#which is good. but vanillas a mom so she would kind of be seen as an authority figure

[blackopals-world]

心靈~Heart and Soul

Chef!femYuu x Trey

(She's back baby!)

Note: Before you comment, I know that the characters mean, mind and spirit.

From the day she first held a knife, she was told the family tradition. "Make a dish of your own. Let no one taste it but you. Perfect it until the day you met your soul mate. It is the dish meant only to be shared by lovers."

Yuu had fallen out of practice but she had good reason to be wary. Thieves are everywhere. Ruggie, Rook, and that damn pie-stealing cat. They would try to steal a bite.

They can't understand any circumstances eat this dish. Her pride and honor were on the line.

This dish was her magnum opus, her greatest dish. She started the recipe when she was 9 and worked to perfect it.

"Make a dish of your own. Let no one taste it but you. Perfect it until the day you met your soul mate. It is the dish meant only to be shared by lovers." Her father said.

"Give the one you love a 心靈 dish. Food made with your heart and soul. It will mean so much more." Her mother said.

She believed in those words to her core. Her parents had that connection and a dish made to symbolize their love.

Father called it the Gleaming Dawn Cheesecake. The most beautiful cake Yuu had ever seen. A deep navy blue mirror glaze with marbled white streaks mimicked the early wind-swept clouds. The silver sugar looked like stars slowly disappearing in the morning light. The upside of the cake was blended with 3 different kinds of cheese each unique and handmade. It had a notable taste of vanilla which was mom's favorite. And the taste gods the taste. It was perfect, the product of years of trial and error for someone father had never met but hoped to see.

Yuu wanted nothing more than to make a cake like that.

She made the Golden Twilight Cake. It mirrored her father's in construction. A beautiful golden yellow that faded into reddish hues like the sunset. Dusted with silver stars. The inside was just as gold with mango and pineapple cheesecake with a hint of strawberry. It was simple and beautiful. One day she dreamed of serving it to her future partner.

But she needed to make sure the recipe was perfect. For that, she needed practice but with crumb snatchers everywhere she needed guards. Ace and Deuce were in charge of keeping the kitchen secured. She "borrowed" the Heartslabyul kitchen for her mission. The boys had been bribed with a different cake.

When she had finished the cakes she let Ace and Deuce know before leaving to take a bathroom break.

Ace and Deuce didn't wait before taking their well-earned cake into the living area. On the way they ran into Trey who was heading to the kitchen.

"What are you two doing?" He asked folding his arms.

"Yuu made us a cake so..." Deuce said holding the cake up Ace nodded in agreement.

"Just make sure to brush after." Trey sighed before leaving.

In the kitchen, he spotted the golden cheesecake. It was sprinkled with crushed honey candies. It looked gorgeous.

Trey remembered that Yuu was baking cakes and knew something this beautiful had to be her's. He went ahead and cut a slice to try. The mirror glaze was immaculate, it was clear and reflective. She must have practiced making mousse for years with a filling so soft. The cake wasn't dense it was airy and clear. It had the taste of fresh citrus fruits but not an overpowering acidic taste. It was amazing. Trey needed the recipe.

When he looked up from his cleaned plate he saw Yuu wide-eyed and mouth agape.

"Trey!!!!" She screamed.

"Yes?!" He yelled back in confusion

"How could you?!" Yuu was distressed as she grabbed the vice warden by the shirt collar.

"I'm sorry? What did I do?" Trey was looking to escape as Yuu ranted.

"You. You weren't supposed to be the first. You idiot!" Yuu suddenly let go as she rubbed her watery eyes.

"Oh my God." A third voice came from the doorway. It was Cater who was staring open mouth."Trey you dog!"

"Don't you dare I didn't and I wouldn't-" He tried to defend but was interrupted.

"But you did! You stole my first. You tasted it. That was a piece of me and you just took it!" Yuu cried.

"You monster!" Cater yelled at Trey believing that Yuu was robbed of her virtue.

"All I did was eat her cake!"Trey explained "No wait. I mean I took a slice of this cheesecake."

"So you admit it!" Yuu said pointing her finger at the thief.

Cater hearing this role his eyes at the pair and left. If Yuu is just being dramatic he is better left out of it. He loved her but when she's this upset it's better to leave before getting caught in the crossfire. He'd be back later though when she's feeling better.

"Trey do you have any idea what you've done?" Yuu demanded. "You just ate the cake for my soulmate."

"Wait whose your soulmate?" Trey asked trying to understand. He had no idea Yuu was seeing someone. She never even told him.

"I don't know, I don't know who that is. But you still ate the cake I've spent my life making for them. The cake is for my future husband only." Yuu crossed her arms as she huffed.

"I'm sorry then. I didn't know forgive me." Trey tried to calm her down like he did with Riddle but to no avail.

"How can I forgive you? It was important to me that my future partner be the first. It was made for them. You'll have to make it up to me." Yuu demand.

"How do I do that?" Trey imagined that she'd make him remake the cake but what she said instead surprised me.

"Well, you are good a baking and you have a good sense of taste. You clearly can hold your own and have a nice personality. Pretty handsome too." Yuu mumbled to herself as she made a mental note. "What did you think of the cake? Did you like it?"

"Um, yeah. It was the best cake I've ever had and you make the best food in general." Trey said nervously scratching the back of his neck.

"Then it's settled. You'll marry me!" Yuu said clapping her hands together to punctuate her words.

"What. WHAT?" Trey panicked as Yuu grabbed his hand." You're joking right?"

"I don't joke Trey. You ate my cake, you marry me. Or do you want to disgrace me? You'll robe me of one of my life's goals if you refuse." Yuu glared at Trey with daggers in her eyes as if to say 'You're with me or against me'.

"No, of course not. I like you but you're willing to just give up a chance to find your real soulmate." Trey felt his cheek turn red as Riddle's hair.

"I don't care, I like a lot of things about you. As long as we want to I'm sure we can make a great couple." Yuu put her hands on her hips. "Life is short. We can't afford to be shy."

Despite being strong-armed into this relationship Trey agreed. He wanted to ask Yuu out but was too unsure about it, but now they were engaged apparently. Something Yuu wasn't shy about and didn't hide it from anyone.

Every time she was asked about their relationship she openly talked about what she loved about Trey as Trey tried to cover his face.

"I love how shy he gets too." She gushed as she kissed his forehead.

"Yuu, please!" He whined in response.

They spent a lot of time cooking together which made them look like the perfect couple as they moved around each other. She'd hold out a spoon to him to taste test and he'd smiled and reassure her of how good it was.

Trey actually grew smug when he realized that no one else could try her golden cake. It was his favorite and knowing it was only for him felt amazing. He didn't need to share it or her with anyone no matter how mush she cooked for others.

They were together for years but as graduation neared Yuu had something on her mind.

One evening she clutched his hand in hers and told him what whe wanted.

"I want us to keep doing this. I know you're going to take care of your family's bakery but I want to open a restaurant or café. I want us to do it together as a family business. I mean it. I want us to stay together." Yuu said blushing and looking at their intertwined hands and Trey's golden eyes. She liked those eyes, they were like honey candy, gold glaze, or freshly baked sweet buns.

"Is that way your way of proposing again? After all these years." Trey asked lifting her chin to focus on him.

"I realize I might have been too bold," Yuu said looking away, her face flushed.

Trey got down on one knee and pulled out a velvet box. Yuu felt her heart stop when he opened the box and revealed a ring. It was a silver band topped with an amber stone.

"I like how bold you are." Trey kissed her lips before pulling away. "But I wanted to ask you something too."

"It's not a super expensive stone but I saw it and thought of you. If you'll have me, I want to make our engagement more offical. At least you'll have a ring to prove it." Trey smiled at his beloved as Yuu cried tears of joy.

She hugged him close. She didn't need a ring but she gladly took it. They were a perfect match.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twst yuu #twst mc #trey clover x reader #trey clover #twst trey #ace trappola #deuce spade #twisted wonderland deuce #twst ace #cater diamond #twst cater #chef!yuu

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

For several years now I’ve been wanting to buy a knotted dildo (why do they never have smaller ones) but my dad often helps me with finances because I’m really bad at math and I would be super embarrassed if he found out. I doubt he would be mad at finding out I’m a monsterfucker, but it WOULD be super awkward, especially since a lot of knotted ones are labeled “dog” I don’t want my family to have an even worse impression before I can explain! Maybe it would be easier if I could drive and try to find in-person shops and pay in cash, but I have a health problem that makes me driving illegal sometimes, so that’s not a practical option. I know you aren’t supposed to use things that weren’t designed to go inside of your body, but I’ve been using an old detachable razor handle for years because of this. I don’t know what to do! I don’t think my dad pays much attention to what I buy but if something is flagged as unusual by the bank, they will sometimes call him about it. I’m not sure what I should do. I haven’t even bought a regular sex toy because I’m self conscious about this, let alone one like that!

I’m the “my dad helps me balance my checkbook and I’m terrible at math but I want a dildo” anon, and you don’t have to post this part if it’s too uncomfortable. That’s why i didn’t include it in my first ask. But the only time I had a friend offer to help me buy one that friend later died before it could happen so… I don’t really have anyone around to ask for assistance in… this. I know these aren’t your usual confessions, but i don’t really know where else to confess to this. The only other friend I think might possibly have helped me, moved a state away and i don’t want to bother her about it. I joke about being a freak sometimes but I really doubt my older family who might have heard me say that actually expects me to consider “freaky” something beyond oral. I’m not… I’m shy and wasn’t raised by people who were into much extreme stuff (my parents didn’t even swear around us until we were all over 16, and even now they don’t do it much! There are slurs I didn’t even know existed until senior high and my parents never used them! For obvious reasons. Which is good, but gives an idea of what I mean when I say not extreme. Even my grandparents are/were like this) so I’ve been told that it’s surprising when i tell a friend about these things for the first time. Coming out as demisexual wasn’t nearly as stressful to be honest, that might be weird but admitting my (admittedly not super exciting among this community) kinks feels shameful and humiliating for some reason. Telling a close friend is different I guess. My parents aren’t conservative people, not politically or in many other ways, but they definitely don’t know much about kinks. I can say that with confidence, I’ve read the romance novels my mom had lying around and I’ve seen them react genuinely shocked when something a little crazy happens in a show we’re watching. I just think I might have super vanilla family (in the 25 years I lived with them the most spicy things I encountered were those romance novels and what might have been lube) and I’m sure they would react, if not badly, just awkwardly. It would be super uncomfortable. They are the kinds of people to hear about that, look slightly horrified, say “okay” and just avoid talking about it after that, but every time a conversation gets too close to that everyone is awkward and avoids it. It’s like when someone is trying to talk about politics and everyone has to kind of bite their tongue or a shouting match will start while we’re trying to watch the mandalorian, just less aggressive, so not exactly the same, just similarly uncomfortable. This one also got longer than I meant it to. I don’t expect that my parents would disown me or anything, but it would change some things (although because my mom and I accidentally shared a kindle account when I was in highschool I’m pretty sure she knows I’m into monster romance novels) sex isn’t really a taboo topic, but it’s also not a comfortable one

#monsterfucker confessions

[calliemontgomery]

LOCATION: Scoops Ice Cream

OPEN

Mom guilt. Did it ever go away? Considering Harper was only about to be 5, Callie was quite sure that wouldn't anytime soon. So, until then, she wasn't above bides that helped it along. Of course, her brother would remind her that she was ridiculous. Harper loved her, she didn't lack anything; and even thought of her mother as some kind of superhero. My mommy puts away bad guys! She would tell anyone who was willing to listen. "Mommy! Can I have sprinkles?" The little girl shouted as she glued her face to the glass that shielded her from the array of different flavors. Callie looked down at her child, a soft smile crossing her features as she took in the excitement her little girl expelled. "Of course, but first you gotta pick a flavor." She stated, glancing up from her small child's frame to the display of flavors. She, personally, thought chocolate mint sounded good. "Vanilla!" Harper shouted, which only received a quick nod of her mother's head. Callie expected nothing less from her child, or any child, really. Vanilla seemed safe to the masses. Callie looked up at the young teen behind the counter, "Can I have a vanilla ice cream cone, with sprinkles." She ordered, before Harper adds in "Lots of sprinkles!" Callie pressed her lips together, and simply gave a nod at the employee as an acceptance to the request. Within a few minutes, the young employee was handing Harper her cone, which earned a squeak out of the 4 year old, followed by a "Thank you!" Harper would turn and proceed to run towards the table she'd usually pick when they'd stop here. Callie looked back at the employee, "Could I have--" Her head immediately whipped towards the direction she had last seen her child, the high pitch squeak of a cry being the only sound Callie could hear. At first, her heart raced, the innocent scene before her nothing near the thoughts that flashed through her mind when she first held the sound. Despite staring at a person who probably would've most likely preferred ice cream any where but their leg; it definitely earned a relieved exhaled from Callie before she hurried towards her daughter. "I am so sorry," Callie proceeds to apologize to the person her child has smeared her ice cream cone on. Harper turning to her mother, "Mommy, I dropped my ice cream!" She whined, in which, Callie just placed her hand softy on top of her child's head, and ran her hand through her hair. "We will get you another." She states, before glancing up at the person once more, "I am so sorry." She repeats, "I've been working with her on watching where she's going, but it's not quite stuck yet. Can I get you anything? Would you like ice cream---" She paused, "You know, in a cone, or a cup -- not on you? My treat."

#covingtonstarter #convo #open starter

[frankcastleonlyfans]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐂.𝐂

pairing: carlisle cullen x reader

summary: Alice always sees everything before everyone.

words: 1.2k

request: anon

reblogs, feedbacks and likes are appreciated. i hope you like it!

18+ warning

warnings: a little bit of angst, mentions of suicide thoughts

    · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ୨♡୧ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ ·

Alice saw her coming. Of course she did, she could always see new additions to the family before anyone else. On her first vision, she saw a girl, quiet and lonely. The second time she saw something, the same girl was crying, and there was a man yelling at her. Many visions came after that, and it became more clear to Alice how broken that girl was. Until the day she didn't see any kind of pain in the girl's features. Alice saw Carlisle, walking in the forest with that girl. They were laughing, and the young vampire thought she had never seen Doctor Cullen laugh like that. When she noticed the girl had golden eyes in her last vision, everything made sense, and it was obvious that the girl was Carlisle's mate.

It was hard trying to hide the knowledge of the existence of Carlisle's mate from her family. She didn't want to ruin the surprise, but of course she couldn't hide anything from Edward.

Didn't took too long before they heard of Carlisle's new friend. He met a girl, a waitress. He told them how he felt and how he thought she was the one for him. Alice couldn't keep her smirk to herself. She wanted to tell her father about the pain she had seen that girl go through, but she knew she couldn't interfere with how things were going between them.

Carlisle Cullen thought that in his 359 years of life, he had never seen such a beautiful girl. Y/N. Her name was Y/N. He could smell her miles away from the café where she worked, and he thought how her scent was addictive. She smelled like vanilla and cotton, and even though he never liked candy when he used to eat food, he thought he had a sweet tooth for her.

Every single day, at 3:00 p.m, the same man would stop at the café, and only ask for a black coffee. There wasn't much costumers, and Y/N didn't mind some nice company. Everyday they would talk about something different. Y/N had no idea she had so many things to say, that because she didn't had anyone to listen to her.

Y/N used to live with her Dad, and it wasn't a good relationship. She tried so many times to be a good daughter after her mom passed away, but her father never seemed to care. She always helped with the bills, even though she never made much money being a waitress. Every little detail was a trigger to her father to start yelling at her, and she knew she couldn't live like this. But, she didn't had anywhere else to go to.

Three weeks after they met, Carlisle invited her to a date. It was something casual, just a dinner in a normal restaurant. Of course he only watched her eat, but Y/N was too excited talking about movies to notice that he never asked food for himself. That night he discovered that she is a cinema enthusiast, and he couldn't be more intrigued. Y/N was only 23, and he knew enough young people to know that they don't usually like classic stuff.

Carlisle could list all the things he learned about Y/N since the day they met. She was allergic to cats but she had one, because it was her favorite animal (which made him quite uncomfortable as a doctor), her mother passed away in a car crash and Y/N was present in the accident. She also told him about her father, and how she couldn't stand him anymore. Being honest to her true feelings, she confessed about suicide thoughts that quickly vanished away after she met Doctor Cullen.

Once they started to date, she met his kids. Alice saw that too, and she couldn't be more happy. Emmett made jokes all the time, and Y/N would laugh at every silly thing he would say. Rosalie greeted her with open arms, she couldn't be more happy that Carlisle found someone. Edward and Bella were the ones who dared to talk about movies with Y/N. Edward loved the classics from the 50's and 60's, but Bella was a late 90's horror girl. Y/N felt home.

"You need to tell her," Alice said, watching Y/N and Edward debate about the Hollywood golden era.

"What have you seen?" Carlisle frowned.

"Just tell her. Everything is gonna be fine. Eternally fine I would say, but it depends on you." She said.

Carlisle thought about it. He couldn't risk losing Y/N, but he knew he could trust Alice.

He didn't want to see her in pain, and he knew what the venom would do to her, what it did to all of them. But... maybe it was a price he was willing to pay? No, It wasn't his decision after all. He would never ask her, he would never willingly put her in excruciating pain so they could be together. No, he loved her more than this.

Two weeks passed until Carlisle had the courage to say anything. He finally found the words, and he was ready.

Walking in the forest, Y/N loved how calm and relaxed she was. She could hear the birds, the wind... everything was so peaceful, like she had never seen before. Peace was new to her.

"I need to tell you something," Carlisle said, taking her attention away from the trees.

"Yes?" She smiled.

That smile. That brought him so much comfort.

"I love you. I love you and I cannot keep lying to you. I tried my best to keep this from you, but, it's who I am and I can't run away from it. I don't want you to be afraid, you know I would never, ever, hurt you." He said, taking her warm hands in his cold ones.

"Baby, what are you talking about?" She frowned, confused.

"I am... I am a vampire, Y/N" He felt her body tense, and immediately regretted his words, "Please, please be not afraid. I love you." Carlisle tried to assure her, hoping she would not run from him.

Y/N opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. It was a heavy new information to digest, it took her a moment to understand that and put a couple of puzzles together, knowing he was not lying.

"How old are you?" Y/N asked, her voice sounding like a whisper.

"I- I don't know... I would say is something around 362, but I lost the count, honestly," He tried to grin and she snorted.

"Are you going to live forever?" She questioned.

"Well, yes. I can... die, if that's what you're asking me. But I'm not in risk of dying at all. If things keep going like this, I am going to live forever. We all are." Carlisle sighed. Part of him was indifferent to that accomplishment, living forever.

"Did you turned them all?" Y/N asked and he nodded.

"All of them. Except for Bella, that was Edward's doing."

"I want to be with you. Forever. Turn me into one of you. I have nothing to lose and you're everything I have. I love you." She smiled widely, kissing his lips without waiting for an answer.

"Everything is gonna be fine. Eternally fine I would say, but it depends on you."

Carlisle knew what he had to do.

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen #twilight carlisle

[landslided]

Can’t help but think of little tkk butch Danielle with the smell of Johanna’s fancy, sweet perfume stuck in her nose because that girl sprayed a hate note with it like a love letter.

Also, Eternal Sunshine AU with Daniel (Joel) who is going through it and finds out about his ex, Johnny, who chose to forget him. Not sure who Patrick would be (Dutch? Kreese? Another?) Just saying he’d have that S5 depression stubble and longer hair.

Idk random. Feel free to ignore.

UGH!!! i LOVE THIS ASK SO MUCH, okay okay let me get into this:

tkk lesbian lawrusso my ABSOLUTE beloved!! i get into the topic in later chapters of but the noise goes on (which im excited to share) but yes!! you’re so right!! i think that in early tkk johnny is probably wearing a lot more femme clothing because she’s wearing whatever her mom buys for her and so danielle gets SO FRUSTRATED AND ANNOYED by this pleated skirt, pink sweater blonde who looks like such a nice girl at school but when she’s out with the cobras, she steals their clothes and she wears that red leather jacket that danielle just kind of obsessed over. (baby lesbian johnny wearing dutch’s shirt, bobby’s pants when she knows sid and laura won’t be around for a while) meanwhile danielle wears both her mom and her dad’s and all her cousins’ hand me downs so it’s always a mess of huge flannels and then her mom’s flower patterned shirts (and UGLY CAMOS BECAUSE I WILL NEVER FORGET THAT CANON ATROCITY) and then after she meets mr miyagi you know she’s stealing all his shirts too!

johnny would wear this kind of expensive perfume her mom got her for christmas that smells like vanilla but underneath there’s the smell of leather and sweat and men deodorant she stole from tommy in the lockers and she writes these nasty bitchy notes to danielle à la regina george and danielle is like UGH I HATE HER AND HER BEAUTIFUL GORGEOUS HAIR AND HER INTOXICATING SMELL!!! meanwhile johnny is writing mrs johnny larusso in the margins of her math book and then gets mad at herself for it.

i haven’t seen eternal sunshine of the spotless mind because i know it would absolutely destroy me emotionally but i loooooove break up/make up stories im a huge angst lover and after reading the wiki i totally agree. i think kreese would probably use daniel’s memories to get johnny to join him again? (or date him? im not a kreerence shipper but i can see that too) and i can totally see johnny and daniel fall back in love with each other even without their memories. also, kinda need billy zabka in kate winslet’s fits, blue hair and all. it would heal me i think. and gooood, yes divorced!daniel, with maybe some white hair in that beard (pls ck directors let ralph macchio have white hair he looks so good)

thank you for the ask!! i loved this!!

#*asks #ask AUs

[harmonyowl]

― Flufftober Day Four

Three prompts in and I’m already behind lolol

Consider today and tomorrow my apology for the last two days of angst so have some pre-reaping fluff! I also just realised that my writing style is to apparently just incorporate music lyrics lmao I am a hack! 😂

Tagging @direwombat for any Blythe and Joseph content as requested! 💜

Prompt: Slow Dancing

Pairing: Deputy Blythe Paige x Joseph Seed

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None

┕ Masterlist

┕ Add Yourself To The Tag List

This whole thing was probably not the best idea, honestly, this was bound to happen eventually but that didn’t mean it had been a good idea in the first place. Of course members of the cult Blythe’s parent’s had joined would be at their house, in her childhood home, they were the kind of people to open their doors to others when needed. Blythe wasn’t sure how she felt about knowing that a bunch of strangers had walked through the place where she had grown up, probably had seen the pictures of herself through various stages of life that her parents kept on the entryway wall, or even been in her old bedroom. It felt unsettling, like someone was holding the cards about her but she didn’t know which ones they were, or even who was holding them.

What she did not expect was for those two cult members in her childhood home to be Faith Seed and Joseph Seed, leaders of Eden’s Gate. Definitely not your average members.

Sitting in her parents' living room knowing that the two of them were in the kitchen made this family visit more awkward for Blythe, but she could be civil for her parents' sake as alienating them would not be the safest idea. She didn’t want to lose them to the Project.

Her dad’s Platters record that she had gifted him for his birthday was the backdrop to their afternoon, and if her parents noticed her awkwardness then they didn’t let that stop them from being their regular, jovial selves.

‘So how has working at the Sheriff’s office been? I imagine it’s not quite as hectic as the FBI.’ Blythe finished taking a sip of her coffee before she smiled at her dad’s question, placing the white, flowered teacup back on its saucer in her other hand.

‘It’s been good actually, I’m glad to be home.’ That wasn’t a total lie, she was glad to be back in Hope County and she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it until she’d returned. But she hadn’t left the FBI because of regular stress like she’d led her parent’s to believe. Maybe one day soon she’d tell them the mistakes she’d made that led her here: ex-FBI agent, ex-wife, ex-daughter – for she was indeed a poor one and hadn’t been here to protect them, even if they didn’t think they needed that protection. She hadn’t been there for anyone.

‘Well, I hope Uncle Earl is treating you well,’ her mother piped in, tapping her teaspoon on the rim of her cup twice after she’d stirred in her vanilla sugar. ‘He was so happy to hear that you’d be coming home to work for him.’

‘Yeah he’s been good, it’s just–’ a bang followed by a shuffling from the kitchen made Blythe pause, as if someone had dropped something. Maybe she made a face, she wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her mom smile sympathetically and place a hand on Blythe’s bare knee.

‘Be nice, they needed somewhere close to escape this heat while they worked.’ Blythe just sighed, still looking at the closed kitchen door for a moment longer, before turning to her mother and placing her own free hand on top of the one on her knee, feeling the grooves of her wrinkled skin under her palm. Blythe flashed a smile back.

‘I’m always nice, mama.’ Her dad snorted at that, making Blythe playfully shoot him a glare over her mother’s shoulder, which only made his green eyes dance in mirth. Her mother just hummed in amusement.

But they were right about the weather, it was so hot that they had the windows open and the fans going, and assuming the Father wasn’t parading around shirtless, him and Faith would be extremely uncomfortable in their clothes. She did not want the image of a shirtless Joseph to be in the same space as her childhood home. Blythe wasn’t sure why her parents didn’t close the windows and turn the air conditioning unit on, but they’d been the same since she was a child. It was mostly her mom insisting on it and she just assumed her dad found giving in to be the path of least resistance. Either way the three of them were sitting in the lounge drinking hot coffee (mom’s insistence again), with the sweet summer air drifting in through the open windows and the crackle of the record player as the next song started. It made her dad’s eyes light up and he set his cup and saucer aside so he could stand up.

‘It’s been, oh, how many years since this old man had a dance with his daughter?’ He held his hand out to Blythe and stood in front of her, a joyful smile on his weathered face, ‘they’re playing our song after all.’

Her mother took her cup and saucer from her hand and Blythe hopped up happily to place her hand in her father’s outstretched one, she thought that the last time they’d done this together was at her wedding. Only You started to flow throughout the room as the pair swayed together, Blythe giggling happily as her dad started to sing along quietly to her. Her mother watched on with a fond smile.

‘Only you, can make the darkness bright.’ But they were interrupted rather quickly by the kitchen door opening and the two stopped to see Joseph and Faith step out, Faith was holding a blue folder while Joseph held a copy of his religious text.

‘Ah Father, everything go well?’ Her mother asked, and said man smiled at her as she set aside the two saucers she was holding to stand up for them.

‘Yes thank you, I apologise for interrupting,’ his gaze went to Blythe and her father and he nodded his head slightly, ‘Deputy.’

Blythe could feel her father looking at her from the corner of her eye and she refrained from sighing again, she could be civil, she was a nice person.

‘I’m out of uniform, just call me Blythe.’ That seemed to make both Joseph and Faith smile, and Blythe would have pondered more on how unsettling seeing that was if her mother didn’t clasp her hands together suddenly.

‘Well since you’re already here, you might as well stay for a drink. I insist.’

Her dad nodded along.

‘Oh yes do help yourselves, the two of you work much too hard if I may be so bold.’ Blythe’s gaze flicked over to her mother and her jaw clenched involuntarily, she had to quickly relax it so no one would notice but this was so typical of her parents.

She also felt like a brat for internally complaining that her parents were interrupting their family time because they were being too generous.

There must have been something in her parent’s faces that made Joseph and Faith not want to argue, because they looked at one another before seemingly acquiescing as they put their things down on the side table. Blythe knew that Joseph was originally from the South, maybe there was some of that polite decorum still in him? Somewhere.

‘Blythe why don’t you–oh!’ Her dad suddenly pulled her mom closer by the hand, cutting her question off and Blythe started to back away from his side once she saw.

‘You know, I think it's been a while since you and I have danced, my love.’

The pair started to sway and Blythe could see a large, bashful smile spread across her mom’s face as they murmured quiet words to one another, so close that their foreheads almost touched. It made Blythe smile dreamily at them, almost forgetting who she’d backed up next to.

Joseph didn’t say anything but he was also watching her parents dancing, and out of the corner of her eye she could see that his expression was soft, softer than anything she’d ever seen from him before. It made her reflexively relax. Blythe looked over to Faith who had moved to the couch with a cup of coffee she had poured for herself, before she turned to Joseph with a small sigh. Civil, fine. She went with the first thing her brain conjured up, and held her hand out across to him. She wanted to cringe at how slick it clearly was from the heat, and she wished she’d wiped it on her dress before making the offer.

‘You dance, Mr Seed?’ Joseph looked shocked for a moment, and Blythe was sure that if she turned to look at Faith her face would mirror his. But to his credit he recovered quickly.

‘I don’t often get the pleasure.’ He took her hand and didn’t seem to mind the clamminess, in fact he was the same, and Blythe could feel the roped rosary he wore press into her palm. He placed his other hand lightly on her lower back, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he used her own words back at her.

‘And you’re out of uniform, so you can just call me Joseph.’

Blythe could tell he knew she was amused at that.

Only you can make this change in me

It felt a little awkward to her at first, and if anyone back at the station could see her now they would have no problem making fun of her even more. It was also compounded by the fact that she could feel her parents' delighted expressions on her as they continued to dance behind them. But Blythe was pleasantly surprised at Joseph, he was a good dancer, and he led their gentle sway in time with the music and with no toes trodden on. However, despite the respectful distance he kept from her it seemed Joseph could never do anything about his own gaze, it never left her face, and in turn Blythe couldn’t look away from him. It made that small gap between them almost irrelevant, like by looking at her he was forcibly drawing her close to him, like she was pressed right up against his body with no space at all.

‘It’s nice to see families around that still have so much love for each other, it’s shocking how rare that is. Your parents spoke about you often while you were away.’ Of course they did. Blythe’s eyes closed briefly with an embarrassed smile curling at her lips, before she shook her head and opened her eyes again, Joseph was clearly entertained by her reaction.

‘Oh geez, they didn't, did they?’ He smiled at her.

‘Very much so, they’re very proud of you.’ Blythe sighed through her nose and her slight bashfulness made Joseph chuckle quietly.

‘They’re glad you’re here,’ the pair had now turned to the point where Blythe could see her parents again, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. ‘As are we.’

Blythe’s smile dropped a little at that.

For it’s true, you are my destiny

‘I love my parents, they’re some of the best people I know.’ Joseph looked a little confused at the abrupt change and like he was going to say something in response, but Blythe quickly cut him off. ‘They would never want to hurt anyone, but they’d do anything for those they cared about, even things they’d never think they'd ever do.’

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked into her eyes from behind his aviators as he narrowed his own slightly. The softness from before disappearing.

‘You’re worried they’re going to get hurt.’ By us was the unspoken implication. Careful Blythe, careful.

‘Should I be?’ She kept her face neutral and open, relaxed, she didn’t want to be accusing anyone of anything – especially the leader to his face. But Blythe wanted him to know she would be watching, she would always watch him as long as they were there with him.

The light squeeze on the hand Joseph was holding was an unexpected reaction to her, there was barely any pressure at all but she’d felt it all the same, and his face had lost the wariness after a moment. But he was no longer looking at her.

‘No. We look after our own, especially the best of us.’ He didn’t say anything else, and Blythe was glad for whatever tact Joseph had decided to use today to not push about the Project anymore. Or maybe he just didn’t want to ruin her parents' afternoon, whatever the reason, she was grateful.

And he was being reasonable, and not for the first time in her experience since arriving. Despite reason, a small kernel of hope planted itself in Blythe’s chest, for reasonableness meant conversation. And conversation was the key to understanding.

When you hold my hand I understand, the magic that you do

There was silence for a bit between them, and it was growing awkward again. Blythe scrambled for something to say to break it, there was no need for them to linger on this.

‘You’re a good dancer.’ That brought his gaze back to her, closer, and she wasn’t lying. It seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say to that, but a smile started to creep up on the edges of his mouth. It was a bashful one, like he wasn’t used to genuine compliments, in fact Blythe thought he most likely wasn’t.

‘I’ve been blessed with good rhythm.’ Joseph led her well, his hands never straying from where they were and she never came close to bumping into her parents, or him, despite the size of the living room. Blythe was actually enjoying this, and she knew if she ever had to tell her parents that then they would be far too excited about the admission.

The final line of the song was being sung, and the hand Joseph had pressed to Blythe’s lower back slid around to her hip as if he were about to let go. A warm trail followed it.

You’re my dream come true

He raised their joined hands above her head, and Blythe couldn’t help the smile that bloomed when he spun her for the final line. Fingers loosely linked together as she turned.

Joseph was smiling as well.

My one and only you

When Blythe had turned to face him again the only connection left were her fingers that rested atop his own, her thumb curled under them.

Joseph wasn’t holding her hand to his, just let it rest there, and Blythe didn’t move it for a moment. It was like the two of them had been caught by the others eyes, more indecipherable emotion passed between them in those few seconds of awareness than a thousand words could have ever conveyed. It was as if the room was theirs, and no one else would ever be able to find the two of them.

But they were not alone. Blythe’s fingers started to slide off of Joseph’s hand, slow, reaching, they almost lingered involuntarily and she thought she felt him curl his own fingers slightly so they’d brush against each other more. When the tips of her fingers finally reached his they slid off, and the pair lowered their arms back to their sides. It had only been a few seconds but the motion felt like it took even longer.

Their eyes were the only thing that remained on the other, with the final notes of the song fading away until it was back to silence.

When Blythe would hear this song next it would erode any good memories she had of it, and she would hate him for it. Curse his name and what he would make her do to the sound of it, of its joy he robbed her of.

For she’d scramble in the end for a chance for those gentle fingers in that one moment, as gentle fingers would be all she’d crave when blue eyes meet her green.

#flufftober2022 #my writing #blythe paige x joseph seed #blythe paige #far cry 5 deputy #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 oneshot #far cry 5 #fc5 #fae's fics

[laniminchanlix]

~Forever together~

No warnings!!

Plot: bestfriends to lovers trope, minlix, fluff , vanilla, kissing.

Summary: Felix and Minho never knew of each other until Felix started taking the bus to school. There first meeting was kind of funny but as it goes on things started to take great turns. That’s until one day Minho leaves for awhile and Felix is lonely and misses him. He can’t get Minho out of his head for days. He doesn’t want to seem clingy so he doesn’t call or text much while he’s away. Felix started noticing his feelings for Minho when he left, he wanted to keep it a secret but secrets come out one way or another.

————————————————————————

I’ve always had social anxiety, I never went around big places, I avoided going out with my mother to the mall from the big crowds. If I did end up going out with her I would latch onto her arm the whole time never leaving her side unless I went to the fitting rooms to try something on. I always end up asking a friend to take me to school or I would walk to avoid taking the bus. I hate people they always for some reason weirded me out. Until my mom scolded me to start taking the bus because she doesn’t like me getting into cars with my friends cause she doesn’t know them. I argued with her saying I didn’t want to, but it wasn’t working NOT EVEN MY PUPPY DOG EYES, which usually work on her and everybody else if I want something. So I avoided the argument and decided I’ll take the bus, but I’m not letting a single soul sit next to me. When I first rode the bus I avoided everybody around me like they weren’t there, I put my earbuds in, set my bag in the empty space next to me so no one would sit next to me and enjoy the ride. I vape, my mom gets them for me and everybody knows that so they always text me to ask my mom to buy for them, but I always say no cause fuck that find your own person. I end up taking my vape with me to school so when I get stressed out I could just go to the bathroom and take couple hits then I’ll be fine. And that is how I met ‘him’ Minho also known as Lee know. I didn’t know a thing about him till I rode the bus to school, he was known as the supposedly “trouble-maker or the bad boy” of the school which is funny cause if they really knew he was nothing near those categories. He’s really just a big softy.

I woke up to my alarm blaring in my ears. I forgot to set my phone away from face but I ended up falling asleep watching dramas. I got up did. all the good stuff to get ready for school then headed to my mom to see her off for work. “Yongbok, how you feeling this morning?” She said turning to me smiling giving me a hug. “Mom, you know I don’t like that name, and I’m feeling alright.” I said rolling my eyes at her smiling softly. I grabbed my earbuds my and backpack, “come on mom, let me walk you out.” I said. She hurried and grabbed her purse and keys and we headed out the door. “Alright, have a good day sweetie AND! don’t get caught with that Felix.” She said playfully glaring at me. “How did yo-“ before I could get the sentence out she interrupted me rolling her eyes scoffing. “I’m not stupid yongbok, I was your age once now head down to the bus stop before your late!” She said lightly pushing me getting into the car. “YAH! I TOLD YOU STOP CALLING ME THAT!” I yelled at her as she drove off. I sigh putting my earbuds in heading down to the bus stop. It’s not that long of a wait honestly it’s about 15 to a 20 minute wait. I sat down at the curb waiting when I looked up I saw a boy with black fluffing hair with cat eyes walking across the road to the bus stop. That’s weird I never seen him wait here before. He walked over the the tree that about a couple ft from me and leaned against it waiting. I decided to just leave it alone and continue on what I usually do avoiding everybody. I looked up to see the bus was here so I got up behind the guy that was leaning against the tree, I lowkey did check him out but like not in a sexual way just kinda observing him, he’s wearing a pair of black jeans cut off on the knee parts, with a black tshirt with some band on it paired with a chain and a couple rings, he had a pair of black and white adidas on as well. I like his style it kinda suits his look anyways. Like I always do I walked to the back and sat down in my original spot sat down and set my bag next to me like always. I looked over to see he sat in the other seat next to mine, he looked over at my way but I hurried and looked out the window. Hopefully he didn’t notice my stare. I felt kinda stressed from all that so I took my vape in my sleeves and decided to take a couple hits, I glance around while hitting it to see if anybody was looking I look over at the guy next to me to see him staring at me grinning wickedly. It’s was actually kind of scary. After my last puff still staring at each other I slowly would blow the smoke out every second to be funny about it. He laughed a little and put his hand out. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He chuckled, he grabbed my bag then scooted next to me. I backed up a little from him getting close to me. “What flavor is it?” He asked. I just stared at him. “W-what?” I stuttered out blushing from embarrassment cause I stuttered. “Oh, umm it’s blue razz.” I said avoiding eye contact with him. “Nice.” He said leaning back into the seat getting comfortable looking forward nodding his head like he’s listening to a song. I just stared at him in confusion because why is he still here? What does he want? “Can I hit it?” He asked looking over at me putting his hand out. “I-uh I guess.” I said shrugging my shoulders putting the vape in his hand. “Minho.” He said taking a few hits then handing it back to me. “What?” I asked. “My name…Minho.” He said looking at me smiling. “Oh, I’m Felix.” I said smiling a little. Maybe I made a new friend.

Not long after we just clicked. We sat by each other everyday on the bus I figured out he lives like 4 minutes from me that’s why he’s at my bus stop as well. He showed up randomly at my house one day after school scaring the living shit out of me, but I got used to it at some point. After we clicked we became bestfriends, he would literally threaten anybody who tried to mess with me.

Me and my mother got a new place so it was kind of hard to hang out a lot but you know we found our ways. “Are you like ever gonna go home?” I asked chuckling, we were both sitting on the couch cuddled up in blankets with some popcorn and soda, we are watching the re runs of twilight, well I forced him to of course. I was cuddled up to his side and was talking nonstop about Jacob, he knows about me being gay but he never had a problem. He said he knew before I even told him which kind of embarrassed me that he could read me so quickly. But us cuddling is normal. It’s brotherly love….. I mean I think that’s what I feel for him. “Mmm, no.” He said smirking then pulling me closer to him popping another piece of popcorn in his mouth. My heart started to beat a lot faster than it normally should when he pulled me closer to him. What the fuck? I started to feel heat hit my cheeks and noticed I was blushing but I hurried up and put all that away and just snuggled into him watching the movie. “But why Jacob? I think jasper is pretty sexy.” He said. I looked at him then laughed loudly. “What?” He said chuckling a little while rolling his eyes. “We are not gonna get into the ‘whole who’s better looking’ in this movie, cause trust me you won’t win.” I said smirking getting prepared for this argument. “Oh really huh? Fine then well… let’s do thi-“ before he could finish his phone started ringing and it was his mom. “Hold on a second let me take this real quick.” He said kicking off the blanket going to the back door then going outside. I just sat back and continued on with the movie eating my buttered popcorn. He came back inside a few seconds later with a scowl on his face. “What’s wrong min?” I asked softly patting the spot next to me so he could explain what happened to me. We came up with nicknames for each other, mine is Lix or Lixie and his is Min or MinHoe. “It’s mom, she said I have to…move in with my dad.” He said sighing loudly leaning his head back in frustration. “Okay? So what’s the problem?” I asked confused pausing the movie sitting towards him sitting cross crossed putting my full attention on him. “That is the problem, he lives far.” He said sighing loudly again. I gulped in anxiousness. “How…far?” I asked in a slight whisper. “Pretty far it’s like 45 min to an hour away from here.” He said running his hands down his face out of frustration once again. “Oh.” Is all I could say looking down at my lap fiddling with my fingers. I bit down on my lip hard to hold back my tears. “Yeah I know it’s Stu- wait are you crying?” He said worriedly. “N-no.” I said in a whisper sniffling while wiping my eyes. But that was no use cause the tears kept flowing. My heart shattered to a million pieces just hearing about how far he’ll be from me. Because that means we won’t have time for each other at all like we used to. “Aww, Lixie come here.” He said his eyes softening from all the frustration, he now has gone. All his worries and attention is on me. Which is one of the things I love about him, that he would drop anything in a heartbeat for me. He grabbed me and pulled me into his chest hugging me tightly rocking us side to side. I sobbed into his shirt most likely soaking it, I fisted at his shirt squeezing it tightly pulling him tighter, and closer to me like he was gonna leave me forever. “I won’t get to see you much anymore.” I said sobbing quietly while he rubbed soothing circles on my back. “Lix, I promise you I will make all my time for you I don’t care how busy I am. You know that.” He said. “I know it’s just, your gonna be so far.” I said pulling away from him with bloated red tear stained cheeks and red puffed eyes. “I know.” He said tears forming in his eyes.

“But it’ll be okay, cause I’ll come and see you as much as I can, and try to call you as much as I can.” He said smiling. “Your right.” I said smiling back to him cuddling into him while he sang a soft melody to me. After that he moved, and we did call all the time like he said he tried to see me as much as he could like he said, but after awhile it died down, I was thinking of just calling him all the time but I didn’t want to seem clingy. He got a girlfriend which is understandable cause now he needs to find time for her. But why does it feel like a knife is being stabbed into my heart a million times? He’s my bestfriend I should be happy for him…. But I’m not, it hurts so bad to see them how they are, all flirty and lovey dovey with each other. It hurts so bad. I’m jealous… big time jealous. I didn’t know why I was being like this, until I finally came to the conclusion it’s because I’m in love with him. But of course I would never tell him that. It’s been a year or so since he’s been at my house, then all of a sudden after a week of no talking to each other he texted me one day.

MinHoe😈: hey can I come over….

Lixie pixie🧚: yeah sure!! Is everything okay??

MinHoe😈: yea… I just really need someone to talk to right now.

Lixie pixie🧚: yeah, just head on over here whenever!

MinHoe😈: okay I’m on my way rn.

Lixie pixie🧚: okay the front door is unlocked I’m in my room when you get here.

MinHoe😈: okay.

Something seemed off when he texted me like that cause he never texts me all depressed like that, so something is definitely fishy.

(Should I do a part two or no? Please telll meeeee. I ended it right here cause a bitch is tired lol 😂)

~Thank you for reading let me know if you want a part two to see what happens next.~

Our cutie patooties Minlix 🥰⬇️

#minlix #skz fluff #fluff #skz ships #skz au #best friends to lovers #school #cheating #lee felix #lee know #pure vanilla cookie #soft #softleeknow #social anxiety #shyfelix

[notladylikes]

"hope" is the manifestation of all the good influences in holden's life. she is the realization of a kind stranger that approached him at one time, and all the bits of happiness and love and things of that nature that were combined into her less than corporeal self. though she exists only in his head, she feels like a real person when she's around, ( ie, she breathes / hungers / needs sleep ) even though she's only there when he calls for her. the reason she acts this way is to make her more of a real thing to holden, so he holds tight to her. things that he associates with her are : the color pink, sunshine on a warm day, the sprinkle of rain, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon, a nice warm sweater, the feeling of cashmere, and tobacco smoke. these things assault his senses whenever she is there with him.

the manifestation known as "hope" is always sporting the color pink somewhere on their person. it may be a singular item, may be multiple, in varying shades. it is the reason that holden has come to associate the color with "hope"'s realization. it has been this way since she first appeared to him and over time she's gotten a bit more extra ( if one could say as such ) with it, sometimes going a bit over the top and wearing a series of pink items that accentuate the color of her cheeks. her eyes sometimes have a tinge of a pink flair to them as well, but only under certain circumstances.

cait was born on halloween, which means she's always been a spooky girl at heart. she tends to write songs that are darker in aspect than normal, even though her band doesn't play them, and keeps them in a little notebook that she always has on her person. when the muse strikes, she has the chance to scribble down something in said notebook so that she doesn't lose her thoughts, a habit that she picked up after she got sober because she felt like she lost so much potential content when she was drinking heavily and wound up too drunk to really function.

karolina has various contacts around town where she manages her business, but never forgets where she came from. the street kids that took her in when she was younger and helped her steady out her life are people that she both employs when given the chance ( some are more skilled than others when it comes to her type of work ) or she simply provides them with credits. her main focus is to eventually open up a place where they can stay - which is why she has a chunk of change set aside to be able to purchase one of the abandoned buildings in night city. there she will be able to make a safe space for people like her who are down on their luck.

laila has been a drug addict since her final year of highschool, where she put all of her effort into graduating a semester early. that meant she worked her way through the summer and any and all breaks that were given to give herself ample time and opportunity to start going to college as soon as possible, with taking AP and honors classes and acing them. she got her first pop of pills from a friend of hers, when she needed to study for mid terms, and the habit has been one she hasn't been able to kick yet. she goes through periods of which she is under withdrawal, and one can tell from her sunken in eyes, her griping at everyone, and her lack of interacting with folks.

violet has two children. her first son was born at the age of fifteen and taken away from her after two years of being his mom, because her own mother thought she could do a better job. for a while, violet was allowed in her child's life - that is, until she started working for her father at the age of twenty. from that point on, her second child was immediately taken by her mother, who forced her to give up custody because she was not only a criminal at the time, but on drugs prior to her pregnancy ( and would likely be as well after she gave birth - the only time she was sober for the past year was when she was carrying her daughter ). she has not seen nor interacted with either one of her children since they were taken by her mother and she was forced out of the family home, because her mother has cut all ties with violet.

#headcanons. #mus. “hope”. #mus. cait elisabeth sutherland. #mus. karolina elyse hawthorne. #mus. violet maeve dawson. #mus. laila devika soren.

[vinylhazza]

For Keeps (G.D)

Summary: Jesse knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to say it, or rather demand it. Grayson, who carries respect and dignity like a shield of armor, walks the line of being the vanilla boyfriend he always thought she’d want, or the guy that listens to the devil on his shoulder and embellishes on the fantasies that won’t leave him alone every night. There is a first for everything, a time and place to try something -- or some one new. There is a chance to set the fire in motion. He might just take it.

Word Count: 4.9k

Warning: Strong sexual content, giving head, fingering, spitting, explicit language 

          There is a first for everything.

          The first time you ride a bike, the first time you try your favorite food, the first time you win an award, the first time you hear your favorite song, the first time you talk to the person you’re meant to spend the rest of forever with, the first time you overcome your worst fear, the first time you read your favorite book, the first time you travel to a different country, the first time you have thoughts that should damn you for eternity and for some...there is even a first time for eating pussy.

         It’s an embarrassment he’d never wanted anyone to discover let alone put to the test. Sure his friends had their time to talk about their extensive knowledge on female anatomy, but whenever the topic of him and Jesse doing anything outside the box he himself had placed them in, his lips were sealed. For one thing it wasn’t their business, for two he’s not entirely sure what he would say. He knew the time would come. He didn’t view their relationship like a race and he knew Jesse didn’t either. They’d been friends for too long and knew each other too well for him to base their relationship off of sex. 

       Grayson keeps his eyes glued to his hands holding Jesse’s hips tight -- unsure of what to do now that he’s got her beneath him and wanting him to have his way with her. He knows what he wants, but doubts that he has the courage to pursue it within him. He’d watch her with careful eyes as she peeled off each article of clothing before pulling him close by his belt loop and on to the bed to kiss her rough busy day away. A picnic was nice, but his complete and undivided attention was better. Even if his eyes trailing up and down every part of her body made her nervous. 

          He’d done plenty of things with his ex before Jesse, but none of those things had involved his lips and tongue anywhere beneath the waist. Not anything like he’s inevitably about to do. 

         “Cat caught your tongue?” Jesse had snickered minutes ago, a sly smirk lacing up her ruby red lips from so much kissing -- moment’s before he’d gotten them both all hot and bothered. He couldn’t help it when he was with her, his self control falters and he’s drunk off her touch once again, swimming in a pool of despair he can’t control. All he can think about is her. Wanting her. Needing her. Touching every single inch of her velvety skin. Wanting to do things to her. Wanting her to do things to him. Things he would blush at in the future.

         Jesse was a woman with desires he’d only dreamed of women having. She was shy at times but the devil danced in her bright eyes. Grayson knew she wanted things she’d never had the guts to say out loud and things she only wanted from him alone. It all made him a fierce kind of nervous, but gave him an electrified thrill. A challenge for him to explore the workings of her body and all the ways he can make her more satisfied than she’s ever been. He didn’t plan on letting her go anytime soon - and if he wanted to do her right, he had to go outside of his comfort zone for her.

         Knowing Jesse was more experienced did things to him that he couldn’t begin to hide -- but more than anything it made him jealous of every set of hands that had ever touched her skin before his. It made him reckless and competitive, focused and haughty. He was better than them, he could be better than them.

         He could rapture her into a whirlwind of pleasure that would ruin her image of every man except him, wanting no one's mouth but his, daydream of no one’s lips but his own, beg for no one else’s touch, want no one else’s hands but the ones holding her now. It wasn’t about him, this wasn’t about his pleasure for once, it was truly all about her. 

         Pulling him back into the flames, he’s burning up under her intense stare, waiting for him to do something, do anything. Anything but watch her long enough to find something less than stellar, less than grand, less than exceptional. With her fears unfolding she pulls him down for a kiss of her own, a soft feather of a thing he can feel all the way to his toes. She’d always been good at that, giving  him more to miss when she’s away. The way she hugs him close is one of those things.

         Grayson fell hard into love—which wasn’t particularly unusual for the hopeless romantic he was, but he always knew Jesse was set apart from the seasonal heartthrobs. He was truly bewitched by her creativity, wanderlust, unapologetic confidence, patience, and beauty.

         An enchantress she was, beautiful beyond anything he could ever deserve. Drop dead gorgeous with the personality to match, there wasn’t a head that didn’t turn when she walked into a room, not a man that didn’t fumble over their words at any opportunity to talk to her, not a woman who didn’t want to be her friend. Sure her beauty was undeniable, but her benevolent heart beat it all.

         He may never know why Jesse had leaned in to kiss him seven months ago save for three days in a hidden corner in Café Verona -- a quaint treasure he’d always hold dear to his heart. Fairy lights criss-crossed along the ceiling, soft Jazz waltzing with the beat of his heart, emerald green leather bench pressing into his thighs. But he’s glad she did. He’s glad she leaned in to kiss him when he’d been building up the nerve for weeks. So afraid to go there but more afraid of not knowing what would happen if he didn’t. He’s glad she took his chin in between her fingers to hold him still enough to feel her lips press to his securely, a warmth swarming in his chest where the heart shaped hole once was.

          If he flipped through the pages of his memory, he would remember a statue-like stillness about him before he sunk into her touch, caging her head in his large careful hands. Feeling the gasp she tried to hide, the smell of grapefruit shampoo and the way her flushed cheeks felt under his stroking thumbs. He would see himself fall into her, around her and through her, off the edge of the rocky cliff and into the dark blissful deep of nothing but her.

          He’d be eternally grateful she looked at him with utmost sincerity and whispered with a raw kind of intensity that he’d “driven her mad you see” -- and he’d heard it then, the brittleness of her voice because fear rattles her to the core, and she had been scared out of her mind. A crack that tracked through her careful confession and to the root of him. Jesse was scared of what he meant, what he was in terms of her heart, what he could be if she continued to kiss him the way she was.

          In that quiet moment he remembered what made her so deeply rooted in his heart: the laugh that rattled him, the soft smell of peaches and vanilla, the way she never drives without sunglasses because her mom who passed away much too early did the same, the dance she does when she finally eats the first bite of food after damn near breaking the world in half in hanger, the way she punches the roof of her car after making it through a yellow light because her best friend in high school did the same, the way she always turns her spoon upside down when eating ice cream, and the way she always has answers for everything no matter what topic, even the way she laughs entirely too hard at Family Feud. 

         For that reason alone he waited for the physical parts to come when they may. It was new and exciting sure, and he’d always loved her heart of course, but her body was uncharted territory. He was patient, yes. A gentleman guarding some assumed virtue, even if he knew better than to think she was anything but a seductress. Patient enough to tell her no when she’s had one too many drinks and not enough discipline. They’d been friends before anything else - the best of friends with a foundation of trust. He’s spent years trying to gain that trust and he vowed to keep it.

          Of course he could have been that guy on many occasions: possessive, selfish, greedy and crude. He could have played his cards and dealt his dirty hand at the wrong moment and still pulled out ahead. I mean hell, how often do guys get out of the friend-zone? But he wasn’t that guy. No matter the relationship status — they weren’t ready.

         They hadn’t been ready to cross that carefully drawn line in the sand, not until now. With the strawberry White Barn candle burning in the corner on the cluttered desk one could expect from a college student and a half full can of Arizona tea on the night stand...her face lit with a mystical kind of magic he’d only ever seen the day she leaned back after their first official kiss. 

         “Hold my hair.”

         Grayson found the words slipping off his tongue easier than they’d come all night. All he’s planned on was a simple date in the park that was tucked away and secluded from all the people that could interrupt, he’d even brought her favorite book and laid back on a soft patch of grass to listen to her melodic voice read to him. He’d planned to come back and share a peck or two while watching a new episode of Daredevil and holding her through the night. She’d had a long day full of texts to him, trying to get him to give her the okay to walk out of her low-paying job and not look back. He never planned on laying her down on his bed and caressing every inch of her skin until he was finally delving into a place he’d never been quite like this.

          He was nervous but he could do anything, be anything with her hand in his hair and her kind eyes watching him defile her. He just knew from this moment on he would have a reputation to uphold, as cocky as it sounded. He had to prove he wasn’t as lost as he felt. He felt like a virgin all over again, like he was doing something raw and real and scary. A secret only the wrinkled sheets would remind him of later.

          Her touch, her soothing him through something that frightened him has always been a crutch for him to lean on. When he got in a fight with his brother, she was there to comb through his hair and talk him through the proper apology, when he decided to change majors and had a breakdown so crippling he couldn’t breathe she rocked him through it until his breath was even once again, when he wrecked his new car on the way home from a party he never should have been at she was right there to give him a kiss on the cheek and help him call the insurance company and his erratic mother who loved her like a daughter. She led him through the rough parts of life and then some.

           He never imagined she would be leading him through something so sensual, but he needed her bringing him back to earth all the same.

          Jesse obliged with a grin of her own, feeling him shuffle down to trail a string of kisses across her torso and down to the base of her need and desire. The fireball of want burned in her stomach, turning her rational thoughts brown and charred. He was good at that, making her need him fiercely. She’d never wanted anyone so much, and even if she thinks back to past flings - she’d never been satisfied like she was with Grayson, and they’d done much less.

         “What are you thinking?” Jesse wonders, distracted by his soft supple lips and his nibbling at her hip, but wanting to hear the inner workings of his brain. Her fingers fidget, wanting to push him by his brown mop of hair down lower - just to feel him at last. She needed this distraction, she just needed his help to forget. Not that she hadn’t been waiting for months for this exact moment, there was just urgency in the way she’s stripped herself bare before him. 

          She almost expects him to wait for her direction, but jerks against him when he takes the lead all on his own. How could he not with her as his complete mercy, giving him the fuck me eyes and twisting a lock if hair around her finger? 

          Grayson thinks on that as he trails his mouth down, down, down to slick his tongue up the base of her, smirking to himself when she wiggles against him. “I’m thinking that I like you this way.”

          The contact was a shock to her nervous system and a promise of what was soon to come if she kept tempting him the way she was. She was a heathen with angel eyes. Someone infatuated with his innocence (at least he was more innocent than she) and curiosity to learn every curve and dip of her body. He made her feel powerful, unstoppable, undeniable. She craved it as much as he craved her own lips tracking across his skin - in the heat of the moment or in the still of the night.

          “Naked you mean?” She laughs then, trying to keep herself at least somewhat under control now that he’s grown some balls and taken the first step. She’s shocked momentarily that she didn’t have to practically order him into touching her.

           She grips her breasts at another bold swipe of his tongue. Rolling her hardened nipples between her fingers and tensing at the sparks flying up her center. The feeling of him spreading her open, blowing against her throbbing clit is almost too much to bear. Jesse curses then, a soft “fuck” she tries to reel back before he gets too big of a head. She knows it fell on eager ears when he delivers another bold stripe of his tongue up her center -- slow and deliberate. 

           “Unguarded,” he finally grumbles, rubbing away the goosebumps that pepper her thighs. She thinks for a moment that she could gave turned off the ceiling fan circling over top of them, but feared she might burn up if it wasn’t for the white blades blowing on her crown of hair going every which way on the pillow. 

          She ignores how right he is - that she’s never been this vulnerable with him before, but instead rolls her eyelids shut to feel him really delve into her - opening his mouth and pressing his tongue to her flat. This is just what she needed, her favorite person trying something new and succeeding at it. 

            For someone that’s never given head, he was pulling it off. He was going to ruin her.

           Glancing down at the yellow glow of the lamp illuminating the right side of his face, Jesse curled her fingers into his plush head of hair once again, somewhere between heaven and hell with no real knowledge of the difference.

           She moans at his lips wrapping around her, the suction to her lower region and the way his thumbs dig into her skin to hold her in place. No running this time, she had no choice but to feel it all. This is what she wanted right? 

          “This feel okay?” he teases, tentatively trailing the tip of his tongue around the place she wanted most. He loved to see her eyes alight with that devilish incomprehensible lust. He was truly winging it, doing anything he’d heard from friends or watched himself late at night, anything to further her soft pants and moans tumbling out of her O shaped mouth. She was too good to be true and felt like one lucky bastard. 

           Nodding down to him she groans, wanting him latched to her. “M-more than okay just keep going.”

          He never knew it could feel so pleasurable to be the giver and not the receiver nine times out of ten. He didn’t know how selfish he’d been and the opportunities he'd missed to feel compliant and...obedient. He liked it. He loved it. He loved the position he was in - her looking down at him like the goddess she was and always had been, him crouching down at the end of the bed to devour her in the best way he could, his hair disheveled, eyes dark with hunger, hands gripping her tight.

          He lets instinct take the wheel, peppering kisses to her clit and bringing his own  hand down to slip in a finger to add extra stimulation - pleased when Jesse releases another string of curses. Fowl language huh? Wonder what she’d do if he stopped-

          “You’re such a dick-“ she tugs at his roots, rolling her hips into his mouth that savors  her now, lips slick with her wetness. She tasted good, he’d concluded. It wasn’t anything like what he imagined it would be, no, it was better. It felt better than all of the horror stories he’d made up in his head. He’s sure if he wanted to - he could stay right down between her legs for hours -- until his lips were sore and his tongue tired. Stopping wasn’t an option. Not when she’s been waiting so long, fantasized too often. She huffs out again “Thought you’ve never done this before.”

            That must be a good sign, right?

           “Never,” he slurps at her, shaking his head and groaning into her core. He felt the slickness of her on his cheeks now. Bowing down to eat her out was harder than it looked, especially with back problems as it was. 

            Focused and drunk on Jesse’s gentle hip thrust into his mouth he hugs her thighs and stands upright, just off the edge of the bed, bringing her lower half up in the air with him. He can feel her trembling now, wide eyes gleaming at him with surprise and delight at the new and better position.

            She was losing it. She’d had him compliant at first, her soft-hearted boyfriend trying something new...but damn he was tugging the ropes from between her fingers and leading her to a path less traveled. Quick learner he was.

           “Grayson put me down! Have you lost your mind?” Jesse squealed, grinning at his closed eyes and moving lips, deaf to her antics. She was expected something quick, maybe even simple, but him switching up positions was not in the game plan as great as it was. 

           She could see it now, the guy that was always hiding just beneath the surface. She could see how her sounds urged him on and made him try harder. She could see his arms shaking from the weight of her legs and the effort it took to hold her pussy as close to him as he could. She could feel the heavy breath fanning out across her pelvis from his nose. She could feel the tickle of his hair dangling down and whispering across the skin of her stomach. She could feel that same ball of fire seated in her stomach slip lower and lower with each passing second - until the words that fell out of her mouth were nothing but strings of profanity would make a sinner blush.

             It was going to sear her in half, that fucking ball of fire. Hot lava stirring up a flood she couldn’t stop. It was splitting her in half just as his digits were now, pumping into her hard and fast, curling at his knuckles. His rings gleam from the yellow lamp-light and shock her when they touch her dewy skin. She had lost all sense of control.

            Hearing his own moans, hearing how desperate he was to keep eating her pussy and make her feel better than anyone had, got her inching towards the edge. It was a low kind of growl itching at his throat.

            The taste of her blurred his senses, the soft smell of her making his mind spin out of control, the tightening walls of her cunt around his fingers fucking her fast, the light sheen of sweat that glowed in the dim light of his room - he was a madman with no direction but forward. He had to keep going, for stopping would surely break them both. He would love to tease her, but knew if he stopped one more time she would kill him in a heartbeat. 

          “Open your fucking eyes and watch me.” He barked down to her, stopping only for a moment to glare at her. His fingers continued their fast paced in and out, in and out, in and out.

                         He’d figured if he was going to take it all the way, he needed to pull every string. Needed to pull out the nasty daydreams and make them a reality. This is something he would have for keeps. Something he’d want to do over and over, something he couldn’t wait to do again. Something he’d want to remember. 

          Peeling her eyes open she sobbed at the sight of him spitting into her pussy with a smile, staring at her darkly. Light eyes blacked into pits he ruined her through and through. He had to be lying, he just had to be.

          “Fast learner,” Grayson sneers, leaning forward to smear his saliva around her slick folds, arms circling her midsection to hold her close again.

           “ Fuckfuckfuckfuck- keep fu- keep going!” Jesse begs, barely holding on to the light threatening to slip away into the fire burning her up. “Doing so good Gray, so fucking good.”

             She had discovered soon in the relationship and the minimal sexual acts they’d indulged in that Grayson was a man that adored praise. He wanted someone to tell him how good he was doing, even if he already knew it. He wanted someone to look him in the eyes just as she was doing now and watch him succeed. He wanted complete undivided attention, verbal acknowledgment. 

              He sucked at her still, sliding his tongue into her quickly then — remembering someone in a poorly shot amateur porn video did the same to the tatted up blonde he was practically fucking to death, and hoped it would have the same effect on his beautiful princess begging for him to keep going. He kept note while he watched the video, knowing one day he would be standing where he is now relishing in the gold mine that belonged to him. He fucker her with his tongue, humming into her cunt for the added stimulation. 

               Fuck all she was the end of him. “Pretty pussy all wet for me, yeah? Want to cum? Bet you doubt me huh? Thought I wouldn’t do you right…”

               He chucked at the vigorous nodding of her head, the eyes rolling in the back of her head, the hand that leaves his hip to pull at her own hair. Her eyes squeezing shut in panic now that she feels the tip of the iceberg coming up fast. 

               “Don’t even know how crazy you drive me, how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

               Hearing him admit it only made her thighs quiver against his strong arms, only made her want more, made her creep dangerously close to the edge she was for once in her life afraid to fall off of. The crash into the sea would be the biggest shock she’s ever had. Jesse tried to focus on her breathing, trading the heaving for squealing when he dipped his tongue in her entrance to give her something to fantasize about. She’d never had someone tongue fuck her, let alone stair into her soul while they did it. 

              Fuck he was good. Too fucking good.

             “Baby you have t-to slow down,” she warns, the big splash terrifying and so close. He was a wicked man for doing just the opposite, spreading her legs wider and shaking his head against her again, eyes squeezed shut like he knew what would happen in only a few seconds.

               “Grayson step back,” she tried to warn more firmly, afraid of the unfamiliar feeling of something new about to happen, embarrassed already but too worked up to stop it. “Shit - Grayson step back!”

                And there it was, the strongest orgasm she’d ever had and certainly the wettest. Her release soaked the bed beneath, sheets spotted with her arousal and breath stolen from her lungs. She’s not sure when Grayson had dropped her, or whether her convulsing body wiggled out of his grasp during the black out she’d just had. She was spread on the bed in her own mess, her chest flushed, damp hair stuck to her forehead in waves, vision blurred, eyelids drooping in exhaustion, hand somehow in Graysons.

              He’s there then. He’s everywhere and nowhere all at once, his hand a ghost on her forehead brushing away those tendrils of hair, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles with tender care, his lips smoothing the furrow of her brows. Grayson is lifting her without a word, caging her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, and smoothing her head against his chest to feel the weight of her there - just to feel the heat of her consume him.

              “Holy fuck,” she breathes, spent. 

              “I hope it wasn’t too much,” he whispers into her hair, hand smoothing over the locks while rocking her around the room, mind racing with every image of what he’d just done and the feeling of complete bliss flooding his body.

                He’s almost worried she fell asleep in his arms until he feels the shaking he can only assume is laughter, before she’s hugging him tighter. “Idiot. I can’t believe you’ve never done that. And I can’t believe I’m this tired. Feel like a rookie.”

               “Guess I passed the test then?”

               “Flying colors.”

                Jesse nuzzles in as far as she can, tucking in her arms against his chest and letting the state of Nirvana wash over her. With a sigh Jesse thinks over the shocking events of her boyfriend being 100% nastier than she’d initially thought — not that she’s complaining.

               She barely remembers Grayson running a bath, or setting her in the steaming tub with a kiss, or waiting for him to strip the bed with a giddiness sitting in his chest at all that they’d done, barely remembers him joining her in the tub and catching soap in the calm of his hand to smith the suds over her post-sex body. That’s the only way she would describe herself in the moment, her skin felt sensitive to the touch, sparks still shooting through her with the feeling of his hands on her.

             What Jesse does remember is laying with Grayson in a bed freshly made, arm draped over his stomach, head resting against his arm, lips peppering kisses against his chest randomly through-out the night. She remembers the feeling of adoration and understanding. What they’d done was both the most foul thing she’d ever done, but also the most liberating and beautiful experience. To lose yourself in another person in such a way that you’re utterly consumed by them was...foreign to the pair laying together in the still of the night.

              Jesse waited until Grayson was softly snoring until she said the only thing she’d never had the guts to tell him in the months they’d been dating. He’d been waiting on it patiently. It was different between friends, but it meant so much more when you don't want to say it to anyone else for the rest of your life. The moment she says it, she can’t ever take it back. Maybe that’s why she chooses the early hours of the morning to lean in and press her lips against his feather soft, blinking back the mist clouding her vision. 

              “Don’t know if you could tell...but I'm kind of in love with you...so just be patient with me please I’m trying for you.”

              Maybe she would get the guts one day to say the words while he’s awake, maybe face to face or with the lights off because she has some kind of comfort in the dark, or maybe it would slip out on accident. In any way that it happens, she hopes he will smile. She hopes that he knows how insanely incandescently happy he makes her each and every day, and how honored she feels that she got to experience another first with him.She hopes he will be comforted that his feelings are 100% reciprocated. She hopes that she gets to see that beautiful  smile he wears on special occasions -- the true smile that he doesn't show too often. For now she presses her lips to his once again, smiling softly as the slow ride and fall of his chest, arm holding her close, the ring she won him out of a shitty machine in the corner of a tattoo shop he’d stopped into on a whim secured on a thin chain around his neck, and the fluttering of his eyelashes while he dreamed. 

#grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfiction #fk!gray #forkeeps!gray #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan #Ethan and Grayson #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan fanfiction #fanfic #dolan twins #dolan twins smut #youtube #youtubers #dolan twins fanfiction #dolan twins imagine #imagine #grayson is a God #grayson is a pretty baby #love you sparklebabies ✨

[kylosgenesis]

Teardrops on Fire

Synopsis:

Steve Rogers is the last Alpha of the an almost extinct Lycan pack. With only less than 100 members left. Steve must produce an heir to ensure the species survival and reduce the chance of attacks from others. Omegas are rare, and betas have a hard time producing children. Steves reality is finally setting in as his obligation of producing an heir faces a major set back.

Reader is the last suitable omega to mate with Steve, due to the fear of her daughters fate in the pack, her mother kept her hidden from the pack after her own exile. Only her mother, and Bucky's family know of her existence. Bucky is Steve's right hand man, and the packs best warrior! He and the reader developed a friendship and bond over the years, but age forced them to become distant.

What happens when she presents and her first heat cycle comes? Her body is in excruciating pain and a strong fever quickly overcomes her body. Facing the fear of her daughters possible death, her mom calls on the only person who can save her at this point, Alpha Steve! Bucky and the alphas friendship will be tested. The reader will be faced with her love for Bucky or her duty to the pack.

Unbeta'd: There might be spilling mistakes ( English is my second language so please be kind)

Authors note: We've made it past the filler chapters. I cant wait for the next chapter. You know when you come up with a whole story just because of one little scene on your head? thats next chapter for me. We'll be making a little time jump.

*Other Authors note at the end*

Chapter 7: I really wish I hated you

You woke up early for your morning jog, excited about your first day having a job.

When you heard Natasha mention she needed extra help at the pub, you didn’t know what possessed you to volunteer, but you were determined to have as much of a normal life as possible and this was your first step.

The air was wet from last night's rain, and the temperature had started to drop enough to require a jacket on your runs.

You finished the run in record time, and got ready for your first day. Thankfully Wanda had given you some of her old clothes, and Natasha was kind enough to let you borrow some of hers or else you would have been in the same worn clothes you'd arrived in. Steve had offered to take you shopping yesterday, but you didn’t feel comfortable with the thought. For 19 years you’d taken care of yourself and your mom, you were strong , and you didnt wanna forget that.

It’s incredible how much you’d let the past weeks change you, you felt out of place, out of mind. But having something for yourself again was once step closer to feeling your old self again.

You finished getting ready, and started coffee for Nat who would be waking up any moment now as her grouchy morning self. Just a few days with her had let you know she wasn’t the friendliest in the morning. You laughed at the mug on the counter that had the words ‘Don’t talk to me till I’ve had my coffee’ in bold letters. It fit her perfectly! Whoever gifted it to her hit the nail in the spot.

Despite not being too familiar with coffee before, it became a comfort to you. You developed a live hate relationship with the liquid, by itself it was the most disgusting thing you’d ever tasted. And you had made tea out of wild mushrooms once, so that was saying a lot. Once Nat introduced you to French vanilla creamer, you’d become addicted to it.

Setting up the two mugs on the counter you prepared your cup, before listening for the footprints coming from down the hallway.

Even with morning hair, and a red face from recently washing. Nat was easily the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. She was all and every one of the main characters in your favorite books.

“Good morning, Nat” you handed her the coffee mug, as she still looked half asleep.

She took a couple of more sips of the liquid before you saw her soul come back into her body. She leaned against the counter while swinging and finishing the contents of her mug.

“Someone’s excited” she said with a small laugh.

“ohhhh really? What gave it away? “ you had finished your coffee, and were just pacing around the kitchen waiting for Nat.

“Well... you’re usually a morning person, but today you’re even more of a morning person than usual.” She set her mug in the sink , and reached for the hair tie in her wrist as she neatly gathered her hair into an effortless ponytail.

“ I don’t know how you do it, but I hope it will rub on me at some point” you both laughed.

You were almost ready to leave when Nat reentered the kitchen with a hairbrush and some pins.

“Nat , if that's your way of saying I need to fix my hair we’re going to be late, I’m sure it’s fine. “

She motioned you to the seat near the counter and you sat down. Trying to protest against Natasha would get you nowhere.

“First of all you’re never late if you own the place” she started slowly brushing the ends of your hair as you relaxed at the gentle massage of the brush.

“Second, you’ve been wearing the same ponytail since I met you. You have a new life, and a new job.” You felt her take a small strand from the front of your hair, and pin it to the back, and the same motion on the other side.

“ My mom always said when you look good, you feel good! And I want you to be a strong confident woman” she put all the products on the counter as she took your face upon her hands.

“ You deserve to be happy and besides… you might bump into anyone in this town. So you better look good” she laughed

“I'm telling you, those old ladies can be mean!” Nat made her best impression of one of them ”back in my day we wouldn't leave the house unkept… no alpha would ever settle for that. I don't know what's with this new generation” she sounded so funny you couldn't help but snort as you broke in laughter.

When you both regained your composure she forms loose strands around your face “ ohhh shit, now we might actually be a little late. Come on!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you arrived at the pub, there was already a white truck in the parking lot. Nat took the keys out of her purse, and tuned the lock. The place certainly looked different without the lights or people, but it still felt cozy to you. Coming from the back was a faint light, and you could hear some thrashing noises. Nat didn’t seem bothered, so she just tuned in the rest of the lights and you flooded her to the kitchen. His smell hit you before he even rounded the corner. He came into the kitchen holding a large box that blocked his view.

“Hey Bucky” you waved at him. Causing him to drop the box. The sound of metal falling as it hit the floor.

You and Nat just stared at bucky's confused gaze. Before Nat cleared her throat.

“I should’ve told you yesterday, but she’ll be starting to work with us. I thought it would be a good idea for her to get to know everyone.”

Bucky bent down to pick the spilled contents of the box, you followed after gathering a few of the metal tools.

“I hope it’s okay with you?” You asked him, not really knowing how he'd respond.

“ Yeah, it’s fine by me” he said with a nervous tone as you handed him the pieces from your hand, and you felt a current run down your spine at the contact of his hand against yours, which he quickly removed.

You all exited the kitchen towards the bar where he placed the box

“I couldn’t sleep last night, so I came over. Thought maybe I could clean the inventory room, but I noticed the beer tap wasn’t working“

“It seemed to be working just fine yesterday, Barnes”

“By just fine, you mean extremely slow pull time? “ he turned to face nat caring the large box out of the room with you both following suit.

“ then it works like a charm ” he made the snarky remark towards Nat, but you couldn’t help to notice his eyes were on you the whole time.

“Fine, but don't break it more” she pointed at him. “ last time you tried to fix something the AC was down for three days”

“And you're never gonna let me forget that wont you?

“Nope” she was already walking away from him as she responded.

“I’ll have it running by opening” he kneeled in front of the small fridge, under the beer tap. .

“Who’s gonna order a beer at 10 in the morning?” You asked, watching over his shoulder as he tweaked with the mechanisms of the fiter on the inside

“ You’d be surprised!” He looked back at you, noticing you already holding the wrench he was looking for.

“Thanks” He smiled, and took the wrench from you. You hadn’t seen him like that in 10 years, he seemed relaxed!

“Howd you learn to do that?” he turned back to face you surprised at your choice of tool.

“ the fridge broke down a couple of times on us, so i learned from taking it apart and back together...after a while you get good at mechanics” you laughed

I still wouldnt trust me to fix it though. Id rather you take the blame if it doesnt work”

“Playing devils advocate now? “ he was flushing water through the hose system before turning on the machine again. You watched attemptively at his concentrating gaze.

“No… id just rather stay on Nat’s good side.”

“Good choice! She punches hard” he seemed relax with you. It made you feel tingly inside as you both had a sense of normality after 10 years.

“Not as hard as me!“ you reapplied

“Definitely not. I still get phantom pains from those” you both laughed.

You patted his shoulder as you got up to Shadow Nat.

Bucky grabbed your arm before you turned to leave. It's nice to see you! … you look... “ he eyed you head to toe and you felt his gaze linger on your hair “ you look beautiful!”

You felt drawn to him, just being around him brought you comfort in a way you couldn’t explain.

You both felt a tug as you left with Nat, turning back to take a glance at him and noticed he had his eyes glued on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the rush after lunch was over you were wiping down the tables. You felt the exhaustion of the job begin to take over.

You knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but compared to your daily tasks back at the cabin. It was a different kind of exhaustion.

“Don't quit on me just yet” Nat said as she voiced a tray of cups to the back.

“Not yet, but I definitely didn’t know how much people can drink before 3 o’clock” you both laughed as you wiped down the last few of the tables. So far you’d just used the tap, or poured some easy drinks. As the day got slower, Nat promised to train you on some specialty stuff.

You held on to the table as you felt a dizzying feeling deep through you, then you felt a pair of arms behind you.

“Here!” Bucky placed a cup of water in front of you as you eagerly reached for it and frank it entirely in a few gulps.

“Thank you, I should probably start keeping track of how much I owe you every time you rescue me”

You turned back to face him.

“How did you know?”

“ I could feel it through the..” He didn’t have to say it but you knew what he was referring to.

“Ohhh so that’s what that one is” You looked amused as you stared at him.

“I can’t always tell what the bond is trying to say, but I guess being an alpha just makes it easier to interpret ” he was starting to walk away as the words where leaving his mouth

“Is that why you were avoiding me ?” He stopped on his tracks.

“ I wasn’t avoiding you!” He turned to you.

“It kinda seemed like you were.” you stood your ground and placed your hands crossed around your chest in an effort to appear more composed.

“The past weeks I’ve just thought of you, and this bond! “ you pointed at your neck “ I had this voice that kept telling me I wasn’t good enough.”

You felt the pent up feeling of fear, sadness, and frustrations of a few weeks finally leave.

“You know Bucky, I can’t tell what the bond is trying to say, cause I haven’t spent enough time with you to even know how to read you.” You felt the tears stream down your face as the knot on your throat cleared

Bucky walked towards you pulling you into an embrace, just as the tears began to stream down your face. His smell calming you, and his heartbeat merging with yours as he allowed himself to let go of his fear.

“I will always be inclined to take care of you “ he said, burying his head into your hair. While you continued to embrace him.

“Not just because of the bond, but because I loved you more than anything once” you felt your heart stop at his words.

“I thought I hurt you, and I couldn’t forgive myself. But I realized I was running away. That's why I was staying away! “ he lifted your head, and you felt the honesty of his words when you looked into his eyes.

“I missed you ... you know all those years I thought I did something wrong.” You said with choked words.

“ I loved y...”

You both heard the sound of shattering glass. You responded first separating yourself from Bucky and running towards the source. Bucky cursed under his breath, and ran after the source as well.

You walked into the kitchen to see a couple of bottles shattered on the floor. The liquid contents inside spilled all over the floor. You leaned over and started picking up the large pieces of glass.

“You guys alright? “ Nat stormed the kitchen not knowing what she’d find.

“Yeah, we're fine ” Bucky said, examining the room. “We were in the main room, and heard the crash, we thought you were injured”

“Peter must’ve put the bottles on the edge... that boy is going to be the death of me. I'll go get the mop ” you saw Nat had retreated to the pantry.

“Here, let me help you” Bucky was helping you scoop the pieces of glass.

“Careful!” You looked at Bucky and laughed at his worry “ Buck, I’ve been skinning prey with knives shapelier than this since I was 5 ... I think I can handle some glass.”

He was looking at you in awe, you realized after the words had left your mouth “ I haven’t heard you say Buck in a long time” He smiled at you.

“ ohhh that’s cause you used to say it made you think of deer” you were picking up the last pieces.

“ I was a growing boy... always hungry”

He helped you up, and you noticed he used his metal arm to do so.

He noticed you staring, he was wearing a tight black t-shirt. It was short sleeved which you hadn’t seen him wear yet.

“Does it hurt?” You traced your fingers through the cold metal.

“ Not physically, sometimes I forget it’s there” he admired the way your eyes fell fascinated with the metal segments and the mechanism as he flexed.

“Hey, Bucky do you mind cleaning the spill? I’ve got a few minutes, so I’d like to show her some drinks” Nat walked into the kitchen with the industrial mop.

“I got it” he winked at Nat.

He smiled at you as you left the kitchen, and you felt your heart skip a beat at that smile.

You hoped he wasn’t actively trying to spy on you through the bond or else you might be caught in a vulnerable position.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Nat collapsed into the couch at the end of a long day.

“ My feet are killing me! “ you massaged the soles of your feet as you eyed Nat get comfortable on the couch.

“ You get used to it!...ohhh gods I can’t wait to shower”

“You say that, but you’re in fact getting more comfortable ” you teased at her.

“I never said I’d shower right now” She threw one of the pillows next to her at you and just as you were about to return the gesture.

Lights lit up the living room from outside as a car approached.You heard a door shutting and the sound of footsteps approaching the house.

“ I’ll go check it out” you stood up and walked to the door, just as someone was about to knock you opened the door.

“Steve, hey how’s it going? “ you felt the same nerves you felt meeting him the first time.

“ Good... good” you could see his breath as he spoke in the cold of the night. His hands were tucked in his jacket pockets.

“Would you like to go on a walk ?” he motioned to the trail along the house.

“Sure!” You hesitantly stepped out of the comfort of Nat’s house and into the cold night. You were still getting to know Steve, so the ambiance still felt awkward around him. You just followed his lead and waited for his next words.

“ I was wondering how your first day went? ... I wanted to stop by, but Wanda needed me at the school” he faced you as you walked together.

“ It went very well! We had actually just gotten home! “ you were cradling your elbows in a hug trying to preserve your body’s warmth from the house.

“It was a lot to learn, but Nat and Bucky made it a lot easier on me” you replied with a small laugh, but noticed Steve’s eyes glued on you. His jaw tensing up at the mention of Bucky from your mouth.

“That’s good...” he noticed you shiver, he took off his jacket and handed it to you. It was a kind gesture. The jacket just smelled like him. You felt his smell overwhelm the faint traces of Bucky.

“Are you excited?“

“ Well yes ....?it’s been really good so far, I can’t wait to get the hang of it” you picked at the strand of hair surrounding your face tucking it behind your ear.

“So he didn’t tell you?” Steve said with a snark

“Tell me what? “ you felt your heart speed up.

“Bucky made a deal with the Wakandan's Coven... they are going to undo the mating. Next full moon you’ll be free again.”

You could tell he was awaiting a reaction, he just crept closer till you could feel his breath in your skin.

You felt lightheaded at his words “ that’s... news”

You felt tears stream down your eyes. Today things had felt like they were always meant to be. Bucky had made you feel like you could trust him.

But he had known, and you fell for it! Once again you felt like a part of someone else's agenda, not your own. Just an omega, in a world of alphas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors Note:

Do you think the bottles were an accident?

Tags:@dottirose @tanyaherondale @iloveshawnieboi @marmite79 @austynparksandpizza @nerdgirljen @exposition-belongs-somewhere @patzammit @connie326 @blessedwedgie

#alpha bucky x omega reader #alpha bucky #alpha steve rogers #alpha steve x omega reader #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #omega reader #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers x omega reader #alpha Bucky barnes x reader

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing

[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: it’s your first date with peter maximoff, and the tension between the two of you has been building for weeks. you share a passion like no other, and there's only one place this date can go: the dark back alley of the arcade, a place where no soul dare to go lest they bare the damned title of 'staff'. or quicksilver and scribe, i guess. you pick. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, sexual innuendos, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader (sorry americans <3), make out scene and sexual attraction 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: the character that features as y/n in my fics is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

Your date with Peter comes around the corner faster than you thought it would considering you’re not exactly the typical ‘student’ at Xavier’s School.

You’d thought it would take forever for the week to pass: typically, you spend your time waiting for your friend group to get out of lessons. You’re older, having graduated school when you lived in the United Kingdom, so the only lessons you attend are that of Power Efficiency, Mutant Physiology and Ethics, the latter two being optional and studied merely out of interest. The rest of your schedule consists of a lot of free time. You don’t work—with all the money you have, why would you? Uncle Charles keeps nagging you to do something with your time, something productive, but after what you went through in England with your father…

Making friends here was difficult enough. Dealing with your powers in a new situation—coming to this school—was enough. You’re not exactly an extrovert, either, which is why you’re so surprised that you and Peter click so well.

He’s eccentric and annoying and perfect. Okay, perhaps not perfect in a literal sense, but to you he is. Sure, his leather jacket kind of smells from age and sometimes he talks so fast that you find yourself struggling to keep up, but you find it endearing. And oh, those eyes—you could watch how they light up when he’s super excited about something forever, you think.

He’s the best thing that’s happened to you in a while. You wonder if Charles knew what he was doing when he made Peter your buddy upon your arrival at this institute, but in reality, you know it’s because you’re both the oldest students—almost-students?—at this school. Besides, Charles has seen the two of you work together as a chaotic duo, and you’ve heard the sighs and mutterings of the man when he’s been most exasperated because of the both of you. Why, you think, grinning at your reflection in the mirror, would he ever put himself through that chaos if he could avoid it? The first prank you articulated together was the beginning of many, and you’ve practically been inseparable since you first arrived here.

First it was friendship. Then… yeah, it didn’t take much at all to blossom into something more.

You look good, you think, smoothing down Peter’s Rush tee as it hangs oversized on your body. You look really good. Your style is what would be expected of Charles’ niece even despite the fact that you’ve only ever met him a few times in your life: classy, 10% preppy, academic to a fault. You typically match your clothes to the colour of your powers: blue, but azure in particular. Sometimes pastel blue. You’re particular like that. But tonight you’ve opted for something different. Something a little more… Peter.

Your hair falls naturally past your shoulders, and the cool sleeves of a black leather jacket—your father’s leather jacket, the only leather jacket you own—hang from your shoulders while the jacket itself stops at your thighs. It's too big for you. You’ve paired a black skirt with the shirt, but it’s free flowing and a soft material that practically blends in with Peter’s top. Your boots are chunky platforms, black, and this is the darkest your outfit has been in a while.

It still feels… you, though. It feels right. Maybe because Peter feels right, and you stole this tee from him after you stayed over that night in his basement when it was pouring with rain. You both knew you could’ve opened up a portal to get back to your dorm, but neither of you wanted that.

You both want this, though. You both want each other.

The very acknowledgement of that fact forces you to take a steadying breath in, but the sound of a knock at your door makes your breath stammer. You look at the clock frantically. Is he here already? You both agreed on seven thirty, and it’s only seven. You had a schedule. Arcade, dinner, and whatever was left for after. Maybe a kiss if you work up the courage. Your heart hammers in your chest at the thought. But—

“Ah—hello?” A familiar voice sounds from the door. You breathe a sigh of relief: Kurt. “I came to see if you needed help with anyzi—”

You cross the room to the door and open it before Kurt can finish his sentence.

Kurt grins. As usual it’s a sheepish grin, but there is excitement in his eyes.

“Excited?” Kurt asks. “I vould be if I vere going on a date with ze magnificent Quicksilver.”

You grin at him and roll your eyes, ushering him in the room before you close the door behind you. “Don’t say that in the hallway!” You scold him, not entirely serious. “Anyone could be listening.”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “Could it be that you are embarrassed?”

Your eyes widen, brows rising too. “No! It’s just—it’s nice now that things between us are private. And… I want to take things slow. I’ve been on dates before, and when you tell people about it it’s always the same thing: when are you going to do this? When are you going to do that? I don’t want to be pressured. And explaining my reasoning to want to take things slow is almost as tiring as actually working myself up into confidence so that I’m not nervous the entire time—”

“You definitely seem nervous.”

You scowl at your friend. “I am not nervous.”

“Your cheeks are red.”

At that, you know your face is starting to flush as red as a tomato. “You are insufferable sometimes.”

Kurt grins. “A few weeks ago, I vould have been hurt to hear you say this.”

You scoff, batting him playfully on the arm. “Are you going to walk me down to the common room or not?”

Kurt’s face takes on an air of confusion. “Ze common room? Why there?”

You shrug softly. “Peter is meeting me there.”

Kurt’s eyes light up with amusement. “Ah,” he responds, and you know by the exaggerated upwards tilt of his head that the next words out of his mouth are going to be sarcastic. “Very discreet, yes. I bet he will bring flowers.”

You scoff once more, parting your lips in playful annoyance as you turn to leave the room, but Kurt appears in front of you before your hand reaches the doorknob. He opens the door, extends his hand to you when his back is pressed against it, and the bow he delivers is nothing but formal. Gentlemanly. He probably learned it in the circus. You give him a teasingly formal nod as you accept his fingers in your own.

The door closes behind you, locks with a wave of your hand, and with a deep breath, the two of you venture down the halls of the manor.

***

You hear the sounds of people cursing at Peter before you actually see Peter.

You and Kurt turn to look at the double doors which lead into the common room at the same time, but Peter comes to a speedy stop in front of the both of you before you can even track his movements… and Peter’s eyes glaze over your appearance, your outfit, as his face pales.

You smirk at the sight of it. You know he likes it. Likes seeing you in his clothes. He looked at you the same way when you first walked out of the bathroom attached to the basement in his tee and grey shorts after that night in the rain. He had slept on the sofa then, had given you his bed, but he’d mentioned to you a couple of days after that his sheets still smelled like a mix of him and you.

You knew then that he couldn’t get the image of you wearing his clothes out of his head.

His outfit isn’t a change from what he usually wears, but he still looks amazing. Hot. The sight of him takes your breath away every time you see him. Silver-and-black jacket, white tee with a band insignia on it, and leather pants with his silver shoes. You can’t forget the goggles on his head, either. But—wait, no, there is something different. A sort of smell.

“What are you wearing?” You ask, the end of your sentence tinged with laughter.

Peter glances down at his outfit. “What?” He asks, confusion—and the slightest bit of worry?—in his gaze. “What's wrong with this?”

“No, silly,” you laugh, “your aftershave. What is it?”

It’s the very definition of seventies musk. It’s musky, leathery, and there’s the faintest smell of whiskey. He’s put way too much on, but your mother always used to complain about how much perfume you put on, too. You’re wearing it now: it’s sweet with the air of something more expensive. Valentino.

When you asked the lady in the store to let you try the ones which smelled sweet like vanilla, this was the first one she showed you. Out of the eight you had the choice of, you were sold on the very first one. You know that the best way to get a guy to fall for you is to smell sweet like candy—it reminds them of their childhood. Or in Peter’s case, you guess it might just remind him of twinkies. You know he loves those.

Peter’s cheeks flush red, and he lowers his head as he laughs. “Oh, man. My mom was right. I really stink, huh?”

You can’t help but laugh: a genuine laugh, teeth in your smile and all. You stand from the sofa you were sitting on with Kurt, and you realise only then that he’s already disappeared. You feel a twinge of guilt for not noticing earlier, but you forgive yourself for that: it is your date night, and Kurt is forever polite.

“You smell great, Peter,” you say, and it’s not entirely a lie. He doesn’t smell bad — it’s better than the leather jacket smell. “And I’m excited for our,” you glance around, whispering, “date.”

Peter’s eyes light up at that. “Right. Date. You mind if I—?”

He gestures to your neck. Whiplash. Right. You shake your head. “Just don’t mess up my hair.”

He blinks at you. “Do you realise how much of a challenge that is?”

Your smile is sickly sweet and riddled with sarcasm. “You’ll figure it out.”

His expression goes slack. He likes it when you do that; when you’re mean to him. You’re a lovely person typically—you reached the lucky end of the trauma spectrum, the opposite of which being the angry side which could’ve made you an arse—but it’s so easy to tease Peter. You like the power in being able to wrap him around your finger. You’ve never had this power over any man before, and after feeling powerless for so long, it's thrilling.

Peter clears his throat, steps towards you, and you swear he’s trying to use the lightest touch possible as he steadies your neck and places a shaky hand on your waist—

And then you’re off.

The world is barely more than a blur. You can’t keep up. Just as you think you’ve gotten used to it, Peter turns a corner—or at least you think that's what happens, because that’s how you would describe the sensation of being almost jolted to the side. And just when you think you can’t take any more, he stops. You’re in the mall, right outside the blue-walled and darkly lit arcade.

Peter’s hands move gently from your body and you lean your hands against your thighs to try to stop the world from spinning. You’ve gotten used to the nauseating feeling this sort of travel gives you now, but you’re not used to the dizziness.

“You okay?” Peter asks, and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s assessing you for any potential damage. His hand hovers over your back as if he’s afraid to overstep his bounds, but you would lean into his touch any day.

“Yeah,” you breathe, slowly easing upwards. “I’m good.”

Peter glances over your face in another silent check before he nods. “You ready to get your ass kicked?”

You gape at him. Yeah, that sarcastic comment has knocked the dizziness right out of you. “Oh, you’re on.”

You’re less confident than you seem, but you don’t think Peter picks up on it as he grins and bouncily makes his way into the Arcade. You follow him, shoulder brushing against his as you catch up to his gait, because luckily you both walk fast. He turns to look at you and smiles, softer this time, and you almost get caught up in the softness of his eyes before your heart stammers, your throat closes up, and—

Oh, god. You’re not good with this. The romance. It makes you tense and nervous.

You turn away from him, hands wrapping around the controls of the nearest arcade game. “I call shotgun.”

Peter laughs and comes to a stop next to you. “I know you’re British and that makes you, like, socially awkward, but that only applies to cars.”

You nudge him in the side—hard, but not hard enough to really do damage. He hisses in annoyance, muttering jeez, lady, under his breath. You ask, “Are you really going to deny me my request on our date?”

Peter grins at you, fingers clenching around the neighbouring controls. “Depends. What do I get out of it?”

You smirk at him, your heart fluttering in your chest. “A kiss or two at the end of this, perhaps.”

You watch Peter’s adam’s apple bob. “Per—perhaps?”

You grin. “Depends how you behave.”

You don’t need to read thoughts like your uncle to know that Peter has to be telling himself to breathe. Because it seems like an awful lot of effort for him to successfully inhale and exhale, and he doesn’t say anything before he slams a coin—a quarter? you don’t understand American money—into the machine and the BEGIN GAME screen buzzes to life.

It’s pretty hard for you to catch your breath as you both play in silence, too.

Eventually, conversation picks back up again. A sarcastic comment. The occasional compliment. Peter’s good at these games, but so are you. Arcade stand after arcade stand, his teasing remarks make your heart flutter… as well as something deeper within you, too. You’ve never felt attraction like this before, and truthfully, it’s driving you wild.

“Dad wasn’t around much back home,” you reveal, your eyes glued to the avatar on the screen as it darts around, “so I had a lot of time to kill. The arcade became my home. So yeah, it’s safe to say I can easily kick your arse.”

“Arse,” he teases, mimicking the way you speak. “Trying to let me let you win with a sob story, Xavier? Nah, not going to work.”

You gape at him, taking your eyes off the screen for a mere second, but Peter takes the opportunity to kill your avatar for good. With mock outrage, you quip, “I was not trying to do that!”

He grins at you, his eyes glowing purple and red in the light of your dying avatar. “Ah,” he whispers, “victory tastes sweet.”

You press your lips together in defeat, and then you sigh as you take your hand in his. “Come on. I want a slushie.”

Peter lets you drag him away, and the two of you settle down at the food stand in the arcade as the lights around you buzz blue and purple.

You like the lighting in here, you think, as you step up to the worker. “Two slushies, please,” you tell him, smiling politely. “One red and blue for me, and Peter—?”

“All of them,” he says, nodding towards the flavours.

You part your lips in surprise. All of them? There are about eight flavours up on that display, and you know it’s all going to melt into a mess of slush that barely tastes like anything other than sugar. But the worker has obviously been asked for worse, because he just shrugs and gets to work. One pump, two pumps, three pumps—he goes through them all with the finesse of someone who has worked at a place like this for far too long, and when he hands you your simple two-flavoured slushie in comparison to Peter's complex one, you feel like a bit of a slushie fraud.

You go to reach into your pocket to grab your card, but Peter pays in cash before you can get it out. The cashier gives him a dollar and seventy two cents change, and your date nods in thanks to the cashier before he turns to you with a grin that’s more genuine than cheeky. “My treat.”

You lower your gaze to hide how wide your smile is as you laugh. “Thanks, Peter.”

He nods, and the two of you stand there awkwardly for a second, you sucking innocently on your straw as he stares at you, before he looks at the table and chairs nearby. He clears his throat. “Wanna sit?”

You shrug politely and he pulls out a chair for you. Gentleman. Did his mother give him a run-down of what to do and what not to do before he came here? Probably. You smile at him, your insides warming as you sit down in your seat. This slushie is good, you think, slurping it up through the straw as Peter takes a seat opposite you.

He takes a sip of his drink before he asks, “So the thing about your dad. I know it’s a sore subject considering…” He raises his brows, and you know he means the reason you came here. “But do you mind if I—?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You have too much slushie in your mouth, though, so your words are slurred and you smile bashfully as you cover your lips. Sorry, your look says, but he just grins at you.

Peter forces himself to look away, to turn serious again, as he scratches at a loose bit of film on the table. “Why wasn’t he around? Like, the deadbeat dad kind of thing, or…?”

You shake your head. This time, when you speak, you’ve cleared the slushie from your mouth. Your voice is a bit hoarse from the cold as you respond, “No. He worked a lot. He was either in Germany or the Middle East or—somewhere. Mom has a temper, so I found the arcade was a better place to be than home. It’s easy to lose yourself in the games here.”

Peter nods slowly, his head tilting up in a way that indicates thoughtfulness. It’s nice that he’s memorising your words. Nice that he actually cares. That means more to you than anything. “Well, that makes two of us. Absent fathers, I mean, and moms…?”

You grin at him. He's talked about his father before, but always in vague detail. You respond, “Almost-there moms. Just emotionally absent, at least for me. Maybe stunted is the right word.”

Peter lets out a sound between a noise like phew and a laugh. “Harsh, Y/N. No sugarcoating it there.”

You shrug softly, lowering your gaze to your drink. “Sometimes I wonder if…”

Your sentence trails off, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Peter tilt his head. But he doesn’t say anything. Just lets you take your time as he continues picking at the table.

You force a breath. “Sometimes I wonder if what happened… happened for the best. Between the three of us, nobody was happy. But then I think of what I did to him and it’s just—”

“Hey,” Peter says, and across the table, his hand reaches out to splay across yours. “For people like us—mutants,” he says, his tone lowering at the end of his sentence, “stuff like this is inevitable. But, uh… Charles has kinda helped me see that it’s the first step towards controlling this sort of thing. The first step to doing something better. And hell, Y/N, you’re already, like, rockin’. So you only have further to go.”

Your brows furrow in surprise at his words, your eyes turning doe-like at his reassurances. “You don’t think I’ve already hit rock bottom?”

Peter laughs. “You’ve got too much money for that. I've seen you blow two-fifty on curtains. Still don't know how I watched you do it."

You let out a laugh, and that’s when you properly acknowledge the skin to skin contact. His touch makes your body feel like it’s on fire. Your shoulders roll back as your thumb brushes against his knuckle, and Peter’s eyes dart down to your fingers before he looks right back up at you. He looks nervous, like his heart is thudding just as hard as yours.

“I like this,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Peter lets out a huff of laughter, though from the sound of it, it’s an attempt to hide his nerves. “It’s only a slushie, Xavier."

Your laughter mimics his own, and you press your lips together as your eyes dart between his eyes and lips. You want to kiss him. You’ve never wanted to kiss somebody more. It’s like you could push him up against the wall and kiss him here and now without caring what anybody thinks, and you’ve never had that feeling before.

Peter’s throat bobs again. He’s staring at you in the same way, and you can feel the tension between the two of you as your chest tightens. But you can’t kiss here—not with the table between you, not when one of you will probably spill a slush puppy or both of them, or—

“Another game?” Peter says, his voice hoarse.

You blink the lust out of your eyes. Another game. Yeah—another game, and your slush puppy will melt between and it’ll be easier to drink, and then—

And then you can both get out of here.

You’ve never wanted to leave an arcade more.

The tension cools down a little as you play more games, but it rises as soon as you make a comment about his frantic button mashing movements; something like—

“I hope that’s not the technique you use in bed,” you tease.

Peter chokes, and needless to say, you win that game.

You keep playing until your slushies are finished. Peter finishes his before you, but he lets you have a sip before in order to try it. It’s just as you expected—a sugary mess with the strongest flavour being lime. It’s disgusting, but Peter merely grins at the sight of your face as you grimace at its sour taste.

You’re well aware of the way his gaze rakes up and down your body as you try to finish the rest of your slushie as fast as you can. You’re lingering now; the two of you want to get out of here, dinner be damned. His gaze hugs the curve of your body and lingers on your bare legs, your skin smooth and shaven, the boots you wear only elongating them—

“You look great, by the way,” Peter comments.

You look up at him while still sipping from that straw, and apparently the motion and the eye contact is too much for him. He looks away and mutters something under his breath, something you can’t hear over the beeping of the games and the music playing over the sound effects.

You slam the slushie cup down on the table next to you both with an air of achievement. “What?” You say almost teasingly. You know you’re driving him insane, and even though you’re hardly doing anything, this has been building up for weeks.

“Nothing,” Peter says.

Before you know it, his hand is at your neck and you’re in a different spot entirely.

It’s a short journey this time so you’re not dizzy. You’re still in the arcade, surrounded by the same blue walls and purple-hued lighting. But this area is darker and tucked away, and there’s a door nearby. Probably a staff entrance. This is somewhere you shouldn’t be, but for once, you’re not afraid of breaking the rules.

“The cups,” you comment teasingly. “We should clean them up.”

Peter lets out a breath. “Y/N,” he says, “I—"

“Kiss me,” you blurt out. “Please.”

Peter wastes no time in fulfilling your request.

He’s on you in a heartbeat, lips pressed against yours as his fingers rest at your neck. Innocent, sweet, and yet filled with a sort of passion that sets your lungs and chest ablaze. You can’t help the noise of content that slips from your lips as he backs you up against the wall, and you can’t help but think that this is so unlike him, but—no. No, this is what he’s been keeping buried down for weeks. It's the same for you, too. This is what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

This is only half of what he’s wanted to do to you for a while now.

You gasp as his tongue slips out against yours, and your own darts out in response to the sensation. You press your body flush into his, the both of you heated and warm from the feel of one another, and your jacket is quickly getting too hot to keep on any longer. It’s cool in here with the air conditioning, but even so the two of you are ablaze and alive and—

“Y/N” Peter whispers against your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he pants for breath, “d’you think we could leave dinner for tonight?”

Your body talks for you before your mind can register what he says. "Yes," you breathe, and then you pull him back to you.

His lips are on yours and there is nothing either of you need to say as his fingers roam down your shoulders, your arms, moving to your waist. He avoids your breasts and you’re grateful for that; despite how much your body might burn for him, you know that would make you feel like an object, like he only wants you for sex—like your mother has told you countless times before.

But as you and Peter kiss in the belly of that arcade, you think you might have found the one. The first person you can finally trust.

It might be the first date and you might want to take things slow, but this feels too good to pass up. Too good to lose. And because of that, you don't plan on letting him go—

Not unless he wants you gone first.

Not until a member of staff kicks you guys out, at least.

#peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver x reader #peter maximoff oneshot #peter maximoff fanfic #quicksilver fanfic #if you liked this please let me know! i'm new to fanfic here hehe #i'm open to requests <3 #if you want to know more about the backstory for y/n pls send me an ask! #hope you liked it!

[beardedmrbean]

People are so upset about the gay teacher wants to talk about his love life when like? I mean teachers talked about their spouses plenty when I was in school. Shit my biggest gripe with my physics teacher was that I learned more about her divorce than about physics. But like shit sometimes it’s just average oh my husband took me out for my anniversary or I’m engaged, like that shit has always been accepted and should be fine as long as it doesn’t interfere with the actual curriculum.

I don't know how far that particular teacher is thinking about going with his kindergarten class.

Like I was saying if he and his BF or husband had seen "Turning Red" for date night over the weekend and some of the kids are talking about it and he wants to tell them about date night and how they both loved the movie and what they laughed at I don't see a single issue with that.

It's age appropriate and a good way to connect with your students too.

The way the headline paints it is intentionally inflammatory, which I would expect from the Daily Wire the same as I would from HuffPo if the shoe was on the other foot.

So I'll look it up

Gay Florida Kindergarten Teacher Worries On MSNBC He Won’t Be Able To Share His Love Life With Kids Anymore

“It scares me that I am not going to be able to have these conversations with my children,” he continued, “because they’re going to ask me what I did on the weekend. I don’t want to have to hide that my partner and I went paddle boarding this weekend.”

The children will ask him, “what does partner mean, Mr. Bernaert?” the teacher said, questioning, “Can I tell them what it means?”

He also worried about a potential situation in which children will ask him about one of his kindergarten students, who he said has two moms.

“If they go to her and ask her about her two moms and she doesn’t know what to say, they’re going to come to me and ask me,” he said.

This is in the middle, stuff before it is basically the same.

That answers that question, guy hasn't read the bill and doesn't know what's in it then. Nothing he's talking about is prohibited

Continuing on

Florida’s HB 1447 states that “classroom instruction by school personnel or third parties on sexual orientation or gender identity may not occur in kindergarten through grade 3 or in a manner that is not age appropriate or developmentally appropriate for students in accordance with state standards.”

The bill has been wildly misrepresented as “Don’t Say Gay” legislation, though nowhere in the legislation is the word “gay” mentioned.

The word “parent” is mentioned 32 times, the word “parental” is mentioned eight times, and the legislation heavily focuses on parental notification and parental awareness of what children are being taught or exposed to in school.

Sounds like there's a whole lot of teachers that are going to need guidance on this, that guidance shouldn't be too hard either.

Student asks a question about why Johnny's daddy is now his mommy you can answer that in a age appropriate fashion, keep it simple and vanilla for the kids and you should be fine, just can't make a classroom lesson about it.

The phrase "classroom instruction" means it can't be a lesson.

So it just sounds like, in this case, teacher was worried about if he could talk about going paddleboarding with his fella, which would be allowed, as I read the law.

As I said on my last reblog on the post, if any kind of double standard where he can't talk about movie night with his best guy, but mr stevenson can talk about his date with jenny from the front office starts showing up a civil rights lawsuit will appear in short order and the law will likely get trashed, or at a minimum the people enforcing it unevenly will get a nice chunk of change taken from their wallets.

.

I hope this makes sense, my brain has trouble maintaining a clear direction sometimes but I think I did ok.

#13flowersandfoxes

[errorpeachy]

Helloo!! I just discover your page and even tho you only have one fic I already love itt!!! I finished hxh last night and my heart need more💔💔 could you do a Killua x reader, they know each other since they were babies and their families wanted them to get married, but when Killua find out that’s when he escaped and maybe after that the reader escaped too but they don’t see each other until they are like 20 or something like that. Btw sorry for my English I suck hehehe.💕💕

I can absoLUTELY do this! And don’t worry bb, your English is great💞 I’m doing a scenario for this one~

𑁍 No Take Backs! 𑁍 《Killua x Reader》

“Hey, Hey, Killua!” You shouted, running up to him with enthusiasm. He glanced at you, raising a brow. “What is it, Y/N?” He asked, turning to you. Smiling, you took his hand in yours. “I have something to show you! Follow me!” You said, pulling him along as you walked through the forest that surrounded his house.

Fighting your way into a clearing, you watched him let out a small noise of shock. It was a beautiful, crystal clear lake, one he had never seen before. Flowers surrounded the area and light shone onto the water, making it look drastically different from his dreary house. “How did you find this, Y/N? I live here and even I haven’t seen it before.” He said, looking at you. You grinned, pointing to the scrapes on your knees. “I fell into this clearing when I went exploring. Cmon, let’s swim!” You said, jumping in fully clothed. He paused before shrugging. “Ah, what the heck.” He said before jumping in, making a big splash which caused you to giggle.

“Hey Killua?” You asked, swimming over to him. He looked up at you, shaking his head to get some of the water off of him. He looked kind of like a dog, you thought. “Yeah Y/N?” He answered, powder blue eyes staring back at you. “Let’s stay best friends forever, ‘Kay?” You said, smiling up at him. He turned pink, looking away. “Sure, I guess. You’re not THAT bad.” He muttered, causing you to smile. You were used to his antics, he acted like this ever since he could talk. Even though you two were 12, he hadn’t changed a bit.

“Okay, but no take backs!”

You woke up to the sound of arguing. You were sleeping over at the Zoldyck household, since Killua’s mom practically begged you to stay over. She was almost as protective of you as she was her own son.

Your feet met the cold wood floor of the guest bedroom as you got out of bed. Rubbing your eyes, you fixed your sleepwear before quietly opening the door. You could use Zetsu, however they would all notice it more if your aura suddenly disappeared rather than just moving around. You snuck around to the stair railing, peering between the wooden rails as you watched Killua argue with Milluki and his mother.

“I’m not marrying them!” He shouted, crossing his arms. Milluki rolled his eyes. “You should be glad mother is allowing you to marry someone in the first place, Killua!” He shouted back. Killua glared at him, before looking at his mother. “I want a choice in who I marry! Just cause we’ve been friends since we were little doesn’t mean we’d be a good match!” He said to her. “You two don’t have to be a good match to have good grandchildren. You’re the heir to the family business, and they easily match you in strength. I’m sure you two will have powerful children.” She said, causing him to give her a disgusted look. You were equally as grossed out. Sure, you did have a small crush on Killua, but children was something you definitely didn’t want to think about as a child yourself.

“Why are you even thinking about that?! I’m twelve!” He shouted. You nodded quietly in agreement, thinking it was really weird. His mother had always been a little... odd.

“Because it’s what you should be focused on! You need to take on the family business and marry the right person, and Y/N is that person!” She said, with Milluki nodding next to her. Killua huffed. “Then I’m leaving!” He shouted, storming over to the stairs. Milluki grabbed his arm. “Killua, where do yo-“ he started, but was cut off as Killua grabbed his wrist tightly with his free hand, giving him an ice cold stare. “Milluki. Let go of me.” He threatened lowly. His brother scoffed, grip tightening. In a flash, Killua dug a spare knife out of his pocket and stabbed him in the arm, causing him to reel back in shock. It was honestly a little funny, in a twisted way. His mother rushed over to Killua, pleading in her high pitched voice. He whipped around, and in an instant, she was holding her bleeding face. Her visor was knocked on the ground as she covered her face and called for her husband.

Walking up the stairs, he went over to where you were crouched down. “You’re so nosy, Y/N.” He teased, poking your cheek. You pouted. “You said you were leaving.” You muttered, looking at him. He sighed. “I am. I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you. It doesn’t feel right. I need to get out of this family business and be something that’s not related to assassin life.” He said, patting your head. You felt tears well up in your eyes, but you gulped them down. You got up onto your knees and hugged him, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like vanilla.

“I’m gonna miss you, Killua.”

“I will too.”

Ten years had gone by since that night. After Killua left, you had gone over his last words to you in your head. You decided to quit your family business and become a hunter at the age of 14. Since then, you had been doing freelance jobs and earning money. Life was good. You still had memories of Killua, where you two stayed up and told ghost stories with a flashlight under his soft sheets or splashes around in the clear waters of you two’s secret lake. You hadn’t seen him since he left, but you thought of him often.

Shaking your head, you laced up your shoes. You had a match against some random person in Heaven’s Arena, and you were supposed to go fight in less than a minute. Standing up, you rushed to the tunnel, waiting for them to announce your name.

“And here we have the returning powerhouse, Y/N L/N!”

You stepped out onto the stage, smiling as you waved at the crowd. Scanning the audience, your eyes met a pair of blue ones.

Powder blue.

White hair.

It couldn’t be... could it?

You felt the air leave your lungs. It was him. It had to be. He looked grown up by now- of course he would, he would be 22. You blinked, trying to focus as the fight started.

‘I might as well show off a bit.’ you thought.

The fight was almost criminally easy. You defeated the guy rather quickly before rushing off the stage, not even staying for your victory announcement. Running through the halls, you slammed straight into another person, causing you to fall back.

“Ouch! Sorry!” You said, looking up. The boy had green hair and light brown eyes, as well as a kind smile. He offered a hand to help you up, which you accepted. “It’s alright. You did great in your fight!” He complimented, causing you to smile back. “Oh, thanks! I-“

“Gon! I was looking for you, whe-“ A familiar voice said, pausing. You looked over to see who it was. Your eyes lit up as you rushed over to him.

“Killua! Oh my god, it’s been so long! I’ve missed you so much!” You shouted, hugging him. He turned red, patting your head. “Baka! Don’t say that stuff, it’s embarrassing...” he muttered. You smiled, knowing he was still the same boy you knew long ago. The boy, who’s name you now knew as Gon, looked at the two of you confused. “You know them, Killua?” He asked. “Yeah. We grew up together, but I left to take the hunter exam when we were little and I hadn’t seen them since.” He said. You nodded, smiling at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Gon!” You said, and he nodded back. “Same here!” He said.

You turned to Killua. “Come sleep over at my place! We have to catch up!” You said. He gave a smirk, looking away playfully. “I don’t know, what if people get the wrong idea?” He asked, smirking. You smacked the back of his head. “Ow!” He said.

“Don’t be a pervert!” “Fine, fine, I’ll come over. Only cause you asked.”

Fixing the white sheets on your guest bed, you walked out to see what Killua was up to. He was sat on the couch, watching some sort of TV show about... superpowers? You sat down next to him, leaning on his shoulder. He froze, blue eyes gazing over at you. “What?” He asked, seeing you give him a gentle stare. You smiled softly. “I really missed you, Killua.” You said, hugging him. He turned red, pushing you gently by the head. “Don’t say stuff like that! It’s embarrassing...” He muttered, cheeks pink as you continued to have your arms locked tightly around his waist.

“Why did you leave without me?” You asked quietly, causing him to pause. “I needed to find myself, I needed to become something that was detached from the Zoldyck name. I figured becoming a hunter would do that, and it did. I met some really nice people, Gon being one of them.” He said, gently stroking your hair. You nodded, agreeing silently. You completely understood why he wanted to do that, but something that had been eating you alive for the last ten years had you asking one more question.

“When you said you didn’t want to marry me... was that true?”

His hand stilled, gently resting against your head as he thought quietly. “It wasn’t necessarily true, but I did feel like it wasn’t something that needed to be talked about.” He said, carefully choosing his words. You reached up and gently moved his hand off of your head, holding it in your own instead. “Ever since you left I worried about you. I know you’re strong, but I always thought about whether you were alright or not. I missed you so much- not a day went by with your name not popping up in my head.” You confessed, feeling your face heat up as you buried your face into his chest.

He still smelled like vanilla.

He tended up, his face turning red as he flicked your head. “You’re so embarrassing...” he muttered. “I’m telling the truth, though.” You said softly, looking up at him. He stated back at you, his eyes shining with... love? Was that what it was? It didn’t really matter.

“I’m in love with you, you know. You’re so stupid, making me like you.” He said, looking away as he turned bright red. He looked adorable, his cheeks puffed out due to embarrassment. You smiled, leaning up and giving him a gentle peck on the lips.

“No take backs.” You said, giggling. He rolled his eyes playfully before giving you a gentle smile.

“I’d never want to anyways.”

#killua x reader #killua zoldyck x reader #killua tag #killua headcanons #hxh x reader #hxh scenarios #hxh headcanons #hxh imagines #hunter x hunter #hxh 2011 #killua hxh

[itsclydebitches]

A preview for the Roman Neo book came out. Did you read it? I didn't but I want to hear your thoughts on it.

I just read it now!

The preview gave us the first chapter and the initial interaction of the second, flipflopping between Neo and Roman's stories, much like BTD. I think Neo's chapter has more to discuss in it, so I'll focus mostly on that.

We're not actually seeing things through her perspective (theoretically — more on that below), but rather Trivia's, a girl turning eight the next day. The chapter covers her playing a game of silent tag with Neo after her mom and dad have gone to bed, accidentally breaking a vase and getting in trouble for it. Some of it is cute — I like the image of a young Neo playing games, including the floor is lava, and that she's presented as Trivia's "imaginary friend" — but the rest is a pretty standard RWBY setup. Honestly, Trivia's life feels like a carbon copy of the Schnee's. Her family is clearly quite rich, what with the Mistral oriental rug they're jumping onto, the expensive vase she breaks, a mound of birthday presents waiting, etc. Her father is some kind of politician, a member of the Vale City Council, and he tries to justify his explosive anger with how hard his work is, things he puts up with for his family. Trivia sees his "barely controlled anger" that later turns to "rage." He holds her upside down after pulling her from beneath the couch (her first instinct is to hide) and shakes her a bit before dropping her. Then he vaguely orders one of the women in the room to clean the mess up before going back to bed. Trivia's mother, meanwhile, is the more nurturing figure, but who inevitably gives in to her husband's temper. Her pushes for leniency fall on deaf ears and later, when Trivia still won't speak when they're alone, she flinches, gets mad, and leaves Trivia alone, repeating her husband's order to clean up this mess. She's kinder, but isn't able to control her husband's cruelty and, inevitably, feeds into it.

Sound like any other family dynamics we've seen?

The father — Jimmy — gets a side of ableism with his generally implied abuse. Interestingly, Trivia is mute with her father telling her to "speak up for yourself" (implying she physically can speak, but struggles emotionally to do so) and her mom, as said, eventually grows frustrated too and leaves when Trivia won't talk to her. I will say that I like that the text includes a communication board, even if both parents clearly don't like Trivia using it, and her muteness certainly introduces an unexpected dynamic. It's unlikely that we have two mute characters who just happen to have become friends (with one sneaking into the house and managing to hide from the parents behind a pile of presents for this whole conversation), so my assumption is that Trivia is Neo. Neo, as a young girl, is born Trivia to rich parents (the family portrait on the book's cover) and imagines herself up a playmate named "Neopolitan." Neo is just like Trivia — they're both mute, the text describes them mirroring each other while playing, they're both wearing fancy dresses, Trivia instinctively knows what Neo is "saying" — but she's better, more acrobatic, more confident, more rebellious... everything a sheltered, probably abused girl would want to be. In time, Trivia gains that skill and confidence (floor is lava makes good acrobatic practice!) and rebrands herself as her own imaginary friend. Interestingly, her mother (with brown eyes) flinches when Trivia makes eye contact with her, which one might do if your kid has mismatched eyes and you dislike that for some reason, such as it not being "normal," as they discuss in regards to her muteness. Brown hair and eye, a pink eye... and the last name Vanille. Ta da, with brown, pink, and white — chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla —you get the name Neopolitan, which Trivia eventually takes on as her real name from then on. (The sweets based name might also be a subconscious homage to her kinder parent — the mom's name is Carmel). We see at the end of the chapter that Trivia is giving in to "Neopolitan's" rebellious nature, grounding the smashed vase into dust, smearing blood on the couch, and leaving the room without cleaning anything up as she was told. All of this makes far more sense if we don't read the girls as two people, but one, with Trivia slowing coming into the personality she's imagined for herself.

I like the setup so far. Yes, it has its potentials for pitfalls in how Neo's mutism and "imaginary friend" is handled, but so far the only thing I dislike is the Schnee 2.0 dynamic, which just feels redundant. I got excited for a moment when the communication board came out, thinking that these might be good parents (good adults!) helping their kid communicate however she's most comfortable... but no. Sigh.

Roman, meanwhile, is a lot more straightforward and... it's fine? Not as engaging as the questions that Neo's chapter raises, but solid. We learn that he's 18 (presumably making him a decade older than Neo then) and that he moved to Mistral about a year ago. He's living on the streets and trying not to freeze or starve to death, camping outside a nightclub to find drunk victims to rob. The part of his chapter we get shows him stealing a man's wallet, pretending to give it back, and then threatening him so he gives up his coat and gloves instead (since the guy blew all his money at the club — the main attraction apparently uses her semblance to lure people in). We end with Roman breaking the man's knee anyway, despite his cooperation. It's precisely the sort of ruthless, street-thug, but obsessed with looking good while he does it (the coat is apparently very fine) that we would expect of Roman.

Detail I really liked? Roman apparently spent a long time practicing twirling his cane in front of a mirror — lol. Detail I didn't like? The night club performer whose semblance was “one of those special abilities some people had that often seemed like magic." How does one semblance seem like magic compared to others that apparently don't? They're all insane abilities?? This franchise still has no good distinction between the two.

Myers also flipflops between strong and weak writing a lot. We've got the strong "[The wealthy] held their noses so high, they didn’t notice what was right under them” when Roman robs the guy of his wallet, followed by the terrible "Have you ever wondered what it feels like to be a punching bag?" when he's trying to threaten him. It's a mixed bag. But I will say that these excerpts feel far, far stronger than what I was reading in BTD. Honestly, reading that I kept wondering why so many in the fandom loved his work, but if what I've read of Roman Holiday is consistent across the book and if that's closer to the quality of ATF, I can much better understand the interest. BTD may have been the fluke among three novels, rather than the rule. Which is great!

#rwby #mymetas

[stylesberries]

Wooden Floor

Summary: Reuniting with Harry after being apart during the quarantine made you realize something.

Genre(s): mostly fluff with a sprinkle of angst

Word Count: 1.2k

Warning(s): none

I was standing in the kitchen at 6 p.m still wearing my pajamas. As the quarantine started, my daily routine was quickly thrown out of the window and replaced by this. Well, whatever it is. Pajamas is the only thing I wear now, as I rarely leave the house or have to face a human being. Speaking about facing human beings. More precisely my favorite of them - Harry, my boyfriend.

I haven’t seen him for a bit over two months now, and I think I’m going insane. Having dated him for a year and a half, I was completely and utterly in love. You know, that kind of love they try their best to describe in books? Yeah, that kind of love.

Harry would FaceTime me multiple times a day, in the morning, before going to sleep and sometimes during the day. Despite the fact that he was stuck in Los Angeles, and we had to come up with a schedule to be able to talk with an 8-hour time difference, we would still find a way to make it work. However, it would never be enough for me.

As long as I can remember, I’ve always been a lover. I would love too much and trust too much. I would always end up hurting over people that just kept torturing me with their indifference.

When I met Harry, and we started dating, I promised myself to give him space and not suffocate him with my love, for I was scared, that he would leave me like everyone before him did.

I had never been loved so much. I had never experienced what I gave people myself. The endless love and loyalty. Harry gave me his all, and I started feeling bad for not showing all of the love I had for him, and yet I still feared losing him because of my obsessive nature.

I sat at the kitchen table and scrolled through our texts with Harry.

Harry: Jeff is talking to people, trying to get me a private jet flight to London.

Y/N: That’s great, love. I hope he comes up with something. I can imagine how much you’ve missed family. Anne is talking about you the all the time. She’s devastated that you didn’t get to come home.

Harry: I am upset too, baby.

Harry: Mom says you’ve been in a gloomy mood. Is something wrong?

Y/N: It’s just quarantine. Don’t worry about it, lovie.

It wasn’t “just quarantine”. I just fucking miss him. To the point where I cannot properly function without him around. I sound sick.

Harry: When I get back home to you, we’ll find a way to get my baby back in a good mood, yeah?

You just get back home and everything will be fine.

Y/N: Okay, baby.

He hasn’t answered yet. Probably fell asleep. I text one more time just to check.

Y/N: H?

Yup. Sleeping. Now he’s gonna wake up and think that I can’t be without him for a second. Great.

If he’s coming soon, I have to make sure that I don’t freak out too much or he’ll think that I’m obsessed.

That evening was spent overthinking in the bed, a mug of my favorite hot chocolate and some random movie that I played in the background to keep me company.

I was awoken by a loud thud coming from downstairs. Who the hell is in the house?

I quickly get out of bed and look around for something heavy I could use as self-defense. Let me just say, looking for something specific in the dark, two minutes after you woke up isn’t the easiest thing I’ve done in my life.

As I begin to lose hopes to find anything to protect myself with, I catch my metal horse statue glimmering in the dark. Perfect.

I grab the heavy statue and tip-toe my way out of the bedroom.

I stood at the top of the staircase and looked around, listening closely to any sound indicating where the intruder might be.

Hearing clatter coming from the kitchen, I slowly make my way down the stairs, making sure that the statue is up and ready to make a hit.

As I come closer to the kitchen doorway, I can now see faint illumination coming from the downlights on the ceiling.

The next thing I know is the metal horse falls from my hands and probably leaves a dent in the wooden floor.

No matter how sleepy I am and no matter how dark it is, I could recognize this faint scent of vanilla lingering around me and this breathing pattern anywhere. Harry is home.

As the metal horse touched the floor I hear the clattering abruptly end, being replaced with loud footsteps. The sound of which I know too well.

“Y/N? Angel, why are you up? It’s so late. As soon as Jeff told me I could fly out, I took the earliest flight home. I was going to surprise you, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t mean t’wake you. Fuck. I’ve missed you so much.” He rambled cutting the distance between us shorter and shorter. I looked up at him and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

He’s home.

“Hey, hey, baby, no. Please don’t cry, bubby... C’mere.” He cooed as he wrapped his arms around me.

Only now I’ve noticed the warm drops making their way down my cheeks, as I stared at the man I loved so dearly.

The plan I came up with was long forgotten, and the only thing I wanted to do was to cling on to Harry and just breathe him in.

“My angel. M’beautiful. Everything’s okay now, yeah? I can’t believe you’re back in my arms. Y’know it’s the only thing I could think about in these two months? I couldn’t work properly without having my muse by my side.” Harry kept kissing the the top of my head, as he swayed us from side to side.

I squeezed my arm in between us to wide my tears away to look at Harry properly. He took a step away to let my eyes absorb him.

“It was more than two months.” I look into his emerald eyes that I’ve missed so much.

“72 days and-” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and looks at the time. I stood in shock, taking a glance at the screen of his phone. It was in the British Summer Time zone.

Knowing Harry for over two years, I know that he doesn’t change his time for about a week after he lands in a new place, because he keeps forgetting to do so. Does this mean he’s had London time on his phone the whole time?

“4 hours and 23 minutes.” He announced to me and looked into my eyes, that were filled with doubt and insecurities, with his - full of love and adoration. His eyes stared into mine, as if assuring me “Yes, I fucking love you, stupid”.

Now the only thing I had left to worry about was the dent in the wooden floor.

© all right belong to stylesberries. do not repost or modify.

#harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagines #harry styles one shot #harry styles #harry styles angst