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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

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Heyyy love

Prompt for feysand please❤❤

"Whoever stood you up is a real

What’s this??? LB doing prompts again?? I have so many in my inbox and I’m sorry I haven’t been keeping up with them! I should be working on ACoFD/LVeR but the words have not been wording for me this week so i thought doing something light hearted may help! (Surprise, surprise the words also didn't word well for me here, but at least i had fun).

Word count: 3,710

Just give me one more chance.

Two drinks ago, Feyre had thought the plea was almost romantic. Didn’t it go this way in rom-coms? Guy meets girl, guy loses girl, guy gets his ass humbled, and then he crawls back to prove that he’s changed.

Feyre had wanted Tamlin to fight for her. She walked away prepared for him to call her bluff and when he asked for another chance, she’d been relieved to provide it.

Now that relief was starting to taste bitter. She scowled at the empty seat across from her where the rim of her glass circled it like a telescope. Almost as though it were mocking her, saying: hey, remember how Tamlin was supposed to be here over an hour ago?

She couldn’t decide if she was more angry or humiliated. The passing glances from the surrounding tables were obvious and as her waiter circled to ask if she wanted another drink, the masked pity was as thin as Feyre’s patience.

It was well past the point where she should leave—but everytime she convinced herself to ask for the bill, a little voice in her head begged her to reconsider. What if he has a good excuse?

Two drinks ago she might have blamed that part of herself on the Feyre who had been lovestruck by Tamlin the moment she’d knocked on his door asking for help in jump-starting her car. Her naive, romance-addled brain had been convinced it was fate, that electricity was thrumming through more than just the jumper cables.

Now Feyre nursed her third glass of wine and decided to be a little more honest with herself—she was not staying because she was in love with Tamlin. She was staying because it was terrifying to think that she was so easily cast aside. An old wound was chafing and she was begging for Tamlin to walk through those doors and prove her wrong.

A glance at her phone showed her where are you?? text had been read and left unanswered.

He was supposed to be the one who was not good enough, proving that she should give him another chance. Yet she was the one shifting underneath the weight of his blatant rejection, feeling humiliated and… and insufficient.

Swinging doors caught Feyre’s attention in her peripheral vision, and she swung her head hoping to find shoulder length blonde hair and a damned good explanation. As though there were a higher power with a truly sadistic sense of humor, Feyre was instead greeted by waist length red hair and dark onyx eyes that glinted in recognition.

Amarantha sauntered over with a cruel smile twisting her blood-red lips, and Feyre wished she could opt out of her 23-year trial of life, because the experience so far was less than satisfactory.

“Feyre, darling,” she crooned, and it sounded just as condescending as Feyre remembered. “It’s been an age, how are you doing?”

Feyre’s eyes darted to the rolled silverware on the table, genuinely contemplating shoving a fork through her hand if it would get her out of conversation with Tamlin’s ex-girlfriend. She was certain it would be less humiliating than letting Amrantha put together that she’d been stood up.

“Amarantha,” she greeted, not even bothering to fake enthusiasm. “I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”

The conversation withstood an awkward beat of silence. Amarantha waited for Feyre to reciprocate the question, and Feyre sipped her wine in the unrealistic hope that the redhead would get the hint and move on.

Instead she smirked at the empty chair. “Where’s your date?”

Given that Feyre and Tamlin had shared a fairly public breakup only a few weeks prior, Feyre didn’t doubt this was some attempt to rub it in her face. She might have felt smug in telling Amarantha that Tamlin had come crawling back on his knees, if she weren’t sitting across from the evidence that every promise had been empty.

Feyre was searching for something that could help her save face in this moment, but everything she came up with was so obvious an excuse that it would be more embarrassing to lie than admit the truth.

Time to swallow her pride. “I—”

“Thanks for letting me take that.” Feyre blinked, turning in time to watch a dark-haired man slide into the seat across from her. He wore an easy smile as he dangled his phone between his fingers. “The production team has been circling like vultures to get that contract signed, but I’ll be sure to give them hell tomorrow for interrupting our date.”

He was easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, and Feyre had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

That heartbreaking smile faded as he took in Feyre’s stunned face, and then the woman who stood beside her with slitted eyes. “Oh.” He leaned forward, extending his hand toward Amarantha’s. “I’m Rhysand, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I assume you’re one of Feyre’s friends?”

How did he…?

“So it’s true,” Amarantha purred, slanting her eyes towards Feyre as she accepted Rhysand’s outstretched hand. “You and Tamlin have officially ended things.”

Feyre shot her a look that she hoped was an appropriate mix between duh and don’t be rude, though it was a wonder she was able to express any emotion outside of the shock that was thrumming through her veins. She couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or creeped out by her saviour.

Rhysand seemed exceedingly charming, and obviously very clever to have put so much about the situation together so quickly. A smooth tongued liar was the last thing she needed to associate herself with, even if he was saving her from a mortifying situation. It didn’t help that he had exceptionally pretty eyes—so vividly blue that in the dim restaurant lighting she could have sworn they were violet.

“Anyway, Am, it was great catching up with you,” she dismissed in a sickly-sweet voice. “But Rhysand and I should really get back to—”

“Sure,” she said, adopting a tone of disinterest as though she hadn’t pointedly come up to Feyre’s table. With a flick of red hair, and a mumbled, “enjoy your dinner,” she hurried off to join the group of friends she’d come in with. Feyre noted with no small measure of dread that they were in clear view of Rhysand and Feyre’s table. It seemed there was no escaping this with her dignity intact.

“So…” she turned back to the grinning man leaning back in the chair across from her, looking so comfortable she’d have never guessed he wasn’t meant to be there.“Rhysand, huh?”

“You can call me Rhys,” he offered. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Feyre darling.”

So he’d overheard the entire conversation with Amarantha. Great. At least the nickname was only half as grating when it came from his smirking lips.

“It was nice of you to intervene,” she said, feeling at a loss of where to go from here. “You don’t have to stay here, though. You can… go back to wherever you came from. I was planning on leaving soon, anyway.”

He quirked a brow, jutting his chin toward the direction Amarantha had wandered off. “And let her have the satisfaction? No way. The only way you’re getting out of this date is if you throw that glass of wine at my shirt and storm out of here with your chin held high.”

Feyre studied the glass in her hand as though she were considering it. “Do you often threaten your dates this way?”

“Only the ones with pretty smiles,” he said smoothly.

Feyre nearly pointed out that he hadn’t seen her smile yet. Instead, she asked, “Why?”

“Well I can’t let just anyone throw wine at—”

“No,” she interrupted, brows furrowing. “Why would you help me like that?”

“Why?” he repeated, studying her curiously. “Why else does a man help a beautiful lady? It’s not merely because I am a kind, charitable, delightful gentlemen—”

“Humble, too,” she muttered.

That only seemed to widen his grin, but after holding her gaze for a long moment it lost some of its luster. “Because I noticed you as soon as you stepped into the room,” he admitted. “Which means I know that you’ve been here for nearly two hours, staring at your phone. And whoever stood you up is a real jerk.”

“That’s none of your business,” she said, a touch too defensively.

Rhys tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right, it’s not. And I didn’t mean to capitalize on a shitty situation. I genuinely just wanted to help. No one deserves to be stood up, even less so to be mocked for it.”

A dry lump formed in her throat. Was it so far-fetched? She likely would have done the same if she’d seen a lonely girl about to have something terrible rubbed in her face. And the kindness of a stranger was making her emotional, especially when she considered that Rhysand was putting more consideration into their fake relationship than Tamlin had put into their real one.

Since Rhys had already seen her at such a low point, she figured there was no use disguising it. Her shoulders slumped, and she stared blankly at the rim of her wine glass as she confessed, “Today sucked.”

Sympathy danced in his eyes, swirling with the flecks of silver and the reflected candlelight. “Allow me to try to make it suck a little bit less? I’ll buy you dinner and you can tell me how much of a prick this Tamlin guy is—or, or we can talk about whatever you want. I just want to see if I can make you smile by the time I pay the bill.”

Feyre chewed her lip in thought. The cynical part of herself, the one who’d just been stood up and couldn’t help but doubt the intentions of a strange man, asked, “And you, what? Came here by yourself in case someone needed you to play knight in shining armor?”

Rhys pointed towards a table in the corner, graced by four ridiculously attractive people that seemed to be in the middle of an energetic conversation. One of his friends—a big, bulking man with shoulder length dark hair—noticed their attention and smirked, waggling his fingers in greeting.

“I came here with friends,” Rhys explained. “Though, I’m certain they’re relieved to be rid of me.”

It was an effort not to feel embarrassed that Rhysand’s entire friend group knew she’d been stood up. Feyre couldn’t help feeling like she’d been made out to be a charity case, and half-wished it had been one of the girls at the table—either the blonde with warm eyes or the short, slightly more intimidating looking one—that had come to rescue her. At least then she could be comforted by female solidarity and not feel so exposed by the fact that her savior was unfairly gorgeous.

Given that Rhys had been here for two hours, and his friends looked about ready to pay the bill, she was certain he’d already had dinner. That didn’t stop him from making pointed eye contact with her waiter and ordering as though he truly were on a first date. Feyre could admit that she’d been starving waiting for Tamlin to show up, and when those encouraging violet eyes turned to her, she caved and ordered the dish she’d had her eye on in the time she’d been waiting. Rhys looked immensely pleased that she’d decided to go along with it.

“So,” Rhys began once the waiter left. “How likely am I to have a fight on my hands if this other guy shows up?”

Feyre frowned at her phone, still open to her messages with Tamlin. Those blue checkmarks beside her last message were practically glaring at her. “If he shows up, he’ll likely puff his chest and try to make a scene.”

The rolled up sleeves of Rhysand’s dark button-up shirt provided Feyre with a generous display of golden brown skin stretched over muscular forearms. Given his broad frame, and the size of his two male friends in the corner, Tamlin would have to have a death wish to pick a fight.

“Sounds like a catch,” Rhys said dryly.

“He won’t show up.” She spoke with a confidence she wished she’d possessed an hour ago, so that she could have left the restaurant with a little more pride in her step and avoided this situation altogether. “Knowing Tamlin, he’ll wait until my anger cools, then show up with a spectacular excuse and a thousand apologies.”

“Ah. Sounds like you’ve been down this road with him before.” Rhysand’s voice, and expression, lacked the judgment Feyre had come to expect in these conversations. There was none of the exasperated why are you still with him?? undertone that so many of her friends seemed to take. It was refreshing.

“And it will be the last time,” she promised, more to herself than him. Feeling suddenly emboldened—most likely by the wine—Feyre snatched her phone and blocked Tamlin’s number.

“Good riddance, then,” Rhys said, the corners of his mouth peeking into a smile. He grabbed his glass full of amber liquid and raised it into the space between them. “You deserve someone who shows up.”

Feyre raised her glass to meet his, watching the wine slosh with the movement. “Or swoops in,” she added, without really thinking.

Those dark brows raised, probably wondering if Feyre was flirting with him. So was she.

Rhys met her eyes levelly. “Shows up,” he insisted. “Otherwise the grand gestures are meaningless.”

Out of everything that happened in the space of an evening, how was that what made her eyes finally begin stinging with tears? She knew the answer. It was because every grand gesture Tamlin made—the gifts and flowers, the romantic weekends away, even the way they’d first met… They’d always been Tamlin swooping in, convincing Feyre there was an effort being made even when he never showed up when it counted.

Her vision swam, and Feyre fixed her eyes on the candlelight as she blinked furiously. Crying would only add to the dumpster fire that had become of her romantic evening, and Tamlin didn’t deserve her tears.

“Are you a painter?” Rhys asked suddenly, in what she was certain was an attempt to distract her.

Feyre’s eyes snapped to his face. “What?”

He pointed to her arm, at a streak of dried paint she must have missed in the hours she’d spent getting ready for the date. Hours, she reminded herself. To look pretty for a man who never showed up. Though she supposed it wasn’t a fruitless effort, since she’d apparently caught Rhysand’s eye from the second she walked into the restaurant.

Her eyes trailed a path over his strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, then to where his sensuous lips tugged into a wickedly endearing smile. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world, to have ended up sitting across from him.

“Unless the paint is a fashion statement,” he teased lightly, unperturbed by her staring. He was so beautiful, she wondered if he was used to it.

“Yeah,” she answered, unable to keep the astonishment from her voice. Feyre would have been lucky if Tamlin noticed her hair was curled. “I was working on a piece earlier today.”

“What were you painting?” he asked, leaning forward. His eyes glimmered with what she perceived to be genuine interest, and her heart ached to realize how low the bar was, to be so shocked by Rhysand’s attentiveness.

“A mural,” she said, feeling a smile tug at the corners of her lips. “At a school. I’m an art teacher, and I’ve been working on a project with my students over the last few months. It’s been—incredible.”

His expression softened into something like wonder, and Feyre wished she could freeze time so that she could spend hours openly admiring how expressive his eyes were. It was almost a relief when the waiter arrived with their food, preventing her from gawking at the pretty man.

Feyre’s mood lifted significantly after the first mouthful. Was it wishful thinking to pin most of her anguish on hunger? It couldn’t have helped.

“Tell me about it.” Rhys said, picking at his second dinner with noticeably less enthusiasm. “The mural, I mean.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Meals with Tamlin were typically quiet once the food arrived, but she supposed Rhys wasn’t very hungry. So she did. Around very unlady-like mouthfuls, she explained how each class had voted on what to include in the mural and how she’d spent months collaborating with the students to help their visions come to life.

“They get so excited each day more is added to the mural,” she said, fully grinning at the memory. Rhys was smiling too. “I like to stay late so I can add to it when no one is watching. Their eyes go so wide when they see it in the morning.”

“Do you have a picture of what you’ve done so far?” he asked.

Feyre nodded, opening her phone to the album she’d created for the project so that he could scroll through the progress—and the student-drawn references. His smile widened until she could see his brilliant, white teeth.

“This is—wow. Incredible is the right word.” He handed the phone back, having looked through the entire album. “You’re very talented. As are your students, of course.”

“Thank you,” she said with a laugh. “I promise I can do serious paintings, as well.”

“Well I am officially a fan,” he said. “And if you and your students are ever open to commissions, I have a wall in my office that is looking very bland at the moment. It could certainly use more pegasi and faeries painted onto it.”

“No office is complete without them,” she deadpanned, and when he laughed it was like someone had filled her blood with helium.

By the time the bill came, which he insisted on paying despite her protests, Rhys had certainly made her smile. She’d even go so far as to say she had a good time.

His friends in the corner were long gone, so they walked out together as he continued his story on the origin of his friend group.

“So we like to come here at least once a month,” he finished, tucking his hands into his pockets. “You should join us next time.”

Some of her smile faded as she imagined what it would be like to meet them, given they all knew exactly how she and Rhys had met.

“We’ll see,” she said, not having the heart to deny him outright. And, if she was being honest with herself, not wanting to lose the opportunity to see him again. His responding smile was tight, and she knew he was clever enough to take the hint. “Also—thanks. For taking pity on me.”

“It wasn’t pity, Feyre.” Even when he was being earnest, she was struck by the way her name rolled off his tongue like a lover’s trill. “Like I said, you caught my eye the moment you walked into the restaurant. I prayed it wasn’t a boyfriend you were here to meet—though, if this were the result of my wish, I regret the pain it caused you. Even if I very selfishly enjoyed your company.”

She could have blushed, were it not for the cool evening air caressing her face. “Here.” She extended her hand. “Give me your phone.”

He obliged eagerly enough that she had to hide her smile as she added her number and handed it back to him.

“So that I can return the favor if you ever get stood up,” she breathed, meeting his eyes and suddenly feeling very reluctant to leave.

But if Rhysand had proved anything today, it’s that he was a gentleman. Feyre almost wished he wasn’t as she watched him hail a cab and open the door for her. After four glasses of wine and a freshly broken heart, perhaps it was better she didn’t invite him to come home with her. Even if she did regret it the entire ride home.

Even more, the next morning. When Tamlin arrived at her door with a bouquet of roses and a half-hearted apology, how satisfying might it have been for Rhysand to be standing behind her in all his irresistible glory? It made slamming the door in Tamlin’s face feel almost bittersweet.

It took a week for her phone to light up with a call from an unknown number. She’d nearly given up on the idea of hearing anything back from Rhysand and when Feyre answered, she convinced herself it was going to be a spam call.

“Feyre darling,” purred a familiar, silken voice.

“Rhysand,” she said, straightening up in surprise. “Calling for an art commission?”

“Actually,” he drawled, humor dripping through the speaker. “I’m calling because, in an unforeseen set of circumstances, I’ve been left stranded by myself in a restaurant. I’ve been here for hours and the situation is quite dire, so I’ve been left with no choice but to call in a favor.”

A startled laugh escaped her. “I see. What are the odds we would each be stood up in the same week?”

“Dismal,” he agreed. “And I desperately need you to come take pity on me.”

Feyre couldn’t help smiling as she wrote down the address and told him she would be there soon. Sure enough, she walked in to find Rhys sitting by himself in a busy restaurant. His face lit up when he saw her.

She couldn’t help stopping a waitress to ask, “has he been here long?”

The waitress glanced at his table considerately. “I sat him down hardly ten minutes ago.”

Feyre smiled, thanking the girl before she went to join Rhys.

“Been waiting long?” she asked coyly, sliding into the seat across from him.

His answering smile was shameless. “For you, darling? All my life.”

⟡ ⟡ ⟡

Taglist: Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@arrowmusings @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @tanvee1231 @darling-archeron @achernarlight @themoonthestarsthesuriel @thebonecarver @swankii-art-teacher @reddidh

#something like this actually happened to me #so the Tamlin slander was a bit personal #prompt fill #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #rhys x feyre #feyre x rhys #feyre x rhysand #feysand fluff #this is literally just a meet-cute #with a tiny dash of angst

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livelovecaliforniadreams · 11 months

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If Ted & Rebecca Were The Leads In Nora Ephron’s Movies

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corrupt-fvcker · 3 years

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Sleeping Positions...

Sleeping Positions HCs ( AoT x GN!reader )

Characters: Levi Ackerman, Reiner Braun, Erwin Smith, Zeke Yeager

Warnings: domestic fluff, cuddling, gender neutral reader, sfw, barely there mention of spicy themes

Author’s Note: just some long-ish headcanons about cuddling with my favorite aot boys. request are open but NO S4 SPOILERS PLEASE <3 also feel free to request this HC for a character i didn’t include.

Levi Ackerman:

In the beginning of your relationship, Levi preferred to sleep with some distance between the two of you. He struggled with falling asleep with another lying beside him, waking up at your every slight movement and finding it difficult to let his guard down.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, because if that was the case, you simply wouldn’t even be allowed in his bedroom.

No, it was just because it was a foreign experience to Levi. The thought of sleeping beside you was pleasant, but the reality of it made him quite anxious.

Over time, he grows more comfortable with you. He doesn’t feel the constant need to look his best around you and impress you, meaning you get to see the captain in some more casual clothes and domestic settings.

It starts off with brief naps, whether it be just him sleeping or both of you. He eases into the practice of falling asleep beside you. At first, you’d nap in the same room but in different spaces. Usually with Levi sitting in a plush chair while you sprawled out on the couch.

Then it slowly progressed from there, taking longer and longer naps as your bodies got closer and closer together.

When you finally reach the point in your relationship where both you and Levi are comfortable sleeping beside one another throughout the night, Levi adopts some favorite positions to sleep with you.

Levi loves being the little spoon. He gets cold easily throughout the night, but with you curled around him? He’s able to sleep through the night without having to tug the blankets up once. You feel like a furnace compared to him. But he feels his entire body warm up to a comfortable temperate whenever he feels your stomach and chest pressed against his back.

He consistently wears socks to bed. But don’t you dare tease him about it because he only wears them for you. This man’s feet are freezing. Once he forgot to wear socks to bed and you woke up several times during the night because of his ice-cold feet.

When he’s the only one tired, he likes to nap with his head in your lap. Please, for the love of god, run your fingers through his hair as he drifts off. He will love you forever. He doesn’t mind if you read or, in a modern setting, watch television as he sleeps. As long as he can rest his head in your lap with one of your hands playing with his hair, Levi will be content.

When you’re the one who’s especially tired, Levi doesn’t mind if you use him as a pillow. He struggles with doing nothing for too long, this man likes to be productive. So if he needs to fill out some forms or read over some reports, he’ll happily let you use his body as a pillow as long as he can keep busy. Feel free to rest your head on his lap or shoulder if he needs to fill out some paper work. If all he needs to do is read over some documents, he has no problem lying down with you on his chest as long as he can have his hands free to hold up the book.

Now usually, Levi doesn’t like to feel too crowded. He moves around a little bit in his sleep and he will wake up if he feels trapped or if his movements are restricted. But after some intimate time in the bedroom? Please smother this man while you have the chance. Post-sex Levi is the only version of this man that craves to feel your full body weight on top of him. Yes, lay directly on top of him. He’ll run his hands along your spine and play with your hair, just please don’t leave him alone. He gets a little clingy after sex. He wants to feel taken care of as well as feel that he’s taking care of your needs.

Reiner Braun:

Now this one clings to you when he sleeps.

No matter how much space you want, no matter how far you try to distance yourself, no matter how thick of a pillow barrier you build— Reiner will find you. It doesn’t matter if he’s barely began to drift off or if he’s dead asleep, he’s body will find a way to get to yours.

I strongly stand by the belief that Reiner’s love language is physical affection. This man glows when he’s in your embrace.

If you run your nails along his scalp? He melts. Pepper kisses along his neck and jaw? He turns a dark shade of pink. Wrap your arms around him? He will not let you go for the rest of the evening.

Reiner needs physical touch. He’ll go crazy without it.

Sleeping beside you at night is one of Reiner’s favorite parts of your relationship. Being able to hold you as well as being held has become so special to him.

At night, he will either want you nestled into his side or holding you from behind. He likes to have at least one arm around you, if not both. When you sleep by his side with one of your arms tossed over his torso while your head rests on his chest, he finds it so easy to drift off. Your presence is just so comforting to him. Bonus points if you also have one of your legs thrown over his.

If your not curled up at his side, he likes to fall asleep holding you. He doesn’t mind being the little spoon, he actually loves it, but when he’s able to cradle your entire body with his, he feels all warm and fuzzy inside. He wants to protect you, he needs to protect you. When his body is shielding yours, he can sleep peacefully knowing you’re safely beside him.

Now, if you are particularly exhausted, Reiner has no issue with dropping everything to serve as your personal mattress. He will sprawl out on the couch and heave your body on top of his completely. He’ll either force himself to take a nap with you or find some quite activity to entertain himself while you sleep on top of him. Feel free to nuzzle into his neck or use his limbs as something to hold while you sleep, he wants you to use his body for your needs.

But don’t even think that Reiner is doing this out of the kindness and generosity of his heart. No, he’s just fulfilling his own selfish needs. He’s not sure what it is but there’s just something about having your entire weight on top of him that’s just so comforting. It’s addicting.

Which means that if the tables are turned and it’s Reiner who needs a nap, fully expect him to drag you away from whatever you’re doing to use you as his personal weighted blanket. Like I said, he’s just trying to fulfill his own selfish needs. It has nothing to do with the fact that Reiner’s definitely head over heels in love with you.

Also, regardless of your body type, he will grope and squeeze at any plush area of your body— thighs, ass, tummy, chest — literally any part of your body that Reiner can grab a handful of flesh. He can’t help himself. If you ask him to stop, he’ll try his best to respect your wishes but when he’s drifting off sometimes he forgets and does it anyways. But it doesn’t bother you too much because you know it comes from a place of adoration and love, and you know Reiner would never mock or tease you about your body.

Speaking of which, please retaliate and squeeze his pecs. Refer to them strictly as his “tits”, he doesn’t care what you call them as long as you don’t stop touching him. Reiner is touch starved and will put up with your shit if it means he gains physical affections.

Erwin Smith:

Before you even consider stepping in this man’s bedroom, please take into account that Erwin kicks in his sleep. Hard.

He can’t help himself. He’s not even truly aware that he does it until you let him know about it. And god, does he feel awful.

His long legs become weapons of mass destruction after 9pm. His elbows? Expect to be jabbed with them in the rib cage at least twice.

Again, it’s not intentional... he really can’t help it.

But with that having been said, this man loves to cuddle you. He’ll beg you to fall asleep in his arms if you go on a cuddles strike after getting bruised up the previous night.

It isn’t until Erwin accidentally jabs his elbow into your eye during the night that you tell him that you’re gonna start sleeping on the couch if he doesn’t clean up his act. From then on, all he’s allowed to hold is your hand at night. You enforce two sides of the mattress, your hands meeting at the middle.

And it does kill him a little on the inside.

So his solution? Soak up as much cuddles during the daytime as possible.

He enforces a mandatory cuddle time after work and just before dinner. He prefers holding you but he really doesn’t care what position you lay in as long as you’re close to him.

Erwin can usually sit pretty still during naps, he doesn’t full transform into a professional boxer until he’s at least 2 hours of sleep in.

Which means he pushes bedtime a little later than usual so that you both have time for a thirty minute nap during the day.

Erwin lives for these naps. Those thirty minutes? Yeah, that’s what gets him through the day.

He doesn’t even care if he’s not tired, he’ll force himself to lay down so that he has an excuse to hold you for a little while.

And don’t think he’s above tricking you into giving him more cuddles. In modern times, he’ll turn off your alarm clock on the weekends so that he has more time to give you some lazy morning love. And no, he doesn’t want to watch your cheesy rom-com movie for the millionth time, but he will sit beside you because that means that he has a ninety minute excuse to hold you.

He will also pull you into his lap anytime you two are alone. If you don’t want to give him physical affection at night, he’ll just demand more during the day.

Now, if he’s ever feeling under the weather or emotionally exhausted, Erwin doesn’t give two shits about your pillow barrier or imaginary mattress boundary, he’s falling asleep with you pulled as close as possible. And you’ve got a soft spot of the commander, so you allow it. When he’s not feeling 100 percent, it’s your turn to do all the holding. Rub his back, play with his hair— god, just touch him.

All he wants is for you to spend some time with him. And if you throw in some cuddles, he’ll love you forever.

Zeke Yeager:

Definitely the type pretend that he’s above all the gushy, tooth-rotting sweetness of nighttime cuddles. But he’s also the type to send a death glare in your direction when you pull away from him at night.

“Uh... do you want me to stop?”

“Did I say I wanted you to stop??”

He’s stubborn to admit that his favorite part of his day is when you get all clingy at nighttime.

Please, please, please scratch along his jaw and rake your fingers through his beard. This motherfucker will have to bite his tongue from stopping the whimper from escaping his throat.

At nighttime, if you remove his glasses for him so that you can pepper kisses along his face? He’ll melt on the inside.

When the two of you sleep beside each other, Zeke likes to either spoon or have an arm wrapped around you.

Zeke runs a little hotter than most, so if he’s feeling a little too hot at night, he’ll settle with wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Not super close, but close enough to know that you’re there.

Otherwise, Zeke enjoys being the big spoon. He loves to curl his body around yours, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as he nuzzles his nose to the nape of your neck. And yes, he will sleep with his nose buried in your hair for the rest of the night if it means he gets to smell your shampoo.

If he’s particularly stressed, sometimes he awakes during the night to smoke a cigarette. And while he does a pretty good job at crawling out of bed without waking you, you always seem to notice his absence and find him.

If he’s not ready to come back to bed yet, feel free to curl up in his lap and fall asleep with him as your pillow. He’ll finish off his cigarette and hold you for awhile before hauling you both back to bed.

If he’s ready to go back to sleep by the time you find him, he’ll wordlessly stomp out his cigarette and guide you back to bed with his hand resting on the small of your back.

Now regardless of the time of day or night, be careful when cuddling Zeke... he will definitely try to turn it into something more if he’s feeling frisky. He’s always feeling frisky.

Now if you’re tired during the day and in need of a nap, have fun trying to wrangle him onto a couch or bed. This man does not like wasting time, no matter how much he enjoys holding you. But if you’re lucky — and I mean really lucky — Zeke may have the afternoon off and will let you use him as your pillow.

He’ll turn on a nice and mellow record, maybe even smoke a cigarette as you sleep on his chest. Though don’t expect him to stay in one spot for too long, he gets antsy. Like Levi, he likes to feel productive even if the occasional relaxed evening is something he enjoys.

Now, on the rare occasion that Zeke needs a nap, fully expect him to be grumpy. Almost like a child who has gone too long without a nap. Actually, exactly like that.

He will try to steal you away from your activities to help lure him to sleep. Yes, that means petting his hair and scratching his beard until he falls asleep.

But if you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine and tell him that you’re too busy to act as his own personal pillow, expect him to pout for the rest of the day and then get ten times clingier at bedtime. Like I said, Zeke’s stubborn. He will take a nap on the couch in living room instead of your bedroom just to prove to you that he doesn’t need your cuddles in order to fall asleep. But as soon as you both climb into bed for the night, Zeke will be on your like a parasite. Don’t expect to have any say in the cuddling position if you refused him cuddles earlier that day, this is Zeke’s time to get his fill and he gets to choose the sleeping position.

Oh, and just a heads up: Zeke tends to snore in his sleep.

Luckily, it’s not too loud. Just a slightly audible rumble that comes from the back of his throat when he’s totally exhausted. But on occasions, it has woken you up.

But don’t worry, if you use this as leverage it’s more likely that Zeke will cuddle you during your daytime nap... or he’ll just tease you. Maybe both.

And don’t think I won’t go without mentioning that your desire for Zeke’s physical affection doesn’t boost his ego to the max. Oh, he lives for the days that you beg for him to hold you or play with your hair. It awakens something primal and possessive within him, knowing that you need his touch in order to fall asleep soundly. And before you ask, yes, he does tease you and mock you about it at every given chance. My best advice? Give him a taste of his own medicine.

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

DENTIST THE BAD BOI (PART2)

Word Count: 17k.

A/N: Heavily inspired from 90's rom-coms, so if your heart swoons out of loneliness it's not on me sistas -- doctor Harry my fav.

Summary: Y/N's much tolerable when less grumpy then more kissable, more loveable and cuddleable and Harry wants to be more than just fuck buddies that he ends up giving Y/N a tooth ache.

Pairing: Dentist Harry × Artist reader, Frenemies to bestfriends to lovers, platonic affection and loads of bestie fluff, smut and domestic love.

MASTERLIST | REQUEST FOR BLURBS FROM THIS FIC ARE OPEN | PART 1

“Yes. I want you to stay.” She doesn’t hesitate this time. Her words honest and full of plead, she needs him, she wants him, she wants to have him.

Harry’s lips quirks up into a loopish smile at that and he hoists his knee up and above, sinking his palms into her soft mattress besides her temple and blocks the mellow sunshine that peeks through her lace curtains. Her heart squeezes out of her rib-bones and turns gooey somewhere within her insides as her lungs fill with his minty and warm ardour and if she'd be not this flushed and throbbing between her sticky thighs she'd have cracked a dentist joke.

“Y’want me to lick y'cookie f'ye?” He gives her a bunny grin and his fingertips tickles her shoulder; milky skin twinkling at him from the neckline of her shirt that’s barely sitting there and she pouts raising her hands to smack his chest, but he grabs them and tugs her forward, tutting sternly, “I want an answer.” His foresty pupils darkens around rims and her throat turns scratchy. So, she bobs her head up and down eagerly, feeling the metal around his fingers smouldering into her wrist and the thought of it on her clit makes her mewl.

It dings his adam apple sexily and his eyes turn soft and cheeks rosy, Harry doesn’t know what she likes or not so he’s gonna start tentative and careful and gradually ease her into taking big things after, letting her drip onto sheets for hours if she’d like him edging and teasing her.

She watches him with doe-innocent eyes and Harry almost ruts his hips against the mattress from the way his cock twitches weepily -- sensitive against the fabric of his joggers.

He keeps their intense eye contact while sliding back down between her legs and cares his calloused warm palms under the back of her cushiony fleshy thighs and bends her knees up, his eyes flicker towards her tummy that exposes to him when she stretches out gracefully in reaction to his tingling touch.

Making sure she’s alright, his nimble taps her ankle and when she breathes out a whiny “yes.”,

He gropes the insides of her thighs and spreads them apart and presses them down letting her make puny noises when the cool air teases her folds, she smells so good for him, “Already such a puddle, Muffy. G'na gimme a sugar rush from ye'sweetness.” He darts his pink tongue out to moisturize his petal lip and his grunt pleased and heavy upon seeing her gush more arousal just from listening him talk.

He spreads her swollen pussylips apart with his middle and pointer finger and her chin tips towards the ceiling, mouth apart around a gasp when he glints a smirk towards her all while poking his tongue out and flattening it against her clenching entrance and licks her juices up.

“Does it feel good?” He hums nonchalantly nosing at her little button and paints his lips with her wetness. She stays a bit stiff. Not making any move and staying put in her position. Harry takes her clit between his teeth when she whimpers out and her body turns taut, her hands balling at her sides.

“Y've t’use y’words with me, moppet. It works two ways, always.” His hands reaches blindly for her wrists and he puts them over his poof of hair but it remains fisted and he rubs his big hands up and down where her thighs meets her sweet cunt, “Try t’ relax. Can y'do that fo'me, pet?”

His brows pinches together into a frown. His glistening lips from her turning into a grumpy pout when she doesn’t respond — was he unable to make her feel hot and excited? she should tell him if she didn’t like it.

“Y/N ...” He raises his head slowly from between her thighs and his jaw goes slack, his eyes bursting wide seeing her holding her breath and hiding her face underneath her forearm, “Shit. Shit. Y/N!” He’s quickly crawling towards her and sliding his hand under her back, brings her to his chest with his fingers wrapped around the nook of her elbow.

“Breathe, Sweetheart. ‘s okay.” Is this what she was talking about? Is this why she has specific days for touching herself? Poor bambi. He massages her back with tender circles and sighs in relief when he feels her chest calming down back to normal.

“Y/N ...” He pushes her away from shoulders to look down at her sternly and takes her hair into his grasp and slinks them to side, “What’s happenin’ with ye'muffy?” He gives her a downturn of lips and quirk of brow indicating her that there isn’t any escape for this time.

For fuck’s sake! He’s her bestfriend. He should know atleast that she’s alright!

He gauges for her eyes when she presses her palms into his knees and lifts her bum a tad from the sheets, shy embarrassment turning the tips of her ears pink, manipulating her toffee lip in her mouth and Harry pushes back the hair that are falling in her eyes.

She’s feeling hell load giddy and humiliated to tell him this.

Harry startles back, blinking rapidly when she squeaks out in one breath, “’M scared to hurt you!” He pulls her forward with his hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and frowns.

His touch with her tender and un-conceit, when usually he’s a domineering in bed and riles them enough for them to beg and moan pathetically for him.

“What? Scared ---.. hurt?” He tries to piece what she said together but it doesn’t make any sense. So, he guesses that he'd have to pry some more from her, “What're ye' talkin' bout muffy?” He sighs noticing the way she clenches the hem of her shirt and mumbles something but Harry’s giving her a piercing glare and it makes her ramble anxiously.

His hand affixed at her skimmed from under her shirt and his thumb keeps on circling her hip-bone.

“’M afraid that I’ll get all horny ‘n loose all my senses and be all rough with you, ending up hurtin'y and I’ll be too engulfed in pleasure that you wouldn’t be able to stop me ....” She fiddles her fingers vigorously in Harry’s hand and he's cutting her with a tut, “That’s the point silly girl.” He chuckles amused at her and she shakes her head whining up at him with a surly expression. The corners of her eyes pinkish and watery from forcing herself to feel the pleasure Harry’s tongue was devoting her.

“But, Harry ‘m not some insatiable monster!!” His heart thuds at the concerned worrisome look on her angelic features and he’s cupping her cheeks, he curses out internally to whoever told her this and his lip grouches up, “You’re not some insatiable monster. Who the fuck fed you this bullshit?” He scolds her and it makes her fleet her gaze away from him.

“You’re not —-... what the fuck, Y/N. Tell me their name so I could break their jaw.” He gasps in shock and he spits in venom. Knuckling at her chin to prop it high infront of him and doesn’t break the cogent eye contact -– his eyes full of hatred and loath for the person.

That damn person who made his Bambi, so insecure and conscious and self-degrading about herself.

“The guy –,” She stutters. He gives her an encouraging hum and she plays with his rings, she knows that he’ll never make fun of her about it and mighty be understanding.

He has always been.

But sometimes he laughs at the worst moments. Not his fault. She has adopted that habit too from living with him.

Right now though. He looks very serious and furious, it creeps heat up her throat.

“The guy I lost my virginity to. He said – he ... umm said that I hurt him when I flipped him underneath me and was being selfish asking him to you know ...?” She mumbles, uncertain if she’s putting it out right and Harry runs his fingers through his curls gripping at the roots and groans in annoyance, properly vexed.

“Firstly muffy. Virginity isn’t a thing. It’s a term made by egoistic men like that prick of a guy, secondly did he make you cum?” His voice tones down gentle and caring. He lays her down and settles her head on the pillow and she's still fisting his shirt in her hands.

He grimaces when she shakes her head, her eyes owlish and glossy pointing down, “Everything was so dry that I wasn’t able to enjoy it ...” She winces remembering it and Harry cradles her face cooing delicately, “Oh Bambi. It was, ‘cos ye' weren’t aroused enough.” But, she’s now. With Harry ontop of her and being all warm and lovey and handling her as if she’s fine china, she could feel gooey wetness sticked to her thighs.

For first time in her life. She feels relaxed and light headed talking about it.

So, she continues, “ .. and it was bit disgusting, he came all over my tummy ‘cos he didn’t have a condom.” At this he grumps, his nostrils flares and pinches the bridge of his nose to keep him sane, “What a cheap bastard!” She giggles at his outrage and he just gives a fluttery smile to her shaking his curls.

He pets the sheen on her cheek away and gazes her sincerely, “You shouldn’t trust everyone and anyone, pet. ‘S a cruel world out there.” The fact that if he’d have came inside her boils Harry’s blood -- she'd have gotten the worst thing happen to her.

He just feels so protective of her. If he’d be able to keep her safe under his shield to scare away bastards like that guy he gladly will.

“Now, hear me Bambi eyed. We never have unprotected sex with strangers and never let ‘em make y’feel bad fo' wantin’ t’be pleasured .. if two people consent fo' it then both ‘ve to fulfil eachother’s desire. Am I clear?” His tone gruff and firm. She suckles her lower lip inside her mouth and nods quickly.

Something about him commanding and lecturing her making a fire fuse in the pit of her tummy and it makes her salivate down a whimper, which sure didn’t go unnoticed by Harry’s side and his lips are quirking into vivacious grin.

He’s retreating back between her legs keeping a cautious gaze on her as if she’s a prey and one move will wither her away, “’N fo’ being rough. I like it rough. Y'could d'all of that with me without being embarrassed.” His smirk dripping with wickedness and Y/N’s head jerks back at the thought of him seeing forward to do more of this with her.

His palm lays sturdy and pressed to her belly, his puckering lips against the inside of her thigh parts around a silent groan when he feels her belly quiver.

He embeds slobbery kisses to where she’s clenched impatiently for him and he pushes his fingers against her clit and slides them up and down between her puffy folds, love creating soppy filthy noises and gives a kitten lap to her then attaches his lip to her smudgy hole murmuring against her breathily to make her feel the electricity till her core.

“Will love havin' ye'tiny fingers pullin' at me hair with a swimy brain. Buckin'y hips into my mouth begging me to ruin yer cunt with my tongue and ‘ave me dancin' on y'palm, extractin’ out glutinous grunty moans within me chest -- it’ll not be just moans, no! —- a viscous toe curlin' sound that’d rumble savagely in my throat a warning fo’ you to keep these gorgeous thighs open fo' me to eat you out as I wish and my large hands will belt ‘round y'waist digging my nails into your dimples when you'll scratch my back ‘n it’ll leave angry marks behind — a reminder fo’ you how much I fuckin' loved you being horny as the deepest burnin' of hells.” She’s panting and sobbing for a cusp of breath manoeuvring her fingers in the tufts of his silky mess of curls and tugs at it and shoves her cunt, grinding against his chin. The softness of his cheeks glittering her bones and she’s falling wider apart from him, and he grins.

Noses at her throbbing clit and sucks it in her mouth and massages her pussy with her own lubrication and how much he picks it on his tongue she’s ready to give him more and he’s moaning with fierce ruby lips wrapping around her fluttering pussy folds, moving his mouth every where and it elicits a choppy whine from her.

“Fuck. Look at'y ... s'innocent but such a dirty little girl fo' me.” He dips his fingers merely into her and swipes up a cardinal push against her spongey wall and treats it back.

It’s too much for, Y/N. Everything. His wanton words better than those audios, his warm tongue on her and the strength of his arms holding her down, his flushed out cheeks and the teasing and teetering he's doing to give her an orgasm that sprays cosmic stars into her fogginess and she doesn’t even know that cloy moans of, “yes.yes.yes.” are dripping from her and he’s boring his face back into her when he latches away from her sweet pussy with the help of his elbow.

“I want you to say it.” There’s pause in the string of her racing heart and her brows hitches in confusion, though he doesn’t give her enough time and moves her pussylips apart letting his nails graze at them gently.

She’s squealing in surprise and jolting up with exhilarating sensation when he spits at her and watches it trickle down her bum, thick and honeyed with lust-fond eyes.

She’s erupting into startled moans when he grunts spitting again and makes her little cunt the messiest thing, “Say it. Say that yer dirty little —-,” She cuts him with a sharp and whiny yawp and plunges her nails into his shoulder making him hiss through his teeth.

“I’m a dirty little girl, f'you. Just you. Just you. Just you ....” Her voice tones down into coy whispers stuffed to the pillow as her body anchors stintingly from her bed and Harry’s hand slides from her torso down her ass and gropes at it keeping her coupled to his mouth as she coats his chin and his lips and his cheeks with her cum and his own spit and he’s murmuring grittily, “Yeah moppet. Mhmp. Come in me mouth. Fill it all, such a good girl.” He nips and tucks at her making her satiate through her high and places a kiss to her clit for the last time when she thrashes from sensitiveness before moving away.

“Sensitive lil thing ye'r.” He murmurs rubbing her thighs to coax her down and feels goosebumps prick on her skin, glances up and finds her a beautiful colour of pink and peach and her hair nested as a halo on the pillow.

She’s just so beautiful in many ways, it aches his heart.

He’s flopping to her side and poking her cheek earning a tick of ravenous smile and he watches as her irises moves under her closed lids.

“That was ... hmm.” She hums sluggishly knuckling at her eyes and Harry muses out a chuckle, before she could come up with a dentist joke he's cracking it himself sensing her gears working in that tiny head of hers, “Very filling?” That makes her hide her face into his neck and giggle.

“Yeah. Could say that.” She rests her chin on his shoulder and poses her brows questioningly when his stuffy pocket pokes at her thigh, “What’s that?” He didn’t realise he was too swamped in admiring the specks of her hazelness pouring with sunlight and he’s blinking back to re-start himself.

“Oh! This ..?” He’s taking out it slowly and she’s whining and shaking him to hurry up and he’s giggling at how impatient she could get when curious.

She holds it infront of her and it’s a cute green beanie with a little gucci embroidered at where it gets folded and her smile dejects when Harry speaks, “One of my colleagues gifted me this as a birthday present.” Why didn’t she thought about gifting him this for his birthday? Not that she has money for Gucci but they've been celebrating for three years and not once she didn’t get an idea that he wears beanies alot and mighty would like it?

Anyway, it’s far better than the painting of snowy and a mason jar filled with candy wrappers having her appreciations and dentist jokes written to their backside she gifted him, Y/N pouts thinking how she could’ve get him something useful.

Harry doesn’t care about materialistic things. He says that you could buy them anytime and that money is just the murk of your palm, it goes away in one wash -- the little shows of affection always are by your side in hard times.

“Hey Muffy...” He's yawning nudging her side noticing how she zones out and away from him, “D'ya have some chamomile tea?” Her chin slips from her shoulder at the sudden rasp.

“What? Why?” She gazes him. His body slumpy and tired over her and his mouth ajar cutely, she scratches his scalp lightly and swears that he let out the softest purr.

“Was in the operation theatre fo' hours now, just came from there -- emergency case. It was bad.” He emphasizes it getting a lisp a bit and she sits up closer to him.

“What happened to the person? She asks hoping they’re okay and have any hopes for recovery.

He just fiddles away the beanie from her grip and covers her head with it folding and adjusting it over her ears, “Not tellin' ya ...” He murmurs rubbing his nose into her arm and sniffs her saccharine scent. He knows that she doesn’t take the stories from his workplace well and it keeps her awake at nights, then she’s visiting the patient herself and Harry have to drag her out of his hospital every damn time.

She cares too much. Even for strangers. She’s too kind for her own sake and Harry thinks sometimes being selfish should be the latter option.

He squints open his one eye feeling her gaze fixated on him and huffs a lil, his little stubborn bambi, she wouldn’t let it go, “Fine. They were comin' back from a party and were high maybe -- car crashed badly dentin' towards the passenger’s side ‘n totally dislocated her jaw, now y’promise me you aren’t gettin' too worrisome ‘bout her because she’s okay.” Saying this he's cuddling back into her and she smiles a bit petting his back.

“Whatever, you say Dr. Styles.” He didn’t even need a tranquilizing tea anymore. Her warmth and squishiness was more than enough to lull him into a peaceful slumber.

It’s an otiose Saturday morning. Harry and Y/N just gobbled down oatmeal she made (topped with kiwis, mangoes and strawberries Harry brought from market and threw the bag in her lap) it had too much of coconut and sugar layer than necessary, according to Harry.

While she cleaned the countertops Harry fed and kissed the crowns of each one of their cat, yet again they were left with nothing to do —- that's how Y/N ended up straddling his waist, his jaw fit in her palm and his eyes half-open funnily as she applies a liner at his lid with her pink tongue poked out in concentration.

“Stop movin’,” She snits out in a huff and the skirts of his lips alleviates up into a cheeky evil grin, his hands pawing at her hips and his intentionally dirty gaze flitters down where her nipples are perking from the flimsy shirt and almost presses to his throat, “How'm supposed to when y’tits are ready to lactate me mouth?” Blush creeps up at her cheeks at his overweening and she wanted to give out an “Oh.” Instead grips his baby curls and steadies him, squishing his cheek in doing so as if he’s her toy.

“You better shut up, or ‘m gonna shove my feet up that smug mouth of yours.” She grumps to her own self when her fingers begins to twitch feeling her ear fill with hotness, “And what makes y’think ‘m not into that?” He rockets his brows priggishly with a grin that just screams he’s about to have a upper hand in this banter of their.

“Harry you disgraceful, man!” She whines trying to pull his face upright – he’s doing it on purpose trying to push her buttons and his eyes widens in feign hurt, “’M a very holy man!” His one eye adorned with charcoal coloured liner making him look adorable.

He’s far from any of that. They both know it. He’s a nerd slut if Y/N could put into words correctly.

“Yeah. Holy piece of a shit.” She grumbles pressing her bent knee into his side and quips a happy “Tada!!” grabbing the little from beside him and almost shoves it in his face demanding him to look at himself.

Harry brings his lips together and whistles looking at himself, “My murals should be painted everywhere in the city,” Y/N rolls her eyes. Nibbling down a scoff at his narcissism desperate to jump out and points at herself with a shrug of shoulders -- silently trying to telepath with him.

“What?” He murmurs nonchalantly angling his face to have a better look at him.

“Where’s the praise for artist?”

“Why need't when y'know ‘m an art myself.” His rims shine shamelessly and he nips the flesh of his cheek to stifle down a bashful cackle at her retort.

“You’re being too bold for a person who combusts in his pants just by getting his back scratched.” She arches her brow pruriently at him and he shakes his head, brushing the belly of his nose with his knuckle and when he gazes back at her -- she knows that she’s fucked fucked.

“Says who. The dirty little girl who's sitting on her bestfriend’s cock in her panties and shirt that’s doin’ nothin' but makin'y nipples button out shamelessly.” He tuts carnally, sinking into the plush cushions and man-spreads himself so wide Y/N could feel him pressing between her folds. His smirk rottenly sinful and evil and Y/N's palm automatically jams against his torso with a weepy mewl forehead falling against his clavicles.

She wanted to argue that he’s clad in boxers too but all of her sanity went out of the window when he teasingly grinded their crotches together.

“Y'want t'be treated like a bunny, who loves to hop on dick and fucked till you’re just a soft mush -- don't ya?” His hoarse drawl makes her bob her head eagerly making him chuckle and she’s tightening her thick thighs around his waist, hiding her face into the dive of his nice warm smelling neck and keeps her lips sponged to his skin making him grip on her hips with brutal force.

She’s just so sweet to Harry. A hot pink puddle at his mere touch and all clingy to him, shrinking into him with shyness and all of this just stirs his cock angrily sensitive.

He’s always getting a stiffy thinking about her and her honeyed taste he got to lap on and he's always smelling one of his pillows that has her fragrance loaded on it, while cupping his balls and stroking his cock lazily and hard, with other.

Though his assertive words wavers into a whimperish groan when Y/N takes her face out and gazes him with doe-warm eyes, “I w'na make you feel good.” Harry throbs under her and fattens against his own belly and feels her soaking against his boxers.

“Y'do? ‘s okay —.” His chest heaves with ragged breathes from anticipation and yearn and he knows that taking care of himself would be a torture if she’d tell him a, “no.” But then he isn’t that of a prick and is awfully happy to get what he’s getting, their infinite proximity.

His head teeters back and his pelvis buckles up when she clutched the hem of his sweatshirt and uttered a poutsih, “please..” She’s nourishing a breath and gazing up at him with glossy chocolate eyes blabbering while swivelling herself slowly ontop of him, “You’re looking s' pretty and cato eyes -—.. and you’re stuffed against me s'good. I want –- I want to make y'feel amazing.” Harry’s choking a growlish moan and the urge to just throw her on couch and snug his large cock deep within her.

Her brows pinches together and she has him grabbed from shoulders while she looks between them, listening to his purry hisses and lewd moans, it makes her redden her lip –- she could see his bulbous sherbet coloured tip coated in his own arousal wrestling out of his boxers as the fabric bunches and loosens down with each stroke of her cunt against him.

“Y'want to make me feel, amazin'? Fuck. You’re devastatin' me love -- yeah, mhmph hump me prick moppet.” Her eyelids lust filled and she moans against his chin as he breathes out a euphoric smile and Y/N gains a new confidence pushing herself down on his cock harder and firmer and faster.

The fabric of his boxers tickling his wet slit and he’s smushing his cheek into her soft chest, hugging and murmuring nonsense against her when Y/N sneaks her hand down and fills her hands with his heavy cum loaded balls and Harry doesn’t know how she was able to press him under the pad of her pinky in a span of minute.

Because he’s begging all for her mercy.

He howls a whine when she sucks his earlobe wetly and grazes it to speak in the sweetest yet licentious seductiveness and Harry’s almost naked under her, “Jeez. Hmm. Yes, just like that –- Bambi. My Bambi. Makes me feel — oh fuck!” His knuckles white from where he's groping the cheek of her ass and guiding her where her mound nudges him more good and drafts him straight to heaven.

“Tell me, huh. Who’s the dirty one now?” She smirks squeezing his balls yanking the sweaty ringlets on the base of his neck and they’ve their bodies on eachother, their hands on eachother and Y/N had an audacity to compete.

He’s trashing his spine into a curve and pulling her back down on his dick. She squeals when his cock grazes her pantie line and slips up and down against her cushiony thigh slobbering it with his pre-come.

“Me, me! Fuck .. pet, ‘s me ...” His hand tightens around her ribs and his hand tightens around her ribs and he’s dragging her back and forth -- socked toes curling and teeth gnawing at the pudding of her cheek. His thighs quaking and his strong forearms brings her closer to his chest, as the pressure coils in his stomach and the gentle caress and guttural bite on the slop of his collarbone was enough to burst spurts of cum in his boxers and it quenches onto his tummy and to the inside of her thighs making a sloppy mess.

“Shit.” He mutters through a chuckle. His chin butted atop her head and she giggles moving away.

Her shirt ridden up, her panties bunched up into her ass-cheeks and Harry admires her with a celestial flush on his skin and she circles her fingers together.

She just rode his prick dry and looks like she did the most innocent thing in the world.

“’M g'na go clean myself.” Harry smiles at her squealing pitch and then realization dawns upon him, she’s talking about his jizz on her tickling her skin getting flustered and knackered feeling it. Though, it’s not only his jizz but her panties are drenched into her own salvation making it see through and her wet pussy on display.

He just gulps and nod, like an atta puppy.

Lavish green leaves rustles together, the soil of green-belt moist and watered recently, early morning sky swirls of blues and it’s beautiful it really is the weather isn’t too sunny – the silence in his car is comforting too and the rum of his breath makes her feel nostalgic.

But, she wanted to sleep her arse off on Sunday and do nothing and be proud of being idle whole day. Harry had different plans though –- he was jumping on her bed making her wobble on it in her sleepy state and dragged her to washroom how much she whined and fought with him.

“Oh. C’mon now, muffin .. it’ll be fun, Ni would be there too.” He tries to reason her and she just brings her knees up into her and closes her eyes, muttering in monotone.

“Nothing’s fun about golfing, Harry.” It’s little get together of his colleagues and the doctors from his hospital and Harry thought he'd die from boredom if he wouldn’t bring her with him, he isn’t one bit of interested into old men talking about how their third wife drools over them – he isn’t very fond of lies.

“Not even me? How could y’say no to me?” He gasps dramatically. Scrunched his nose and twitches his lips in fake offend.

She opens her eyes for a moment and stares at him, “Just like that,” Pinches his elbow and shrugs nonchalantly.

“Harry, no.”

“Yeah, Whatever.” He rolls his lips between his fingers and takes a turn and when they reach he's putting sunglasses on the bridge of her nose, unfolding her arms that are wrapped around herself and nudges her to be less grumpy.

“’Ve a reputation yeah .. be less frumpy.” She pokes her tongue out and Harry lurches his hand forward scaring her that he'd grab it.

“Those dilfs already kisses the tips of my shoes.” She hops out of the car and clasps her hands atop of her head stretches out and yawns out loudly.

Harry’s head perks up alarmingly at that from the boot of his car and he swings the golfing kit on his shoulder and rolls his eyes from under his sunnies, pushing her forward with a small hand on her back.

“Yeah, more like grandpas.” The thought just makes him feel icky and utterly gross – imagining those old doctors —- no he completely wants to brain wash himself.

“Bet, their willies would need heavy assistance —-,” He’s grinning abrasively down at her and she winced swatting his chest, “Harry!” She’s wiggling out of his hold and striding towards where Niall is waving them in utter excitement.

Harry pouts and stomps behind her, calling out for her to slow down and scowls when a grin makes a way at her face as Niall hugs her.

Niall showed her his little nips and tricks. While Harry looked at them with needy eyes from far stuck between the bunch of boring doctors and dentists and his lips visibly downturns when Niall trips and Y/N’s falling on her bum, clutching onto her side with a belly aching laugh.

Ni helps her stand back and it was when a women in pink sports short and Nike tee trudged towards them and Harry at the same moment and Y/N just stares with confusion as they hug and she’s smiling up at him brightly.

“Sorry. I lost the time check.” Harry’s parting away with a shrug, “Not tha' somethin’ special occurred.” and Y/N’s doe-curious eyes remains fixed on them and he's introducing the unknown women to her and Niall’s poking her side to revive her back to mighty world.

“Muffy? She’s one of my colleagues, Holly.” Y/N startled a bit then gives out a nervous smile forwarding her hand to shake it with her and Holly’s pony flails comically from the action.

Soon, she’s turning her attention back towards Harry and smiling up at him questioningly, “Did you rest well after leaving the hospital on Friday?” Y/N just fumbles with Harry’s rings on her knuckles -- not sure if she should go back to golfing with Niall or stay to take part in little conversation because Niall is growing very antsy.

“Yeah. I did, actually .... very well if y'ask so,” Harry's shimmering gaze lurks back on Y/N and she internally groans when he smirks remembering the event and she wants to glare him from the side of her eye.

She’s stepping aside quickly when Holly passes by them and towards the table full of breakfast and beverages.

She pours two cups of coffee and adds two teaspoon of sugar, handing one to Harry and Y/N wants to retort that he doesn’t like coffee and hell not that amount of sugar.

“And Y/N what would y'like coffee, tea?” Holly asks her and Y/N just chuckles gingerly when Harry looks ike he's about to gag when he takes the first sip.

“I don’t drink coffee.” Holly looks like she just saw the end of the world and Y/N holds back from rolling her eyes at her, she's giving her an aura that she doesn’t like Y/N even a bit.

“No? Why?”

“Guess I never needed that much caffeine, my job doesn’t require staying up late and all that ...” Holly sips on her coffee and leans against a chair raising a her brow at her and then asks.

Her style being uptight and arrogant just not sitting right with, Y/N.

“What is your profession?” This ferals Y/N into her thinking pot, is that even a profession? She doesn’t really know and she’s in her own headspace when Harry’s soft eyes worms back to his bambi and his eyes glints with ever proud and his smile toothy and bunny as he puts the cup aside speaking with a hint of fond.

“She’s an artist. A very talented one.” Holly arches her brow at him and hums then looks back at her -- as if she didn’t heard him right.

“So, you make art for living?”

“I do it beacuse I like doing it, just like you.” Y/N chips up and Harry just thinks his admiration grows terribly more every day for her -- because of the passion about anything she holds in that big heart of hers, the way her cheeks rubies up and brows sets into concentration.

That shuts Holly and her train of personal irritating questions.

“Hey! We aren’t here fo' some princess tea party -- can we please, go back to golfing!?” Niall finally bursts like a balloon from annoyance and Y/N's giggling and hooking her arm into his elbow, “You’re sucha cry baby.” She coos and tries to walk him back to pitch but then her gait stutters when Holly asks Harry in an expectant tone.

“Did you like my present?” Why does it layers her chest with mucky awful feeling, her stomach itself tottering and she just huffs thinking how that present sits in her drawer and she’s the one that wears it instead of Harry.

“Oh, I liked it, thank you.” Fucking liar. Y/N just shakes her head and chuckles ironically because he forgot about it the moment he gave it to her.

Y/N’s toes itches with an impulse to expose Harry infront of her.

Where’s that feisty Harry ready to bite anyone expect her and his little group of friends? What did this job do to him? Oh my goodness! Why Y/N is hating all of this so much, why why why!?

Y/N's completely being an over dramatic (she knows that) but she couldn’t help but be bitter about this Holly “oh I could woo Harry just by giving him some beanies from an overly expensive brand.” Gahk! Not in a millennia.

“’Kay, pet now you make yer goal.” Niall shouts squinting to get rid of sunlight in his eyes and Y/N was so engulfed in thinking of how the slight interest and undivided attention of Harry towards Holly makes her feel woozy and something that’s indescribable, until now. That’s when someone came behind her bended figure she – almost making her squeal but he’s shushing her sweetly -- the corner of his lips pressing to the side of her hairline and he takes in her fresh lilies scent.

Two soft beautiful boned structure hands comes raking from her shoulders down her wrists, jostling her almost as he wraps his hands around her sweaty ones and brings the golf club back in air.

“Let's fill those holes together,” His smooth rasp prickles the hair on her body in a most stinging way and she's subsiding down a blush, frowning and unfrowning to concentrate back on playing -- but it’s a fucking torture when his bulging member prominent from his tight little shorts lines up against her bum teasingly.

He was very aware of the big problem that stood between them and she’s turning with his arms still on either side of her -- doing a little knocking on his chest to gain his attention.

“You’ve —-... umm ..” She stammers. Cheeks peachy and her smile nervous. Harry hums in dither gazing down at her softly and that flusters her to living heavens.

Then his eyes follows where she’s staring in curiosity and gentleness and as if she’s ready to take him in her mouth right then and there.

He’s got a stiffy and that in public!

“Oh shit. Sorry, I wasn’t awa —-,” He's creating a little distance between them but she’s quick to grab the hem of his shirt and pulling him closer back to her, “No. No. ‘s okay. I could ‐—.. I could help you ....,” She mutters in a tizz with a hitchy breath and Harry’s dimples indents, cushy smile dancing on his lips and his pinky’s swiping the loose tresses behind her ear.

“If you want to...” She doesn’t know what’s making her more anxious the fact he'll brush her off or that he'll accept her help, but this latter option fills her insides with gales of mushiness and it makes her unsettle her footing.

“I’d love that.” He grins and she’s smiling up at him and Harry screams internally like a teenager at how she manages to be so tender and silken like a gorgeous doll in the most filthiest situations.

He keeps her infront of him to hide the potential tent in his shorts that appeared from no-where, he's being sly and clearly knows that where it came from --- from gawking her peach ass till it wasn’t printed in his mind and he didn’t even know when he was drooling at the thought of squishing her asscheeks and rolling his thumb against her puckering hole and imagining her cute lil whines for him to bore down his thumb into her till she feels his lion ring against her flesh, throwing her hips at him more —- shut up!

Though when the group of men stops them with their evil gazes on his little bambi and they’re smirking up at Harry in mischievousness, “Where you sneakin' Y/N too?” They hollered and Harry had to ball his hand on her hips and bite back from rolling his eyes sharply and rudely,

Because who the fuck they’re to ask? He could take her anywhere and why they do act like they fucking know Y/N from summat eternity, that makes him want to snap at these snobs and warn them not to ever take a step near her.

Ofcourse, he’s very well aware that their intentions towards his sweet bestfriend are evil and filthy -- he wants to punch each one of them at that.

“Just to show ‘er the lake behind,” He's giving them a tight lipped smile and leaving them baffled without giving them more to talk and Y/N giggles at his huffy-ness and pets his knuckles feeling his skin beginning to fume and turn hot against her neck.

Moments later, he's sitting on the bench of empty steam room carmine lips parted and plush are mooched to Y/N's upper belly, his long arms tipsy around her thighs and hair floppy caramel and his palm splays on the side of her waist under her shirt coveting his nails lightly into her pudgy skin – as her soft hand stays dipped into his shorts and she strokes him in gradual pace.

He’s jerking back hitting his head against the vertical mirror that covers the whole wall when she presses her thumb into his palpating tip of cock to coax out his white stickiness and uses it to coat and lube his dick and caress it, “’S’okay c’mere, honey. You’re okay.” She coos cupping the nape of his neck and brings him back to let him bury his face into her pulpy body and kisses his hair, sliding her hand under his jaw to soothe him.

Harry moans uncontrollably and tries to muffle them with choked sobs upon hearing her go all soft on him and he thinks, “honey” Is his new favourite word from now on coming from her mouth and he wants to be called honey from her all the time.

She doesn’t know where the confidence of sweet talking to him came from but the menace for Holly and her being overly sugary with him, just poked her in weird place and she wants to claim where he belongs.

To her.

Always her.

“Bet, your big cock was all achy and weepy for my attention.” She pouts slopping all the way down to his chubby shaft and tightens her grip jerking him speedily. Harry bobs his head vigorously and eagerly hugging her ever close and babbles wetly so she scratches his scalp and almost raises her hips into him when his happy and satisfied mewls fuses into her ears.

“Been —-.. been, fuck!” He gasps bolting shut his eyes when she widened her slick palm down and massaged his heavy taut balls – shaking them playfully with a giggle bitten down her throat, “Been thinkin' ‘bout you whole lot – yer such a doll.” He sighs and she sponges a peck to the side of his forehead.

“Yeah?” Her eyes glints with adore and meekness for him and when he nods with euphoric slipped eyes and rosy cheeks snuggling himself into her she mighty cried a lil.

“G’na cum for me? In my hand? Been treating you so good, honey. Love your cock –- always oozy and slick for me and your moans —- can y'moan fo' me? Show them on whose pinky you’re wrapped on.” She’s breathless but the tenderness and fondness in her voice never fades and Harry’s almost tomato grinding his hips on the bench fucking himself into her palm and brags his teeth together hissing through it.

“G'na cum. G’na cum fo'y and —- oh!” Guttural heavy loud moans are eliciting down his tongue and he’s groaning and whimpering and thrashing under Y/N shooting his gloopy spunk inside her palm and she doesn’t stop, coating his whole eternity with his own cum and digs out some more droplets from his tummy to soak into the pride that she’s the reason he’s this fucked up and ravenous and shaking under her.

She’s throwing her legs on either side of his thighs next and he’s gazing at her intensely from under his thick lashes with lovingness all slumped against the mirror and she’s ducking down to stitch her nose up against his nose and giving him an eskimo kiss and Harry’s lips accommodating back for a nice breather are tingling to lean in and place them on hers in a dotting heart swarming kiss but a knock's interrupting them and she’s quipping back a squeal and jumping on her toes.

Guess she'd just clean her fingers by licking them since there’s no water.

Y/N was painting one of her commission works and for her coming exhibition when Truggers came meowing at her and scraping onto floor, “What d'you want bub?” She asks wiping her fingers on the rag and puts the brush into water cup.

She follows Truggers to their bassinet and almost slips straining her ankle from rushing panicked towards Tum who's jerking in his sleeping position.

She hawks in shock, fear and trembling horror. Her ears deafening. She’s shouting at him and shaking him with tears in her eyes, “Tums? Tummies? Baby!! Wake up!” She cries but the cat doesn’t respond.

“No. No. No!!” She shakes her head sobbing loudly bringing her knees up to her chest and holds her head in her hand not knowing what to do, she calls Rori and she doesn’t even know how much time passed and Rori's hugging her and comforting her taking other kittens to room so they don’t see Tums.

“Call Harry! Call him, please, please, please .... Rori ....” She sobs feeble and painful into Rori's neck and she shushes Y/N. She really tries to but she knows that only Harry could manage to calm her down and she rings him many many times but he doesn’t pick up.

“Harry! I’ve been calling you for ages for fuck’s sake where are you?” So, when he's excusing himself telling that he was having lunch and Holly’s voice is booming through Rori's phone Y/N’s heart drops and shatters into gazillion pieces.

She may not be in right mind, but she’s seriously hurt because Harry never in million years ignore her calls.

Guess having lunch was far important than her or her calls.

It just makes her cry more.

“Wait. What’s happening?” Goosebumps layers on his skin when he hears Y/N crying and he walks away without telling Holly he’s heading out.

“Harry ... Tums, he died in his sleep.” Harry halts in his tracks. Staring at the parking sign blankly and his eyes fills with tears and his breath shudders as he tries to speak, “’M coming.”

Rori left and took Tums with her after tucking Y/N in bed and making sure she’s okay.

Her ears perks up when the door clicks softly accompanied by low sniffles and it pools more moisture in her eyes and the tears trick down her chin and onto pillow — because hearing him cry is just so agonising.

“Muffy ...” The mattress dips behind her and he’s scooching close to her planting his cheek against her shoulder.

His warmth melts her but she recoups wiping her eyes dry and wavers in a thorny voice, “Go away.” She distances herself from him and turns stiff.

“Moppet, please ...” He protests and she hampers herself from snapping at him.

“Go away, Harry. Leave!!” She's muffling her cries into pillow and when she faces him – Harry's chin wobbles because his muffy looks terrible and awfully sad and it’s breaking him weakly and perfectly.

“Why don’t y'go back to whatever you were doing with Holly!” She gasps moistly for a breather and Harry stands up, nose red and runny and eyes bloodshot.

“Jus’ say yer’ jealous.” He wants to be fierce with her about what she said but his voice barely comes out without being shaky and his heart is full of sorrow.

“And if I say I’m, then what?” She’s pathetically hiccupping (continuously) so much her neck hurts and she has never sound so uncertain and pleading and expectant to know if he might love her?

That if there’s something more between them than just providing eachother pleasure and being eachother’s missing half when they were lonely.

More, than just two bestfriends being eachother’s back of the hand.

He doesn’t respond and she shouts for him to stop and answer her and throws a cushion towards him, but he just leaves her to it.

Harry’s just worried she isn’t ready to take either of his confessions well.

Snowy sits in her lap. Max and Luna (Rori's girlfriend) are wrestling onto the mattress they took from Harry's bed and laid on the floor, (which he'd grump about when he'll be too pissy to move it back in the late night).

He’s been cranky and acting proper ratty with anyone and everyone he comes to interact with since that day.

He felt like his world turned upside down because now everything’s just against him, his milk gets soggy every morning and all of his socks and hoodies are at his little thief's home and snowy takes revenge from him for hurting Y/N by pissing on his shoes everytime he’s about to leave.

Cherry on creamy top!

He just couldn’t stop thinking about his bambi and might have chewed his fourty years old assistant ears with his rambling of Y/N and his endearment for her and unfortunately he just ficked up bad.

“’M so hungry. If Ni will cheat another round on me, I’ll be munching on his toes!!” Y/N exclaims huffing out and kicking Niall in shin as they were playing Mario cart and he’s been winning for an hour just by his cheating tricks.

They all got together after many days at Harry’s flat while he was at the duty and he promised them that he’d bring pizzas with him and now it’s almost 12 and they’re waiting and waiting in anticipation for him to arrive.

When the door knob jiggles everyone’s jumping up and scrambling closer to the door because they all are that hungry and Harry’s hands are piled with pizza boxes, soon their hungry excited expressions are dulling into annoyance and viscid displeasure when Holly peeks from behind Harry.

Still all of them manage to plant fake smiles and everyone’s greeting her.

“What took you guys s'long?” Y/N speaks lowly through a forced smile the one that doesn’t reaches her eyes and doesn’t make them appear as they are pools of earthly soil, “Oh .. we just stopped to buy some muffins -- Harry told me how much you like them, Bambi.” Oh fuck. There goes the pressure cooker blasting and rattling through each and every wall of this room and the tension thickens around and Luna's coughing and everyone is just treading back to their spots awkwardly and with disappointed sorry sighs for Holly because if before Y/N didn’t hold a grudge against Holly now she’d.

Because, for fuck’s sake!!! Nobody, calls her that except Harry!

It was their own intimate little sweet love name that Harry calls her and her only.

Not even their friends.

Not even Niall.

Just him.

Him.

And.

Him.

Now, she just came from out of the fucking blue and popped their bubble of intimacy and Y/N feels like one of those anime characters where they've a frown hanging on their head larger than their size and there’s fire enveloping them before she bursts out in rage and scream at Holly and Harry too.

She sighs. She’s far better than creating a scene and gladly accepts the box of muffins from Holly whose smile is overly sugar coated and this is what Harry says when he tells her he doesn’t like sugar in much amount – it’s irksome, Y/N’s talking about humans specifically.

“’s not even my favourites.” She mumbles staring at the vanilla strawberry muffins and Holly just shrugs and Harry gets tensed keeping his voice hushed while Rori and Him unboxes the pizzas in the kitchen, “Just thought a change would be good.” Y/N’s throat clogs up just at that. She finds it hard to even gulp down the piercing emotions piling up there.

Y/N just hates changes.

Holly wants to change everything about Harry and his surroundings, even this dinky flat he lives in —- he’s a dentist why’d he live here?

Holly tries not to grimace.

“You know Y/N hates changes, Harry I know that you guys might not be serious but we all are well aware that you too —-- fuck, Harry! Why are you fucking it up!” Rori whisper yells at him as they throw the empty boxes frantically and hurriedly to go back to living room and handle the situation before it gets out of hand.

“Ontop of that. Why did ya bring, Holly with you!? She isn’t ... well she isn’t much par to any of our likings.” Harry just runs his hands through his curls and he knows that it’s afflicting Y/N, his baby muffy who wouldn’t even see him in eye since that incident and he really wishes that all of this ends soon.

“What d'I do!? she’s my staff head and I’ve to play nice to her.” He squeaks out in a bit panic and he’s exhausted and tired and really running out of his Bambi's cuddles but she wouldn’t even let him set foot in her flat.

Even though how much he argued that, “Remember y’said this’s our one big home? Well I could be in me home whenever I want.”

Though when they're out with bright smiles and announcing that food is here, acting as if him and Rori didn’t just had an ASMR argument in kitchen.

Harry’s heart. The each chamber of his heart got cut up into pieces and fell somewhere in his stomach when he hands the plate to Y/N and she takes it without meeting his eyes, starving him off her sweet butterflies wooshing smile and tries to avoid from getting any physical contact between their fingertips and cuddles back into Ni's side as if she’s utterly cold.

She’s jealous and hurt and furious that Harry has mighty revealed their intimate nitty gritty details to Holly.

All of that aside. She’s very sad and lost and feels lonely all over again because she has no-idea that what are they, where they stand out of their bestfriends bubble and if whatever happened between them was fever dream?

“What happened, pet? Not hungry? Y'were ‘bout to munch us alive seconds ago.” Niall chuckles gingerly and nudges her as she just hovered her pizza on her plate and never brought it to her mouth.

Harry wipes his hand on his jeans listening that and Holly’s side eyeing him gauging for his reaction and her face hitches up into displeasure when he stands up and strides towards Y/N in two long steps.

“D'ya want another flavour? Is it cold? We could order somethin' else if you want to ....” His voice caring and antsy and he’s contemplating whether to sit beside her and coax her to eat but she’s chewing onto it and shrugging, speaking with a mouth full and yet again never sparing him a single glance.

“No, ‘m good.”

Holly judges Y/N’s battiness and locks up the urge to roll her eyes at this girl who Harry’s so whipped for -- she could ramp him under her feet (which Y/N would never – Holly’s just a mean ass who likes to think negatively about everyone) and he'd still beg her to do it all over again.

Holly just loves to be a victim in situations where she doesn’t even have a role, but still tries to fit in as a victim.

The truth is. She wants Harry bad. And, it’s all written clear on her face.

Their hang out didn’t take the route they planned for it to be and Y/N was heading out early conscious of Harry’s gaze on her all the time when Rori yelled enthusiastically with a bright proud grin, “Everyone's invited to Y/N's painting exhibition on Sunday, aren’t we Y/N!?”

Harry’s head snaps towards each of his friends like a lost puppy and when all of them are smiling and nodding their heads in agreement his eyes just brawls out and he feels like crying and throwing a tantrum because she didn’t tell him about it! and even if not, he didn’t got a chance to be the first one to tell her how proud he’s of her.

Rori winces when Harry rushes behind Y/N and the door's shutting behind leaving them in awkward silence again.

“You didn’t care t’tell me? ‘s such a big mo' fo'y.” He scowls. Folding his arms infront of his chest and Y/N grumbles stomping her feet onto floor.

“You were too busy —-..”

He knows what’s about to come next. The taunt and fight and something heartbreaking that’d slip from their tongues and hurt them brutally and part them away, “Baby.” He’s sighing rubbing the knot on his forehead and him calling her baby was enough to mush her into a candy floss.

“Yell at me. Punch me. Brake me nose. D'ye thing but pleaseee don’t gimme a silent treatment ...,” His eyes glossy and Y/N kinda feels remorseful and she might not give into him that easily but she isn’t to be blamed because she’s just so putty in his embrace and he could win her heart all over again as many times he wishes.

Though when she’s speaking to him after long period of four days and nine hours and cursing him out he’s still very thankful and gleeful grinning and scooping her up in his arms, “You’re a downright asshole you know that? One of our baby cat died and you were too busy havin' lunch with that, witch.” She isn’t hiding her hatred for Holly anymore and Harry cackles infuriatingly loud and brushes his cheek against her neck.

“’M sorry. Not g'na do tha' evea' again swear on me life.” He mumbles coherently.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” He’s hooking their pinkies together and kissing them to seal the affirmation.

Harry loves BDSM. Something he explored upon lurking around a sex club when he was right about to turn eighteen, of which oh so Y/N's savvy about from all those nights where she could be able to hear guys and girls howling like they got fucking murdered even sitting in the farthest cubby of her own home.

She'd not argue to him about that because of her shyness and second the music that she used to blast through speakers while painting, so they were equal.

He was quite peculiarly never interested in having romantic relationships with people -- he was just interested in what’s between their legs and sometimes their mouth.

But with Y/N. With Y/N he wants to make love to her. Lit sweet warm scenting candles that’d sheen their skins with ardour and have vases filled with flowers and cook her a dish she likes – then they share a glass of wine (optional) if they want to remember it all.

He wants to have every nice and warm thing with her, things he never got to experience.

He wants to love.

To love her.

He never really exposed himself to words like amity, adoration and intimacy. Thinks that those words are too big for his heart which’s too compact for someone to build a home in.

He hated certain stuff. On purpose. Like scrabble when his father and his friends made fun of him for liking scrabble and he kicked that shit so hard it tensiled into space — or he thinks so because he never saw it laying on his childhood floor ever after that.

Then again, Y/N came into his life and brought his scrabble back (teased him that she stole it from some kid that lives downfloor) they play whenever they could and ends up fighting everytime because, zzz isn’t a word but Harry claims it is for people who snores like they're gonna choke into their pillow next moment.

He hated interacting with people. Don’t even have an idea how he got these bunch of maniacs as his friends and then Y/N, he just thinks she’s made specially for him only carved from the cream of tenderness, beauty of love and sent upon to him like an Angel.

Harry hates sugar. But, yet again he likes no scratch that -- he loves Y/N so it doesn’t even matter.

At the moment when he’s crowded by gushing and whispering and laughing people. Praising and chatting and loving on his Bambi —- he feels like the word hate never existed in his life because all he could feel his heart is floating in copious amount of love for his Bambi as he stands in the corner letting his eyes admire her in affection.

He takes a sip of white wine from his glass and hisses when plays with his earlobe out of instinct and ends up prodding himself from where he pierced his ear two hours ago.

A smile so tiny but full of elation and lilac-ness twirls on his relaxed face upon reminiscing it – his eyes falling at her trousers and he gives himself an imaginary pat on back.

“You’re gonna repay me by ironing my trousers.” She told him standing between his parted legs and he scooted closer to the edge of counter and grabbed her teeny hands compared to his's and puts them over his thick thighs, “Whateva' y'say ma'am. ‘course now ye’re ‘bout to become a sexy artist with her own gallery ‘n all tha’.” He smirked and she rolled her eyes dabbing the cotton ball with alcohol and swapped his soft earlobe with it.

“’S not mine.” She murmurs and Harry woven his fingers with her's and tugged her forward. Lips brushing her temple and he shrugged, speaking, there’s nothing for her to be insecure about, if no one's proud of her, he is, he always gonna be, “Does it matter? Those paintings are yours. That room will be filled with your talent – ye're g'na own one soon, mark me words.” His grip tightened when she rubs her hand at his chest to warn him beforehand and he feigned that he’s scared and horrified to make her anxious about it.

“You’re sick in head you know that?” She mumbles grounding down the shakiness of her wrist as she poked the needle through his earlobe and his voice just did a lil loopy-loop as he spoke, “Yeah ... many patients tell me when I don’t give ‘em enough anaesthetic and rip their teeth out.” She blinked up at him with wide eyes and smacked him when he just slumped down against the mirror if nothing happened, his rims floaty and blown out.

Sometimes he jokes too seriously it startles, Y/N.

“You could say an ouch, atleast. Big man.” She giggled taking the needle out and puts a black cross earning after cleaning his brand new piercing, “Ouchhh!” He moaned out dramatically, fingers gliding down his skin under his eyes to reveal pink flesh and blue veins and his eyeballs.

“You’re an ass! Now go iron my trousers D’ya want me to go bottomless?” She chortled out loudly and her laugh boomed through the small washroom when Harry’s hand spanked her bum playfully, “Perhaps tha’ is what I’d never want in any case – even if I’ve to showcase me bum to everyone.”

“Harry?” She’s gazing up at him with deer eyes and tugging at his blazer to gain his attention, “Everyone’s gone?” He looks behind to get the sight of their friends laughing and chatting.

“Yeah.” Harry’s heart tweaks upon hearing her exhausted and sluggishly soft voice. She giggles into his cheek when he slings his arm around her shoulder and runs his nose up and down her head walking towards their equally tipsy friends.

“Everyone lets bunch up to give, Muffy a cuddle.” Harry drawls out. His warm breath tickling her neck and everyone just roars out gathering around them and giving them a big bear hug and Y/N's eyes turns glossier because she’s feel so loved and cared.

Just because of Harry.

When they see off their friends, Y/N isn’t rushing back to her agency’s manager to ask how much paintings she sold instead she’s snuggling into Harry’s embrace and let’s him escort them out and into the cool wind.

“You really deserve chocolate muffins, don’t ya, pet?” His chin doubles as he tries to take a look at her satisfied and relaxed face as they trod on the side of road like two penguins providing heat to eachother.

They’ve drunk quite a nice amount of bevvies. Enough that mighty would make them forget the events that are happening now and that’s nice because they could be embarrassing and cringey with having to think about it later.

“No.” Harry grabs her hand that was about to push the door of the lil bakery and she’a huffing up at him and swatting his hand away with a loud thwack, “’M an independent woman, H.” He just slides her hand away -- retorting with a smile, “And’m a gentleman.”

She squints up at him with scrunched up pouty lips and he’s mimicking her squinting her square in the eye. The clock ticks by and they break into a hand wrestling and he’s squeaking out childishly when she pinches his wrist but he’s coming back with scissor fingers demanding her to do a “stone, papers, scissors.” Fight with him.

When he’s wiggling his fingers in fire gesture she’s groaning out and throwing her arms in air, “Fire beats everything!!” He yells duckishly and spins around doing a little dance.

“Fine.” She grumps folding her arms around her torso and he’s ducking down to smooch annoying kisses to her cheeks and all over face.

Harry’s forearms remains roped around her waist and his chin rests ontop of her head, her back stays pressed to his taught warm chest whole time. Every two minutes or so she raises the muffin she’s eating to his lips and he’s taking a chunky bite out of it as they trod their way back home.

“Dun, dun dun dunnnn, do do ...” She giggles when he sways them. His chest rumbling with his deep drunk octave and she cups his cheek.

“What you singing, honey?” He just giggles clinging to her and hides his face into her neck – murmurs then takes himself out of her fragrance and shouts into the air.

“The pink panther’s song!!” She woofs out a laugh at that and he shoves his face into his palm, wheezing out cutely, “I'know y'laughin' ‘cos ‘m sayin' stupidddd things.....,”

The bunny vociferous laughs that emits from their bellies, tumbles them to the ground and the moment they look towards eachother they burst into more giggles.

Y/N scrambles towards where he’s clutching his side and rolls to face her and she crawls up his chest.

It feels good to waste time on the footpath when their hold on eachother’s this soft, warm and meaningful and full of love.

Their cheeks coral, their grins achy and their eyes gleamy ---- hands wandering and comforting eachother, cuddly and sottish and cosy laying right outside their the homes building.

He hugs her closer to him. She snuggles herself into him and worms into a touch starved shrimp and the words are on the tip of his tongue, they’ve been shown in his sentiments with zeal and passion in past and now they’re bouncing in his chest.

Though, he gulps them back.

He really couldn’t.

“I love you,” It flows away in the wind but she catches onto it and flies with it and pushes herself up on his chest blinking in perplexed rapture.

He’s breathing it out again. This time maybe slurry from inebriation but clear and audible, “oh my god baby .... I love you s'fuckin’ much.” He cradles her face in his palms and slides his forehead against hers.

“You love me?” She whispers and he giggles at her bewildered expression and bobs his head, “That’s what ‘m sayin' pet.”

She knows that she loves him too. More than anybody. Every inch of her body soaks into the word love for him.

She pauses for a moment, “How — but, I mean –- What did I do?” He just shrugs, “Dunno.” His dimples foaming deep and pretty.

“I just think we would be a good us,” At that her head perks up kitten like and she moulds her palms around his either side of neck as if he’s her warm chocolate cuppa, she smiles slowly, “We'd be a wonderful us.” Her gaze glitters on his wine moisturized pink lips and she gives him an eskimo kiss.

“Gimme a kiss then,” She demands pursuing her lips adorably but he shakes his puff of curls and pushes her face back gently, “No!” Her brows pinches together at that and she pokes his dimple pouting sadly.

“But, why?”

“I don’t wanna forget our first kiss.” He whines and paws at her hips to bring her back closer to him and she giggles muttering a silly under her breath and tries to tempt him.

“Kiss me, in this way ... we could have our firsts twice!” He gives into her mischievous offer and sighs cradling her face in his hold and murmurs against the corners of her lips, “Only ‘cos you’re cute and wouldn’t stop peskin'.” She’s grinning and pulling him with her hands and smashing her petal lips against his's, their eyelids springs close and he’s squishing her chasing to deepen the kiss and when she's parting away he’s rushing to peck her lips right back to kiss her more.

“I could really cry just by kissin' you, moppet.” He licks the spots of chocolate from her chubby bottom lip and bites it and she’s melting her mouth again over him, kissing him delicately and sweetly having a certain desire and yearn to just star into one soul that balms there tummies.

“W’na kiss you forever.”

Harry never believed into forevers.

Then Y/N wrapped him in her oh so Y/N-ish blanket and now he wants everything with her for, forever.

“Oh. Hush baby. You’re gonna gimme a tooth ache.”

Y/N regrets saying that. Because she’s waking up with a headache, blurry vision and churning stomach ontop of every pain the ache in her tooth came to bite her in ass and she’s hissing grabbing her cheek to soothe it down.

“Fuck my —- damn hell ...” She mutters when even the slightest of air in her mouth stings her tooth like a bitch and it dollops tears on the corners of her eyes because she has never gone through a toothache before.

She’s bargaining in Harry’s flat and into his room and he’s properly wafted, face smashed into his elbow as he wheezes through his parted mouth. She’s shaking him gently because the shrivelling drive of pain is growing after every second.

“Harry!” He’s jolting up and snapping his head in every direction instantly his sleepy gaze melts on her (a sight he'd like to have every morning) but she looks rather rotten with a nest on her head and her last night’s clothes crumbled and when she's quipping an, “It hurts Harry ....” With teary eyes, He’s immediately scurrying closer to her and holding her -- confused at first.

“What's hurtin', pet?” He mumbles groggily and she sniffs, “My tooth –- fuck.”

He sighs knuckling at his eyes and kisses her hair throwing the duvet away, “Sit here yeah? ‘m g'na wash me hands real quick and check it, hmm?” He wipes the corner of her eyes and massages her shoulder -- then unfists her hands to make her release some tension and puts them on her knees.

He’s muttering a, “Good girl.” When she nods obediently and watches his back as he trudges inside the washroom.

Coming back with towel in his hands and throws it on the bed while sitting on his knees and adjusts her between them.

“Can y'open a bit mo' f'me, darling?” He asks gently caressing her hip to loosen her up. He already knows what's about to come next and he’s afraid she’s going to be very batty about the procedure, “Aaaaa.” She practically makes the noise trying to part her jaw as far as she could while Harry’s hand remains intact around it inspecting her mouth and she’s anxious that she has a morning breath but the memories of all those time she would practically drool on his cheeks while sleeping makes her feel less awful about it,

He chuckles tapping lightly on her upper moral, “Ow!” She swats his hand away when his action physically makes her whole body go through a pang.

When she looks up at him with ticked brows and huffy pout biting the flesh of her cheek between her two morals to just do something -- anything to get rid of the pain, Harry rubs the frown away with a grimace and brings her for a hug.

“’M s' sorry baby. But, looks like it’ll need a root canal.” If his bambi wouldn’t be in such pain he indeed would have lectured her and thrown away every sweetened thing in her jars out of the window.

“Can y'endure a lil pain and wait till my last appointment? So, I could take care of you afterwards.” He asks her lovingly and his reasoning makes butterflies erupt in Y/N’s belly and she almost almost forgot about her toothache but then it pangs again and she’s hugging him tighter mumbling into him, “Sure.”

He’s making her change her clothes and made her porridge letting it cool down to a temperature where it wouldn’t stick or ache her teeth.

“Y/N ...” He glowers at her sternly when she pushes his hand away holding the painkillers and that intense ferocious glare where his soft jade eyes are turning into something very dark is enough to tell her that if she’s not taking them, there's a big scold coming and after that no leniency for an argument so she takes it without throwing another tantrum.

After making sure she’s fed well and tucked into bed he’s stroking her hair and massaging her head, adjusting her pillow as she likes, kissing the tip of her nose as he murmurs.

“Rori will be pickin’ y’up sharp at 5. Told her to wake you up gently if you’ll be sleepin’.” Her eyes are dreamily glassy and she smiles lightly and she’s already missing his touch on her skin when he stands back up ready to leave.

She really wanted to say it.

Dying to say it, infact.

But all that came from her mouth was, “I’m gonna miss you.” Earning a giggle from him in return.

“G’na miss you terribly too.”

Rori drove Y/N to hospital. She’s still in Harry’s clothes that he made her wear in the morning, a black galaxy sweater and wide loose pants a beanie on her head to protect her from a headache and when the receptionist waves her enthusiastically upon her arrival Y/N’s smiling but never opening her mouth knowing the bitch would be back.

“Dr. Styles went for a staff on-call. He'll be here any moment, you could go inside.” Y/N’s nodding and padding inside his room. The pain has lessened a bit and that gives her teensy energy to wander around his room admiring his lil achievements, the medal he won last year and right beside it the pen holder she gave him it that has a “HORRAY TAKE BABY STEPS BABY STEPS HONEY!!” written obnoxiously on it as if she’s screaming it to his face and she giggles at her own silly gift.

She gasps and ends up knocking her hip into his desk as Harry steps in and laughs loudly at her, tutting with a shake of his head, “Jumpy little thing you’re.” Out of habit his hands are falling at her hips and bringing her closer.

“How’re y'muffy?” He asks and she’s bobbing her head up and down dramatically but silently making him chuckle.

“’Kay get yourself comfy on the seat ‘m gonna call my assistant t’give you anesthetic.” He suppresses a smile when she worms her bum up the slippery seat and goes on pushing different buttons moving it up and down.

“How adventurous.” He snickers switching the examination lamp and she rolls her eyes. His assistant’s eyeing them with happy eyes from under her glasses and Harry’s putting his latex gloves aside as she fills the injection and Y/N's muscles tenses up in anticipation, as she tries to blink the fear away and musters up a weak smile.

Knowing she has a fear of needles. Harry rolls the stool he’s sitting on closer to her and interlaces their fingers together, he coos sweetly, “It’ll be just a pinch baby.” Though, Y/N thinks Harry’s a motherfucking liar because it apparently is not just a pinch but feels like a stick shoved up your ass.

When the assistant leaves them to fetch something, Harry’s stroking the fringes of her hair behind with benevolent and caring eyes and smiles down at her sincerely.

“I want y'to relax, moppet. Yeah? Could y'do tha' f'me?” This time when he’s poking or prodding she isn't slapping him away and he’s grateful because that means her gums are numb properly.

He’s caressing her arm to assure her that she has nothing to be afraid about when she startles hearing the buzz of instrument that’s about to rip her poor gum apart.

Surprisingly she was easy. Because, Harry was so gentle with her and when he’s ushering her to spit in the little sink and she’s laying back with cloudy eyes and a grin Harry just knows the anaesthesia is kicking in.

It means that she’s allowed to blabber every dumb thing to him (she doesn’t need anaesthesia for it by the way), without any filter and timidness she’s about to chatter his brain alive.

Her gaze slowly rakes down his torso as if she’s undressing him with her eyes and she’s grinning -- more blood pooling in her mouth, “You look very handsome in scrubs — you know that?” Her words wobblish but full of naughtiness and Harry arranges them himself barking out a delighted laugh when she tugs at hem of his clothes perking her lips.

“I could really kiss you right now....” Her voice clear with desire but a hint of neediness and fondness for him and he’s gazing her down with gleamy endearment and snorts bringing the water cup to her lips, “Sorry Bambi but don’t like kissing a bloody mouth.” She keeps her doe eyes on him and they turn sad while she gurgles the water in her puffed up cheeks and spits it again into sink, about to protest with him but he’s shushing her and laying her back onto the seat.

“Not even me?” She grumps up at him and he’s retorting shaking his head in rejection, he's just trying to rile her up because he himself thinks that a single peck wouldn’t hurt.

“You’ll get an answer to this after we're done with you,” He muses softly when her eyes flicker with glee.

She was all over him as if she’s a small baby who needs his guidance to walk her way out and Harry was waving his staff goodbye with nervous lamblike smile while he tries to balance her against his chest.

The whole ride back he refrained from cooing and making im-a-fool-who-is-shamlessly-in-love noises. How could he not? When she looks this cute and cuddly in his clothes, head lulling every once a while as she sleeps facing him, her hand on his thigh to keep her reminded of his presence.

Harry’s grabbing it and kissing her knuckles. A jolly smile fluttering on his features and he isn’t waking her up as the reach and takes her into his flat – flumps her down on his bed gently and gets rid of her shoes and sweater.

Even skips dinner. Gets out of his work clothes and takes a glance of his sleepy girl standing from the wardrobe and the light clicks off before his gangly body is sliding under the duvets beside her.

Warm, sweet and cosy.

His all day's exhaustion fuses into nothingness when his feet comes caressing her calves and his chest presses to her shoulders and his elbows shelters around her in a protecting loving manner.

His heart hiccups a happy beat when she turns to his side and snuggles into him murmuring in haze, “Love you.”

He trips into utter shock. Staring down at her with baffled eyes but then the memories from past night comes upon crashing down at him like a crystal wave of ocean and floats him to an island where he belongs, always fated to belong.

He confessed his love for her.

She confessed it back.

They both were stupid and forgot it.

Now when she’s telling him that she loves him Harry feels like he’s rather about to pass out or squeal into pillow.

“I love you too, baby.” He's just wrapping her closer to him and lingering a wet kiss to her forehead.

Y/N’s moral was grinded, she keeps on swiping her tongue over it even how much Harry scolds her about it (it feels like a small plateau that got separated away because of an earthquake, y/n has made her own imagination about her tooth) and Harry let her chose the colour of filling that will be the mould of her crown, it was just an unnecessary thing to make her feel cheerful about it.

“Is Harry busy? Who’s inside?” She’s asking the old receptionist tapping her nails against the marble counter in eagerness to be done with it and that she’s about to take him to this yummy Thai place.

“Oh. He’s with his girlfriend right now.” Placid sereneness dooms over them and Y/N falls frightfully quite.

The poor assistant doesn’t know what she has uttered.

She just told her what the rumours has told her.

Her jittery smile drops into a blue scowl, her legs weakens at the thought and she nearly trips when Holly appears from inside his room.

It bitters her mouth with taste of anger and outrage.

Holly passes her a tight empathetic smile as if she knew everything from start and Y/N’s striding past her in resentment, her mind smoked with betrayal and vehemence.

“Hi. Moppet.” He rolls his stool over smiling up at her and it tightens her chest so much she chokes onto a breath.

How could he? No. No.

How dare he!?

But, there’s no need to cry over split milk now is it? She has to accept it that they could never be something more than just bestfriends.

“Hi.” She mumbles blocking her tears in the back of her eyes somewhere and Harry frowns, asking politely as she sits, “Feelin' alright?” She just nods and it takes Harry off-guard.

Where is his bubbly Muffy?

“Are you hurtin' somewhere?” He asks again pushing her upper lip to get a better look of her tooth. When she denies he lets it slide.

Though, when the assistant injects her and she’s groping Harry’s thigh because in grief everything hurts more than usual and her heart is dripping with sorrow and loneliness and grief she’s on verge of breaking into pieces right on this seat.

Harry’s brows clinches together in worry but she’s inhaling a puff of breath and giving him an etiolated smile to finish this as soon as possible and leave before she humiliates herself infront of him.

Her crown didn’t fit and he had to do a little more grinding. Meanwhile, Holly’s entering the room and Y/N shuts her eyes pretending that she isn’t there.

It hurts. Not in her tooth. Everywhere. Like a force is ripping her apart through a saw and it hurls her into deep agony and her heart almost stops functioning.

Harry was too focused and worried about her eerie behaviour that he ignored the frail hits on his thigh and Holly’s taking his name loudly making him stop.

Y/N’s jolting up and gagging into the sink beside her. Her knuckles turning white from gripping it ruthlessly.

She stares the clots of blood and mucus washing away with blurry eyes.

“Baby?” Harry quickly rubs her back anxiously and scrutinise with raucous beating heart as her hands shivers cupping the water and taking it in her mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Are y'okay? Pet?” His voice drips with panic and dread that the worst happened to her because of him --– if the case's true he's never gonna touch her again.

“Y/N!?” He’s growling loudly when she doesn’t reply him and keeps on crying. His eyes turning back concerned and soft when she hiccups a weep, “It hurts Harry ....” Holly rolls her eyes, leans against the desk and puts the file she brought to Harry beside her.

“You’re not a child anymore, Y/N. Ofcourse it’s gonna hurt.” She snickers and this makes Y/N cry more – Harry’s holding her hands in his and stroking his thumb at her knuckles.

“Dunno --...– maybe –- ma —,” Harry’s emerald eyes are boring into her murky one's and it pierces her soul away from her inside.

Their heads perk up when Holly asks her rudely, “Are you doubting Harry?”

Y/N shakes her tiny defeated head vigorously, “No! Why —.. why would I?” More tears pooling in her waterline and dropping at the back of Harry’s hand. He rushes to wipe them away and shush her but Holly’s acidic laugh is echoing.

How could she even think that?

Y/N could never doubt him.

Why she has to be so mean to her everytime?

“I mean you —,” Holly opens her mouth to speak but Harry’s cutting her off sharply, “Dr. Jenner enough. I’ll appreciate it if you wait f'me outside.” His head snaps back to Y/N who’s wiggling out of his hold and gasping out -- her pupils blown out and woozy.

“I just need a breather.” Saying this she’s out before Holly leaving Harry baffled and agitated to ponder over how she was pain and he failed to realise sooner.

The zephyr is tranquil. Frolicking with her heart and the grass is dewy under her as she runs towards an empty bench outside where there’s barely any light and she wishes Harry never comes to look for her.

She’s such a mess.

Her chest suffocates with a sob. She’s trying to lull her breath back to normal just like he tells her to.

When she flutters her eyelids into vision a hand with a cross on it’s thumb is pressed onto the bench beside her and there’s an afflicted pause in the atmosphere before she slowly faces him and places her hand atop his hand.

Her breath shudders through a smile, the tension in between them thickening as Harry feels her so close but so distant from him.

Emotionally and mentally and even their souls feels trapped within their own bodies.

It upsets him, to see his Bambi like that,

“’M so sorry, Harry. My intention wasn’t to embarrass you.” She isn’t serious? Sometimes he wants to bang his head at nearby wall at her silliness.

“You didn’t.” He assures her gently.

“But I did. Infront of the person you love.” It pains to say it. In the end she could suffer from anything for his happiness even if it’s handing him to the wrong person if he loves them.

Harry’s eyes turn moist at that. An unbelievable sour laugh eliciting from his lungs as he shoves his palms into his sockets, rubs them harshly and grasps her wrists pulling her closer to him with one furious tug.

“Yeah because that’s you, dumbass!!” Y/N’s body turns into a stone at his stern confession and she’s staring him with a throb in her heart and sad kitten eyes.

His brows pricks together ferociously and his lips twitches up as he speaks chopped on tears, “Every Daphne I pick up from the side-grass while comin’ back home t’you, these stupid stars in sky ‘n these ...” His shoes scrapes against the grass as he tries to show her, “....these stupid stupid shoelaces I tie around me ankles,” He’s raising his wrist to show her the milk bottle tattoo he got for he’s in love with her and their cats, once they were drunk, “... this fuckin' tattoo I got —- ‘s always been you.” He let’s the tears shine on his cheeks and soak them rosy.

“Always you, Bambi.” His accent gluteus and hoarse, “You’re always gonna be my sweet Bambi. Who I adore and love so much.”

“How?” She whispers in bewilderment and when Harry’s warming his forehead against her's tickling her lips as he murmurs, “Because you thought we'd be a wonderful us.”

A sob is wrecking out of her and she’s wrapping her arms around the nape of his neck pulling him down into a bone crushing hug, as the night they first confessed and had their first kiss makes a home in her mind.

She’s glad they didn’t forget their first.

“I love you.” Harry mumbles through a squished up cheek and saturates their chests closer with his hand planted firmly over her spine.

“I love you too. So much of it.” They’re crying elated tears knowing they’ve eachother to wipe them away and he’s sponging a tender kiss to her mouth and the corner of her lip avoiding where it’s swollen and her cheek is bloated.

The metallic taste of her blood lingers on his own lips.

“I could even kiss your bloody mouth, see?” He giggles feathering back his lips to her lips and gives her a chastise peck.

“Let’s put your crown, my highness.” Harry scoops up giggles from within her and tries to cherish this moment for as long as possible.

He’s never gonna forget his first, done twice.

Not a days go by where they don’t make love to eachother. A string of knot that connects their souls as Harry keeps his cock warm inside her while sleeping and it fattens inside her when they’re about to wake up and Harry’s rolling his hips into her lazily and gradually getting out breathy hums and whispers of whines from her —- her ankles locks behind his back and he’s always hitting and caressing the spots inside her which she was never able to reach herself with her short fingers.

Their bath times are intimate. Not full of adrenaline and thrill that one would end up having a foot cast from tripping from their playfulness, like they used to everytime. It’s delicate touches. Soft back rubs. Foamy head massages and cuddly bubbles. Smooching wet kisses. Heated makeout sessions and then drying eachother off, brushing teeth together and going to bed wearing eachother’s mismatched clothes.

Their mornings are spent lounging in bed and sharing a little love, sweet irresistible kisses, mouth sweet with eachother's tongues and hands comforting eachother, having a satisfying brekkie together in bed and sometimes the other is too tired to go (it’s usually Harry) and they always remind them they’re gonna come back home to eachother.

Harry made, Y/N explore herself. Introduced her to the tingles of what it feels to be rough and have a good shag that sends her into her sub-space where she doesn’t stop thrashing and spasming under him and He’s always there to bring her back to him and to take care of her.

They sometime do it in his office room too. Whenever she’s visiting him and he looks to alluring that Y/N could swallow him whole and his thighs man-spread deliciously as he sits on the stool in his damn scrubs, “You c’mere.” He pats his thigh dirtily in a command for her to straddle him and ride his cock and she’s always obeying like a good bunny moaning out feeling him in her tummy.

They’ve had countless of sex in Harry’s living room which they turned into a working studio for Y/N and whenever she's painting sometimes naked to tease him, how could Harry resist when she looks ethereal with her peachy bosom and her adorable tummy rolls and her innocent eyes and her cushiony thighs —- so he just pushes her thighs that he’s oh so in love with to her chest and pins her to floor and fucks her till she isn’t satiated enough.

Shower sex and bit of striptease when Harry’s knackered out. The hot water that prattles on their toes and their sweaty skins that slaps against eachother’s makes it much filthier and nastier.

They’ve bunch of romantic sex too. Oh boy! Just loads of romance where he’s too soft and mushy and dotting with her.

Sometimes, two people have deep connection that makes seem romance trivial and it isn’t about lust everytime. It’s about their souls. About the deepest part of who they’re as a person. Who they could be for eachother when the time strikes.

Just like right now. As, the stars twinkle outside and the dark snowy wind hits the windows; checked by the occasional gust that rattles the rooftop and the wood would creak to tell it’s presence. Fragrance of scented candles that of peonies, sparkling champagne and crème almonds surrounds them.

Harry brought Y/N on a holiday at a mountain and had a warm cosy wooden cottage booked for themselves.

They’ve spent it enjoying themselves and forgetting about their life in city. Today, the layer of foamy crystal snow is more than usual and they decided to cuddle up into their own little comfy cubby.

He takes his time feeling her skin and she nuzzles her nose up in his throat and giggles when he purrs.

The fire churning infront of them is similar to the one quenching in his belly as he sneaks his hand under her slip dress and fondles her nipples in between his calloused fingers.

“I wanna make love t'you, Muffy.” He mumbles grazing his blunt teeth down her sweaty pulse and laps at it splaying his palm close to her bum when she arches up into him, “I’m all yours.” She guppies around a gasp and he’s chuckling sweetly cradling her face in his hold and brews his lips against her's in a passionate endearingly hot kiss that moists her breath and her each ravine pore fills with love for him.

Their chests burns with carnal desire as he lays them on the flumpy nest of bed they made from blankets and pillows, his mouth keeps on tasting her with ardent fever and he situates himself between her and grinds their pelvises sensing her nipples stitching under his fingers and she’s gnawing her teeth into his petalish lip when he fills his palms with her tits.

“So cute.” He quips when she gasps whining for him to smudge his cocoa-vaseline covered lips back on her's and her lips brushes against his clavicles, emitting a perfervid whimper as Harry strokes his palm to feel her arousal and juices, “Hmm. I could just give you a flyin' kiss and you’ll still end up squirting.” He's easing his middle finger inside her and gazes her with profound sweetness when she pushes her palm up against his large moth and punctuates soft kisses to his vein at the side of his neck that prominents from their intimacy.

“Fuck. You get t've me cock daily but still so snug, pet. G’na stretch y'nice ‘n good.” He grunts, trailing soppy kisses down the valley of her breasts. Slicking his mouth around her nipple and she whines hungrily unceasing her fingers in his curls and pulls at them bringing him down for more kisses, “You love my kisses baby? Hmm? My baby loves me kisses ...” He coos suckling onto her lower lip and latches back full to her mouth and perennials it into pastels of wetness.

Sips down her moans when he slithers three more fingers into her and fits them deep, cupping his palm against her pussy. Something weirdly soft about his bare ring-less fingers and he runs his hips into her, “Feels good?” He growls looking down where his fingers drives into her.

When she bobs her head hungrily. She squirms – goosebumps pebbling on her skin and the mellow glow of candles melting on her when he pecks her and pecks her again, kissing her tongue as he mumbles, “Bet. It’ll feel more good with my cock inside y’pussy. Tell me moppet, who's little cunt is this?” He asks wiggling his middle finger to nudge the walnut shaped spot inside her – tucked within her walls and his other hand’s pressing her thigh to floor as he saps his teeth into her neck and leaves love bites.

Marking her as his’s.

“Yours. Please, it’s all yours.” She sobs out ardently. Crumbling and lurking at the edge to hold this pleasing feeling for some moment in her belly.

“Right.” He affirms. Licking the maroon marks he littered on her puddy skin and he's grabbing her shivery hand that was about to cup around his cock and stroke it, “You’re mine.” He strings their fingers together and brings it to his lips to kiss the soft pads of her fingers.

“All mine to love on, to cherish, to be proud of –-- You’re my little Bambi.” His infatuated dotting words are making her strike herself into him, quivering and blabbering, eyes shut in bliss and love and he’s helping her ride the sensation out.

The moment he’s taking his fingers out he’s interlacing those sticky cum covered fingers with her other hand and stretching her arms and pinning their winded hands atop her head into floor.

They’re moaning into waxy humidity when Harry sheathes into her and her walls soaps around his girth as he sinks himself into her, his heavy balls pressed buried deep to her bum and he’s smushing his face into her breasts and almost snuggles into her knowing how much she loves to just be wrapped into him as he pounds his cock inside her.

He’s sweltering his hips. Feeling her gooey warmth and rolls himself harder and she’s crossing her arms around his shoulder – kissing his neck and caressing the curls that’ve grown out a tad under his earlobes.

“I love you,” He's nosing at her jaw to tip her mouth towards him and kisses it —- his hold on her delicate but she’s coveting crescents into his knuckles and a bow of string connects their mouths as she pecks him till she’s running out of breath, “I love you. I love you so so much.” Even though they’re taking their time but Y/N doesn’t think she could last a minute longer the way he’s thrusting languidly but deeply into her.

“Show me then, c’mon baby cum on m’cock. Soak it. G'na keep it inside you ‘n sleep like tha', mphmp makin' me so so good —- g'na cum?” He rasps out and she’s whimpering blubbering out without much mind as he stuffs her full and enough.

Her voice meek and high-pitch, “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She’s dripping all over him and coating him with her cum. He doesn’t not stop and pumps it back inside her roughly.

“Fuck. Baby.” His howl wounded and broken as he feels his balls tighten and he leaks inside her, “S'okay honey cum inside me Harry .. love how you make me feel – how big your cock is.” She grates her teeth into the eternity of his throat and punctures her lips to suck around the fading hickey she gave him two nights prior.

His hips stutters, and he keeps himself up with his weak elbows spurting ribbons and ribbons of thick seed inside her.

She moans out when he wouldn’t stop cumming and she thrashes upward with a final twist of his push, his words sultry and drunk on libido, “Fuck. I came so much – you’ll ‘ave to squeeze tha’ all out fo’ me,” He’s smoothing their arms down to let them be on eachother and Y/N sees the gears working in his mind when he grins.

“In case you’ll want a refill.”

She rolls her eyes cheek smashed into his bicep and pinches his nipple, “Way to ruin the moment –- you libido driven slut." A noise peeps out of her when he whumps on her and looks up at her with an amused expression.

“Y'know tha' slut shaming is inappropriate?” She just shrugs smiling around a yawn.

“Is that an invitation to whore shame y'then?” He listens to her heartbeat. Tracing pattern of yellow flicker on her skin and kisses the curve of her breast.

“Will that end up me havin' yer fingers in my bum?” She creampies around him at his genuine yet naughty question and he snorts out loudly stirring his cock on purpose that’s still snug inside her, “Hmm then ‘m defo a whore.”

“Harry!” She pouts and he squishes that pout as if she’s some duckling -- an old habit he'd never get rid of.

“Mrs. Styles!” Holly’s head perks up at the call and she’s looking down at the five month old baby that has her bum situated on her momma’s hip and she squeals joyfully bunching her momma's shirt in her tiny chubby hands.

Holly just simpers quietly not greeting the duo and keeps on walking as Y/N enters Harry’s office room.

His face brightens up. Dimples popping awfully cute just how Y/N loves and his smile widens into a toothy one as he leaves everything and scurries towards his girls, “Oh my two Bambis!” He's greeting them with loud sloppy loving kisses all over their faces that makes them squint their eyes and giggle ticklish from the faint stubble that’s growing on his chin.

Their baby. Harry never thought he was able to love someone this purely and extremely. From a grumpy kid himself and someone who used to loose his shit at the formula chugging machines he used to call them —-- he never even imagined to own one.

But, after two years into marriage and moving into a house with the love of his life everything had a possibility for him and their one room that’d look so empty just made his stomach squeaky and yearn for a little one that he could protect and hold delicately close to his chest and lather them in his kisses and smell their baby scent and have cuddles with them,

Harry really wanted her to be a December baby -- if not particular then winters.

Because she just looks like the joy of Christmas and the sapience of homely evening.

Her frost bitten poppy nose. Her plushy warm cheeks that of running his fingers over an old sweater that holds infinite memories for him, the shimmer in her eyes that of snowflakes and those lips she got from her mother that of marshmallows melting on hot chocolate.

Harry really fucked his dream of her being a winter baby by fucking Y/N at the wrong time of the year.

She ended up coming out on the most heated month, june.

Wasn’t his fault too. Because they were trying for so long and he'd be all excited for the pregnancy tests but then they'd come out negative everytime weighing a ball of sadness in his chest and when they conceived her –-- he didn’t even remember the damn date.

The pregnancy for them wasn’t that hard. Minus the eventual tantrums that were thrown his way as daggers but he was skilled to dodge them and lure his wifey back to him with chocolate chip cookies.

The process of her birth was life taking for Y/N and Harry had short comings in his breath from the way his wife would all be jerking in pain.

She had to endure the labour pain for three days.

It’d always tear him into sobs as he'd fall into Rori's arms while everyone stayed inside with her for a moment.

It wasn’t easy to look at the love of his life, his bestfriend, his Bambi, his everything go through so much pain and he almost ended up regretting having a baby but when she’d be all snuggled up into his side after a long tiring and screaming day with her bump swollen beautifully with his bubba inside, it used to relax him a bit,

When she came out all sticky and covered in blood he realized at that moment that; she truly is his’s.

Those earthy gem eyes that didn’t cry first five minutes but rather kept on staring at him intrigued as to why the man that used to chatter her ears away in thick sleepy accent when she was in the cosy spot of her mummy’s belly is now just crying and crying.

They made her with so much love and care.

She was just so soft to touch. Just like their favourite flowers.

She was his Daphne.

He’s grabbing her from armpits and immediately putting a hand under her diaper clad bum when she huffed making grabby hands at him, “Hi Daphne bub! Missed daddy much?” He coos bouncing her a little and rumbles his lips against her cheek to create farty noises.

She squeals fisting his hair and yanks at it. That makes Y/N laugh out loudly, “Careful there, H. She’s getting quite handsy.” He just smiles convincing his baby to have some mercy on his curls.

When Y/N tells him about his routine and her nap timing Harry’s just sighing kissing her lips and patting her ass to move, “I can take care of me baby -- doin' it fo' five months, forgot?” He took a paternity leave to spend more time with Daphne and his Bambi.

To be sure that they were growing and healing well.

Y/N has to take the cats for their monthly checkup that’s why she has to leave Daphne with Harry and even though she’s not fond of her in hospitals Harry assured her that he’s heading home soon.

When Y/N leaves, Harry blows raspberries at her face and she pouts just like her mummy and he’s squishing that pout like his own little duckling.

“Da',” She grumbles and Harry kisses her cheek fondly and lovingly, “Yes Da, bubblin. Guess like we’ve got a date with Pooh and Roo at home.” He guffaws out loudly when Daphne's eyes visibly twinkles at the name of her plushies she likes to chew on and get them all soggy by the end of the day.

“You’re such a minx, baby!” Harry thinks he couldn’t be happier.

He’s complete.

His family is complete.

330 notes · View notes

hintofelation99 · 3 years

Note

Sick day headcannons!!!!!!!

Hell yeah, I do have a post on this already (linked here) but sick day headcanons are some of my favs so let’s do some more! (Just btw there will be some repeats but that just means I rlly like that headcanon)

Dick

Dick: Oh no, god no!

Wally: What’s wrong?!

Dick: I’m dying!

Wally, suspicious: Okay…

Dick: Please Wally this is serious, I need help!

Wally, deciding to take Dick seriously: Okay, what’s wrong? What do you need?

Dick: Just a coffin. Made of maple- no oak! And roses, preferably white, oh or blue! With baby’s breath. And-

Wally: Dick, what’s wrong?!

Dick: I burnt the roof of my mouth.

Wally leaves.

A good rule of thumb for Dick is the more dramatic he is the less serious the situation. The less dramatic he is the more serious the situation.

He will go into work with a cold and complain the entire day.

If he has something serious that’s contagious he’ll call in sick but just say it’s a slight stomach bug.

If it’s not contagious he will act like everything is completely fine.

One time he did this after getting an injury on patrol and ended up passing out and spending that night and the next day in the ICU.

He has become a bit more responsible over the years, mainly bc he thinks it’s adorable how sweet and cuddly Damian gets.

His favorite sick day activity is eating junk food and watching rom coms under a fuzzy blanket .

Babs

Dick: Please go to bed!

Babs: I am, I am, just one more line of code.

Dick: You’ve said that for the last three hours!

Babs tries to relax when sick but she has trouble actually taking a step back to rest.

Most of the time she’ll take a nightquil then get distracted by something and ends up falling asleep in front of her screen.

Usually Cass or Steph will come over and take care of her.

Steph always makes the best comfort food. And usually Cass will tuck Babs into bed.

Babs loves dozing on the couch to the sound of Cass and Steph laughing in the kitchen as they make her soup.

If Cass and Steph can’t come over she loves talking to them over discord while eating take out. Usually she and Cass just listen to Steph babble or she watches on of them stream something.

She also usually ends up falling asleep.

Jason

Bruce: Are you sick?

Jason: I’m legally dead.

Bruce: That doesn’t-

Jason: So,legally, no. I am not sick.

Jason will forever and always argue that he can’t get sick since he already died.

When he was little he was rarely able to get extra rest when he was sick. Because when he was really little he wanted to go to school to avoid Willis. After Catherine died he was too busy just trying to survive to focus on being healthy.

But when Catherine was alive and Willis was away Jason would stay home from school, and if Catherine was sober she would read to him and sing lullabies. This only happened like twice but Jason cherishes those memories of Catherine.

As a kid if he was ever sent home for being sick he’d get in huge trouble with Willis.

After being adopted the first time he was sent home with a fever he begged Alfred not to tell Bruce and hid in his closet until he stopped crying being sad. Alfred sat by the closet door with soup, a grilled cheese, and tea, reading The Princess Bride aloud until Jason came out. It took two hours.

Jason’s favorite sick day activity is drinking tea and rereading The Princess Bride (with the movie playing quietly in the background) while wearing his Wonder Woman hoodie.

Cass

Steph: Cass why are you patrolling while sick?!

Cass shrugs.

Steph, with a sigh: You’re allowed to take a sick day, okay?

Cass looks unsure but nods.

Steph: C’mon, let’s get you a bath and fuzzy blankets.

Cass forgets that she’s not just a weapon/tool. She forgets that she’s allowed to rest when sick.

Because of this she will keep going no matter what and tends to view ‘taking a sick day’ as a failure.

Steph, Tim, and Babs have been working on this with her. She’s improved a lot now that Tim lost his spleen and gets sick easily.

Now usually Steph cooks for her while Babs lays with her.

Cass isn’t against taking medicine but she never feels like the situation is severe enough to require medication. So someone in the fam has to convince her to take her meds.

She becomes extremely cuddly when sick and will cling to anyone near her.

Her favorite sick day activity is watching old horror movies with Steph or Babs.

Steph

Steph: I’m fine.

Steph: I’m- I have a fever of 104, I should rest.

Stephs mom is a doctor, so she’s used to being told “it’s just a cold, you’re fine”.

Usually she keeps going until she can’t then sleeps for like three days.

But it’s less out of stubbornness and more out of habit. So if someone tells her to rest she’s immediately like “okay!” and takes the sick day.

Babs always calls or comes over to check on her every day that she’s sick.

Cass has been learning how to cook and loves making Steph food when she’s sick.

Tim used to come over but now he always calls.

Stephs favorite sick day activity is sleeping with an ice pack or heating pad, depending on the sickness, with a giant cup of ginger ale and Cass curled up beside her.

Tim

Jason: Tim, are you sick?

Tim, tiredly staring at case files: No I-

Tim is interrupted by a violent coughing fit.

Tim: Oh, I guess I am?

Growing up Tim loved getting sick because it meant the house keeper would come over and take care of him and he might even get a hug.

But she stopped coming over when Tim was ten, his parents thought he was old enough to handle being sick on his own.

Sick days in the manor were a shock to him because he was rarely alone, there was always one family member by his side.

Now that he’s immunocompromised he’s always surrounded by people, he pretends to get annoyed with it but really he loves how much they care.

Dick always sings Romani lullabies and runs his fingers through Tim’s hair. Jason, Duke, and Steph will cook for him. Damian stay by his side and bring him tea. Babs will play video games with him. And Cass does a bit of everything, at least everything other than sing to him.

The family also takes Tim getting sick very seriously so if they here one cough he’s immediately being interrogated and getting his temperature checked.

Tim’s favorite sick day activity is laying under a weighted blanket with a cup of tea and playing video games with Babs, Steph, Duke, and Cass.

Duke

Dick, knocking on Duke’s door: Hey bud, why are you still in bed? I thought we were training together?

Duke: Sorry, I forgot to cancel. I’m sick and don’t think I can handle training today.

Dick: You’re sick?!

Duke: Yeah, but don’t worry I’ve been disinfecting and cleaning so no one else should get sick.

Dick: I’m not worried about getting sick, I’m worried about you!

Duke: …oh, okay.

Growing up sick days were spent at home either resting alone or with one of his parents.

He had to do some fending for himself (like cleaning and making food when his parents weren’t home with him) but nothing extreme or unexpected. So, overall he had pretty normal sick days.

After he parents went missing he was so focused on getting them back and saving them that he never stopped to rest when sick.

Now as a member of the Wayne family his sick days are always spent with someone by his side, at least they are if he tells the family he’s sick.

He’s gotten in trouble several times for not telling Alfred/the family that’s he’s sick. Not because he puts Tim at risk, he like all the family is very cautious about that, but because everyone worries about him and wants to help take care of him.

After several lectures from Alfred he’s finally getting better about telling the family when he’s sick.

His favorite sick day activity is reading Jason’s copy of The Princess Bride while having a bowl of Alfred’s chicken noodle soup.

Damian

Jason: Are you sick?

Damian: N-

Damian sneezes like a kitten.

Damian: No.

Cass, smiling: Sick baby brother, cute sneeze.

Damian tries to be offended but ends up having a sneezing fit.

Steph: That’s so adorable!!

Damian has the most adorable sneezes. He literally sounds like a kitten and the entire family and hero community finds it adorable. Damian hates it.

He used to try and pretend he wasn’t sick and just work through it.

Then he sneezes in front of Harley and Ivy and they cooed over him for an hour.

Now he grumpily secluded himself in his room when sick.

Usually the family will check on him and find that Jon flew over and they’re cuddling on his bed watching cartoons.

When Damian’s sick he really craves spicy food. Like everything he eats he’ll add hot sauce or pepper to. His food is so spicy that only Cass can handle it, like it makes ghost peppers look like child’s play.

His favorite sick day activity is drinking masala chai under one of Tim’s fuzzy blankets while wearing Dick’s old hoodies and surrounding himself with various soft things he stole from his siblings. This is preferably done while eating spicy tomato or lentil soup and watching cartoons with Jon.

338 notes · View notes

industriallyinsecure · 3 years

Note

Since this is a shitpost hell I hope you hear me out. What do you think would happen if la squadra's darling, wanting a pet but not getting one (or being allergic to them), started treating them like a pet occasionally? Not in a weird fetish way but rather giving head pats, offering them to rest on their lap while they read, watch something or nap or feeding them a snack when they seem to be doing good. Like a silent companion type of affection?

*Zaps them all with a catboy laser* problem solved

With Sorbet and Gelato you're most likely to be treated like a pet, so you’d probably pick up on their love language too. Gelato loves physical affection while Sorbet is happy with quietly sitting next to you while the TV is on. There’s lots of love to go around, and plenty of loving head pats and back scratches for the three of you. Please give them both the same amount of attention, though. You’ll be accused of favoritism, and Gelato has a rather nasty jealous streak. Sorbet is far more understanding and doesn’t complain when you give Gelato more domestic sweetness than him. Gelato is needy, but he’s more than happy to let his tesorino take his share of your affection.

Risotto isn’t a cuddler. Even though he was deprived of it as a child, he still didn’t force you to touch him or force you to let him hold you. It was already like living with a cat in a sense. He tended to watch from afar, eyes fixed on your every move. It’s when you called him over to rest in your lap that his opinion changed. You took his hat and put it on, tracing his buzzed undercut and playing with his messy mop of snowy hair. It would’ve been more therapeutic if he hadn’t locked up and stiffened when you did it. Gradually, he came around to having a little bit of loving attention, but always shied away when he had enough. In an odd way, it was cute. A big giant killer who had kidnapped you was shy about being loved on. On days where he was particularly stressed or didn’t want to be touched because he was still on high alert, you’d attempt to stand on a surface to make yourself taller and gently pat his head.

Ghiaccio is already pretty much like a cat. He’s temperamental, only lets you touch him on his terms, and is very aloof. There’s a high chance he already rests his head in your lap after a long day, but you gently combing through his curls was new, and surprisingly not unwelcome. He did get a little pissy when you started to gently rub his ears when he ranted though. He looked it up the day before and found it was a way to soothe anxiety and promptly started denying that he was anxious in any way and didn’t need your comfort. It was...tense, to say the least, when he put his head in your lap the next time. Of course, growing used to your gentle petting, he was miffed when you didn’t give him the attention that he wanted. He starts to headbutt and place your hand on his head. Absolutely do NOT feed him anything! Even as a joke! He might bite you.

Melone loves it!! He’s a very big believer in physical affection and will melt in your arms if you stroke his back while he works. And he’ll be over the moon if you play with his hair! His favorite is if you two are wrapped up in warm blankets with a rom-com or comedy movie on so he can snuggle close and be loved on. One of his favorite cheesy couple things to do is to feed each other little bites of things. If he can get away with it, he’ll rest his head in your palm and just smile at you. Likely to return your mannerisms and love all over you if you let him. But if you don’t, he’ll whine about you not being fair and being a tease. You’ve made your bed, so now you have to lie in it, next to a very cuddly Melone. Make remarks about him being like a cat at your own risk.

Prosciutto is also very catlike. He won’t let you touch his head, he doesn’t like to curl up with you (even in private), and hates being “infantilized” as he calls it. Poor man is so touch starved that his definition of infantilize is doing normal lovey dovey couple stuff like feeding each other small bites of food and such. Yet he still loves the attention, even if he’s being prissy about it. He likes to let you indulge in your little petting for a while before abruptly stopping you with his hand when he’s had enough. Not that he’ll ever admit, but he likes it when you gently undo his hair. He enjoys being pampered, but only when he wants the pampering, which isn’t very often. Once in a while he’ll let you snuggle up to him and stroke and pet his chest, back, etc.. Eventually you do get to feed him some charcuterie (not prosciutto though because that’s cannibalism). All in all he’s very good about letting you know when he wants attention and when he wants to admire you from the balcony while he lights up another cigarette.

Pesci is used to being manhandled by Prosciutto, so your gentle touches startled him at first. He loves it when you pat his head and poke his cheeks. Snuggle with him, please. Little spoon or big spoon, he doesn’t care. And please, please, please, pat his head!! He likes to have his hair gently ruffled and his cheeks squished. Any sort of positive attention he will appreciate and love. It only fuels his passion and convinces him that taking you was the right decision. He’s your sweet little fish, no matter what happens.

Illuso only allows you to play with his hair if he’s fresh out of the shower or if he’s feeling generous that day. For lack of better words, Illuso is an attention whore but is also very specific about the attention he gets. He likes to be verbally praised and only lets you touch him if he wants to be touched. That being said, there’s a reason the center of his jacket is cut out. He likes to have you stroke and caress his chest and tell him he’s handsome. Secretly, he wants you to fight back and insist on pampering him because he’s just that type of person. If you give in to his secret desire, prepare to have it thrown back in your face when you(inevitably) fight him.

Formaggio is the type to already put his head in your lap and beg for love. He and Melone are the biggest lovers and givers of affection, except Formaggio actively seeks out anything he can get. Putting his head in your lap, snuggling close in bed, pressing up against you from behind; there’s not much he won’t do for just the slightest touch. He melts in your arms if you gently scratch his head or pet him. His pet names for you will always outweight your pet-treatment of him, though. Such names include: hunny bunny, snuggle bug, sugar pie. All in all, it’s pretty wholesome if you look over the fact that he’s forced you into a relationship.

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typical-simplelove · 3 years

Text

I Hate Love Songs -> Elias Pettersson

Summary: Elias isn't one for big, common, cliché, and romantic gestures that are common romantic comedies, but his girlfriend absolutely adores them.

Author's Note: I know the song is called I Hate Love Songs, but it's more like I Hate Love Movies. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this part! Thank you so much to @oleksiak-pettersson, @laurenairay @bb-nhlqueen7, and those anons who helped me put this together. This is another edition of my Kelsea Ballerini Series. I had a blast writing it. Please know, although in this, I bash rom-coms, I absolutely love rom-coms. Let me know what you thought. Enjoy!

Warnings: Implied female reader; bashing of rom-coms; mentions of alcohol; insinuation to sex;

Word Count: 7.6k

Elias knows he’s not the most romantic person on the planet. He also knows that he’s not the most smooth person in the world. He does know, though, that when the right person comes along, Elias can muster the ability to treat them right. He can pull through on romantic gestures and showering them with love. Elias isn’t fond of the typical, cliché romantic gestures because why have a relationship that’s like other people? If Elias is going to be in a relationship with someone, then the relationship will be unique.

You claim to everyone you meet that you’re a hopeless romantic. You love the grand gestures and roses and chocolate. All the clichés in movies and books make your heart swoon. You’ve always dreamed of having a great love story filled with love, comfort, and romance. A relationship that made you happy. Although you loved all the big romantic gestures and clichés, all that mattered was that you had someone who loved you and who you loved.

This is what made you and Elias a perfect match. Elias’ want to love someone unconditionally and not follow the normal path and your desire just to be loved and love someone brought you two together.

You met Elias at a summer wedding. To be exact, it was Bo and Holly’s summer wedding. You and Holly were cousins, third cousins to be more exact. Despite the generational differences, you both were close, close enough to garner an invite to the wedding and sit at a table in the first seven numbers. Wearing a light blue dress that hit mid-thigh, you were talking to another cousin at the bar when Beyonce’s single ladies came on signaling for all the single women to head out to the dance floor to catch the bouquet. You hated that tradition. Despite loving all the usual, traditional traditions that Bo and Holly decided to incorporate into their special day, the bouquet toss was your least favorite (you hated the garter toss more).

Your cousin heads over to the dance floor to attempt to catch the bouquet. She swallows down her drink and leaves it on an empty table. You opt instead to take a sip of your drink and turn away. You turn to face the dancefloor when you hear a different cousin call your name. It’s surprising that you could hear your name being called considering how loud it was. You brush her off and point to your drink signaling that it was better company than all the other girls fighting to catch the bouquet.

“May I ask why you’re not heading out there?” an accented male voice asks as he stands next to you. You turn to him and try to tone down the annoyed expression begging to be etched on your face. You’re glad you forced it down when you saw how attractive this man was. When you don’t reply, he stutters, “I mean, your friend was calling for you to go over, so I assume that means you’re single.”

“Are you asking because you want to hit on me or because you’re genuinely curious?” you quip.

“Oh, I, um, a bit of both, I guess,” he hastily replies. You smirk as you take another sip of your drink.

“I’m single and that friend who was calling me over is my cousin,” you explain. “I’m pretty sure the bride, also my cousin, is going to be disappointed when she realizes I wasn’t out there.”

“Holly’s your cousin?” he asks. You furrow your eyebrows and notice the blush lining his features.

“Yeah, the beautiful, blushing bride is my cousin. How do you know the couple?”

“I’m Elias,” he begins. “I play hockey with Bo.”

You nearly choke on your drink. Last night at the wedding rehearsal, Bo began telling you all about the single men on the team and how you should talk to them because, you know, you’re just a tad bit extremely single.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you answer and introduce yourself.

“May I ask why you’re not out there trying to catch the bouquet?”

“I’m not too keen on this tradition.” You take another long sip of your drink as you try to ignore the glares from your mother and judgy aunts.

“Why’s that?”

“Okay, here me out,” you begin. “I love all the traditional wedding traditions. Like, wearing a white dress? Yes, give it to me. The Wedding March is cute. I love it all, but there’s something about tossing the bouquet and expecting that woman to be the one who’s getting married next that’s unsettling with me. It’s just, I’m not sure what the right word is, but that’s what it is. Like, what if that person doesn’t want to get married? Or what if that person can’t get married? Or what if that person is desperately single? Or what if the bride wants to keep the bouquet?”

“And which category do you fall under?” Elias teases.

“I’m desperately single,” you mumble.

“I’m desperately single, too. Care to have another drink? On me, this time?”

“It’s an open bar,” you point out.

“Yeah, but the tip isn’t,” Elias says and asks the bartender for another round of what you’re having and him, too. The bartender slides the drinks over to you and Elias once they’re ready. Elias takes your hand and leads you over to his empty table. The majority of the guests are now dancing, and you’ll gladly have nothing to do with that.

“What’s your take?” you ask him once you’re both sat.

He shrugs. “I think if the bride wants to have a bouquet toss, then she should be able to have one.” You give Elias an unsatisfied look. In response, he’s quick to add, “Obviously, if a single woman doesn’t want to participate, then she shouldn’t have to.”

“Smart man.” You take another long sip of your drink.

“Are you against all normal couple traditions?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” you quickly express. “I am the biggest hopeless romantic you’ll ever meet. I love all the clichés and all that. It’s just a few of them that target single people are the worst. Like, if you want to make me feel bad about being single, just have me do the bouquet toss in front of all my family.”

“So, you like all those traditions and practices? Wedding traditions and non-wedding traditions?”

“For the most part, yeah.” You look around the room hoping one of your uncles isn’t walking over to ask you for a dance. “I mean, what’s not to love about it all? Red roses are beautiful. There’s something very, what’s the right word, riveting about receiving red roses randomly by someone who loved you. It’s magical to receive a box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day. Obviously, you don’t need to give me gifts to show me you love me, but those clichés are just cute and fun.”

“Would you ever date someone who doesn’t like those things?”

“Sure, I mean, those things aren’t required in a relationship, but they—I don’t know—give character to a relationship and make it special. That’s not to say those things make relationships special, but it’s just something different. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you’re really pretty, and I want to get to know you better outside of this ballroom, but I’m afraid I’m not big on the traditional romantic gestures. I hope that’s not a deal-breaker.”

You smile and pretend to size up Elias. “I guess I could be okay with that. You’re lucky you’re tall and pretty. If I may ask, though, why don’t you like traditional romantic gestures and clichés?”

He shrugs. “It’s just so common. Don’t you want something different?”

“Yeah, but it’s nice to have something cute that happens in movies to happen to you.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Elias says. “If I know one thing it’s that if you let this go past a first date, then I think it will make for a very interesting situation and relationship.”

“You’re right on that.”

I hate Shakespeare and Gosling and cakes with white frosting Two names in a heart-shaped tattoo I think cupid is stupid and violets are purple not blue

Standing outside of the restaurant, Elias straightens his shirt. He keeps wondering if something was wrong. You weren’t where you both planned to meet. Elias wipes his palms on the sides of his pants before opening the text message from previously where you agreed on the details of tonight. Elias looks at the time at the top of his phone. It’s only been three minutes since he arrived? He’s been going crazy, and it’s only been three minutes? No wonder you weren’t here, yet. Elias was fifteen minutes early.

Pulling your car into a parking spot, you look at the package next to you and smile. You were having your first date with Elias. As you continued to talk to him, you grew to like him more and more. You grab the package and your purse and head towards the outside of the restaurant just like you both planned. “Hey,” you call out when you get close to Elias. He turns around so quickly you wonder how he doesn’t have whiplash.

“Hi,” he breathes out. “You made it.”

“Of course, I made it,” you point out. You hand the package to Elias. “These are for you.”

Elias snickers at it. “Red roses? Really?”

“Well, you said you aren’t one for the typical romantic traditions and clichés, so I figured I’d break tradition and get you red roses.”

“Well, I love them, so thank you!”

“Of course.” You smile. “Shall we head in?”

Elias nods, and you both head towards the door. You make a move to open it, but Elias stops you and opens the door.

“Isn’t it customary for the man to hold open the door?” you say.

“Yeah, and?” Elias gives you a confused look as you both wait for the host to approach the check-in desk.

“And, you don’t like those traditions, and you held the door open for me.”

Elias scoffs. “There’s a difference between not liking certain clichés and being a gentleman.”

You nod but don’t say anything. Elias worries that he’s said something wrong.

“Obviously, me opening the door isn’t a way of me saying I’m better than you or trying to be sexist or prohibiting your independence. It’s just me being a good person.”

You smile. You definitely didn’t read it that way, but Elias’ concern and quick explanation were cute. You loved your independence, but you also didn’t mind a man opening the door for you. “Don’t worry. There’s an equal medium between all of it, and you’ve, thankfully, found it.”

Elias breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s about to say something else, but the host arrives and leads you both to your table. You were already driving Elias crazy and it was only the first date. Imagine a second or third date?

. . .

“Just the check, please,” you inform the waiter after you and Elias come to the unanimous decision that you were both way too full to eat any dessert.

“So, what did you think of tonight?” Elias asks as he finishes up his glass of wine.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you answer genuinely. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to do this again.”

You smile. “I want to do this again, too.”

Elias smiles at you. He opens his mouth to say something but stops when the waiter brings the check. You immediately grab the check and pull it in front of you. You reach into your purse to grab your wallet to pay. Elias clears his throat, and you whip your head at him in response.

“What?” you ask, confused.

Elias reaches over to grab the check. However, you put your hand on top, and instead, his hand touches yours instead of the check. At the immediate touch, sparks go flying through your body. Your heart begins to beat uncontrollably. The butterflies are going manic, and it feels like your heart skipped a beat. You look into Elias’ eyes, and you swear you see stars in his eyes as his piercing blue eyes stare back at you. At the touch, Elias’ face grows warm. His heartbeat begins to accelerate, and Elias looks into your eyes to see them piercing into his. He didn’t feel butterflies or heart skipping a beat or see stars. Instead, he felt refreshed and loved. He looked at you and felt like all his problems slipped away. All that from just one touch.

“You’re a hopeless romantic. Don’t you love clichés and traditions?” Elias asks in a baritone voice.

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”

“Let me pay.”

“Elias —”

“I know it’s cliché and stupid, but please just let me treat you.” Elias’ hand is still reached over the table on top of yours. You look down at your hands and back into Elias’ eyes. You slowly remove your hand from the check and let Elias take it. You nod, and Elias gives you a soft smile.

“But I get to pay next time,” you immediately say.

Elias smirks. “If you say so.”

I hate catching bouquets, the honeymoon phase And letterman jackets don't fit Your eyes can't hold stars and you'd die if your heart really skipped

Two years after that conversation at Bo and Holly’s wedding, Elias’ premonition was correct. You and Elias had an interesting relationship. For the most part, you both saw eye-to-eye on the majority of things, but when it came to romantic gestures. Elias would rather stay at home and cook dinner whereas you wanted a moonlit, candlelit dinner for date night. When Elias would rather order takeout and sit on the balcony, you’d rather pack a picnic and go to the park. Where you’d rather have a box of chocolates, Elias would rather gift you with an experience instead. You didn’t mind. At this point, it’s become a long-lasting joke in your relationship. You credit that to being the reason why you and Elias have managed to stay so strong.

“What movie did you pick?” Elias asks. He brings the popcorn and chocolate for movie night. It was movie night. As Elias would call it, you were having a Movie and Snack night; it’s not Netflix and Chill—this was too common in relationships. It was your pick tonight.

“Crazy Rich Asians,” you answer. You grab a handful of chocolate before sliding in closer to Elias.

He groans.

“What? Why are you so surprised? You know the way I am.”

“Couldn’t you have picked something else?”

“Again, you know the way I am, Elias. I was obviously going to pick a romantic comedy, so you should have picked a movie,” you explain.

“Just start the movie,” he grumbles. Despite telling you how much he dislikes the common-ness of romantic comedies, he’d watch anything you picked. The way your eyes would light up (not holding stars) made Elias smile (not skip a breath). His face always flushed (not butterflies) when you’d lean into Elias’ side whenever a heartbreaking scene flashed across the screen. He wouldn’t admit it, but Elias has grown to like romantic comedies just for your reactions.

Just like when you always watched these romantic comedies, you laughed at the corny jokes, and Elias just rolled his eyes playfully. It was ridiculously corny, but he loved hearing your laugh, so he guessed it was okay. You always turned your head to Elias whenever a cute moment appeared on the screen. Elias would shake his head when your jaw dropped at a shocking (but predictable moment) would happen. He would hold you close when the “it” couple, without a doubt, broke up. He’d hand you a tissue without complaining because that was how much he loved you. When the couple got back together, he’d smile at your excitement. It was so predictable, just like the way you’d react, but he loved it nonetheless.

“See?” you exclaim. “It was so good.”

“I guess.”

“Oh, come on,” you whine. “It was good! You have to admit that this one was cute.”

“You’re cute, but that movie? It wasn’t.” Elias pinches your cheeks when a pout forms on your face.

“What do you have against this movie?”

“It’s not the movie, babe; it’s the entire genre. It’s just so predictable. How do you not get sick of it?” Elias walks into the kitchen to put the bowl in the sink and put the snacks away. You follow behind him but are dragging your feet.

“Elias,” you whine.

“Every movie has someone who’s out to break up the couple,” Elias begins. “It’s a mother or grandfather or a reigning queen or king. There’s always someone. And this person? By the end of the movie, they will always realize they were wrong and shouldn’t have been meddling from the beginning. Also, they will one hundred percent help the couple get back together. I’m not wrong.”

“That’s, like, one similarity,” you rush out. Sure, he was right, but would you admit it? Nope, never.

Elias laughs. “It’s not. There is always someone who is the couple’s biggest supporter. Like, for example, a butler or sister or coworker or best friend. Always. On top of that, there is always a conniving ex who pretends to befriend one of them but always stabs them in the back. It happens all the time.”

“You’re just using things that happened in this movie.”

“Couples always break up over a misunderstanding. Couples go from extreme enemies to being in love with each other which, like, never happens. Couples throw away big career opportunities for someone they love. If someone was dating for a bet, I can guarantee that in real life, they would not end up together no matter how in love they are with each other. Being in love with your best friend but the best friend doesn’t know it also rarely happens. Falling in love with a past lover is ludicrous, and throwing away a wedding the day of or the day before? Good luck telling all the guests, who spent tons of money to be there, that they wasted their money.”

“Okay, I get it.” Elias can sense that you’re getting a tad bit heated, so he walks over to you and holds you tight against his body. You think he’s done, but when Elias continues, you just groan.

“Running through airports to make up with someone is impossible because of security. Kissing in the rain makes you all wet and grouchy. It’s not fun unless you’re going to continue it in the shower later. As cute as fake dating is, it’s not at all realistic. The jerky, crappy person becomes the main love interest, like, really?”

“Okay, I’m done with this.” You squirm out of Elias’ hold, but he’s holding you too closely, so you stop moving.

“I’m done, I promise,” Elias says when he sees the sadness in your eyes. He’s ruining something you love. “That doesn’t mean, though, that I won’t watch all these movies with you because I will.”

“Thank you,” you say and kiss Elias’ cheek. “So, you’re just against romance?”

“No, I’m against the same thing over and over again.”

You don’t reply and just run to your bedroom. You didn’t want to admit Elias was right, so you just ran away. Elias chases after you, and your giggles echo through the apartment. Elias can talk all he wants, but at the end of the day, he’ll do anything for you even if it means watching romantic comedies over and over again.

I hate love songs Yeah, I really do I hate love songs But I love you

The other night, you and Elias watched How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. You made Elias promise that he wouldn’t scoff at any of the cheesy, romantic scenes that you absolutely love that Elias doesn’t. He tried. He tried but failed at one certain scene. When Andie is at work and surprised by many, many bouquets of white roses from Ben, Elias loses it.

“Oh, come on,” Elias immediately says when it’s revealed that Andie got flowers. “That is so absurd.”

“Elias,” you sigh. You pause the movie and turn to him to see his rant.

“Roses?” he scoffs. “That’s so—for the lack of better words—cliché.”

“It’s romantic,” you defend.

“Yeah, but roses die in, like, a week. A week and a half if you’re lucky.”

“But there’s something so romantic and cute and loving about someone who loves you sending you a package that they know you’ll love.”

“In this case, they’ve literally been talking for twenty-four hours. I don’t know how you can know someone that well.”

“True,” you say and think of a defense. “It’s also a sign that someone is thinking about you. That is sweet.”

“You could just text them or call,” Elias points out.

“You’re not wrong, but hear me out on this one. Let’s say, after our first date and you were thinking of me, would you just outright text me and say that?”

“No, because I don’t want you to think I’m creepy.”

“Right, so sending roses isn’t,” you point out.

“It is.”

“Okay fine, in this case, all those roses are weird, but say three to twelve months down the line or years later, it’s romantic and sweet to send roses to someone.”

“It’s not. It’s overused and not at all romantic.”

You turn back to the tv and unpause the movie. “Well, I think it’s romantic.”

I hate pink hearts with glitter and Valentine's dinner And roses just die in a week We were drunk when we met, so we don't know our anniversary (whoops)

When the movie is over and you’re both in bed, Elias is still thinking about the scene in the movie. He turns his head to look at you. You’re sleeping peacefully next to him with your head leaning against his bicep. The sight of you sleeping next to him still makes his heart beat rapidly. It never skips a beat when you’re around.

He wouldn’t admit it, but some of the points you made weren’t wrong. It’s thoughtful, and he guesses, romantic to send someone something at where they work. It shows you care and are thinking of that person. Elias wants to do something similar for you but knows he absolutely will not be sending any form of flowers to your office. He’s bought you flowers and roses before, but only because he knows you absolutely love the gesture and to have flowers sitting on the table. As he falls asleep, Elias is thinking through what to send to your office.

“I’ll see you later,” you say and kiss Elias on the cheek. You grab your coffee and purse as you head out the door for work. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says and locks the door behind you. He grabs his phone and makes a call. He figured out what he’s going to send to your office and hopes that you like it.

Katrina, your deskmate, taps on your desk. You take your earbuds out of your ear. “There’s a delivery at the front desk for you.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” you say. You grab your phone and head towards the lobby and front desk. You give the concierge person your name, and in response, they hand you a bag. You thank them and head back to your desk. Once you're situated, you sit and open the bag. You pull out a box of takeout from your favorite restaurant. You’re surprised. You don’t remember ordering food, but maybe you did? You continue to remove the food from the bag when you see the note that was stapled onto the bag.

Sending roses to someone is overdone, but sending something isn’t. I hope you enjoy lunch on me today. Thinking of you always!

Love, Elias

You smile at the note and immediately call Elias. He picks up within two rings and says, “You got the food?”

“Thank you, Elias. You didn’t have to.”

He chuckles. “Yes, I did. I wouldn’t be a good boyfriend if I didn’t do something that you find absolutely romantic.”

“Thank you, Elias. How do I repay you?”

“You don’t. You repay me by enjoying your lunch.”

“Thank you, Elias,” you repeat. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies. “I have to get back to weights, but enjoy it, okay?”

You both hang up after saying one last goodbye. You look at the time on your phone and notice it’s ten after twelve. You weren’t planning on eating this early, but with Elias’ surprise lunch, you figure, why not? You and Katrina go and take a lunch break.

Sending roses to someone’s office was cliché and overdone. Elias will participate in these traditions to make you happy, but of course, there’s going to be a change. You deserve nothing but the best, so Elias will give you the best. Even if it means participating in traditions that Elias isn’t particularly keen on.

And I'm far too vain to kiss in the rain The clouds, they aren't numbered to nine And you make me feel something but it sure as hell ain't butterflies

The one thing that Elias doesn’t understand when it comes to romantic comedies is why people are always kissing in the rain. Elias doesn't know why two people would want to kiss in the wet rain. All of their clothes would get wet and soaked and make it incredibly uncomfortable.

As the snow falls outside, you and Elias are sitting underneath blankets and watching the Notebook. The movie has just ended, and Elias is disgusted by seeing two people kiss in the rain. Aren’t their clothes wet? Isn’t it uncomfortable? Wouldn’t her makeup run? Would their hair be all over the face and dripping?

“Don’t think too hard about it, Elias,” you say knowing that Elias’ mind was spinning. “Just accept that it’s romantic and leave it be.”

“But, it’s not romantic,” Elias counteracts. “At all.”

“Well, there are many, many people in the world who disagree.”

“Like who?”

“Um, me?”

“You like every ridiculous romantic thing.”

You sigh. He’ll never understand. Normally, when you and Elias have these arguments, he is able to give you something else as a replacement instead of the norm, but it seems, this time, he doesn’t have anything to counter. Kissing in the rain was different. It was something set aside for two people who mean everything to each other. Yes, Elias was right and that it’s inconvenient to get wet, but the meaning and the passion and the love that it takes in order to kiss in the rain overcomes all that inconvenience. It was a sign of love and passion. “There’s no substitute to kissing in the rain, so I get the last word.”

Elias doesn’t say anything except train his eyes on the snow falling outside. “Let’s go outside.”

“What? It’s snowing!”

“Just put on your jacket and a hat and gloves and boots. Do you trust me?” Elias asks.

“Yeah, but I still don’t want to go outside in the snow.”

Elias immediately gets up and heads toward the closet to grab his boots and winter jacket, so you have no choice but to follow him. You both put on your coats and boots and head outside. You drag your feet with each step you take. You were comfortable on the couch cuddled into Elias’ side with the warmth of the blankets. Elias leads you to a vacant part of the sidewalk and pulls you close against his body. He places his lips on yours and begins to kiss you. You return the kiss and place your hands on his cheeks to pull his face closer to yours. You forgot your gloves, so your cold hands were startling on Elias’ cheeks. He pulls away and smiles at you.

“I love kissing you, but can we do what you wanted to do when you told me to get ready to go outside?” you ask and put your hands in your pockets.

“It was just this,” Elias answers and cups your face, and kisses you again. You’re lost in the kiss and don’t understand what he means. You went from talking about kissing in the rain to going outside to kissing outside. Elias had some weird ideas, but this wasn’t weird. It was strange.

Once you pull away, you look at Elias and say, “I’m so confused. What are we doing?”

“We’re kissing in the snow. It’s not kissing in the rain, and it’s just as romantic,” Elias answers. You giggle. Of course, Elias had ideas like this.

“I guess it kind of is romantic,” you answer and kiss Elias again. You wouldn’t admit to him or anyone, but this different take on a romantic cliché was one you liked.

I hate love songs Yeah, I really do I hate love songs But I love you, yeah

It’s a tale as old as time. For Valentine’s Day, a boy gets the girl he loves red roses or chocolate or jewelry or a teddy bear. Sometimes, he’ll throw in some red heart balloons if he’s feeling snazzy. Giving a girlfriend red roses is a right of passage for men and receiving them is a right of passage for women. It’s a sign that a guy can treat a woman; it’s a sign that a woman has someone who’ll take the time for them. An added bonus is that roses look beautiful on one’s mantle or coffee table and an Instagram feed. Chocolate is romantic, and it’s something the couple can enjoy together. Jewelry is for couples in longer relationships. It shows that someone will spend more money than average for you and that they want you longer than a little bit. Teddy bears are cute because they can be small little reminders of someone’s love, especially if they’re on the road often. Oftentimes, too, a loved one will make a homemade card to show affection.

For Elias, though, all those commonalities are ridiculous, and he will not be getting you any of those. However, Elias will bend his views on homemade cards.

When Valentine’s Day rolled around, Elias was going to be on a roadie, so he left you a gift basket. It’s sitting in the guestroom with the door closed. You were given strict instructions not to go in there. Elias took it so seriously that he placed a motion sensor in the room, so he’ll know if you walk into the room.

“But what if I need a new towel?” you ask. “The linen closet is in that room.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll be fine.”

“This candle is almost out. I’ll need another for sure.”

Elias looks at you and just smiles. He kisses your forehead. “I’m pretty sure you can use the other four candles that are sitting out instead.”

“Elias, Elias, Elias,” you tease. “You have to know that certain scents are in certain places. For example, the lemon sugar stays in the kitchen while the chocolate peppermint stays in the living room. Our bedroom has a lavender or rose-scented candle, and our bathroom has a cherry blossom candle which is almost out.”

“Then, why don’t you just pull out the candle now.”

You gasp mockingly. “And get dust on it?”

Elias laughs. “I think you’ll be okay while I’m gone for two days.”

“If you’re wrong, I get to say ‘I told you so’.”

“Fine.” Elias smiles and pulls you in for a hug. “Happy early Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy early Valentine’s Day,” you reply. Elias is out the door heading for the road trip minutes later, leaving you with an empty apartment. You immediately go and light the cherry blossom candle in your bathroom just to spite Elias.

. . .

Before work on the fourteenth, Elias calls you. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, babe,” you greet in return. “You should open my gift first.”

Elias grabs your gift from his suitcase, and it’s still as pristinely wrapped as when you gave it to him at your Vancouver apartment. He opens it carefully knowing that you’ll reprimand him if he doesn’t. Inside, Elias finds two scarves and a new wallet. He constantly complained about the cold and needing a new wallet, so you got him replacements as a gift. “I love them, thank you.”

You smile. “I’m glad you like it.”

“You could get me trash, and I’ll love it because you got it for me.”

You snort at Elias’ words. He gives you a confused glance. “You claim to hate cliché actions, yet you use one of the most cliché lines ever.”

Elias flushes and looks away from the camera. “Just go open my gift.”

You walk into the guest room and bring your phone with you. When you see the gift basket, you gasp and look at Elias on your phone.

“Open it,” he smiles. You rest the phone on the dresser and begin to tear the clear wrapping from around the basket. “Open the card after.”

You nod and begin to take the contents out of the basket. First, you grab a cactus with a pot with your name written in calligraphy on it. Next, you grab a mug that’s graved with your name, Elias’ name, and the date of your anniversary. You then grab a bag of your favorite sour candy. Lastly, you grab a sweatshirt with your anniversary written on it. “Elias,” you gasp.

“Read the card,” he murmurs. He’s never been quite this nervous before.

Although roses are red, cacti are cooler.

Sure, jewelry is nice, but mugs that you can use on a daily basis remind you of the love with each sip of your coffee.

Yes, candy is sweet, but sour candies taste better.

Teddy bears are nice, but let’s save that for when we have little ones.

Although I don’t like Valentine’s all that much, I love you all that much.

I love you forever and always, Elias.

You gasp. “Elias.”

“Do you like it?” he asks nervously.

“I love it, Elias, thank you so much,” you reply. You wipe the one stray tear away. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, baby.”

You and Elias talk for the rest of the time it takes for you to get ready for work. When you hang up, all you wish is that Elias was there to celebrate one of your favorite holidays.

Oh oh, I really do

You came home from Michael’s with a white tablecloth and candles used at fancy Italian restaurants. You put the bag on the table and look to find Elias to tell him all about our grand idea. You find him standing in the bathroom drying his hands after going to the washroom. You pull his still wet hands and pull him into the kitchen. Without explaining anything, you say, “We’re going to have a candle-lit dinner. Like the ones in movies and shows and books and many girls dream about.”

Elias doesn’t seem convinced and just stares at you. He’s trying to find a way to say no to you. Although you don’t ask for much, when you do, Elias can never say no to you. To this, though, he wants so badly to say no to you.

“Look, I know you’re not big on common, romantic clichés that I love, but just this one?” you beg. “I won’t ask for anything else, but please just this one? You can’t say no. I already bought the tablecloth and candles as well as groceries for a nice Italian meal and that fancy champagne you like.”

Elias sighs. He has an excuse in his head, but when he hears about how much you already planned, he knows he’ll say nothing but yes.

“Will you really say no to your girlfriend?” you fake pout and put on your best puppy eyes. You know you don’t need to use those to get Elias to say yes to you, but who knows, maybe he’s actually thinking about saying no.

“Yes, we can do that dinner,” he says with a sigh. You leap up in joy and kiss his cheek in gratitude.

“All you have to do is wear that suit I like and show up,” you immediately say. When Elias sees how excited you are, he knows it was going to be worth it.

. . .

Elias wraps his arms around your waist and asks what he can do to help. You look down and see him clothed in your favorite suit of his and smile. You turn off the stove of the pasta sauce you’re making. “You can pour us some drinks and put it on the table. I’ll plate the pasta, and could you grab the salad from the fridge?”

“Of course,” Elias answers and does as you ask. As he’s placing the salad on the table, you’re placing the two plates of pasta on the table. You turn to grab the matches and light the candles.

“Ready?” you ask. He nods and sits across from you at your small kitchen table. You both pick up your glasses of champagne and clink them together.

After dinner, you and Elias are sitting on the couch wearing pajamas eating a cake you bought at the bakery.

“See, it wasn’t that bad,” you say in between bites.

“You could ask me to do anything, and I’ll do it just because you asked,” Elias answers and kisses your temple. You smile at him. He gives you a questioning look, but you just shake your head. Sometimes, Elias really could be a cliché boyfriend without even knowing it. He could be what he outright hated, and it was cute.

And I'll always love you but I don't have to sing it For worse or for better, don't rhyme They say I got the right one, so now I should write one But I'd rather just show you tonight

You look up at the board again and see that your flight is delayed, again. The announcement that began said something about a thunderstorm sitting over Montreal. You pull out your book and pick up where you left off. If you’re going to be sitting at the airport for another hour, you might as well do something.

Two chapters in, you feel your phone buzz from inside your purse. When you see the notification, it’s a text from Elias.

Elias: Have a safe flight! Text me in five hours when you land.

Oh, you forgot to tell him that your flight was delayed. You relay the information, and Elias is quick to respond.

Elias: Well, then, I guess you should just come home then. I miss you.

You stifle a loud giggle. Your clingy boyfriend was something else.

You: You and I both know I can’t do that. I need to be in Montreal for work. Elias: Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you.

You close your phone, place it back in your purse, and turn back to your book. You’re only three paragraphs into the new chapter when your phone vibrates again.

Elias: Remember that airport scene in Love Actually that we watched last night?

You’re not sure where he’s going with this, so you opt to play along.

You: One of the most romantic airport scenes ever! Elias: It’s not. Actually, it’s very unlikely to ever happen. You: it’s still romantic, though. Elias: Yes, it’s romantic to do something that might cause an entire airport to go into lockdown and make national and/or international news. You: I don’t care, I think it’s romantic.

You turn your head up to the flight attendant who is saying that passengers have been cleared to begin to board the plane. You return to your phone to text Elias.

You: We’re boarding now. I love you. Elias: Have a safe flight. I love you. Elias: Just so you know, I will not be running to you at the last moment to convince you to get off the plane.

You laugh and get ready to board. Only Elias.

I hate love songs Yeah, I really do I hate love songs But I love you, yeah

Elias has been planning this day for months. He bought the ring four months ago and began planning how he’d be proposing to you shortly after he got the ring. Immediately, once he knew he was going to propose, he couldn’t do anything that was common. He could not take inspiration from any books or movies. It had to be different and unique.

It was Game Night. Once a month, instead of watching your favorite romantic comedies, you and Elias would play board games. The first game you would always play was Ticket to Ride. In Ticket to Ride, the train pieces were separated into five different colors—red, blue, green, yellow, and black. Without a doubt, you always picked black. He was betting on you picking black, so he put the ring in the bag with black. He also knows that you always spill out the pieces and examine them. He knows you know that the pieces are all the same, but you still like to examine them. He’s hoping that when you examine the pieces, you’ll see the ring and then Elias will make his speech.

“Babe?” you call out from the kitchen. “Hurry up! I want to play the game.”

“I’m coming,” he calls out. He isn’t. He looks in the box to make sure the ring is sitting in the bag with the black train cars. It is, and he sighs out a breath of relief and brings that game and the others to the kitchen table.

“What took you so long?” you playfully accuse.

“Nothing,” he answers with a hint of nervousness.

You take the boxes from Elias and direct him to get the snacks. Elias should have offered to set up the game. He walks into the kitchen and grabs the snacks. He momentarily forgets about the ring sitting in the train car bag as he hears you lay out the game board and shuffle the cards. As he’s filling up two cups with water, Elias hears the sound of the train cars hitting the table and curses under his breath. He’s staring at the cup and wishing for it to fill up faster. Stupid water spout connected to the fridge that needs to be replaced.

“Elias?” he hears you call out with nervousness and shock. “Just give me a moment,” he answers. He rushes into the dining room and sets the snacks and cups down. “What’s wrong?”

“Um,” you say and point to the ring sitting on the table among the train cars. “I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be in there.”

“It is,” Elias confirms.

“What?” you ask, and Elias asks you to sit, so you do.

“This was how I was going to propose to you, but I was stuck getting the snacks when you saw the ring. If it’s okay, I’m going to continue on with my plan.”

You smile, the nervousness leaving as you remember it’s Elias. “You can continue.”

Elias takes a deep breath. “In all the movies, everyone always says that there’s this one moment in which they knew that their partner was the one for them. The moment is always cute and perfect, but for me, as you should expect, it was nothing like the movies. Just over a year ago, you had the stomach flu and couldn’t keep anything down. I remember you’d wake me almost three or four times a night as you ran to the washroom to throw up. I’d hold your hair back as you threw up and rub circles on your back. It was your fourth day with the stomach flu, and it wasn’t dying down at all. You woke me up for the third time that night, and I remember not thinking about how tired I was going to be at practice tomorrow. No, I was thinking about how I wanted to spend the rest of my life doing just that. Waking up obscure times to help take care of you because I love you. Because I love you, I’ll spend any and all my hours taking care of you regardless of how early or late or sick you are.”

He pauses to take a breath. You smile at him and urge him to continue. Elias takes the ring off the table and holds it in front of you. “A year later and I still want that. I still want to be the one to take care of you all the time. With that, will you marry me?”

You nod and let Elias slip the ring onto your finger before you pull him into a hug. You pull away and place your lips on his.

Elias has watched numerous romantic comedies with you. He knows that each and every story, although unique, had similar underlying tones. One thing he didn’t realize was that the underlying tone was the love that the couple had for each other. Each couple has a different way of how their relationship started. For you and Elias, though, it started as a discussion. It started as a discussion on romance. A discussion that Elias will have for the rest of his life because although he may hate romantic comedies, you love them. Because he loves you, he’ll learn to love romantic comedies just to make you happy.

I hate love songs The old and the new (I really do) I hate love songs But I love you

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