would bring requests, desires and questions to were ones who had brought useful messages at least once before. After that Virgil would treat it as a round robin, going down a list over who to ask. With their fourth visit, Remus had been added onto that list and was soon receiving prayers requesting advice and meetings from Virgil regarding the villager's activities.

That was the odd thing to Remus and anyone in Heaven who heard about it. Usually the transcribers, the priests, or whatever title a village, town, community gave to that person would direct their requests to the god of a system, not to the messengers. Virgil had never once directed anything towards God, only to them and they were still biting back the comments of this being proof that angels were believed in more than their creator. They'd realised that over the times they had been liaison to the Earthly settlements and had only stopped from mentioning it at the anger of their God.

“Hey Remus, I've got someone asking for advice directly from your God if you have time to visit this afternoon.” Virgil's prayer was absently said, since he was still checking the bookings of when different god's were likely to visit his village. “Perhaps around 5pm.”

Remus grinned at the request, still happy to receive them directly without having orders bestowed upon them to attend. They sent a glimmer of starlight to Virgil's room to confirm the meeting before carrying on with their day.

Virgil was already outside when Remus appeared, holding a bowl of fruits. “Well here's the angel of our village. 20 minutes early as always.” He teased, but held the bowl out towards them.

“And being offered more hospitality than normal. You like to keep your work separate from your home despite having to live at it.” Remus countered, taking a berry to nibble on, while glancing back at the house.

“Actually it's an offering for your god. Ivanica has decided that he is the one she believes in most fully and finds making an offering of her fruits the best way to acknowledge that. She also requests advice upon the marriage her family are arranging and whether it will be right for her.” He explained, but turned to lead Remus to the rear of his home, where a gate into his garden was open already.

Remus had taken the bowl in a few of the tentacles their form currently held, gliding along behind their centaur. “Now that's a success I can report to finally get a break from everyone up there questioning my ability in this role. You seem to have a lot of poisons in your garden?” They were looking around the space curiously, never having been invited even into this space before.

“It helps if there are immortal ilk becoming unruly to have temporary counters for them to hand.” Virgil reasoned, wandering over to a bench and letting Remus look their full. “I have a question too actually. You're a messenger for the god who created you, but are people able to believe in you specifically without following your god or does that cause some horrible consequences?”

“Meh, most horrible consequences it'll cause is God pouting and muttering for a year or two that the power comes from him, surely he should get the praise. I keep hoping it'll get him off that high horse sometime or other,” Virgil bristled, hooves hitting the ground as if ready to chase them and getting Remus to look away from the plants, “metaphorical, not like, you.” Remus cast a glance over Virgil, before smirking, “Although if saying stuff like that'll get me stomped under your hooves I might have to repeat it.”

He snorted, huffing away his anger from the comparison. “And here I was going to say that I believe in you, even if your god seems like a douche.”

“Virgil, you have got the correct view of God. He can't even get a proper name to be distinguished from the other gods you get messages from because he thinks people should just know he's the god referred to.” Remus agreed, but colours were shooting through his form in bewildered joy. They'd never had their own believer before, only known other angels who had.  

They did need to fill their reason for being called to Earth however so Remus momentarily diverted in their next words. “Oh and can you tell that Ivanica to meet with her intended at least 9 times before agreeing to the engagement. Once with only her intended's friends, once with only her friends, once with each of their families, alone in their home, alone in her home and 3 times in public spaces with no other company but themselves and those who stop to talk to them. If after those 9 meetings she is willing and feels safe in the engagement should she allow plans for it to be made.”

“I'll ensure your message gets to her in the morning.” Virgil nodded. “Is it okay that I believe in you then? You didn't respond when I said I do.”

Remus hovered enough they could curl onto a branch leaning over Virgil's fence. “You're the first ever to do that! It's brilliant and wonderful and I think I need to see more of your village with you as my guide.”

“Good, that's – wait, why do you need to explore my village?” Virgil had been nodding at their response before blinking and freezing at the last section.

“Well angels don't really have family so much as they have heaven and I can't take you there. Plus my friends are more often the transcribers from other areas and getting you to travel to meet them or them to come here would inconvenience way too many people. You got your role as transcriber because you estranged yourself from your family and it was the way to keep some contact without having them breach your boundaries so they don't sound like good family. Also you only mention other gods messengers in friendly terms, even when relaying requests of your village so that's 4 meetings out. I've spent plenty of time alone with you in private while bringing messages down so really all we need to make courting official is to spend time in public, which means I get to see where you live more.” Remus's words rushed through them, only getting faster the more bewildered and confused Virgil began to look until they were basically bouncing the branch as they finished speaking.

Virgil was silent for a long time taking their words in, fiddling with the fabric over his torso. His eyes would flicker over Remus before going back to the plants surrounding him and the skin of his face grew a few shades darker.

“Believing in you means you want to court me?” He eventually murmured into the night that had settled over his garden.

Remus snickered, bouncing a little more. “Nope, telling me to get a meaningful message or leave got me interested in you, reinforcing that until I actually had one made you my favourite person to visit. Letting me talk with you while the wisdom I needed to pass on came through me only grew how connected I felt to you. Believing in me has only given me the need to actually speak what I was already hoping to do.”

For another few moments Virgil simply opened and shut his mouth, unable to find words. “At least I knew already that believing in you was to believe in the unpredictable. I'll – I'll let you know when I expect to be free to wander town next and we can do that then.” He muttered before hurrying inside his home, the shutting of the door a clear end to Remus's visit.

Perhaps when their courting is official Remus will be allowed inside their centaurs home.

#dukexietyweek2022 #dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #angel remus #centaur virgil #fantasy #cw religion #gods and stuff

[spookystrawberry-blog]

Romance on the surface (part 4)

Y/n x Sans

Several days pass and come the start of the school year, you make your way to school with Sans and Papyrus, while Toriel takes Frisk to her school. Arriving at high school, you explain to the two monsters that they must go to the notice boards to see what class they are in. You will first see about Papyrus who is in first year, then for you and Sans who are in final year.

Arriving at the front, you are approached by a guy who says he is an old friend from college and his name is Chris. You are delighted and Papyrus introduces himself warmly. Your friend turns to Sans to shake his hand but he refuses. You get embarrassed and apologize for him, telling your friend that he's not yet accustomed to the surface. Chris replies that it doesn't matter and asks you if you know what class you are in, he tells you that he is in B. You reply that you don't know yet and look, you are in A, you look for Sans and see that he is also in A, you smile delighted. Sans gives Chris a provocative smile. Chris doesn't answer it and tells you that it's a shame that you're not together but that you'll have the opportunity to see each other during breaks, which Sans doesn't like. Then he leaves. You then turn to Sans.

Y/n: What was that? You were super cold towards him even though he introduced himself nicely.

S: Nah, I just don't really like meeting new people. You know, accustomed.

You gave him a disapproving look but didn't add anything because the bell had just rung. Papyrus heads to his class and you and Sans head to yours.

At the time of the call, the professor makes a comment on Sans' outfit, in fact he put his uniform back on like in the tailor store and on top of that he put his jacket. Sans makes a joke in response and everyone laughs. The teacher who seems like a very nice and relaxed person says that in his class it is not a problem but that during official ceremonies he should from now on be careful to wear the uniform correctly if he does not want to get into trouble. He then introduces himself as your head teacher for the year, Mr. Honda, and takes you to class. Sans is installed at the far left of the room, near the windows, and on your side you are in the middle to the right next to a very smiling girl wearing buns. She quickly introduces herself to you as Yui. During the break, this same girl comes back to you with a second girl with long blond hair and a delinquent look, named Haru.

Y: Hi, you remember me, we're next in class!

H: Yo friend.

She suggests that you become friends which makes you happy knowing that you haven't had a friend for a very long time. Sans observes you from afar and two monsters join him including Grilby and he looks away to focus his attention on them. You see him and smile but quickly take on a sad look when you realize that no human is approaching them. You hope this will change quickly. Arriving at meal time, you approach Sans to offer to eat together but he refuses and tells you to go eat with your friends and he would go with his. It hurts you and you leaves without saying anything. Papyrus wasn't able to eat with you this afternoon either, due to his schedule. You are sad about this observation because you promised to eat together. Your new friends comfort you somehow.

#undertale #sans undertale #sans #sans x reader #y/n #y/n x sans #y/n x canon #y/n x character #fanfic #fanfiction

[peacehopeandrats]

2 and 8 please

Wow am I not a fan of the name one. Nothing to do with you, wonderful person who participated in this. The generator just gets broken. In the end I went with a place instead of a person because it just wouldn't generate. I also didn't want to be able to cheat and have the person say the phrase and get them in together.

"We have to remember to take breaks some time," Belle told Rumple as she walked up to where he was busily hammering boards onto what would become the front porch. Now that the foundation was settled, things were finally able to move along. They might even be able to set their "bed" up off the ground soon. "Unlike you, I need actual sleep."

To help distract him from his work, she draped her arms over his shoulders from behind and pressed close. The tension in his body released with the contact and he sighed with contentment.

"Maye I like that you have to give me these reminders," he told her, just as a drop of rain landed on his shirt, darkening the cream of it.

Belle looked up at the sky. "It isn't going to rain. It can't rain."

Her husband chuckled and turned so he could better see her. "It's the realm where the sun never sets. There's no rule about precipitation." With a sweeping gesture he indicated the land around them. "All those trees and waterfalls had to come from somewhere."

"Couldn't it wait until the house is finished?"

Clearly, it couldn't. As soon as the words left Belle's lips the few droplets grew, both in size and number.

Rumple stood and wrapped himself around her. "Do you remember that day we were finally done with the court and ended up in the park?"

"Crescent Meadows." Belle recalled the curved moon on the sign and how she had initially envisioned it as the horns growing from the woman who spent so many days tormenting their family. "I couldn't ever forget that day. It was the day you accepted yourself for who you truly are."

"It rained that day too," he reminded her, telling the story as if it had come from a book. Head tipped up to take in the gentle rain now falling, Rumple smiled. "And yet we were all out in that field, chasing each other and laughing so hard that our feet barely touched the ground."

"Even yours," she whispered.

"Even mine," he repeated.

Belle sighed, thinking of the freedom of that day. There could never be another filled with such pure, unrestrained joy.

"We can have that moment again. Right here. We just... make it different..." Rumple's announcement lit up his face, making his eyes sparkle with mischief. Before the words had the chance to cross the distance between them, he was already removing his vest.

"What are you doing?" Belle's eyes widened as she watched her husband remove each layer that he wore. The droplets came faster now, pouring down as if one of the distant waterfalls had moved to cover them. "It's raining cats and dogs out here! We should get some shelter!"

"Why?" Rumple spun on his heel, arms outstretched to take in the world around them. "Who will be here to know? You and I are the only ones in this whole realm, and if Gideon comes, well, he would probably be happy to see us enjoying ourselves."

Belle wanted to protest, but seeing how drenched they both were already, she gave in. "We need a shower anyway," she said, shivering with both excitement and delight.

"And when we are done we can add something to the adventure," Rumple promised, voice hinting quite specifically about his intentions. Hearing that, there was no way Belle could refuse.

#nano #nano prompts #nano 2023

[takeoffphilippines]

Acer brings together the best musical performances for an epic experience at Acer Day 2023: #AceYourWorld concert

MANILA (August 7, 2023) – It was a double celebration as Acer Philippines marked Acer Day 2023 and its 20th anniversary on August 6 with an epic concert at the SM Mall of Asia Arena.

The line-up made the Acer Day 2023: #AceYourWorld concert a dream concert, with Acer brand Ambassadors Sarah Geronimo, Donny Pangilinan, Belle Mariano, international superstar Sandara Park, and a powerhouse cast of artists that included, Sunkissed Lola, December Avenue, Zach Tabudlo, Sponge Cola, Mayonnaise, Ben&Ben, and Ely Buendia.

“We chose a line-up that Filipinos of different generations will enjoy so everyone can watch the concert and have a great time,” said Acer Philippines Senior Marketing Manager Princess Laosantos.

It was a full house at the SM MOA Arena and on Facebook, with an estimated 15,000 attendees watching in person and online.

Hosted by Robi Domingo, Acer Day 2023, which had the theme #AceYourWorld was indeed a night to remember. The artists performed their biggest hits, turning the concert into one big party with fans dancing the night away. Predator Gaming brand ambassadors also joined in on the fun, and Acer treated concertgoers to many activities where they got to take home prizes such as Acer products.

Sarah G. performed two songs— “Cuore” and “Alam”— to open the concert in the biggest way possible.

For her part, Sandara Park, together with the GForce Dancers, sang “Festival,” the lead single to her self-titled solo debut mini album. It was her first time performing the song live before a Philippine audience. She also performed “T Map,” “In or Out,” and “I Am the Best.”

The country’s favorite young love team DonBelle brought kilig to the concert with a duet of the song “Byahe” by John Roa.

Although currently on their world tour, kings of P-pop SB19 prepared a video greeting to their Acer family.

Sunkissed Lola kept the ball rolling with “Pasilyo,” “Pakisabi,” “Damag,” and “Makalimutan Ka.” pop-alternative rock group December Avenue followed up with their hit songs, “Kahit ‘Di Mo Alam,” “Bulong,” “Dahan,” “Eroplanong Papel,” “Ilang Beses Kita Mamahalin?,” “Wala Nang Iba,” “Huling Sandali,” “Kung ‘Di Rin Lang Ikaw,” “Saksi Ang Langit,” and “Sa Ngalan Ng Pag-Ibig.”

Next up was rock band Mayonnaise, who delighted the audience with “Bakit Pt. 2,” “Synesthesia,” “Kapag Lasing Malambing,” “Tayo Na Lang Dalawa,” and “Jopay.”

Filipino singer-songwriter Zach Tabudlo brought the house down with three of his hits— “Give me your forever,” “Pano,” and “Binibini.”

Finally, Sponge Cola took the stage with “Pasubali,” “Tuliro,” “Kay Tagal Kitang Hinintay,” “Kunwari,” “Bitiw,” and a special rendition of “Jeepney,” and “Puso.”

Gen Z favorite Ben&Ben gave the crowd eight songs, including “Ride Home,” “Sa Susunod na Habang Buhay,” “Leaves,” “Kathang Isip,” “Pagtingin,” “Araw-araw,” “Maybe the Night,” and “Paninindigan Kita.”

To end the evening on a high, Ely Buendia took the stage with iconic Eraserhead songs, “Alapaap,” “Toyang,” “Pare Ko,” “Spolarium,” “Ligaya,” “Magasin,” “Superproxy,” “With a Smile,” and “Huling El Bimbo.”

Fans got tickets to the concert through social media contests held on Facebook and Twitter or when they purchased from Acer’s Back-to-School promo! Every promo purchase entitled the customer to a concert ticket and a Php 500 pledge to the GreenEarth Heritage Foundation.

“This concert is not just an anniversary celebration but a way for Acer to give back to the community by staging a memorable event that brings all the hottest musical acts in town,” said Sue Ong-Lim, Acer Philippines General Manager.

–

📧 If you wish to send an invite and feature your province/company brand/event; Just ask the author of this vlog, email us at [email protected]

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#onthescene #aceyourworld #Acer Day 2023 #acer philippines #takeoffph #takeoffphilippines

[daysofourlivesrecaps]

Tuesday, 6 June 2023

Yesterday I was very much charmed by the whole “Xander and Chloe kissing” thing but then they pull an Annie Wilkes-brand cockadoodie car moment in the recap where Chloe slaps Xander.

God damn it. I was finally coming around on you, Chloe. This is not helping you keep my interest (which should obviously be the top priority over there).

Xander does manage to charm his way to another kiss, this time without an accompanying slap. But then he pushes too far and tries to get her into the bedroom and she balks once again.

Which is okay by me! A tentative dance of seduction is still by far the best thing Chloe’s been involved with in over a year. (Well, except when her arch-nemesis turned out to be an 8 year old girl. But I don’t think we’re going to see any additional action on that front any time soon. And really, the girl was doing all of the lifting there.)

Back at I’m Running Out of Unique Ways to Describe the DiMera House Already, Gwen delivers on the promise of being in the same room as Dimitri.

Kristen introduces Gwen as an old friend, which then puts Gwen in the delightful position of having to explain how they know each other. There’s a lot of talk about kidnapping and blackmail that would have sounded implausible to me if this was my first day(s of our lives), but I was actually here for most of this and it was honestly all more ridiculous than Gwen’s quick recap made it sound.

Megan keeps shooting Dimitri significant looks and all but shoving him into Gwen so they can kiss, but he’s not getting it.

So they have a chat in this room, which I’m starting to think of as the Clarification Foyer.

“Come on, Dimitri. I want you to marry that girl. The audience figured this out yesterday. Try to keep up. You’re supposed to be an evil genius.”

At the police precinct, Talia has been released on bail thanks to the tireless efforts of Belle. I initially described Belle as “the only good lawyer in town” but we actually know a lot of lawyers in this cast and they all seem pretty good at what they do. Not to diminish Belle’s accomplishments in any way.

Talia then apologizes to Rafe — for poisoning the town (including him); for helping Colin do the awful shit that Colin did; for generally making her sister’s life difficult. Rafe replies with an “I appreciate the apology” which is a sensible reaction under the circumstances, I guess. But also Talia’s been crying or on the verge of crying for two weeks now… which is maybe… 3 hours of story time? I think? But still. She’s been through a lot and I just want everyone to be nice to her now.

Jada, meanwhile, is chasing down a lead in the form of Leo.

She gives him some (deserved) shit about running into Colin and not telling the cops about it, but then she opens up a little about Talia being in an abusive relationship. And Leo comes back with an actual human emotion that isn’t a joke about how gay he is! Turns out Leo was raised by some pretty abusive people himself, and he expresses genuine empathy for what Talia’s been through. I mean, he also says he’s going to put all of this in the paper, which is a little shitty.

But then he has a crisis of conscience as he’s writing the story and he actually decides against it!

Leo! You’re finally becoming an actual person instead of a tiresome collection of innuendos! This sort of thing is going to make those innuendos a lot easier to swallow going forward. And I do enjoy swallowing.

Belle returns home from a long day of lawyering to discover Sad Eyes Shawn drowning his sorrows in lots and lots of beer. His sorrows, in case you forgot, involve shooting his dad. Which he had no reason to do. I know we’re supposed to feel bad for Sad Eyes Shawn and maybe be concerned that he’s drinking some beer, but… I don’t and I’m not?

I do feel a little bad for Belle, though. She didn’t sign up for any of this. And didn’t you put her through enough with all that Jan Spears business last year?

Jada returns to the precinct and gives Talia one of the many hugs she desperately needs right now.

Then Talia returns home.

And discovers the stolen badge of Officer Skippy on the floor.

And rushes to the door to get out of there.

But she’s stopped by hands that are obviously attached to Colin but we’re not technically supposed to know that yet.

This storyline is starting to get a little too real for me. Can we go back to devil possession or gathering the pieces to a priceless peacock statue or something instead of this?

Please?

#Days of Our Lives #DOOL #soap opera #peacock

[iambutmortal]

🤶🏻

First things first, you are absolutely not a terrible person. I am just impatient and paranoid haha. It really does not matter at all that you take longer to reply, it is perfectly fine and it is always such a delight that your answers are so detailed.

Now, omg did I read this right? You don’t really like Amren either? You truly are my mate because I finally found sm. who also doesn’t really like her.

And now to my questions:

What is your favourite song in general? And your favourite Christmas song? I am not quite sure if it will be used, but as your mate (hehe) I am obliged to know this about you.

What is one Solstice Present you could totally see Elain gifting Lucien. Or that you would love for her to gift him?

~❄️🤍

I dislike Amren so much I never learned how to spell her name (this was not intentional, but I only realized last month it was Amren not Armen. No you won't change the pronunciation in my mind).

Okay so favorite song of all time is Patricia the Stripper by The Wombats because it gives maximum pathetic sad man energy but I've been listening to I Hope It's Cold In New York by The Wrecks on repeat for the last month and a half for the same reason, but like bitter pathetic sad man which is a whole extra layer. I don't really like christmas music (crucify me idc) but Carol of the Bells is good.

And what I'd like Elain to give to Lucien (aside from food but I digress) is something homemade because I feel like that man doesn't have enough people in his life who care for him so I think he'd be really moved by his mate taking the time to do something for him instead of just buying a gift at the store.

#secret santa ask #I would think of something clever for the tags #but I'm too tired

[welllpthisishappening]

First-Line Defensive Pairing

Of all the things they’d done in the last few months, spending the afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream was one of the more ridiculous. Mostly because of the wooden spoons they gave out on the tour. Partially because it seemed Will Scarlet could not stop casting furtive glances at Belle French. Or the heels that always matched her dresses. Maybe because she kept answering his hypothetical questions. And maybe even because he was willing to drift far closer to genuine these days. At least when it came to his feelings for her.

————

Word Count: 3.7K AN: Take two! Ok, so apparently yesterday when I posted this Tumblr thought it’d be a really cool idea to just...reformat the entire story. With whole graphs in totally wrong spots. Anyway, here it is again. Just as ridiculous as yesterday. With just as many Will and Belle emotions. Because that’s a thing I’m doing now, apparently. Writing Blue Line-era Will and Belle. If you’d like more of these flirt-prone idiots, here is their first date and Belle getting annoyed that Will fought someone on the ice. Technically, this was part of the kiss prompts and was “height difference kisses.” I hope the five of you who are interested in this enjoy it. That includes @shireness-says​ and @eleveneitherway​ who are mostly to blame for this.

————

“I’m going to ask you a hypothetical question.”

Belle lifted her eyebrows. Let some of that light creep back in her gaze, a flash of amusement that regularly made Will’s stomach leap dangerously close to the base of his ribs. That’s why he did it. Maybe not the rib thing, partially because he wasn’t even sure that was the correct technical term. The rest of it, though. The eye thing. Sure. Definitely. One-hundred percent. Why he’d also made sure the little wooden spoon they’d been given at the start of this tour was still in the corner of his mouth; to guarantee absolute absurdity, and he figured that started when they decided to spend their afternoon at the Museum of Ice Cream, but he was willing to take it all a step further. 

In the absurdity factor, at least. 

Other things were—

Well, it wasn’t as if they explicitly decided to keep the relationship a secret. Not on purpose. Not really. Or come to any sort of legitimate agreement regarding the use of the word relationship. It never seemed...important, honestly. And that was a potentially problematic and lackadaisical approach to someone who made Will smile with an almost alarming consistency in the last few months, but she’d also sort of snuck up on him, and Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

About the whole goddamn thing. 

She’d never shut up about it, he knew. 

So he didn’t push. Belle didn’t, either. An unspoken agreement, that’s what it was. He had other things to do, anyway. Like get ready for a playoff run and ignore the lingering ache in his calves after the echo of Arthur’s whistle stopped ringing in his ears, and, ok, his apartment was starting to feel a little bit larger than it had in a long time, maybe since Killian had moved out, but that was fine. Cup runs did not come because someone was in a relationship. Will had seen that first hand. With Cap, of all people. 

Watched the way his whole life had fallen apart around his ankles, little shards of hope and possibility that, Will knew, still threatened the structural integrity of Kilian’s internal organs and all four ventricles of his heart, and he did not understand enough basic biology to be making those sorts of sweeping observations, but Robin had lost someone too and that had been horrible and tragic and—

If Will simply did not want to jinx things, then that was neither here nor there.

Relationship’y speaking. 

It was good. They were good. He hated the wooden spoon they gave them to taste test half a dozen ice cream flavors. 

He was legitimately worried about getting splinters in his tongue. 

No excuses could possibly reason away that problem pre-game. 

Belle’s eyebrows were still in the same spot. “You going to follow up on that, or…” “Would you burn a Gutenberg Bible? To stave off the apocalypse and or potential frostbite?” “Those two things go together, do they?” He shrugged. “In this instance, yeah, because—” “—Well, it wouldn’t matter,” Belle said, eyes flitting towards the overly enthusiastic tour guide and the seemingly never-ending history of ice cream, “because I wouldn’t allow myself to be in that position. And I don’t live anywhere near the Public Library. What would I be doing there when the freeze-wave came?” His stomach. Did that thing. Jumped and twisted, got a ten from the Russian judge on its floor routine. He was cautiously optimistic he’d be able to pull off a flawless beam performance too. It was an exceedingly convoluted metaphor. Wrong Olympics, too. 

“Does salt air give you mind-reading powers?” “You’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are,” Belle grinned. Moving her hand faster than he was entirely prepared for ensured that he nearly dropped his small plastic cup of churro churro ice cream. He made noise. Without trying. A hiss and a grunt in the back of his throat that then led to a sound escaping between Belle’s half-hearted scowl, and that sound was closer to a giggle than either of them would ever admit and just enough to mess with his mental faculties a little and the tour guide stopped talking. To stare straight at them. 

Color lifted on Belle’s cheeks, ice cream-covered spoon held awkwardly between them. 

“As you were, ma’am,” Will said, all false bravado, and that was something of a trend. In several different capacities. It was far too depressing a thought to have while eating cinnamon-flavored ice cream. 

Belle elbowed him. 

And the tour guide got back to her to spiel. Without a reprimand. 

“Say freeze-wave again without laughing.”

Her eyelashes were more of a problem, honestly. Than the eyebrows. Or the specific jut of her chin Will had rather quickly learned meant she was ready to challenge him on some ridiculous topic, fully prepared to argue a position she might not have otherwise agreed with. Only because it wasn’t what he was arguing, and it was easy to understand why she won that Model UN award. 

Plus, her eyelashes were just stupid long, and he thought she was really pretty. 

Like in a fundamental sort of way. 

“Freeze-wave,” Belle enunciated, pausing between syllables for maximum effect, “are you asking me Day After Tomorrow questions because of the ice cream, because I’m a librarian or because you’re the strangest man alive?” She finally ate the rest of the ice cream. It was starting to melt, that was why. This was very melt-prone ice cream. “Oh, shit,” she mumbled, “this is really good. Better than mine.” Something popped in his shoulder when he reached towards her plastic cup. He wouldn’t tell Ariel about that, either. 

“Which kind is—” Fighting off the objections of a small librarian who resolutely refused to wear anything except heels, no matter what the weather was like, was not usually as difficult as it was in that moment. Will assumed it had something to do with sugar. Or the force of his smile. Robbing the rest of him of energy and the ability to fend off either one of Belle’s fists. “Why are you like this?” “You didn’t want to try peanut and pretzel. With peanut butter swirl.” “Swallowed the flyer for this place while I wasn’t looking, huh?” Sticking her tongue out was distracting. Almost enough that he didn’t notice the absolutely atrocious attempt at impersonating his voice. “Oh, no, no, babe, I don’t want that; you can get peanut butter anywhere. That’s not special.” “Well, it’s not.” “I’m a big fancy hockey player, and I know everything there is to know about ice cream flavors and the potential life-changing palette moment that comes from the sublime combination of salty and sweet.” “Oh, now you’re just taunting me.” Her eyes narrowed, that time. His smile was going to permanently stretch out his cheeks. “You have a disgusting mind.” “You can’t get churro ice cream everywhere, babe.” “I’m going back to get honey later.” Will hummed. Stuck his lower lip out. Noticed that flash return. And hoarded it. Like a relationship—

Ah, fuck. 

“Would you burn the Gutenberg Bible?” Her laugh was quickly becoming his favorite sound. Which wasn’t bad, per se. Was just kind of passably concerning. God damn. It was the heels. All of them kept matching the dresses she wore. She kept wearing dresses. 

Of course, that was going to mess with Will’s head. 

Belle shook her head. “No.” “Historical significance?” “Well, once again, I would not be in that position, would have listened to science and fled to warmer climates, so as not to make myself prey for escaped...what were they? Tigers?” “I honestly can’t remember,” Will admitted. 

“This was your hypothetical!”

Heads snapped their direction. Frustration creased the tour guide’s forehead, and they’d paid extra to learn about the history of ice cream. Will had already known about the origins of the ice cream cone, though. So, the whole thing felt almost like a raw deal, and he was far more interested in preserving the color in Belle’s cheeks. He saluted. Who he was saluting was anyone’s guess, but it very likely was the otherwise unengaged teenage kid trudging behind his family who absolutely recognized Will. 

“That’s going to end up on sixteen different social media sites,” Belle warned, not quite able to get her voice to an appropriate whispering level. 

“So long as he got my good side, you won’t hear me complaining.” “Do you have a good side?”

“Sweetheart, the self-confidence. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. While practically beaming at him, and Will had to bend his knees to reach, something else creaking in the process, but that was fine, and good, and pretty goddamn fantastic because her lips tasted a bit like chocolate. 

“‘S’not your best work,” Belle mumbled, almost entirely into his mouth. 

“Brain freeze.” “I would burn no books. That’s my final hypothetical answer.” Her eyelashes must have existed purely to torment him. Leaning back made it clear when they fluttered back open, and he swore there were flecks of gold in her eyes. Maybe he was melting, too. With the ice cream. That was almost poetic. “None at all? What if you were going to die?” “Maudlin.” “I don’t know what that means.” “Liar,” she challenged, another smile tugging at her mouth, and Will was clearly staring at her mouth. Stained slightly with chocolate, as it was. “I stand by it, though. The book stuff, not the commentary on your burgeoning intelligence.” “You want to find a corner to go and make out in?” Different laugh. The kind that came with her head thrown back, hair tickling Will’s forearm because at some point his arm had found its way around her, and touching Belle was becoming something almost close to second nature. “I could keep complimenting you if you want,” Belle said, “or I could give you my reason for not burning books.” “You’re a giant nerd, that’s why.” She clicked her tongue. “Very, very cute nerd, though.” “Betcha say that to all the girls.”

His stomach stilled. Dropped a few inches, for good measure. Below where it was supposed to be, and inching dangerously close to his feet, and what Will could not imagine was a very sanitary floor. The Museum of Ice Cream had a giant sprinkle pit. Nothing about that seemed very sanitary. 

“I think stories have a purpose,” Belle said, still not quite whispering but definitely getting there, and he knew. Knew she knew. What he was thinking and feeling and unspoken understanding was quickly becoming the name of this particular game. With them. 

Where it wasn’t a game at all. 

Damn. 

Ariel was going to be so annoying. 

“No matter what they are. Shitty as they can be, all those ups and downs, and ridiculous, often unnecessary melodrama. It’s going to matter to somebody. Someone, somewhere, will be living their life and read those words or see those letters, and they’ll think, wow, whoever wrote this, gets me, and it will change everything for them. They’ll go back to it. Find solace and safety in it. Themselves, maybe. They’ll believe everything will be ok. Even if they only think that while they’re reading.” “Don’t forget audiobooks,” Will muttered, voice strangled and tinged with emotion. In the ice cream museum. Figured, honestly. 

Belle pinched the side of his wrist. 

“Ow. Avoid the bruise further up, please.” “Did you get hit?” Nodding took more energy than it should have, too. She hadn’t been to a game. He hadn’t asked her. What an idiot. “Not bad though, that’s just—” “—Par for the course.” “Mixing idioms, mon trésor.” “Oh, I got that one, actually.” “Slow pitch softball, that’s why,” Will reasoned, some of the tension he wasn’t especially pleased by loosening. 

“I think we’re on a roll now.” He hummed. Nodded, again. Curled his fingers into the back of Belle’s dress. Blue, that afternoon. With matching heels. “It all matters,” she added, soft and earnest, and his eyes snapped. To her and with her and that second one didn’t make sense, not really, but he was and wanted to be and that absolutely terrified him. 

Of it all falling apart again. Of it not being enough. 

He wasn’t enough. 

A story no one was ever all that interested in finishing. 

“You think?” Belle nodded. “Why’d you start playing hockey?” “Quite a transition.” “Tit for tat, or—no, no, c’mon don’t look at me like that.” Red stained her cheeks, now. Making it difficult to concentrate on anything else, although the desire to kiss her again was a fairly strong second, and that kid was taking more pictures. “That’s not fair.” “You’ve brought this on yourself, babe,” Will argued, and he hoped Lucas didn’t yell. At him. He’d never really listened to the social media rules. “It’s a very long, occasionally depressing story about a kid and his single mom, the second of whom often worked her ass off and her fingers to the bone, and all those other delightfully visual clichés. But then! Who would guess, she got a job picking up extra shifts cleaning at the rink in town. Home to the world’s shittiest ice and loudest Zamboni, it instantly drew the attention of our kid-like hero. 

“He was...infatuated, let’s say. With the sounds, especially. Nothing sounds like that first scrape of skates on fresh ice. Full of possibility, you know?” Belle didn’t answer. Will kept talking. “Best noise in the world. And then he learned there were other noises. Pucks hitting the back of nets. Sticks clanging together. Grunts and groans and the game itself, how loud it was. Helped silence some of his thoughts, none of which were ever very good. Lots of worries, some about his very dead sister, then a few more about that mother and her predilection toward clichés.”

“Good word,” Belle murmured. He kissed the top of her hair. The kid was openly staring at them, now. 

“Anyway, the crux of the story is that the guy who owned the rink agreed to let the kid play on the rink. Knew the mother, understood her situation, and hockey is expensive. Like, well, we spout all that bullshit about hockey is for everyone, and I’ve got to stand up there and smile and nod and agree, and it’s fucked up because it’s not really true. Hockey’s for rich kids and families with regularly functioning alternators in their car.” 

He shook his head. Had to. To chase away the memories and the cobwebs, and Cap knew this, too. Understood it, even. Remembered a life before the Vanklads, and not every kid got the Vankalds, and sometimes Will let himself wonder what would have happened if he’d found the Vanklads. Or their upstate New York equivalent. 

Gotten better shin pads, probably. 

“Hockey’s an exclusive sorta club,” Will continued, “gotta know someone who’s related to someone else, and they know someone who played, and it’s six degrees of increasingly desperate separation. By some lucky twist of fate, though, Jimmy Newell knew some bastard who knew somebody else, who saw me play, and you don’t say no to USA Developmental. Spent two years in Minnesota, way before Cap did, so he doesn’t get to claim that state as his own.” Belle’s lips twitched. “Good to know, for argument’s sake.” His stomach was becoming a problem. 

Heart, too. 

Sputtering and slamming, uneven beats that were going to leave another bruise. Will licked his lips. 

“I went to Developmental, declared for the draft, got picked by New York, went to college, stayed in college, and the rest is history. As they say.” “They do say that, yeah.” “What’s the next question, then?” “How do you know there’s another question?” “Shot in the dark,” Will shrugged, but that was a lie, and it was getting increasingly easier to read that pinch between her eyebrows. “So, hit me.” “Literally?” “Please do not literally hit me. Locksley’s been feeling the forecheck the last couple’a practices.” “I know what that means!” Someone shushed them. Will couldn’t imagine the color will ever leave Belle’s cheeks. 

He kissed the bridge of her nose. 

“Who’d you get to teach you French?” “Who said I didn’t just learn French on my own?” “Babe,” she chided, and, well, that was the tipping point. As they say. To his heart and his stomach and—

“You wanna come to a game this series?” Belle blinked. Once, twice. Leaned back. Tilted her head. Likely waited for the camera crew that was inevitably lurking in the corner he was cautiously optimistic they’d make out in eventually. Didn’t happen, though. There was no camera crew. 

Just Will Scarlet, professional hockey player, and part-time sap. Standing in one of the more nonsensical museums they’d been to in the last two months. Although they did go to the transit museum on three separate occasions, and he could honestly say he didn’t expect that. 

So, maybe this was all just—

Par for the course. 

He’d have to make some sort of deal with Eric. To make sure Ariel didn’t proclaim her relationship-plotting victories from a variety of rooftops. Someone in front office had to know someone else with Empire State Building connections. 

Zelena probably did. 

Ariel would use that. 

“Where would I sit?”

He pulled her. Up. With an almost violent amount of force, threatening the safety of both of Belle’s shoulders in the process. But she’d asked the one question he hadn’t totally considered in his half-plotted plan, and getting his mouth back on hers was an acceptable diversion. Plus, she looped her arms around his neck pretty quickly. 

Which had to count for something, he figured. 

One hand cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer. Like he had any intention of being anywhere else, swiping his tongue against Belle’s lip and swallowing her sigh. They were still in public, technically. Her feet trailed the multi-color carpet beneath them, Will’s arms tightening and his palm flat against her back and her spine, and if she kept rocking up like that, he was going to do something drastic. 

Something in the same realm as melting, probably. 

Strands of hair tickled his skin, making him tilt his head and alter the angle, and that was entirely appropriate, but getting kicked out of the Museum of Ice Cream would probably make an absolutely fantastic story. Once they told people they were—

Doing whatever it was they were doing. 

They’d get there eventually. 

“Cap’s sister-in-law is coming,” Will said, not entirely able to catch his breath, “wants to see Kris and—” “—Should I know who that is?” “Works in equipment, and that’s not really the point.” “What is?” “That Little Vankald isn’t super interested in listening to Cap be full older brother on her and, far as I know, is fully capable of getting tickets wherever she wants. Can sweet talk the gold out of anyone’s pockets, and—” “—Wait, wait, are you equating hockey tickets to gold?” “When I’m playing, ma choupette.” “Is that cabbage?” He hummed. Nearly tripped over his own feet trying to hold onto Belle and the mostly melted cup of ice cream and paying for more churro ice cream made perfect sense. At the moment. “One of the kids at school was French Canadian,” Will explained, “used to swear all the time on the ice, and then he’d use stuff like that.” “You’re sharing endearments with a trash talker.” “More or less, yeah. Used to infuriate other guys.” “Who wants to be called a cabbage?” “I think you’re super cute.” Belle scowled. Didn’t argue, though. And Will refused to linger on the beat of his pulse. “I’d really like it if you were there,” he added, “Little Vanklad’ll be cool about it. She owes me. I fed her for a very long time.” “Did you just?” “I make incredible garlic bread; ask anyone.” “Wow,” Belle drawled, “just like people on the street, or…also, do you call her Little Vanklad all the time?” “To her face and behind her back with startling regularity. Not everyone gets my French endearments, babe. Consider yourself lucky.” 

She scrunched her nose. 

Stayed silent. All Will could hear was the soft explanations of the tour guide, and the questions from tourists who probably also thought going to the Museum of Sex made them edgy. After they bought a STRAND tote bag. God, maybe he was a dick. A judgmental dick, who still had too many thoughts and used an occasionally violent game to silence them by making sure he was the one dictating the noises and the trash talk and—

“Hey, uh, Will...Mr., uh—Mr. Scarlet? Do you think we could get a picture?”

Belle’s lips disappeared. Behind her teeth, and that didn’t do anything to temper the sound of what might have actually been joy. At the prospect of the staring teenager and his photo request. 

In the goddamn Museum of Ice Cream. 

Giving a jerky nod, Will quickly scanned the kid for any team-branded, but it didn’t look like he was wearing merch and that was a rather small miracle. Far as those things went. 

Still, he had been in the middle of a pretty intense internal dialogue and potential freakout, and there was going to be ice cream on his hand if he didn’t throw this cup away. 

Belle took the phone. 

The kid’s phone. 

“Smile,” she instructed, and Will tried. Really. He hoped he didn’t end up looking like a murderer on Twitter or Instagram or whatever kids used, and he had no idea when he got that old. When things started to freak him out, and he let the nerves claw back in, and the worry take root and—

“Hey,” he said before the kid could walk back to his parents and their matching STRAND tote bags. “You think you could take a picture of us, real quick?”

No one had ever moved faster. 

In, like, the history of photography. 

Circling an arm around Belle’s waist, Will’s smile came a bit easier and that was good because he was totally unprepared for what happened after that. Another instruction and flick of someone’s thumb, but then Belle was on her toes, even with the heels, and her lips were pressed against his cheek and it was like some sort of really exceptional sugar high. 

Without the threat of inevitable crash. 

Will didn’t think so, at least. He was also pretty positive it wasn’t tigers in The Day After Tomorrow. Wolves, maybe. 

“Tell Little Vankald to save me a seat.” “I mean, I don’t think you should call her that.”

Her teeth grazed his jaw. Both of them were laughing in the picture, the kid’s eyes going impossibly wide as Will thanked him. “How hard you think it is to set up an Instagram account?”

#scarlet beauty #scarlet beauty ff #scarlet beauty fic #will x belle #blue line one shots #what did i use yesterday as my tag for this? #so as not to also confuse it with the au of the au staring will scarlet? #defensive!blue line #that wasn't it but it is now #anyway these have been real fun to write #because as we all know i am certified trash for alternate stories in the same 'verse #also giving belle a personality finally is a delight #seriously i hope the five people interested in this enjoy it

[lokiskitten]

hiii can you please do tom as dad's best friend/co-worker where they finally meet each other in her dad's office? and that y/n dad have to take an urgen flight trip thats why he needed tom to look after y/n for a couple of days. lots of sexual tension and dirty talk! (also age gap if that's alright with you?) 😌 make it real smutty and kinky u know the drill :) ty!!

Tom Hiddleston | unique babysitter

Tom Hiddleston x fem!reader

plot : being a single father, your dad has no choice but to leave you at home with a friend after he has been called for an urgent business travel. Surprisingly enough, you manage to end up enjoying Tom’s exhilarating company.

warnings : smut, age gap, dirty talking, slight dub/con, virgin!reader, innocence kink, dry humping, unprotected sex, slight after care and cuddling.

Around a week ago, your dad had finally agreed to take you to his office in order for you to discover his job. You had never really understood the way he made a living, and it had therefore been the occasion for you to get to learn more about his work whilst earning the chance to spend some extra time with him. Ever since your mom had left, you had allowed yourself to drift away from your father- an unwilling habit which had brought harm to the two of you throughout the years. But now was your chance to do better by supporting the older man through his daily life and by letting him know that he was not alone. Though, your little trip to his office had allowed you to meet with one of his closest coworkers : a so called Tom Hiddleston.

The man worked at the desk next to your dad’s, which allowed you to get a good view of his friend whilst they both worked. The room remained silent- the sounds of the keyboards being put to good use offering a pretty symphony. Your orbs would sometimes divert towards the infamous older man, feeling your cheeks heat up whenever his blue eyes would take notice of your stares and look up at you- leading your embarrassed self to look away. From the corner of your eyes, you could tell that this gesture had amused him due to the way his lips seemed to curl up whilst his chest bobbed upwards gently. Your hands fidgeted together, this little game lasting through the entire afternoon until it was finally time for you and your father to go home. But even after disappearing from one another’s sight, none of you appeared to forget about the other.

The next day, your dad had announced to you that he would be forced to leave for a couple of days due to an important business offer he simply couldn’t push away. At first, you felt okay with it... until this one added up that his coworker and friend, Tom, would be in charge of taking care of you for the few upcoming days. This stroke anxiety within your heart. The man you had desperately stared at for hours yesterday would now be assigned as your babysitter? The thought of getting to spend time alone with him was surely exciting, but also intimidating. Therefore, you decided to use arguments in order to dodge your father’s announcement, and potentially call off this whole babysitter issue which you believed was unnecessary for a girl such as you.

The first argument you decide to pull up was the fact that you were eighteen, and therefore not in need of a babysitter anymore. You could take care of yourself, which you did whenever your father was at work. But to the older man, this wasn’t the issue. He felt pleased to remind you what had happened the last time he had trusted you to be alone for a couple of days, and you had no choice but to remain silent face to his prominent argument, and your lack of snap back. Even though you could’ve probably explained that this event took place a couple of years back, and that you were now a legal adult to society, you decided to submit to your father’s announcement and decision.

Coming back to the present, you were currently sat in the living room whilst waiting for Tom to arrive. Your father had left a couple of minutes ago already, as he didn’t wish to miss his plane due to his coworker being late- who he trusted in taking good care of you. But little did he know, the older man would do much more than simply cook dinner for the two of you before tucking you in for a good night of sleep. When the bell finally rang, your head diverted towards the door in a hurry before your whole silhouette made an effort to get up from the sofa in order to reach for the entry of your home. Nervously, your hand took ahold of the handle before twisting it and allowing the door to open, revealing your dad’s smily coworker. “Good evening, Princess. I’m sorry I’m late.” He affirmed as your eyes slowly slid down towards the postman bag he carried on his right shoulder.

Face to your prolonged silence, he decided to step in one more time. “May I come in?” Tom asked, hoping that this sentence would manage to pull you out of your thoughts. And it did. “Oh yes, sure. I’m sorry...” You responded, an awkward chuckle escaping your lips as you moved to the side in order to let the older man step inside of your house. As soon as Tom laid a foot of onto the floor of your home, you felt a rather uncomfortable sensation take over your organism. It was a mix of excitement- that due to his handsomeness and attractive aura- and anxiety. A single pressure applied on the door was enough to have it close, trapping the two of you inside of the construction. And from that point, things progressively started to get more risky.

If Tom had agreed to sit down at the living room’s table to work at first, he soon caught interest in your silhouette and the things your curves could potentially offer him. During the first evening you spent together, things remained rather quiet and calm. All he did was look at you from the corner of his eye once in a while, and so did you whenever you felt like allowing your hormones to win over your good sense. You had been the one to cook dinner, and the older man hadn’t stopped praising the meal you had taken time to prepare whilst he worked. You got the chance to listen to a few of his personal informations- such as his nice lifestyle as a single man who enjoyed cooking for himself, as a hobby. Tom even promised to be the chief tomorrow evening, a bargain which led you to feel more comfortable in his presence.

The next day was when you finally started to feel more comfortable about your father’s coworker living in your house. You didn’t get to see him during the day due to college, but coming back in the evening knowing you would be able to spend time with the older man never failed to make you feel excited. Tom had progressively let go of his work, claiming he had taken a one week remunerated break in order to spend some extra time with you. The days went along, and you found yourself skipping class as well to attend the man’s offers about going out to various places. Calling your dad to check up on him wasn’t a priority anymore, which easily led you to bump into multiple missed calls when you finally made your way back up to your room after spending a day with his friend.

On this delightful Friday evening, you had been given the honor to taste Tom’s most famous recipe : bolognese. The dinner went on wonderfully, and you soon found yourself bloated with sauce and pasta- a visual proof that you had indeed enjoyed the meal he had prepared. Wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, Tom’s blue orbs stared at your exhausted self who still tried to recover from the amount of food you had previously ingested. It had exhaust you. “I guess I won’t be asking you how it went, seeing the emptiness of your plate.” He affirmed with a chuckle before reaching out for both of your stained yet empty plates in order to carry them until the sink. Shifting in your seat, you allowed your vision to divert away from your guest for a moment- which Tom didn’t fail to notice.

With a smirk appearing on the corner of his lips, the man proceeded to rest the plates down on the workspace before silently making his way back to you, sitting down in the chair which was positioned next to yours before leaning in and allowing his lips to collide with your neck. You obviously reacted face to this unexpected sensation, body shaking just so slightly as you tiredly leant backwards in order to break the contact. “What? What are you doing?” You asked awkwardly, earning an amused smile from the older man. His hand travelled up to your hair, blue orbs following his own gesture as he brushed a strand behind your ear. “Just treating you the way you deserve. You’re a grown woman after all, aren’t you? And adults communicate with one another.” He purred seductively, those few words sending chills down your spine.

“So I’m letting you know... I want you.” He finished, hand still toying with your hair as both your heart and mind fell apart on the instant. Had you heard that right? Was your father’s friend truly offering you to hookup under his coworker’s own roof- a man who had given him his trust to look after his only daughter? But the will to rebel and prove to the world that you weren’t a child anymore turned out to be stronger then your good sense and the respect you held for your dad. Your cheeks heated up as you made eye contact with Tom again, a welcoming smile appearing his lips which led you to fall for him even more. “Okay...” you responded to his previous statement in an awkward manner, leading the adult’s smile to intensify. “Okay.” He repeated happily, hand sliding down to your thigh in order to take ahold of yours.

Tom easily managed to get you to stand up, leading you out of the kitchen and upstairs as his thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand. Again, you felt excited yet anxious- still questioning whether yes or not you should give in his certainly appetizing offer. But before you knew it, the older man had managed to reach your father’s room- the room Tom had been occupying throughout the journey- which possessed a bigger bed for the two of you to enjoy. His first reflex was to turn on the lights before closing the door, those two gestures requiring for him to let go of your hand which allowed you to move closer to the bed without his help. “Ever done this before?” Tom asked empathetically as his silhouette turned towards yours, both his hands resting on his hips as if he was trying to contain certain pulsions.

Even if you felt ashamed of the answer you were about to give, you still trusted the man enough not to make fun of you nor make any degrading remarks about your sexual life. “Not really.” You answered as he moved closer to you, head bowed down to be able to make proper eye contact. “That’s okay.” He reassured, his hand moving up to your shoulder which he squeezed gently. “I’ll make sure to take good care of you.” Finished the male, his fingers now taking ahold of your chin only to lead your head to look up. Your lips aligned with his, his head slowly moving down towards yours until your closed mouths finally pressed against one another. This was the chastest kiss anyone had ever given you- which reinforced the feeling of safety you felt whenever it came to Tom. Though he quickly ended up softly breaking the contact in order to make sure you were okay.

You silently sucked in your bottom lip, as if you wanted to get some extra taste of his lips even after he had decided to break the kiss. Allowing your lower piece of rosy flesh to go, your orbs finally diverted upwards in order to make eye contact with the man who had just filled you with bliss. “I liked this.” You admitted, earning a smile from your partner. His hands travelled up to the first button of his shirt, progressively undoing the links until his bellybutton and abdominals were revealed to your innocent sight. Those assets made you shiver, and Tom could easily tell that you were too shy to step forward and lay your pretty hands onto his flesh. Smirking, the man dodged your silhouette in order to reach for the bed, removing his shirt through the process before allowing it to drop to the floor.

You watched silently as he sat down on the edge of the furniture, inviting you to take place beside him by laying gentle taps on the spot next to his thigh. Your submitted self obeyed, feet leading you towards your master until you finally took place beside him. “You’re such an obedient girl.” Tom praised, seemingly enjoying the way you agreed to follow all of his commands. An intimidated chuckle escaped your lips as his hand once again traveled up to your face, caressing your facial features and brushing your hair back in the loveliest manner. You couldn’t help but stare at his crouched abdominals, the way his skin formed muscular rolls for you to appreciate and praise. After all, it was the first time you ever saw a grown man bare chested in such an intimate situation.

“You want to remove a couple of layers? It’s the least we could do.” Tom offered gently, making sure to use the proper tone in order not to scare you off- and mostly in order to lead you to accept his proposition. Again, you agreed, standing up from the bed before removing your sweatshirt by pulling it over your head. Your bare breasts were revealed to his sight, though his blue orbs remained mainly focused on the skin of your waist and stomach. He found the bellybutton and stomach as a very attractive part of the female anatomy, and couldn’t potentially get enough of staring at this area of your body. Of course the grown man also felt grateful to be able to get a peak of your breasts- which he would make sure to cherish and praise later on.

His hands bluntly moved up to your waist as you took place between his legs, blue orbs still looking up at you before Tom allowed himself to lay a kiss onto your stomach. You abdominals contracted due to the small tingle you felt within you skin as the older man now took care of laying trails of gentle kisses down your belly. Looking down at him, you allowed your digits to travel up to his perfectly groomed hair before passing your fingers through the strands, messing up his mane in the softest manner. You were able to feel his lips perk upwards, indicating that your gestures were visibly making him smile. It reassured you to be aware of such a positive reaction.

After reaching the waistband of your joggers, Tom stopped himself through his track in order to take another look at your facial features- which in his humble opinion were perfect. Besides, spending time with someone who was younger than him somewhat sent the man back to his youthful days as well; which provided Tom a very blissful feeling. Without breaking eye contact, he began to unbuckle his belt before undoing the button of his jeans without even taking care of sliding the leather material out of the confines of his pants. Though he unfortunately found himself forced to look away after struggling to undo his button, your orbs still staring down towards his veiny hands which worked hard to reach their goal.

Once this step was finally over with, Tom placed a hand on your hip in order to gently move you backwards so that he could stand up from the bed. You could tell by his frustrated appearance that he seemingly couldn’t wait to end up in bed and fully naked with you. Though he always kept a reassuring smile on his face, even whilst pulling his jeans down to his ankle before stepping out of the piece of clothing. The grown man now stood in his briefs, feeling no form of shame nor embarrassment face to your younger self. Besides, there simply was nothing he could’ve potentially feel ashamed of. His body was perfect. A chuckle escaped his lips upon witnessing how clueless you appeared, a sight which could only make him feel more confident through the overall process.

“Well, kitten... there’s nothing you should be ashamed of. Real men are nothing like the boys you see at school.” He insisted, referring to how male teenagers often found many reasons to criticize the female anatomy and make young girls feel insecure. And his tone sounded extremely genuine- which was what led you to finally unleash your silhouette from all these pieces of clothings. You nodded silently, hands moving down to the waistband of your joggers before you slid the material down to your ankles. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, you proceeded to remove the cloth from your ankles, now revealing your underwear to a rather eager Tom.

He jumped on this handy occasion to gracefully climb on the bed and lay down on the spot where he usually slept, waiting for you to be done and hand out the green flag like the gentleman that he is. Looking back at him, you once again felt your cheeks heat up due to crossing another line of the process. He smiled. “Don’t be shy. I want you.” Tom begged, arm extending towards your chest as an invitation for you to get closer- which you did. Now laying down next to each other, your hands rested against his chest as your bodies faced one another, feeling the warmth which emitted from his skin. He looked down at you, head leaning down and once again seeking for your lips before he was finally able to press them against yours.

You kissed back, now feeling more comfortable as his arms wrapped around your back in order to gently get himself on top of your body. You were consensually overcome by his much larger silhouette, one of your hands moving up to his shoulders as you carried on giving back what the man was generously offering you. As soon as grunts and low moans began to escape his lips, you could tell that things were about to move faster from this moment- legs spreading a little bit wider as you allowed the man to grind his hips against yours. You were able to feel his hardening member collide with and rub against your own clothed genitals- movements which soon led your entrance to leak juices and stains your panties.

“Look at you..” Tom began, breaking the kiss for a few seconds in order to catch his breath and finish his sentence. He was panting. “Legs already spread wide open for me.” The man stated, speaking nothing but obvious facts. You blushed. No one had ever spoken to you in such a way, and especially not on that specific tone which turned out to be quite exhilarating. Now moving his head down against the crook of your neck, you were able to feel warmth take over both your chest and crotch due to Tom still grinding his hips against yours. The movements stimulated your clit, sending chills down your spine and leading more love juice to leak out of your throbbing core. And even if the older man appeared more eager about the situation when it came to visuals, your soul was definitely suffocating with pleasure even if you remained slightly motionless and silent.

Sitting up on his knees, a smirking Tom made eye contact with you as he allowed himself to slide off your panties; taking them off your legs before carelessly dropping them to the side. Such a small piece of clothing certainly wouldn’t be a bother through your shared intercourse, which was the reason to why he decided not to pay much attention to where it landed. Besides, your father’s coworker felt too excited about what was to come to even care about such an irrelevant detail. You were panting, still trying to recover from this first contact which had left you damaged with pleasure and excitement. Though, little did you know, the real fun was only about to begin.

“My pretty girl’s got a pretty little cunt.” He praised, his fingers sticking together as he brought his hand down between your legs. You shivered, sucking in your bottom lip in anticipation to his upcoming touch. It would be the first time you would get touched by a man, by someone else than your own self. A part of you wondered how it was going to feel, though the second one couldn’t help but grow anxious and worried. However, before you could even think any further, you felt Tom’s fingertips collide with your sensitive core- sending chills down your spine and easily leading your hole to squeeze and contract. He chuckled, appreciating his good work and feeling satisfied about the way he managed to make you feel. Though, it wasn’t like Tom had ever disappointed a woman in bed before.

One of the older man’s hands landed beside your face, Tom holding himself up with the help of his left arm whilst his other hand took care of pleasing your core. His fingertips rubbed up and down your clit, sometimes pinching the hardened bud and manhandling it perfectly. His aim was to get your entrance to loosen up for him; and that especially after he took notice that you were a virgin. Tom wanted this intercourse to be pleasing for you too, and he was willing to use any tactic in order to help you to relax. His lips landed against yours again, trapping your moan within his cavity and pushing it back inside of your mouth with the help of his tongue penetrating your moist entry.

Once your moans began to get progressively higher pitched, Tom felt like it was now the right time to initiate you to the pleasures he was certainly going to provide you. Taking his soaked fingertips up to his lips, he allowed his tongue to taste the sweet juices before both his hands took ahold of the waistband of his briefs which was soon to be slid down to his mid thighs. You didn’t dare to look, eyes still staring at the ceiling until your view was blocked by your partner’s facial features. He smiled and you smiled back. “Well hello.” Teased the older man, a few words which easily led you to chuckle. In the position you two had adopted, you were able to feel his rocking hard shaft press against your clit- a sensation that didn’t fail to make you feel nervous.

“You ready, Princess?” Questioned your dad’s coworker, your legs immediately spreading a tad wider upon hearing those few words. Another kiss was laid on your lips, probably in order to distract you from the slight pain which was about to follow. And before you could know it, a warm mass was pressed against your cavity, soon penetrating your entrance and pushing past your hymen that broke on the instant. A high pitched groan escaped your lips which led Tom to intensify the kiss, his hips jumping on the occasion to move closer to yours until his cock had reached balls deep. Slowly pulling away from your face, his ocean blue orbs made eye contact with yours, analyzing your facial features in order to find out whether you were truly suffering or not.

“This is just temporary.” Promised the man, your entrance unwillingly clenching around his shaft which led him to let out a guttural moan. Taking his attention off you for a minute, Tom’s face looked down at your rubbing crotches- as if he wanted to make sure he was properly inside- before his head tilted upwards again. Noticing how you now appeared more relaxed, he was soon to begin the thrusting process- slow movements at first which progressively increased in pace with time. The friction created by the intercourse felt absolutely blissful- filling your soul with excitement and leading your heart to race. You were able to feel the muscle pump blood through your entire system as Tom continued to grind his hips against yours, happy grunts escaping his lips.

Both his arms slid underneath your shoulders, taking ahold of them in order to keep you more still through the pleasant process- and make it easier for him to thrust. Tom felt entirely satisfied with the situation that had taken place- taking notice of how you appeared to enjoy it too which could only make his member throb out of pleasure. Though his masculine ego still pushed him to check in order to receive a verbal confirmation. “You enjoyin’ this?” The man asked breathlessly, earning a single moan and nod from your exhilarated self. The man then proceeded to unexpectedly pull out, offering you no time to understand before you were flipped over onto your stomach. This once his hands landed on your bum, spreading your cheeks apart and admiring the way your entrance leaked with love juice. It looked extremely welcoming, and Tom was soon to step inside of your intimate home for the second time.

Feeling his cock penetrate you again brushed all of your worries away, eyelids shutting close as you began to be rocked back and forth against the bedsheets. Even without being able to see his face, you still managed to enjoy everything that Tom was providing you with on the instant. You could feel his pubic bone collide with your skin of your bum, your nipples perking up against the confines of the bedsheets. “Fuck baby.. So tight and juicy for me.” He praised, leaning down in order to offer your neck rough kisses and gentle bites. You moaned tiredly, rubbing your cheek against his like a cat would do against his owner’s legs. He had managed to take possession of your soul, and there was now only one way out.

Time passed, and Tom’s thrusts progressively began to grow sloppier. Being inexperienced, you couldn’t exactly tell that this indicated he was about to reach his high, though the way he appeared more tired and less energetic than before certainly gave you a clue regarding his state. Frowning out of exhaussement, the grown man was finally filled with temporary satisfaction upon sensing his shaft throb and pump semen out of his testicles in order to have the liquid spray out of his sensitive urethra. His semence stained your walls, giving no chance to the flesh of your cervix which was drowned in the thick liquid. You two moaned in harmony- this warm sensation providing you with one last bit of pleasure before your dad’s coworker agreed to pull out of you.

He collapsed on the bedsheets next to you, hand resting on his chest as he panted in order to recover from this intense moment. With the bit of energy that you had left, you managed to crawl until his silhouette in order to offer him a well needed hug, your arms burying against his ribcage as Tom was soon to turn to his side and secure your naked self with his large and muscular members. Feeling the warmth of his flesh in a whole other way still felt as satisfying as before, this cuddle providing you with as much happiness and bliss than the previous intercourse had.

Hullo thanks for reading! Thank you for liking and supporting my work. I genuinely hope you’re doing well! Take care.

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[trektraveler]

Nightingale

Chapter Seven: A Burden Shared

Summary: Jensen Ackles seemed to have it all. A hit television series fifteen years running, a budding music career and a stunning wife. To the casual observer, his life was perfect. But it was a façade. No more real than the supernatural world created on a soundstage.

That day on the lake had started with uncertainty, but when he pulled you from the water everything became clear. The truth was, he’d been the one drowning.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader, Jensen x Reader, Jensen x You

Characters: Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Genevieve Padalecki, Misha Collins, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, Drowning, Fluff, Angst, Smut, unprotected sex

Chapter Seven: A Burden Shared

Word Count: 6449

Author’s Notes: This is a complete work of fiction about a real life person. The circumstances are totally made up and are in no way a commentary on the fantastic Jensen Ackles or his family.

This is also a unique reader insert story as I have given the reader a physical description including hair color, eye color and body type. Hopefully you can still lose yourself in the utter fantasy where Jensen is the hero and you are ripe for rescuing!

Additional Notes: The response to this story has been beyond my expectations! You guys have been the best! Thank you for continuing to read my work and encourage me, its kept my eye on the prize :)

Series Masterlist

There was a slim, black box with a silver bow on your bed, waiting for you as you exited the bath. You were still rubbing the towel over your wet hair when it caught your eye. Curious, you tossed the towel over the back of the desk chair and picked up the gift. It was lightweight but rattled when you gently shook it. You tugged at the end of the silver ribbon and lifted the lid. Nestled inside the tissue paper was another box the size of a cell phone. Something about the engraved wood seemed familiar. It didn’t open easily, but after fiddling around with it, you were able to find the trick and slide it open. It housed a key, and you knew what it was then. Your eyes lit up as your thumb traced the Aquarian Star design. Grinning like a kid at Christmas, you pulled out more tissue and found a lanyard with a Supernatural Studio Guest Pass hanging from it.

Jensen was in the kitchen when you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you and spun you around laughing.

“I guess this means you liked your present.”

“I love it! Does this mean what I think it means? I really get to go and see it?!”

“Now you’ve got the key, there’s no keeping you out,” he confirmed with a Dean-like smirk.

You practically bounced on your bare feet, “Really?”

“How’s tomorrow sound for a grand tour?”

You squealed in absolute delight and threw your arms around his neck again. “Yes, yes, yes! I can’t believe it! Oh, I am so excited!”

Jensen laughed and rubbed your back, “Yeah, I’m getting that. We head out early, so set your alarm. We need to be out the door by five.”

“I’ll be ready with bells on!”

And so you were. Bright and early the next day, an easy feat since you were barely able to sleep from the excitement. You spent forty-five minutes debating your wardrobe and finally settled on dark wash jeans, white t-shirt and navy-blue blazer. Simple and classic.

You had no idea who you might encounter, but you really wanted to make a good impression. This was Jensen’s professional reputation, after all. You needed to make sure you didn’t embarrass him or get in the way of his work. But man were you excited! You were hooked after watching just a couple of episodes with the boys and now Supernatural was officially your favorite show.

“Wow, look at you.”

You spun around to see Jensen with jeans, a t-shirt and blurry eyes. He had that effortlessly rolled out of bed and into your every fantasy look about him. You felt both over dressed and out of your league.

“Is this not right for today? I should go change, right? I’m trying too hard… Just give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”

Jensen caught your arm as you tried to hurry past him, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, deep breath, you don’t need to change.”

He looked past you and saw a half full pot of coffee along with your favorite mug. “Exactly how many cups have you had this morning?”

“Just a couple.” He crooked an eyebrow. You were a terrible liar. “Five?”

“Okay, step away from the caffeine.”

“I’ve been up for a while, I just wanted to make sure I’m ready to go.”

Jensen chuckled as he poured himself a cup, “Five cups in… you’ll be going like the damn Energizer Bunny.”

“Seriously, am I overdressed? I don’t want to be out of place.”

“You look fantastic. If anything, the rest of us need to up our game,” Jensen pulled his phone from his back pocket. “That’s our ride. You set?”

“But you didn’t even have breakfast. You can’t save the world on a single cup of coffee!”

“Two words, Sweetheart. Craft Services.”

You tilted your head and he chuckled as he grabbed your hand. “Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

Clif and his SUV were waiting downstairs, just like the day you had gone shopping, only this time there was a welcome figure in the backseat.

Jensen held open the back door and you quickly climbed in.

“Morning Jared,” you chirped happily.

“Hey Y/N, you ready watch us play pretend all day?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed as you buckled your seatbelt. “This is going to be the best day ever; I feel like I’ve won the lottery!”

“You didn’t tell us your live-in groupie was a morning person, Jackles.” Clif grunted from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t listen to him,” Jensen said when he saw your dimpled smile fade. “He’s just not used to someone who actually forms a coherent sentence first thing in the morning.”

“Besides, you’re one to talk about groupies. Didn’t you date one of yours a few months back?” Jared teased.

Jensen laughed and Clif answered in a good-natured grumble, “Date’s a strong word.”

The three men laughed together then, obviously there was some backstory there. You decided to smile politely rather than ask. Your gaze caught Clif’s in the rearview mirror. He rolled his eyes and looked away, reminding you that his humor wasn’t meant for you. You were just another flavor of the week in his opinion. An outsider and not to be trusted. Determined not to let him spoil the day, you pushed the negative thoughts aside and settled back in the seat between Jared and Jensen. Listening as they chatted in that verbal shorthand they honed over the years. Today was going to be amazing and you were determined to enjoy it.

First stop on the grand tour was the make-up trailer. Since the boys had a light filming day, the make-up was a quick and simple process. It seemed to mostly consist of them harmlessly flirting with the make-up artists and making dad jokes. That was J2. Everyone loved them and it was easy to see why. They had an easy-going, friendly manner on their own, but put them together and they were an unstoppable force of good-natured fun. They made people want to be around them, work with them, play with them. Throw in a few pranks and a classic car… well, no wonder they’d lasted fifteen years.

“Well, hi there,” a woman with full tattoo sleeves and turquoise hair said, looking you up and down. “I didn’t know I’d be getting a fresh face today.”

“Ah, Kimmy, this is Y/N. She’s my plus one for the day,” Jensen explained, elegantly plopping down in a swivel chair. “Y/N, this is Kim Swain, badass make up magician.”

“Y/N,” Kim repeated, recognition lighting her eyes. She snapped her fingers, “You’re the girl from the lake!”

You gave a hesitant smile. Evidently, Jensen and Jared had shared the story of how they spent their summer vacation. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Suddenly you found your chin in Kim’s hand, she tilted your face and squinted as she scrutinized your features. Your eyes widened and she gave a single nod to Jensen, “I can work with this.”

Before you knew it, she had you in a chair next to the boys.

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said as she shook your dark hair loose from the French braid you wore.

“Hey, I have to put up with Heckle and Jeckle nine months out of the year. I almost never get a girl to play with.”

“You had Gen for a full year,” Jared piped up from his chair.

“That was eleven seasons ago,” Kim scoffed, brushing through your tresses. “And she got killed off.”

“The Winchesters never did have luck with the ladies, thank God that’s not real life,” Jensen said, looking more like Dean with every passing minute.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the convention circuit, Ackles.” Kim winked at you in the mirror.

She raked her fingers through your hair and took a comb to it, working it into sections. “You have great hair, nice and strong. Have you ever considered going back to your natural color?”

“Natural color?” You echoed.

“Yup, you’re a blondie. See here, at the roots?” Kim pointed out a section close to your scalp. “Pretty. Although the brunette’s not bad. Sexy librarian.”

You stared at your reflection and tried to imagine yourself as a blonde. It was yet another piece of the puzzle that didn’t seem to fit. Part of you wondered if your memory would return if you dyed it back. Would that somehow break the spell? It was completely ridiculous to think that, but what if?

God, I must be desperate.

Jensen touched your arm, bringing your focus back to the present. “Y/N, we’re heading over to talk with Bob and do some blocking.”

“Oh sure, you want me to wait here for you?”

“Nah. You and Kimmy have some fun. Look me up when you’re ready.”

You smiled, “Okay. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Take good care of my girl,” he said to Kim as he and Jared walked out the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kim said as the door closed. “Finally! Thought we’d never get rid of those guys,”

An hour later, you were thoroughly convinced that Kimmy was the coolest woman on the planet. Not only did she transform actors into werewolves and demons, but she designed her tattoos herself. Based on the shapes she saw in the snow formations while hiking through the North Shore Mountains. She and her girlfriend, the tattoo artist, lead expeditions and hikes in the months when there was no filming.

“See this one,” she pointed out an abstract shape on her bicep. “It’s an otter playing baseball. It’s on the south face of Mount Harvey, but you can only see it in the spring before the snow melts.”

“I don’t really see it,” you admitted, squinting at the image on her phone. “The tattoo is fantastic though.”

“It’s easier to see it in person,” she handed you a bag stuffed with all kinds of samples and brushes. “Now, here is everything I used on you today along with a few other goodies to play with.”

“Thanks Kim. Jay’s right, you really are a magician.”

“Bah! A gorgeous girl like you makes it easy. Now, take a right, go past all the trailers and when you come to wardrobe, make a left. You can’t miss it.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were berating yourself for not being able to follow simple instructions. Obviously, a decent sense of direction was not one of your forgotten talents.

“I need a damned keeper,” you muttered to yourself as you passed the trailers for a fifth time. “Or a compass.”

“Can I help you?”

You turned to the kind voice behind you and your jaw dropped. Rumpled trench coat and an off-center blue tie that matched his eyes. He smiled expectantly and your mind kicked back on.

He asked you a question, you idiot! You can answer him any time!

You snapped your mouth shut. “Ah… yeah. Yes! I’m looking for the main soundstage. Kimmy in make-up said to take a left at wardrobe, but I didn’t see wardrobe and… and I have no idea where I’m going.”

He raised his eyebrows at your rambling explanation, and you had to laugh. It was a far more animated expression than you’d ever seen him give on the show.

His gaze dropped to the lanyard hanging around your neck, “You must be Y/N! The lady of the lake.”

You gave a shy nod, “Minus Excalibur.”

“Misha,” He shook your hand enthusiastically. “Come on, I’m headed that way myself. Those two idiots are probably already there.”

Who knew it took so many people to bring a show to life? There were people everywhere! Camera operators, personal assistants, directors, managers, writers, designers. It was mind blowing really. Everyone was bustling around with a job to do, and you were gawking like misplaced tourist.

You followed Misha as he wove his way through the people. The space opened up to a set that you were very familiar with.

“Oh, wow…” you breathed, stopping in your tracks as your eyes grew wide with wonder.

“Hey, there she is!”

Jensen was walking towards you. He really looked like Dean now, all decked out in flannel and denim. His green gaze flickered over your face, and he smiled. Evidently, he liked what he saw. Your injuries really didn’t cause you much trouble anymore, but there were still a few stubborn bruises that had yet to completely fade. Kim and her magic brushes covered the lingering reminders of the accident. For the first time you felt normal, and it felt good.

He always thought you were beautiful. Even banged up and wearing his hand-me-downs, you were beautiful. But now that Kimmy had worked her magic, you were glowing. She had done something to your hair so that it fell in easy waves and framed your face. The touch of makeup was far from excessive, just enough to disguise the bruises and bring out your eyes. You looked like you did when he first spotted you across the water. Carefree and happy. You smiled at him, absolutely radiant. Those big, blue eyes lit up and he was a goner.

“Hi, sorry, I got a little turned around.”

“And you had to rely on Misha for directions? Desperate times,” Jensen replied, waving at his fellow actor who had wandered over to talk to Jared.

“So, are you ready?”

“You bet,” you replied. “Ready for what?”

He simply held out his hand to you and wiggled his fingers. You took it and your heart sped up as he led you down to the set. It was already dressed and lit, ready to film the scenes for the day. It was surreal, like stepping inside the television itself. You felt like Alice gone down the rabbit hole!

“Welcome to the Batcave.”

The Men of Letters bunker. A gorgeous expression of the Art Deco movement. Strong lines, warm tones, mission lamps and oak furnishings. Bookshelves and samurai swords. Whiskey decanters and card catalogs.

You weren’t prepared for the feeling that came over you as you walked slowly through the Men of Letters library. The awe of standing in that space was staggering. The amount of heart, skill and hard work that went into bringing the bunker into being was humbling. You felt honored and so incredibly lucky to be there in the flesh.

Jensen watched you explore, amused when you barely ghosted your fingers over the familiar initials carved into one of the tables. You had the look of absolute wonder, like you’d witnessed a miracle.

“That was one of my favorite scenes.” Jensen confessed, “I was so nervous I was going to screw up and carve J.A. by mistake.”

“You actually got to carve it?”

“Well, yeah. Not everything in Hollywood is smoke and mirrors.”

“Oh wow, the books are real!” You pulled down a leather-bound volume and thumbed through it.

“Of course, they’re real! Nothing but the best for the Winchesters!” Jensen loved this set. He begged the writers to give Sam and Dean a home for years, finally they did. And it blew everyone away.

“It’s pretty special, isn’t it?”

“It’s wonderful!” You spun in a slow circle then abruptly stopped as a flash of memory came to you. Two little girls sitting cross legged in front of an old console t.v., with matching blonde curls. They clapped and sang along with the characters on the screen.

Jensen had gotten used to that look on your face, that far away gaze like you were watching a film that only you could see. It worried him at first, but after it happened a few times, he learned to give you a minute to process. “Y/N? You, okay?”

“Yeah…,” you rubbed your forehead absently. “It’s silly, I was just thinking about that Disney movie… Be Our Guest?”

“You mean, Beauty and the Beast?”

“That’s it! I just remembered that part where the Beast gave Belle a library.”

“I loved that part,” Jensen admitted before thinking better of it. “I used to watch it with my little sister all the time.”

You felt an inexplicable sadness settle in your heart. Sorrow and loneliness. You were missing someone desperately, but you couldn’t remember who. There was no face and no name. Just ache, deep down in your bones. Someone was missing. Someone important. Someone you loved dearly.

Jensen was worried he’d pushed you too far. Overwhelmed you, like the day he took you back to the lake. The look on your face made him want to scoop you up and tuck you up in his apartment where he could take care of you. Protect you.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” He gently grasped your arm and you blinked up at him as if you were waking from a dream.

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t we go sit for a while? Grab a bite to eat? They’ve got these awesome French toast wraps, if we’re lucky maybe Padalecki saved us a few.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.” You mustered up a small smile and let Jensen wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you away from the bunker. The memory had been just a flash, but it left you with a hollow feeling that lingered.

The rest of the day was spent watching the boys work, and it was absolutely fascinating! Jensen, Jared, and Misha completely embodied the roles, of course. But you found the behind-the-scenes process of film making much more involved than you ever would have guessed. The camera work especially had you hooked. The director was a gracious and generous man named Bob Singer. He seemed happy to answer your questions and insisted that you look through the lens multiple times to catch a glimpse of the final product. Everyone was so kind and engaging, truly one big family who welcomed you into the fold without hesitation.

You felt particularly proud of Jensen and Jared. They were equal parts professionalism and artistry. Just ridiculously talented actors who effortlessly slipped into character the minute the cameras were rolling. Sam and Dean Winchester were as real to them as they were to the fans of the show, and they loved them just as much.

The real surprise was their leadership abilities. They set the pace, and everyone took their cues from them. Everyone’s job was treated with respect, every person on set had equal value. They never held themselves above anyone else. It was their philosophy that while they were the faces of Sam and Dean, it took everyone working together to bring them to life.

But while there was plenty of work to do, there was also plenty of downtime. Usually, that meant a war of Words with Friends between the actors. Since they had you there, Misha found something else to keep them entertained.

“You want me to take a Cosmo quiz?” you asked, handing Misha’s phone back to him.

“You can tell a lot about a person from their dialect.” He scrolled until he found the first question. “I’ll bet we’ll have your hometown pegged in no time. Okay, what would you call a soft drink?”

“Pop.”

“Oh no, Y/N,” Jared groaned from his chair. “Never pop. It’s coke.”

“I actually prefer Pepsi.”

“No, coke is a general term for any carbonated beverage,” Misha clarified. “Pepsi, Dr Pepper, Sprite are all cokes in the south.”

You furrowed your brow, “What if you actually want a Coke? Is it a Coke coke?”

“You’d say Coke a Cola,” Jared replied.

“So, you’d say… Can I have a Coke a Cola coke?”

“May I have a Coke a Cola coke,” Jared corrected with a smirk. “And no. Just may I have a Coke a Cola.”

“Right,” Jensen joined in as he walked over. “See all Coke a colas are cokes, but not all cokes are Coke a colas.”

Baffled, you turned to Misha, “So which is it? Pop or coke?”

“Oh, I say soda.”

“Yeah, and you drink it with your pinky up,” Jensen drawled. “Last week I caught him eating pizza with a knife and fork.”

“Is that a northern thing?” you asked.

“It’s a Chicago thing,” Misha answered.

Jared barked out a laugh, “No, it’s not!”

“It was deep dish,” Misha grumbled.

“You know, Dean ate pizza with a knife and fork,” you pointed out, earning a disgruntled look from your roommate. You grinned, the tip of your tongue peaking out from between your teeth. “In that episode with Death in Chicago.”

“Ha! Yes, thank you, Y/N.” Misha sat up a little straighter, feeling vindicated.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough twenty questions,” Jensen said as he held out a hand to you. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You let him pull you up out of your seat, and lead you to the back of the building. There were lots of crates and boxes. Racks of clothes and reels of electrical wire, obviously a storage area of some kind. Nothing really special that you could see.

Abruptly, Jensen stopped. “Okay, close your eyes.”

You hesitated for a moment, then obliged him. He moved behind you, slipping one large hand over your eyes and the other rested on your lower back.

“No peeking,” he whispered in your ear. His breath was warm and minty, and caused goosebumps to break out down your arms.

Gently, but firmly he guided you forward. You heard a door scrape open and felt the change from climate controlled inside to outside. The sun warmed your face and caused you to smile against his palm. Jensen walked you a few paces then stopped. You tried to be patient, but you were beyond curious. What was he waiting for?

“Now, open your eyes.”

Jensen pulled his hand away and you blinked your eyes open, squinting a bit as they adjusted to the bright sunlight. You gasped when you saw her, God she was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Sleek, sexy lines polished to perfection. The black beauty. No wonder Dean Winchester was so in love with her.

“Baby.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Jensen murmured, his voice low and revered. He watched you tentatively run your fingers over the hood, quickly pulling them away. As if you were afraid to leave even a smudge on the flawless, ebony finish.

“Gorgeous. Just… wow.”

“I know. I felt the same way the first time I saw her,” he rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Still do, actually.”

“I get it, I do. She’s the magic carpet.”

“All that and more, so… Wanna go for a ride?”

“Really?!”

He grinned in response and swung the passenger’s side door open. You quickly slid in, and he shut the door behind you before letting himself in on the driver’s side. When he turned the ignition, Baby roared to life, and you let out a delighted squeal.

“Oh my God, listen to her!”

Jensen watched you happily run your hands over the vinyl seats and test out the buttons on the dash. You kept touching everything, as if you were trying to remind yourself that it was real. It made his heart swell seeing you express such joy at the world he held so dear. The world he helped create. The world he’d poured every bit of his heart and soul into for the past fifteen years.

He put Baby in drive and pulled out onto the main lot. He sent a salute of acknowledgement to the guard shack and the gate opened. Before you knew it, you were on the open road.

“Are we really allowed to do this?” you asked, feeling the Impala effortlessly change gears and accelerate.

“Not typically, but they made an exception.” He rolled down his window, letting the wind ruffle his hair. “Listen to that purr, smooth as silk.”

The line between Jensen and Dean blurred in that moment. It was fascinating and captivating to witness. He had a confidence and a bravado today that you’d never noticed before. Not to this extent. Jensen always was a bit of a flirt with you, but this was a flirt of a different flavor. This had a touch of adventure to it, and more than a little trouble. You liked it.

You turned on the radio and found it was already tuned to a classic rock station. Naturally. When ACDC’s Back in Black came blaring through the speakers, you both laughed and sang along. It wasn’t a long ride, about ten minutes. Jensen pulled off into a secluded, grassy area. You both got out and you followed him through a patch of trees to a vista point.

“Pretty,” you said, coming up beside Jensen as he leaned against a section of weathered fence. “Nice, quiet spot right in the middle of the commerce district.”

“I found it when we were filming the first season. I didn’t know Vancouver at all, hell I’d never even been to Canada before. I was feeling a little homesick, so I went driving and found this place. Been coming ever since.”

“You missed the wide-open spaces?”

“Yeah, especially in the early days. I didn’t know anybody yet, had a lot of empty hours to fill. I haven’t been up here in ages.”

“Not homesick anymore?”

“Nah,” he said quietly, looking out over the city to the mountain range beyond. Dean slipped away then, leaving Jensen behind. The shadow of melancholy fell over his handsome face.

“Yes, you are.” You took his hand and gave a gentle squeeze, “Tell me.”

He kept hold of your hand but did not look at you. He knew if he did, he’d probably break down all together. “Jared’s deal came through for that series I was telling you about.”

“The Texas ranger reboot?”

“Yup. Executive producer, lead actor. The whole nine yards. They even agreed to film it in Austin so he can go home at the end of the day. Like, actually go home to his wife and kids.”

“That’s fantastic! Isn’t it?”

“Yeah, absolutely. He’s been working on this deal for a couple of years now, its everything he’s ever wanted.”

You were a little lost. This should be a happy occasion, something to celebrate. “Well Austin is home for both of you, right? That means he will still be close by, even after the show wraps.”

“I know, I know. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” Jensen’s worried gaze searched the horizon and the muscle in his jaw ticked as it often did when he was deep in thought. After a couple of moments, he spoke again, heartache in his voice.

“It just seems like every day something else is changing. Like, drastic, life-altering changes. And I knew this was coming, we all knew. We planned the end of this show for years, but now that it’s here… I dunno.”

“It’s grief,” you replied softly. “It’s the emotional process of loss.”

“Grief,” he repeated in distaste. “We’ve got months yet to go, plus conventions and all that. We’re still going to see each other. Supernatural is always going to be a part of my life.”

“Of course, it is, but its not the same. Not like it has been for the past fifteen years.” You reached up and cupped his stubbled cheek, guiding him to look at you. “What you feel is valid, Jensen. There is no right or wrong way to grieve.”

He didn’t resist when you pulled him into a tight hug. You curled your fingers against the nape of his neck in a soothing motion and he let go. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and let out a broken sigh. Tears escaped, soaked up by the fabric on the shoulder your jacket. He grabbed on to you like lifeline to keep from drowning. You held him for a long time, letting him empty the sorrow out. He eventually pulled away, and you pressed a kiss to his temple before letting him go.

“Have you talked to Jared about it?”

Jensen shook his head, “He’s in a good place, I don’t want to bring him down.”

Jared had been very open in his battle with anxiety and depression, and you admired him for it. It wasn’t talked about nearly enough, especially by men. The strength he had to do that publicly was impressive.

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” you said, repeating a quote that presented itself from the deep recesses of your mind. “He is literally the only other person on Earth who knows exactly what you’re going through. No matter how happy he is about his new deal, he’s grieving too.”

“You think so?”

“I do. And sometimes helping another person helps us too. It helps us process and gain clarity. We feel stronger for it.”

You saw the wheels turning behind his ever-expressive eyes, and you added, “Besides, he’s your brother.”

He gave a half-hearted smile, “Yeah. He is.”

“And what about you, Mr. Ackles? A talented actor with a resume as impressive as yours must be highly sought after,” a dimple flashed when you smiled. “Any offers?”

“A few.”

You full on grinned then, “Yeah?”

As a general rule, Jensen was pretty closed lipped about potential projects. Hollywood was full of speculation, best not count those chickens before they hatch. “Nothing concrete… a couple of superhero type gigs.”

“Oohh! You’d be fantastic at that!”

What little sadness remained, slipped away then and he felt lighter. Hopeful. For a woman struggling to remember her past, you were incredibly good at helping him face his future.

“Pick one,” you said, “Pick an offer and go with it. Or pick all of them. You are a creative workhorse; you won’t be happy without a project to look forward to.”

“You’re probably right.”

“And talk to Jared. Promise me.”

“I promise,” he vowed. He brought your hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across your knuckles. “Thank you.

Hours later you were curled up in one of the spare cast chairs, chin propped up in your hand while you watched the set change. It was fascinating, like a dance. Art combined with engineering. Not that it was as easy as they made it look, there had been several technical difficulties and that pushed everything behind.

Misha had long since gone home for the day while Jensen and Jared were stuck redoing scenes from earlier that day due to continuity issues. Even so you felt incredibly lucky to be able to observe the process from the inside. It was not an opportunity extended to many and no matter the strange circumstances that led you here, you were grateful. It was nice not to have your personal situation occupy your mind for a while, even though the headache was building back up. Worth it to have a day at the park.

“How you doing Sweetheart?”

You startled, then smiled softly at Jensen as he came up beside you. “Good, great.”

His eyes flickered over your face. From your glazed eyes to your posture, you were absolutely exhausted. “How’s your head? Getting tired?”

“Yeah, a bit. I’m good though.”

“Listen, we’ve got a few more scenes but its slow going. Probably won’t get out of here for a while yet. Why don’t I call Clif to take you home?”

“No,” you answered quickly. “No, I’m good. I can stick it out.”

“It’s been a long day already and we’re looking at least three to four more hours,” he crouched down in front of you, concern etched in his features. “I don’t want you to overdo it.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are falling asleep with your eyes open,” he countered with a chuckle. “Come on, Clif will have you home in no time.”

“I don’t want to bother Clif.”

“It’s not a bother, it’s literally his job.”

“No, you are his job. I’m not.”

Jensen’s brows drew together in confusion. His gut instinct from a few days ago had been right, something was off with you. He never considered it would be with his driver.

“Okay, talk to me. What’s going on?”

You were kicking yourself. The last thing you wanted to do was to worry Jensen or make things worse with Clif.

“Nothing. It’s just easier if I stay here and leave when you’re ready.”

“Easier… for Clif?” When you dropped your gaze, Jensen knew he was on the right track. “I know he can be kind of intimidating. Did he do something that made you uncomfortable? Say something?”

“No, he didn’t do anything. He didn’t say anything wrong.”

“Uh huh. What did he say that wasn’t wrong?”

When you didn’t answer, he gently crooked a finger under your chin and coaxed your eyes to meet his, “Y/N, what did he say?”

“He’s just looking out for you. He doesn’t want you to get taken advantage of.”

“Taken advantage of?”

“He said that celebrities attract all kinds of leeches and that it’s his job to take care of you. Make sure no one is taking advantage of your good will.”

“Leeches?!” Jensen could feel his temper rising and his jaw clenched. No wonder you had been so off. “So that’s why your shopping trip was so short, huh? Clif said you were taking advantage of me?”

You could only shrug, “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“Get him in…” he took a deep breath, reining in his anger. He would straighten this out later, for now he needed to take care of you.

“Listen to me, okay? You are not taking advantage of anyone. I wouldn’t have invited you into my home, personal or professional, unless I wanted you there. Understand?”

The worry that had been lingering in your blue gaze lifted, just a touch and you nodded.

“Good. Now, you don’t want to leave until I do and that’s fine, but you still need to rest. Why don’t you take a nap in my trailer? I’ll come and get you when we’re finished.”

“I’m fine.” You stubbornly repeated, undermined by a sudden yawn that you covered with your hand. “But I don’t want to be an unnecessary distraction.”

“That’s my girl,” he said before sending you off towards the trailers with one of the P.A.’s.

Three hours and twenty-two minutes later when Clif pulled up in the SUV, Jensen was still fuming. He’d had plenty of time to stew over what you told him, and he was not impressed. The very idea that someone he trusted would go behind his back to make you feel unwelcome had Jensen ready to terminate the burly bodyguard on the spot. Jared, ever the voice of reason, convinced him to at least talk to the guy first.

Jensen was leaning against the stairs of his trailer, struggling to keep his cool while he watched Clif get out of the vehicle. He wasn’t a man prone to shows of aggression, but it had been a very long day and he was seriously pissed.

“Hey man,” Clif greeted as he rounded the front of the SUV. “You guys ready to go? Where’s Jared and the girl?”

“Y/N. Her name is Y/N.”

Clif paused, taking in tense Jensen’s stance. “Yeah, I know. You okay, bud?”

“Y/N’s inside and Jared’s in his trailer. You and I need to talk.”

“Sure.”

“Did you tell Y/N that she was leeching off of me?”

Clif chuckled mirthlessly and shook his head, but he did not deny it.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Jensen demanded. “She’s recovering from a fucking concussion! She needs our help, and you just go after her like that?”

“Come on Jackles… its an act! Can’t you see this chick is playing you?”

“Jared and I nearly killed her! She wasn’t breathing when we pulled her out of that water. She didn’t have a pulse; you can’t fake that!”

“I’m not saying she did, but you said it yourself… she recognized you. She called you Dean.” Clif gave him a pitying look. “Buddy, you’ve always had a soft spot for a woman in trouble. Especially a pretty one. This girl saw an opportunity and she took it.”

“So what, so she’d seen my face somewhere before. Maybe she was a fan of the show, but that doesn’t make her some master manipulator! I’ve spent the past three weeks with her, she’s not playing anything.”

“You might be right. If I over-stepped, I’m sorry. But I’m not going to apologize for looking out for you. There are plenty of whack jobs out there who would jump at the chance to weasel into your life.”

Jensen’s mouth formed a hard line as he considered what to say. He’d known Clif for a long time, since the very beginning of Supernatural. He trusted him completely, but this went well beyond the limitations of friendship and loyalty. This had been a deliberate attempt to control who he had in his life.

“I need you to tell me right now if this is going to be a problem.”

Clif frowned at the tone in Jensen’s voice, “And if it is?”

“Then this is where we part ways,” Jensen plainly stated. “You’ve always been a good friend to me Clif but going behind my back to attack someone on my behalf isn’t going to fly.”

“I’m a bodyguard, its part of my job.”

“Not like this,” Jensen held his ground. “It’s up to you, no hard feelings.”

Clif barked out a laugh, “Right. Okay, fine. I’m not going to stop watching your back… but I’ll leave her be.”

Satisfied, Jensen gave a nod and disappeared into his trailer. He found you curled up in the middle of his bed, burrowed under the thick comforter so that only your face was visible. For a moment he simply stood there, reflecting on the shift that had just taken place. Here was yet another life altering change presenting itself in his life, but this one didn’t make him sad like the others did. This change didn’t make him misty-eyed for the good old days when he and Jared were just a couple of naïve, young bucks. This change wasn’t the sign of something ending, this was something beginning.

He sat down on the side of the bed and softly brushed his fingers over your cheek. “Y/N.”

You sighed and blinked open your eyes, giving him a drowsy smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled back.

There was something different about him, in your sleepy state, you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. Worried, you brought your hand out from under the blankets and found his, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he laced his fingers through yours. “Yeah, Sweetheart… I’m good. Let’s go home.”

#jensen ackles x y/n #spn fic #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfiction #supernatural #dean x reader #dean x you #nightingale #jensen x reader #jensen x you

[solemnly-mischievous]

rivalry (d.m. x reader)

You and Draco Malfoy have a rocky relationship, at best. It'd be better to describe it as a rivalry. But all it takes is a bit of fire from your end to finally make him snap.

(AKA: I just really wanted to write an enemies-to-lovers trope for my first fic.)

A/N: Hi! First fic. Hope you like it. :)

Contains: Degradation, slight edging, d/s elements, slight dub-con (but not really; full consent is clearly given), light humiliation

Word count: 3.9K

-----

Normally, Defense Against the Dark Arts would be your favorite class. The spells you learn are fun and useful; Professor Lupin is always a plus, and most importantly, you’re good at the subject—so bloody good, you’ve bested even Hermione and Harry multiple times.

But lately, you’ve been finding yourself dreading the lessons. So much, in fact, that you were half-considering asking Hermione to hex you just to get out of your afternoon class.

Why? It’s a pretty easy answer when you got down to it.

Draco Malfoy.

You’d had an ongoing rivalry with the git since third grade. He’s been terrorizing you and your friends, mostly because of Harry, but along the way the two of you had begun building a personal vendetta.

(He probably hasn’t quite yet forgiven you for hexing him so badly he’d had to stay in the Infirmary for weeks, and you certainly haven’t forgiven him for causing your friends so much grief over the years.)

This year, you’d thought you could try your best to avoid him, with your upcoming N.E.W.T.s and all. But DADA had other plans.

Professor Lupin had begun experimenting with mixing up partners for class—it was, after all, a very hands-on class—and had apparently decided that cross-house interaction would build bonds and skill. His exact words were, “If they’re your friend, you’re gonna go easier on them. In the real world, you never know who you’re fighting with—or against.”

So he’d randomized the name list. You, being Gryffindor, knew immediately you wouldn’t be with any of your closest friends—but you hoped that perhaps you’d be paired with Cedric, or Luna, or anyone but—

“Your partner is Draco Malfoy,” Professor Lupin informed you when he got to your name, and you immediately make to protest.

“Her?” a voice came just as you complained “Not him”, and the students parted to reveal Draco himself, glaring daggers at you and Lupin.

“Yes, her,” Lupin replied, unruffled. “Now, pair up, everyone. We’re practicing Stunning today.”

That day, you’d fucking limped out of the classroom. Not to say Draco had gotten it easier—he could barely stand after you Disarmed, Stunned, and hit him with a nasty stinger hex just for the sake of it. (You’d gotten detention, but it was worth it.)

Today’s your second class with Malfoy, and you’ve never wanted more to be able to commit violent actions in your life.

“Please,” you whisper to Hermione as your group enter the DADA classroom. “Just one hex. I won’t even go to Pomfrey. No witnesses. You could just Petrify me, if that’s more to your liking.”

She sighs. “I’m not going to Petrify you.”

“’Mione,” you say, scandalized. “I thought we were friends.”

“Pair up, everyone,” Lupin calls out. Your friends shuffle away and you close your eyes, already getting a headache from the thought of—

“Well, well.” That fucking smarmy voice. “If it isn’t Potter’s little friend.”

“If it isn’t Daddy’s boy,” you snap, opening your eyes and glaring at Malfoy, who already has his wand out. “Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Draco’s eyes narrow. Clearly, he’s as displeased with the situation as you are. “What are we doing today, then? Can’t wait to knock you down a few notches. Star of the class, my—”

“Patronuses!” Professor Lupin announces from across the room, and your heart soars—Patronuses, you could do that. Harry, months earlier, had taught you how to perfect a corporeal form in exchange for tips on his Astronomy essay. He isn’t here today—maybe you could be the only one in the class to do it.

Lupin continues, “Yes, the Patronus—an essential in the world of Defense magic. We’ll be starting with just the simple basics of it. A strong flick of the wand, and the words ‘Expecto Patronum!’. Say it with me, everyone.”

You chorus the words obediently along with the class, Malfoy’s snort of derision not going unnoticed.

“Good. Good, good, now—the key to the Patronus is to think of a happy memory. It has to be strong. Remember, Dementors feed on misery—it’s the only way to keep them away. Now, go practice. I’ll be walking around to see if there’s any problems.”

“Expecto Patronom,” Malfoy repeats in a mocking voice once the classroom starts filling with the chants of fellow students. “Doesn’t Potter know how to do that one? Heard he can do a deer. Pretty weak animal if you ask me—”

“A stag,” you correct. “And it’s Patronum, not Patronom.”

He glares at you again. “Think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“Certainly smarter than you are.” You glance at him. “Though that’s not saying much, is it?”

You give Fred Weasley, who’d circled around to hear the conversation, a not-discreet fist-bump.

“Alright then.” Malfoy spits out your last name, trying to provoke you. “Let’s see you do it.”

“You try,” you suggest, hiding your smirk. “Unless you’re too scared.”

Draco grits his teeth. Unwilling to back down from a challenge, he brandishes his wand. “Expecto Patronum!”

A thin, wispy light appears at the end of his wand—weak, but clearly visible. Classmates around you murmur as they notice it, and Professor Lupin beams as he sees Draco’s doing. “Very good, Draco! A fantastic start.”

Draco flicks his wand smugly and the Patronus charm dissipates. He smirks, shooting you an expectant look.

You take out your wand, feeling its familiar grip, and you close your eyes. You recall the memory of a weekend in Hogsmeade with your friends, drinking Butterbeer as you stroll through the snowy village, pointing out the shops and people. Unconsciously, you smile.

“Expecto Patronum!”

Light blazes so bright you can see it under closed eyes, and you open them to find a glowing golden retriever prancing out the end of your wand. It bounds around in the air joyfully, leaving a trail of light where it leaps, and circles the classroom, eventually coming back to you and wagging its tail.

Professor Lupin is grinning, utterly delighted as he takes in your Patronus. Calling your name, he exclaims, “That is phenomenal—you’ve learned fast. Very impressive job!”

You smile back, and your Patronus glows lighter in response. You quickly call it off, the light being a bit too much, and the rest of the class passes by in a haze of awed murmurs and classmates asking your advice on their spellwork. You become so preoccupied, you don’t even notice Draco’s unrelenting stare on your back.

The class ends fast, the bell tolling to signify the start of what would be a study period for you. As students trail out of the classroom, chattering happily, Professor Lupin calls you over.

“Listen, I want you to know that what you did today was truly impressive,” he says, seriously. “I assume Harry laid out the groundwork, yes?”

You nod. He smiles. “You and Harry both are very accomplished students, then. But truly—I doubt many Aurors could’ve managed what you did today.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Your words are sincere.

“My pleasure.” Professor Lupin shoots you an apologetic look. “Now, I’m terribly sorry, but I have off-grounds business to attend to—would you mind setting the classroom to rights? I’m afraid I had to push the desks and chairs back for our class, but I don’t have time to put them back. I’ll write you a note, if you—”

“Oh, no, Professor, don’t worry, it’s a study period. I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you,” he says, relieved, already heading out the door. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. I’ll bring chocolate to compensate!”

“Goodbye, Professor!” you call, and he echoes it, and then he’s gone. You look around the classroom, seeing all the desks in the back, and you crack your knuckles. Time to get to work.

“Well. Quite the teacher’s pet, aren’t we?”

Merlin’s fucking beard.

“Bloody hell, Malfoy,” you mutter, turning around to find him leaning against the classroom doorframe. His blond hair glints silver in the sunlight, and his entire outline—his uniform, his stance, his dark gaze—is just… honestly, unfairly attractive.

So maybe your first impression of Draco Malfoy, years ago, wasn’t that he was a self-entitled git. Maybe, just maybe, you’d thought he was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen.

And maybe that feeling never went away.

Not that you’d let him know that.

“What are you doing here?”

“Study period.” He starts walking towards you, shutting the door behind him. “Couldn’t help but be curious as to what Lupin wanted with you.”

“What’s it to you?” you snap. Malfoy doesn’t reply.

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asks instead, and you blink.

“Me?” you splutter. “Difficult? Fat lot of sense that makes, with you fucking insulting me at every move I make—”

“As I recall, our first interaction was you hexing me in third-year.” Malfoy sounds amused.

“You pushed Harry into the lake,” you snap at him. “You bloody well deserved it.”

Draco laughs. “Good times.”

“Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“You’ve got quite a mouth.”

“My mouth is also capable of jinxing you three ways to Friday, so I suggest you leave me alone, yeah?” Your fingers twitch towards your wand in preparation, and he only looks on with derision.

“I’m just frightened,” Malfoy sneers. You barely notice him slipping off his rings, pocketing them. “Potter taught you that Patronus charm, didn’t he?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’. Just wondering what else he taught you.” A vengeful mood seems to have taken Draco. “You seem to hang out with him an awful lot.”

“It’s called having friends,” you snap right back. He looks as though he’s about to retort, but you push on. “Unfamiliar with the concept? Wouldn’t be surprised. Crabbe and Goyle don’t seem like the best conversationalists, are they? Just a couple of goons. Wonder why you don’t have better friends. Friends you can actually talk to who operate with more than one braincell.”

“Shut—”

“Maybe it’s because no one wants to be near you,” you continue, years of pent up frustration spilling out in a vitriolic spiel. “Because you’re a miserable bastard who doesn’t know how to be happy, aren’t you? You drive everyone away and then you go after more because you’re lonely and sad and fucking pathetic—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy repeats with a vehemence.

“—and it’s too fucking late to repair the damage you’ve done—”

“Shut up,” Malfoy snarls, and you stare into his narrowed eyes.

“Fucking make me,” you snap back, and he lunges.

You’re pinned against the wall of the classroom, Malfoy’s wand to your throat and a hand fisting your robes to render you immobile. Draco flicks his wand, ever-so-slightly, and you hear the classroom door lock with a wordless spell.

“Malfoy,” you whisper, but he cuts you off.

“Shut the fuck up or I swear you’ll bloody regret it,” he hisses.

“Draco,” you begin, and he curses.

“Fuck it.”

Gripping your robes, he leans in and kisses you.

It’s rough and demanding and you think he’s trying to hurt you, with how much his teeth scrape against your bottom lip and bite down gently, but you’re not pulling away, he’s not pulling away, and you find yourself leaning into the kiss, arching up to meet him—

He breaks away and looks at you, smirking.

“If I’d known that’s what it would take for you to shut your bloody mouth, I’d have done it years ago.”

“Let me go, Malfoy,” you say shakily, but even as he loosens his grip slightly, you show no sign of moving.

“If you’d wanted to leave you’d have Stunned me long ago,” he states, truthfully. Your wand is fully in reach. You know how to do wordless spells. And yet you let him kiss you.

“Shut up,” you grumble, still not moving.

“I think, perhaps,” Draco murmurs, glancing down at your body, “you’re enjoying this.”

“No,” you argue, and his wand digs into your neck—not enough to hurt but enough to register.

“Shh,” Draco hushes, almost condescendingly. “Be quiet, now. That’s a good girl.”

Involuntarily, you shudder at his words. They made your legs weak, and you fight off the urge to audibly whimper—what the hell’s gotten into you?

Maybe he won’t notice. Maybe he hasn’t noticed.

Of fucking course he notices.

“Oh?” The shit-eating smirk on his face is enough to make you glare absolute daggers at him. “Don’t give me that. You shivered. You liked it.”

“Shut up,” you say again, with no real strength.

“Don’t you want to be my good girl, sweetheart?” he teases cruelly, and you have to close your eyes to fight off the blush. It doesn’t work, and your face grows hot with embarrassment and arousal.

“Dear me,” Draco says mockingly. “What happened to the spitfire from minutes ago, hm? Still feeling like saying those words to me? Still feeling like being bad?”

Inadvertently, you shake your head.

“Who’s pathetic now?” he mocks, grinning, letting his wand trail a cold path down your neck, over your collarbone, until it rests on the top button of your uniform. “May I?”

The question sounds mocking, but he meets your gaze and you know he’s honestly asking for permission. And you give it to him, nodding, even as your blush deepens. Draco undoes your buttons, one by one, with tiny flicks of his wand, until your shirt is fully unbuttoned and you’re exposed to his gaze.

Draco shoves his wand into his belt and pushes your bra out of the way with an almost laughable urgency, getting a full, appreciative look at your breasts. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. “Shame they belong to such a fucking headache, hm?”

You grumble some sort of an insult, and Draco pinches a nipple, which shuts you up effectively. “That’s what I thought.”

His hands trail down to your skirt, and instead of undoing the button he leans down and scoops the fabric up. “Here, be good and useful and hold this for me.”

The indifferent praise and the degradation combined has you obeying immediately, hoisting your skirt up and baring yourself to him, which only adds to an eddying swirl of shame and arousal pooling in your gut. Draco looks at you, stares, really, and it’s with a predatory grin that he reaches over to caress you through your panties.

“Soaked,” he observes, sounding both amused and satisfied. “You always get off this much to being treated like a right slut, then?”

“Draco,” you whine, bucking your hips up into his almost phantom touch. “Come on.”

“Is that how we ask nicely?” Oh, this bloody git. You’ll never be able to look at him again—he’s going to be so fucking smug around you.

When you don’t answer, he withdraws his touch completely, and you make a sound of protest. “No, no, please.”

“Go on.”

“Please touch me,” you try, but it’s hard to focus when you’re so goddamn wet you’re soaking through your panties.

“Not quite,” Draco muses. He’s palming himself through his trousers, and the sight turns you on impossibly more. “Come on, then—convince me.”

“Draco, please touch me,” you beg. One of your hands drift down to your panties but he slaps it away immediately, shooting you a warning look. “Please!”

“Touch you where?” He wants you to say it.

“Touch my cunt, please, Draco, fuck, I’m so wet it hurts,” you beg, and it’s true—you’re aching with arousal, and if he doesn’t touch you within the next few seconds you think you really just might combust. “Please, please touch me, I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want, just touch me.”

“If only the school could see you now,” he sneers, but even he seems to break his self-control and he tugs your panties down harshly, all but ripping them off. “Baring yourself to me and begging to be touched like a whore.”

“I’m not—oh,” you gasp, his fingers pressing into your cunt immediately and his thumb working on your clit, sending waves of pleasure so potent you almost double over. His fingers are long and thin, which is why he can press two in without preamble, and the stretch is barely noticeable.

“You’re not what? A whore?” Draco laughs. “Please. Look at yourself.”

“’m not,” you insist, but you clench around his fingers at his words and he raises an eyebrow.

“I think you’re lying.” He presses a third finger in and you whine, little sounds of pleasure escaping your lips as he works you open. “Quieter, now, or I’ll have to gag you.”

You bite your lip, and Draco thumbs your clit as a reward and incentive. “Now, tell me what you are. Be truthful, or I won’t fuck you. I’ll leave, leave you here with your shirt hanging open and your skirt up, the doors wide open. Maybe the next bloke who stumbles in might help you.”

Your eyes widen—he wouldn’t. But his gaze is dead serious. “Say it.”

“I’m a whore,” you breathe, and he thrusts his fingers into you, hitting that right spot. “Draco!”

“Say it louder,” he orders, angling his fingers and curling them.

“I’m a whore,” you moan out, bucking your hips upwards—you’re close, you’re so close. “Draco, I—”

He stops moving, and his other hand pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You let out a gasp of shock and hurt, reeling from the denial and pleasure. “But—”

“You’re not fucking coming until I say so,” Draco hisses, undoing his belt and pushing his trousers down. “And I’m not saying so until I properly fuck you into a bloody wreck.”

His cock is already hard, and he positions himself right at your entrance. You can feel him, his tip pressed against your wetness, but not pushing in. “Draco—”

“I think,” he muses, and you want to scream, “one day I’ll drag you into a broom closet. Fuck your throat so hard you won’t be able to talk for the day. You’ll look pretty, don’t you think?”

“Please—”

“Or I’ll bring you back to my dorm, so I can fuck you until you’re screaming yourself hoarse,” Draco says thoughtfully. “Your dorm works. So long as I can ruin you.”

“Malfoy—”

“Because it’s just so—” and he pushes into you in one swift movement, fucking into you immediately with a fast and rough rhythm, “—fucking nice to see you being a slut for me.”

“Fuck!” You grind your hips along with his rhythm, feeling the tightness of your cunt around his cock, and you clench as he hits your sweet spot with the right angle, almost shaking with the pleasure that it gives you.

Draco groans your name, fucking you brutally as he chases his own release, already pent-up from the teasing and the sight of your wrecked state. “’m gonna come on your tits, would you like that? Get it all fucking messy, maybe get some into your mouth, get you fucking ruined?”

“Please, please, fuck, please let me come,” you plead him, feeling your impending orgasm barrel towards you—you couldn’t last, you can’t fucking last—

“Fucking hold it,” Draco snaps. “Hold it like a good fucking girl, you understand?”

You let out a mournful sound, but you nod—yes, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, please—

“Salazar, I’m fucking close,” Malfoy breathes into your ear, his voice rough and strained. “You feel so good, love, so bloody tight.”

“Please,” you whimper, not even sure what you’re pleading for at this point. Draco exhales shakily and curses, pulling out and pushing you to your knees with such a force that you drop down, your skirt being the only padding.

“Wh—?” you try to ask, but Draco is already pumping his cock and then he’s coming all over your face, some of it dripping down to paint your breasts as he’d promised. Draco leans down to gather some release on a finger and pushes it into your mouth, eyes darkening as you suck and swallow around it.

“Good girl,” he praises, and you almost come right there.

“Draco, please,” you beg, still on your knees and still absolutely fucking desperate for release that he’s been denying you for the past half hour. “Please let me—”

“Alright, spread your legs, c’mon,” Draco guides, and you obey and then he’s there, thumb rubbing steady circles around your clit and two fingers pushing inside you once more. You whine and grind into his fingers, his touch, hips following his movement as he pushes you closer—closer—

“Fuck!” you sob as he senses your impending orgasm and stills his hand. “No—no, why?”

You sound like a petulant child and Draco laughs at you, and it’s an unfair move and a mean sound but it somehow turns you on even more. “I’m just messing, sweetheart.”

Fuck you, you badly want to say, but somehow you feel like that won’t get you what you want.

Draco starts moving again, his fingers gaining speed, and the sound of them pumping in and out of your soaked cunt sounds delightfully dirty. You’re quickly pushed to the edge again, and amidst your pleasure you eye Draco distrustfully.

“Please,” you whisper, and he smirks at you.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

And he thumbs your clit and you’re coming, gasping with the pleasure and shaking as he eases you through it. His fingers don’t stop moving, even after your orgasm has faded, and you squirm in discomfort as he overstimulates you.

“Stop—please—”

“Promise me you won’t be a bloody pain again,” Draco levels at you, and you want to glare back but his fingers curl inside of you and you yelp with pleasure and pain. “Promise me, or I’ll keep going.”

“I—I won’t be a pain,” you mumble, trying to squeeze your thighs together to get rid of his touch, but he perseveres, flicking your clit mercilessly.

“Say you’ll be good.”

“I’ll be good,” you manage, so close to sobbing from the frustration. “Please, Draco, I’ll be good, be good for you, please stop.”

He relents and you feel him draw his hand back. You close your eyes and you hear him tug his trousers back on, buckling his belt. You feel strangely empty without him—without his fingers, his cock, his touch.

Draco produces a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat, drool, and cum off your face, helping you button your shirt back up as well. “You alright?”

“Never better,” you reply, opening your eyes to see him staring at you in concern, all traces of the cruel tease earlier gone. Outside, the sun is setting, casting orange hues into the classroom, and you suddenly remember. “I—oh, bloody hell, I have to arrange the desks for Lupin—”

“I’ll do it. Stay here.”

Draco stands up and takes out his wand, flicking it twice in quick succession. A wordless spell. As you watch, the desks and chairs slide back to where they used to be, neatly arranging themselves in rows.

You’re impressed as he comes back. “What spell is—hey!”

He’s flicked his wand once more and torn your panties clean off your legs.

“Draco—what in Merlin—”

“A souvenir.” Malfoy smirks, stuffing your soaked panties into the pocket of his trousers. “And payment for the desks.”

“You’re a bloody prick,” you say, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Careful now, love. Remember what you promised.” Draco’s tone is playful, but warning. “I’m a man of my word, so you should choose yours carefully. Next time I won’t be as gentle.”

Caught off-guard, you can only nod obediently, which seems to please him. But you can’t promise you won’t slip back into old habits the very next day. Whatever the case, one thing was clear—there would almost certainly be a next time.

------

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[nixll]

venice for one

pairing : harry styles x reader

summary : after getting broken up with and struggling with your own insecurities, you make the split-second decision to take a solo trip to venice. you expect the week to be a fun-filled adventure, but when you accidentally have a run-in with a famous popstar, things don’t go quite as you expect them to. 

word count : 9.5k

warning : smut, 18+

“you don’t ever do something just because it makes you feel good?”

paris for one by jojo moyes

The moment you step off the train and onto the platform, you feel a sudden urge to turn back around, toss your bags back on the bench you had been seated on, and make the same exact trip you had just taken again, only backwards this time.

Instead, you force your feet to take one step after another, your suitcase dragging noisily behind you against the concrete platform as you lug your tote bag higher up on your shoulder. In your hand is a note scribbled with the name of the bed and breakfast you booked yourself into, and directions written neatly with bullet points, but as you enter the city of Venice, Italy, you know finding the place you’re looking for is going to be much harder than you had first thought.

The city, as gorgeous as it is, is a slightly confusing maze of sidewalks and canals, and there’s people everywhere. The anxiety you had managed to push away when you got off the train is slowly returning as you look at your directions and attempt to find your way.

This trip had been a split-second decision, one made by your irrationally, heartbroken brain only a few hours after your boyfriend had dumped you. The breakup had come as a surprise to you, especially after many of your friends had brought up the idea of marriage after several years together, but your now ex-boyfriend had thought otherwise.

“You’re not the girl I fell in love with,” he had claimed in an uproar as he threw a suitcase together, “you’re not the fun, outgoing person I used to know.”

You had tried arguing against his claims, but it had done no good, and in the end, he had walked out with nothing more than a promise to come back to what had been your shared apartment to get the rest of his stuff over the next few days. When you called your friends to tell them what happened they had done their best to fill your head with encouraging words and stories about how you were still a fun person to be around, but the longer you thought about it, the more you realized your ex was right.

You weren’t the same person he had fallen in love with, and you hadn’t been that person in a long time. In some ways that was okay. You had fallen in love young and where you grew up, he still acted like the immature college student you had met years ago. He partied constantly, going out with friends at all hours of the night, and you honestly don’t remember the last time the two of you hung out somewhere other than the bar down the street. Nice restaurants had never been his thing, and in wanting to make him happy, you had never opted for anything but what he suggested.

You knew he wasn’t happy anymore, and neither were you. You were getting older and concerning yourself with your job and what your future looked like, not when the next time you could go for a cocktail hour was. You had settled into a routine for yourself, one that required no more effort than you needed, and in having that, your now ex-boyfriend decided you were a prude.

After a while, though, you wondered how much of what he had said to you was true. You don’t remember being much of a party girl when you were younger, but you definitely had your moments, and you definitely hadn’t had one of those moments in a long time. You knew if asked what word could describe you the best, adventurous or outgoing wouldn’t be the first word, or second or third to pop into anyone’s head, but maybe you wanted to be those things.

Maybe you wanted a stranger on the street to look at you and wonder what kind of adventures you had been on because just by looking at you, they can tell you know how to have a good time. Maybe you wanted to be that pretty girl in the room, the one that nobody could take their eyes off of.

Five hours after your relationship had ended, you decided you didn’t need your ex, but you did need a change of pace.

You were going to take a trip to Italy by yourself. You hadn’t told anybody, not even your friends, and had only left a brief voicemail to your workplace calling out sick for the rest of the week and no other explanation. It had taken you an hour to book all the tickets needed for travel and to find a place to stay that would take you with such little notice, but in practically no time at all, and with two haphazardly packed bags, you had been on your way to Italy for what you hoped would be a fun adventurous few days.

So far, the idea of a fun filled week had completely escaped your mind and your first day in Italy had started out with a drag.

You had yet to find the Bed & Breakfast you had booked yourself into, and with a sore shoulder from carrying your bag and your hand growing increasingly sweaty as you gripped onto your suitcase, you were beginning to think about what your best bet would be on getting home.

Not a single person you had managed to stop speaks English, and even after you show them the name of the place scribbled at the top of your sheet in Italian, nobody is seemingly able to help you. Venice is not the biggest city, and you remember briefly reading about how it is possible to walk the entire city in the matter of an hour. With a glance at the watch on your wrist, you’re ready to turn around and make your way back to the train station in the hopes of catching a ride back.

That’s when you spot it: the barely-there sign with a name on it that matches the one on your paper.

Vera Ospitalità.

It’s a cute little blue building, looking exactly like it did when you were Googling places to stay in Venice. It hadn’t cost very much, and the lady had sounded sweet over the phone when you asked how soon she would have a room open.

“We always have a room open, cara.”

You hadn’t quite understood what she meant at the time, but the sight of those two Italian words fill your body with a jittery joy as you let out a shout, catching the attention of a few people walking past you. You pay them no mind as you pick up the pace, not taking your eyes off the sign until you’re standing in front of the door and pushing it open.

The bell above lets out a delightful jingle as you walk in. You can only imagine what you look like to the lady sitting at the desk as you walk in with sweat dripping down your forehead and a slightly rumpled paper stuffed in your hand, but she offers you a cheerful smile.

“Are you Irene?” you ask, slightly out of breath as you step up to the desk, letting your bag fall from your shoulder. “We talked on the phone yesterday.”

“Yes! Hello, cara,” Irene says, standing from her seat and reaching for the guestbook she keeps under the counter. “I am happy to see you made it. How was your trip?”

You smile, trying not to think about the want to turn back around and head home you felt only minutes ago. “It was good! Happy to finally be here.”

“Oh, yes, yes. Just sign these forms and I will get you your key.” Irene pushes the book your way and you easily sign your name on the dotted line. “There is only one bathroom upstairs, but you get the room directly across from it.”

Your head snaps up from the book. “One bathroom?”

“Yes,” Irene nods, “but it has a tub, and the water runs perfectly. And there is only one other guest staying here this week, so there should be no trouble.”

“There’s only two of us here?”

Irene pauses. “You ask many questions.”

You offer a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“There is a young man staying here also, about your age. I only have four rooms and I don’t get many guests.”

You briefly wonder if you should have chosen a slightly more expensive place to stay, but your expectations hadn’t been very high coming in and how bad can it be when there are only two of you staying?

Irene hands over your key, directing you up the stairs to where your room waits for you. “Breakfast is served at 7 if you would like some, otherwise I have a list of places around the city you can visit.”

You give Irene one last thank you before you’re heading up the stairs, your suitcase and bag in hand. Your room is immediately at the top to your right, with the door across from yours labeled bagno with a cute little wooden sign. There are two more rooms a little further down the hall, and then one at the very end with the door open enough for you to glance inside.

There’s music playing – something you’ve heard on the radio a million times before but can’t remember the name of – and you can make out the silhouette of someone sitting at a small desk next to a window. With the way the setting sun is shining through, you can’t make out any of the figure’s features, but you know that this is the man Irene mentioned downstairs.

You wave a hand. “Hi.”

You can see him turn his head, but can’t make out any features still, nor an expression, as he stands and shuts the door without a second thought.

You frown, deciding not to dwell on it as you unlock your room and step inside. It’s small, and you know your friends would try and make it sound better by calling it quaint, but you decide that it’s not any more or any less than you need for the week. There’s a small desk and dresser off to the side, and a twin size bed with a side table sitting next to the headboard. The sight of the small, but very neat room is comforting after the mix of emotions you’d spent your afternoon with, and you find yourself wanting to just fall against the comforter and end your day there.

So, you do, quickly changing into your sleep clothes and doing your nightly routine, you let all the anxiety and the interaction with the man down the hall fall from your mind as you slip under the covers and rest your head against the pillow. It’s early, but you figure you’ve had enough adventure for the day. Plus, you still have the next few days left to spend in the city.

Sleep comes easy to you, so easy that you’re shocked awake the next morning at the sound of loud footsteps coming down the hall, and then a slam of a door. Lifting up from your bed, you glance at the clock on the table next to you and let out a small groan. You hadn’t been planning on taking up Irene’s offer of breakfast at 7, but now that you were awake you figured you might as well do exactly that. The grumble your stomach lets out seems to further settle the idea to get ready and go downstairs into your head.

The banging across the hall continues, and you know the sound belongs to the man from down the hall. Not wanting another interaction like the day before you decide to wait for the sound of the door opening and steps retreating down the hall, knowing the man has returned to his own room before you head into the bathroom with your things to get ready. You throw on a simple outfit for the day, doing all your daily necessities. The smell of cologne fills the small space, and normally it would be something that would irritate you – someone else treating a space as only their own with no other thought of anyone else who might occupy it – but the scent is pleasant enough and you decide to leave it be. When you’re done, you listen again for the sound of footsteps, but there are none.

Opening the door, you peak down the hall. The door at the end is shut, but you still cross the space to your room quicker than normal, opening the door and slipping inside. Just as you grab your shoes and anything else you plan to use throughout the day, your phone finding its spot in your pocket, you hear a door open again. You listen quietly as the man moves down the hall to the stairs, only slipping into the hallway when you know you won’t run into him. He’s already disappeared into the front room when you yourself reach the stairs and start the trek down.

When you reach the bottom floor, Irene stands just across the room in what you realize is the dining area. There’s a jingling as the front door opens, and you look over just in time to see a head of dark brown hair escaping through the entrance.

There’s something odd about you and this stranger avoiding each other, but you don’t let it cloud your thoughts. You don’t even know the man, and don’t have any care to get to know him.

Irene spots you lingering by the stairs and waves you over. “Have you met the other guest yet?”

You smile as you walk over to sit at the table situated in the room. The space isn’t very large, only big enough to hold the essentials of a kitchen and a table that seats six, but the feel of it all is very intimate. It also smells terrific, the smell of sausage and pastries filling the room. You’re suddenly grateful that you chose this place over any of the others, weird neighbors be damned.

“He’s nice, is he not?”

You purse your lips as Irene places a plate loaded to the brim with various breakfast items. The sight makes your stomach grumble again and you laugh in an attempt to conceal it. “I haven’t exactly met him yet.”

Irene frowns. “You haven’t?” She tsks. “He’s very friendly, but he never eats breakfast here.”

“Never?” You glance up from your plate. “How long has he been here?”

“Only few days, but he comes once a year and stays here rather than big fancy hotel.”

You nod, taking a bite of the croissant on your plate. You close your eyes giving a small hum of pleasure at the taste of the buttery pastry. “He’s missing out.”

“You’ll meet him soon enough, I think.” Irene waves her hand around as she takes her own seat, carefully digging into her own plate of food.

You continue breakfast with polite conversation. Irene asks why you decided to come to Italy, and you fib your answer a little, explaining it was just a need to get away for a bit. It wasn’t entirely inaccurate, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to reopen the fresh wound that was your current relationship status.

When you’re done, you bid Irene farewell for the day and head out on your own. The sun is warm as it beams down on your face, the air slightly cool from the canals. You plan to just walk around the city for most of the day, not having much else to do until the afternoon when the gallery you had opted to go to opens.

For a few hours you simply meander around the city, stepping into shops with clothes that cost far too much money, but you try them on anyway. You find a nice place for lunch, deciding you’ll come back to try something else for dinner after the gallery. The day all goes fairly quick, but you head back to Vera Ospitalità with a grin permanently etched into your features.

Irene is not at the front desk when you walk in. It’s getting fairly late in the day and after the large and filling meal you had chosen to eat for dinner, you decide that you’ll end your day with a nice bath and then head to bed, excited for the boat ride you had booked for the next day.

That plan is immediately foiled when you climb the stairs and hear the shower already running. You don’t have any idea how long it’s been occupied, but you figure he has to be done sometime soon and choose to wait in your room until he is.

Fifteen minutes pass before you realize it, and the shower is still going. It occurs to you that all of the hot water must be gone now and you feel a bit frustrated at your thought of a nice night being ruined by a man who doesn’t know how to shower quickly. Trying not to let your frustration get the best of you, you snatch up your towel and storm out of your room to stand in front of the door across from you. There’s some steam coming from the crack between the door and the floor, but you ignore it as you knock on the door.

There’s a noise that sounds something like a grunt, and then the shower shuts off. You listen to shuffling, a rumple of clothes, and then the door swings open and there, for the first time since you arrived in the tiny hotel, you finally come face to face with the stranger who’s been living down the hall from your room. It suddenly hits you why he had been so eager to avoid you the day before and ;told you that he must’ve been trying to avoid you this morning too, obviously trying not to make his presence known.

Harry Styles stands in front of you in a pair of loose shorts with a towel hanging from his hand, his hair dripping down onto his forehead. His tattoos are on full display, the pair of ferns peaking up from his waistband, and his skin is glistening from all the water he hadn’t been given the chance to properly wipe off. Steam pours out through the doorway and the sudden heat of it sends a shiver down your spine.

You don’t realize you’re staring until your eyes meet his and he cocks a brow. “You’re not going to be a creep and ask me for a photo, are you?”

His tone is dangerous, and he’s got an accusatory look plastered on his face. It makes something in you want to snap back, that anger from not being able to take a bath like you wanted still lingering a bit, but instead you stand there, trying to think of the best words to say back to the man in front of you who clearly thinks you’re here for something other than a nice vacation. Every possible thing you had wanted to say before the door had opened has suddenly disappeared from your brain, only to be replaced with the slight shock of your current situation. Your mouth opens and snaps closed one time, then again, as the words you want to say struggle to fall from your mouth.

Eventually, you hold up your towel.

Harry’s head tilts to the side, his gaze curious. “So, you’re not just renting the crappiest hotel in the entire city in order to get some sort of insider photos?”

You frown, the shakiness you had felt disappearing as you think about Irene and her hospitality. “It’s not a crappy hotel.”

Harry smiles, but you’re sure it’s just because he’s amused and not because you’re doing a nice thing by defending Irene. “No, but it sure isn’t popular and nobody ever comes here. I’m always by myself when I come – Irene makes sure of it.”

You remember what Irene had told your over the phone when you asked about booking.

We always have a room open.

You purse your lips and try holding your head a little higher. “I’m not some crazed fan. I’m just here for a nice vacation.”

Harry looks you over. “Nice vacation? You don’t seem like the type.”

“It…” You stumble over what to say, trying to get a grip on the current situation you’re in with a half-naked famous popstar standing in front of you. He leans against the doorway, an arm propped against his head, and you swallow. “It was spontaneous.”

Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “You still don’t seem like the type.”

“You don’t know me,” you manage to say, feeling slightly offended by his words, but Harry just grins.

“And I don’t care to.” He claps his hands together, the sound muffled by the towel still gripped in his hand. “Pleasantries aside, I’d appreciate if you didn’t interrupt my shower next time, and also if you continued to not take photos of me whatsoever.”

You open your mouth to reply, but Harry has already pushed himself off the doorway and is marching down the hall before you can even think of what to say back to him. He doesn’t even bother turning back to look at you, just walks into the room and slams the door shut.

You wince at the sound, trying to still get a grip at what just occurred. You step into the still hot bathroom with its steamed-up mirror and slightly wet floor, but you disregard it as you move to the tub. You turn the handle for the hot water and aren’t surprised to find that it’s ice cold. You let it run for a minute, trying to see if it’ll warm up even the slightest, but you give up and shut it off when it remains cold.

You realize that not only had Harry left you with no hot water to take a shower in, but he also hadn’t bothered to ask for your name. When your head hits the pillow minutes later, choosing just to settle in for the night, you let the exhaustion of the day wash over you and fall asleep easily, though the irritation with Harry settles in well into the early morning.

Your alarm goes off early after a couple of hours, waking you up well before you know Harry will be awake. You quickly gather up your clothes and head to the bathroom, turning on the shower and hopping in before another second passes.

You take your time getting ready, lingering under the hot water for as long as you can before getting out and slowly going over each of your tasks in your morning ritual. You’re in the middle of finishing up your hair when there’s a knock on the door.

“Yes?” you call out, already knowing it couldn’t be anybody but your neighbor down the hall.

“It’s Harry,” he says, muffled through the door. It occurs to you that he never actually told you his name the night before, but you know he’s assumed you already knew who he was before. He wouldn’t be entirely wrong in that assumption. “Are you almost done?”

You grin at the turn of events. “Almost.”

It’s another ten minutes before you’re done. You had expected Harry to have turned around and headed back to his own room to wait, something you would have done if you had been in his place, but when you open the door he’s standing there across the hall, leaning against the wall next to your own room. It takes you by surprise, seeing him standing there. He’s already dressed for the day, a nice, knitted shirt on with brown shorts to match and checkered vans decorating his feet. The only thing out of place is his hair, still a mess of curls from where he hadn’t had the chance to comb them down yet.

You offer a smile as you step out of the bathroom. “All yours.”

Harry has a sour expression on his face as you pass by to get into your room. You don’t bother giving him any more attention than that, though, not keen on him accusing you of anything else.

At 7 you head downstairs. Irene is already settled into the kitchen with a plate full of food waiting for you. She smiles when she spots you. “Sleep well?”

You nod. “Finally met Harry.”

“Oh, Harry!” Irene claps her hands together. “Isn’t he so lovely?”

You hum in response. “Lovely,” you try to hide the sarcasm in your voice, “that is definitely the word I would use.”

Irene’s eyes flicker behind you, and she brightens at the sight of Harry coming down the stairs. “There he is! Harry, come have breakfast.”

Harry appears, hair now perfectly in place, walking around the table to greet Irene with a hello and a kiss to her cheek. “Can’t, love. Have places to be.”

“Oh, stay for a bit. It’s too early to have anywhere important to be. Talk with us,” Irene urges, gesturing to you already seated at the table.

You give an exaggerated nod. “Yeah, talk to us, Harry.”

Harry forces a smile onto his face. “Only for a bit, yeah?”

Your frown is immediate as Harry takes the seat across from you. You had remembered what Irene had said the day before, about Harry never joining her for breakfast, and that had led you to expect him to decline Irene’s offer and head out for the day, but now you were stuck with him sitting there in front of you.

“What are the plans for today?” Irene asks, seemingly unaware of the tension at the table.

Harry gives her a genuine smile as he steals a roll from the plate she had placed in the middle of the table and takes a bite. “Goin’ to wander the city a bit, might take a nice boat ride.”

“I’m doing a boat ride too,” you chime in. The look Harry throws you is something similar to a glare, but you just smile, knowing you managed to get under his skin already this morning before he had even tried to touch yours.

The rest of the conversation is tense, with Irene staying blissfully unaware to the dirty looks you and Harry throw at each other. A part of you wonders how you can act like this with a complete stranger, but when you accidentally kick his shin under the table, and Harry returns a swift kick of his own, the thought is completely overshadowed by the irritation you feel when you look at him.

When Harry finishes his roll a few minutes later, he delivers a quick peck to Irene’s cheek and heads out, offering no goodbye to you. When he’s gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding and stand from your chair.

“Thank you for breakfast, Irene.” You make to move for the stairs, planning to take a little time to yourself before your planned boat ride later, but Irene stops you.

“He is better once you get used to him,” she tells you.

Your nose crinkles at that, wondering how much she actually had caught on to when it came to you and Harry. “I just think he doesn’t like me very much.”

She waves her hand. “He did not like me very much at first either, but he warms up in time.”

With a final nod, you head upstairs. The hours pass quickly as you find random things to do – playing games on your phone, reading a book. You had briefly wondered about calling your friends back home, curious if they had thought about you since you had last spoke to them, but you eventually decide against it when it’s time to head out for your boat ride.

The air is warm when you step outside, and the place where you’re supposed to go is only just down the block. There’s a delightful breeze that blows through your hair as you walk down the sidewalk, admiring the city as it moves through its daily ventures. You reach the dock you need to go to much easier than you had the Bed & Breakfast, but your stomach immediately drops as soon as you step on the pier.

Harry is standing with who you assume is the skipper of the boat you’ll be on. He has an impatient look on his face and his arms are crossed as he taps his foot against the wooden planks. When he spots you walking down the pier, a look of realization crosses his features.

“You’re going on a boat ride?” he asks, his brows raised above the rim of his sunglasses. “This boat ride?”

You look at the skipper and give a not-so-confident nod.

“Ah! You’re the girl who booked me so late the other day!” he announces almost proudly, and you offer an apologetic smile, choosing to ignore a clearly frustrated Harry.

“I’m so sorry about all that, it was so last minute—”

“Do not worry, darling. It seems to be my fault.” He gestures between you and Harry. “I seem to have made the mistake and made a double booking on accident. Either the two of you may ride the boat together and I’ll give half off, or one of you can leave and I’ll give full refund. I am booked full rest of day.”

You can feel Harry glaring at you through his glasses. “I’m not giving this up,” you tell him, feeling your own irritation grow at the sight of his.

“Well, neither am I.”

The skipper glances between the two of you before giving a delightful shout. “Two of you it will be! Let’s get going.”

You and Harry give the same exasperated look to the skipper, but he’s already climbing on the small speed boat, waving for you to follow.

Harry looks to you. “Ladies first.”

You don’t bother with a thank you as you climb onto the boat, Harry not far behind, and find a seat on the small bench available. With no other place to sit, Harry is forced to sit next to you on the bench clearly fit to hold two people intimately. Neither of you say anything as the skipper starts the engine and pulls away from the pier and into the lagoon you were meant to be traveling.

For a moment, you regret not just walking away and letting Harry have the boat ride to himself. You can’t imagine being able to enjoy it when he won’t even look at you even though his shoulder and thigh are flush against your own as you both attempt to fit on the bench. You still want to make the most of it, so you turn to look at Harry, deciding to attempt to show some of the same hospitality you had been experiencing so much of in Italy

“Do people really stay in the same hotels as you to get photos?”

“What?” His sunglasses have fallen slightly down his nose, and his eyes are visible just over the rim.

You swallow down any frustrating feelings you might have against Harry right now. “Last night, you accused me of being in the B&B so I could get a photo of you—”

“Sorry about that,” Harry mumbles out, pushing his glasses back in place. “Shouldn’t have come at you so quick.”

You can tell that some of the tension has left his body and that makes you feel a bit better about being stuck with him now. “Do people really do that, though?”

You wish he had taken the glasses off now, just so you could see the expression hidden behind them. You can’t tell what he’s thinking with his eyes hidden behind the dark rims.

“I’ve been doing this for over ten years,” he finally says, “I’ve had people break into my home, fans have snuck into my tour bus, and I’ve been chased down the street. You checking into the same place I am staying, a place that is normally empty year-round, and trying to snap a cheeky photo would not surprise me in the slightest.”

You suck in a breath. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I see that now.” Harry smiles as he stands up and leans against the boat, looking out over the water. You look over the design on the back of his shirt, the image of a horse clearly visible. “Sorry for using up all the hot water last night.”

Your eyes flit to the skipper standing at the wheel, but he pays neither of you any attention as he hums to himself. “It’s okay.”

“Also sorry for not asking for your name since you clearly already know mine.” He looks back over his shoulder at you. “So, what is it?”

“What?”

A smile. “Your name, love.”

“Oh.” You give up your name, falling from your lips as you remember the bit of hurt you felt the night before upon realizing he hadn’t asked for it then. It had been a strange feeling, wanting a complete stranger to know your name. especially when you and said stranger hadn’t gotten on so well, but now that he had asked for it you felt a sense of accomplishment.

Harry repeats it, his accent lilting something sweet. “S’a lovely name.”

He’s still looking at you when you say nothing, and it leaves you with a strange feeling. You try to think of what to say next, and when it comes to you, you almost laugh.

You hold out your hand. “Truce?”

The smile Harry gives you takes up the entirety of his face, dimples proudly displayed on his cheeks. He takes your hand in his own, his palm warm in yours. “Truce,” he confirms.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you for the rest of the ride, only interrupted by the sounds of the boat on the water and the skipper’s humming. Even with all your misadventures, you couldn’t deny that the city of Venice was gorgeous. And in some way, everything had seemed to work out for you so far, even creating something that resembled the beginnings of a friendship with Harry after a rough start.

When the boat pulls up to the pier, you realize that you feel more comfortable around Harry. No longer does he intimidate you like he had when you first laid eyes on him, but rather you feel easier with him, like you’re able to strike a conversation with him with no worries at all.

So, you do try to talk to him as you step off the boat, but he apparently had the same thought and the two of you laugh as you talk over each other.

“You first,” you tell him, biting your lip to hide your smile.

“I, uh,” Harry stutters over his words as he removes his glasses, looking up and down the pier to keep his eyes on something other than you. “I was just going to ask if you had eaten lunch already.”

“I think it’s well past lunch time.” You look down at the watch adorning your wrist. “But no, I only ate breakfast.”

Harry’s eyes flash to you, and the green of them is startling under the sunlight. “Would you like to go for a late lunch?”

You much prefer this friendly Harry to the one you had first been introduced to, and you understand that there’s a garner of trust between the two of you now. “I’d love to.”

Harry leads you down the pier and back onto the concrete sidewalks around Venice. It’s settling well into the afternoon, the sun beginning to drift just below the tops of the buildings around the city. You don’t bother asking where you’re heading off to, trusting that Harry will have a great choice in wherever you go.

Eventually, after walking a few blocks, still basking in that comfortable silence from the boat, Harry stops at a door with a sign overhead that you don’t understand. He opens the door and waves you in.

The moment you step inside, you’re hit with the smell of pasta and bread hitting your nose. You breathe it in deep and the hostess at the front smiles as she watches you do so.

“First time?” she asks, her accent thick.

You nod, jumping a little when Harry appears next to you and places his hand on your arm.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he tells you, gesturing with two fingers to the hostess. “They have the best spaghetti.”

The place isn’t as packed as you would expect it to be, most likely because of your arrival between lunch and dinner, but there’s still enough people for it to feel a bit crowded. The hostess walks you over to a booth in the corner, a bit hidden away from the other patrons in the restaurant, and you know it’s because of who you’re with.

The popstar in question sits across from you but doesn’t bother grabbing a menu for himself. “Wine okay with you?”

You nod and wait for the waitress to come over. When she does, offering up her name in a sweet lilting accent, Harry orders the wine and you give a thankful nod as she walks away before turning back to Harry. “So, the spaghetti?”

Harry lets out a low moan. “It’s the best. I come here every time I visit. Practically a regular when I’m in Italy.”

“It’s that good?”

“Better than good.”

You leave your menu resting in front of you, untouched until the waitress returns with a jug of wine and two glasses. She hands one off to each of you before topping them off with the jug.

“Your usual, Mr. Styles?”

The question sends Harry beaming. “Please. And she’ll have the same,” he gestures to you, and you give a soft confirmation.

Once the waitress has left, Harry takes a long sip of his wine before clapping his hands together. “So, what brings you to Italy?”

This Harry sitting in front of you is much different than the one you had met face to face for the first time the night before. There’s something softer about him, as if the edge was taken off the moment he put his hand in yours earlier. You like this Harry more, you think, with his giddy smile and soft giggle.

You remember how you had lied to Irene when she had asked you why you had traveled to Italy, but something tells you not to do that with Harry. “My boyfriend dumped me.”

Harry’s face drops, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but you wave a hand in front of you before he can get it out.

“I’m already over it, but there were some things he said that made me rethink a lot of stuff.”

“Like what?” His gaze is curious, and it makes you want to tell him everything going on in your brain, how you’re still upset and hurt, but want to feel free while you still have the time to here in Italy.

Instead, you sugarcoat it a little. “Just stuff about how he missed the girl I used to be – more fun and care-free.”

“Are you not that girl?”

You shrug, your hand playing with the stem of your wine glass before you lift it to take a sip. “I don’t know, but I liked the sound of being adventurous and doing something unexpected so—”

“So, you booked a trip to Italy?” Harry grins. “That’s quite impressive.”

“What is?”

“Deciding to just up and go to a different country for no other reason than you want to. I think you’re a bit more outgoing than your boyfriend gives you credit for.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Ex-boyfriend.”

Harry smiles into his glass. “Right. Ex-boyfriend.”

Your food arrives not long after that, two giant plates of spaghetti with pieces of garlic bread on the side. Harry laughs at your surprised expression at the sight of the amount of food now sitting in front of you.

“You didn’t tell me we were going to feed an army.”

Harry picks up his fork, stabbing it into the noodles and twisting it around. “Try it.”

You follow his lead, picking up your own fork. When you take a bite of the pasta, you shut your eyes as the taste coats your mouth. “Oh my god.”

“I told you.”

The two of you eat practically in silence, savoring the taste of your meal and not letting the flow of conversation interrupt your eating. Neither of you finish your plate, Harry coming much closer to doing so then you are and you’re left trying to finish the still half full jug of wine in the middle of the table.

You don’t know when you start feeling like telling Harry more about yourself, maybe after your third glass of wine, but eventually you’re telling him all about the fear you had of coming to Italy.

“What do you mean you almost didn’t come here?”

You giggle a little. “I stepped off the train and almost turned right back around to get on.”

“Why?”

You give an exaggerated shrug. “My own brain? I don’t know.” You look down at your glass of wine. “Sometimes I feel like everyone’s opinions of me are right, y’know? Maybe I am that girl that just doesn’t do anything except work and go home.”

“I get that feeling.”

Your eyes shoot up to look at Harry. “You do?”

Harry gives a lazy raise of his shoulders. “Of course. I have reporters and paparazzi up my ass at practically all hours of the day. Sometimes I wish I could scream at them that I’m not everything they think I am, nor do I want to be.”

You let out a snicker and Harry raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. I almost forgot I was sitting with a famous popstar.”

Harry groans, but there’s a playful look on his face as he wags a finger at you. “That’s cheeky.”

You decide to keep going, seeing how far you can push it. “My friends are going to love it when I tell them that I got to hang out with the Harry Styles. I’m pretty sure one of them used to have a poster of you in their bedroom.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. Another had the cardboard cutout.”

That sends Harry into a fit of giggles, causing you to follow his lead. You both are a little too tipsy by this point, and the jug is nearly finished.

It doesn’t occur to you how long you had been inside the restaurant until you walk outside and see that the sky has turned dark. The blocks are lit by streetlights, and under them Harry looks like something out of a dream. You don’t mean to lean into him as you walk back to the B&B, but you do so in order to try and keep your balance and Harry doesn’t seem to mind with the way he tosses his arm around your shoulders lazily.

“Tonight was fun,” he tells you, trying not to walk faster than you do. The position is hard to keep as you walk, but neither of you pull away. “’S been a while since I’ve done something with someone like this.”

You smile at his admission. “You mean you don’t go out somewhere with a complete stranger at least once a week?” You tsk. “You’ve gotta get out more, Mr. Styles.”

The B&B is quiet when you arrive back, and you feel like a teenager again as you sneak past the front desk and up the stairs, trying your best to keep quiet since you both know Irene has already gone off to bed. Your exe’s words briefly flit through your brain, and you wonder what he’d say if he saw you now – drunkenly stumbling around in a mysterious city with a man you’ve known barely longer than a day.

When your foot catches on a step, Harry is there behind you to steady you before you can fall forward. His hands catch your hips, helping keep your balance, but rather than it be something that would send your stomach in knots, the gesture makes you laugh out as you think about how funny it would have been to fall face first into the carpeted floor.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, staring behind at Harry who looks like he’s barely keeping himself from laughing. You maneuver your hand so it’s just your index finger pressed against your lips, a soft shhh falling past them. Harry nods, pretending to zip his lips shut and locking them, before throwing the pretend key over his shoulder. The action threatens to send you into another fit of giggles, but you manage to hold it in as you take the rest of the steps two at a time.

The boards creak beneath your feet as you walk to your door. Turning, you just about run into Harry, your hands flying up to press against his chest in an attempt to keep from stumbling into him.

“Sorry,” you stutter out, taking a step back and resting your back against your door. “Wine’s getting to me.”

Harry smiles, and in the barely-there light of the hallway, you think you can see something playful glittering in his eyes. “S’getting to me too.”

You suddenly remember the feel of his hands on your hips moments earlier, and the way he had kept his arm wrapped around you the whole way back. There’s that knot in your stomach that hadn’t appeared before, slowly making itself known now as you try to think of what to say next.

Harry speaks first, his voice low and his words slurred. “I had fun tonight.”

“So you said.”

“How long are you staying?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Tomorrow is my last full day. I leave the next morning.”

Harry looks a bit disappointed by that, but it’s quickly replaced by something else. “Y’know, I think I have a terrific way for you to prove to everyone when you go back that you still know how to have a good time.”

You swallow when Harry takes a step closer, your back pressing further into your door. “And what’s that?”

A smile, one that’s devious and just a little bit convincing, “Let me kiss you?

You bite your lip, trying to get ahold of the situation. This is not at all how you expected your vacation to go, but you can’t help but agree that it is the best way to prove to everyone and yourself that you’re not who they think you are.

You realize that this is it – your moment to prove to yourself that everyone else was wrong. How could you not be adventurous when you’re in a random country all by yourself, about to kiss a boy you’ve never met? That’s the perfect thing to do to prove everyone wrong.

And maybe there’s something in the way that Harry’s advances make you feel that adds to you giving a soft yes.

When Harry kisses you, it’s just as you would have imagined it. And then somehow, it’s more. His lips are soft against your own, the distant taste of strawberry chapstick and the wine from earlier lingering on them and you want to savor that taste, burn the memory of those flavors together into your brain. His hands find your hips again, pressing into them unlike he had earlier. There’s intention behind the grip, the promise of something more to come.

You clumsily reach for the doorknob behind you, not daring to move your lips away from Harry’s. The door falls open and almost takes you with it as you stumble back, barely catching yourself by gripping onto Harry’s shoulders. You press your mouth back to his, feeling like he could swallow you whole in that moment.

You reach blindly for the zipper on his shorts, your hand brushing over the tent forming there and causing Harry to let out a hiss at the friction. You smile against his mouth when he reaches down, taking the matter into his own hands and unzipping his shorts as he kicks off his shoes. You follow his lead and let your shoes meet his own in a pile on the floor. The pile only grows as you both precede to strip, and when you’re left staring at Harry’s naked body, a small gasp falls from your lips.

You reach out to run a hand across the butterfly inked into his stomach before letting it trial down to tease one of the ferns against his hip. You remember them from the night before, half concealed by the shorts he had kept on, but now having them on full display sendsa shudder through you.

“You’re pretty,” you tell him softly, and he laughs.

“So are you,” he replies, taking your face in his hands and kissing you, gently pushing you back onto your bed.

You had almost forgotten about the twin size bed in your room until you fall against it. You want to laugh at the size of it compared to your two bodies collapsing onto it, but Harry rests himself on top of you and attaches his mouth to your neck, sucking a deep mark into your skin.

One hand finds his hair, raking your fingers through it and tearing a groan from Harry’s chest, while the other scrapes at his back, your nails threatening to leave red scratches all over his skin. Harry lingers against your neck for only a moment before he’s trailing down your body, planting kisses against your skin as he goes.

When he reaches your hip, he digs his fingers into your stomach as he leaves a kiss in the curve there before he plants himself between your thighs. The bed is squeaking in protest to all of this movement, but it’s not bad enough for you to want to stop.

Harry kisses at your folds before bringing his fingers up to spread them. Both your hands are tangled in his curls now, tightening their hold as Harry’s tongue finds your clit. You squirm as he presses his mouth against you, coaxing a few moans from you before you remember that you’re not alone in the building.

“Harry,” you gasp out as your hips buck against his mouth, “the bed.”

You don’t think he hears you at first, the squeaking growing louder with each move he makes that causes your hips to come up off the mattress, but then his hands are under your thighs. Slowly, without moving his mouth away from you, Harry slides you off the bed. He meets the floor first, a bit more gracefully than you do as you slip off the bed and onto the floor. Harry laughs when you let out a yelp as your ass hits the carpeted floor.

You’re face to face with him now, and there’s slick covering his mouth. Without thinking, you grab his face and kiss him, letting your own taste wash over your tongue. Harry groans into your mouth, the vibration moving through your chest.

“I wanna taste you,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“Swear I won’t be able to hold it in much longer.” He’s breathing heavily and that only makes you smile something wicked that sends Harry’s brain into overload.

“Just a little taste,” you mutter before pushing at his chest so he falls back onto the carpet. You move between his legs like he had only minutes ago, your hand coming up to grip the base of his dick.

Harry lets out a hiss as you wrap your hand around him, giving a slow pump. When you lick the tip, though, he can barely hold back the moan he lets out and you laugh a little.

“Good?” you ask, taking him into your mouth finally and Harry feels like he’s slowly losing the will to function, wondering if he can even get the words out.

“Good, yeah. Yeah. S’good.”

You give him a few more pumps, moaning against him when he brings a hand up to wrap in your hair, but you don’t want him to lose control before he can get inside of you, so you restrain yourself and pull back.

Harry gives you a pitiful look when you pull away, only to be replaced with something much more eager when you begin to climb on top of him. He lays back against the carpet, grabbing your hips as you guide yourself onto his cock.

You both let out a mixture of sounds as you slide down onto him, letting yourself get used to the feel of it. After a minute, you rock back onto him, and Harry takes that as a good sign. Before you know it, he’s lifting his hips off the floor to fuck up into you, turning you into a whining mess as you chase your orgasm. The sound of skin on skin fills the room, and you’re sure that Irene must’ve heard you at this point, but you don’t care anymore as you press your hands down onto Harry’s stomach and try to meet the pace he’s set.

“Gonna cum,” he tells you, but you could already tell with the way his thrusts have become more frantic and sloppier. You can only nod, falling against his chest as you feel the beginnings of your own orgasm start to take over.

When yours hits, you cry out into Harry’s chest. Harry doesn’t stop, though, instead wrapping his arms around you as he chases his own. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he’s pulling out of you and moaning into your hair. You can feel the hot spurts hit your stomach, dripping down onto his due to your position. The two of you stay like that, his arms still wrapped tight around you, holding you to him.

“Harry?” you finally say after a few minutes of you trying to catch your breath. You can feel the effects of the wine from earlier still mixed with the aftermath of your orgasm, and it’s all making your brain feel a bit hazy.

“Yeah?”

You roll off of Harry, the heat of being pressed to him becoming a little too much, but he doesn’t let you go, and you find yourself laying sideways, Harry’s arms still wrapped around you as you lay face to face. “Do you usually fuck random strangers you barely know in Italy?”

Harry lets out a soft giggle, one of his hands beginning to rub at your back. “You’d be the first.”

You reach a hand up to run through his curls, pushing them back off his forehead. “Glad to know I’m not alone there,” you mumble. “So, what do we do now?”

Harry shrugs the best he can in his position on the floor. “We clean up, try to fit in your tiny bed, and figure it out in the morning?”

You hum in response. “I don’t think I can face Irene in the morning.”

“Oh, that woman sleeps like the dead. N’way she heard.”

“Still.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “How about I go downstairs in the morning, grab us some of Irene’s lovely breakfast, and convince her to go out for the day so you can be free of the embarrassment of her hearing us having really amazing vacation sex?”

You roll your eyes. “Then it’ll be obvious what we’re doing.”

“Yes, but I think Irene would appreciate the heads up before she’s wondering why the boards are creaking so badly the whole day.”

You smack your hand against Harry’s chest and a laugh bubbles up from it. “Are you saying you’re going to have me spend my last day in Italy locked away in a bedroom getting my guts rearranged?”

“That’s one way to describe it,” he laughs.

You hum again. “Y’know, I thought I hated you this morning.”

“That was kinda evident by the way you kicked me under the table at breakfast.”

You gasp. “That was an accident!”

“Ah, so you just wanted an excuse to play footsie, huh?”

You hit him again. “An accident, Harry.”

Harry laughs, pulling you further against him. You let out a yawn as you rest your head in the crook of his neck. “We should probably get up. I feel a bit gross.”

You hum in response, tickling Harry’s neck with the vibrations. You hear Harry say your name in an attempt to get your attention, but you’re already drifting off against his chest with the promise of him etched into your brain for when you wake up.

Harry figures he’ll get up in a bit rather than disturb you now, letting himself relax against you. He means to only lay there for a few minutes until he knows he can remove himself from you so he can clean up, but soon enough his eyelids are falling shut as he too drifts off to sleep.

#completely obsessed with jojo moyes and her books #so im happy i had this idea #italy!harry is a fucking babe also #harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles oneshot #one direction imagine #my fics #italy!harry