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niallerspayno · 3 months ago

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Only Angel

Materlist

When you land a job as your dad’s assistant on One Direction’s tour, the last thing you expect is to fall for Harry Styles—especially when your dad is Paul. What starts as flirty banter turns into something secret, messy, and real, and hiding it from the band (and your very protective father) proves harder than you ever imagined.

Tags: Harry x reader, long hair harry, Paul's daughter reader, smut (fingering, unprotected p in v, female and male receiving oral), some fluff and angst

Author's note: Set during the Made In The A.M. era, but I've kept Zayn in the fic

...

You adjust the strap of your bag and shift awkwardly in the elevator as it climbs to the top floor. Your heart’s been doing this annoying fluttery thing all morning, but you keep telling yourself it’s just nerves. That, and the fact that your dad didn’t tell you much—just that the job was yours, and to be on time.

That’s how you find yourself here, freshly unemployed, freshly humiliated, and now… freshly hired as an assistant for One Direction.

The doors slide open with a soft chime, revealing a hotel suite already buzzing with energy. You barely get two steps inside before—

“There she is.” Your dad’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Alright, lads, eyes front. This is my daughter. She’s joining the crew, so try not to scare her off on day one.”

Your mouth opens to say hi, maybe something funny, but then you actually look up and see them.

Louis is sprawled across the couch like he owns the place—legs kicked up, phone in hand, smirk firmly in place. “Paul, mate, you didn’t tell us your daughter was fit.”

“Louis,” Paul warns.

“I’m just saying!”

Niall gives you a small, friendly wave from the kitchenette, a spoon sticking out of his mouth and a tub of Nutella in hand. “Heya. You want some? Helps with first day nerves.”

Liam is the first to actually stand, his expression warm as he offers you a hand. “Ignore them. Welcome to the circus.”

You shake it gratefully. “Thanks. I brought my own straightjacket.”

He laughs, and something in your chest unclenches just a little.

Then there’s Zayn—quiet, observant, perched near the window with a sketchbook balanced on his knee. He lifts a hand in greeting, dark eyes flicking over you once, twice. You smile back, a little unsure.

And then—

“Hi.”

The voice is deeper than you expected. Smooth, slow, dragging like honey over gravel.

You turn—and your heart does that annoying fluttery thing again, but this time it’s not nerves.

Harry Styles is taller in person. His hair is pulled into a loose knot at the nape of his neck, a few curls escaping to frame his face. He’s dressed in a worn black tee and jeans that cling far too well to his hips, rings glinting on his fingers as he extends a hand toward you.

“I’m Harry,” he says, smiling like he already knows how this story ends.

You clear your throat and slip your hand into his. “I’m Y/N.”

His grip is warm, his touch lingering just long enough to be noticeable before he lets go.

“Pretty name,” he murmurs. “Didn’t expect Paul to have such a stunning daughter.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t expect Harry Styles to be such a cliché.”

That earns a low laugh. “Touché.”

Before he can say more, Paul claps a protective hand on your shoulder, his tone all business. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s working under me. Strictly professional. Got it?”

Harry holds up both hands like he’s surrendering, but the grin tugging at his lips betrays him. “Loud and clear, boss.”

Paul narrows his eyes for a second longer, then turns his attention back to you. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the schedules and what’s on for today.”

You follow him through the suite, but you feel Harry’s eyes on you the entire time. Burning into your back. You don’t dare look—mostly because you’re pretty sure if you do, he’ll smirk, and that might just kill you dead.

“Don’t let them get to you,” your dad says, handing you a clipboard. “They’ll try, trust me. Especially that one.”

“Noted.”

You sneak one glance over your shoulder anyway.

Harry’s still standing there. Still watching. And when he catches you looking, he winks.

You quickly turn back around, heat crawling up your neck.

Yeah. You’re in trouble.

...

It’s been a week.

Seven days of wrangling schedules, fetching coffee orders with ridiculous customizations, and reminding five grown men what “soundcheck” actually means.

And somehow—somehow—Harry Styles has managed to be both the bane of your existence and the highlight of every damn day.

He’s made a sport of flustering you. Brushing past a little too close. Whispering “good morning” like it’s a secret. Stealing your pen just to hand it back with a wink. Every look feels like a dare. Every smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Spoiler: he does.

You’re mid-way through checking everyone off for soundcheck when you realize—of course—he’s the only one missing.

You scan the suite, then glance at the time. Five minutes until they’re due downstairs.

Paul is across the room, deep in conversation with the stage manager, so you slip your phone out and shoot off a quick group text.

You: Everyone here for soundcheck except one suspiciously curly-haired diva.

Immediately, Louis replies.

Louis: If I have to drag him out of bed again I swear to god.

Zayn: He was in the hallway like 10 mins ago?? Probably wandered off being mysterious.

Liam: Check the roof. Or the mirror. That’s where I usually find him.

Niall: Want me to check the buffet?

You roll your eyes, bite back a smile, and head out to find him yourself.

You’re halfway down the hall when you hear it—low humming, half a tune, half a distraction. And then, there he is.

Leaning against the wall just outside the fire escape, head tipped back like he’s posing for a damn magazine cover. One boot pressed flat against the wall, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the fact that you’re inside and the lighting is dismal at best.

You pause in the doorway, one brow raised. “Lost track of time, did we?”

He doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even flinch. Just tips his head toward you like he was waiting for this exact moment.

“Knew you’d come,” he says easily, a grin curling at the corner of his mouth.

You cross your arms. “It’s part of my job.”

“Mmm.” He tilts his head at you. “Is that what this is? Work?”

You narrow your eyes at the way his voice dips on that last word. “You’re five minutes late.”

He pushes off the wall with deliberate ease, the heel of his boot thudding softly against the floor as he closes the distance between you.

“Five minutes,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours as he approaches, “and already you’re chasing me down. Can’t stay away, can you?”

You scoff, but your feet don’t move. “I’m chasing a paycheck. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not flattering myself,” he says, dipping his head a little, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “I just pay attention.”

He stops in front of you, close—too close. His scent hits you first, something warm and clean, laced with the faintest trace of mint tea and cologne. His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose, revealing green eyes that scan your face like he’s memorizing it.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

Your breath catches. “I look at you the same way I look at the coffee machine. With exhaustion.”

Harry grins, his tongue just barely swiping across his bottom lip like he’s tasting the flirt off the air.

“That so?” he asks, stepping in even closer, until your back brushes the edge of the doorframe and there’s nowhere else to go. “Because I don’t make you nearly as jittery as that machine does.”

You hate the way your heart stumbles. Hate more that he can probably feel it, standing this close. Your voice comes out tighter than you’d like. “You’re full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, cocking his head, “but I’m also right.”

His hand lifts, slow, and for a terrifying second you think he’s going to touch you—but instead, he tugs the edge of your lanyard gently between two fingers, the one with that damn silver ring catching the light.

“You should be careful with me,” he says softly. “I’ve been known to cause… complications.”

You lift your chin, refusing to be the one who backs down first. “I’m not scared of complications.”

That gets you a real smile. Dangerous and dimpled.

“Good,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Then maybe you’ll stop pretending this is just a job.”

And with that, he drops your lanyard and steps back, like he didn’t just completely knock the air from your lungs.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he calls over his shoulder as he strolls back toward the suite. “Wouldn’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

You don’t move for a full ten seconds.

Then you exhale, check your pulse, and mutter to yourself, “Get a grip.”

But you’re smiling.

And you are absolutely in trouble.

...

You’ve had enough.

It’s been ten days of Harry brushing your arm in passing, whispering cheeky comments under his breath, letting his gaze dip a little too low when you think no one’s watching. He always leaves you breathless, flustered, two steps behind while he walks off smug as hell.

Not today.

Tonight’s show is in a big arena. VIPs in the wings, cameras everywhere. The energy’s electric, the crew a well-oiled machine. And you? You show up early. On purpose. Hair done, lip gloss on, and a tight black dress under your tour jacket—fitted, simple, just the right amount of dangerous when the light hits the sheer paneling over your thighs. Just enough to make a certain someone’s brain short-circuit.

He finds you in the green room. Of course he does.

You’re leaned against the counter, phone in hand, sipping water like you don’t notice the moment his eyes land on you.

But you do.

You feel it like a heat wave. The pause in his step. The way his jaw ticks. He says nothing at first—just watches as you turn slightly, jacket slipping off your shoulder like it has a mind of its own.

You glance up through your lashes. “Something wrong, Styles?”

He blinks once. Then again. “That’s not your usual… assistant attire.”

You shrug, taking another slow sip. “Guess I felt like being appreciated for more than my scheduling skills today.”

He steps forward, eyes raking over you with a little more bite now, the teasing replaced with something darker. “You trying to kill me?”

“Not at all,” you say, all fake innocence. “I just thought I’d remind you that two can play this game.”

His tongue presses to the inside of his cheek. That stupid smirk returns—but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes now. Something sharp. Possessive.

“I like this side of you,” he says lowly, inching closer. “Confident. Calculated.”

“Dangerous?” you offer, tilting your head.

He smiles. “Only to me.”

You don’t move when he stops just in front of you, the counter behind you pressing into your back. His hands don’t touch you—he doesn’t even lean in. But it’s the tension in the air, the electric pull between your bodies that says he’s one wrong breath away from giving in.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his fingers find the edge of your jacket, brushing the fabric aside just enough to skim his knuckles over the bare skin of your arm.

“You really wore this for me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper now, his eyes locked on yours like you’re gravity itself.

You keep your chin high. “Maybe I was curious what it’d take to wipe that smug look off your face.”

His laugh is quiet, dark, a little breathless. He braces one hand on the counter beside you, his body angled into yours—not touching, but close enough that you feel the heat of him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

“And you’re stalling.”

His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up. His free hand lifts, fingers tracing a featherlight path along the exposed skin at your collarbone. Just the barest touch, but it sets your whole body humming.

He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t.

You can’t.

His nose drags along your jaw, breath warm, teasing. His hand trails lower, grazing your waist, his rings cool against the fabric of your dress. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter to keep from grabbing his shirt.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes again, his pupils blown wide, chest rising with shallow breaths.

Then—

“Whoa—Jesus, I didn’t see anything!”

Louis’ voice barrels into the room like a wrecking ball, followed by the loud slam of the door as he immediately backpedals out again.

You and Harry both freeze.

A beat of stunned silence.

Then you let out a breathy laugh, pressing your forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “Well. That was subtle.”

Harry groans, tipping his head back toward the ceiling. “He’s never letting me live this down.”

You pat his chest and step around him, fixing your hair like you didn’t just nearly kiss him against the catering counter. “Guess we’ll both have to behave now.”

He grabs your wrist, gently but firmly, pulling you back just for a second.

His voice is low. Serious.

“I don’t want to behave.”

Your stomach flips.

But your dad’s voice booms down the hall again, this time closer: “Y/N? Where the hell’s that setlist?”

You swallow, nod once, and finally pull away.

“We’ll finish this later,” you murmur.

And Harry just grins.

“Promise?”

...

The concert’s a blur.

You spend most of it half-focused, jotting notes and checking cues, trying to keep your head clear and your hands busy. But your eyes keep drifting to him. To the way his shirt clings to his chest by the second chorus. To the damp curls sticking to his forehead under the stage lights. To the way he glances toward side stage after every song like he’s looking for something.

Like he’s looking for you.

By the time they hit the last note and the crowd roars, your heart is pounding louder than the bass.

You slip away during the encore, weaving past techs and assistants and Paul, who’s preoccupied with a headset and shouting something about exit routes. Your feet move on instinct now. Backstage hallway. Left at the corner. Harry’s dressing room.

The door creaks as you push it open, and there he is—half changed, hair a wild mess, shirt undone, chest still heaving from the rush of the set.

His eyes find yours in the mirror.

You shut the door behind you. Locking it.

“Still want to behave?” you ask quietly.

He turns, slow, eyes dark. “Not even a little.”

In two steps he’s in front of you, one hand cupping your jaw, the other landing low on your waist as he backs you gently against the door. His mouth hovers over yours, breath mingling, teasing.

“You’ve been driving me mad,” he murmurs. “All night. All week.”

You smile, just a little. “Payback’s a bitch.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, but it dies on his lips as they finally crash into yours—hot, hungry, no more teasing, no more games.

It’s a kiss that says finally. His hands are everywhere—trailing your sides, gripping your hips, tugging at your jacket like he can’t decide if he wants you clothed or bare.

You tug him closer by the front of his shirt, bodies flush, mouths parting with a shared gasp as his tongue slides against yours. The kiss turns messy, desperate. His hand slips under your dress, palm skating up the back of your thigh. Your breath stutters.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “Tell me to stop.”

You shake your head. “Don’t you dare.”

That’s all he needs.

His mouth crashes into yours again, rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and heat. His grip on your thigh tightens, dragging it up around his waist as he pins you to the door. The sharp bite of the wood at your back is nothing compared to the way his hips slot against yours, hard and eager, already grinding into you through your dress.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You do. You can feel it—his cock pressed against you through his jeans, straining, twitching every time your hips roll up to meet his.

He lifts your other leg, and instinctively, you wrap them both around him. He groans at the contact, rutting forward, lips dragging down your jaw, your throat, biting at the spot just below your ear.

“Harry—” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Been thinking about this all night,” he growls. “Thinking about you in that little dress, walking around like you weren’t fucking begging for it.”

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. He swears again, breath hot against your collarbone. “Already soaked.”

You gasp when he pushes the fabric aside, dragging two fingers through your folds—slow, teasing, obscene.

“Been like this all day, haven’t you?” he murmurs, voice rough as his fingers press in, sliding deep. “Knew exactly what you were doing. Walking around in that fucking dress, looking at me like you wanted me to lose control.”

You cry out, your back arching off the door as he curls his fingers just right, his thumb grinding tight circles over your clit.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” His mouth finds your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark before soothing it with his tongue. “You knew. You wanted this.”

You moan as he picks up the pace, his fingers pumping fast and filthy, knuckles hitting that perfect spot over and over. Your thighs are trembling already, your body taut with pressure, pleasure building fast and hot in your belly.

“God, you feel so good around my fingers,” he groans, forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged. “So fucking tight. Bet you’ll feel even better around my cock.”

You whimper at the thought, hips rocking against his hand, chasing every sensation he gives you.

Then he pulls back slightly, eyes locked on yours. “Take it off.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

“The dress,” he says, licking his lips. “Take it off. Want to see you.”

You nod, breath catching in your throat as his fingers slip from you. He lets you down gently, your legs trembling as they meet the floor again. His hands never leave you—trailing down your arms, steadying you, worshipping every inch.

You keep your eyes on his as you reach for the hem of your dress, tugging it up slowly. He watches, transfixed, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as inch after inch of skin is revealed.

When the dress clears your head and hits the floor, you stand before him in nothing but your bra and panties—both already crooked from his earlier teasing. You should feel shy, exposed. But under his gaze, you feel powerful.

He breathes out like he’s been holding it in for hours. “Jesus, baby…”

Your hands go to the clasp of your bra, but he steps in, catching your wrists.

“Let me.”

He unhooks it with a practiced flick and lets it slide from your shoulders, baring you completely to him. His hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples, watching the way you arch into his touch.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “So fucking perfect.”

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing his stomach as you pull it up and off. His chest is flushed, tattooed, still glistening faintly with sweat from the show. Your hands smooth over the planes of it, slow and deliberate.

Then you drop to your knees.

His breath hitches, but you only reach for his jeans—unfastening them, dragging them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, hard and aching, and you can’t help the way your mouth waters at the sight of it. Thick. Flushed. Dripping at the tip.

You glance up at him, and his jaw is clenched tight, eyes dark and locked on you.

“Later,” he mutters, pulling you back up to your feet, already guiding you toward the couch. “I need to be inside you.”

You let him lead you, knees hitting the cushions as he drops behind you, settling back against the sofa and pulling you into his lap. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy.

You reach between you, guiding him to your entrance, and the moment his tip pushes in—thick and aching—you both moan like it’s the first breath after surfacing from underwater.

He grips your waist, fingertips digging in as you sink down, slow and deliberate, inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside you. The stretch burns just right, and the way he fills you makes your whole body tremble.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, head falling back against the couch. “So tight. So wet. You feel—god, you feel like heaven.”

You plant your hands on his chest, roll your hips once, slowly. He twitches inside you, eyes flying open to watch your every move.

You start to ride him properly then, lifting and dropping your hips, letting the motion grow faster, harder. He meets you thrust for thrust, fucking up into you with just as much heat, just as much need, the slap of skin on skin building between your bodies.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?” he pants, hands moving from your waist to your ass, gripping, guiding. “Wanted me to fuck you like this. You knew exactly what you were doing in that little dress.”

You whimper and throw your head back, grinding down onto him as deep as he’ll go. “I knew.”

He groans like you’ve ruined him.

Your hands slide into his hair, finally giving in to the temptation that’s been driving you mad for days. It’s soft and wild beneath your fingers, curls slipping through as you tug, hard, forcing his head back.

His mouth drops open. He swears.

“Do that again,” he breathes.

So you do—twisting your fingers tighter, dragging a moan from his throat as you ride him faster, messier now. Your breasts bounce with every movement, his hands never leaving you—touching, squeezing, worshipping.

“Look at you,” he rasps, bucking up into you harder. “Taking me so fucking good. Like you were made for me.”

You crash your lips to his, teeth and tongue and heat, and he groans into your mouth, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.

“I’m close,” you whisper, pulling back just enough to breathe.

His eyes are wild now, hungry. “Then come. Want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

His words send you tumbling.

Your hips jerk, thighs trembling as the orgasm rips through you—hot and fast, stealing your breath as you clench tight around him. A strangled moan escapes your lips, head falling forward, forehead pressed to his.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice a wrecked whisper. “Just like that, baby. Fuck, you feel—”

He cuts off with a gasp as your walls flutter around him, milking him, dragging him right to the edge.

His grip on your hips tightens, almost desperate, and he forces out, “Can I—fuck—can I come inside you?”

You lift your head, eyes dazed but clear, meeting his.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, I’m on birth control—please.”

That’s all it takes.

He moans your name like a prayer and slams up into you, deep and hard, once, twice—and then he’s spilling inside you with a low, guttural sound, fingers bruising your hips as he holds you down, burying himself as far as he can go.

You feel every pulse of it, every hot wave as he fills you, your body already aching and slick with the proof of it.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moves.

You’re still pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. The thud of his heart pounds beneath your palm, matching the rush still echoing in your ears. He’s still buried inside you, the heat of him thick and warm, your bodies locked together, trembling in the aftermath.

But eventually, your thighs start to ache and your body gives a little shiver.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky but content, “I should… probably move.”

“Slow,” he murmurs, nodding. “Easy.”

You lift your hips gently, carefully easing off him with a soft gasp as his length slips free. He holds you steady, fingers tightening for a second as he watches the way your body clenches from the loss. You feel the mess of it between your thighs, sticky and warm—but all you care about is the way his hands settle back on your waist, grounding you.

You shift to straddle his lap more comfortably, your chest still against his, legs trembling slightly. One of his hands rubs slow circles into the small of your back, and the other tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then your fingers are in his hair again.

You’ve been dying to do this—really do this. Not just tug at it in the heat of the moment, but run your fingers through the soft curls, comb them back from his forehead, memorize the way they coil between your fingers.

He hums, eyes fluttering shut as he melts beneath your touch.

“You really like my hair, huh?” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek as he leans into your hand.

You smile, lazily dragging your fingers through another curl. “I think I’m obsessed with it, actually.”

He laughs, breathless and warm. “Dangerous thing to admit when you’re sitting in my lap.”

You smirk. “You’re the one who begged to come inside me.”

He groans, tossing his head back dramatically. “And I have zero regrets.”

You lean forward, brushing your lips to his jaw. “Good.”

He wraps his arms around you again, holding you tighter, your skin still damp and sticky, but neither of you cares. You could stay here forever—limbs tangled, hearts still racing, your hands playing in his hair like it’s the only thing keeping you steady.

After a beat, he sighs, voice low against your neck. “You alright?”

You nod, still tucked against him. “Better than alright.”

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then one to your collarbone. “Let me clean you up, yeah?”

You let out a sleepy groan, nuzzling closer. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Same,” he mutters, but he’s already shifting, helping you gently off his lap. “But if your dad catches us like this, I will die.”

You giggle, letting him scoop you up off the couch as he stands. “Guess I’ll let you live, then.”

...

It’s been a few days.

A blur of shows, travel, crew dinners, and secret glances across crowded rooms. A blur of stolen moments. Locked doors. Late nights. His mouth on your skin, your clothes in a pile on the floor, his hands learning every inch of you like he’s making up for lost time.

And now… now it’s one of those nights again.

Harry snuck into your hotel room an hour after the band finished press. He barely got the door closed before he was on you—kiss rough, hands eager, laughter muffled into your neck when you pulled him onto the bed by the front of his hoodie.

Now, your room is dark except for the city lights filtering through the curtains. The air is warm with the smell of skin and sleep and something softer than either of you will say out loud.

He’s lying on his back with his head in your lap, one arm flung lazily across your thigh, curls spilling over your bare legs as you card your fingers through them again and again. His eyes are closed, lips parted, a tiny satisfied smile on his face like you’ve lulled him into the safest place on earth.

Your fingers pause for a second, tangled in the curls behind his ear.

He notices.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep and sex. “That’s cheating.”

You laugh softly. “Sorry.”

You resume the soft strokes, but your heart's hammering now, nerves coiling under your ribs.

He sighs again, content. So damn content.

You bite your lip. Then, quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

His lashes flutter open. He doesn’t lift his head, just looks up at you with those soft green eyes. “Course you can.”

You hesitate, thumb sweeping slowly across his temple. “This thing between us…”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You exhale. “Is it just sex? Like, a friends with benefits thing? Or is it…”

You trail off, not sure how much to say. Not sure what you’ll do if he says it’s nothing. That you’re nothing.

He’s quiet for a second.

Then he shifts, lifting his head from your lap so he can sit up beside you, facing you properly. The movement is slow, almost cautious. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw.

His voice is quiet. “I don’t think I’ve ever had sex like that and not felt something.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, eyes searching yours. “I sneak into your room at night because I can’t sleep unless I’m near you. You drive me insane in the best way. I want you—every version of you. And if you’ll let me… I want more than just this.”

You blink, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of the warmth blooming in your chest.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Good. Because I… I want that too.”

His whole face softens.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Yeah.”

He kisses you then—slow and tender, mouths brushing like neither of you wants it to end. When you finally pull apart, his forehead rests against yours, breath warm, fingers still curled gently beneath your chin.

“I want this,” he murmurs again, like a vow. “But I know what comes with it.”

You nod slowly, your hands sliding down to rest over his. “My dad would kill you.”

That gets a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in his eyes. “He’d kill me slow.”

“And the boys…” you sigh, pulling back enough to see his face. “They’d tease you mercilessly. Or worse—worry it’s gonna mess with the band.”

“And management?” he adds, voice low now. “They’d have a meltdown. Headlines, speculation… you know how fast things spread.”

You nod again, the weight of it all sinking in. “So… we keep it quiet. For now.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, his expression unreadable for a beat.

“Can you live with that?” he asks softly. “Sneaking around? Pretending like you’re not mine when all I want is to show everyone?”

Your heart stumbles.

“I can,” you say. “If it means I am yours. Even if it’s just for us.”

His jaw tenses, and you can tell he’s battling every instinct to pull you in and say screw it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales slowly, pulling you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you like he never wants to let go.

“You are,” he whispers into your hair. “You’re mine.”

You press your face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, the warmth of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest.

“And you’re mine,” you murmur.

He kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter. “Then they don’t have to know. Not yet. Not until we’re ready.”

You nod, curling closer.

It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. It’s complicated.

But it’s real.

And for now, that’s enough.

...

It’s been three days since that night in your hotel room.

Three days of stolen glances and secret smiles. Of brushing past him in narrow hallways, pretending not to feel the burn of his hand on the small of your back. Three days of aching.

And today?

Today has dragged.

Everything feels too loud, too long, too slow. Every call sheet is wrong, every email never-ending. And Harry… Harry’s been a menace.

It’s like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

The way he leans back in his chair during interviews, legs spread like he owns the world. The way he tucks his hair behind his ear, slow and deliberate, curls bouncing around his face like he’s in a shampoo commercial. The way he chews on his thumb while looking down at his lyric notes—lips pink and plush and perfect.

You’ve been pretending to focus all afternoon, clipboard in hand, chewing your pen cap like it’ll distract you from the very real, very filthy thoughts in your head.

But nothing helps.

Not when you keep imagining those curls in your fists.

Not when you keep remembering what his voice sounds like between your thighs.

By the time the boys finish rehearsals, you’re restless. Wound so tight you might snap if he so much as breathes in your direction.

And of course—he finds you the second he’s free.

You’re tucked away in a quiet dressing room going over the revised schedule when the door shuts behind you with a click. You look up—and there he is.

Sweaty. Smirking. Hair a mess.

Fucking beautiful.

He says nothing at first. Just watches you.

You swallow. “We don’t have long.”

“I don’t need long,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “I just need you.”

Your breath catches.

He closes the distance in three strides, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. His lips graze your ear.

“You’ve been looking at me like you want to eat me alive,” he whispers.

“I do,” you breathe. “But I was trying to be professional.”

He pulls back enough to meet your eyes, curls falling loose around his face, his pupils already blown.

“Fuck professionalism.”

Then his mouth is on yours.

Hot. Urgent. Desperate.

His hands slide down your back, gripping your ass, lifting you onto the counter behind you. Your legs spread without hesitation, heels hooking behind his thighs to keep him close.

You kiss him like you’ve been starving, like you need this to breathe. Your hands go straight to his hair, finally tugging like you’ve wanted to all day—hard and greedy, curling your fingers into the roots and pulling just enough to make him groan against your mouth.

“God,” he gasps, grinding into you. “You love my hair.”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly along his scalp just to feel him shiver. “Wanna pull it while you’re buried between my legs.”

His head drops to your shoulder with a growl. “Say that again and I’m dropping to my knees right now.”

You smirk, breathless, tugging again. “Then what are you waiting for?”

He growls low in his throat, and in one fluid movement, his hands are on your jacket, shoving it down your arms. His mouth never leaves yours for long, just broken kisses between quick movements—your fingers fisting his shirt, tugging it up over his head, revealing warm skin, inked muscle, and the kind of body that makes you ache.

“You first,” he murmurs, dragging the hem of your dress up, up, up—until you lift your arms and he peels it off in one smooth pull.

You’re left in your bra and underwear, flushed and already wet, and he looks at you like he wants to ruin you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes.

Then he drops to his knees.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then the other. His fingers slip under the band of your underwear, tugging them down your thighs slowly—like he wants to savor the reveal. He slides them off your ankles, discarding them somewhere behind him, and then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open wide as he settles between them.

You shudder at the first brush of his breath against your core.

He groans, low and rough. “You’re already dripping.”

You can only nod, fingers curling around the edge of the counter behind you.

And then his mouth is on you.

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, groaning again like he’s tasting heaven. His tongue flicks your clit, light at first, teasing, circling, then pressing firm and hot as he sucks you into his mouth. Your hips jolt.

“Fuck—Harry—”

Your hands find his hair without thinking, sinking into the curls, tugging hard.

He moans against you.

The sound vibrates through you and only makes you tug again, a little rougher this time, wrapping your fingers tighter. He loves it—you can feel it in the way he groans, in the way his tongue moves faster, deeper, like every pull of his hair spurs him on.

Like he’s addicted to it.

He eats you like a man starved—messy, unrelenting, burying his face between your thighs with no care for control. His hands slide under your ass, holding you steady as he works you over with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every part of you until you’re panting, writhing, begging.

You pull hard on his hair again, and he groans louder, grinding his tongue against your clit in tight circles.

“You like that?” you gasp, tugging again.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, his mouth shiny, lips swollen. “Fuck yes.”

Then he dives back in.

You cry out, one hand braced on the mirror behind you, the other still tangled in his hair, pulling as he flicks his tongue faster, harder—relentless. Your thighs start to shake.

“Harry—I’m gonna—”

He moans like he’s proud, sucking your clit hard as two fingers slip inside you, curling just right.

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart with a choked gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling, his name spilling from your lips over and over as you come undone against his mouth. He holds you through every second of it, tongue dragging through your slick, licking up everything he can get, like he’s not letting a single drop go to waste.

And still—still—your hands are in his hair, tugging without rhythm now, desperate and delirious. And still, he groans for it. Like he wants to be wrecked by you.

You don’t know how long it takes before you finally collapse back against the mirror, thighs twitching, chest heaving, completely undone.

And he’s still kneeling, lips swollen, eyes dark, grinning like he just won something.

Which—fuck—he did.

Your breathing’s still uneven, thighs trembling from the aftershocks, but when Harry finally rises from between your legs, his lips glossy and jaw tight, you catch the fire in his eyes.

He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like he’s savoring every drop of you.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he breathes, almost reverent.

You don’t respond.

You act.

Your hands slip up under the hem of his shirt, palms flat against his flushed, tattooed skin. He hisses softly at the contact, your touch gentle compared to the wreckage he just made of you. You push the shirt up slow, watching every muscle in his stomach tighten under your hands, until you finally tug it over his head and drop it to the floor.

“Your turn,” you murmur, gaze dropping to the waistband of his jeans.

His breath catches. “Yeah?”

You nod, backing him up until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of the chair in the corner. He sits without resistance, legs spread, eyes on you like you’re a fantasy come to life.

And then, slowly—purposefully—you sink to your knees.

Harry’s mouth parts, chest rising sharply.

Your hands find his belt, unfastening it with infuriating calm. He lifts his hips just enough to help as you drag his jeans down his legs, then his boxers, releasing his cock—already flushed and heavy, the tip glistening. He’s hard again, impossibly so, despite what he just gave you, and the sight of it makes your mouth water.

You glance up at him through your lashes as your fingers wrap around the base. “So responsive.”

He laughs, but it’s breathless, strained. “Sweetheart, you exist and I’m hard.”

You hum, giving him one slow stroke. “Poor thing.”

And then you lean in.

You start soft—just a kiss to the head. Then another, lower, your tongue flicking the underside as you stroke him with a lazy rhythm.

Harry’s head falls back against the chair, his fingers already threading through your hair. But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t guide.

He lets you have him.

You lick a stripe up the side of his cock, kitten-licking the head again before finally taking him into your mouth—inch by inch, dragging your tongue along the underside, eyes still locked on his.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, hips twitching. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum around him, sinking down deeper, and the sound makes him shudder.

“Jesus,” he gasps, breath catching. His hand flexes in your hair again, the other gripping the armrest like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. “You feel—fuck, you feel so good.”

You set a steady rhythm—slow at first, teasing, taking him deep before pulling back and dragging your tongue over the head. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking in sync with every movement of your mouth, your spit slicking him up messily, perfectly.

He’s panting now, mouth slack, eyes barely open as he watches you.

“You’re unreal,” he whispers, the words broken by a low moan. “You’re so fucking good to me.”

Your fingers dig into his thigh as you pick up the pace—taking him deeper, faster, letting his cock glide over your tongue until your lips meet your fist and your jaw aches, but god, you don’t stop.

He’s close. You can feel it in the way his hips twitch, the way his thighs tense under your hands.

“Baby—” he gasps, voice cracking. “I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You don’t stop.

You don’t want to stop.

You look up at him, eyes dark, lips stretched around him, and he breaks—with a strangled moan and a sharp jerk of his hips, he spills down your throat, hot and thick and overwhelming.

You swallow every drop, slow and messy, your hand still working him through it, gentle now, coaxing out every last twitch, every last moan.

He slumps back in the chair, completely undone, chest heaving, sweat glistening at his hairline.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, head rolling against the cushion. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You smile, dragging your tongue across your bottom lip, smug and satisfied.

And that’s exactly when—

Knock knock knock.

You freeze.

Harry’s eyes fly open, wide and panicked.

“Y/N?” It’s Liam’s voice. Too casual. Too close.

You scramble upright, nearly tripping over your own knees as you snatch Harry’s shirt off the floor and throw it at him with a whisper-hiss: “Get dressed!”

He’s laughing silently, still boneless in the chair, but he yanks the shirt on while fumbling for his jeans.

You swipe a hand across your mouth, grab your dress and jacket, running a hand through your hair as the door opens.

Liam steps in, mid-sentence. “Paul’s looking for you—what the f—?”

He stops dead.

The silence is instant.

Your dress is halfway over your hips. Harry’s shirt is inside out and only buttoned halfway, his belt dangling undone, hair a mess, lips still swollen.

And Liam sees all of it.

His eyes bounce between you, wide with shock, disbelief, and dawning horror.

“Liam,” you start, breathless. “I—this isn’t—”

“You’re kidding me,” he says, stepping back like he walked into a crime scene. “You’re—oh my god.”

“Mate, just—” Harry stands quickly, trying to fix his belt, but his voice is too calm. Too Harry. “Can we talk about this like adults?”

“Adults don’t sneak around like horny teenagers in dressing rooms!” Liam snaps. “Are you serious right now?”

You wince, dragging your dress down properly. “Please don’t yell.”

“I’m not yelling,” Liam says—loudly—his jaw clenched, voice trembling more from sheer rage than volume. “I’m processing. I walked in and saw my bandmate half-naked and Paul’s daughter with her dress around her waist. What exactly am I supposed to do with that?!”

Harry sighs, buttoning his shirt correctly now. “Liam—”

“No. No, you don’t get to play this calm, charming bullshit right now,” Liam snaps, pointing at him. “That’s Paul’s daughter. Paul. The man who literally pays our salaries and trusts us not to fuck around.”

Harry holds his hands up. “I’m not—this isn’t just fucking around, alright?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Liam bites. Then he turns on you, betrayal flashing across his face. “And you. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

“I am,” you say quickly, stepping forward, jacket clutched to your chest. “Liam, please, I know how it looks, but we didn’t plan for it to happen like this. It’s not a joke. I swear.”

He stares at you, eyes searching. “Are you together?”

You hesitate—then nod. “We’re figuring it out. But yes.”

He makes a strangled sound and looks like he’s about to launch into another rant, so you grab his arm.

“Please don’t say anything. Please. Just not yet.”

His eyes widen. “You want me to lie to your dad?”

“I want you to give me a chance to tell him myself. When I’m ready.”

Liam looks like he might explode. “Y/N—”

“Liam, come on,” Harry says quietly. “You’ve known me forever. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t real.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Liam snaps. “Because if it is real, then it’s even worse. You don’t think Paul’s gonna lose it when he finds out one of us is secretly dating his daughter?”

You flinch, but don’t let go of Liam’s arm. “Please. I’m not asking you to lie forever. Just… let me handle it.”

Liam stares at you for a long, heavy moment.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose and drags a hand down his face. “You have one week. One. Then I’m telling him.”

You nod instantly. “Okay. Thank you.”

He looks between the two of you again, still fuming. “You better hope he hears it from you first.”

Then he storms out, the door slamming behind him.

Silence settles again. You exhale shakily, then glance at Harry.

“Still think it could’ve gone worse?”

Harry raises a brow. “Yeah. He could’ve punched me.”

You groan. “Give it time.”

He walks over and wraps his arms around your waist, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You okay?”

“Nope.”

“You were amazing,” he murmurs. “Even if he hates me now.”

You sigh, leaning into him. “I don’t think he hates you.”

There’s a pause.

Then you add, “Yet.”

You and Harry manage to make yourselves look somewhat presentable before slipping out of the dressing room separately.

Ten minutes later, you’re in the green room, clipboard in hand, pretending you’re not still shaking from what just happened—and from the fact that Liam hasn’t looked at either of you once.

He’s seated on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, jaw tight, staring at the floor like it’s personally offended him.

The other boys filter in casually—Louis first, sipping from a water bottle, followed by Niall and Zayn mid-conversation.

Louis’s eyes skim the room once before landing on you. Then Harry.

Then Liam.

Then back to you.

And his brow lifts. “What’s with this vibe?”

Niall looks up. “Yeah. Did something happen? Liam looks like he’s about to start throwing furniture.”

“I’m fine,” Liam says tightly, not moving.

“You’re not,” Louis says slowly, eyeing him. “You look like someone slept with your sister or something.”

There’s a beat.

Harry coughs.

You freeze.

Zayn, who’s been leaning against the wall, straightens. “...No.”

Louis’s eyes widen. “No.”

Niall’s head snaps between all three of you like he’s trying to catch up mid-film. “Wait, what—?”

Then he squints.

At Harry.

Then at you.

And you know it’s obvious.

You’re both freshly flushed. Your hair’s a mess. Harry’s shirt is still on inside out, and there’s a faint pink flush crawling up the side of his neck, dangerously close to a hickey. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he walked in.

And you?

You haven’t made eye contact with a single person.

Louis gasps. “Shut. Up.”

Zayn groans. “Unreal. Absolutely fucking unreal.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait—are you two actually—?”

Louis just cackles, pointing at Harry like he’s won a game show. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Zayn shakes his head slowly, arms crossed. “Wow. And here I thought the sexual tension was just for sport.”

“I knew something was going on,” Louis continues, grinning like it’s Christmas morning. “You think I haven’t heard the noises coming from Harry’s room the past few nights? I thought he was just really, really into that meditation playlist.”

Harry snorts. “Definitely wasn’t meditating.”

“Harry!” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“What?” he says, entirely unrepentant. “Just saying, I was in a very mindful headspace.”

Liam lets out a strangled noise that sounds part scream, part groan. “Oh my god. I’m going to throw up.”

Niall, still catching up, squints at you. “Wait. So this is real? Not just a one-time thing?”

You glance at Harry, then nod. “It’s… real.”

Louis whistles, low and dramatic. “Well, congratulations, Styles. You’re a dead man walking.”

Zayn nods. “Start writing your eulogy now. And maybe pick out a nice coffin.”

Harry just smiles wider, all teeth and smug satisfaction. “Totally worth it.”

Liam shoots him a glare sharp enough to kill a weaker man. “You are not going to survive this tour. You understand that, right? The second Paul finds out—”

“He won’t,” you say quickly. “Not yet. Liam’s giving us a week.”

“Which is incredibly generous,” Liam mutters.

Louis claps his hands. “Right, so we’ve got six days, twenty-three hours before Paul goes full wrath-of-God on Harry.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Liam mutters, standing. “Because once Paul finds out, your fun is going to be at the bottom of the ocean.”

He storms out again, grumbling under his breath about children and poor life choices.

The door slams behind him.

Silence lingers for a beat—then Louis lets out a long whistle. “Yikes.”

Niall blinks. “So. Do we… do we comfort him? Or do we just let him stew?”

Zayn shrugs. “Man needs a minute.”

You exhale and sink down onto the nearest couch cushion, pressing your clipboard to your chest. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Harry sits beside you, completely unbothered, arm slung across the back of the couch. “Could’ve gone better.”

Louis snorts. “Could’ve gone nuclear.”

Niall points at you. “You alright?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect to get caught mid-scandal.”

“Mid-oral scandal,” Louis corrects with a grin. “Let’s call it what it was.”

Harry snorts, reaching for your hand. “We’ll be more careful.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get another chance,” Zayn says dryly, arching a brow.

Harry winks. “Oh, I will.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks flush anyway.

Niall grins. “God, you two are so obvious now. How did we not catch this earlier?”

“Because I’m good at lying,” you mutter, half into your clipboard.

“And I’m just incredibly charming,” Harry adds helpfully, squeezing your hand.

Louis fake-gags. “Ugh. Disgusting. Someone tell Paul now just to get it over with.”

“Do not joke about that,” you say, pointing at him. “I’m already imagining the heart attack. Do you want to be responsible for giving my father a coronary?”

Louis raises both hands in surrender. “Nope. I like Paul. I’d just prefer not to be within five miles of Harry when he finds out.”

Zayn pushes off the wall with a sigh. “Well, we’ve got a week to brace for impact.”

“And hide anything sharp,” Niall adds under his breath.

The others start filtering out of the room, still murmuring and laughing among themselves, leaving just you and Harry on the couch.

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft now, playful edge melting into something quieter.

“You really okay?” he asks again, gentler this time.

You lean into his side, bumping your shoulder into his. “Yeah. As long as we make it out of this alive.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We will. I’ve survived screaming fans, Simon Cowell, and Louis’s cooking. I can handle your dad.”

You laugh. “You’re so full of shit.”

Harry grins. “Maybe. But you’re still into me.”

You look up at him, brows lifted. “What gave it away?”

“The blowjob probably.”

You groan, smacking his chest with your clipboard. “You are the worst.”

“Still totally worth it,” he says, tugging you closer.

You sigh, letting yourself relax for a moment in the quiet.

And for now, at least—he’s right. Totally worth it.

...

The next morning starts deceptively normal.

Room service trays cover the table. Coffee cups, half-eaten toast, and little pots of jam are scattered across the surface like breakfast exploded and no one cleaned up. Louis is reading the headlines aloud in a dramatic voice, Niall is already on his second croissant, and Liam is definitely pretending to focus on emails just so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with you or Harry.

You’re seated beside said menace.

Harry’s in a worn grey t-shirt and sweats, curls still damp from the shower, and he smells like mint and hotel soap and last night. You’re in one of your tour hoodies and bike shorts. Totally innocent. Totally casual.

Except your knee keeps bumping his under the table.

And his pinky keeps brushing yours.

And you are absolutely not thinking about the way he kissed you breathless before you even left your hotel room that morning.

You stab your fork into a piece of fruit. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what?” he asks, far too innocent, reaching across you to steal a grape off your plate. His arm lingers longer than necessary, brushing your chest as he leans back. “Sharing?”

You glance at him. Narrow your eyes.

He grins—dimples and danger wrapped in a face you really shouldn’t trust.

You should know better by now.

But your hand still slides under the table, settling on his thigh.

Too high.

His breath catches, sharp and quiet, as your thumb starts to move in slow, teasing circles. His leg tenses under your touch, and you feel him shift slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether to stay still or drag you into his lap.

You’re just starting to smile when—

“Seriously?” Zayn’s voice cuts through, bone-dry.

Your hand stills instantly. Harry’s doesn’t—his fingers slide higher up your thigh in a slow, deliberate stroke that makes your breath hitch.

Zayn doesn’t even look up from his coffee. “Right in front of my toast?”

Niall nearly chokes on his juice, coughing into his sleeve.

Louis leans across the table, grinning like he’s been waiting for this moment all morning. “Told you two you’re not slick.”

Liam groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I regret giving you a week. This is going to be the longest week of my life.”

Harry smirks, entirely unbothered. “I’m a dead man walking. May as well enjoy the time I’ve got left.”

“By giving us a live porn show?” Zayn deadpans.

Louis rolls his eyes but still grins. “There’s an empty storage closet three doors down with your names on it. Soundproof-ish. Go be disgusting in private.”

You glance at Harry.

He raises a brow.

Then you’re both out of your chairs at the same time, barely waiting for permission.

“I swear to God,” Liam mutters behind you, “if I hear anything—”

“We’ll be quiet,” Harry tosses back without looking.

“You’ll try to be quiet,” Zayn mutters.

Louis raises his coffee cup in salute. “Good luck, soldier.”

Harry tugs you down the hall, quick and determined, fingers locked with yours like he might combust if you don’t get there fast enough. He finds the closet Zayn mentioned, swings the door open, and pulls you inside.

The door hasn’t even clicked shut before he’s on you.

Harry kisses you like he’s been waiting hours—days—for this. Like the idea of keeping his hands off you for one more second is physically painful. His mouth crashes into yours, urgent and hungry, his body pinning yours to the wall in the tight space. Your back hits it with a soft thud, breath knocked from your lungs, and it only makes you kiss him harder.

His hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingers spreading wide across your waist, the heat of his palms branding your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since breakfast,” he murmurs, mouth trailing down the side of your jaw, then lower, brushing over the base of your neck. “The way you touched me under the table—fuck, you’re a menace.”

You laugh, breathless and already trembling, your hands tugging his shirt up and over his head. It drops to the floor as your nails scrape lightly down his chest.

“You started it.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils blown, mouth already swollen. “And now I’m going to finish it.”

His lips crash into yours again—messy, open-mouthed, claiming. One of his hands grips the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him while the other curls around your jaw, tilting your head until you’re exactly where he wants you.

You moan into his mouth, fingers finding his hair. You tangle them deep in the curls, tugging hard enough to make him groan, the sound low and wrecked against your lips.

It’s frantic. Desperate. Dizzying.

And then—

Click.

The door swings open.

“Y/N—”

Your whole body jolts as you whip around, heart slamming into your throat.

Your dad stands in the doorway.

Frozen. Eyes wide. Face blank.

He takes in everything in one horrible, split-second glance—your hoodie hanging off one shoulder, Harry shirtless, lips swollen, your fingers still twisted in his hair, both of you flushed and breathless, clearly tangled in something that was about to become much more.

You and Harry spring apart like you’ve been burned.

“Dad—” you start, voice thin, shaky.

“Don’t.” His tone slices through the air like ice.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t shout. Doesn’t storm in or slam the door again. He just stares. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

Like he doesn’t want to believe it.

“I trusted you,” he says quietly, but it lands heavier than any scream would have.

You open your mouth to explain, to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

Harry takes a cautious step forward, shirt still bunched in one hand. “Paul—”

“No.” Your dad lifts a hand, firm and final. “You don’t get to play the nice guy, Harry. Not when you’ve been sneaking around with my daughter behind my back.”

Harry flinches, the silence after the words hanging too heavy to breathe through.

“It’s not like that,” you manage, voice hoarse. “We weren’t trying to hide it to hurt you—we just—”

“That’s enough.” Paul’s voice is sharp, final. His eyes narrow as he cuts you off. “Get dressed. Meet me back in the suite.”

Then he turns, and the door slams behind him with a force that makes you flinch.

Silence rushes in, thick and suffocating.

You’re still frozen in place, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, heart racing like you’ve just sprinted off a cliff with no idea where the ground is. Your hands tremble at your sides—you don’t even realize you’re still clutching the front of Harry’s sweats until his hand gently wraps around yours.

“Hey,” he says softly, voice low and grounding. “You okay?”

You nod. Then shake your head. “I don’t know.”

He exhales slowly, eyes searching yours as his thumb brushes lightly across your cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes for a beat, leaning into the warmth of his palm. Letting it steady you. “I can’t believe it happened like that.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But it’s going to be okay.”

He pulls you into his chest and you go without hesitation, letting yourself melt into him, your face pressed into his bare shoulder, arms wrapped tight around his waist. His skin is still warm. His heart is still racing, too.

“We’ll talk to him,” he says, threading his fingers through your hair, “together. It’ll be okay.”

You nod into his neck, barely a whisper. “Okay.”

But even as you say it, you’re not sure either of you believes it yet.

You let him hold you for a moment longer, burying your face in the curve of his neck, wishing you could stay there just a little longer. But eventually, you pull back, tugging your hoodie into place with trembling fingers.

Harry grabs his shirt from the floor and slips it on, movements slower now. More careful. Like he’s trying not to make things worse by rushing.

Then his hand finds yours. Fingers intertwine, warm and grounding.

You hold on.

Together, you make your way back to the suite.

Paul is pacing, arms crossed, jaw tight. The other four boys are planted across the room, wearing matching expressions of guilt—like they’d all just been caught watching the world’s most awkward car crash.

Louis is the first to notice you. His mouth opens, then shuts again, which might be the most restrained he’s ever been in his life.

Liam is all clenched jaw and twitching fingers, eyes darting between you, Harry, and Paul like he’s waiting for something to explode.

Niall shifts uncomfortably, clearly trying to melt into the arm of the couch.

And Zayn just sighs and mutters, “Told you it was a terrible idea.”

Paul stops pacing the second he sees you. His eyes drop to your joined hands—Harry’s fingers still laced tightly with yours—and something flickers behind his expression.

Disappointment. Hurt. And something that cuts deeper than either: betrayal.

“Sit,” he says simply.

You and Harry obey without a word, sinking onto the couch side by side.

Paul doesn’t sit right away. He stands across from you, arms crossed, jaw tight. The silence stretches painfully long. You feel Harry tense beside you, feel his fingers twitch like he��s preparing to take the hit for both of you.

From the corner of your eye, the other boys try—and fail spectacularly—to look busy.

Louis has a magazine open upside down.

Zayn is suddenly very invested in the stitching on his jeans.

Niall keeps adjusting the lid on his empty water bottle.

Liam stares out the window like he’s praying it’ll crack open and suck him into the void.

Paul ignores them all.

“Alright,” he says, voice calm in that scary, clipped way you know too well. “You’ve got two minutes. Start talking.”

You and Harry glance at each other.

Then Harry clears his throat and says, “It started about a month ago. And it wasn’t planned. It just… happened.”

Paul’s brows raise. “Just like that?”

You speak quickly. “We weren’t trying to lie to you. We just—didn’t know how to tell you.”

“And sneaking around seemed like the better option?” Paul’s eyes cut sharply to Harry. “I trusted you. Not just as one of my artists, but as someone I thought had a little more respect than this.”

Harry straightens slightly. “I do respect you. And I care about her. A lot.”

Paul doesn’t flinch, but his voice drops a note colder. “So much that you risked her job? Your job? The stability of this entire tour?”

No one breathes. You’re fairly certain Louis has stopped blinking.

Harry holds his ground. “I didn’t go into this to mess anything up. And I know it looks bad. But it’s real. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t.”

Paul turns to you. “And you?”

Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. “I care about him. This isn’t just some fling.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Paul exhales and sinks into the armchair across from you, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Do you have any idea the position this puts me in?” he mutters. “The press, management, the fans… and I can’t even fire one of you, because that’d mean firing my daughter or blowing up the band.”

Niall makes a tiny choking noise in the background.

Zayn kicks him under the table.

Paul’s head snaps around.

His eyes narrow. “You,” he says, pointing at Niall. “How long have you known?”

Niall freezes mid-sip of his empty water bottle. “Uh…”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Niall sets the bottle down slowly, like it might explode. “A few days. Maybe a week. Kinda hard to miss when Harry started acting like a lovesick golden retriever.”

“Niall,” you hiss.

He shrugs helplessly. “What? It’s true!”

Paul shifts his stare to Zayn, who doesn’t flinch.

“How about you?”

Zayn leans back with a sigh, arms crossed. “Saw it coming a mile away. Just didn’t realize it was this serious until Liam caught them half-dressed.”

Harry lets out a quiet groan beside you.

Paul turns to Louis next. “And you?”

Louis grins, completely unapologetic. “Oh, I’ve definitely heard things through hotel walls. Thin ones. Also, you did say not to scare her off, and I’m just saying—I think she’s brave for sticking around.”

Paul raises a hand to his temple like he’s fighting a migraine.

“And Liam,” he says slowly, “my last hope.”

Liam lifts both hands. “Don’t look at me. I tried to stop them. Gave them a whole week to come clean.”

Paul blinks. “You knew and said nothing?”

“They promised to tell you!” Liam protests. “And I’ve been living in a state of constant anxiety ever since.”

Paul groans and rubs both hands down his face. “Unbelievable. All five of you.”

“We’re very supportive,” Louis offers.

“Quiet,” Paul snaps.

The room falls silent again, thick with unease.

Then Paul turns back to you and Harry, fixing you both with a look that could level a stadium.

“One chance,” he says firmly. “I’m giving you one chance to do this right. If anything happens—if the media catches wind, if fans start speculating, if anything compromises this tour or your safety—you’re done. Both of you. I don’t care how serious this feels or how in love you think you are. You do not come before this job.”

Harry sits up a little straighter, no trace of his usual charm on his face. “We understand.”

Paul’s gaze shifts to you, waiting.

“I understand,” you echo, your voice quiet but certain. “We won’t let it interfere.”

For a long moment, Paul doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you like he’s trying to find the kid he raised in the mess you’ve made.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, jaw still tight. “I need some air.”

And without another word, he turns and walks out the door.

This time, it closes softly.

Not a slam. Just final.

The moment it clicks shut, the breath leaves your lungs in a rush.

You slump back into the couch, pulse still thudding in your ears.

“Well,” Louis says brightly, tossing his magazine over his shoulder. “That was fun.”

Zayn lets out a low whistle. “Never thought I’d see Paul go full dad mode in a band meeting.”

Liam rubs his temples. “Can we all just take one day—one day—off from emotional trauma?”

Niall gives you a small, lopsided smile. “You alright, love?”

You nod slowly, fingers still tangled with Harry’s. “Yeah. I think so.”

Harry squeezes your hand. “We’re okay.”

And despite everything—the fallout, the lecture, the fact that the entire band now knows way too much—you believe him.

You’re okay.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #long hair harry x reader #long hair harry x you #long hair harry fanfiction #harry styles smut #long hair harry smut

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occamstfs · 9 months ago

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Triple Shot Theft

Trying to nab himself a sweet treat, Liam finds himself growing into the behemoth whose order he stole.

Shorter story! Petty thief to meathead bodybuilder, hope you enjoy this slightly more succinct story! -Occam

The coffee was in his sights. Liam just needs to wait for a moment when the mobile order counter was unattended andddd- There. He’s already out the door and headed down the street with enough caffeine to get him through his morning. I mean he’s not proud of his little act of delinquency, but it’s not like anyone’s suffering right? The coffee shop has unlimited resources, they'll make whatever poor schmuck whose drink he just nabbed a new one.

Speaking of, now that he’s home free it’s well time for the first sip. Liam briefly checks the name on the cup, Elijah. “Well Eli, cheers to you. Bottoms up-” Raising the steaming togo cup to his lips Liam prepares for the ritual first burning sip. Not checking the label as he wants to be surprised by whatever hides underneath the lid. As soon as the drink touches his tongue it is revealed to be quite the unpleasant one as he rears back from the scalding drink and grimaces.

Totally unrelated from the boiling heat, the taste was the single most bitter thing he’s ever experienced before in his life. Sticking his burned tongue out before whispering a complaint he checks the label, “Jesus Christ dude!? What the fuck did your order?” Taking no time to analyze his criticism of a man who is by all intents his victim, his eyes grow wide as he sees the drink is a Black Dead Eye, that is drip coffee with three shots.

He feels his heart flutter as he thinks about the amount of caffeine he now holds in his hand and plans how he is going to ration it out so he doesn’t completely overload himself. His mind briefly tries to picture the type of man to order this, though before a clear thought could be produced he shrugs and takes another sip. Could’ve at least had some syrup in there guy. Still taking a strained sip, an idea unfamiliar fills his mind, ‘psh as if I’m gonna drink some empty calories to start my day.’

Eliam’s eye twitches as he scrunches his face, presumably from the bitterness and grunts, “ugh, I hate-” Feeling a frog in his throat he clears it a few times in short succession. “Man, this drink sucks.” His brow immediately furrows as he hears his voice almost sounds deeper to his ears? Eliam eyes the drink for half a second before shrugging and assuming he must be coming down with a cold. Something within his subconscious questions how that will affect his time at work? No, not work, something else. Something close though, his arm rises in a right angle and he tilts his head as the thin limb tries to flex, immediately confused as to why he just did that, after a pause he reconsiders. Why does his bicep look so puny?

Uncomfortable with his bicep barely manipulating the sleeve of his shirt he considers, “Maybe I should start hitting up the gym?” Eliam scratches at his chest and frowns as he feels truly no muscle definition hiding under his T-shirt. His head buzzes with foreign emotion and instinct as the general apathy he has for his body and appearance is rapidly being replaced with disdain nearing disgust. He grunts and keels over as static, burning pins and needles, begins to overwhelm his senses. In the process he nearly spills his coffee which hits him with far more anxiety than losing a drink you didn't even pay for should.

His mouth is cold and dry as he stares at his nearly lost midnight dark drink and, even greater than the bizarre numbness and strange sensations contorting his body, he feels an urge, a need, to drink. Lips puckering as they strain to get closer to the cup as he brings it to his mouth, his legs give out and he falls back against a shop window. Passersby sneer at him as doggedly sits on the sidewalk and raises the cup completely upside down and lets it pour into his wanting mouth. His throat struggles to keep up as something besides himself, something with a will stronger than his own, forces him to down the burning drink in one go.

Mission accomplished, he gasps for air and wipes the few drops of coffee that landed outside of his mouth off his face before sucking them off his stained finger. When a businessman looks down at him with an eyebrow raised Eliamh feels a burning in his chest at the challenge. His jaw clenches and every muscle burns with the desire to show the pen pusher what’s up, dude doesn’t even know what the grind is! Eliamh’s eye twitches and he clenches at his gut as for the first time in his life it seems to be straining his intentionally baggy shirt.

The pettiest thief struggles to stand, using the wall for support as his legs suddenly struggle to carry his body. All the while making embarrassing grunts. He begins burping loudly as his stomach tries to get him to reject the drink in the only way it can. He feels more bloated with every labored breath and heavy movement, his midriff now exposes his thin treasure trail as his arms begin to fill the sleeves of his wrinkled button up. In between burps and groans he just gets out in his now decidedly duller voice, “Whuh- what was in that cup-”

Usually happy to hide, Eliamh feels a rising need to challenge every man in sight, realizing something is beginning to overwrite his usual instincts, his rational ideas. As his pants begin to strain, thighs and ass bulging larger, Eliamh realizes that no matter his new desire to post up he needs to wait out whatever, uh, food poisoning this is. Stumbling into the storefront he’s thus far used as a stabilizer he groans out to the clerk, hand covering his mouth as he tries to hold back a loud burp, “Burmgh- I, ugh. Need yer restroom, dude.” Mouth curling into a frown at the clearly unwell man the cashier just points to the room at the back and Eliamh quickly stumbles through the door and locks it behind him.

Panting, Eliamh falls to the floor. Sweating through his clothes he leaves a trail on the door as he slides against it. Unconcerned with the filth of being on a bathroom floor his mind screams as his body begins to expand in every direction. Fabric tears as his bloated gut redistributes itself across his whole form. His arms that only recently bulged with any weight at all suddenly rip entirely through his shirt. Veiny biceps tear through, bursting larger than his thighs before his forearms race to match. His hands grow rough with callouses as he tears at his clothes as they begin to suffocate him.

Elijam’s shoulders pecs are initially inhibited by the clothes barely hanging in there. As soon as they give way and his torso is freed to the air do they begin their transformation outright. Drool pouring from his mouth as his mind flitters between the horror of becoming something anathema to himself while at the same time rapidly recognizing the arms as the powerful weapons he has honed for years now. Initially absent, the muscle on his chest pointedly makes up for the years spent abandoned. Pumping larger as his lungs expands and his chest widens to match shoulders that thicken to be shoulderpads, his pecs begin to become unseemly. Weighty enough that his current legs could never support them, his pecs surge to a size where the idea that he could ever be anything but a diligent bodybuilder is foolish.

His rougher hands trail down his sweaty, impossibly large chest and find that there are now swaths of his body where his bulging biceps and dense pecs collide that he simply can no longer touch. Moving down to feel abs as they push themselves out of his lower torso like cobblestones, his grunts and burps turn to deep moans as he bathes in the pleasure of becoming Elijah. Finally reaching low enough to free his package as it begins to fill his constricting pants, Elijah palms his balls as they begin to fill his body with hormones that make his boorish mindset make far more sense.

Outside in the store the clerk contemplates calling the authorities as the deep moans echoing from the bathroom begin to scare off customers. Back in the restroom the bodybuilders thighs expand to truly the size of tree trunks as they lengthen along the cold tile. Immediately do they tear his pants as it becomes clear that he’ll never take a step without his massive legs rubbing against each other. It’s a wonder his package has any room at all to be as large as it is given the real estate taken up by his massive lower body. In no time at all the sweaty behemoth finds himself filling the small room with his musk which only heightens his heady delight.

His eyes cross as the few shreds of Liam that remained ingrained in his psyche through it all begin to give up the ghost. His balls pulse as the paltry aspects drain from his mind and every inch of him fully shifts to that of Elijah. Memories of countless hours spent underneath the bench press bar, tracking protein consumption, comparing his form with other massive titans. At the very same moment do loads begin to fly. Shooting high enough to grace the ceiling, his spunk stains the wall behind him like splatters on a canvas. His impossible changes took less than a minute but in his ecstasy he feels each and every one of Elijah’s memories soar to fill his mind.

Stumbling to his thick soled feet Elijah scratches his head as he tries to think how he’ll leave this store with nothing to cover his titanic form. The cogs of his mind turn slow enough that it seems like he can barely produce a thought at all. He grabs toilet paper to start to clean the mess made, but only ends up smearing it against the walls. Suddenly he laughs a dull guffaw as he remembers he lives nearby, just needs to run through the store and he’s home free. He’s sure the customers won’t mind seeing him in the buff, he thinks as he smirks at his peaking bicep.

His cock stirs again as he wonders when he got this pump in. Knowing he doesn’t have time for another session right now he covers his impressive package with his torn clothes and sprints through the lobby, the clerk doesn’t have time to finish his name before he’s exited the storefront and begun to sprint homewards. Pushing through any man who doesn’t quite move out of the way in time, Elijah hits himself in the head as he realizes he needs to apologize to his bro for stealing his coffee this morning. Just as soon does the thought fade with another slow witted guffaw. He’s sure Elijah won’t mind, he’d probably do the same even. After all, they’ve got a lot in common.

#male tf #mental change #masculinization #muscle tf #jockification #dumber #personality change #male transformation

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abigailovesz · 10 days ago

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──────── ୨ৎ FINNY GETTING OVERSTIMULATED

── ˙ ̟ !! ꣑୧ feat. JJ & finny maybank

BOY DAD!JJ AU

cw: fluff & comfort - overstimulation/annoyance.

The house was a zoo. Liam was running shirtless through the hallway with a plastic sword, screaming some sort of curse. Alex was crying over a broken crayon like it was the end of the world. And JJ? He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a chicken nugget in one hand and a toy car in the other, wondering how the hell you managed this chaos every damn day.

You had left for work two hours ago — “just a few shifts at the bookstore,” you’d said, kissing him on the cheek while smoothing down Alex’s curls. “You’ll be fine.”

He was not fine.

JJ glanced around, his eyes landing on Finny — quiet Finny — standing by the wall, hands covering his ears, eyes wide like he was trying to shrink into the wallpaper. That was all JJ needed to see.

He dropped the nugget, stepped over a discarded shoe, and walked straight to him.

“Hey,” JJ said gently, crouching down, “wanna come out to the garage with me for a bit?”

Finny just nodded. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look up — just reached out and slipped his small hand into JJ’s without a sound.

JJ didn’t say anything else. Just led him outside and closed the door softly behind them, muffling the war cries of Liam and the ongoing sobs of Alex.

The garage was cooler, shaded, smelling faintly like oil and sawdust and summer air. JJ pulled up a crate for Finny to sit on and grabbed a wrench from the tool pegboard.

The silence was good. Not awkward, not tense — just calm. JJ leaned against the workbench and finally spoke.

“ You know what this is?” he asked, holding up the wrench.

Finny looked up, blinking slow. “A… twisty thing?”

JJ smirked. “Close enough.”

He crouched next to his son, showing him how to grip it. “It’s a wrench. You can tighten bolts with it. Or, if you’re desperate, threaten someone who tries to steal your snacks.”

That earned him a quiet little smile. Barely there — but it was real.

JJ reached for one of the broken down engines he’d been working on last week, scooting it closer. “Wanna help me fix this?”

Finny nodded again, more sure this time. “Mhm.”

So they worked. JJ showed him where the screws went, how to hold the flashlight steady. Finny didn’t talk much — he never did when it was just the two of them — but he leaned in close, watching his dad’s hands like they were magic.

They weren’t fixing anything important. Just an old busted lawn mower. But JJ made it sound like they were tuning a spaceship.

“I used to do this with my buddy John B,” JJ said casually, wiping grease on a rag. “We’d spend hours messin’ with crap we didn’t know how to fix. I always liked it, though. Gave my brain somethin’ to focus on.”

Finny glanced up at him again. “Does your brain feel loud sometimes too?”

JJ froze, just for a second. Then he sat down beside Finny, back against the workbench.

“Yeah, bud,” he said quietly. “It really does.”

Finny didn’t say anything. Just rested his head lightly against JJ’s shoulder.

JJ let out a slow breathe.“You ever wanna come out here and hang with me when it’s loud?” he murmured. “You can. Always. Even if I’m busy or yellin’ at your brothers or covered in motor oil.”

Finny nodded, voice soft. “Okay.”

JJ smiled, pulling him a little closer. “You’re my first, y’know? First one who made me a dad. I’m still learnin’. But you make it easier.”

“Even when I’m quiet?”

“Especially when you’re quiet.”

Outside the garage, the chaos continued — Liam’s cries, Alex’s hiccupped sobs — but inside, it was just them. JJ and Finny. A busted mower. A wrench in hand. And something simple, something healing, stitched together in the calm.

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judenostopwaitkeepgoing · 3 months ago

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Your Villain to the Rescue 🪽

18+ | Suggestive Content | EN-released Villains only

Scenario: You collapse from exhaustion! How does your villain react?

CW: fainting/medical emergency

A/N: The Crown boys are all very capable in emergency situations, but what if the person in the emergency was their beloved robin? (Pretty sure some version of this scenario happens in every villain's route lol but I love when a heart of stone gets mushy and protective so here we are.)

William Rex

You're on your way back from a mission when Will notices you swaying a bit. You're barely tilted forward mid-faint when he catches you. His reaction is so immediate and effortless, the other Crown members on the mission hardly notice that something is wrong. He alerts them softly, his face indecipherable, and tells them that he's going to carry you ahead to Roger right away. He doesn’t look panicked on the outside, but inside he is kind of worried. What concerns him the most is that you'd seemed fine on the mission, so he's wondering if you were drugged with something and feeling angry at himself for not catching it. When you come to in Roger's lab, he’s waiting by your bedside smiling, ready to lightly scold you for overdoing it. He'll also help you out with small daily tasks without even being asked until you recover.

Harrison Gray

Harry is so worried after you collapsed on the way back from what he thought had been a pretty low-stakes mission. Just a routine check into what the Queen suspected was a money-laundering operation at a store with strange hours—you were just doing reconnaissance, so the two of you hadn't even needed to draw your weapons. So hearing the thud of your body on the ground mid-sentence really shook him. He takes you into his arms and hurries you to Roger right away. Turns out you were just anemic. Harry would be sweet when you came to, trying to lighten the mood by telling you that you landed in an embarrassing position or something and then admitting that he was lying. He wouldn't necessarily scold you or communicate just how worried he was, but just know his heart stopped for a fraction of a second when he saw you fall!

Liam Evans

Drama king! Haha. Oh sweet, sweet Liam. He would get so scared if you collapsed. He'd immediately think that you were dying and he'd never see you again. Poor trauma baby. Once you came to and he understood that it was just due to dehydration, he’d be extra clingy and so attentive to your needs that you would have a glass of water in you hand before the thought of being thirsty even entered your peripheral awareness. Our kitty cat might go a little overboard with the attentiveness, but you know it’s because he was scared shitless and doesn’t want anything to happen to you like literally ever again!

Elbert Greetia

Though not as outwardly expressive as Liam, Elbert would also get hella triggered by you passing out. He’d be so worried and scared. His eyes would say it all. He wouldn’t leave your side for a second, even while Roger treated you/assessed what was wrong. he’d also cling to you for days, hardly ever letting you out of his sight and insisting that you eat, drink, and sleep more. You would have to talk through his trauma-response with him and give him some extra love to let him know that you're not going to leave him and that you'll be extra careful from now on.

Alfons Sylvatica

Alfons sees you sway from across the room, surprised that you're up at this hour. He's been out with his ~friends~ for most of the evening, and decided to have a stiff drink in the parlor before calling it a night. He sees you crumple to the ground in front of the window, and surprises even himself by running toward you immediately. To anyone watching, they'd be surprised at how much his facial expression changes—it's rare to see him lose his cool. He checks your pulse and breathing, then carries you gently over to a couch and lies you down. He knows exhaustion and malnutrition when he sees it, and he'd rather stay with you himself than wake up that lame ass doctor. When you wake up, he passes the whole thing off as a joke and pretends to be annoyed at you inconveniently keeping him up even later than usual. He might even ask for ‘compensation’ for watching over you, if only to mask just how terrified he was to see you like that.

Roger Barel

Roger is of course concerned when he notices you drop out of the corner of his eye, but he can't help but immediately go into doctor mode. He positions you comfortably and checks your vitals, coming to the conclusion that you passed out from dehydration/exhaustion. He carries you back to the castle and sets you up in his lab, hooking up an IV to rehydrate you quickly and get some nutrients flowing into your blood. Once you wake up in a daze, he’d smile calmly at you and tell you to take it easy (“doctor’s orders”). He'd pretend to be nonchalant/clinical about the whole thing, but you better believe he's going to keep a closer eye/ear on you from now on.

Victor

Victor handles this so smoothly and effortlessly, you would think he has psychic abilities and could see this coming. And, honestly, he’s seen so many people pass out for various reasons over the years that he’s not too worried about what will happen to you. He’s more worried that it got to this point in the first place. He would blame himself for not noticing sooner that you were overworking yourself and neglecting to drink enough water or eat enough. He’ll be more mindful of it from now on. He would be so sweet, gently brushing your hair out of your face as he gingerly lifts you into his arms and takes you to the castle infirmary, fussing over you like a mother hen once you wake up to normalize the whole thing for you and mask his shame at his own oversight.

Jude Jazza

Jude sees you collapse near where he's stowing the drug that you were on a mission to confiscate, and the first thought that would cross his mind would be ‘Wait a second, I didn’t use my powers on her...’ But once he realizes that you actually need medical attention, he looks down at you, his hair obscuring the pained expression in his eyes, and he mutters to himself, “What kind of idiot faints in broad daylight...” He’d pretend to be pissed about having to carry you back to Crown Castle but deep down he’d be very worried. His scowling face as he leans against the opposite wall would be the first thing you see when you wake up, and your heart would drop. “Fer someone who ain't been eating enough ya sure are heavy." He'd taunt, "Almost had a hernia carryin’ ya all the way back here.” He’d sneer at you and call you stupid for letting yourself get so bent out of shape. Then he’d smirk and say, “How’s the little birdie gonna repay me?”

Ellis Twilight

Ellis is so worried about you! He handled the situation as quickly as possible, too. He lifted you and sprinted toward Crown Castle like he'd done so a thousand times. To him, you weigh next to nothing. He sits quietly by your bed until you wake up, ready with fresh fruit and orange juice. He’d smile at you sweetly, and tell you how worried he was when he saw you collapse. He’d make sure that you were getting adequate food, water, and rest from there on out, gently reminding you to go to bed or to drink some water. He’d keep a very keen eye on you, noticing and trying to guess your exact happiness level, yes, but also to make sure that you were feeling alright.

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dragonridersandhighlords · 1 month ago

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Chasing Shadows | E I G H T

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: As Wren grapples with revelations about her past and the people she trusted, she must decide whether rebuilding broken bonds is worth the risk—especially when her own life hangs in the balance.

Notes:

Warnings: emotional distress, trauma processing, mentions of parental loss, panic attack, dissociation, redemption arc, some fluff too

Word Count: 8.4k

previous part

X A D E N

I watch Wrenley spin in shock, her eyes wide with disbelief as she takes in the sight of the fully restored Riorson House. The once-crumbling facade now stands tall and proud, the familiar archways and intricately carved wooden doors gleaming in the afternoon light. Vines that once choked the walls have been painstakingly trimmed back, revealing the warm, earthy tones of the stone beneath. A gentle breeze carries the scent of fresh paint and newly turned earth, the remnants of construction still lingering in the air.

“Holy shit. How is it… How is it all here?” Wrenley breathes, her voice barely above a whisper, almost as if speaking too loudly might shatter the illusion before her.

“We started rebuilding when I returned,” I reply, feeling a mix of pride and trepidation as her gaze shifts toward me, searching for answers. “I never told you because I wanted to surprise you after you graduated.” I know that sharing one more secret might push her too far, yet the weight of the most difficult truth presses heavily on my chest.

“He’s been very specific about every little detail just for you.”

Fuck. Me. Does Harlow ever listen?

Wrenley freezes in place, her breath hitching as she turns to the figure that now stands beside me, his presence commanding and warm.

“Hey Little Bird.”

“Oh shit.” Bodhi gasps, his eyes darting between us.

“Dad?” Her voice breaks, a cocktail of emotions swirling across her face—shock morphing into an exasperated scowl. I can see her mind racing, and I know she’s teetering on the edge of disbelief. “This is a joke. I’m actually going insane.”

I step towards her, my heart aching for her turmoil. “Wren—”

“No!” She snaps, cutting me off with an intensity that takes me aback, halting my steps. “I came to terms with my impending execution because I have no one! My boyfriend—who’s not even my boyfriend anymore—kissed my friend, and then that friend has been trying to get with him for almost a year! My cousin, who was supposed to be my last living relative, has been lying to me for years, along with my best friends! And the last person that I thought had my best interests at heart read my fucking memories and told his dad about my signets!” Her breaths quicken, each word a jagged knife cutting deeper into the growing turmoil within her.

“Signets?” Garrick calls out, his voice echoing the confusion in the air. I mentally facepalm, wishing he would just hold his tongue for a moment.

“Desa is concerned about the Wise One.” Sgaeyl says through our bond.

Me fucking too.

“Oh yeah! No more secrets, I’m a fucking precog,” Wrenley declares, her voice an explosive mixture of defiance and anguish, as she throws her arms up in the air, her frustration radiating from her like heat waves on a scorching summer day. She turns to face our friends, the surprise on their faces mirroring the chaos roiling inside her. Then, just as swiftly, she pivots back to her father and me, her expression shifting from fury to desperation. “And an inntinnsic like mom! Did you know about that?”

“Wren.” I take another step forward, the distance between us closing, as tears begin to cascade down her cheeks, glistening like tiny diamonds against her flushed skin. She starts to rant, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, barely pausing as she paces back and forth, her movements erratic, each step a testament to the storm brewing within her.

“I saw Liam die twice and still couldn’t save him—” she gasps, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. “So I used my powers to let him die with happy memories, and I was fine, but I did it to Jeremish and I stopped breathing for a second.”

“Wren?” Imogen’s voice is softer, a soothing melody in the cacophony of Wrenley’s turmoil, as she moves closer, her brows furrowed in concern.

“I’ve watched so many people die in a vision and could never save them. But Violet and I lived!” Wren begins to twist her hands together, the nervous tic she’s never had before, a manifestation of her unraveling. “Did you know my mom wasn’t killed in an accident?” A laugh escapes her lips, but it’s tinged with bitterness, her hands moving to tug at the hem of her shirt before returning to clasp tightly together. “Yeah, turns out Aetos intercepted a letter from you,” she says, her gaze darting to Harlow before sinking back to the ground, a weight of betrayal palpable in her voice, “to Fen about the rebellion.”

“Wren, take a breath.” Bodhi’s attempt to anchor her feels futile, the storm within her reaching a breaking point I’m not sure even Brennan could fix.

“They couldn’t easily send you to die, but mom was a rider!” Her laugh morphs, becoming less annoyed and more… maniacal, sending shivers down my spine. “So they sent mom to attack from behind, only the flyers were waiting for her and she’s dead now.”

“Little Bird.” Harlow reaches for her, desperation etched across his face, as I sense the collective urge from everyone else to comfort her, but I know she’s about to unleash her powers, forcing herself into everyone’s minds.

“Stop!” she screams, both out loud and in the depths of our minds, the force of her emotions sending shockwaves through the air, causing everyone’s feet to stumble in the gravel, rooted in place. “I just—I—I can’t.” And in an instant, she’s gone, bolting away, leaving us in the heavy silence of her absence.

“You didn’t tell her, Riorson?” Harlow’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and seething, a storm brewing behind his eyes. His expression is one of fury, a tempest ready to unleash, and I can feel the weight of his disappointment pressing heavily against my chest.

“I was going to, and you decided to greet her at the door when I told you not to.” I retort, my words laced with venom as a sneer curls at the edges of my mouth. “Even Brennan listened.” My frustration bubbles to the surface, the memory of Harlow’s impulsive choice striking a nerve.

“Brennan’s currently saving his sister, or would you prefer to die before you can fix things with my daughter?” Harlow’s words crash against me, a wave of guilt crashing over me.

“Sometimes I wish I kept my damn mouth shut at parapet,” I mutter under my breath, the regret heavy on my tongue. The moment I sense my feet freed from their forced roots, I take off, chasing after the only person who matters right now. She may be spiraling, losing pieces of herself in the process, but I made a promise, and I refuse to break another one.

The night air wraps around me as I navigate through the shadows cast by the house, my heart pounding in sync with the urgency of my steps. I find her on the hill behind the house, the familiar rise that I see when I ground. Memories of laughter, dreams, and innocence echo in my mind, taunting me with the stark contrast of the moment at hand.

“Go away, Xaden,” she snaps, her voice cracking under the weight of her tears, shoulders trembling like leaves in a storm. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Then don’t.” I answer honestly, my tone softening as I take a seat beside her. The chill of the earth seeps through my clothes, but I’m determined to stay. “I’ll talk, you listen.” I don’t wait for her to agree; I plunge into the depths of my thoughts, sharing the truths I’ve kept buried far too long.

I recount the state I found Aretia in, the chilling moment I first learned about the venin, what happened at Threshing. I describe how I stumbled upon her father during that first supply run, the joy mixed with anguish that nearly shattered me. And as I delve deeper, I reveal the parts of my life I had never dared to share, including the dark shadows of my betrothal to Cat. I poured out my fear, the dread of being nowhere near parapet the day she crossed, and the sickening panic that gripped me at the thought of losing her forever. Each revelation flows like a river, carrying the weight of my secrets, the urgency of my love, and the fear for her life with every word I utter.

I take a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill my lungs, and begin to unravel the tangled web of my thoughts. I talk about how I was going to tell her everything during that week between her first and second year, how Harlow begged me not to during that supply run.

Each word feels heavy, a weight pressing down upon my chest. The truth sits precariously on the edge of my tongue, and I can almost taste the regret. Every time I had nearly spilled my secrets, I would catch a glimpse of the comfort that radiated from her—how she laughed and breathed in the innocence of those moments. It was in those fleeting glimpses that I felt myself spiraling deeper into the shadows of my hidden burdens.

With the stillness of the night surrounding us, I reveal the scars that mar my back—those unspoken burdens of lives I had taken responsibility for, and the shadow of her life, always looming. She remains silent, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the expanse of the star-studded sky, the darkness swallowing us whole as I pause.

Eventually, her sigh pierces the silence. “You could’ve trusted me.” Her voice trembles with a mix of hurt and understanding. “That’s… it’s too much to carry on your own.” I nod, my heart sinking as I watch her. “I was supposed to be the one person you can trust without fail.” Her response is soft, laced with a bittersweet longing.

“I wish I had. Would’ve saved us a world of trouble.” A rueful laugh escapes me, but the silence wraps around us again, thick and palpable. “I’m so sorry, Wren.”

“I want things to go back to how they were. Before death, before everyone leaving, the rebellion.” Her voice drifts like the gentle breeze, a whisper of nostalgia that makes my heart ache.

“When we were just kids who ran through the tall grass and fell asleep by fires reading?” I ask, my memories blooming around us like wildflowers in spring.

“Yeah.” The tension eases as she calms down, and I finally allow myself to breathe deeply, the weight of our shared past settling like a comforting blanket. “Is this what insanity feels like?” She asks.

“Are you doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result?” I respond, my lips curling into a smile, and her laughter bubbles up, infectious and bright. “You’ve been through a lot in the last 24 hours, Wren. On top of carrying so much by yourself because of your signets.” I reach up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the warmth radiating from her. “If you were perfectly okay right now, I’d be more concerned.”

“He’s really there?” she asks, the question hanging between us and I know she’s asking about Harlow..

“I wanted to tell you, but it was safer for him to stay hidden until you were out of Basgiath. He was going to be part of your graduation gift.” My heart races at the thought, eager to share that sliver of hope with her.

The weight of the world seems to settle around us like a heavy blanket as Wren lays back on the grass, her voice laced with a blend of despair and humor. “Sucks that I’m dead when we get back.” She groans, the lush green blades whispering beneath her as she sinks into their embrace. “I can’t even enjoy him being alive because it’s all I can think about.” I let out a soft chuckle, trying to lighten the somber atmosphere. “Then let's live a lifetime before we go back.” I shift, mirroring her position and turning onto my side, the coolness of the earth seeping through my clothing as I lock my gaze onto hers.

Her brow furrows slightly, curiosity igniting in her eyes. “How?”

A carefree shrug escapes me, yet the fervor bubbling within is genuine. “Make a list of what you had planned for your life, and let’s do it.” The challenge lingers in the air, a spark igniting between us as she rolls up to meet my gaze, her expression shifting from doubt to intrigue.

“Sunrise Flights?” she asks, her lips curving into a tentative smile.

“Done.”

“Graduate?” she presses on, her spirit beginning to rise like the morning sun.

“We’ll throw you your own ceremony,” I assure her, our laughter mingling, brightening the shadows around us.

“Get married?” Her voice falters slightly, and I can sense the weight of the question, a stab to my chest.

“Tell me when, where and who, and I’ll make sure it happens.” It's a stab to the chest to ask and I pray to Loial that the answer is still me.

“I only ever wanted you,” she whispers, vulnerability threading through her voice.

“Then marry me, Wren.” My words pour out before I can second-guess them. “I’d marry you even if you weren’t on the chopping block.” I tease, reaching for her sides, hoping to coax that melodic laughter from her once more.

“You’ve broken my heart so many times, Xaden. I can’t live my life like that.” There’s an ache in her tone, a lingering fear that pulls at my heartstrings. “Plus even if I do live beyond our arrival, you graduate in 6 days.”

“Then let's make a deal.” I pull her up gently, my fingers entwined with hers as I stand. “When you live—because I refuse to think of a world where you’ll be gone—we write letters until—”

“Threshing,” she interjects, the word bursting forth like a beacon of hope, illuminating the somber landscape of our conversation. Joy ignites in her eyes, a spark that scatters the clouds of despair hovering above us. “If we’re in a good place by threshing, then you can do a proper proposal.”

I nod, my heart swelling with the promise of the future. Her words resonate with me; they are not just a glimmer of possibility but a commitment to the joys that life can still offer, a shared path we can walk together. “As you deserve,” I reply softly, the sincerity of my voice echoing in the silence that envelops us.

With a smile that could rival the sun breaking through the horizon, she proposes, “We seal it after my graduation.” Her hand extends towards me, the gesture a tangible manifestation of hope and determination. “One year, no full commitments until our decision at Threshing.”

I gaze at her outstretched palm, and for a fleeting moment, my heart races at the thought of sealing this promise. “No commitments,” I affirm, but instead of shaking her hand, I lift it gently, pressing a kiss against her skin. The warmth of her touch ignites a flame within me, and as I pull away, the weight of that kiss lingers like the fading light of day. “One year,” I promise, my voice steady, brimming with the conviction of my feelings.

With a soft sigh, I take a step back, the cool night air wrapping around me like an old friend. “Your old room is still available, or you can take mine and I’ll go find another room,” I offer, my heart urging her to find comfort and rest after the tumultuous events that have unfolded. “You should rest and then talk to your father in the morning. I think you both need it.”

“Thank you, Xay,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of gratitude and trust.

“Anything for you, Little Bird.”

Recovered Correspondence from Cadet Xaden Riorson to Cadet Wrenley Tavis

July 3, 634 AU

Little Bird,

It’s strange, writing to you after so long of always being around each other. It’s not the same, but it’s something. And I’ll take something over silence.

I saw you walking with your father today. You looked… lighter. Not because things are easy, but because maybe, for the first time in a while, something is right. You deserve that. Him, too. He never stopped asking about you. Even when he knew better than to expect answers.

He said he wasn't surprised you were the smartest in your year. Said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like your mother would’ve said the same and probably did—loudly, and more than once.

Garrick made us spar this morning. Claimed it was routine but he was going easy on me, which is insulting considering I still knocked him flat. He’s mad I didn’t tell him about your father. About Aretia. Probably still mad about you, too. I get it. I’m mad at myself, too.

Bodhi says you’ve been training again. Said you’re finally using your signet like it was made for war, not hiding. I laughed when he told me you made him miss every hit until he got desperate. But the part where Garrick ate dirt? I wish I got to witness that.

If you’re up for it, I’ll be at the ridge before sunrise. No expectations but I'd be honored if you joined me for an early flight.

It’s good to see you smile, even if it’s not mine anymore.

—X

Recovered Correspondence from Cadet Wrenley Tavis to Cadet Xaden Riorson

July 4, 634 AU

Xaden,

It is strange—getting a letter from you again.

I don’t know how to talk to him. My father. I spent years mourning a man who wasn’t dead, building walls around a hole that didn’t need to exist. Now he’s here, like he never left, trying to make up for time that passed like it didn’t rip both of us apart. I keep waiting for it to feel real. But sometimes it does. In the quiet. When he’s not trying so hard to fix what broke. Just existing. Being here. And then I see pieces of my mother in his eyes and I can breathe again.

You’re right—he does talk about her. And me. A lot. It’s infuriating and comforting all at once. Like most things in my life lately.

Bodhi exaggerates. I didn’t make him miss. He walked into a swing like he forgot how momentum works. And I definitely didn’t make Garrick face-plant. I made him stumble and gravity did most of the work. Still, it felt good to be… me again. Even if I’m still figuring out what that means.

As for the sunrise flight—I'm sorry I didn't show. Not because I didn’t want to. I did. But I think I needed to know if you’d offer again. (Petty? Probably. Worth it? Definitely.)

But if you're serious about trying us or trying whatever this is becoming, I was thinking something less dramatic.

A picnic. Just like before. Just food, and the sky, and enough space between us to decide what comes next. I’ll bring the wine if you bring the bread this time.

Let me know. Or don’t. I’ll still go.

—Wrenley

W R E N L E Y

The note was waiting just inside my–Xaden’s–door.

Downstairs. Sunset. – X

I stared at it for a long time, turning the parchment over like it might reveal more than those two words. No apology. No explanation. Just instructions.

And yet… I was already lacing up my boots before I realized it.

I made my way downstairs, expecting to find him waiting in that infuriating way he always did—arms crossed, leaning against the wall like he’d planned the whole world and was just waiting for it to catch up.

Instead, I found Garrick and Bodhi.

Which immediately felt like I was walking into a trap.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.

Bodhi just grinned like I’d already made his night. “You clean up well, Princess. Need a basket to match?”

He held it out like this was perfectly normal. The smell of warm bread and something sharp and sweet drifted up from the covered top.

“I swear, if this is some group bonding exercise disguised as a romantic stunt, I will force both of you to scrub the stone floors.”

“It’s not,” Garrick said, shoving a folded blanket into my arms like he wanted the interaction to be over with. “We’re just the forced delivery boys.”

“Volunteer delivery boys,” Bodhi corrected. “We’re sick of watching you two pretend you don’t care. So. Go.”

I eyed them both. “If I get stood up, I’ll find a way to make you regret helping.”

“He’s there,” Garrick said. “Trust me, he wouldn’t do this for just anyone. He's not playing games this time.”

The walk to the oak grove was slower than it needed to be. Every step kicked up old memories—training days, shared secrets, stashed letters under floorboards. We used to come here to escape the politics and the pressure. Before war made escape a myth.

I reached the grove just as the sun began its descent, painting everything in gold and shadow. The old oak tree was still there, thick and unmoving, like time hadn’t touched it even if it had leveled everything else.

I laid out the blanket in silence, setting the basket down carefully. I didn’t even have time to lift the lid before his voice slipped into the air behind me.

“Hey.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.” I didn’t turn right away but when I did, my breath caught in my lungs.

Xaden stood a few paces away, hands tucked into his pockets, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from a shower. Shadows and sunlight warred across his face, but his eyes—those onyx eyes sparkling with golden flecks—are steady on me. He looked tired in the way people do when they’ve been carrying guilt for too long.

I turn back to the basket, shaking my head as I open the top and the full force of its contents greet me. “Trying to win me over with baked goods?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That depends. Still like honeyed cheese?”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched. “You remembered?”

“I remember everything about you, Wren.”

That silenced me. I busied myself pulling out our picnic as Xaden took a seat across from me and we ate in silence.

Until Xaden spoke. “Do you remember the day my mom left?”

I paused for a second, then nodded. “You didn’t come to the stables after lunch. The boys thought you were sick.”

“I was.” His voice was level, but something flickered behind it. “Just not the kind of sick the medics could fix.”

I remembered. I remembered how I sent Garrick and Bodhi out on our usual ride and ran towards his room, the muffled cries that came from behind the door. I remembered how when he finally opened it and didn’t say a word—just looked like someone had carved out half his soul and left the wound open–I wrapped my arms around him and refused to let go.

“You were the only one who came looking,” he said.

“No one deserves to be alone on their birthday.” I murmur. “You always said nothing could hurt you. I think that was the first time I ever saw you cry.”

He huffed something like a laugh. “I cried harder a week later.”

I looked at him, startled. “What?”

“You saw me. I thought of you as Garrick’s annoying little cousin but you were still there for me.” he said simply. “I was really seeing how amazing you were and then a week later… you refused to leave with your parents until you said goodbye to me.”

My stomach twisted. “You already had your mom leave without a word. You didn’t deserve to lose someone else the same way.”

“I thought I lost everything that month,” he said. “But then your letter showed up. Ink-smudged, tear-stained, full of spelling errors.”

“You still remember that?”

“I memorized it.” He says. “I hate it here. I wish I was still in Aretia with you. Even if you, Garrick, and Bodhi tried to leave me behind most days, it’s better than not knowing anyone.” He recites and I just watch him in awe. “I remember telling you that you were capable of making friends with anyone.”

“I started hanging out with Violet and Dain after you wrote back.” We sat in that memory like it was a shared language. Like neither of us needed to explain what that kind of connection had meant back then. “You were my safe place,” I try to explain anyways. “Even when we were just writing. Especially then.”

He nodded once. “That’s what made it worse. What I did.”

“You didn’t just hurt me,” I said, finally meeting his eyes. “You broke parts of me I didn’t know could break. I didn’t expect you to protect me from the world. I expected you not to become one more thing I had to survive.”

His throat worked around something unsaid. “I know. And I hate that I gave you another reason not to trust someone.”

“When did you realize it?” I asked. “That you’d gone too far with the secrets?”

He didn’t hesitate. “The day you looked at me like I was a stranger. After I kissed Violet. I saw it in your face—that I wasn’t someone you loved anymore. I was just another piece of rubble in the wreckage.” I swallowed hard. “But I never stopped choosing you. Even when it didn’t look like it.

“I’m not asking for all of you,” he says. “Just the part that remembers who we were. And maybe the part that still wonders who we could be.”

I don’t reach for his hand. That would’ve been too much. Instead, I hooked my pinky through his. Like we’re still those teenagers bouncing around how we really feel.

“You remember how to do that trick with the cheese?” I asked again, voice softer.

His smile was the kind I hadn’t seen in years—honest and unguarded. “More than I should.”

“Then do it,” I said, handing him a piece. “Earning your way back won’t be easy, but impressing me is a start.”

We didn’t talk much after that. Just ate, watched the stars appear, and let the silence sit between us without pressure. Without expectations. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t waiting for him to ruin it. And that… that felt like something real.

Recovered Correspondence from Cadet Xaden Riorson to Cadet Wrenley Tavis

July 5, 634 AU

Wren,

Thank you for joining me on that flight this morning. It was good–great. I had fun.

I’m not sure what all to write since we’ve spent most of the last twelve hours together so I figured I’d tell you about one of my favorite memories of us.

Do you remember that day you and your father returned to Aretia? Your Uncle and Garrick waited outside for you all day but you could have cared less, because instead of greeting your family, you ran into the middle of me and Bodhi sparring to hug me.

And in that moment, I knew I was already yours. In whatever way you wanted me because I only ever knew peace in your arms. (Even if you did cover my favorite shirt in snot because of how hard you were crying.)

Yesterday was the first time I felt peace like that moment in years. And it wasn’t the food, or the sky, or the fact that Bodhi packed three bottles of wine like we were going to war with sobriety.

It was you.

Thank you for coming back to the sky with me.

If you want to do it again, I’ll be there. Same time. Same place.

I won’t ask, but I’ll always hope.

–Xay

Recovered Correspondence from Cadet Xaden Riorson to Cadet Wrenley Tavis

July 5, 634 AU

Xay,

Desa would like me to remind you (and Sgaeyl) that we definitely won that race. I know we didn’t. But she’s smug about it, so let her have it. Apparently “hitting the ground first counts as winning.”

That day was probably the best and worst days of my life. I was so distraught over my mom’s death that I hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, I hardly spoke to anyone. But the minute I saw the silhouette of Aretia? It felt like life breathing into me.

I did skip past Garrick and my uncle, but it was because I knew you would understand better than anyone, and you wouldn’t pity me. You just held me while I cried (I’ve apologized for that shirt a hundred) and let me feel it with comfort.

I wouldn’t see anyone else because I only wanted you. Not to fix me. Not even to understand me. Just to hold me. And I knew—if I ever let someone own a part of me, it would be the boy who waited silently because he knew I’d come when I was ready.

So don’t pretend you didn’t already have me, too.

Now for the question I’ve been circling around…

How is Violet?

Is she still unconscious? I’ve been meaning to check, but I didn’t want to show up and make it a scene. I know she’s strong—no one bonds two dragons and throws lightning around like a party trick without being strong—but even strength breaks under the wrong kind of weight.

If you know anything, I trust you’ll tell me what you can.

Thank you for the flight. And the silence. And the letter. Maybe I’ll meet you at the ridge tomorrow. Or maybe you’ll have to wait again. (You’ve always been good at waiting.)

—Wrenley

I found my father leaning against the railing of the upper courtyard, his mug cradled in one hand, the other resting casually on the stone. He gazed down below, the familiar intensity of a healer turned commanding officer still etched in his posture, though now softened by the years. He looks more like the man I grew up looking up to at this moment, and it’s still weird.

He didn’t look over when I approached; he never does. It was as if the very fabric of our connection granted him the ability to sense my presence, a quiet understanding that needed no words.

“Your mother would’ve told them all to shut up and sit down by now,” he said, nodding toward Garrick and Bodhi, whose playful bickering echoed off the stone walls as they circled each other in the makeshift sparring ring. The sight of them—lively and animated—brought a flicker of warmth to my heart, a reminder of the family we’d once had. “Probably thrown her boot at Garrick by now.”

I leaned against the railing beside him, the cool stone a comforting anchor as I folded my arms. A brisk breeze danced around us, tousling my hair and inviting the scents of fresh earth and blooming flowers to fill my lungs. “The most impatient woman, and yet she married you, the most patient man alive.”

“We balance each other out.” He smirked, a glimmer of mischief lighting up his eyes. “How are things with Xaden?”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of his words. “I’m not sure I know how to let him close again,” I admit, a tremor in my words. “But I’m also not sure I know how not to.”

“You don’t have to make a decision overnight,” he reassured me, his tone steady. “Love isn’t a battlefield, Wrenley.”

I turned to look at him, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re quoting fairytales at me?”

“Your mother loved that line,” he said, a wistful laugh escaping his lips. “Used it right before she kissed me in the infirmary after breaking a first year’s nose.”

My heart twisted painfully at the thought. “I miss her, now more than ever.”

He met my gaze then, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that felt almost too much to bear. “She’d be proud of who you are, you know.”

“Some days I’m not even sure who I am anymore,” I confessed quietly, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on me like a heavy cloak.

He nodded, the warmth in his eyes a beacon of comfort. “That’s how I know she’d be proud. You’ve lost almost everything and still managed to stay soft where it mattered.”

The words hung in the air, rich with unspoken truths, wrapping around me like a delicate thread that sought to mend the frayed edges of my heart. I blinked hard, fighting the sudden swell of emotion that threatened to spill over. “You always know what to say,” I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“Only because I know you, Little Bird.” His hand found my shoulder, a gentle touch that anchored me amid the rising tide of uncertainty. The familiar weight of his affection settled in my chest, warming the chill of doubt. As he withdrew his hand, I glanced toward the stone corridor just off the courtyard, an unspoken invitation to the world beyond our quiet moment. “I think you’re needed,” he urged, his gaze flickering with a hint of urgency.

Before I could fully gather my thoughts, a voice called my name, sharp and insistent.

“Wrenley!” Xaden’s voice cut through the serene atmosphere, his urgency almost tangible. He seemed to slide across the stone floor, his form a striking silhouette against the brilliance of the day. Reaching out, he gripped the railing for balance, a flicker of something intense burning in his dark gaze. “Violet’s awake."

“That’s not going to work.” Brennan’s voice sliced through the thick tension in the Assembly room like a dagger, his words echoing against the cold stone walls. “Next suggestion.”

We’ve been here for hours, and frustration swirled around me, heavy like the stale air that hung between the Assembly. My fingers drummed absently on the worn surface of the table, the scratches and nicks a testament to the countless discussions held within these walls. I was beyond weary of the endless cycle of proposals and rejections, feeling as if I were a prisoner to this ceaseless debate.

“Someone has to state the obvious,” Major Farris interjects from the far end of the table, leaning forward, his gaze sharp as he surveys the room with a predatory intensity.

My attention drifted, caught between my father and Brennan, still reeling from the surreal reality that they were both alive, sitting together in this room. The sight was unsettling, a patchwork of relief and disbelief that clashed within me. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

Xaden, perched above me to lean on the massive chair he had placed me in. “And what is the obvious thing you need to state, Major Farris?” His tone dripped with boredom, an unspoken disdain for the tedious nature of these diplomatic meetings hanging in the air. I could almost hear the sigh of frustration that accompanied his words.

“Returning is the only option,” Ferris continued, his voice unwavering as he leaned back, arms crossed, confident in his stance. “Not doing so risks everything we’re building here. Search patrols will come, and we don’t have enough riders—”

“It’s a little hard to recruit while trying to stay undetectable,” Trissa chimed in, her voice firm. I recognized her from before the rebellion, her fiery spirit unyielding even amidst the fraying tensions.

“Let’s not get off topic, Trissa,” my father added, the softness in his gaze lingering on her, a fleeting warmth amid the frost of strategy. A note to self: ask about that later.

“No point increasing our numbers without a working forge to arm them with weapons.” Ferris’s voice rose, breaking through the intertwining threads of conversation. “We’re still short a luminary, if you haven’t noticed.”

“And where are we in negotiations with Viscount Tecarus for his?”

“Still working on a diplomatic solution,” Brennan replied, his tone carrying the weight of responsibility.

“There’s no solution. Tecarus isn’t over the insult you delivered two years ago.” Kylynn's piercing gaze was locked on Xaden, a challenge hanging unspoken between them.

“He was never going to give it to us even if I did marry his niece.” Xaden’s voice, low and resolute, cut through the swirling tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud waiting to break. He rested a comforting hand on my shoulder, the warmth of his touch juxtaposed against the chill of uncertainty that gripped us. His fingers squeezed gently, a gesture meant to ground me in the chaos of our negotiations. “But I’ll say the same thing I did then. I have bigger priorities than selling myself for a worthless cause. Besides, everyone knows the man only collects things. He does not trade them.”

The corners of my mouth twitched at the absurdity of the situation, but the humor faded quickly as Kylynn’s voice sliced through my thoughts like a dagger. “Well, he’s definitely not going to trade with us now,” she retorted, her gaze narrowing, icy and unyielding. The tension in her posture radiated through the room, a palpable reminder of the stakes we faced. “Especially if you won’t even contemplate his latest offer.”

“He can fuck right off with his offer.” Xaden’s dismissal was heavy with disdain, and as he squeezed my shoulder once more.

“What offer?” My curiosity piqued, using this opportunity to see if Xaden was serious about always telling the truth.

“He wants to add Violet to his collection, but I refuse to trade in people. It’s too Navarrean.” A chuckle escaped my lips, the absurdity of the notion lighting a brief spark of levity in the grim atmosphere.

“There had better be a solution.” Felix’s voice echoed with urgency, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “If we can’t supply the drifts with enough weaponry to really fight in the next year, the tide will shift too far to ever hope of holding the venin advance at bay.” His words hung ominously in the air. “This all will have been for nothing.”

A year already? The weight of his statement settled over me, a leaden realization that the war had crept far too close for comfort.

“As I said, I’m working on a diplomatic solution for the luminary, and we’re so wildly off topic I’m not sure this is the same meeting.” Brennan's voice was firm, laced with a thin thread of frustration as he glared at the elders around the table, their faces etched with worry.

“I vote we take Basgiath’s luminary,” Kylynn suggested, her voice rising in the thick silence, daring to challenge the status quo. “If we’re that close to losing this war, there’s no other option.”

“We’ve been over that,” Brennan said with finality, his tone brokering no argument. “If we take Basgiath’s forging device, Navarre can’t replenish their stores at the outposts. Countless civilians will die if those wards fall. Do any of you want to be responsible for that?”

As his words fell, silence enveloped the room, a thick blanket that stifled the air and left us all grappling with the weight of our choices.

“Then we agree,” Ferris states, his voice steady yet heavy with the burden of their decision. The weight of responsibility hung in the air like a thick fog, permeating the room with an unshakeable tension. The shadows danced around the flickering candlelight, casting elongated shapes on the walls that mirrored the growing unease within the gathering.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Suri.” My father’s gaze flickers to the last elder seated at the long, mahogany table, a sharp contrast to the rugged map that lay sprawled before us, its inked territories a chilling reminder of our fractured world.

“I say we send all but the three.” Suri’s words slice through the tension with an alarming calmness. “Six cadets can lie as well as nine.”

My thoughts drift to the faces of Xaden, Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen, Violet, and the lingering absence of Liam and Soleil, their spirits overshadowing this meeting with their loss.

“None of the none are expendable, Suri.” Felix’s tone takes on a sharp edge as he leans back on the rear two legs of his chair, an act of defiance that seemed to echo in the hearts of all present. His piercing gaze shifts to the expansive map behind Xaden, tracing the lines with an intensity that spoke volumes of our dire situation.

“What do you propose, Felix?” Suri counters, the subtle arch of her brow a challenge that seemed to hang in the air like a taut string, ready to snap. “Running our own war college with all our spare time? Most of them haven’t finished their education. They’re of no use to us yet.”

“As if any of you has a say in if we return,” Xaden interjects, his voice rising to capture the room’s attention. His presence, strong and unwavering, filled the space around him, a protective shield for those he cared for. “We will take the advice of the Assembly, but it will be taken as only that—advice.”

“We cannot afford to risk your life—” Suri’s argument spills forth, layered with concern and urgency.

“My life is equal to any of theirs.” Xaden gestures toward the group gathered by the door, a quiet assertion that resonated with a touch of defiance.

“Not every life,” Suri retorts, her gaze piercing as it lands on Violet. “How could you have stood there and let her overhear the conversation of the Assembly?”

“If you didn’t want her to hear, you should have closed the door,” Bodhi responds, stepping into the room with an air of indignation that flickered like the flames casting shadows on the walls.

“She cannot be trusted!” Suri’s voice rises, anger twisting into a palpable fear that coursed through her.

“Xaden has already taken responsibility for her.” Imogen steps forward, subtly shifting closer to Violet, her words a fragile barrier against the gathering storm. An uncomfortable feeling crawls up my spine as I realize the stakes at hand. “As brutal of a custom as it may be.”

Don’t spiral, don’t spiral, don’t spiral. The mantra echoed in my mind as I tried not to think about my friends defending Violet.

“It’s just to keep her alive so you live, right?”

“And for Brennan’s sake.”

“I still don’t understand that particular decision,” Ferris interjected, his tone sharp as a blade. His eyes, dark and searching, flicked to me, and I felt a wave of pressure build in my chest, compelling me to sit up straighter, to brace myself against the scrutiny. “You let an inntinnsic into our meeting.”

“Please,” I said, summoning a steadiness I didn’t quite feel as Xaden’s warning flickered like a candle in the back of my mind. “Speak all of your transgressions with me.”

“Your mother was a loyalist,” Ferris declared, his voice low, each word a strike against my very identity.

“My father sits here, loyal to the revolution,” I countered, my pulse quickening, a sense of defiance swelling within me.

“You’re an inntinnsic. You could be reading our secrets now.” His accusation hung heavy, a dark shadow cast over the table.

In a moment of reckless instinct, I reached into Ferris’s mind, a place filled with doubt and fear, and he reacted at my wil;, snapping the dagger from his hip across the table with a resonant clang that startled everyone. It landed with a thud directly in front of me, a stark reminder of the tension that crackled in the air. “I’m not that kind of inntinnsic,” I said, frustration mingling with indignation.

“How did you—” Ferris began, his surprise evident.

“She’s also a precog and extremely valuable.” Xaden’s voice interjected, authoritative and commanding as he reached for Ferris’s blade, slipping it smoothly into one of my empty sheaths, a gesture both protective and assertive. “To treat her as the enemy will make an enemy out of me.”

“Well—” Ferris faltered, the storm of emotions swirling around the table suddenly interrupted.

“Forget the Tavis girl.” Kylynn points back to Violet “She’s General Sorrengail’s daughter.”

“And I’m the general’s son,” Brennan countered, his voice firm yet tinged with unease.

“And you’ve more than proven your loyalty over the last six years!” Kylynn shouted, her voice rising above the murmur of dissent. “She hasn’t!”

“She fought at our side at Resson.” Bodhi’s tone was urgent, tension rippling through him as his voice climbed.

“She should be confined.” Suri’s face flushed crimson, the anger boiling within her as she pushed away from the table, the sound of her chair scraping against the floor sharp in the silence. “Both of them should. They can ruin us all with what they know.”

“Agreed.” Ferris regained his composure, his alliance with Suri solidifying as he echoed her sentiment. “They’re too dangerous not to keep prisoner.”

“I alone am responsible for Violet.” Xaden’s voice lowered, laced with malice as he glared at the gathering. “And if I’m not enough, there are not one but two dragons who have already vouched for her integrity.”

Violet's voice sliced through the air with a razor's edge, her frustration palpable. “She is standing right here,” she snapped, her eyes flashing with a mix of defiance and desperation. “So stop talking about me and try talking to me.” I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at her boldness, a flicker of light in the darkened chamber. The corner of Xaden’s mouth lifted ever so slightly, a ghost of a smile that illuminated his usually stoic demeanor. Yet, I felt the weight of tension coiling tighter around us, and I repeated my mental mantra like a lifeline: don’t spiral, don’t spiral, don’t spiral.

Violet continued, her voice shaking with anger and conviction. “What do you want from me? Want me to walk Parapet and prove my bravery? Done. Want me to betray my kingdom by defending Poromish citizens? Done. Want me to keep his secrets? Done. I kept every secret.” Each word resonated through the room, a challenge that ignited the air with electric intensity.

Suri's voice cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife, her eyebrow arching in skepticism. “Except the one that mattered.” The accusation hung heavily, a pall of judgment that seemed to settle on Violet’s shoulders. “We all know how you ended up in Athebyne.”

I shifted in my chair, feeling an unsettling mix of sympathy and frustration for Violet. “She wasn’t the only one betrayed by a friend.” My voice was barely a whisper, but the sincerity behind it felt like a thunderclap in the tense silence. I slunk back into my chair, feeling the comforting weight of Xaden’s hand on my shoulder still—a small gesture, yet it grounded me amidst the turmoil.

“No first-year could withstand a memory reader, especially one considered a friend.” Felix turned his steely gaze on Violet. “But you have to know that you have enemies at Basgiath now. Should you return, you must know that Aetos will not be among your friends. He will do everything he can to kill you for what you’ve seen.”

“I know,” Violet replied, her voice steady, though I could see the flicker of fear in her eyes—a spark that threatened to ignite into a full-blown blaze of panic.

Felix nodded, his expression softening just slightly as he concluded, “Then let this be a lesson learned.”

Xaden’s voice rang out, firm and unwavering. “We are done here.” His gaze locked onto Suri’s and Ferris’s, a silent command that pulled their shoulders down in resignation.

“I’ll expect an update on Zolya in the morning,” Brennan announced, his authority unmistakable. “Consider this Assembly meeting adjourned.” With that, the council members began to push in their chairs, the sound echoing like a distant thunderstorm as they filed out of the room, each of their faces etched with the weight of uncertainty.

As the last remnants of the council dispersed, I stood from my chair, and Xaden turned to meet my gaze, his dark eyes piercing through the tension that still clung to the air like fog. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

“Fine,” I replied, though the lie sat heavy on my tongue. “But I could use a flight.”

Xaden’s grip tightened around my hand, a reassuring warmth that contrasted the chill of the room. As we turned to leave, we passed by Violet, who still stood at the table, her brow furrowed in contemplation.

“We’re headed up to the valley. Meet us when you’re done,” Xaden instructed her, his tone a blend of authority and gentleness.

“I’ll go with you now,” Violet protested, her urgency palpable, the need for connection evident in the desperation of her voice.

“Stay and talk to your brother,” Xaden countered softly. “Who knows when you’ll get another chance.”

Xaden guided me out, with Garrick, Bodhi, and Imogen following closely behind, their presence a comforting reminder of our shared bonds amidst the chaos.

As we stepped outside the walls of Riorson House, I inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling my lungs, awakening the part of me that craved the thrill of flight. But as the words escaped my lips, I felt a surge of determination swelling within me. “We have to go back but I think I have a plan.”

A fleeting shadow crossed his face, revealing the weight of concern that coiled tightly in his chest. “You do?” he ventured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” I confirmed, my heart thrumming a frantic rhythm against my ribcage. “You won’t like it.” I could see the gears turning in Xaden’s mind, the way his brow furrowed deeper.

“What do you need?” he asked, his tone steady, yet laced with an undercurrent of trepidation. In that moment, I could sense that he already knew what I was planning to do.

“I have to detour to the Infantry Quadrant when we get back.” The admission felt like a declaration of war with the way Xaden's spine straightened.

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

next part

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo @fictionalrelapse

Chasing Shadows Taglist: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis @littleemissperfecttt @nesiris21

#Chasing Shadows #iron flame #fourth wing #onyx storm #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing fanfic #the empyrean #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x oc #oc! Wrenley Tavis #xaden riorson imagine #xaden riorson x reader

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lyrenminth · 6 months ago

Text

Wedding dress

Fluff.

******

The melodic whispers and tinkling laughter of your daughters, Rosie, seven, and Julie, five, drifted down the stairs, while you made dinner. Their older brother, ten-year-old Liam, was away at summer camp, while Joe was training for his upcoming season.

Suddenly, their laughter grew closer, tinged with a nervous excitement that piqued your curiosity. "What are you two up to?" you inquired, a playful sternness in your voice.

"Nothing!" Rosie exclaimed, her eyes wide with a mischievous glint. "We saw a video about wedding dresses and we want to see yours!"

"My wedding dress?" you mused, a faint smile in your lips. "It must be tucked away in storage somewhere"

"You can wear it again!" Julie piped up, her voice filled with childlike wonder. "Like a princess!" She curtsied with a flourish, her tiny hands clasped in front of her.

"Oh, darling," you chuckled, "I don't think I'd quite fit into it anymore" You gently corrected her, "But I can certainly show it to you."

"Yes! Yes!" they chanted, their voices filled with excitement as they bounced on the balls of their feet.

With dinner simmering gently on the stove, you ascended the stairs, the girls trailing close behind like eager puppies. Their tiny hands helped you rummage through the overflowing attic closet, their excitement mounting with each discarded box. Finally, they stumbled upon it – a pristine white box, nestled amongst forgotten treasures.

"We found it! We found it!" they shrieked in unison, their voices echoing through the dusty attic.

You carefully carried the weighty box down to your bedroom and placed it delicately on the bed. "Open it, Mommy! Open it!" Julie urged, her impatience barely concealed.

"Let's open it together," you suggested, inviting their eager participation.

As they lifted the lid, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. You remembered the day you wore that dress, the intoxicating blend of excitement and nervousness, the feeling of walking on air. You remembered the way the sunlight had danced on the delicate lace, the way Joe's eyes had widened in awe when he saw you for the first time. You even remembered the faint blush of wine staining the pristine white silk after you tried to drink and dance at the same time.

"It has lace and flowers!" Rosie gasped, her tiny fingers tracing the delicate embroidery. Julie, ever the impulsive one, couldn't resist and pulled the dress out of the box. "Ooh, it's so heavy!" she exclaimed, struggling to hold the weight of the designer gown.

You gently untangled the fabric, revealing the mermaid silhouette and the voluminous skirt that could be detached for easier movement. A sigh escaped your lips as you admired the intricate floral details that adorned the corset, delicate and understated. This dress, you realized, had once made you feel like a goddess, ethereal and enchanting.

Joe's face, filled with a mixture of awe and tenderness, flashed through your mind. He had looked at you that day as if you were the only woman in the world. His grin lived free on your mind, his possesive hands around your waist.

"Mommy, you need to wear it again!" the girls declared in unison.

You hesitated, a playful doubt creeping into your voice. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes! Yes!" they insisted, their eyes sparkling with anticipation.

With a resigned shrug, you conceded. "Alright then, let's see what we can do."

The girls transformed into whirlwind fairies, assisting you in the delicate task of slipping into the dress. Rosie, a budding makeup artist, meticulously applied a touch of blush to your cheeks while Julie, the consummate stylist, brushed your hair with gentle strokes.

You settled into a chair, basking in the playful chaos of their ministrations, when Joe's voice broke through the feminine chatter. "What in the world is going on here?" he inquired, a curious smile playing on his lips.

"Daddy! We're playing princess with Mommy!" Julie announced, her big blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Does she look pretty?"

"She does, always," Joe replied, his gaze lingering on your figure with an intensity that made your heart flutter.

"Did you see? It's her wedding dress!" Rosie exclaimed, her voice filled with a sense of wonder.

A blush crept up your neck, betraying your embarrassment. Ten years of marriage, and he still had the power to make you feel like a blushing schoolgirl.

He stepped into the room, his eyes tracing the lines of your figure. The dress, once so loose, now clung to your curves, the lace at the back straining against your skin. You felt a pang of self-consciousness, a stark reminder of the passage of time. "Turn around for me, babe" he called. You sent him a warning glare and he just laughed. You turned around to show him the back. "So pretty, momma" Julie exclaimed, her little fists tucked under her chin, clueless about the hungry stare in her father eyes. Joe´s hands were instantly on your ass.

"Damn" he whispered on your ear. "Do you want to recreate our honeymoon?" You got goosebumps, and grabbed his shoulders to reach his level. "Do you?"

"Kiss the bride!" Rosie yelled, excited.

"Yes, kiss her" Juli demaded "Kiss, kiss, kiss" they chanted.

Joe grabbed you by the waist and leaned in to kiss you. It was short, but feeling his lips on yours always brought you joy.

The girls jumped on his dad and Joe caught them before it was to late.

You were glad they could have these memories. It was important to show them what love could look like.

#joe burrow #nfl #joe burrow x reader #fanfiction #joe burrow fan fic

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auraisereigh · 2 months ago

Text

"Buried through exhaustion"

standalone

Liam Mairi x f!reader Words: 1.8K Blurb: a story about exhaustion and burn out and how a sweet boy helps in the sweetest ways. ☆ SPOILERS FOR THE EMPYREAN SERIES. burnout & emotional exhaustion, mentions of loneliness/isolation, mild depressive thoughts, comfort heavy.

A/N: i was initially gonna post this friday but fuck it im so burned out that i'd forget. im drowning in exhaustion, i can't even work on anything anymore because my mind shuts down...

Masterlist ☆ Star's story ☆ Support me ☆ Standalones ☆

Exhaustion crept in — the kind of exhaustion you don’t feel until it’s too late. Until it's burying you.

The sun shone through the curtains, bright and warm. Finally, the days had been warmer and sunnier. I am, by all means, no summer person, nor do I actually enjoy the heat or the bright light of the sun. But these days were different.

I had been so tired—so exhausted to the bone—that the fresh, warm air was welcome. It gave me a chance to work outside instead of being cooped up in the poorly lit room I had been stuck in for weeks. So that's what I had done. I brought my work outside: papers, pens, pencils—everything I needed, sorted neatly on one of the tables. It was the only table still covered in shadows, which I was grateful for, seeing as my skin can barely handle the sun.

It must have been an hour, maybe two or three since I had come outside, and it was well into the evening. The sun still bright and warm and comforting, yet my motivation to continue working had long burned out. It wasn’t that I wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather myself — maybe I did, I wouldn’t know. What I wanted most was to stop working and lay back in my bed, covered in soft sheets and fluffy pillows. Maybe I would sleep. Maybe I would finally let my dam break.

I’d been staring at the same paper for the last hour. A few minutes I would work on it, then I’d grow tired and take a way-too-long break, and after a while, I’d find some kind of energy to work on it again—for a few minutes. Repeating the cycle over and over until the last of my light would fade.

I was just about to pick up my pencil again when I heard his voice.

“Hey, my sweet girl.” Liam’s soft voice cuts through the warm air and the fog in my mind. He takes the seat beside me at the table and quietly tidies the small mess I’d left behind. Pens back in my case, loose papers neatly piled again. Just the way I like it… and he knows that. He knows the peace of mind it gives me when something is clean or organized.

At the age of nineteen, Liam became the softest guy I would ever know. He’s sweet and caring—a sunshine through all kinds of darkness, and a sweet golden retriever boy. I’ve known him my whole life, for as long as I can remember. My days were filled with softness and light, all thanks to him.

I mumble a ‘hi’ to myself but don’t lift my eyes from the paper—the one I’ve been working on and off. He peeks over my shoulder to get a better look.

“You’re still working on those?” he asks with a raised brow.

I give him an exhausted nod. My eyes almost flutter shut.

“I’m about halfway… no, maybe a quarter into all of it,” I mumble, half-asleep. I point to three other piles on the table. “Those also need to be finished, but this is the most urgent,” I explain quickly. He knows all of this already. I’ve vented to him more than once, but it never seems to be enough to get it out of my system.

“And remind me again, when does all of that need to be finished?” he asks gently, like he’s afraid I’ll break under the weight of the question.

“This one needs to be done by Monday. So, in two days,” I reply with a deep sigh. I pick my pen back up to start again.

“The others…” I trail off. “I don’t really know,” I add, defeated.

Working with deadlines had its pressures, but working without deadlines feels impossible. I don’t know which one is most urgent or which one I could leave for last. It’s a mind game—a complete and total mind-fuck at best.

“That’s okay,” he says in that light voice that already lifts a little of the weight from my chest. “One by one, remember?”

Liam recites the gentle reminder he’s given me for years. He moves all the unnecessary stuff out of sight until there’s only one task left on the table.

He shifts a little closer, and his knee bumps softly against mine. “We’ll do this one first. Together,” he says, leaving no room for argument as he takes the pen from me. His presence is a warm reminder that I’m not alone.

About twenty minutes in, my eyes droop closed. Exhaustion takes over, and my body leans closer to Liam’s. His warmth seeps into my skin and he wraps an arm around my shoulders without hesitation. I let out a deep sigh. All this exhaustion and lack of motivation is taking a serious toll on how I feel.

My mind feels like an empty void most of the time. And when it doesn’t, it feels like a loud scream—a chaos I’m usually used to, now pounding so hard it leaves me with headaches almost every day.

Liam must’ve noticed me drifting off. He folds the papers neatly and places the pen back where he took it from.

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we, dove?” he says softly, as if not to break the sleepy haze I’m in.

“I’ve got work to finish,” I mumble, barely audible. “I’ll sleep afterwards.”

The words feel like a salty lie on my tongue. I don’t stop him when he gently pulls me up and into him. He grabs my bag with my supplies and slings it over his shoulder before wrapping an arm around me again to keep me steady.

My eyes blink in and out of focus as I try to anchor myself in the warmth Liam gives me. It��s just then that I realize how alone I’ve been feeling. How lonely.

There’s no one I really talk to anymore—not because I don’t want to. If anything, social contact makes me feel less trapped in my own head, in that prison I can’t seem to escape. Most of my friends don’t seem interested in me anymore. Most nights I spend alone, wondering when I’ll wake up with a message from them again.

My eyes droop more at the sudden weight of isolation.

“It’s okay,” Liam whispers as he opens the door to my messy room. “I’m right here.”

He presses a soft kiss to my temple before closing the door behind us.

His hand settles on my lower back as he guides me to bed—still messy from when I left it earlier.

“Just sit down, okay? I’ll clean this quickly.”

I try to object, but my body refuses to move from its place on the bed.

He collects the clothes quickly, folds them, and tidies the scattered trinkets in my room. He brings me a clean change of clothes. I change while Liam smooths out the sheets and straightens the pillows.

Suddenly, the scent of lavender fills the room. I turn to see him placing my lavender spray on the nightstand.

“Just the way you like it,” he says with a soft smile that brightens the entire space.

I can’t help the tiny smile that appears on my face.

“There’s my girl.” His grin widens, and I feel the familiar red heat creep into my cheeks.

He steps to where I’m standing and finds my smaller hands with his. He steps back a few paces, pulling me with him until we’re both on the bed. My head falls against his collarbone, and his arms wrap around my back, holding me tight.

“You should get some sleep,” he whispers into my hair.

I nod but don’t move.

After a moment, he lifts the covers, and I slip underneath them. He follows and wraps the sheets around us despite the lingering warmth in the air. His arms find my waist, pulling me into his chest.

“I feel so tired,” I whisper with a vulnerable voice. “I feel so alone.”

“I know, sweet girl,” he soothes, tightening his embrace. “I see it every day lately. But you’re okay, and you’re strong, and you will get through this. I promise.”

He places a soft kiss on my shoulder.

“And I’ll be here every day to help you through it. Whenever you need me. All you have to do is tell me, pretty girl.”

I can’t find the words. A few tears slip down my cheeks, and he brushes them away with the soft pad of his thumb.

“Get some sleep,” he whispers as he adjusts the pillow under my head. “I’ll be here when you wake. Always.”

For the first time in what feels like weeks, I let my eyes close, comforted by his warmth and scent. I know the next two months will be hard—maybe the hardest I’ve ever faced. I know I’ll struggle. I already am.

But even when my mind is a mess, having Liam here—just one person who stays—helps more than the radio silence I’ve gotten used to.

Maybe that’ll make it just a little more bearable. Knowing someone cares enough to put their own work aside because they see how low I’ve fallen. Because they know how deeply exhausted and done I am.

But for now, I’ll sleep. I’ll wake, and I’ll work again tomorrow. No matter how exhausting it is—because I can’t escape it. But with him by my side, maybe I’ll feel just a little less alone.

♡

#liam mairi x reader #liam mairi #fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #fourth wing x reader

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akawhatalife · 13 days ago

Text

take what you need, but just leave my guitar alone. [18+]

hi. this is my first fic for noel on here. I hope you like it. requests are open. ♡

Summary: You get a bit jealous of Noel's guitar. He can't have that. THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT. [18+]

Word count: 1.9k

You had dated your fair share of guys who had their interests: football, war films, even going to the pub to get pissed. You had understood over the years that while Noel loved all those, he held music above them all. Any man who can stand on stage for over two hours playing to thousands of sweaty, inconsolable fans and then go right back on the bus to write songs has to love what he does. You found his reverence for music admirable.

There were so many musicians in the scene who only cared about their image or the lifestyle that came with being a rock star. And while Noel indulged in hedonistic tendencies occasionally, he let nothing get in the way of the music; that much was clear. It was his lifeline, his escape from a melancholy world that he left behind in Manchester, a world that he refused any part in going back to.

You’re not sure when you noticed it, the almost indecent infatuation he had with his guitar. The way his palm would rub the slick sheen of the wood, how his stocky fingers would so easily glide from chord to chord. What drove you insane the most was when he would bounce his leg ever so slightly while trying to work out the tunings of a song he was writing, his guitar bouncing in rhythm with his thigh. To sit across from him, in his own world, and watch the man you love create in that way was lecherous. Almost pornographic.

You were sitting in the armchair across from the loveseat that Noel was camped on. A sofa made for two lovers, or in this case, your boyfriend and his guitar. Noel didn’t like anyone watching him work. He found it invasive and anxiety-inducing; it threw him out of his groove, but with you, he was starting to come around.

“What’d I say ‘bout starin’?” His low Mancunian drawl woke you from your impure thoughts. It took you a second to realize that he was talking to you, even though you were the only other person in the room. “Hm?” you hummed. Noel let out a small chuckle, his eyes squinting the way they always did when he was genuinely amused. It was one of your favorite things about him, to see his usually stoic and cross face fill with warmth. He points at you, his hand adorned with his ruby ring. You had come to know what every side of that ring felt like against your bare skin. “I told ya, no starin’. You’re lucky you’re ‘ere, y’know. I don’t even let Liam watch me graft.”

You smiled softly, watching his lips curl into that familiar mischievous grin. “Well, that’s ‘cause Liam doesn’t know how to keep quiet. ‘M just admiring the view. That’s all.” You smirked, your cheeks flushed, realizing he had caught you. He cocked his head, his grin falling only the tiniest bit. After so much time spent together, he still found it a bit incredulous when you complimented him. He’d look at you, sizing up all of your features to determine whether there was even an ounce of deceit in your words. There never was, he was starting to realize. “The view?” He quipped. “The view.” You said with a soft nod and no hesitation, confirming that he was, in fact, one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen.

He scoffed softly, almost at a loss for words. If you knew Noel, you knew that was rare; his gob always seemed to be running, whether he was taking the piss or telling some story you had heard hundreds of times before. “You’ve gone a bit mad, y’know.” He teased, even though you knew better. He never could take a compliment. You shook your head softly in defiance, your eyes never leaving his baby blue orbs. “No. You just… you have it, y’know? You love what ya do. It’s admirable. I feel honored to sit here with you.” You spoke softly. He parted his grin only to serve another cheeky remark. “That so? ‘Cause I thought I’d lost ya for a second. Didn’t even look like you knew where ya were.”

You laughed softly, bringing one knee to your chest, your hand holding it in place. “What, a bird can’t daydream? That it?” You retorted. That was one of his favorite things about you. So many girls in the past had taken offense to his cheeky remarks, his harsh edges made from being from a family of brothers, but it was all in good fun. You knew how to dish it back and still have fun with it. “Well, my bird can. As long as she tells me what about.” He smiled softly, his eyes fluttering as he spoke like they so often did.

You bit your lip, wondering if you should finally reveal the thoughts you seemed to have every time you watched him work. Almost as if he had read your mind, you heard him groan softly. “C’mon. On with it.”

You sighed softly, dropping your leg back to the floor and crossing one over the other, your arm moving to the armrest to hold your chin up. “It’s just… The way you play. The way you hold your guitar. It’s quite…erotic, is all.” You spoke softly, feigning a laugh to make the words hold less weight. His eyebrows furrowed together, his lips turning into a crooked grin. “Erotic? As in, you think I want to shag me guitar?” He laughed, making light of it, but you remained resolute. “I dunno ‘bout that. All I‘m sayin’ is I wish you’d hold and touch me like that. Got me sitting here jealous of a damn Gibson.”

He chuckled softly before catching the look in your eyes. He knew you were being cheeky, but there was something deeper, almost like you were maybe a bit jealous. He couldn’t have that. “C’mere.” He spoke softly, his voice thick. He rested the acoustic guitar against the side of the couch, extending his arm out for you to join him.

You were like Pavlov’s dog when it came to him. If he wanted you, you were there. You crossed the living room, moving to sit on his lap, where he wrapped his arms around you, his face burrowing into your neck, kissing your soft skin. After a moment, his lips murmured against your flesh. “Someone’s a bit jealous, yeah?” You scoffed slightly. Jealous of a guitar? That made you sound a bit mad. He'd always been able to see right through you.

Before you could respond, trying to think of a witty remark, his fingers were moving to the button of your jeans, deftly undoing them. “Can’t have my missus in need, can I?” He murmured lowly against your skin as your breath hitched. He bounced the leg you were sitting on intentionally, your legs spreading, one moving on either side of his thigh almost by second nature. Your core pressed against his thigh was enough for you to let out a low moan. His hand undid your zipper, slipping under the denim. “That’s my girl.” He murmured.

His thick fingers slid down, rubbing your clit through your panties. His eyes widened. “Fuckin’ hell, love. You’re soaked. Watchin’ me play got you all bothered like this?” Your head was leaned back onto his shoulder, the pleasure from his digits almost overwhelming to your aching core. All you could do was nod and let out a strangled whine.

Just as soon as he had graced your body with pleasure, he took it away. You whined, but before you could protest, he spoke in a gruff voice. “Stand up.” You did as you were told, and as soon as you were up, he was up behind you, ridding you of every article of clothing. He pulled you back down, seated in the same position you were before. It was almost too much, your wet core against his denim-clad thigh. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, the other returning down to your core.

“So it’s me fingers you want, hm?” He spoke, rubbing your clit teasingly. You moaned softly, swallowing to speak. “Yes…” you spoke breathlessly. He laughed almost tauntingly in response. His one hand working on your aching clit, the other moving under your armpit to knead your breast. “Christ, Noel.” You whimpered. All those times you had sat and watched him as he played his guitar with sheer affection and reverence, and now it was your turn.

You moaned out, his finger pressing harder on your clit. “That’s it. Good girl. Keep making those sounds for me, yeah?” He murmured into your ear, his warm breath traveling down your neck. His fingers on your breast went to your nipple, rolling your bud between his fingers, his hand never stopping their ministrations on your pussy.

“You want my fingers?” He spoke, kissing and sucking lightly on your neck. You swallowed; the pleasure was already too much, but you needed more. “Yes, please, Noel.” You whimpered, your voice cracking almost pathetically. He chuckled softly, almost like he was getting off on the way you needed him. “I got ya.” He murmured.

He picked you up in one fell swoop, his body moving to sit in the farthest corner of the couch, allowing your body to lay against the armrest. Your ass on his lap, he moved his fingers through your wet folds, the sound of the slickness almost taunting him. He slipped one finger in, eliciting a whimper from you. Your stomach clenched as he worked you, your head falling back slightly. “More.” You whimpered. He smirked, taking the invitation and inserting two of his thick fingers into your dripping core.

He curled them, hitting your G-spot as he pumped into you. His lips parted, watching you unravel in pure ecstasy. “I don’t do this to me guitar, do I, huh?” He asks, his voice dripping with lust. Your eyes were closed from the sheer pleasure, too fucked out to respond. “Look at me.” He spoke with sternness, something he rarely did with you. Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his own. “Who do I do this to?”

“Me.” You breathed out, every breath getting more labored as you felt the familiar warmth start to build in your lower stomach. He had no intention of stopping until you came on his fingers, each pump pushing and curling deeper inside of your walls than before. He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours. “Just you.” He spoke softer.

Your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes clenching. “Noel…” You whined, feeling your orgasm build. He could feel you starting to clench around his digits; he continued to finger-fuck you, his thumb angling to rub your clit.

“You close for me, love?” He spoke sweetly; the way in which he could change in a mere matter of seconds never failed to catch you off guard. You nodded fervently, whimpering. “Yes, fuck yes… I’m gonna…”

“That’s it, that’s my girl. Just let go for me, doll.” He murmured into your ear; the feel of his breath on your neck was enough to send you over the edge, and soon your orgasm was overtaking you as you bucked your hips in his lap, moaning a slew of profanities and his name.

As your breathing returned to normal and the stars in your eyes started to clear, he pulled his fingers out, covered in the proof of the pleasure he gave you, and stuck them in his mouth. Your jaw went slack, watching him lick his fingers clean. He hummed softly, enjoying the taste, before pulling them out. “Now, my guitar can’t do that, can it?” He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple.

#noel gallagher x reader #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher #noel gallagher smut #noel gallagher x y/n #noel gallagher one shot #noel gallagher x f!reader smut #noel gallagher fanfiction #oasis fanfiction

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callsign-rogueone · 1 month ago

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unrelated but I was listening to juno (sabrina carpenter) and it got me thinking: which of the gfverse couples are the most kinky in bed? if any? that's all, I hope you're doing well! love your writing, btw!

top three:

it is my firm belief that sawyer and peach are absolute freaks. they’re going at it morning noon and night when they’re at riorson house. sawyer is in charge. he’s a rider and she isn’t, so he definitely has the upper hand strength wise, and she loves it. add in the fact that he’s an executive officer and looks so good in his uniform… it stays on quite often. their dynamic will change a little after his injury, which causes some physical limitations, and with him living in the infirmary for a month, they can’t really do anything. but once he can make it up stairs to her room, all bets are off. and even if she’s on top, he’s still in control. (actively working on this, hehe)

lieutenant colonel brennan sorrengail fucks. duchess is never ever left unsatisfied. he’s also in charge 95% of the time. he just has that stern, commanding but loving energy, that makes you want to be a good girl for him. but it’s also quite fun to rile him up and tease him, and then see him snap. he’s a brat tamer through and through. he’ll spank or edge you until you finally cry and apologize, tell him that you won’t do it again. but be careful what you wish for — if you beg him to let you cum, you’ll be cumming four times that night, until you’re an absolute mess and can’t take it anymore. he’ll take such good care of you after, though <3

dain and love are also at it like rabbits (how’s that gonna go for them, lmao). it’s a constant tug of war with who’s in control, and her signet often comes into play. it’s just so easy to tie him up with little ropes of air, or slightly reduce the amount of oxygen he’s getting, making him dizzy… admittedly, it took a while for dain to be comfortable with not being in control, because of the traditional view that the man is in charge etc etc, and also to build the trust necessary to be okay with stuff like being tied up. but now he’ll do anything for you, as long as you call him a good boy while he does it. he needs that validation and praise like air. also, king of body worship. let him help you undress and kiss every inch of your skin, give you a massage, and then make you cum on his tongue.

honorable mentions:

garrick and angel. similar to sawyer and peach, gare is in charge, and much stronger. he’s able to put her in any position he wants, and manhandle her a bit, which she loves. and the size difference goes crazy. he’s a literal giant, and it’s so hot to see him towering over you while you’re on your knees, or above you, taking up your whole vision. again, it’s all built on the deep trust between them, that he won’t truly hurt her, that she’ll tell him if he does, and that she has the ability to stop him at any time with a word or a gesture. which is the bare minimum of a healthy d/s relationship!

bodhi and darling are also a coin flip to see who is going to be in charge. but often times neither of them is, and they’re just each focusing on the other and pleasing them. once darling gets her wingleader title… that definitely made a few appearances in their bed. he’s also a body worshipper. he just wants to make you feel good.

soft and gentle, and/or need more time to build trust and confidence before they do anything else:

this would be a great opportunity for me to tell you about my plans for liam and spark… apart from the one dragon-induced fuck fest (courtesy of tuile), they’re soft and sweet. they both already have enough pain in their lives, and feel the need to cherish every moment that they can touch. even on that day of him helping her out with her need, he still goes slowly and takes excellent care of her, because he hasn’t told her yet, but he’s deeply in love with her, and because he’s just the sweetest.

in time, ridoc and sweetheart will get up to some kinky shit. she reads, after all. she’s just inexperienced (also actively working on writing their first time!) and needs to be fully comfortable with the vanilla stuff first. once that trust is built, and she’s less anxious, they’ll have some fun, including his ice.

aaric and sunny probably won’t be doing anything for a while, both because demi/ace!aaric is everything to me, and because of sunny’s past issues. once they finally do, it’ll be soft and loving, and he’ll let her be in complete control / on top, so as not to trigger her or make her feel pressured to do anything she doesn’t want to do.

#liz.txt #answered #bodhi and darling #brennan and duchess #ridoc and sweetheart #Garrick and angel #sawyer and peach #Dain and love #aaric and sunny #Liam and Spark #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine

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angstywaifu · 25 days ago

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Black Dahlia - 57. Questions

Summary: Post execution of Amber, Dahlia has some questions she needs answered. And there's only one person she can trust to give her the answers she needs. But before she can confront the person she really needs to, life decides to throw something else her way. Warnings: Physical abuse where character cannot fight back (punching/hitting). Mentions of blood.

Black Dahlia Masterlist | Masterlist | Links

I should give her more time. She’s been through a lot in the last day. But I have to know. And going to Bodhi or Garrick is going to be no help. I need to hear it from her. Need to hear it from an unbiased opinion before I confront them. I need to get my facts straight in case I've gone down a rabbit hole that I don't need to.

I’d seen both Garrick and Bodhi make a move towards me as they’d descended the dais after formation had been dismissed, but I’d slipped into the crowd before they could get close to me. I know they could tell I thought something was up. Xaden I could understand making it to Violet’s room and being alerted of what was happening to to Sgaeyl’s bond with Tairn. But Garrick and Bodhi also being there didn’t add up. There wouldn’t have been time to grab them. And I know Garrick hadn’t been at his room till at least the early hours of the morning. But I needed more confirmation before I approached them.

I catch up to her just as she’s about to cross into the Academic Wing, tailed by her new bodyguard Liam. “Can we talk?”

She looks at me with narrowed eyes, clearly unsure as to why I’d want to talk to her. For a moment I’m worried she’s going to tell me no and to go away. But she doesn’t. Instead she looks up at me and nods. Which honestly surprises me.

I motion for her to follow me towards the Library, and she quickly obliges. Liam turns to follow, clearly hell bent on going where ever she goes. I hold out an arm, stopping him in his path. “You can wait outside. And don’t you dare try and sneak in.” I warn him. He quickly scans the area, clearly looking for Xaden. When he see’s he’s in the clear he nods and steps back. Seems being his Squad Leader for the last few months still accounted for something.

I follow Violet into the library, quickly closing and locking the door behind us which causes her to turn and look at me with panic.

”I’m not going to hurt you.” I tell her, which doesn’t seem to ease her worries much as she keeps her eyes focused on me.

”What do you want?” She asks as she folds her arms across her chest and looks at me.

”What time were you attacked last night?” I ask her.

She furrows her brow. “It was late. Early hours of the morning I think. Why do you need to know?”

I ignore her question, moving onto my next one. “What were they wearing when they turned up to help you?”

”Um... Flight leathers I think. Why does that matter?” She asks, more demanding than last time.

So they had been out. Xaden and Garrick I could almost pass off as being out with the other third years. But Bodhi… Bodhi I couldn’t. Second years didn’t get called out. And if so, it meant shit had gone royally wrong. But this was now the second time that I knew of that those three had been out together at night. The first one I could potentially pass off as a flight to just get away from here. Or to do some training together. But this one, they’d been out late. Very late. And I couldn’t think of any reason Bodhi would be out that late. Not fully kitted out if Violet was remembering correctly. Which I knew she would be. That girl remembered every little detail, even if she didn’t realise she was. She took in everything.

”Are you going to tell me why you’re asking me this? You could just go ask them. They’re your friends aren’t they?”

“Just curious about something is all. Just wanted to see what you knew was all.” I tell her before turning back towards the door.

”That’s all you’re going to give me?” She barks at my back.

I look at her over my shoulder. “Yes, because you’ve barely given me anything since we were kids. So when you earn the right to get more out of me, you will as I see fit Sorrengail."

I briefly catch her glare before I unlock the door and walk past a waiting Liam who has not moved an inch since we walked off despite the fact he was late to class now. Though I knew that fact would not phase him in the slightest. Where the hell could they have been last night that would have them out that late? Though I couldn’t put it past them to actually just be out on a flight to get away from here. It’s not like any of them were bound by curfew. They were all leadership. And even with that, I knew they wouldn’t give a crap about curfew if they weren’t leadership. So why can’t I shake this damn feeling that there’s something up about last night and that night I’d seen them walking into the courtyard from the flight field?

”Do you know anything?” I ask Proth as I make my way towards my class.

”As I said last time you asked me this, they’re you’re friend and mate. Ask them yourself.” He tells me pointedly.

”That just makes me think you know something.” I point out.

”Your question is more suited for them than for me. I am not getting in the middle of these human matters. You’re more than capable of asking them yourself or figuring it out on your own. You know enough to piece it together if you thought about it.” He tells me with what I swear feels like an eye roll down the bond.

”What is that suppose to mean?”

”It means exactly what I said. Ask them yourself, or sit down and think over what you’ve noticed and the things you’ve questioned all these years. And when you do, we'll talk.”

I go to respond but a figure steps into my path, halting me in my tracks. Professor Lee. Who drags along a cuffed Austin. Followed by Infantry who haul Liz, Kai and Bodhi who are also cuffed. Shit. It’s our turn.

”There you are Aetos. Was wondering where you’d gotten off to.” He says way too happily for someone who is about to drag me off to be tortured.

”Sorry, had to deal with some Squad and Wing issues with some movement of some first years by Riorson.” I say before giving him a tight lipped smile.

Bodhi instantly looks at me. He knows I’m lying. He was probably with Xaden after he couldn’t get to me after formation. But due to our current situation he can’t ask me anything. And now I can’t ask him anything either. Or Garrick. Shit. So much for figuring this out.

”No trouble, we found you eventually. Now, if you don’t mind.” He holds up a pair of cuffs before nodding down towards my hands.

”Don’t mind at all Professor.” I say way too sweetly, causing Kai to mask his laugh as a cough as I hold out my wrists.

Lee locks one of the cuffs on my wrist before stepping behind me and pulling my other arm behind my back and securing it. He tugs on the chain, clearly satisfied I’m not getting out of them. Not like I had a choice in what was about to happen.

It can be found in the room down the third corridor. My assigned phrase to keep secret for the next few days or till we escaped. Easier said than done. But something about this didn’t sit right with me. Something felt off. Like this was going to be more than just training to see how much it took us to break. Maybe it was just the cold feeling of death that had washed over me as they lead us down here, stripping us of our weapons and belongings which now sat spread across the large table taking up the centre of the room.

”Welcome to your interrogation training. You’ve all been given your classified information to protect.” Lee tells us as he guides us into one of the two chambers. Inside the chamber is a table with six chairs situated around it, along with five beds that have mattresses missing along the wall. “Please take a seat.”

All of us cautiously take a seat at the table the best we can with our hands still cuffed behind our backs, Bodhi taking the seat directly across from me. I’d felt his eyes on me the entire way down here, even now he doesn’t take them off me as if he’s trying to read what’s going on in my mind. But whatever they’d been up to last night is the least of my worries.

”For now we are still in a classroom setting. You are not being graded as of yet, and you can ask questions before we change over to the actual scenario.” Lee informs us as he stands behind the only empty chair at the end of the table as one of the Infantry personnel still with us stars uncuffing us. “This scenario is to teach you how to survive capture. How to make sure you can survive what ever is thrown at you. The next couple of days are instructional only, and for your education. But how you respond and react is being assessed.”

”So you’re testing us to see how we’d go when we get to the real thing?” Liz asks as she rubs her now free wrists.

Lee nods. “Yes. And by no means will this be fun. We might be assessing to see how you react, but make no mistake. We will not be going easy on you. This is going to push and test you. So use this time to prepare yourselves as best you can.”

As my wrists are uncuffed, the door opens, a rider walking in with some food and drink. Probably some of the last food and drink we will get before this is over depending how long we’re in here for. Usually it’s only two days, maybe three from what we’d been told. But there was no way to tell. They made it different for every squad so we couldn’t be prepared for what was to come. We could be here for only a few hours, or a few days. And that just added to the suspense of it.

”I’d recommend eating and drinking what you can. I can’t promise you’ll get food again before you’re out.” Lee tells us before turning to leave. “Oh, and you all need to share a secret with each other. Something no one else knows. When I come back the scenario will begin. Just remember, every rider has sat here and made it through this. You’re a strong squad.”

And with that we’re left alone with the pitcher of water and bread. Not the most appetising last meal. But it was probably in case we couldn’t handle what they did to us and it ended coming back up. Bland food was better for that. We all reach forward taking a piece of bread and a glass of water. All of us sniffing it to see if it’s been laced with something. Once we’re all satisfied it is just bread and water we sit back and look around the room.

”So who wants to go first?” Liz asks after a few moments of silence.

I turn my attention to Bodhi. He already knows what I’m about to say. But if I can use this situation to get something out of him. I will. ”My father blames me for my mothers death.”

Bodhi’s winces at my words. He knows that’s not something I’d normally say. He knows I’m trying to make him feel bad by freely giving out a secret I'd only told him and Garrick. And do I feel bad for doing it? Yeah, I do. But I know he’s keeping something from me now. Can I blame him? No. But does it hurt just a little bit? Yeah…. it does.

”Why?” Austin asks, the first to break the silence after I reveal my secret.

”I can’t say why. But he’s always blamed me for it. Never forgiven me for it.” I tell her as I look away from Bodhi.

She gives me a nod and a small smile. Lee never said we had to go into detail. And the confession is still something Austin, Kai and Liz didn’t know. And something they didn't know either. I just hope none of them broke and revealed it. If word got back to my father, I’d have some explaining to do.

”I’ve been keeping something from someone close to me. I want to tell them so badly. But I can’t. I know it’s not a proper secret, but it’s all I can say.” Bodhi says suddenly as he cuts off Kai who had opened his mouth to say something.

I look over at him, see him looking at me still. He offers me a soft smile. And I know the confession is meant for me. His words make me nervous. Whatever is going on, he wants to tell me. Wants to bring me in on whatever is going on. But can’t. And I feel like that reason is Xaden. It has to be. But what does Xaden have to do with me questioning things? What had Proth meant by that? There was plenty things I’d questioned over the years. Was it everything I’d questioned? Or just one of them? I’d have to talk to Bodhi after this. But would he even tell me? Yes he’d confessed he knew something. But it didn’t mean he was going to tell me. And Garrick… would he tell me? Whatever it is had to be big. I don’t even realise the others had revealed their secrets, completely lost in my thoughts till the door swings open again.

Lee guides us to the other chamber, this one far emptier than the other. All that sits in this room is a singular chair in the middle of the room with restraints, and chains hanging on one of the walls. In the dim light I can easily make our dried blood and various other stains on the stone floor and walls. Remnants of what our peers had experienced in this room. Lee leads everyone over one by one, chaining them to the wall. Everyone but me.

”Take a seat Dahlia.” Lee instructs me.

I hear some of the chains move as I turn and assess the chair. Noting the drain that also sits under it that I’d missed before. I can’t help but feel nervous as I take in the chair. I could do this. As I sit down he locks arms into the shackles before doing the same to both my legs. Before he stands he looks up at me and offers me a soft smile. And somehow that makes me more nervous. The point of this wasn’t to show us kindness. But he was. And it unsettled me.

”And now I leave you.” He announces as he stands. “Remember everything I’ve taught you. Whoever walks through those doors till the assessment is over with try to separate you, turn you against each other. Stay strong. You’re probably the strongest squad in your year. I will be outside the entrance. If you manage to escape and make it to me before the scenario is over, you get a patch. Good luck.”

As he leaves that uneasy feeling gets worse and worse. I knew this was coming. We’d had months of lead up and preparation. But somehow my nerves had nothing to do with this scenario. Something wasn’t right. The door slams open revealing two riders. They looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place from where. From living at various outposts and being stationed here, I’d seen hundreds of riders. So I could have seen these two anywhere.

”You have been selected for interrogation.” The male announces as he circles my chair, the female leaning up against the wall as she looks at me. I turn my head to follow him, his eyes completely focused on me just like the females. “You all have some information that we want. So make it easy. Give it up now. Tell us what you know and you’re all free to go. Simple.”

”So what’s it going to be Aetos?” The female sneers as she walks over and crouches in front of me. “Just tell us what you know. Save your squad from all that pain and suffering. One little secret and you all go free.”

”I know a lot of things. Have a lot of secrets. Might need to be more specific.” I tell her with a smirk.

Not even a second later a fist connects with the side of my face, my head snapping to the side as pain bursts through my head. I hear the chains holding my squad mates to the wall rattle as they pull against the chains as if they can come to my aid.

”Being a smart ass is going to do you no favours.” She snarls at me as the male who punched me comes into view. “You know what I want to know. So just tell us.”

I turn to look at her as I blink through the pain. “I think I’m good.”

Another fist, to the other side of the face. And this time I detect the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Fucking fantastic.

”Leave her alone!” Bodhi growls out. I open my eyes just enough to see him looking at me as he struggles on his chains.

”Oh we found a weak link.” The female drawls as she stands up and walks over to Bodhi.

Instantly I see red. But I can’t give in. This isn’t real. It’s just a scenario.

”Stay strong little flower. Do not break.” Proth tells me calmly.

As if knowing what Proth said the male hits me again, this time higher on my face, my vision blurring from the hit. Fuck.

”I won’t tell you anything either.” Bodhi snaps at them.

”Not even about your charming cousin?” An all too familiar voice drawls, suddenly making me more alert despite the ringing in my ears.

Not him. No. I slowly lift my head, wincing as my head throbs with pain. And now I know why I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong about this scenario as I meet the eyes of my father.

@imtoanonymousforyou @simplyme-fornow @omalmal @lalaluch @wolfbc97 @leptitlu @fullmoon-94 @the-fandom-ness @fan-of-many-bands @awkardnerd @heeseungthel0ml @acourtofsmutandstarlight @fairchild06 @freyagallileaevans @pit-and-the-pen @hannraumari @elliot-rain @thestarseternaal @stupid-and-contagious01 @hyperfixation-train-station @lxnvmvrzx @thebreadisthetruevillian @red0202 @fangirling-galore @craftytrashprincess @taliyahvermillion @xadenswhore @fenixyrie @lagrandeourse @hellodarling1357 @iambored24601 @thegiftofacreativemind @fanfictionjunkie1112 @mysticalfuncollectorus @ohlookitsasinglepoeceofpopcorn @emoravenwolf @imheretobeinvisible @pvrkacciosan @fuckingsimp4azriel @clarewinchester

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing imagine #the fourth wing #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine #the empyrean #garrick tavis x oc #fourth wing x oc #garrick tavis x reader #fourth wing x reader #bodhi durran #bodhi fourth wing #iron flame #onyx storm #garrick tavis x dahlia aetos #dahlia aetos

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coco-loco-nut · 8 months ago

Text

Barnstormer

pairing: charles x reader

summary: charles can’t help but to fall for your small town charm

a/n: so @vitalverstappen and I have been grinding on this prompt for a while (i sent the jumble of ideas to V.V. after this being in my drafts for a few months). read the sister story linked at the end!

masterlist requests open

——————————

Once again, you are in your home country to race, only this time it’s in Austin. You spent the break on your family’s ranch back in Montana, riding your horse and reconnecting with nature. You always joked that you are the racing version of Hannah Montana.

“Y/n, it must be nice to be back home. You certainly look the part,” Laura starts your interview with F1TV.

“Ah, well Austin is much different than Montana. Two different types of cowboy, I’d say,” you are dressed like you just came from the stable. Boots, jeans, hoodie, hair in a braid, and your hat. A quick look says you aren’t a driver.

“How so?”

“Well, they like the spice down here much more, and I’d say that we are much more equipped to deal with snow. One thing I do know is that we both love a good rodeo,” you feel your hat be removed from you head as you speak. Turning to your left, you see Charles put it on his head.

“Yee haw, little lady,” Charles does what might be the worst Texas accent you’ve ever heard.

“Charles Leclerc, you did not just grab my cap by the brim. I don’t think you know what you just did,” you take your hat back, by grabbing the crown - you aren’t an animal, holding it at your side as to not make fans think anything of it.

“Well, I’ll let you sort that out,” Laura turns to the camera. “Stay tuned for an exclusive interview with Y/n and Liam Lawson as we discuss being rookies, Lightning McQueen, and more,” Laura says, letting the camera cut away.

“Sorry we couldn’t get more of an interview, I gotta explain cowboy culture to Charles,” you cringe, pulling the Ferrari boys away. Charles listens as you ramble about how it’s rude to touch a hat, then straw versus felt and why despite it being past labor day you are wearing straw, and finally that his act of taking your hat could be seen as a sign of flirting. You reach the Alpine home and quickly dart inside.

“Mate, I don’t think she got it,” Carlos shakes his head as Charles groans.

“I’ve been trying all season, she just isn’t getting it,” Charles whines, sure you will never pick up on his flirting.

That night you take the boys to a bar just outside Austin that some friends back home recommended, they said it was where a lot of rodeo cowboys go. It does not disappoint, the neon offsetting the wood with Tim McGraw crooning on the speakers. You practically run to the bar to order your favorite cheap beer.

“Some of my friends said this is the best bar in town,” you yell over the music.

“Logan? He was your childhood best friend right?” Franco says, hoping that he got it right.

“Logan? No, although he is my friend. You really don’t know how far Montana is from here and Miami, huh,” you swig your beer before narrowing your eyes at the Argentinian. “Are you even old enough to be here? How did you get in?”

“Franco is 21, barely, but he is,” Alex says, a little put off by the place. Most of them did try to fit in, but everyone in the bar can tell they are tourists based off them wearing felt hats when it’s blistering hot outside.

“Oh, they have a bull,” your eyes light up as you quickly make your way to the mechanical animal. You don’t care if it’s embarrassing for you or the guys, you want to see them fall off.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Max asks, wary of the old machine.

“Sure, that’s what makes it fun. Why don’t you go first?” Your eyes challenge Max as a small crowd watches on, interested at the goings of your group.

“I, uh,” it doesn’t take you more than a second to realize that the boys are scared. You square your shoulders, finishing off your beer.

“Alright, but you’re missing out, it’s mighty fun,” you shrug, taking your hat off and setting it upside down on a table beside the operator. You hand him cash as you step onto the worn blue mats, eyeing up your worn, red competitor.

“Don’t you think this is a bad idea? I don’t want to explain to the team how you got hurt,” Pierre’s panic is evident even as the guys pull out their phones to film.

“Yeah no, I learned from the best. My hometown best friend is a champion rider,” you expertly mount the mechanical bull, unphased as it starts bucking. You hang on much longer than the boys would’ve, and when you feel yourself be about to get thrown off, you dismount with a flourish.

The guys are speechless beyond cheering for you as you put your hat on, heading back to the bar for another beer. Men tip their caps to you and you blush, a little overwhelmed by the attention.

Charles knows enough to know that you put on a show and have the interest of even more guys now. It doesn’t help that your boots and shorts show off your legs just right, and the tee you chose fits perfectly. Your hat adds a layer of mystery as it helps hide your eyes, but not your beautifully curled hair.

You don’t do much the rest of the night other than drink the guys into a hole, get violently drunk, and stand on a table singing Dolly Parton.

You pull up to the paddock the next day wearing a college football jersey, the school you’ve supported since you were a young kid.

“Texas or Georgia?” someone yells at you and you can’t help but step back in disgust.

“Neither, I’d rather die,” you yell back, despite not having a team in the SEC.

“How are you alive and still manage to look good,” Franco groans, walking beside you.

“Sheer will, and a bit of my mama’s secret recipe,” you grin.

“How does he do it?” Charles asks Max, watching Franco effortlessly flirt with you, even though Franco doesn’t realize he’s flirting.

“No idea. Have you talked to Mick, he’s pretty close with her. Maybe he has an idea,” Max shrugs.

“Mick? Like Mick Schumacher?”

“Yeah, they karted together. You could also just talk to her,” Max suggests, pushing his friend in your direction.

“So you are actually a cowgirl?” Charles asks you once Franco drops back to yap with Max.

“Yeah, my parents have a working ranch. I help out when I can, since they helped find people to house and train me throughout my career,” you smile.

“That’s so cool. You have your own horse too, right?”

“Yeah, do you want to see him? He’s a feral mustang that we domesticated, I’m thinking of breeding him with a quarter horse soon,” you pull up photos as Charles tries to understand everything you said.

“What a pretty rider,” Charles hopes you might pick up on an obvious flirt.

“Thanks,” the compliment barely registers in your mind.

“Maybe you could teach me how to ride sometime,”

“Oh, I was going to have Mick, Pierre, and Logan come up after Brazil. You should come too, hopefully we will beat the snow. There’s already been some, but if you bundle up you will be fine,” your smile melts Charles’s brain.

“Snow? Already?” Charles can’t imagine it, it hasn’t even been Halloween.

“Oh yeah, nothing like a warm cider and a fireplace though,” Charles can hear your accent come through.

“So are they dating?” Franco asks, observing how close you and Charles are standing.

“No.”

“But he likes her?”

“Yes.”

“And she likes him?”

“Hard to say,” Max shrugs.

“I am so confused,” Franco stares at you and Charles, it’s obvious you both like each other.

“Me too,” Carlos agrees, having come to retrieve Charles when he overheard Franco’s conversation with Max.

“Y/n is a smart woman, but she certainly cannot pick up on flirting,” Max shakes his head, walking off.

Charles did join you at your ranch before Las Vegas, with strict orders from his trainer on how to keep up with his training. Charles wasn’t expecting a whole complex of barns and houses. You could almost call it an operation.

They were all shoved in the back of your pickup, luggage safe on the bed of the truck, as you and a ranch hand chat in the front of the car.

“You boys are lucky there’s room in the main house during your stay,” the ranch hand had joked. Because the group arrived so late, it’s straight to bed for everyone. Everyone except you.

Charles is restless, and despite his better judgment, gets out of bed for a change of scenery. He walks into the living room, looking at family photos, school yearbook photos, and pictures of your races. Some of your first trophies are proudly displayed above the fireplace, as well as a picture from your first time in the points in F1. He takes in everything, it’s clear how proud your parents are of you.

Charles finds you on the porch, with a steaming mug and quilt thrown over your legs. You are staring at the sky, not really paying attention. He’s freezing, wearing more layers than you, but he sits beside you anyway. You hand him a spare quilt, which he thanks you for.

“It’s nice, to slow down out here, the open skies and quiet,” you break the calm silence.

“It seems busy around here,”

“You have to be. It’s a hard business, no days off. I’m lucky that we are a larger ranch and my family can afford things like my career. Most of my friends stay and work full time, some work for us now. The guys out there are just going in for the night to the bunk houses, they will be up at dawn ready to work,” you explain. Charles was right in that this is a business, and a large one.

“Makes me feel bad that we are here on a break then,” Charles rubs the back of his neck.

“Don’t be. Plenty of ranches book out guest houses for tourism, it’s good income. Plus, you are here as my guest. The town will love to meet new people,” you reassure him, reaching to pat his hand.

“So, I guess you really don’t know every city that we visit?” Charles grins. None of the drivers ever bothered to look up where you are from, so they joke that you know Miami, Austin, and Las Vegas like they are your home town. However, they’ve been taking it more seriously as of late.

“No,” you whisper, a hint of a smile on your face as you watch the snow fall. You find yourself tucked under Charles’ arm before you bid him goodnight, going to bed.

You are up early, eating breakfast with your family.

“What’s your plan for the day?” your mother asks as you help clear the table.

“I think a trail ride then go into town, I don’t want to impose too much, but I’ll probably show them around,” you say, thinking of a schedule.

“Why don’t you do a late lunch in town? I have some things for you to pick up,” you agree with her idea.

“Go ahead, Mama, I’ll clean up,” you say, knowing there is administrative work to do.

The boys meander down about an hour later as you are finishing baking a bread you started yesterday.

“Morning boys,” you wipe your hands as they stand cluelessly in the kitchen. “Take a seat, I’ll whip you up something quick,” you motion to the kitchen table as you head to the fridge.

“Do you need help?” Logan asks, but your look quickly tells him to shut up.

“Coffee’s in the pot if you want some, milk in the fridge, food will be ready in a few minutes,” you wave the offer off.

“What’s your plan for today?” Mick asks, quickly taking to the coffee.

“I’ll take you on a trail ride and tour around some of the ranch, then we will go into town and grab lunch. After dinner we can go to the bar if it isn’t too bad out,” you look out the window, most of the snow has melted off already, but you can never be too careful. The boys quickly eat what you serve them and you take them out to the barn.

“Need help?” Charles asks as you blanket and saddle four horses, one he recognizes as yours. It’s impressive, watching you easily sling the heavy saddles on.

“Hold these, stand still,” you hand him the reigns, making sure he is in a safe position.

“Are you wearing chaps?” Mick notices the tan leather covering your jeans.

“Yes, and you all should too. You will thank me later when the wind isn’t biting at your legs. We should have some extras, hang on,” you grab a few pairs and tell the boys how to wear them.

“This is quite fashionable, I should’ve worn them in Austin,” Charles twists his legs, looking at the western wear. You just shake your head and continue getting the saddles ready.

“This is weirder than I thought,” Logan says, a little uncomfortable in the gear as you help him mount the horse.

“Sit up straighter, and widen your legs a little,” you fix his feet as you speak, adjusting the saddle and stirrups. You help each of them mount the horses you saddled before mounting your own horse.

You start with the tour before the trail ride, and the boys are feeling a little sore from the trotting as they dismount.

“I’m impressed your hat stayed on,” Mick says as he feels his muscles ache.

“That’s the point of a proper fitting hat. You can tell your trainers you had your workout for the day. Come on,” you make them follow you to the truck. As you get into town, you get stopped every other minute, being asked how you are and who your friends are. The boys look around the small store as you pick up your mother’s order.

“You and your boyfriend make quite the handsome couple,” the clerk, a church friend of your mother, says. She observes your startled face and smiles. “The one with brown hair, he seems very protective of you,” you look at Charles and catch his eye, causing both of you to look away with a blush.

“We aren’t dating, he’s a friend that I race with. They all are,” you deny, but you can’t help but wonder why your heart skipped a beat at the accusation.

“Sure honey, but you should see the way that boy looks at you,” you take the package, mind spinning.

“Thank you, Mrs. Anderson,” your voice is quieter as she pats your hand.

“You take care now, don’t forget about your roots when you become a big star,”

“I’ll dedicate my first win to you all,” you smile, taking a step away from the old oak counter.

“Good girl. Watch out on the roads tonight,”

“Yes, Ma’am,” when you approach the guys you notice how you and Charles naturally gravitate towards each other, but you are quick to distract yourself before you think too much about it.

“Everything alright?” Mick asks, poking your head. You swat away his hand as he goes to poke you again. Logan and Charles are trailing you, talking about something that you couldn’t care less about.

“Yeah, just thinking about something the shop owner said,”

“That Charles likes you?” Mick says, you huff and walk a little faster.

“He doesn’t though, Mickie. We are just friends, he’s never even flirted with me. Besides, I don’t even like him like that, and I would NEVER date someone on the grid,” lies, well mostly. The grid part is pretty true, that’s a mess you don’t wasn’t to touch. Mick can read you like a book, he’s your best friend and basically your brother. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you into a side hug as you walk.

“He flirts with you endlessly, you are just too blind to see it. Meine Liebe, he is so in love with you that he would crash someone out for you,” Mick looks at you, watching the gears in your brain turn.

“Well, if he is flirting with me that much, he really needs to step up his game,” you look at the sky, then to Mick.

“It’s a shame you are basically my brother, why can’t we date?” you groan, Mick loudly laughs.

“Alpine would hate that, can’t have two of their drivers dating,” Mick lowers his arm, poking your side.

“They are separating us, but our love shall prevail,” you carry on, enjoying the antics.

“Even Mick flirts with her easier than me,” Charles groans, looking at Logan for backup.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but they are literally the definition of siblings separated at birth. They joke like that all the time, he’s just her best friend,” Logan shakes his head.

“So there’s a chance?”

“Not with your flirting,” Logan pats Charles’s shoulder as they approach your truck.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, there is a storm coming,” you turn the key in the ignition, watching the boys get in the truck. Logan calls shotgun, leaving Charles and Mick in the back.

“Who let dying cats sing?” Mick teases you and Logan as you sing along with a country song, earning him the bird from both of you.

“Alright boys, wash up and then be down here for dinner. We won’t wait for you,” you say as you park the truck. Charles grabs the package for you, carrying it inside.

“I’ll take that, son,” your dad grabs the package from Charles as you walk through the door. “Y/n,” you follow his beacon, leaving the boys alone.

“Well, I will see you all in a bit,” Mick heads to his room, it’s obvious that he’s visited before.

Much to Charles’s dismay, he makes no progress on the flirting end for the rest of the week. When you get to Las Vegas, you are swept up in media and team duties. Charles sees more of Pierre than he does of you that weekend. He does notice when you post on Instagram.

instagram

y/username brought the boys home with me, still wouldn’t call them cowboys

mickschumacher to be fair, Logan and I fit in pretty well, Charles though…

charlesleclerc hey!

y/username charlie… you still don’t know how to wear a hat correctly

alpinef1team we 🫶 our cowgirl (and Cowboy Mick)

mercedesamgf1 our* Cowboy Mick 🤠

scuderiaferrari it’s okay Charles, even if you aren’t a cowboy, we still love you (Mick was ours first, back off)

charlesleclerc hey! you are supposed to be on my side

mickschumacher love the support guys 💙🩵❤️

user29 the shared admin parenting 😭

y/username charlie, it’s okay, not everyone is cowboy material

user aww, she brought Logan with her. best former grid friendship

user4 so we are ignoring the part where she got them all to wear chaps?

logansargeant you hear that mick? i’m better than you

mickschumacher impossible, i’m literally her best friend

y/username and they looked wonderful in them 🥰 (i love you two equally)

user2 poor charles, always forgotten even if they weren’t friends until recently

charlesleclerc best cowgirl and teacher in Montana ❤️

y/username only Montana? i’m wounded, you’re uninvited from the next trip

Mick hung around, pulling double duty for Mercedes and Alpine. He watched the race from the Mercedes garage, a tense place to be during the race. The Mercedes team qualified poorly in Q3, leaving them in the midfield. Logan accompanied him, an odd sight for most fans.

You had qualified well, with you and Pierre in P6 and P7 respectively. A crash up front took out Max and Lando, leaving the two of you in a battle with Oscar, Charles, and Carlos. A late safety car and a well timed undercut allowed you to move into P2, fighting for the win with Pierre right behind you. With five laps left to go, you find luck on your side once more. Oscar locked up, giving you just enough room to overtake him. When you cross the line five laps later, you feel tears running down your face.

“We did it, holy shit! Great work team, I’m so proud of you guys. This win is for the huge support network I have back home - I told you I’d dedicate my first win to you, and it’s for this team who has struggled and fought to be in the position to win races again,” you say on the radio as you take your cool down lap, waving to fans as you drive past.

The feeling of standing on top of your car is like nothing else, the crowd electric with you first win, a home win.

Pierre pulls into P3, quickly hoping out to embrace you, rubbing your helmet.

“We did it! You are amazing!” Pierre cheers.

“Finally a podium for us,” you agree, joining Pierre in heading to the barricades to celebrate with the team.

Charles makes his way to where you are putting on your team hat and sipping water a few minutes later.

“Welcome to the home win club,” he hugs you, wishing he was on the podium too.

“Thanks, Charlie. Sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed,” you smile but tears start to flow out of your eyes again. This is likely the only win you will ever get, and you know that.

“Amour,” his voice is soft and sympathetic as he wipes the tears off your cheeks. “You deserve every bit of this win, you drove so well,” he reassures you as you nod, sniffing the tears away.

“Interview time, champ,” Pierre grabs you, pulling you towards Guenther. He quickly shoots Charles a look that says he’s talking about this later. Pierre is protective of his teammate, and he isn’t scared to rip into his childhood friend if needed. You watch Pierre speak, then Oscar, before it’s your turn. They wait for you, not wanting to leave you vulnerable to the media.

“Y/n, first off, congratulations on a monumental win. How are you feeling?” Guenther asks, his voice jovial. He watched you grow as a driver in the Ferrari program, so he feels a bit proud.

“Overwhelmed, mainly,” you laugh, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. “I, uh, carry the legacy of many women before me, those who drove, served as test and reserve drivers, and affiliated drivers. I really hope this win made them proud and make the girls driving in lower formulas know they can succeed here too,” you say, still breathing a bit heavier.

“That was one heck of a drive, how were you able to take the win?”

“A lot of luck, and confidence. I knew that I had to take some risks, especially on that overtake and defending the last few laps. I’m glad that Max and Lando are okay, those collisions aren’t fun,”

“One more question and then I will let you get your trophy. How will you take this confidence into the last two races?”

“Just keeping the energy up with the whole team. They’ve worked hard to get Pierre and I on the podium, and it’s nice to see it pay off, especially at my home race. You never really know when you will get to the podium, so I think we will just cherish this and hope the points keep coming,” you say, relieved to be done with interviews for now.

“Thank you, congratulations again,” Guenther says, letting you go. You give a wave and disappear to where Pierre and Oscar await.

“An all Alpine podium,” Mick teases, waiting around the bend for you.

“Former, but I guess it counts,” Oscar smiles as you launch yourself at your best friend.

“I’m so proud, meine Liebe, and I know Dad is too,” he hugs you tightly. Mick lets you go a moment later, promising to see you after the podium.

The cooldown room is nice, you relax in the chair as Oscar and Pierre chatter, watching the race highlights.

“Nice defending, you were a brick wall against Charles,” you fist bump Pierre.

“Ready?” Oscar asks, dragging you out of your seat. Pierre is the first out and onto the podium. “Just breathe, this is your moment,” Oscar reminds you before stepping out. Before you know it you are being drenched in champagne.

“This is just the start of the celebrations, mon amie,” Pierre says, wrapping an arm around you as you head back to the motorhome.

“Drinks on me tonight,” you cheer, ready to shower off the champagne and get media over with.

You are one of the last to arrive at the club, mostly because your phone died and you had to wait on it to charge. However, that just means you had more time to pregame, and you did.

“Oscar!” you drunkenly cheer, wrapping your arms around the Aussie.

“When did you get here? Are you already drunk?” he asks, trying not to laugh.

“Mhmm,” you nod, “I drank with Logan,”

“Logan is here?!” Oscar looks around the room, trying to spot his friend.

“No, silly, he’s in Miami. He was on the phone, duh,” you walk towards the bar, ordering a round of shots for your friends and you. You don’t hesitate in downing it, ordering a drink to take with you back onto the floor.

“How much have you had to drink?” Franco asks, wrapping an arm around you to keep you steady.

“Mmmm, five shots,” you giggle then poke his cheek, pushing his face a bit due to your sloppy motions. “You’re cute, just a babbyyy,”

“You are very pretty as well, how’d you know I have a thing for older women,” Franco flushes, the flirting coming out of nowhere. He honestly thought that you and Charles were dating, but he can’t help that he’s a natural flirt.

“Pierre! George!” you walk away before he can even process everything. You are off to do more shots, intending to get fucked up.

“You okay?” Max asks, quickly replacing you at Franco’s side.

“Y/n was just here, she’s an odd drunk, can she even drink that much?” Franco asks, very confused.

“She brought Tennessee moonshine to a race last year and she out drank Valtteri. I didn’t realize she’s been here,” Max looks around, searching for you.

“Whatever she drank earlier was strong then. Aren’t she and Charles dating? Why was she flirting with me?”

“Who knows,” Max shrugs, leaving Franco confused and alone as he spots you back at the bar in the VIP section the drivers reserved.

“You are cut off for now,” Max shakes his head as he stands beside you, taking the drink from your hand and keeping it for himself.

“Charlie! Tell Max to give me my drink back,” you pout, crossing your arms as you lean back against the bar, stumbling a little as your back hits the edge.

Charles’s eyes rake across you in concern as he quickly reaches out to steady you. He looks away at Max to get a silent read on the situation.

“Amour, how much have you had to drink? Didn’t you just get here?” Charles is more worried that you may have been drugged, no one acts like that after one drink.

“Five shots,” Charles watches you count on your fingers, holding up seven of them.

“And here?”

“Um, three shots and a drink. I just got here fourty minutes ago,” your words slur together as dizzying lights flash around the bar. The change in music tells everyone that Lando got behind the DJ booth.

“You are cut off for the hour, go dance some of it off then I will buy you a new drink,” Max says, winking at Charles. Before he can respond, you are dragging Charles onto the dance floor.

“You are a terrible flirt. You know who told me that you like me? Mickie,” you poke Charles’ chest as you dance close to him. Charles wraps his arms around your waist, keeping you close but providing support.

“It must’ve worked if you know now,” Charles leans down slightly, voice low against the pulsing music. You tilt your head up more, looking at him through hooded eyes, his body moving against yours as the bass builds up.

“No,” you say, lips centimeters away from brushing against his as the beat drops. “You need to work harder to earn me,” you slip out of his arms, going to find your aforementioned friend, leaving Charles alone and horny.

You find yourself back at the bar, no one there to stop you from drinking more. Well, that is until Mick shows up right before the bartender walks back over to you.

“Let’s celebrate the win, if you drink any more right now you will puke in 10 minutes,” Mick pulls you away, back to the other drivers. Fuck Charles, the bar is your one true love and Mick is denying you it.

“Here,” Lewis hands you a drink which you happily take. It’s just a mocktail, but you don’t know that.

“To our cowgirl and her first win!” Carlos toasts, cheers ringing out across your group. You catch Lando sneaking away back to the DJ booth, and you quickly follow.

“Lando, let me play a song,” you beg, and who is Lando to deny you after your first win? The grid gravitates towards the two of you as Lando helps you set yourself up.

“What are you playing?” Lando yells as you quickly pull up your song. Your devilish grin tells him everything as he helps you blend it into the song currently playing. The song slows as a low “tu tu tu tu” rings out, the lights turning in to focus on Max.

“Is this because I took away your drink?” Max yells, embarrassed and a little annoyed even though he thinks it’s funny. The rest of the guys are singing along, teasing Max. That’s the last thing you remember.

You wake up groggy on the couch of your hotel room, Mick in the bed. Based on the weird feeling in your mouth, you were puking before you fell asleep. Stumbling, you cross the room and crawl into bed beside Mick.

Mick wakes you up a few hours later, cup of coffee in hand.

“How much do you remember of last night?” he asks as you lightly groan, launching into your past memories.

You virtually sit down for a podcast later in the week to discuss your win.

“How does it feel going viral?” The one podcaster asks after you discussed your career and fighting in the midfield.

“Viral? Honestly, I’ve been so busy since the win that I haven’t been on social media,” you laugh, very confused.

“Gen Z has taken to you, you are all over TikTok and Twitter,”

“That’s wild, thanks Gen Z,” you smile, giving the camera a little salute.

“The after party seemed fun,”

“From what I remember, it was. It’s always a good time going out with the guys. Can I confess something?”

“Please do,” the podcaster says, eager for some gossip.

“I thought Franco was too young to be out with us. The first time he showed at the bar in Austin, I genuinely thought he was about to be thrown out,” you say, letting the conversation stay of that for a bit.

“So, a photo of you and Charles dancing at the club after your win went viral. We asked him about it and this is what he had to say,”

“Oh yeah, we’re dating, didn’t you know?” Charles says, looking quite serious, but you know it’s a joke, at least you think it is.

“Haha, yeah we are engaged, almost got married in Vegas. Didn’t you know?” you joke, stifling a laugh.

The podcast blew up and Alpine ate it up. The media team was quick to partner with Ferrari to do a couples challenge in the Alpine motorhome. You quickly leave once it’s done, escaping to your driver’s room. Charles follows you, sitting beside you as you take a deep breath.

“Sorry, it’s all a bit overwhelming. I am from a small town, I’m just not used to this type of attention,” you say and Charles holds your hands, providing comfort as electricity courses through you.

“You don’t have to be. Your fans think you are perfect, I think you are perfect,” Charles says, your eyes meeting his, searching for signs that he isn’t telling a lie.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been in love with you forever. You are beautiful, and kind, and smart,” Charles trails off as his eyes flicker to your lips. His right hand finds itself moving from your hand to your cheek. He leans in, lips brushing yours as he hesitates - waiting for you to take action.

You tilt your head up, mind spinning as you take in his scent and the moment. You don’t waste another moment, pressing your lips to his. Charles tenderly pulls away after a minute, resting his forehead on yours.

“I didn’t lie in that interview, amour, you are my cowgirl,” he says softly, a hint of relief in his voice.

“Yours? Oh no, Charlie, you will have to work harder to win that,” your sly smile tells him that the challenge isn’t over yet as he leans in to kiss you again.

“My stubborn, stubborn cowgirl,”

Can’t get enough? Check out @vitalverstappen’s sister story ⬇️!

#f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

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