#FUCK!!!!! THE LOUVRE ALSO FITS!!!!!!!!!!

[tennessoui]

16 and 17

[from this fic writer's ask game!]

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

i am so in love with priest obi-wan aus, tbh. i know we just had blasphemous week and i loved it a lot and have fics saved to read later when i have time, but i love love love priest obi-wan aus (thank you angels and demons movie)

i also really love aus where the jedi order is like. made to be its own independent planet basically? someone marries a jedi because they have high standing, or a jedi marries a ruler of another planet because the jedi order is known to be important.

also?? jedi order canon au but make the jedi more explicitly priesty? i love that shit. i LOVE that shit. the only fic i can think of that fits into this very nice category here is may the stars bless them by greenqueenofclubs (who also wrote hunting the homeward light, a fave of mine)

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

oooo this is a hard question because i feel like so many of my aus (especially on tumblr) are very, very kit-specific. like i really thought the wine party au would net no other interest and it was really surprising to see people were willing to go along with the whole thing

i guess something in the same vein as wine party au---i would love to see a snob au. like wine party au is snob obi-wan, but i would love to see like. snob art history au. one is a tour guide at the louvre. the other is a hungover tourist. one is an architect, the other is visiting old homes and not fucking appreciating the fucking staircase. etc etc.

i would love to see aus where the writer's passion or niche knowledge shines through i love that shit that's the sort of shit i love to read. there's a lot of that but i would love to see more

#asks #i am so late getting to the rest of these #thank you thank you for sending tis in #i hope these answers are not just rambling nonsense #they will probably be a bit of nonsense

[coldflasher]

i also really enjoyed the bit 8x14 where barry is ticking everything off frost’s bucket list and he like. climbs mount everest with no equipment or backup but fine, speedster biology, we’ll handwave it i guess and becomes a master ice sculptor and breaks into the louvre and nobody has any idea he’s doing all of this for half the episode, he just shows up randomly dripping wet or covered in snow, says two or three words and then vanishes again. the team has no idea what the fuck he’s doing and they don’t even ask. and i genuinely love that and i think it’s really funny. because it makes so much sense that barry would get up to so much weird shit just because he can and no one has any idea. he can fit days or weeks into an afternoon. you know he does this all the time 

like imagine being iris. you’re sat at home having dinner with your husband and he’s like so how was your day? and she’s like oh yeah we had this huge news story break and it was all hands on deck, and then our site went down and we had a huge issue with IT. how was yours? and barry’s like oh yeah, work was okay, things are pretty slow right now. i was kinda bored on my lunch hour so i decided to check out the grand canyon, went scuba diving and then became fluent in portuguese

#flash s8

[elkian]

Thinking about the timing of Glass Onion and losing it like

(Below: Big Spoilers for Glass Onion. Like, end-of-the-movie big spoilers. Open at own risk.)

Okay, it’s set in 2020. I don’t remember if a year even came up for the first Knives Out, but it didn’t matter much either.

So we’re set a few months into the Pandemic. This is a great character establishing setting that I’ll get into in a sec. But pretty fast into the movie, this becomes a non-issue.

I didn’t think much about it until after the movie, but it is actually important that Glass Onion is set during Covid. Why?

Okay, back to square one: Character establishment. We open on our colorful cast of people Zoom Meeting-ing for work (Lionel, Claire), streaming for an audience (Duke, Whiskey, technically Claire), and Birdie holding a party of a solid 30+ people, all unmasked, all crammed into a tiny room with a fucking fire dancer guy wandering around to predictable results*.

*(! Just realized something! We’ll come back to this.)

And then we go to Blanc, our intrepid hero?, and he is sitting in his goddamn bathtub playing Among Us with a bunch of pals online. We can see the stacks of books and other entertainment he’s gone through during this time as the scene pans out. His husband is baking.

This is important not only as a change of tone (beyond Ms. Brand’s short intro), but marks Blanc as being very much the everyman character in comparison. This is, for people who didn’t live through the hell of being an “”essential worker”“, a fairly relatable experience.

Then we get to the dock and we get an absolutely fantastic character establishment setup Again, with Blanc in his fitted, functional mask, Lionel and Peg in their medical masks of different calibers, Claire in a cloth mask that she doesn’t quite pull up right, Birdie in her fucking glamor net, and Duke and Whiskey in no masks at all and being equally careless with everyone else’s health.

And then we get the employee rolling up with the mystery gun that, apparently, just makes people immune to Covid in one shot?

This is useful for the following flow of the movie, where the pandemic is a sidenote at best, but it’s also a crucial establishing shot in a very different way:

Miles Bron is a fucking jackass.

2-3 months into what will be an incredibly deadly pandemic and he just happens to roll up with a blatant perfect Covid vaccine (or implied to be, given how the movie goes I think they should fuckin worry about that! Also Blanc being the only one bothering to ask what it is in the first place!!). A perfect vaccine for his buddies, and no one else.

This dude could, if this shot actually does what’s implied, cure the global pandemic on at least some level and this plot point never comes up again for the rest of the movie.

This is an incredible character establishment, and what with the Red Death setup, the puzzle box, and Brand’s response thereof, we actually get a pretty comprehensive character profile of Miles Bron before he ever appears on screen. An entitled, selfish asshole who cares only about entertaining himself (in the company of people he knows only care about him for his money, and later we find out he knows that they can, and will, stab a friend in the back for that cash), even though he clearly has the resources to help others.

The last mention we get of the pandemic in any way (chronologically, it does come up in the flashback) is his comment about why he apparently has the Mona Goddamn Lisa in his living room.

The Louvre has no tourists and France apparently needed a loan, so he gets the ML for collateral*.

*There’s a post going around about how the Mona Lisa is not painted on canvas, but Bron’s copy is, so he probably got a print rather than the real deal.

This is the point at the movie where the Pandemic setting appears to fade out. It gets to the point where I was wondering if we really needed to set this in 2020/during Covid specifically.

But you know what?

Our movie (big spoilers) ends with the destruction of said Mona Goddamn Lisa, by dint of Elon Musk’s Miles Bron’s egotistical idiocy. The pieces are all laid out neatly, we can see it coming to an extent (I got slightly spoiled by Tumblr posts so I can’t say for sure).

Bron is going to lose every investor, every cent in his stocks, every deal he ever cut, everyone who ever thought he was cool, because he fucked up this badly. Because his wonder fuel was exactly as unstable and deadly as everyone had been warning him for months if not years.

And it torched the Mona Lisa.

The Mona Lisa he had, that (if it were the real deal) would not have been missed immediately, because there was no one in the Louvre.

Because there’s a pandemic just getting started.

The way these movies tie everything up in a bow, foreshadow the end and reference the beginning so neatly, is just amazing to watch.

(Also I just here realized that Birdie’s party with its blatant fire hazard ending predictably is foreshadowing for the exact same thing to happen to Bron because they’re both incautious egotists wow!)

#elk text #30th #December #2022 #December 30th 2022 #glass onion spoiler warn #elk watches glass onion

[screamingay]

GOT TO THE FIRST REAL TENDER FACE HOLDING RAAAAAA

#the end of 2.8 has me INSANE #also i CANNOT stop thinking abt glory and gore #like. took a shiner from the fist of your best friend HELLO!!!!! #archaic kinds of fun.... do you even wanna go free.... #and the ENTIRE CHORUS #FUCK!!!!! THE LOUVRE ALSO FITS!!!!!!!!!! #BLOW ALL MY FRIENDSHIPS TO SIT IN HELL WITH YOU #IM JUST THE SUCKER WHO LET YOU FILL HER MIND #LOVER YOU'RE THE ONE TO BLAME ALL THAT YOURE DOING CAN YOU HEAR THE VIOLENCE?????

[volfoss]

I think character playlist makers are really sleeping on older songs and artists outside of the popular ones on TikTok because so many of them just sound the exact same with artists.

#also missing out on like just any fucking band outside of mother mother #like there's one rohan playlist that just is 90% mother mother and it doesnt fit him at all #but like also i just think making character playlists based on artists that it makes sense for the character to listen to/it fits them #instead of every single fucking anasui playlist having these weird songs that are just kinda dude looks like a lady vibes #im convinced some of the playlists are just the person putting the artists they like on there w no concept of it fitting the character #ref to that Rohan playlist which had cult of Dionysus with a dude that has like 0 romantic partners (outside of the louvre spin off which + #idk if that would count and he has no culty tendencies) #it just feels like most playlists sound the same and its just putting the same mother mother song or the same lemon demon song when it + #doesnt fit and it makes literally 0 sense when theres sm other songs that fit better

[spencersawkward]

hi babe! i love your blog sm. could u write or recommend a lil blurb abt spence and reader having sex for the first time as newlyweds🥺 like soft dom spence maybe?

summary: honeymooning in Paris, Spencer and Fem!Reader spend their first time together as newlyweds. 

content warnings: unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, use of the term “sir,” soft dom!Spence, breeding kink. 

A/N: sorry this was longer than a short blurb lol i got excited! i’ve been dying to write a smut blurb lol. one of my like go-to fantasies for like newlywed Spence is that you two are still kind of in a happy daze from the wedding.

you’ve just gotten to Paris, and you’re standing by the bed with a brochure of places to visit. there are a few museums you wanna see, but you know Spencer also has a whole list of bookstores to hit-- and then there’s walking along the Seine, basking in the Parisian sun with your husband. 

“I’ve set aside the Louvre for tomorrow, but I’m assuming we’re gonna need at least two days--” you start to say, but Spencer comes up behind you and presses his lips to your shoulder. you sigh. “Spence.” 

“what?” he breathes over your skin. 

“don’t you wanna do something before dinner?” you hold the brochure up in your hands, but he deftly plucks it away and sets it on the bedside table. 

“I wanna do lots of things before dinner, sweetheart.” he smirks. you want to point out the missed opportunities, but his lips pressing soft, sensual kisses to your neck and across your shoulders are making you forget everything. 

Spencer’s fingers wrap around your waist and he spins you to face him. 

“I haven’t been inside you for too long.” his eyes are darkened with lust. he’s got his stubble and the way his pink button-up sits on his body does things to you. you’ve been craving him since your wedding, but things have been so hectic that you haven’t had a chance to give in. 

“change that, then.” you raise an eyebrow. 

moving like animals, you tear off each other’s clothes and meet every few moments to kiss and feel each other. he’s right: it’s been too long. 

Spencer runs his hands over your naked body and pushes you onto the bed, climbing on top without a word and starting to suck at your neck. he sinks his teeth slightly into your jugular, moaning at the way you arch your back. 

“you’re all mine, now.” he slips his fingers between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it with ease. you moan and squirm at the way he understands your needs. 

“mhmm.” you nod. 

“look how wet.” he shows you his fingers, which are glistening with your essence before he slides them into your mouth. you suck at them, moaning. Spencer wraps his hand around his cock and starts to pump it, rubs it against your pussy. he removes his hand and dips down to kiss you deeply, then slowly pushes into you. 

your mouth drops open, always taken aback by the way he fits inside your body. Spencer groans loudly, drops his head down on your shoulder. 

“always so fucking tight,” he grunts. you gasp when he pushes your legs further apart so he can get deeper. “you like that, pretty girl?”

you nod. he threads his fingers through yours to push them into the pillow, panting into the crook of your neck while he starts to thrust inside. 

“S-Spence, oh my god.” you whine, wrapping your legs around his waist. he loves the sound of his name off your tongue, picks up the pace. 

“I’m gonna make you cum so many times tonight.” he gets excited and begins to rock the bed slightly. you reach up and touch his jawline, turn his attention to your face while you watch. you love to see the pleasure in his eyes, the building of his adoration. the memory of how he looks between your legs, those eyes staring intently into yours while he spells your name with his tongue, always brings you closer to the edge. 

“thank you, sir.” you’re grateful for him, and he smirks. 

“and then I’m gonna use that pretty mouth.”

you nod vigorously. 

“you excited to suck my cock, baby?” he asks. 

“yes, sir.” 

he thrusts particularly hard, the headboard slamming the wall. “good.” 

“it feels so good, sir.” you start to shift your hips up to meet his rhythm, writhing while he holds your hands down into the pillow. he loves imposing on your body, loves hovering over you. 

“so... fucking tight, princess--” he gasps, sweat causing some of his curls to stick to his forehead. “can’t wait to fill you with my cum.” 

“please.” you beg. 

“gonna get you pregnant as soon as I can.” he’s getting closer, ruthless with your body. you’re struggling to hold back the moans in your chest, barely able to respond.

“mhmm.”

“you want my kids, baby? gonna let me fill you over and over till it’s dripping?” he kisses you quickly. 

“fuck-- yes, sir, please!” you arch your back again. “I’m gonna cum, Spence--” 

he takes away one hand to go down and aggressively circle your clit. it doesn’t take much before you’re crumbling before him, squirming and clenching repeatedly around his cock. it’s enough to push him over, too, and he lets out a guttural, low moan as he shoves in to the hilt and releases. 

“right there-- oh, fuck.” he whimpers and spills inside, the warmth spreading through your body. his pace slows as he rides out the high, and you cling to each other tightly. he doesn’t release the other hand until you’re both ready to collapse. 

he rolls over next to you, laying on the bed. 

“how are we always so good?” you grin. he chuckles, turns his head to look at you with a truly happy smile. 

“emotional connections have been proven to cause stronger, longer-lasting orgasms.” 

you can’t wait for tonight.       

#spencer reid smut blurb #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

sorry to constantly rant on main but I can't get over the fact that alastair spent his last day in paris with THOMAS,,

okay ignoring the thomastair endgame, alastair was in a relationship with charles. he'd been in said relationship, potentially living with charles, at least sometimes, for over a year. it's very, very odd to me that alastair didn't spend the day with him, trying to soak up what little was left of their time together. this leaves a few possibilities for me:

alastair was just out on his own for the morning/afternoon and was meant to spend the evening and night with charles, but blew him off for thomas. I think this is possible, though it wouldn't have been calculated, more like, he lost track of time and when he realized, he decided that he would much prefer spending the evening chatting with thomas than whatever was waiting for him at charles' flat. this could also explain why alastair was late, if he was trying to apologize for blowing charles off the night before. at the same time, it seems a little OOC to me considering how bent up he was when he couldn't find charles in ChOG and at no point in days past did he seem at all concerned about the time.

charles blew alastair off. he had some meetings or other and didn't want to risk trying to reschedule them, some bs. so, alastair was like fuck I guess I'm spending my last day in paris walking around by myself, until he saw thomas at the book shop and was like "well maybe if I'm not alone I can't mope so much, hey wanna go to the louvre". as mad as this makes me, it makes the most sense to me, it's definitely in character for charles, and narratively fits well with the dynamics between the three of them in ChOG imo

alastair and charles weren't together. they broke up at some point, maybe right before, maybe that was why alastair chose to leave Paris. based on charles behavior, it doesn't seem like he takes alastair breaking up with him very seriously, so I have to wonder if it's happened before. however, I would also feel like that would have been a part of alastair's break-up speech at the engagement party? it would also bring up the question of when they got back together, which also could be why alastair was late the second day, alastair might have also returned to Paris at some point (i think it's implied that the carstairs family had been in paris recently) or they could have written each other. but, also, like, why?

of course its also possible that alastair was lying about leaving but considering he refused to even tell a white lie about why he was there (like, "i came for my travel year and decided to stay a bit longer" wouldn't have even been a lie) thats EXTREMELY unlikely imo lol

if you have any other ideas pls share them ive thought too much about this 😭😭😭

#can you tell im procrastinating rn #alastair carstairs #anti charles fairchild #the last hours #tlh #chain of gold #thomas lightwood #thomastair #tlh theories

[portokali]

melocrows (melodrama for the crows)

green light - nina!!! did it frighten you? how we kissed when we danced on the light-up floor

sober - but what will we do when we’re sober? / ain’t no pill that can touch our rush - all very jesper, a song all about chasing a high and drowning away your troubles/using pleasure for escapism, while constantly anxious of inevitably having to face reality.

homemade dynamite: jesper/wylan anthem. don’t know you super well but i think that you might be the same as me / behave abnormally and they are, of course, blowin’ shit up with homemade dynamite.

the louvre - kanej anthem, giving half of my wardrobe is on your bedroom floor a different meaning - they’re not fucking, it’s kaz casually undressing & washing up in front of inej (all part of his flirting technique all part of the plan). i am your sweetheart, psychopathic crush is kaz pov / but lover you’re the one to blame, all that you do, can you hear the violence? is inej pov.

liability - you were little much for me / you were liability is very much Sad Wylan Hours, whether because of his father or even the crows roasting him early in the first book.

hard feelings - predictably another kanej anthem. please could you be tender? and i will sit close to you is inej @ kaz i’m at [ketterdam] city, it’s late and this song is for you is kaz @ inej. the entirety of the song? kanej 2nd act breakup (it actually plays everytime they get pissed at each other and inej walks away bc theyre dramatic like that)

it was real for me, yeah, real for me, now i’ll fake it every single day til i don’t need fantasy - also very nina/matthias post-betrayal

loveless  - all of them as they are all the l o v e l e s s generation (of the barrel).  but it’s specficially giving nina and jesper cause they’re the ones to go well guess what? i like that so although the general sentiment of lovelessness applies to all the crows, nina and jesper are the narrators of the song because they’re aware of it (as Designated Team Flirts)

sober ii (melodrama) - Everyone anthem, as after all it is the title track. ish.

clearly a much more somber jesper pov from sober (all the gun fights, and the lime lights / god i wonder why we bother) - but the fact that the tone is much more reflective this time around gives the song a wylan voice (something about lights are on and they’ve gone home / oh how fast the evening passes, cleaning up the champagne glasses and wylan alone/lonely in his family mansion)

the existential/religious undertones of this steer to an inej pov: the holy sick divine lights is her struggling to reconcile her actions with her faith as well as her being an outsider to the main religion in ketterdam, and no you won’t remember in the morning when i speak my mind is very inej pov kanej early in soc.

at its heart, though, the song is undeniably soc-era nina/matthias: they’ll talk about us, all the lovers, how we kissed and killed each other, and then finishes off with one of the most -if not the most- kaz lyrics, which is, of course, we told you this was melodrama / you wanted something that we offered

writer in the dark - 1st verse is kaz pov of the kanej breakup (sorry i was never good like you)

the chorus doesn’t really fit them as they never kiss, but it works beautifully for wylan after jesper kisses kuwei (bet you rue the day you kissed a writer in the dark - kuwei isn’t exactly a writer but everyone literate is a writer to wylan).

but in our darkest hours i stumbled on a secret power, i’ll find a way to be without, babe - nina in the second half of ck. edit cause apparently this post wasn’t already long enough: so is i still feel you now and then, slow like pseudoeuphedrine [*parem]

i’ll love you til my breathing stops / i’ll love you til you call the cops on me is everyone @ everyone.

supercut - matthias and nina about their relationship pre-soc. mostly matthias pov, but make you crazy over my touch is all nina

liability (reprise) - as liability is a wylan song, liability (reprise) is a jesper song, especially after falling out with kaz and progressively getting over him while still caring for him. all of the dreams that get harder / all of the things that i offer you / but you’re not what you thought you were. 

perfect places - kaz!!! are you lost enough? have another drink, get lost in us, this is how we get notorious / all of the things we’re taking, cause we are young and we’re ashamed / all of our heroes fading / what the fuck are perfect places, anyway?

#*joins a new fandom* ill contribute w content that is so [lorde] #im open to peer feedback i tried my best but ultimately melodrama is a breakup/loveless generation album #and so i focused on the canon couples more than the platonic relationships. but well! #lorde #soc #soc spoilers #six of crows spoilers #crooked kingdom spoilers #my socks #kanej #wesper #this is inspired by mina's @ katarawave's post on meloatla btw #ill link to it once i find it again :) #long post #soc the musical

[enjoycameralife]

the one thing i absolutely adore about Melbourne is the street murals that adorn the alleyways and streets of Melbourne city, particularly the ones along AC/DC Lane and Hosier Lane. i appreciate how the murals fit in context with the city and are not haphazardly painted on. i suppose it’s not like these murals were painted based on some preordained plan of sorts, but to see these murals come together thematically is something i appreciate. it also goes without saying that these murals are all so intricate and well put together, its hard not to think that someone is making an effort to organise the artists (though i highly doubt that). surprisingly a couple of days after the Stan Lee tribute went up, it was tagged by another outfit, which is a shame given the timing and all, but what do i know about the politics of graffiti making. i honestly wonder if its still there even. nonetheless, poring through the murals and observing every minute detail is a treat, and come to think of it, rather similar to a visit to the Musee du Louvre.

my personal favourite is definitely the Lushsux one. it’s like a straight up ‘fuck you’ to the viewers.

#canon eos 6D #photography #street photography #melbourne #australia #graffiti #alleyway #streetart #streetmural

[girlsgonemildblog]

Influencer 101, but None of the Information is Correct - Emily in Paris, Episode 5 Recap (Spoilers!!)

Poster from IMDB

I think this show may be good. The jury is still deliberating, though, so I will let you know. The episode begins with Emily and Mindy at a café, and I would be remiss if I did not mention how cute both of their boots are.

Emily accidentally orders condoms with her breakfast, and the waiter is quite rude about it even though he knew what she meant. (Can you believe I am defending Emily? Who thought we would see this day?) The two girls then begin discussing the love-triangle Emily has found herself in with Camille and Gabriel when Camille joins them. Talk about awkward.

At the office, Emily knocks on Sylvie’s door as she enters, and Sylvie explains to her that she needs to wait for a response before entering. I am 120% on Sylvie’s side here; I’m currently staying with my parents, and the room I am using as an office has a closet full of files for my dad’s business, and he always does this. He even once asked me why I don’t say “come in” after he knocks, and I had to explain that it is because he doesn’t give me enough time.

Anyway, the two of them, with Julien and Luc, discuss campaign ideas for the mattress company with whom they are working. (Antoine is not in this episode, thank God.) Luc suggests making an innuendo to the sex position, the Eiffel Tower. Where exactly he thinks you can post ads with an extremely explicit sex position is beyond me.

Because Emily’s Instagram account now has 20.1k followers (followers do not grow that fast, but ok), she gets invited to an influencer lunch for a cosmetic company called Durée. The CMO of the company, Olivia (Xanthe Elbrick), apparently has beef with Sylvie, but there is no explanation of what it is. Olivia invites Emily to speak with her and tells Emily that Durée does not work with a marketing agency but instead relies on partnerships with influencers. I probably don’t need to say this, but that’s not how influencer marketing works; you still need an agency to help with that strategy, fostering the relationships, writing the copy for the posts, and planning the events like the one Emily attends.

When Emily arrives back at her apartment, she runs into Camille and Gabriel (I am convinced that every other apartment in that building is vacant), leaving for a date, and Camille insists she comes with them. How does Emily not just say she has a migraine? Even if you’re not attracted to and haven’t kissed the boyfriend, who wants to be a third wheel? They seem to have fun on the date, though, and I’m starting to suspect that there’s going to be a threesome at some point in this season. They end up at a gallery projecting Van Gogh’s works on massive walls, and Emily comments that “Starry Night” is one of her favorite works of art. Camille tells Emily that Van Gogh painted it while in a mental institution, to which Emily replies she didn’t know about Van Gogh’s nervous breakdowns. Not knowing the history of one of her favorite pieces just fits too well into Emily’s characterization. She is just so dumb.

Photo from IMDB

They sit down against one of the walls, Emily sandwiched in the middle, again laying the groundwork for a threesome in a later episode. Camille sees someone she knows, leaving Emily and Gabriel alone, which allows them to talk about their kiss. When Emily notes that Gabriel kissed her back, he asks, “this is the normal reaction, no?” and let me just say, Fuck No! Pull away from her, push her off of you, do something, dude!

While we’re on the love triangle subject, I want to note that I love that I like Camille. I said in my previous recap that I am sick of the girls-fighting-for-a-boy trope, and one staple of this trope is that the “other woman” is a bitch. It would have been easy for the writers to make Camille the cliché snooty, anemic French girl-type, but they chose not to do that. Camille is sweet and the type of person who goes through her new friend’s Instagram and likes every single post. If there has to be a love triangle (which, for interesting plot purposes, there kind of does), I am glad it is one like this.

The following day, Emily gets a lunch meeting with Olivia from Duvrée and is again wearing gorgeous boots.

Have I been sleeping on Emily’s shoe collection? Olivia makes Emily an offer to be her brand ambassador, and Emily explains why this is a conflict of interest. Olivia leaves (despite not having eaten yet) by giving Emily an ominous warning about Sylvie, which is entirely unnecessary because we have met Sylvie and know she can be a bit of a bitch (I say this as a compliment).  

When Emily’s team meets with the woman from the bed company, she pitches an idea of placing their bed in iconic spots around Paris, such as the Louvre. She has no way of getting the Louvre to agree to an ad campaign in the middle of priceless art, as Sylvie later points out, and as is proven later in the episode, but the client loves the concept regardless.

Sylvie and Emily then get into an argument over the emilyinparis Instagram account. Sylvie is correct that Emily should not be posting ads on her account for free, but wrong that the account should be deleted. What they should be doing is using the account as a tool and charging people for Emily’s posts.

Mindy and Emily meet for dinner, and Mindy insists that Emily should sue because her boss can’t make her delete her account. Your boss definitely can make you delete a social media account if you are not representing the company well; the difference is that in this instance, it is not a good idea. The two of them then get drunk and go all over the city as a last hurrah for the account, and literally, who cares that much about an Instagram account? 

At the end of the night, Emily, of course, runs into Gabriel at her building. As they are walking up the stairs, a slow indie beat plays that very much suggests that they’re about to have sex. Gabriel stops Emily to tell her that he also “felt something” during their kiss, to which Emily replies, “Good night, Gabriel,” and goes to bed. Good for Emily! Though I was excited about their kiss, and do want them to get together, the circumstances are not the best for Emily, and I’m glad she had the self-respect to stop what was happening.

The next day at work, Sylvie tells Emily that the bed company saw her posts from the night before, wants to put the bed in one of the locations she visited that night and wants her to be the first post for the campaign. What a great idea to use her Instagram as a marketing tool, I wish I had thought of that. Camille ends up being in this photo, which Emily captions, “#getinbedwithus”. Gabriel likes the picture with a look on his face that suggests that he, at the very least, is interested in the threesome.

#Emily in Paris #eip #Emily in Paris season 1 #Emily in Paris faux amis #faux amis #lily collins #Ashley park #philippine leroy-beaulieu #Lucas bravo #Xanthe Elbrick #Camille razat #netflix #netflix original #tv review #Emily in Paris review #tv recap #Emily in Paris recap #Netflix Emily in paris #Emily in Paris netflix #girls gone mild #girlsgonemild #television #television review #tv #television recap #girls gone mild blog #Emily in Paris season 1 episode 5

[nightingiall]

quarantine fic rec in honor of 1daaw

hi, friends! 

it’s been so long since i actually sat down and read fic and what better time to catch up on all of these wonderful writings than when we’re all stuck at home. over the past few weeks i’ve been slowly compiling this list, and while i haven’t even made a dent in my to-reads, i decided to post what i have so far in honor of 1daaw. as i read more over the next few weeks since we’ll still be stuck at home, i will try to compile more fic rec lists as i feel like this is a great way to show some love to my favorite stories and authors. i haven’t had a chance to reach out to all these amazing writers to tell them how much i love these stories, so if you’re on here, take this as my official love letter to you. 🥰

niall fics:

and they’ll hang us in the louvre by @in-madhouses​ 

there is SO MUCH about this fic that i absolutely fell in love with. the enemies to lovers trope, the characters, the plot, and the absolutely fantastic writing are all to die for. basically, niall and his friends (aka some of the 1d boys) are actors on a television adaptation of the marauders (so already i’m like !!!!!!) and aahna is a recurring guest star on the show. the two of them just grate at each others’ nerves the whole time they have to shoot together and it’s all quick-witted banter and heated moments and exquisite characterization. aahna is unapologetically herself, not afraid to tell it like it is (the rant about the neocolonialism of southeast asian cuisine in the prologue was the best thing ever) and she’s definitely up there as one of my favorite OFCs of all time. 

this story is witty and fun and a perfect light-hearted read. inm is such a gorgeous writer and some of the lines in this story read like poetry. i literally found myself stopping on multiple occasions and going wow. honestly, what a treat. inm also has a self-isolation drabble series that i’ve been meaning to get into and i can’t wait to start reading that as well. 

but oh, my heart still burns by @houseofbrokenhearts​ 

as i started to read this story, i had the biggest smile on my face. it begins with shane and niall as young, inseparable best friends and continues on into their adulthood in which things get complicated, as they always do in these scenarios. it’s nostalgic and innocent and sort of whimsical. i laughed at the part where shane is upset at not getting a cell phone when niall does because it reminded me of being a kid in a similar situation. also the scenes where they reunite after years of being apart? impeccable. 

this story has beautiful writing. i felt as though i could feel every emotion as shane was feeling them, and once i started i just couldn’t put this down. it has not been updated in a while which, as a writer who has also left her fics only to update months or years later, i understand that life gets in the way or we may lose motivation or whatever. but, whatever the future holds for this story, i just want to put it out there that i so so so adore it, and niall and shane are one of those fic pairings that i will possibly never stop thinking about. 

why did we climb and fall so far by @niallismymuse​

first of all, holy shit. when i finished reading this i literally sobbed my eyes out and then laid in bed staring at the ceiling for an hour. this fic is only four chapters and it made me feel so many things. at points, i was looking at my screen with heart eyes because niall and ellie are so in love and then i was laughing because their banter is the cutest and then all of a sudden i’m getting my fucking heart broken. 

second, i think it’s a testament to how wonderful a writer shelly is to be able to elicit these emotions so powerfully, taking us all on a rollercoaster of intense feelings. the prose on this is just phenomenal and there were lines that absolutely took my breath away. i am so picky with what i read sometimes because fiction has this ability to take you places you may not be prepared to go (definitely a trigger warning on this for heavy themes), but i am so happy i found this because it was such beautiful writing. i can’t even begin to imagine the energy and emotional willpower it must have taken to write this, so to shelly, thank you for sharing your words with us. this story is definitely one i won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and i can’t wait to dive into the rest of your stories. 

harry fics:

matchmaking for experts by @booksncoffee​

eriza is one of the most prolific writers of the 1dff community and her consistency and drive is something i enormously admire. this story is just one of many really fantastic ones from her and i urge everyone to go check out her masterlist--you won’t be disappointed. 

but anyway, back to matchmaking for experts--it’s only one chapter in and i am already hooked. there is so much to unpack in just one installment: harry’s apparent tense relationship with his father, the colorful workplace environment of the matchmaking service, the slight mutual pining between maia and harry that i anticipate will only grow as this story goes on and i am hype for it. i’m right there with the rest of the matchcierge staff in lowkey giving maia and harry’s relationship the side eye and rooting for them. all in all, it’s a fantastic beginning. eriza, you are so talented, and i can’t wait to see where this story goes. 

rumor has it by @stylishmuser​

first off, p is wonderful and brilliant and she deserves all the praise in the world. this story is the perfect collision of my two favorite worlds (bollywood and 1d) and i absolutely adore it so far. i don’t even think i have enough words to describe how much i love this story and its characters. literally, if ishika were a real person i’d want to protect her with my whole life. her characterization and history are crafted so so well; she’s vulnerable and strong and determined. i can’t wait to watch how she grows throughout this story. 

also, there are moments that literally have me staring at my screen with the biggest heart eyes: ishika making harry taste pani puri, harry being so soft and gentle with her at the beach and at her fitting, the pining. i am literally so in love. p also writes this story with such care and precision that it shows. it is so intricately crafted with so many layers and is just such a pleasure to read. she also updates so often that i am in awe of her drive. i have to dive into the rest of her stories, which i know are absolutely amazing even if i haven’t read them yet, and i’m looking forward to that as well. p, what a beautiful story. i can’t wait to see where it goes. 

--

i know there are so many more fics that i need to read and i’m always taking recs in my inbox. until then, happy reading, and don’t forget to send some love to these authors when you’re done!

#sorry if this is long #i was going to put it under a read more but i want people to see these stories!!! #1daaw #recs

[soap-lady]

maybe some felinette where for some reason every time they go on a date someone interrupts them. whether it be chat noir,alya,nino, or fucking HAWKMOTH. they always get interrupted

I could have wished 1000 wishes for tonight I can’t believe. That it’s finally me and you and you and me. Just us and your friend STEVE! “Your Friend Steve” Garfunkle and Oates.

Marinette lost a bet against Felix.

It was a stupid bet and she couldn’t believe she’d let Alya egg her on.

Felix had overheard Marinette tell Alya she couldn’t stand Felix. He repulsed her, physical resemblance to her former crush be damned. His personality was lacking and she could only trust him as far as he could throw him.

He claimed he’d overheard their conversation. She was sure Lila ratted her out.

The troublemaker had bet her she couldn’t beat him in martial arts. If he lost, he’d never talk to her outside of class again. If he won, Marinette would go on one date with him. A fitting punishment since she found him so repulsive.

They sparred. Norther shaolin kung fu vs karate. Which was superior? Markov agreed to referee.

She did very well at first. She remembered most of what her mother taught her and Felix looked both impressed and worried.

Then he pulled out moves she couldn’t counter. She hadn’t studied martial arts in three years.

She was also Marinette.

She nearly tripped and Felix caught her, only to slam her down onto the mat. She looked up into his grinning, smug face. She wanted to punch him.

She stood up without his assistance. “Fine! One date! But no kissing, hand holding or anything like that! If you’re not on your best behavior, I walk,” she glared at his stupid face and stomped off.

Adrien had arrived too late to stop the match and only heard Marinette yelling at his cousin.

Felix was up to something.

                                                        *****

The night arrived for Marinette’s “date” with Felix. She made a new dress and was surprised to receive what sounded like a sincere compliment from him.

She’d suggested a simple dinner and movie but Felix had dismissed her idea as “too pedestrian” and instead suggested a visit to the “History of Movie Costume Design” exhibit being held at the Louvre. He made a point of mentioning his family movie studio had brought the collection from London.

For once, the young designer was too excited to squabble with him and mentioned she was looking forward to the exhibit.

The date had just become a touch less horrble.

                                                  *****

There was no way Adrien would let Felix get away with anything where Marinette was concerned. She was too sweet and kind to be a victim of one of his cousin’s cruel pranks.

Adrien had a paper to write but Chat Noir had no such restrictions.

He followed them to the Louvre, not exactly hiding his presence but not interacting either.

Marinette was the first to spot him, that perceptive princess. He gave her a cheeky salute the looked at Felix. He glared at the other boy, then pointed to his own eyes before pointing at Felix. The other blond glowered but nodded.

Chat Noir followed them around the museum at a polite distance. Marinette oohed and aahed over the costume, pointing out the craftsmanship in the construction, the attention to detail and historical accuracy and lack thereof. Felix would follow up with an interesting factoid about the movie’s production and how costume choice affected casting. The girl was starting to relax and enjoy herself. The blond found himself racking his brain for amusing trivia his companion might like.

The Black Cat wielder occasionally added to the conversation in a loud stage whisper and Felix did his best to leave Chat behind. The joke was on him; Chat could track Marinette by scent if he had to.

“I think it’s sweet,” Chat overheard the girl tell her unwanted date, “Chat and I are friends and he’s the kind of guy who loves to watching out for his friends. Just think of him as acting like an overprotective brother, not a jealous ex.”

Hmmm. Adrien Dupain-Cheng had a nice ring to it.

Chat Noir could imagine himself living above the bakery, eating his meals surrounded by people who loved him. He and Marinette would walk to school every day and play video games. He’d model for her and they’d build a blanket fort and watch Ghibli movies.

He looked up and noticed they were far ahead of him.

Chat scrambled to catch up. “Hey, let’s go the the museum cafe! Their lattes are purrrrrrrfect.”

He was rewarded with a cute giggle from his friend and a groan from Felix.

[general-du-vallon]

[Found this in my docs, it was gonna be part of a longer thing but I’m never going to finish it now and it kinda stands on it’s own. Mostly. Just imagine the rest :) the opening makes it sound like it’s gonna be an adventure but it’s not really, when have I ever written PLOT lol. WARNINGS: canon typical violence, injury, blood.]

Where to begin...

Three months ago. General du Vallon went missing three months ago, dragged off a battlefield somewhere. Brujon saw him hauled away but was too far away to do anything, the general too far ahead, their retreat too thorough, the general left, somehow, behind when they ran from the Spanish guns. They hadn’t won that fight and when the air cleared and they reached their previous position and the day quieted, the general was gone. The Spanish took plenty of prisoners, it wasn’t unusual. The Queen’s Musketeers had been deployed more than once to aid a covert rescue, spring a man who knew too much, sneak in behind while the army roared at the front gates as a distraction.

The apparatus of French Intelligence gathering had clunked and creaked into service and for a while the search for the general was all anyone spoke of. Court was full of it, the general being a favourite for his stories and his wife being friend to the queen, his daughter delighting them all. The streets had been full of it for the adventure and the thrill and he’d been the hero many times, enough that talk of his capture and the search for him turned quickly to ‘I heard about a time when…’ and ‘do you think he really…’ and ‘did you hear about that mission in…’. The Red Guard had been full of it, snide remarks about ‘once a musketeer always a musketeer’ veiling respect. The Musketeers had spoken of little else. 

But then, a month ago, Cardinal Mazarin had got word from his spies that General du Vallon was either dead or turned traitor. That had been quickly silenced, but along with that any talk of the general at all was silenced.

“It’s going to be okay, general.”

Porthos hears Athos’s hoarse, exhausted voice, calm and sure. It’s going to be okay, you know that right? Yeah, Porthos knows. His arm across Athos’s shoulders, he knows. Despite the blood and the pounding in his head from what he’s lost and the pounding of the guns, the earth tearing up around them as they run, as Athos drags him. He knows. God, they had better be alright to make this pain worth it. He runs the last bit, roaring and throwing his weight so Athos falls behind cover, too. So he’s over Athos as earth and shrapnel and who knows what falls out of the sky to strike him. Where is d’Artagnan? He doesn’t know. But they are going to be alright, everything will be okay. 

“General.”

“Don’t need the general’s input, Ath, come on. He’ll just tell us to send in our men to be slaughtered like they’re cattle.”

“General.”

“Eh?”

“General du Vallon.”

Porthos raises his head, weary, sweat and blood obscuring his view, and meets Brujon’s worried gaze. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice wrecked. “I know. What is it?”

“We’re in France, sir.”

“I’ve done this before,” Porthos mutters, letting his head rest against his breast again, some musketeer’s jacket around him that isn’t his own familiar leather. “Other end of it hurt less.”

He sighs and gathers his strength. And the jacket - it’s not his, but it is quite nice. Much newer than his. He might keep this. If he bleeds on it enough he’s sure he can make a case for it belonging to him. Blood relative. Something like that. He rests his cheek against his shoulder and closes his eyes and bleeds into the leather.

They said...

The Queen’s Musketeers garrison is always busy. They have a royal family to protect; a very young king and a regent who is arguably more Spanish than French. There is always something to protect them from. The garrison is also always busy because while it’s the Red Guard's duty to police the streets of Paris, they are no better under Cardinal Mazarin than ever before, which means there’s always plenty of messes to mop up. And plenty of duels for young men to throw themselves into in the name of defending many honours. Madam d’Artagnan always has a lot to say on the matter of fighting. and the cadets especially always put on a good show of sheepishness, but… well. 

When push comes to shove, most of them are there because they like the fight. Musketeers don’t die easily but they rarely live long unless they retire, either. Or get married, which is currently the furore of the week; monsieur Lefébure is to be married, and his brothers-in-arms are giving him a good send off. He is to be married and to take up a small position at court riding on his family’s name and the title his father passed to him. One pre-marital ritual is to fight a last fight with every man in the garrison. He has almost reached the end of them, just two cadets lined up and they’ll be dispatched easily. 

“Monsieur!” Madam d’Artagnan says, hurrying under the arches, pushing through to where the captain is leaning on a table, idly cleaning a pistol, watching Lefébure fight with a critical eye. The musketeers part to let Madam d’Artagnan through and the captain straightens, putting his hat on and accepting the scroll she presses into his hands. “Message from the gate. Is it…?”

Madam d’Artagnan has her breath held, the men can feel it. They lean in closer, also waiting for whatever news this is, catching her mood. The captain frowns and madam d’Artagnan loses her patience and snatches the missive back, eyes running over it. She lets out an exclamation and runs for the arch again. 

“Constance! You don’t need - wait!” the captain calls. 

Some of the men move half-heartedly to stop her, to catch her and bring her back. Some, who have been on the sharp end of her temper, decidedly do not. And some, who have sparred with her, take a definite step back away from her as she whirls away, hair and dresses flying. She comes running back within moments and there’s a scuffle and confusion as people try to get out of her way again. Lefébure shifts to stand at Gonteut’s shoulder. 

“What is this?” Gonteut whispers. 

“Something to do with Brujon’s mission,” Lefébure whispers back. “He’s the only one who’s out at the moment, everything else is within the city. He is the only one who might’ve sent word from the gate.”

“What was his mission?” Gonteut asks. 

There’s similar whispers and mutters around the courtyard as Madam d’Artagnan grabs the captain’s hand and drags him toward the arch. There’s a clatter of hooves as they reach half-way and five horses come through, lead by Brayer. Brujon is right behind and he’s out of the saddle before they stop and running to the next horse. The courtyard goes silent, trying to work out who the man is, bent across the saddle, falling with a groan but steadied by Brujon shoving, gripping his thigh. It forces him to stay seated until Brayer can dismount and join him, Varlet rushing to the other side to try and help and Roux hurrying toward the captain. Captain d’Artagnan ignores Roux and pushes Varlet aside, looking upwards. He says something and the man’s head bobs, shifting, his body slouching, turning toward the captain. There’s a moment of stillness, then a groan. 

“Let go, Brujon,” the captain says, and he slows the man’s descent as he slides from the horse into his arms, d’Artagnan laughing. 

“We’ve done this before, captain,” the man says. 

“I remember it being easier last time,” d’Artagnan says, arms around the man. 

“Porthos,” Madam d’Artagnan says, shaking off whatever had her rooted, pushing through to her husband and taking the stranger into her arms instead. 

“‘Porthos’?” Lefébure murmurs, and he can hear that stirring through the rest of them, too. “It’s the general.”

“Fuck,” Gonteut says. 

Which just about sums it up, really. No one spoke of him anymore. After Mazarin shut down the search, everyone accepted that the general was dead. Except Brujon, returning to Paris, shouting and roaring at captain d’Artagnan until the captain dragged him away and then rushing headlong around the city and then vanishing himself, only to return as if cowed, a week ago, tail between his legs, begging for a position at the garrison until he was commissioned at the front again. In all this time Madam and Mademoiselle du Vallon were seen coming and going at the Louvre and at the garrison, sometimes with Minister d’Herblay, sometimes alone. And then they’d been wearing black and the Musketeers had decided amongst themselves that their general was indeed dead, and they had lit their candles in church and sent up their prayers and mourned him. 

But here he is, caked in mud and blood and dirt, wearing what must be Roux’s jacket (none of the other’s would be a fit for his broad shoulders and it isn’t his own uniform, they all know his fleur-de-lys, decorated with the bull, entwined with intricate patterning and thick lines). As they all watch he sags in Madam d’Artagnan’s arms with another groan and a soft sigh, his head tipping back. They move forward as one to catch him but he’s already safe- Madam d’Artagnan is strong and she keeps him upright and they all know that strength, have all been held together by those hands. She rouses him and then drags his arm across her shoulders, holding him tight, glaring around at them when they don’t move out of the way. 

The captain is already rushing around them to the door, and then they’re gone, Brujon on their heels. Roux, Varlet and Brayer are all still in the courtyard and everyone closes around them, clamouring for the story. None of them will speak, however, and soon beg patience for rest and food; they will not be giving answers tonight. Not until their captain gives them leave to. Roux turns, just before ducking into the hall. 

“He is everything the stories suggest, and more,” he says, voice hoarse with tiredness. “He was shot in the course of saving us.”

They had suspected as much, or similar, and as Roux vanishes inside they break away into groups to discuss it. It is many hours before they remember that Lefébure is leaving them in two days time, and that two days is not nearly enough to get all the necessary drinking in. They bustle out to the taverns and inns and set about getting drunk. They avoid trouble, for once, though: their captain and Madam d’Artagnan are busy tonight. 

And then…

Constance watches as d’Artagnan paces, talking, gesticulating, and then she watches his retreating back as he goes for a physician. Brujon is sat at the table with a glass of water, he’s told d’Artagnan enough for now. He’s watching Porthos as Constance carefully pulls away layers of dirty cloth, baring his skin, looking for holes. She finds the wound low in his side, almost his hip. She feels for bone, but he seems to be mostly intact. She checks for the ball, instead finds there’s an exit wound. He’s been stitched already, messy, sloppy, thick stitches. 

“You did this?” she asks Brujon, putting her disapproval into her tone. Roux has a much steadier hand and Brayer has neater stitches. 

“The others were busy,” Brujon says, between gritted teeth. “Our general threw them off the boat into the sea.”

“Did he now?” Constance says, smiling, wetting a cloth and starting the process of cleaning Porthos. She’s done this before. His eyes open, glassy with exhaustion, pain, maybe fever. He smiles back at her. “Pushing people into the sea, eh?”

“My lips still taste of salt,” Porthos murmurs. “I’m keeping this jacket. Tell them?”

“General du Vallon is keeping Roux’s jacket,” Constance tells Brujon, who shrugs. “Why did he push them in?”

“We were being shot at,” Brujon says. “They swam for it. Would’ve pushed me in, too, left himself there to be captured again, but I shot them before he could. Got a ball right in the side of their boat and we watched them sink.”

“Did they drown?” Constance asks. Brujon shrugs. 

“Doubt it,” Porthos says, catching her hand and taking the cloth from her. 

“What are you gonna do with that?” she snaps, taking it back, slapping his hands away. “Lie still.”

“They were taking me somewhere else,” Porthos says, vaguely. “By boat. Then Brujon came for me.”

“Of course,” Brujon says. “I haven’t got a commission if you’re dead, sir. Or if you’re stripped of your position for turning traitor.”

“I do speak very good Spanish,” Porthos says. “Where is Aramis?”

“If Charles went to the palace for a physician, which he probably has, I assume the minister will return with him,” Constance says. “Your wife is not in Paris, however. The queen is at the hunting lodge again and Elodie went to petition her, hoping to get more resources for our search for you.”

“And Marie?” Porthos asks. 

“We sent her to Athos and Sylvie,” Constance says. “I will send word that you have meandered back quite safe.”

“I better go make sure Roux and the others don’t spread too many rumours,” Brujon says. “And make sure that they don’t tell too many tall tales about you, sir. You already have quite enough glory for one lifetime.”

Porthos struggles up onto his elbow to refute that, but Brujon is gone. Constance shoves and Porthos falls back against the bed with a groan. 

“Constance, I would prefer much more glory, there’s lots more room for praise, I can take a lot more than I have got,” Porthos says. His lips twitch. 

“Would you stop?” Constance scolds. 

Porthos grumbles but lies still for her until he’s clean and naked but for his underthings. She contemplates his hair, wondering if that could wait, but he’s already sitting up and tipping his head back, eyes closed. She sits in behind him and uses the last of the clean water, working it through Porthos’s hair, undoing his curls and getting it as clean as she can before twisting his hair back into its patterns to protect it, tying a bandana around it. 

“You’ll have to do this properly when you’re not half dead,” she says. 

“Sylvie will do it, when Athos comes,” Porthos says. “It’s fine for now.”

“Will you rest?” 

“I need to talk to… ‘Charles’,” Porthos says, rumbling with laughter as if d’Artagnan’s first name is a joke only he understands. 

Constance goes to fetch him wine and to tell Roux that his jacket is not going to be returned. She explains that it is too soaked with blood and then re-explains that Porthos is a stubborn cuss and will quite probably fight Roux for it if Roux tries to claim it back. Roux laughs and Constance has to explain that, no, Porthos really will fight him, and Roux goes quiet before hurriedly gifting the jacket. Charles arrives back, Aramis slipping past him into Porthos’s room as he comes across to her. 

“He is alright?” d’Artagnan asks. 

“He will be,” she says, settling. They watch the courtyard together, Roux hurrying away, someone on watch, a few people playing cards. Mostly quiet, now. “They’re all in the taverns, telling stories about him.”

“He’ll like that,” d’Artagnan says. 

“Mm. We got him back,” Constance says. 

“Right! Always will. This is a better ending, than the last time we dragged a general out of the Spanish prisons.”

“No bloody Rochefort, may he rot in peace,” she says. “Come on; work to do, captain.”

“Even coming half dead he brings me work,” d’Artagnan grumbles, leading the way back inside.

#porthos #fic #mine

[theasstour]

Notes on Love.

the one where you’re harry’s plus one to the met gala 2019.

@always-jackedup and i were both super soft and horny as hell monday and this is the result, enjoy lmao x

WORD COUNT: 14.4k | NB: alcohol, explicit language, sexual content SARAH’S MASTERLIST | NORA’S MASTERLIST

“Was afraid it wouldn’t fit.” You said, looking at yourself in the floor-length mirror before you, Lambert fidgeting with the hem of your trousers.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Thought I might’ve put on a few.” Lambert chuckled at you, rising from his hunched position and taking a step back, studying your styled person. Turning sideways, you studied yourself in the mirror, running a hand over your front and cocking your head a little, undeniably satisfied with the outcome of your Met Gala look. You and Harry had planned this look for months. Well, it was mostly Harry’s doing, as not only was fashion one of his few passions, but he was incredibly good at it as well. Him along with a team of people he trusted, had constructed and designed his perfect Camp look. A look you were also wearing in honour of Harry hosting the Gala itself.

Where Harry’s boots, high-waisted trousers, sheer lace shirt, and pussy-bow were black, yours were white. The Yin to the Yang, Alessandro had called the project, a name everyone had liked and thought fitting. Yin stood for negative, dark, and the feminine; Harry. Yang was positive, bright, and the masculine; you. Camp was all about being daring, about having fun and finding a piece of yourself and the world in fashion. It was loving the unnatural and being unafraid to be exaggeratedly oneself, without fear of judgement or societal standards. You and Harry both wanted to break down the gender norms; wanted to prove femininity and masculinity is rooted in the social (one’s gender) rather than the biological (one’s sex). The reason for Yin and Yang had simply been because that was what you and Harry were; you completed one another fully. Like each held equal amounts of different pieces to a big puzzle and together, you made a great and absolute picture.

Your nails were painted white and turquoise, matching Harry and Alessandro, and fingers jewelled with various sized rings that complimented the outfit perfectly. You turned to face the mirror, now fully seeing how alike you and Harry would look standing next to one another. Cocking your head to the side again, you studied how well your nipples showed through the sheer white shirt, the lace of the pussy bow only barely covering them. You had been nervous about not covering them up, knowing you would be the talk of the town showing up to a red carpet with both your tits on display for everyone to see and enjoy. But the whole team had been so incredibly supportive that you had decided you wanted to regardless. Lambert had suggested pasties when the nerves had been at their worst, telling you there was no shame in not wanting your nipples out there. But if you covered them up, if you ruined the synched outfits of yours and Harry’s, then the whole point of you even dressing alike him would be thrown right out the window. It was this fact – making yourself, Harry, and a lot of other people, proud -, that made you stick to the decision of freeing them.

Besides being anxious about the whole nipple situation, you weren’t a huge fan of crowds either. After four years with Harry you had learned not be terrified of them as they usually followed you in some way or another, but that didn’t mean they didn’t make you uncomfortable at times. Though you weren’t going to pose for the cameras on the red carpet with Harry, seeing as you weren’t a big celebrity, you two would nonetheless make headlines when you walked past everyone to enter the Met with Jeff, Glenne, Harry’s and Alessandro’s team, wearing Harry’s exact outfit only in heavenly white. Trying to ease your mind, you told yourself that it would be over in just a matter of seconds. You’d walk the stairs, enter the Met, and be out of view of the media.

“Marvellous.” Said Lambert, clapping his hands together as he looked at you in the mirror as well, taking in his creation. “Absolutely stunning.”

“Think so?”

“I’d never lie before the Met Gala.”

You laughed, feeling yourself relax a little at Lambert’s joke. He placed both hands on either of your shoulders before saying, “Ready?” And suddenly, months of nervously biting your nails, planning, and waiting, all came down to this. Your heart suddenly picked up speed.

Harry and Alessandro had been friends for some years now and co-hosting the Met Gala under the theme of a sense of style they were both passionate about – Camp: Notes on Fashion -, they had grown closer. And anyone Harry considered a great friend, immediately became a great friend of yours as well. Especially after so long together, it was as if all of your friends were his and the other way around. Sitting on the sofa chatting, they were both waiting for you to appear as you were the only one left. Both knew what you were wearing, though neither had seen you in it until today. Harry’s eyes kept drifting toward the double doors that led into the bedroom, incredibly impatient and yearning for you to be close to him. Especially today, when his nerves were a bit all over the place and he needed to row his boat to the shore of your island, the only presence that he could lean on for steadiness and calming down.

“Cocktails,” moaned Alessandro as he traced his fingers over his silver crown. “If I don’t drown in cocktails tonight then it was not worth it.”

“You mean you want to get drunk?”

“If there’s a time to get drunk it’s tonight, no?” Alessandro raised his eyebrows, crossing one leg over the other and raising his eyebrows at Harry who only smiled a little back. “You don’t?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head slightly before resting his arm on the back of the sofa. “Thought it was a given. As two co-hosts it’s our job and right to get legless.”

Alessandro laughed just as the doors to the bedroom opened. You walked through, earning an exclamation of approval from the Italian as he hit his thigh, grinning at you. Doing a little twirl, you beamed at Alessandro who was laughing before glancing at Harry beside him. There was something about the way Harry studied you that made your cheeks heat up and a shy smile grace your mouth. With his lips slightly parted and eyes frenziedly, wildly, moving over your entire body, taking in every shape, angle, detail, and seam till he felt like he had seen nothing but you in this outfit his entire life. And it was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes upon. A grandiose piece of beauty that made Harry disagree with Mona Lisa being the main attraction in Louvre and the most well-known art in the world. Made him disagree with ever calling anything or anyone beautiful before today. Made him disagree with himself for ever having sought out the world he was living in when for so long, his world had and always would be, you.

His eyes fell to where your nipples showed through the sheer white shirt, the lace of the pussy bow decorating them elegantly, when Harry, personally, thought they looked rather magnificent on their own. They didn’t need any accessories. Didn’t need a Gucci Met Gala look to look good. But that didn’t mean Harry wasn’t enjoying the sight any less. It made him want to take the shirt right off her, draw his thumb over them till they grew hard at his touch, and then he’d kiss them and her till the world melted around them and they became the only two living things that was. He blinked a few times to prevent his stream of consciousness to go any further, letting his mind settle on the reality of what he was seeing. He stood from the sofa, not being able to take his eyes off her as his jaw moved, tongue trying to form words that wouldn’t appear in his brain because it was so full of you. Harry’s inability to talk made Alessandro laugh, Lambert raise his eyebrows, and you blush. He was about to walk toward you when the door into the hotel room opened, loud voices floating into the room and working as a shield between the two lovers who just wanted to be close to one another.

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along! It’s an incredibly complex idea, Camp is.” Ben Winston, who was excitedly chatting to James Corden, both their wives, Jeff and Glenne, was the first to reveal himself as he strolled through the door and into view. Harry’s eyes immediately averted from his girlfriend and to their guests, sighing audibly before he stood back to greet them. You glanced away from Harry as well, hugging the people that had just arrived and replying to the many compliments you received on your outfit. Glenne, whom you had grown incredibly close to over the years of being Harry’s girlfriend, linked her arms with yours as everyone started talking amongst themselves. Alessandro’s team entered the suite, ordering him to come so they could get to leaving. You knew this meant you would also be leaving soon, knew this meant you wouldn’t be safe within the calm confines of your hotel room for much longer. Just as everyone were about to leave, every single person walking toward the door, Harry walked up to you, grabbing your wrist.

Drawing you to him, he placed his lips hard against yours, as if you were two stars colliding and together creating an explosion of emotions, teeth, and smiles. Once you stepped back, you looked into his eyes, leaning a tad bit away from him so he wouldn’t be blurry.

“You look fucking sublime, dove.” Harry whispered, placing a hand at the back of your neck before he dragged you to him for a softer kiss this time around. He guided your lips to open up to him, dragging his tongue along your bottom lip before he let it enter your mouth. “Knocked all sense out of me when you stepped out in that.”

You giggled.

Dove. It was the pet name he had given you when you first started going out so many years ago. There hadn’t been a particular reason behind it, much like there wasn’t a particular reason behind calling anything anything, but to Harry, it had just come naturally to address you as such. He’d whisper it into your hair at night before falling asleep, write it against your palm when there were people around and he was bored, mumble it against your lips while you were making dinner together and he was trying to steal your attention away from the food you were making. The word would forever only be associated with Harry, whom only thought of you when he saw one now and you only thought of him when you heard anyone say it.

He leaned in again, kissing your nose, then your forehead. “You’re going to be amazing out there.”

“Where?”

“Know you don’t fancy walking the carpet with me,-“ she gave him a knowing glare. “I know, baby. I know you don’t fancy walking with me, but if you somehow decided that you’d want to, then you’d look amazing for it. You look brilliant regardless, but know that I’m very proud of you in this outfit,” he smiled, leaning into you till his lips hovered just beside your ear. “And a little turned on.”

“You two coming?!” Jeff shouted into the hotel room, clearly impatient and in the mood to finally leave for the Met Gala.

“Well,” Harry placed his forehead against yours, rubbing a thumb over your cheek before leaning back so he could look at you. “Are we?”

You smiled, feeling an immense appreciation for Harry who always wanted to take things at your tempo. Though he was an expert at pushing you out of your comfort zone – this outfit being one of them – he always made sure you weren’t feeling pressured or weird. He’d rather see the world burn before witnessing you hate what you were doing.

“Coming!”

Walking beside one another, they started making their way out of the hotel room and to the escorting cars waiting outside. You, Harry, Jeff, Glenne, Alessandro, and Alessandro’s assistant all sat in the same van, the latter talking excitedly amongst themselves and filling the drive with easy chatter. You and Harry, though, sat in silence. You slid his rings down his fingers, then back up again, down and up. But as the quiet became louder, you stopped, reaching for his pinkie. Both were nervous, the expectations for the night a little too much, and you just sat close to one another with your mouths shut, your eyes fixated on whatever was going on outside your window, and your pinkies locked. It was something the two of you had made a habit of doing when either of you were nervous, linking your pinkies. At first it had been something you’d done for fun, but after four years of Harry in the limelight, you going to dentist appointments, Harry receiving news about auditions, and you about job interviews, it had just become something you did to ease each other’s nerves. It was a small gesture saying “I’m here”, a small gesture wishing for the best, for luck.

Harry squeezed your pinkie, and when you leaned into him, you could feel him breathing a little quicker, heart beating a little harder. Gently, you squeezed his finger back. The thumb that was resting on his thigh, you rubbed back and forth to tell him that this was all okay, he would be okay. Whenever he was going to an event like this, his nerves got the better of him, and you always reminded him he’d be fine. It wouldn’t last too long, he’d be fine. Him not going to many red carpets anymore only meant those that he did go to, would mean more, or that was what Harry told himself anyway. Whenever his thoughts wandered in that direction, you’d link your pinkie with his and lay your hand flat against his thigh, just like you were doing now. In a wave, you would put a little pressure on each finger continuously, making Harry feel something other than the anxiety inside him and rather the squeeze of your hand against him. Reminding him that no matter what happened, he’d come back to you afterwards, and that meant it would all be worth it.

Sighing heavily, Harry felt his anxiety ebb as you laid your chin on his shoulder. He leaned against you, his temple against your forehead, and sighed again. It wasn’t that he was dreading the red carpet or meeting people, he was just scared of disappointing people. Scared of making his fans, team and the Met Gala regret ever having given him the opportunity. But as he felt your breath tickle the hairs of his neck, Harry realised once again that it would all be okay. As long as you were there waiting for him, always there by his side, then this would be okay. He wouldn’t ever disappoint you, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

“When we get back to the hotel later, you’ll have to give me a foot massage.”

Harry huffed, squeezing your pinkie a little. “Pardon?”

“My feet will be aching from walking around in heels for hours on end. We don’t even know how long we’re going to be staying at the Gucci after party, do we?” You sighed into him. “Just wanted to warn you. My feet will smell.”

“All the better, only means I’ll probably die from the odour before I even touch your feet.”

Harry laughed as you laid some extra pressure on his thigh, giggling at his crinkling eyes and wide-open mouth. You gave his cheek a peck, lingering there for a few seconds till you felt him press harder against you, liking the feel of your kiss. Pulling away, you rubbed your nose against him, letting him know once again that you were still here, you weren’t going anywhere. Harry had been all over the world performing, had gotten countless compliments on his music, sense of style, and everything else there was to praise, but nothing would ever feel better than your unwavering support. Especially when it was expressed by another kiss to his cheek, right above his mole. He felt himself smile, liquifying at the sensation of feeling your affection toward him both physically and emotionally at the same time. You two stayed silent until the van stopped, and the door opened. Exchanging a look, you gave Harry a little nod, indicating that you’d be right behind him. He nodded back, letting you know he wouldn’t leave you alone till he absolutely had to. And then, your eyes drifted away from one another, and you stepped outside along with the rest.

It was an immediate and visceral reaction the second you stepped out of the car and onto the New York City sidewalk, slinking into Harry’s side and tightening the grip you had on his hand. The contrasting warm sun and light breeze beating down reminded you of all the picturesque days yourself and Harry had spent strolling through the park, bundled up with thin sweaters and warm drinks. But the ear-piercing cheers that came as soon as your black town car’s doors had opened quickly made you forget all about your leisurely days, for this day was exactly the opposite. This day was filled with glitz, glamour, and theatricality.

Everything logistical about the event had been discussed all morning; from how Harry and Alessandro would be walking the carpet first, the rest of the team lingering behind, to reiterating Met carpet etiquette, and even the precautionary emergency evacuation plan. But no one warned you just how boisterous this crowd was going to be. Excited screams of fans waiting on the opposite side of the street, to get that perfect shot of each attendee, blocked out any other noise the bustling city had to offer. Your hopes of escaping the noise quickly fleeted as you joined the team in making your way into the car line tent, watching as Serena Williams seemed to float up the carpet, only to hear the loud demands of the press take the spot of screaming fans.

Being with Harry had trained you for all of this, but that didn’t mean you ever got used to the sheer extravagance of it all. Being at an event of this magnitude was a feat in it of itself, seeing as it took some celebrities years to even be considered for an invite, yet here you were, about to waltz up the iconic stairs like it was nothing. And it put the ball of nerves that lived in you for months, back in the pit of your stomach.

“You alright, dove?” Harry’s low voice asked in your ear, turning your attention away from the impending publicity.

“Hmm? Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Because you’ve taken all the rings off my hand and put them back on again eight times since getting in the car.” He smirked, voice holding no malice, just pointing out that he had taken note of your nervous habit and simply accepting it.

After being together for so many years, there was nothing about one another that wasn’t fully accepted. Whether it be nervous habits, taking a wee with the door open, believing in crazy conspiracy theories, or even fashion choices, the two of you backed up each other’s decisions 100%. Which is what led you to be standing on the Met Gala carpet, nipples fully on display.

“’M a little anxious, I guess. Not every day I flash the world my nipples.” In your heart of hearts, you knew it wasn’t a huge deal. Women did it all the time on the runway and if men were allowed, why shouldn’t you be? So, you played your comment off as a joke, trying to calm yourself down. But Harry saw right through it, as always, and shot back with one of his witty one liners.

“No, it’s not. But about time the world sees what I get to enjoy every night, no?”

Your left arm reached across your body and your hand made quick contact with where the firmness of his sternum would be, but the black pussy bow - identical to your own - hanging from around his neck cushioned the blow. Before you could remove your hand from his chest, he swiftly caught it and brought it up to his lips, peppering delicate kisses to the skin peeking out from under the white lace cuffs.

“You don’t have to walk, you know that.” Harry mumbled against your hand, leaving another kiss to it.

“I know. Get nervous just thinking about it.” You confessed, feeling your palms go sweaty. “But this is momentous. You’ve waited for this for months… years.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to walk with me. You should be comfortable.”

“I know, I know.” You looked away from him and out at the carpet. “Feel a little sick.”

“Dove,” Harry’s voice was soft, like leaving a feather-like kiss against your nose. You looked back at him. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Would you rather head inside with Lambert and just meet us in there? Skip the carpet? I won’t be upset.” He asked, not breaking your eye contact.

“No, no! This is huge for you! Of course I want to be out here with you.” There was nothing that would make you so uncomfortable or unhappy that you would miss one of the most important days in your other half’s life. This is something you would be talking, and praising him, about for years to come. This might not be your ideal Monday, might not be something your anxiety wanted you to do, but you would do it for Harry. And also, to prove to yourself that you could.

“If you’re sure.” He whispered, giving your hand one last kiss as you nodded before turning back to face the mouth of the tent.

“Harry and Alessandro if you’re all set, we’re ready for you.” A young blonde, dressed in all black, a earpiece hanging around her neck and a clipboard in hand, walked up to your group.

Harry stepped forward, your hands falling from the other’s grasp as he got ready to make his debut. He turned to fully face you, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you in for a quick peck while you both were still in the privacy of the car line tent. Your hands pinched his waist, not wanting to be overly affectionate, but still yearning to feel him under your hands before he disappeared for an unknown amount of time.

“Good luck, dove. I love you.”

You hushed against his lips, milking every last second with him.

He sent you a wink as he stepped away from you to stand with Alessandro, looking towards Jeff. “No press, right?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of Laverne Cox as she mesmerized the media while she gracefully made her way up the pink steps.

“No press.” Jeff confirmed to a nodding Harry, “Just the mandatory Vogue interview before you go inside. Top of the stairs.”

No number of formal events or years spent with your boyfriend could ever do justice to watching the switch that turned on in Harry the moment he stepped foot in front of the cameras on a red carpet. It was identical to the one that went off whenever he was on stage and it never failed to keep your eyes locked on his frame. The way he confidently, elegantly, and with a hint of cockiness, sauntered around the pink carpet, seeming to be doing an unrehearsed dance with Alessandro and subtly posing, was enough to have the media in a frenzy.

A look of complete wonder must have been etched onto your face, because Glenne’s arm wound around yours, pulling you into her side, while Jeff was speaking with a few Met employees. “He’s such a pro at this.”

Meeting Harry four years ago and watching as he struggled with his solo identity just as One Direction was going on hiatus was one of the hardest things you ever had to do. He so desperately wanted to be seen for his own achievements, his own personality, his own choices, but time after time, everyone portrayed him as something he wasn’t or didn’t want to be. But now, watching as he showed the world the confident man you got to see every day in the privacy was a feeling like no other. Here was a man who had once cared so much about what others thought of him and tried to appease everyone, now finally putting himself first and making sure his own heart was happy. The beauty of it made it impossible to keep your small tears at bay.

“Yeah.” The faint agreement left your parted lips before you could even really register what Glenne had said, the sight of Harry going into carpet mode was enough to turn your mind to mush.

The sudden sound of Harry’s name being repeatedly called from all directions reminded you that of a movie, when the sound suddenly turns from muffled background noise to front and center. Like you were coming up for air after being underwater and it made you refocus on the event taking place around you. Harry and Alessandro were stationed at the bottom of the iconic stair, next to one another, and doing as little as possible in the way of posing for the media, yet putting even the most sought-after models to shame. Seeing as you’d known Alessandro for quite a few years at this point, you had the chance to see him garbed in some of the most eccentric patterns and fabrics. But observing him as he mesmerized the media, long hair cascading down his back and the stunning pink Lamé fabric, that you were very familiar with at this point, seemed to glow in the rare streams of sunlight that peaked through the side of the tent, reminded you that he was no ordinary being. That sure, he could be the guy who invited you over to enjoy a bottle of wine while Harry was away, or the guy who gave you Italian lessons while you were both clad in pajamas in the comfort of your living room, but to the world, he was someone extraordinary. That he and Harry were cut from the same cloth, which was one that demanded attention and radiated enchantment. And you were lucky enough to see both sides to both men.

One of the greatest things about attending events like this, was that neither you nor Harry ever had to worry about getting documentation, seeing as there were always hundreds of videos and photos being taken at any given moment. And although you were appreciative to have those professional shots, it was even more important to the both of you to have your own special, personal photos. So, you hastily pulled your phone from the white Gucci clutch tucked under your arm, so that those precious moments you knew you’d want to look back on, from your own perspective, could be snapped. It was a well-known rule that Mrs. Anna Wintour specifically stated there would be no photography inside the event, but you knew from the second Harry had informed you that this would all be happening, that you would be breaking that rule in no time. There was no way anyone could expect you not to document a career altering evening.

Just as you were slipping the device back into your back, Jeff landed a swift elbow to your own arm, causing you to look up in agitation. He offered no reply, just a simply head nod toward the carpet, where Alessandro and Harry had separated in seconds, each standing with their backs to the other and letting onlookers take them in individually. But it wasn’t because they were separated that Jeff had given you the small nudge, it was because Harry, without giving it much thought, had moved so that he was looking directly at you, arm outstretched, palm up, and waiting to bask in the warmth that yours provided.

He knew it was a risky move, considering you only just adjusted to the idea of walking the carpet with him hours prior, but one he desperately wanted to work. The idea dance in his mind all week leading up to the Gala; seeing photos of you by his side all over the internet and watching as not only the fans, but media outlets and the entire industry buzzed over how out of this world the two of you as a pair is. He was a bit biased, he would admit, but Harry was confident in saying you were the most breathtaking creature to ever stand before him. The subtle contrast of the pink carpet against your all white outfit, small black pearl earring hanging from your ear, and seeing your bare chest daintily covered in sheer lace, made his knees weak. But what really did him in, sealed the deal that his heart would never beat for anyone else, was that despite the look of bewilderment on your face at his waiting hand, your eyes held nothing but love, pride, and excitement.

“I love you.”

It was a common occurrence, catching the other’s eye from across a room and mouthing the phrase you’d never grow old of, but this time, it didn’t make your heart flutter. It did the exact opposite. It made the warmth crawling up your ears and nervousness that everyone would be staring at you, completely disappear. It was like Harry mouthing those three words to you had formed a bubble around you, and there were no longer prying eyes or flashing lights. Just you and the man you loved, dressed to the nines and taking on the world. So, it was a no brainer when you stepped forward, not taking your eyes off of the love of your life as you placed your phone and clutch into Glenne’s awaiting hands.

Harry’s face lit up enough to rival the uproar of flashes that ensued as soon as he watched you walk out of the confines of the sidelines. His smile widened at how at home you looked as you reached him, lifting your own hand to slide onto his. Just as his expected, a feeling of warmth showered over him at your touch and finally being able to pull you close again.

“Sorry for my clammy hands.” You muttered as soon as you were in ear shot, not wanting to yell such an unpleasant description in front of so many important people. He tugged your hand gently, pulling you closer so that you could situate yourselves next to each other. His hand found his way around your waist as yours did the same, sliding together like a perfectly made puzzle.

“’S a good thing I like seafood, no?” The joke slipped from his mouth so effortlessly, and you knew it was to help clear your mind of what was going on around you, and you adored that of him. It did just the job because you couldn’t help the loud laugh that escaped you, head thrown back in what you could only assume was an extremely unflattering angle.

But Harry couldn’t take his eyes off of you, fondly looking at how your neck curved and stretched the beautiful skin he loved to mark, causing his fingers twitch in memory from when they were wrapped around your throat the previous night. If he wasn’t careful, the whole world would see exactly what you did to him, and that was one thing he intended on keeping very private, so he regrettably forced his eyes away from your figure, looking back towards the still flashing cameras.

The adrenaline of stepping out on one of the most iconic carpets of all time was slowly beginning to fade away as more and more reporters yelled the both of your names, wanting you to turn every which way to get the best look at you and your outfits. You shouldn’t have been surprised when all of a sudden it seemed as if the entirety of the world was looking at you, yelling comments about how brave you were for showing your nipples, why you had made that decision, if Harry had pressured you, and the occasional compliment. But you were, and you just wanted to climb back under the security your hotel room duvet had brought you just hours prior.

Without having to say a word, Harry’s hand gradually slid down your back, dragging yours with it so that eventually you were just two people standing extremely close, no longer slotted together like puzzle pieces. And you took it as an indication that he was ready for you to walk back towards his team, waiting to move on up the Met steps with Alessandro, but the chunky lion ring, adorning Harry’s right pinky that made its way around yours, was enough to tell you otherwise. It was all you needed to bring your mind back down to Earth, to behind that perfect bubble, holding just the two of you. To anyone looking at you head on, nothing would seem out of the ordinary, but you knew you’d be waking up tomorrow to see the photos photographers behind you had taken, and you had to admit, you were extremely excited. The thought of seeing the vision Alessandro had described so many months ago come to life in the most perfect way; you and Harry sandwiched together, connected with the smallest touch of your pinkies intertwined, to create the perfect balance of dark and light.

Just as you were getting comfortable with the position you and Harry had found yourselves in, he used all his mite to pull you closer to him by your joined pinkies, forcing you to lean deeper into his side, one hand wrapping around his waist yet again and the other coming up to rest over the black pussy bow to stop you from wobbling. But unlike before, he wasn’t looking straight ahead, not offering any sort of acknowledgement to the press. His head was turned just enough that you were at the perfect height for him to place a lingering kiss to your temple. Without having to see him, you knew exactly what he looked like in that moment, it was one that you had not only seen a million times, but also felt. Eyes closed and face free of any worry lines as the feeling of home washed over you.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispered into your ear, and you smiled, giving his chest a few pats as you moved away so you could face him. You both this was your time to rejoin his team, having had your time in the spotlight and ready to hide in the shadows. Although, now that they had gotten a glimpse of how angelic you looked, Harry doubted anyone would be looking away from her as she moved up the steps behind him.

“Love you too, bub.” If you simply being on the carpet next to Harry wasn’t enough to get the pair of you splattered across media outlets, then the quick peck and soothing rubbing motion along his lace covered back you provided definitely would.

And as you made your way back to Jeff and Glenne, it was as if the last few minutes had never happened. Alessandro and Harry had joined forced yet again and had finally begun making their way up the stairs, enjoying every moment of being the center of attention.

Harry had told you a little under a year ago that Anna Wintour had approached him about being a co-chair of the Met Gala. He had come home from a day full of meetings, his growing hair pushed out of his face by a pair of sunglasses, black trousers and a loose-fitting white top covered his body as he had entered the kitchen. He told you as if it was the most common thing in the world, leaning against the counter with an iced coffee in hand and mindlessly scrolling through his phone. A nonchalant, “’M gonna be a co-chair of the Met Gala next year.” made you stop typing on your computer and immediately turn to face him. It was once he heard the heaviness behind his words that he looked up to meet your gaze, finally breaking into loud laughter.

You had watched from the sidelines as he made mood boards for his outfits, figuring out what fabrics and patterns most intrigued him, heard all the plans for what changes were going to be made in the decorations for the night, and what kind of entertainment would be occurring as the night went on. But never in your wildest dreams did you think seeing it all come together would take your breath away. Long gone was the typical red carpet, in its place was a soft baby pink, reminding you of the color scheme to Harry’s first album, which was littered with lighter pink embroidered feathers. The press was crowded behind the well-known plant covered railings, except they had a bit of nostalgia for you and Harry. Pink roses, which were the same flowers Harry had given you on your first date, peaked out every which way, cascading the entirety of the bush and bringing the event even more to life, making his all black outfit look impeccable.

Harry was a lot of things, a confident Rockstar, incredible actor, breathtaking model,  tv show personality, and now you could conclusively add event planner to that list.

It was rare for Alessandro’s voice to ever break a tender octave. He always seemed to be having a good time and loving every second of life. So when your name fell from his lips with a loud shout, you were a bit muddled. What had you done that caused this sweet-tempered man to yell at you in front of so many people? Had you done something to Harry’s outfit on accident during your photos together? Spilled something on your own white ensemble? But your fears were quickly eradicated when you saw the large smiles on both doting men. Again, an arm was held out for you, indicating the want of your presence on the carpet, but this time, it wasn’t Harry’s arm. It was Alessandro’s.

The large puffs of fabric that was gathered around his wrist blew slightly in the small wind that made its way inside the tent, shining each time it hit the light at just right angle, and he yelled your name one more time, smiling like this was his first time seeing you after years apart. “Come dear, need to show off this masterpiece of a project properly!”

At your hesitation, Harry put a hand on the creative director’s back as he walked back down the steps to get you. If there was one thing about the night Harry didn’t want, it was you harboring any negative feelings. Whether it be about you feeling uncomfortable on the carpet, being around so many people you were unfamiliar with, or even the food being served, he wanted everything to be perfect for you. Because in his world, you were the only one he ever needed to please, in all sense of the term. You came first, and it would always be that way for Harry.

“M’lady.” He chuckled, bowing a bit at the waist, his waiting for yours yet again.

Making your way up the Met Gala staircase wasn’t something you ever thought you would get to do, yet alone enjoy. But here you were, standing in front of hundreds of people yet again, and having the time of your life. It made you feel like a modern-day princess. There was something about being on the pink carpet, dressed head to toe in some of the most beautiful fabrics you had ever seen, with two men who meant the world to you, that made you feel like you were cut out to do this every day. And all of a sudden, you understand what Harry meant whenever he said he got an adrenaline rush from press events.

“Mia luce.” Alessandro spoke the name he had given you the moment you agreed to wear the white outfit, pulling you in for a hug, “Look at you, how beautiful. Thank you.” He muttered, audibly getting choked up with how perfectly his project had come together.

It was yet another photo you knew the world would be talking about for quite some time; Alessandro, stood in the center of his yin and yang, marveling in the walking art piece he had created. A drop of pink between his yin and yang. Both you and Harry stood proud at his side, chests on full display and feeling like you were ready to take on the world. And you were, as long as he was always the yin to your yang.

Everything began happening a bit quicker after your photos as a group were finished, the Met team explaining that both co-chairs were needed to begin greeting the guests. It only took a few small steps to reach the top of the stairs, avoiding all the shouts of press asking for interviews despite Harry’s statement that he would be doing none. Harry and Alessandro walking together in front of you, but Harry’s hand still connected to yours, never letting go of your pinky as you walked behind him with the Azoff’s. That is until he reached the one and only interview that was mandatory of almost all attendees; Vogue. You had watched these videos in the comfort of your own bed, face covered in a sheet mask and a baggy jumper barely covering your bum. But now, you got to watch from the other side of the camera, seeing what you missed out on during all those YouTube videos.

Liza Koshy, a YouTube based superstar, was based on a pedestal – what with her being so short – and was dressed in an avant-garde pink and silver dress, looking as pretty as always. Harry was never a huge interview guy, preferring to let his actions do the talking, but he waltzed up the set of two stairs so that he could stand next to Liza with a smile so wide it was like it was his favorite thing in the world to do. Before she could get a word in, Harry sent you a wink and you stood to the side with Alessandro. You had made a move to go back to the sidelines with the rest of the teams, but the designer would not let your arm going, insisting that both his works of art needed to be at least present in the video.

“Welcome to your first Met. And you’re a co-chair!” Liza exclaimed, the pride in your chest swelled to an exorbitant level. You boyfriend, the love of your life, was out here making history with it being his first Met Gala and the youngest co-chair.

“I’m very proud of you, mia luce, for walking when you did not want to.” The two of you were standing off to the side while Harry defined his idea of camp.

“I couldn’t let the boys have all the fun. Besides, when else am I going to get away with showing the world my tits without any consequence?” you both laughed and he wrapped his arm around you, effectively giving you one of the tightest side hugs you had ever experienced. He was a beautiful man, one you would forever be grateful for consistently getting you out of your comfort zone and letting you try new things on his behalf. “Grazie per avermi permesso di essere la tua luce.” Thank you for letting me be your light.

“Nessuno brillerebbe come luminoso.” No one would shine as bright. Alessandro responded immediately, not paying attention to your conversation, which only caused your smile to grow. But his head snapped up so fast you were worried he may fall backwards, as it finally sunk in how the two of your were communicating. His eyes were wide and a grin was spread under his thick facial hair. “You have been learning!”

You never got the chance to respond, seeing as Liza asked who Harry’s style inspiration was and he proceeded to point at you and Alessandro. “These two.»

Of course, it was no secret that Harry had a very unique sense of style. It was one that had blossomed during his time in One Direction, but never had the time or ability to flourish under those condition. So, when he was solo and able to do as he wished, he held nothing back. But the two of you were his biggest inspiration. Maybe not in the typical sense of the word, but because neither were afraid to do what made them happy, even if that meant wearing leggings for a week straight or matching odd colors together. It made him want to be authentically himself, and never feel the need to apologize for anything he ever did, said, or wore. And that was because of the two people sharing a laugh to his right.

Both Liza turned to face you, calling your names so that you would join the pair in front of the camera. It was unknown to him that she would invite you both to join them, and if he had known, he wouldn’t have said your name because he knew you weren’t tagging along for these things. You were there to enjoy the night he was creating and make memories. But when he looked at you, there was no hesitation or hint of discomfort. Only love and excitement.

Liza greeted you, but not saying much as this night wasn’t about you, which you were beyond pleased with. But Alessandro had a kind greeting waiting for her. “It’s a pleasure, as always. And I’m coming with two friends, y’know? It’s always beautiful to go out to a party with friends.”

“You are so known for takin Gucci and making it into such whimsical and fantastical fashion. How would you define Camp tonight?” she asked and all eyes turned to Alessandro, knowing his response was going to be eloquent.

“Freedom.” You knew this was about your conversation the night before, one you had in the confines of your room as harry was having his last fitting. Alessandro had reminded you that no matter what anyone ever says about what you wear, the way you felt about an outfit came right down to your comfortableness. That you were free to do and wear whatever you please, as long as you felt confident. Including letting your nipples be seen by the world. And you gave his back a small squeeze at the thought. “Personality. And a little touch of craziness. A young couple must be a little bit crazy. I’m not anymore young, but I feel it.”

To the camera, it may have looked like you and Harry were watching fondly as Alessandro spoke, but instead, you were looking at each other, knowing he was speaking of you. That he wanted to do this project because of how much he loved you and Harry, and how badly he wanted you to show the world how perfect for one another you truly are. Simultaneously,  you both sent the other a wink, causing you both to break out in grins, trying desperately to make them not so noticeable for the camera.

“Oh, we got nails tonight?” She gaped, seeing how all of your nail varnish matched one another.

“We always have nails, a lot of the time, yeah. M’girlfriend does them for me sometimes.” He replied as they were ushered off to begin greeting incoming guests.

This was the time of the night that you were buzzing for. All the formalities long forgotten, as the need to keep a posh outer shell faded the second you got away from any prying eyes or photographers. Now was the time you got to let out the breath you had been holding and let loose, enjoying the night you boyfriend had worked so hard to perfect. But not without pulling a small surprise out of your hat.

“Hey.” Finding Harry’s hand in the group of people, you gave it small tug so that he would turn to face you before meeting up with Anna, Gaga and Serena.

“You alright?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m just going to head in and find Lam. Just wanted to say you did amazing out there. Looked beautiful too.” The blush that raised to the apples of his cheeks anytime you called him beautiful made your heartache in need to kiss him. But you wouldn’t do that here, not yet anyways.

“Thank you for doing it with me. Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun without you there.” His forehead rested against yours, subtly rubbing his nose against yours as the world kept moving around you. “He should be right inside, probably at the table, can’t miss him and the Britney shirt.”

You stood in place for a moment, just watching him join the rest of his team, standing with their backs facing a beautiful rose wall with pink feathers standing straight up from the top. It made your heart stop, how breathtaking he was. So, before you made your way up the final staircase, you called his name, holding out a rose that had fallen from the wall and onto the ground. You knew it was a dangerous game to play, whipping out your phone and snapping a photo right in front of Anna, but you couldn’t help it, this moment needed to be captured. Harry turned around, hands on his thighs and a small smile just beginning to form on his face when he saw what you were offering him. But before he could make any movement, you took the photo, throwing your phone back in your clutch without bothering to make sure it came out well.

“Love you.” You winked, turning to jog, as best you could in the large white boots, up the staircase that made you imagine you were in Ocean’s 8. If you thought the outside of the venue was well decorated, than this was beyond anything you could describe. The tables were covered in table clothes, the same light pink shade as the carpet outside, with matching glassware and feathery centerpieces. Each place setting had white China painted with pink and green flowers, bamboo silverware to match the chairs, and fringed white napkins with the cutest embroidered flamingos on the ends. Fairy lights hung from the ceiling in a draping fashion, making the room look much taller than it really was, and a stone stage was built on the far end of the room. You gave yourself a mental reminder that you would leave Harry in charge of decorating your home more often if this was going to be the outcome.

Harry wasn’t far off because Lambert wasn’t at your designated table, instead, he was throwing back a tequila shot at the bar to your table’s left. But as soon as he saw you waltzing through the room, his head perked up. “About time! Thought I was going to have to put this on myself.”

“Go for it. It is Camp after all.” You laughed, joining him in taking the shot he handed to you.

“Maybe so, but I’m quite looking forward to seeing his reaction when he comes back in. Don’t think my legs would get that out of him. Now let’s go, before we get too drunk and can’t remember how to unzip you.”

Getting lost on the way to finding the nearest bathroom had you and Harry Lambert in a fit of giggles each time you turned a corner only to find a new group of celebrities mingling about. The two of you got on from the start because you had the same sense of humor and understanding that this wasn’t your scene but loved attending these kinds of function. The two of you would sit around and chat about people’s fashion choices or what you would have for a late supper once you got home. Lambert was truly one of the greatest friends you’d made through your boyfriend, and you reminded him quite often how fond of him you were.

Once you finally found a bathroom, making sure it wasn’t occupied by those who enjoyed taking unwanted photos in the restroom of the event, you swooped in and locked the door. Lambert stood behind you, unzipping the garment bag and revealing what would be your second outfit of the night. The familiar dress still shined under the bathroom light, making your excitement levels raise at what it would look like in the dimly lit room of both the Met party and Gucci after party you would be attending.

“Alright, let’s figure this out, yeah?” It wasn’t that your current outfit was complicated, it was just that there was so much delicate lace that had the potential to be ripped with the smallest of wrong movements, that no one really had a best way to get it off of you. The high-waisted pants fell to the ground as Lambert yelled a “Yes!” and soon the sheer white top was carefully being removed as well. Your hands went up to cover your now fully exposed chest and the man stood in the bathroom with you laughed, placing all the white material in the garment bag and taking out the teal dress.

“What? Why’re you laughing at me?”

“You just showed your tits to the entire world, no problem. But locked in a bathroom with a man your friends with and no shirt on is where you draw the line?” he shook his head in the mirror, lifting his finger and giving it a twirl, indicating that he wanted you to do the same.

“You’ve seen my boobs so many times at this point, I don’t care! It’s just cold in here!” you playfully yelled back, holding onto his shoulders as you stepped into the short dress, white ankle high boots still on your feet.

He moved around you, fixing any imperfections in the outfit that he could find and giving it a final once after zipping up the back before turning you so you could look at yourself in the mirror.

“Good?”

The first outfit you had on was breathtaking, in an angelic sort of way. It made you feel like you could do anything, impower anyone as you pranced around in the all-white suit of sorts, boobs on display and not a care in the world. This second outfit, however, made you feel like you truly belonged here. It had an aura of high fashion to it that you had never felt about yourself, and it forced you to take a large intake of breath.

“Amazing.”

By the time you had walked back into the main room, it was practically buzzing with activity. Celebs had entered at a rate you weren’t prepared for and the dining area was filled to the brim with them. Lambert had given the garment bag to his assistant, who had run it out to the car, and now you both were standing in one of the side entry ways, just watching as everyone moved so elegantly around the room. There were certain things about Harry’s, and now your, life you would never understand, and this was one of them. How everyone seemed to know everyone, simply because they all shared the bond that is stardom.

One of the spotlights shown directly on you at the same time as your heard Harry’s voices sound through the crowd. You didn’t see him immediately, because of the light in your eyes, but once you did, you felt like a million bucks. He too hard changed, the black lace top disappeared, and where it once laid was now a white dress shirt and large red bow, making him look similar to the hottest penguin you had ever seen. His green eyes had widened into saucers, not being to focus on one singular aspect of you as they continued to run up and down your figure, taking in your outfit change. It was almost identical to Alessandro’s top, just in teal instead of pink; exaggerated puffy sleeves, pussy bows layered along the left side, and a sharp angled cut at the bottom of the skirt. It elongated your legs and was enough to make any of the models in the even jealous. When you walked out of the bathroom back in your hotel room earlier, and he first got a glimpse of your outfit, he knew he was done for. Harry was weak for you, no matter what you did. And seeing you in not one, but two outfits he knew made you slightly uncomfortable, made his heart race and pants tighten in the thought that it was all for him.

“Wha- When? –“

“You look marvelous, dear!” Alessandro yelled, cutting of Harry’s stuttering and grabbing the attention of few onlookers such as Lizzo and Zendaya.

“I didn’t know you were changing, dove. You look – fuck.” Harry was at a loss for words. Every morning when he woke up and got to see your face lying next to him, he questioned where the universe had fucked up, because there was no way someone so remarkable would have naturally come into his life. You constantly made him feel things that he had convinced himself were made up, only felt in fairytale movies, because he had never experienced them before. Until you walked into his life. You truly were the embodiment of your “yang” ensemble earlier; light, positivity, strength, and peace. For being with you would always be Harry’s version of Heaven on earth.

“Yeah? You like it?” you asked as you walked up to him, placing your hands on his chest under the points of the bowtie. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, Mr.”

“We clean up nice, huh? Although, I am a bit sad your lace is gone. Liked looking at what’s mine all day.” It was a soft whisper, so soft you almost missed it under the loud music and chatter. But the ache between your legs indicated that you clearly hadn’t missed anything. There was nothing you could do about how our body responded to him on the daily, especially when even the smallest and most mundane things got your riled up. But how could. You be expected not to, when your boyfriend was the Harry Styles?

“Harry!” Someone yelled from across the room and he backed away from you immediately, knowing if you stayed that close for too much longer, you’d have to sneak off to an empty bathroom.

“Go, do your duties and be a Camp counselor.” You laughed at your own joke only for it to be replied with a roll of Harry’s eyes. “I’ll be at the table with everyone else. Come find me when you’re done.”

And for the next hour, you watched as Harry stood with Alessandro and Anna, talking to editors, photographers, and more from all sorts of important magazines and media outlets. It was like he was at a high school reunion, seeing everyone he used to know from his One Direction days, and it was amazing to see. But you could only sit and stare for so long, so you had made your way to the bar with Glenne and Lambert, giving Ben, James Corden, and their respective wives when you saw them downing some of their own drinks. Mingling with Harry’s friends had always been easy for you, seeing as you knew them for who they were as humans, not what the press and social media portrayed them as. It was like being with family and getting drunk with family always leads to the best times.

It must have only been minutes later that a pair of arms slinked around your waist, the familiar smell of Tom Ford that always lingered in your bathroom after Harry left every morning, filling your nose. His head rested on your shoulder, tightening his arms and swaying you both a bit, as he left the school reunion and joined the family one.

“Hi baby.” In your time apart, he must have consumed quite a number of drinks, because his voice was lower than usual, slurring a bit the end of each word. But you had also let loose, slurring equally as much.

“Love!” you wiggled in his arms so that he would let you have enough space to turn around, throwing your arms around his shoulders and smacking a kiss onto his lips, leaving a dab of light pink lipstick on his luscious lips.

“You both are disgustingly adorable.” A new voice made its way into your group of friends, one that you recognized but couldn’t place until you turned around to see her. Miss Ross stood next to James, her arms wide and waiting for you to hug.

“Tracee!” fleeing from Harry’s arms, you jumped into hers, missing the way she kissed the top of your head when embracing her. The two of you had met almost two years ago, when Harry had been on a red carpet and she introduced herself, and since then, she had joined you at many of his shows, you texted every now and again, and she was one of the women you looked up to forever. So, it was no wonder Harry had placed her directly behind you when it came to planning the seating arrangement.

“How are you, sweetheart? It’s been a bit.” She laughed, moving to say hello to Harry and order her own drink. “You both looked absolutely insane out there. Matching outfits? Gucci? You kids are going to kill me.” She laughed.

“Just trying to keep you young.” You shrugged, licking the salt Harry offered on his hand before taking yet another tequila shot, feeling all the alcohol you were consuming go straight to your head. You grabbed onto Harry’s shoulder, watching as he took his own shot – with much more ease – and swayed together carefully.

It was after that fourth shot of tequila and two cocktails that you began to forget the night. More so, when everyone started to forget the night. It was a constant cycle of celebrity after celebrity getting drinks at the bar, dancing on the at the tables to performers and music over the speakers, and then getting more drinks. But you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Everyone was letting loose and enjoying a night that was meant to be beyond special. You remembered Harry drunkenly calling Cher a bitch - in the nicest way possible - and breaking into a fit of laughter with Tracee after that. You remembered Harry making a statement and acknowledging all the non binary attendees and you screaming loudly in appreciation. You remembered the way Harry would sneak up behind you, whispering everything he wanted to do to you once you were in the privacy of your hotel room. How beautiful you looked and that he was the luckiest man to ever walk the Earth to have a girl like you by his side every day.

And somehow, the next thing you remembered, you were standing in the gymnasium of a New York school, wildly waving your arms around as Mark Ronson taught Harry the basics to DJing. Flashes of taking shots, and dancing with hundreds of people, and roughly making out like horny teenagers in the corner of the gym filled your mind. Concentrating on one single moment wasn’t possible, as they were all mushing together, leaving you without a care in the world and the feeling of complete happiness in your bones.

“Alexa, I swear to God if you fall on my head, I won’t talk to you for a week.” you yelled as you tried to help her down from the basketball hoop. She had somehow managed to climb ontop the hoop, posing for a photo in her drunken stupor. Harry had come over to help get her down, but you saw it as the perfect photo opportunity and snapped a few shots - just as Alexa was slipping down into the net - before coming to help her down.

“Oooh, a week, I’m so scared.” she taunted, wrapping her legs around your waist as she finally slid from inside the net fully. “We all know you’’ be texting me tomorrow morning.”

“You bitch.”

“You love me.”

The playful arguing was abruptly cut off as Harry moved to stand between the two of you, crouching down a bit so that he could pick you up at your knees, earning a slap to his bum and a scream from you.

“Time for us to go.” he stated, tapping your bum back and turning so the two of you could bid adieu to your friends, most of whom were too drunk to even realize what was happening.

The chilly New York air hit your faces like a sharp slap as soon as you left the school, drunkenly stumbling into the black van that was waiting outside to take you back to the hotel. Like every party you had gone to as a teenager, and every movie depicted, the cold air had begun to sober you up almost immediately. But the horny teenagers still lived inside you both, just waiting for the right moment to be set free. And as much as you liked to pretend you were in the shower, you were not Beyoncé, and there would be no telling the driver to roll up a partition. Instead, you settled on cuddling up to one another in the far corner of the car, legs intertwined, hands gripping each other in your lap, and your head resting on his shoulder. The silence was peaceful, a stark contrast to the thumping music and voices all night.

“’M so proud of you.” You could feel the hum under your head, vibrating through his body and into yours. “I’m serious H, this was something you’ve been dreaming about forever and you made it your bitch.”

“Stop.”

“Looked so stunning standing there in your sheer top, nails painted and heeled boots. Made me tingly just looking at you.”

“Yeah?” he asked, shifting a bit so he could look down at you, practically in his lap.

Untangling his hands, you brought one right to the edge of your dress, letting his fingers slip just below the hemline, that had ridden up quite a bit, and rest on the dampness between your legs. “Baby, look what you’ve done to me.”

“Okay, alright, mood’s gone now. Quoting my own mate’s lyrics at me while my hands are down your pants. I see how it is.” he laughed, giving a small smack to the inside of your thigh and shaking his head.

“I know you’re loving this. The narcissism in you is just itchy at all this praise. Just take the compliment and shut up, would ya. I’m tired.” it had been one of the longest days of your life, with preparations beginning as early as 6am, so you believed you were fully allowed to be a whiney, tired mess.

“I love you very much, my dove. Thank you for doing this with me.” he whispered as you rested your head back on his shoulder, pressing a multitude of kisses to the top of your head. “You’re forever the yin to my yang.”

You stumbled into your hotel room, giggling to yourselves as the night’s events finally start to drift away some with the tiredness that was consuming you. Harry closed the door, turning around to find you standing in the middle of the living room, trying to get your boots off. Rushing to your aid, he sat down behind you, opening the zip for both of your boots.

“Let me.” He mumbled, looking up at you as he took a light grip around one of your calves and helped you step out of it. You smiled, letting him put your foot carefully down onto the floor before turning his attention to the other one. He slid his hand up from where the boot started and all the way to you exposed skin where he let his fingers wrap lightly around you, guiding your foot out of the boot while looking up at you looking down at him. “You were right earlier,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to the backside of your thigh. “Your feet do smell.”

You brought your foot up and kicked him lightly away from you, making him fall to his ass and exclaim an ‘ouch’ in between laughter. Carefully, you started to take your dress off, ready to finally go to bed after a long day of nothing but partying and crowds. At this, Harry stood quickly and strolled back over to you, whispering the same, “Let me” as he had whispered some minutes earlier. You let him, looking him dead in the eyes as he slid your dress off you, biting his lip in concentration not to ruin it in any way or to hurt you. Once it was off, Harry forgot all about everything, and dropped the dress right to the floor. A heavy sigh left his lips as he took you in, the edges of his mouth tipping upward as they passed your breasts.

“Had almost forgotten you weren’t wearing a bra.” He said, voice laced in something you had heard it wrapped in a handful of times before; lust. “Not that I didn’t think about it a few too many times tonight.”

“Thought about what?”

“Your boobs.”

You huffed, reaching for the zip at the top of Harry’s high-waisted trousers.

“Not in, like, a degrading way or whatever, I just appreciate them a lot.”

“You have made a lot of boob jokes today.” You unzipped his trousers all the way down, watching as they fell to the floor and he stepped out of them.

“Couldn’t help myself, dove.” Harry smiled, going to unbutton his shirt when you pushed his hands away to do it. “I’ll stop when I run out of them.”

“Or you can stop now.” You smiled back at him, earning a small giggle and a sway, still a little drunk. Harry leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes while you unbuttoned his shirt very slowly. Your fingers would occasionally poke his torso, sometimes even skim his skin, and Harry felt all of it so intensely it gave him a bit of a head-rush. Though you were both excruciatingly tired from tonight’s events, there was also a part in both of you that couldn’t quite forget earlier on when you had been very tipsy. When Harry had admitted to being turned on because he found you so irresistible in that outfit, or when you had been tipsy and handsy, whispering dirty promises into each other’s ears that neither had forgotten about. Another giggle left Harry’s mouth at the thought of all of this, though, and he tipped his head to fit against yours, placing a soft kiss to your lips. Lingering there, he brought his hand up, tracing his ring and index finger along your jaw until you slowly broke apart.

Opening your eyes, you tried not to laugh, because for some reason you felt like laughing. Harry caught you straining not to, so he did it himself. He dragged his shirt out from under his huge red bow, chuckling as he pressed yet another kiss on you. He shrugged his shirt off, letting it join his trousers on the floor, and then kissed you again, placing both his hands on either side of your face. Guiding your mouth to open wider for him, he darted his tongue in gently, sliding it along yours before he drew back, cocking his head to the side to get a better taste of you, and then he did the same. It was entrancing, feeling Harry like this. Though you could still taste the cocktails on his tongue from earlier that night, you could also taste something far more prominent and enticing; desire. It wasn’t a raw hunger that would leave him wrapping his hands around your throat, or your bumcheeks aching. It was an easy thirst that had the cells of both of your bodies reaching for one another; a thirst that felt like ‘I want you’. His tongue swirled around yours, something he only did when he was horny, to tell you he’d like to go all the way; asking you if you wanted to, too.

Pushing him lightly, you made Harry sit down in the sofa. And with hooded eyes, he reached for you the second you straddled his lap. Teeth collided in a desperate embrace, both suddenly yearning more for one another than you thought you had a minute prior. Your hands rested at the back of his neck, tugging at the small hairs there, and Harry inhaled sharply once you put a little more strength into it. As a response, his hands came to rest at your hip, stroking up and down your ass, giving you a proper squeeze that had your moaning into the kiss. It was like someone had flicked the switch, and suddenly you weren’t purely needing one another any longer, but rather hopelessly desiring till the point of it driving you both insane. Grinding against his bare thighs and black boxers, you felt Harry’s reaction against your centre and in the tightening of his hands on your arse.

“Remember earlier when I said you knocked all sense out of me?”

You nodded, looking down into his eyes as you put more pressure on him under you this time, letting him feel how hot you had become.

He moaned. “Yeah, I think that’s just a theme for tonight.”

“Just-” you mumbled, reaching for one of the hands resting on your ass, you brought it forward, sliding it between the small slit of space between yours and Harry’s cores. A shaky breath left his lips as he felt how wet you were growing. “Just tonight?”

Slowly, he slid a finger unto your underwear, running it between your folds; running it over a haven he had visited hundreds of times and could never get enough of. Your head fell back, a soft utterance of pleasure sounding before you glanced back down at him, biting your lip.

“Every night.” He said, voice dark with longing. “Everyday. Every hour, minute, second I’m around you, I-“

You silenced him by kissing him again, hooking your fingers to the bow he still had wrapped around his neck. Touching you more forcefully, you gasped against him and Harry grinned, knowing how to use the position you had put him in. But you kissed him again, pressing yourself against his torso as he dragged his finger to your hole, wetting every surface of your cunt he could reach. He could feel himself growing harder, his cock erecting to meet with your centre. If he hadn’t been gripping your ass tight in one hand and felt your wet pussy with the other, he would’ve cupped himself to get some sense of release. Because you were just kissing him, and he was teasing you, and he needed to feel you around his cock. Needed to feel how ready you were for him, how easy he could slip inside you, and how you’d always close your eyes and let out a long exclamation of satisfaction at feeling the fullness of him inside you.

But suddenly you pulled away and stood, looking at him with a satisfied smile on your face. Confused, Harry frowned, fingers and lap suddenly feeling a little too cold without you against him.

“Need to go take a shower.” You said, taking your white thong off and letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes. With Harry still looking like a complete question mark, you turned around and started walking towards the bathroom.

“Now?!” Harry sounded crushed and dumbfounded still.

“You said I had smelly feet, so I’m taking a shower.” And with that you walked into the bathroom, not bothering with closing the door as you were hoping that would do the trick. Trying not to smile too big as you knew your plan would work, you walked to the counter first where you got your make-up remover out first. You knew Harry could see you from where he was sitting in the sofa, knew he could see you removing your make-up so you could enter the shower without any on. And as you glanced over in his direction, you saw his hand absentmindedly moving lightly over his dark boxers. Eyes set on your naked form, on your ass that you were strutting out, and your entire backside that faced him. You bit your lip, cocking your head to the side as your eyes met. As you did so, he himself knew exactly what you wanted him to do. Saw it in the way you let your eyes slide over your own body before turning around, heard it in the groan you let out as the hot water hit your body once you walked out of view and into the shower.

You let the water fall into your hair and run down your entire body, closing your eyes you sighed in relief. It was good to feel the sweat, alcohol, and everything from tonight wash away from top your skin. When you turned around, the water running down your back, you saw Harry enter the bathroom. Stark naked, you saw him in all his glory through the fogged-up glass of the shower; saw his erection, saw all his dark tattoos that contrasted against his light skin, and the red bowtie that he had yet to take off. You didn’t mind, though, because as he entered the shower you figured it was just another thing you could cling to. He crashed into you, kissing you like you had been away from each other for way too long and he needed a reminder of how fucking incredible you tasted. Your tongues tangled, hands grabbing onto one another, and small moans filling the air around you.

“Lift your leg.” He demanded.

You did, and Harry placed it in the crook of his elbow, holding your leg up so it wouldn’t be much work for you. Before you got to ask him what he was doing, Harry slid himself into you. Every word you were about to say evaporated, completely disappearing and never to be seen again. Finding a steady pace, Harry pounded in and out of you, one arm wrapped around your thigh, and the other on your hip. Your wet skin colliding echoed through the entire room, intensifying within the walls of the shower. At first you didn’t really know what to do with your hands, but you quickly reached for Harry’s shoulders as everything was already too much.

It felt so good. It was everything sex with Harry usually was; desperate, hot, and loving. He made a point of kissing you; your lips, your jaw, your neck, making sure that you knew just how much he loved you. Just how much he would love you this day, the rest of his life, and the life after that. All the while fucking you like there was nothing else he knew how to do; slamming into you with such force and intensity that your vision blurred with the pleasure he was sending through you.

“Should think twice before you tease me, dove.” He mumbled through gritted teeth, way too focused on pounding into you hard and deep to be able to control himself properly.

“I did.” You moaned, hands gripping onto the sides of his Gucci bowtie.

Harry laughed and you did the same, taking a moment to just look at one another as you were smiling like this, connected and wet. It was a magical moment, feeling the other take up every single of the five senses you possessed. You suddenly weren’t just merely in love with one another. No, what you were feeling exceeded that; it was magnified and much bigger than just love. The raw attachment you felt towards one another was a link between two souls; two souls that had been searching forever and finally found home. Found where they belonged. You leaned forward, kissing Harry’s lip softly, a tenderness he returned and smiled into. Once you leaned back against the wall, giving him a grin, he bit his lip at the sight.

“Go on,” you said, wiggling the thigh of yours he was holding onto. “Fuck me.”

“Thought we were having a moment just then,” Harry huffed, gripping your thigh harder. “But you’re only here for my cock. I see how it is.”

You laughed again, but your laughter was quickly switched into confusion as Harry slipped out of you. Wide-eyed, you squealed as Harry took a grip of your back and under both your feet, carrying you out of the still running shower.

“Harry, what are you-“

But you stopped yourself mid-sentence as Harry placed you on the bed, making you turn around and lay down. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him a little out of breath, hand on his cock as he stroked himself slowly. At this, you perked your ass upward, seeing his hunger intensify at how badly you wanted him to fuck you. A grip of your ankles, he dragged you closer towards the edge of the tall bed, letting your feet hit the floor while your torso was still flush against the throw. There he slammed into you for the second time that evening. And you moaned loudly. Fisting the velvet underneath your hand tightly. Harry continued at the same pace as before, groaning at the familiar burn in his core of an oncoming orgasm. Small ‘yes’s, ‘just like that’s, and ‘please don’t stop’s left your lips, the only words of encouragement Harry would ever need from anyone. He tipped forward from his standing position behind you, sliding his hands down your arms until he reached yours. There, he intertwined his fingers with yours, a sweet gesture that once again contradicted how hard and fast he was pounding into you.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, eyes closed as he groaned, his hair fell into his face.

“Harry.”

At the sound of you moaning his name like that, his eyes shot open. He had to watch you as he climaxed, had to see you squirming underneath him and know this was his doing; he was making you come this hard. The burn of your orgasm started from your core, building up till flames were licking at your inner depths, reminding you of the consuming bliss that was about to come. It was intense, and Harry clinging onto your hands, slamming against your bum, all just made the flames inside you grow hotter and hotter and hotter. As the world around you and Harry completely disappeared, you buried your head into the mattress, gasping for air. The orgasm burst, and you lost it. It was all you came to know in those seconds; the burn of your climax and as it spread its way around your body, warming everything within you till you felt dizzy with pleasure. Your eyes were shut hard, crying out Harry’s name amongst uncontrolled moans and a few inaudible swear words. Once you began coming down from your orgasm, Harry had his. Hips jerking irregularly and moaning loudly as he detached his hands from yours and pulled out. He came in your back, one hand leaning on your ass for support while the other slid over his cock until he was done. You two stayed silent for a little bit, coming down from the orgasm.

Once Harry was able to stand properly again, he walked into the bathroom and got a small cloth, sliding it over your back till all the jizz was gone. With that, you both walked into the shower and washed off everything from tonight. Harry shampooed your hair and you smeared his entire body with soap. Once you were both done, barely a word exchanged since you’d had sex, you wrapped yourself in a bathrobe each and walked over to the bed, snuggling under the covers together.

“Hmm,” Harry hummed as be wrapped his arms around you. “Good night, wasn’t it?”

“Truly.” You kissed his forehead, eyes widening as you remembered something. “Oh! I took a ton of pictures on my phone even though we weren’t allowed, want to see?”

Harry chuckled, looking out of the window at the rising sun outside. And though he was tired and wanted to sleep, there was nothing he’d rather do than spend the last few moments with you on a day he’d never forget.

“Of course, dove.” He smiled. “Show me everything.”

come talk to us here(nora’s inbox) and here(sarah’s inbox) !!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #:DDDDDDDDD

[noknockingonmydoor]

Headcanon

Semi-related tidbits on Heaven’s Door, Rohan’s isolation, obsession with reality, Pink Dark Boy, Koichi, interpersonal relationships. (warning: this is long)

You know how, at first, Araki said Rohan got his Stand after being pierced with the arrow during DiU, but then later on in Rohan at the Louvre he’s shown being adamant on not using his power to read people on Nanase back when he was 17? Yeah... lemme expand on how I see it.

He developed the power way before the events of DiU, but he had no idea what it was, or how to use it properly. Back then, it wasn’t even a Stand as we know them, just a latent power gradually getting developed in his subconsciousness, as his passion for using art as a form of authentic self-expression grew. He had no control on when and how to use it--it would just... sort of happen, mostly whenever he was really interested in someone/something--kind of like with Nanase, since, at that point, he was starting to get really interested in women and growing aware of his sexuality. (Also, she showed him kindness and genuine interest, which he craved back then--more on that at some other point, probs.) He legit thought he was insane and hallucinating the first time his powers happened and he never told anyone about it, because he didn’t want to be ostracised even more than he already was. Eventually, he accepted it as proof that he was special, meant for great things, and superior to all those who undermined him.

Oh, wait-- what’s that? People undermining, ostracising the great Rohan Kishibe? That was a thing? It’s more likely than you think.

Prior to getting famous, Rohan didn’t have a lot of life experience. For one, his childhood is an ominous big black hole in his memories, and he was homeschooled for the majority of it--by some very strict tutors, chosen by his parents... until he drove off every single one of them. The little time he spent in a more public, yet respectable educational environment as a teenager, he didn’t seem to fit in, as he didn’t know how to behave, what to talk about, how to react to things happening, what was acceptable, what was not. Not that he had anyone to talk about these things with, since his parents were always too busy, and he didn’t feel like talking about it with some unhelpful therapist. He was so sick of those. Many of his peers were quick to brand him a weirdo and avoid him, if they didn’t outright mock him about his shut-in lifestyle, his appearance, his interests--anything at all, really. Admittedly, it stung to be treated that way, but he didn’t want it to be obvious, so he shielded himself with displays of arrogance and lack of care for their opinions, which later escalated into an impressive amount of narcissism. It only made those same people resent him more, but they mostly left him alone... save for the few who saw through it and kept on provoking him. Once he’d finally had enough, he went off on them so hard that he almost got punched in the face and caused an incident that almost got him expelled, if it weren’t for his parents meddling in to pull some strings. (Ironically, Rohan would later on drop out in his final year, and cut out all contact with his parents. Whoops. More on his relationship with his parents at some other point)

He showed no remorse at all for his actions, which earned him both fear and respect from various individuals. He was sent to some more psychologists who didn’t help (always telling him what to think, believe, feel, as if his way of perceiving, existing wasn’t valid--which prompted his own interest and interpretation of various psychological phenomenoms), made to do extra work that only further goaded him to misbehave--nobody ever seemed to listen to him, or put an effort to understand where he was coming from. All they seemed to care about was shaping him to fit into a mold he never even wanted to fill, so he grew very resentful and mistrustful of people trying to butt in on his damn business. Feeling helpless in escaping this constricting reality, he’d often escape to his own, alternate reality, which kept him same throughout all these life’s trials. The world of Pink Dark Boy. He didn’t remember when he first came up with the character, or the world, or the story, but he had a feeling it had always been a huge part of him... and, at some point, he decided he wanted it published, revealed, shared with the world. And when Rohan Kishibe decides he really wants something... he doesn’t falter.

The earliest chapters of his work are very grimdark and edgy, because that’s how he felt while making them. Very authentic, and gut-wrenching, and believable, and terrifying and intriguing--was how the critics described it later on. Yet... there was only so much inspiration he could draw from his own experience, and retain this flattering reputation without circling around the same subjects, themes he was familiar with over and over again. At that point, he went off the rails a bit, and let his curiosity, need to know, to learn, loose far more than was wise, because he wanted to rapidly, almost forcefully, gain experience, knowledge, skill just so he could keep up with his work, and the supposed demands of his new fans (actually, his own impossible standards and demands). It worked, for a time, before he was burned out to the point of nearly losing his mind--which brings us to the events of DiU, when on a fateful whim he decided to move to Morioh, in an attempt to reconnect with his unknown childhood self, find peace, regain his mind in a town much smaller than Tokyo, where he’d lived most of his life... only to be stabbed by an arrow (possibly at his own request... lmao), and fully awaken Heaven’s Door. 

It felt so, so validating to finally have a name, and an explanation for this power, however vague it was. And when he realised that he could control it, and the possibilities that such a power opened? He completely fucking lost whatever common sense he had in his euphoria, which explains his extreme behaviour when he first met Koichi (willingness to alter his memories, kidnap him, kill him, also licking that fucking spider and punching himself in the face and JUST. EVERYTHING). If he couldn’t use his own limited knowledge of reality, he would steal it from whoever he deemed worthy, interesting, moving, etc--and Koichi’s pure, unrelenting kindness and courage and willpower was so, so wonderful, beautiful, worthy, inspiring to Rohan, which is why he latched onto the other so intensely. I believe this weird, weird friendship was very unhealthy at the beginning because of how needy and demanding Rohan can be and how much of a pushover Koichi can be, but later on Koichi figures out how Rohan works and how to put him in his place. It’s simple--once you have Rohan’s respect, he’ll submit and own up to his behaviour if you call him out on it. Kind of like at the end of DiU, when Rohan made fun of Reimi and acted all tsundere during their goodbyes, until Koichi gave him That Look and Rohan confessed his true feelings. He just... he really admires, respects, trusts Koichi. He feels it in his guts it’s safe, right to do so. He relies a lot on his gut feelings, because they rarely fail him.   

Koichi was probably Rohan’s first actual friend--not that he never had any meaningful relationships before, they just never stuck around long enough because Rohan never felt the need to invest himself too much into maintaining anything with anyone. He’s just very picky. In the rare event that he did try, it wasn’t reciprocated, or he just lost interest after finding one (1) flaw he didn’t like. He was just fine being on his own, doing his own thing, before hanging out with Koichi, stalking him observing his interactions with others and the world around him awoke inside of Rohan the wistful need to connect with someone on a deeper level. The need to experience genuine friendship, understanding, trust, giving something away without demanding something in return, looking past one’s flaws and accepting them, and allowing himself the vulnerability of it going both ways. All very, very foreign things, ones he’d convinced himself he was above experiencing, but a necessary part of being happy, fulfilled, real--something Rohan had missed out on in his life-long state of self-absorbed isolation--both forced and self-imposed.

THERE IS SO MUCH MORE thoughts I have on all of these subjects and I’ll probs elaborate at some point but I think this is enough for now lmfao bye. To end things, allow me to present one of my fave Rohan panels which kind of inspired all this

Rohan in love? Did you mean: yet another thing I’ll probs write about at some point 

#here have this word vomit that might or might not make sense. idk. just here it is #hc : you may not like my integrity

[taetaespeaches]

“I’m just waiting for my damsel in shining armor to come save me”

Jimin x Reader Genre: fluff; mentions of sex Word count: 3.1K

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHIM!!! I hope you all enjoy, and thanks for reading :)) This is partially inspired by Ariana Grande’s “Goodnight n Go” and specifically the following lyrics:

Oh, why’d you have to be so cute? It’s impossible to ignore you, Why must you make me laugh so much, It’s bad enough we get along so well.

MUSIC boomed through the speakers in the living room of the condo, loud laughter and conversations trying to be heard over the tunes. The warmth of the mass of bodies within the apartment heated your skin, a dewiness setting over your features.  

All of these people, and you couldn’t care less.

You stood against the wall in the living room, eyes on Jimin as he talked to a group of people, a few of whom you recognized as his fellow members, others you didn’t recognize at all.

Then again, you and Jimin didn’t spend much time together outside of the bedroom.

You and Jimin had been shooting each other cute smiles and facial expressions for the past twenty minutes, but neither of you made a move towards each other. The phone in your hand buzzed, drawing your attention to the device, showing a text from Jimin himself.

Jimin: Are you as bored over there as I am over here?

Your lips curving up into a small grin, you looked towards Jimin who was staring at you with a small smile of his own.

You: Are you bored? I couldn’t tell from your total lack of fucks given for your current conversation. Also, my answer is yes.

Jimin read the text and you could see a small giggle slip out of his lips as he looked up through his fringe at the group of people and then to you. He began typing out his reply.

Jimin: Am I that obvious? Maybe I’m just waiting for my damsel in shining armor to come save me from this hell.

Reading the text, you bit your lip, trying to hold back your ever-growing smile. Looking up at him, you nodded your head towards the kitchen as you walked away, Jimin’s eyes following you as you exited the room.

Walking through the kitchen, you mindlessly smiled at fellow partygoers as you anxiously waited for Jimin to come after you.

You see, you and Jimin weren’t a couple. You weren’t friends. You were fuck buddies, plain and simple. At least that’s what you told yourself. After meeting on a rainy day while waiting for a bus, you and Jimin found that you had an attraction that could be described as magnetic. However, with a plethora of reasons to not date, mostly his hectic work schedule and your inability to open up to people, you chalked up the attraction to primal sexual desire.

After hanging out a few times, you two committed the act and decided it was way too good to only do once. Two and a half months later, and multiple nights and days spent together in the bedroom, you were classic friends with benefits—classic meaning being pretty sure you’re in love with each other but being way too afraid to mention the pent-up feelings.

The sex still happened often, nothing changing there, but each time you hooked up the pillow talk increased, as did the cuddling. You knew you were really in trouble when after a shitty day, he was the first person you wanted to call. You didn’t call him, but god did you want to.

You knew you were in too deep when he asked you to get breakfast with him the morning after a night together. You went, and you had a blast. It felt domestic and comfortable. And you couldn’t keep the no strings attached deal up any longer. That was two weeks ago, and you had only seen Jimin twice since then. The first was for a hookup where you went home almost right after you both climaxed, skipping the cuddling you both had become accustomed to. The second was, well, right now. This party.

Just as a man stepped in front of you as you walked through the kitchen, attempting to chat you up, your phone rang, Jimin’s contact name lighting up the device. Holding your finger up to the man, you quickly answered the phone.

“Well hello there, birthday boy,” you smiled into the phone as you walked past the random dude, leaving the kitchen to find cover in the hallway away from the noise.

“Where did you go?” Jimin asked you.

Looking around your surroundings, you told him with a smirk, “I’m actually right outside of your bedroom. I didn’t even plan this, I must just be drawn here,” you teased

Jimin fell silent for a moment as you chewed on your bottom lip. “Stay put,” he told you. You giggled into the phone when Jimin added, “are you staying put? I mean it, don’t move.”

“I don’t know, I’m getting pretty bored here,” you teased, causing him to yell out a noise of annoyance.

“How could you be bored at my birthday party?” He asked, a smirk on his lips that you could hear.

“You were literally just complaining about being bored,” you shot back.

“I’m allowed to be, it’s my party,” he informed you with a whine, making you chuckle.

“Well,” you started, leaning against the wall next to Jimin’s bedroom door. “I came here for one person and I am yet to see him up close and in the flesh,” you explained.

“Did you just say you want to see me in the flesh?” Again, you could hear the smirk.

“Oh my god,” you let out a mixture of a scoff and a giggle. “Anyways,” you reluctantly changed the topic. “Besides the supposedly boring conversation, how has your night been?” It wasn’t until this party that you realized how many friends Jimin has, and how few of them you’ve seen much less met. You’ve heard of his closest ones, but you haven’t spent much time around any of them besides Taehyung and Jungkook. And you wanted to meet them. You wanted to be included in that part of Jimin’s life.

At that moment, Jimin turned the corner, standing just down the hallway from you, a stunning smile gracing his features as his eyes landed on you. “Much better now,” he spoke into the phone before lowering the device and shoving it in his pocket.

With a few quick strides, he was stood in front of you, smiling at you, his eyes soft, happy, dragging over your features as if he was appreciating a Renior painting hanging on the wall of the Louvre. He should know better than to look at me like this, you thought.

“Hey, you,” he smiled brightly at you.

“Hey,” you smiled. “Happy birthday, Chim.”

Leaning towards you a bit, but leaving way too much distance, he softly replied, “Thank you, Dear. I’m happy you’re here.”

With one hand, you grabbed for his cream-colored sweater that was loosely tucked into his black pants, pulling him closer. Your other hand found the back of his neck, your fingers threading into his hair. Pulling him down to you, you left a soft lingering kiss to his jaw.

“You gonna take me inside?” You gestured to the door. “Or do you have an exhibitionist kink you haven’t told me about?”

Smiling bashfully, Jimin placed his hands on the wall on each side of you, effectively caging you between his arms. “As much as I want to,” he told you, his eyes wide to emphasize how badly he really did want to, “I think we need to find a place to talk.”

“Ok,” you said nervously, straightening your posture a bit, worried he was going to confront you on practically avoiding him for the past two weeks. Actually, it was obvious that was what he wanted to discuss. “Well, we could talk in there too,” you pointed your thumb to the door.

Shaking his head, he smiled a little. “I don’t trust myself in there with you,” he said, his cheeks heating up at the confession.

Smirking back at him, you let your hand slide off his neck, dropping to your side. With a nod of your head, you gestured for him to lead the way, removing your hand from his sweater. Jimin reached for your hand as he walked you down the hallway. Before reaching the kitchen, he turned to you, pulling you in close to whisper to you.

“So, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m kind of a big deal around this party,” he spoke into your ear, an amused grin immediately spreading across your face at the comment.

“You don’t say?” You looked up at him shocked.

“Afraid so,” he nodded to you, a smile gracing his features, eyes shaped into adorable crescents. “You see, I’ve been trying to be alone with you all night, but people keep stopping me. They all want to talk to me or something,” he told you with an eye roll.  

You gasped, feigning outrage. “How dare all these people want to spend time with the man they all gathered here for.”

Nodding, he held back a giggle, his lips curving into a big smile. “I know, ridiculous,” he agreed. “I have more important things to tend to right now, don’t they get that?” The comment didn’t go unnoticed by you as you bit your lip, holding back a flattered smile, though your reddened cheeks gave away your flustered state. “What I’m saying is, it’s gonna be hard to find a place where we can talk in private.”

Giving him a single nod, you looked at him with a serious expression. “Ok, so what’s the plan, Mr. Big Deal?”

“Balcony,” he said simply, forcefully stripping the smile from his face, leaving you to nod as you waited for more explanation only to receive none.

“Ok,” you giggled. “How are we getting to the balcony?”

“Well, I was thinking I’d just hide behind you,” he explained, holding back a smile.

Smiling widely at him before composing yourself with a cough to clear your throat, you nodded once again. “Ace plan,” you said, pretending to be impressed. “Really, I’m impressed, just, wow,” you teased, causing Jimin’s stoic expression to crumble as he fell into fits of giggles, leaning into your frame. “Shall we then?” You asked him with a giggle.

Taking the lead, you began to walk towards the living room when Jimin suddenly pulled your jacket up, diving underneath to cover his head, making you halt in surprise. “Keep going,” he told you, his arms wrapping around you in a back hug.

“Why are you so strange?” You giggled as you continued walking, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, nodding and smiling at people as you made your way to the balcony door. “I mean really, this plan must have taken you ages to figure out. Did you have to run this by a team to work out all the kinks? Were there blueprints?” You asked, Jimin giggled against your back, whining a dragged out, “stop”.

You were nearly to the door when Taehyung stopped you with a kind smile. “Hey, have you seen Jimin around?” His eyes then went to the man who was hiding inside the back of your jacket, his eyebrows scrunching together. Looking back to you, he pointed to Jimin.

“Nope,” you shook our head. “I haven’t seen him.” Taehyung’s mouth dropped open a bit as he prepared to question you about the man who was smothered inside your clothing, very obviously knowing it was Jimin. Instead, he closed his mouth and nodded at you, giving a polite smile as he walked away.

“Well, your best friend now thinks I’m a freak,” you complained as you pulled the door open, stepping out onto the balcony.

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jimin told you as he pulled his head out from underneath your coat, straightening his form and looking at you.

Staring at the man in front of you, his hair standing on end due to static electricity, you smiled fondly. “And to think I thought you were so cool at one point,” you said under your breath, making Jimin erupt into giggles. Reaching up to his hair, you patted it down, Jimin observing your features as you did so.

By the time you directed your gaze back to Jimin, he was wearing an expression of utter fondness and adoration. “Hi,” you said softly, feeling shy under his stare.

“I know you’ve been avoiding me,” he told you bluntly, but softly.

Your eyes widened in surprise, not by the fact that he knew but by the fact that he was being so upfront. “Jimin, I’m sorry, I just—"

“No, don’t apologize,” he interrupted, shaking his head gently. “I mean, in case you didn’t notice, I wasn’t knocking down your door either,” he added, effectively stabbing your heart.  

“Oh,” you said in surprise and hurt. “Noted- not knocking down my door,” you nodded, crossing your arms across your chest. “Gotcha”

“No, no, no,” he worried. “Shit, that’s not what I meant at all, I just, I know you’ve been avoiding me, and I’m saying I know why because I-” he cut himself off. “Why do you have to be so cute?”

“What?” You vocalized your surprise from his question.

“I tried to avoid you, I tried to push aside how I’ve been feeling, but it’s literally impossible to ignore you,” he explained, adding, “And to ignore these feelings I have.” You stood frozen, shocked at his words. “I’ve been avoiding you,” he continued. “Because it’s scary.”

“It is scary,” you agreed, knowing exactly what he meant. You and Jimin were meant to be fun and carefree. Admitting to the feelings you were both feeling meant you either had to stop what you were doing or attach the strings.

“But I can’t keep pretending I don’t have these feelings for you,” he took a moment to breathe. “I don’t want to anymore.” Want to what? You screamed inside your own mind. After a moment of you both staring at each other, tension at an all-time high, you began to speak as tears started to fill your eyes.

“Jimin, you have got to be more clear with me, my heart is about to go into cardiac arrest, you don’t want to what anymore? Do you want to be with me or not?” You questioned him bluntly as a tear rolled down your cheek.

Jimin’s hands quickly found your face, holding your cheeks between his palms, this thumb swiping the tear from your skin. “Of course, I want to be with you,” he told you as if it was obvious.

“Oh thank god,” you breathed out shakily, more tears being released from your eyes as your frame relaxed, leaning into Jimin’s body. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his swiftly held you around your waist.

“I want a label, I want you to get to know my friends, I want you to meet my family,” he whispered into your ear. “I don’t want to have to wait until late at night after a hookup to have a conversation with you. Which it nearly killed me, by the way, when you left right after last time. I know this was supposed to be a no-attachments kind of deal, but come on, was it ever, really?” At that, he pulled away from you to look at you, you slowly shaking your head. “I’ve always wanted all of you.”

Leaning towards him, you pressed your lips to his in a much too quick kiss. “Me too,” you whispered against his lips. His hands found the sides of your face as he held you to him, kissing you deeper, not wanting your lips to leave his.

Your breath heavy, the only reason you both broke apart was because the balcony door suddenly slid open, a man letting out a small “oh” in surprise of the scene. “Uh, hi, y/n” he nodded at you politely. “Tae and Jin want you to blow out your candles,” he told Jimin. Jimin nodded, telling the man thanks, the man turning and leaving you both to yourselves.

“Was that Yoongi?” You asked Jimin who nodded in confirmation. “Yoongi knows me?”

“They all know you, they just don’t know you,” he told you with a smile. “Yet.” You pouted at him, Jimin giggling at the expression.

“I guess we better get inside,” you told him. “Those candles aren’t gonna blow themselves.” Jimin’s lips lifted into an amused smirk.

“Are you trying to tease me?” He asked as his eyes turned into crescents, his smile broadening.

“No, I’m actually not,” you giggled as his hands found your sides, tickling you a bit. “It’s just a fact, you are the birthday boy after all.”

Jimin whined, nuzzling his face against your neck. “I have a birthday every year though.”

“And you get to kiss me all the time,” you smiled at him, your fingers toying the with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah but it’s different now that you’re my girlfriend,” he whined again. “Am I delusional or is this even better now that you’re my girlfriend?”

“No, you’re not delusional,” you kissed him softly. “And sorry, I’m just getting used to the fact that you’re calling me your girlfriend.”

“Yeah? You like that?” He smiled. “I wanna hear you say I’m your boyfriend,” he pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your mouth.

“Well if I’m your girlfriend, you’re obviously my boyfriend,” you smiled at him as he kissed you.

“What is this, a scene from the Notebook?” Jungkook’s voice cut in from the balcony door, you and Jimin jumping in surprise, your eyes finding an amused look on the younger man. “You’re a bird, he’s a bird, whatever, I want some cake, please, y/n, let us borrow your boyfriend for like two minutes. Then he’s all yours.”  

Your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, Jimin yelled out for Jungkook to go away, mumbling you’d both be there in a minute. “I’m sorry,” he giggled to you.

“It’s fine,” you laughed. “Someone calling you my boyfriend sounds really good.”

“It does, doesn’t it. Can I introduce you to my friends?” He asked you, his eyes searching yours for your answer. “As my girlfriend?” Before you could answer, the smile on your face gave away your excitement, a smile appearing on his own features. “Yeah?”

In one swift motion, your hand resting on the side of his neck, your fingers delving into his hair. You kissed him hard, easily deepening it, backing Jimin towards the apartment wall. Smiling into the kiss, Jimin flipped you over so you were pressed against the exterior of the building, his hands gripping your waist.  

“I think I deserve a little more alone time with my boyfriend on his birthday, don’t you think?” You said into the kiss. “Jungkook can wait.”

Smiling, one of his hands left your waist to cradle your jaw as he deepened the kiss, pressing his body against yours. “Yeah, you’re right,” he told you, capturing your top lip with his own before he continued. “They can all wait.”

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