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“ 𝑳𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕
𝑩𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒌-𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏 “ … 🌙🐦
first of my TOH!Over The Garden Wall AU
Amity as Beatrice and Luz as Anna (the woodsman’s daughter)
Idk if this is even a ship, but I did a lil doodle of them as well ^^
#toh#Lumity#over the garden wall#otgw#the owl house#toh fanart#lumity fanart#amity blight#Luz noceda#amity toh#luz toh#otgw beatrice#otgw Anna#beatrice over the garden wall#Anna over the garden wall#the woodsman’s daughter otgw#toh!otgw AU
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Idk if any artists love gorillaz and over the garden wall who are also avid murdad enjoyers, but… Murdoc as the Woodsman, Noodle as Anna (the Woodsman’s daughter), and the Boogieman as the Beast
I’m just putting this out there, but THINK ABOUT ITTTT!!! IT MAKES SENSE
#gorillaz#noodle gorillaz#murdoc gorillaz#murdoc niccals#murdad#over the garden wall#the woodsman#anna over the garden wall#au#alternate universe
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Happy autumn everyone! Seriously though fall is one of my favorite aesthetics in animation.
#over the garden wall#Disney#disneytva#wolfwalkers#Cartoon Saloon#Cartoon Network#Frozen 2#Elsa#Anna#the owl house#steven universe#the iron giant#winnie the pooh#scooby doo#scooby doo and the witch's ghost#hex girls#bambi#its the great pumpkin charlie brown#charlie brown#peanuts
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OVER THE GARDEN WALL — CHAPTER 1 "The Old Grist Mill"
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#over the garden wall#otgw the Beast#otgw The Woodsman#otgw The Woodsman's Wife#otgw Anna#my art tag#otgw#my otgw art
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Girls and birds 🐦
Drawing otgw because I'm impatient and I want it to be fall already
Here's the backgrounds
#first time im posting my art on this blog instead of just reblogging from my main!!#over the garden wall#otgw#fanart#otgw beatrice#otgw anna#otgw woodsmans daughter#< thats whos in the second pic btw. i feel like not as many people will recognize her#autumn#digital art#my art#the worm draws
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Finished reading the comics, they have me sobbing my heart out
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Sketches of Lorna, Wirt, Beatrice, Anna, and Odin from my au!! They go to the Endicott and Grey Academy for Children of the Unknown
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redraw of one of my fave otgw comics covers !! og under the cut
#forgor to post this here LMAO#over the garden wall#otgw#otgw fanart#anna otgw#otgw anna#over the garden wall comics
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Autumn is here which means its Over The Garden Wall season! These stickers and badges are now up on Etsy!✨
As always with my little chibis, they’re available as stickers, and as badges with customisable backgrounds of any colour of pride flags that you want. I can’t link to my Etsy without risking Tumblr hiding the post, but the link is in my pinned post, my carrd, I’m emptymasks on Etsy. Reblogs help support artists more than likes ❤️ I don’t allow re-posts/re-uploads/edits of my work.
[ID: Individual chibi drawings of 10 characters from Over the Garden Wall that are available as stickers. Also as badges where they are placed inside circles to show what they will look like as physical button badges, some of them with plain colour backgrounds and some with 1-3 different pride flags as examples of how you can customise the backgrounds.]
#over the garden wall#otgw#the beast#enoch#wirt#beatrice#queen of the clouds#greg#sara#anna#the woodsman's daughter#lorna#fanart
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stole a bunch of these from @pokemonedits-outofcontext and @pokeficdaily because it’s the funniest shit in the world to me rn
#otgw#over the garden wall#otgw Beatrice#otgw Greg#otgw Anna#otgw beast#wirt#if that last one reminds you of a certain trend in the fandom you are entitled to a veteran's discount#long post
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local girls bond over horrors beyond their imagination
#over the garden wall#otgw#beatrice#otgw beatrice#otgw anna#my art#fan art#digital art#illustration#artists on tumblr#i had to look up the woodsman's daughter's name for this but you know...... my love for nonsensical wlw rareships overtook me#and i know i'm now late for otgw season but i'm incapable of producing fan art on time :)#always behind the curve! finger missing the pulse of the zeitgeist!!
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Available on FF.net here.
Winter Whumperland, Day 2: Home Alone Missed Holiday | Unhappy Family Reunion | Comic Relief Caretaker | Comfort: Home For the Holidays
Summary: Winter was a hard time for Anna.
Word count: 946
@amonthofwhump
#Over the Garden Wall#OTGW Anna#The Woodsman's Daughter#The Woodsman#OTGW fic is so hard because you have to get the feel JUST right.#Winter#Christmas
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Ever since New York
what it is: in which YN is Harry Styles's personal assistant, but maybe she should quit her job?
September.
Harry was running late. He knew he was running late because he didn’t even have the time to check on his phone how much late he was running. He hated being late. It wasn’t really in his character. In his manners. It’s not because he didn’t like people waiting on him, he loves being the center of attention; he loves having all eyes on him when he enters a room.
He just didn’t like being late because of the wasted time. Wasted time he took off work. And as of right now, work was pretty much his life. His purpose.
So being late, was kind of a big deal to him.
Y/N, on the other hand, was used to being late. And she, too, hated it. She hated the attention it came with it. But it was just in her nature, not because she wanted it, but because it happened to her. Like this morning. Her go-to local Starbucks was swamped with people, and she really wanted a pumpkin spice latte, since it was almost the beginning of fall and she still hadn’t had one.
So, it’s not like she could skip the coffee run. But said coffee run took longer than expected and made her late to her job interview. On top of that, once she exited the cafe, winning cup of coffee slightly burning her hand, it started raining, and of course she hadn’t bought her umbrella, because who brings an umbrella to a job interview?, and plus she really couldn’t be bothered to carry the weight of said object with her all around New York.
So, when she enters the Madison Square Garden Arena, she’s soaked. She almost can hear the squishy sound her Converse make as she walks, her socks feeling rather scratchy against her skin.
She jogs a little towards the backstage area, trying to recall what was said on the email that was sent to her with all the interview details. She’s breathing heavily through her nose, not really used to all the running she had to endure, and she feels hot. She’s positive the heater is on and the sudden contrast with the chilly September air makes her coat feel too warm and her jeans too tight.
She takes a moment to stop herself, trying to calm her heart and breathing down as she takes small sips of her drink. She’s already late, soaked, and sweaty, she might as well enjoy her well awaited drink in peace. She’s sure she’s not going to get the job, anyway. Leave it to her to think she’d fail before even trying.
Harry Styles personal assistant? Yes, she’s known to be a dreamer, but not to that extent. When her friend Anna had told her that her boyfriend had a friend that went to college with Jeff Azoff (she didn’t even know that said Jeff went to college), that he was looking for trustworthy people who could be fit for the job and that he had recommended YN, she thought Anna was pulling a sad excuse of a prank on her. Little did she know, about ten days later, she’d gotten an email from Jeff himself where he asked her if she was down for a little get-to-know-me interview.
Anna knew how much YN needed the job.Young, jobless, and living in New York didn’t really go together too well, and she knew that YN wanted to save as much money as possible to fulfill her life’s dream of studying art in Florence, so she pressured her friend to at least go to the interview. So that’s how she got herself in this situation, sipping her coffee while she regained her breath.
She’s so lost in her own train of thoughts that she doesn’t even realize she stopped in the middle of a hallway. She’s reading a flyer on the wall absentmindedly when she’s hit by a big, sturdy object that makes her loose her balance. She tries to grip her hands onto something to gain some kind of balance, but that only results in her coffee exploding from its own paper cup that she squeezed too hard, the cap flying off and falling on the ground.
“Fuck!” She exclaims as her bum hits the floor with a loud thump. She can feel the coffee on her coat and all over her hands as she raises her eyes from her pumpkin scented, soaked coat and lays her sight on what she thought was an object, but was, actually, a person. Her employer, more like. If she wasn’t convinced enough that she wasn’t going to get the job, she’s sure as hell now.
“What the fuck!” Harry, who had been running really fast to try and get on time to this stupid interview he had to endure, really hadn’t taken in consideration that someone could be standing in the middle of the hallway he was running down on.
So, he really thought it was safe to run and check his phone at the same time; big mistake.
It’s not like he was checking his phone for his own personal business, he was just texting Jeff that he was on his way.
“Who stands in the middle of a fucking hallway!” He shouts, but he isn’t even looking at her as he speaks. He’s looking at his shirt, that now has a big, beige colored, stain on it.
He grips the hem of the shirt with his hands and brings the stained part to his nose, which he scrunches immediately in disgust: “is this regular milk? God, it’s making me sick”.
YN really couldn’t get anything out of her mouth as she slowly gets up from her position on the floor and raises to her feet. She knows she’s supposed to say something, maybe apologize, but it suddenly feels like she doesn’t know how to talk anymore. She’s afraid, if she speaks, she’d blabber something incoherent and make a fool out of herself. Not that she didn’t already.
Plus, if she’s really being honest, he kind of sounds like an asshole, so she’s not particularly keen on begging for his forgiveness.
“If you were walking like a normal person, this wouldn’t have happened!” She murmurs, but he’s already too far out of reach to hear, otherwise she’s sure he would’ve said something else. She heavily sighs as she walks behind him, careful to leave a big amount of space between them so it doesn’t look like she’s following him.
When she enters the room, after knocking gently on the door, he’s already sat on the chair next to Jeff, a bunch of papers scattered on the desk in front of them.
She clears her throat a little and Jeff raises his eyes to her, giving her a small smile and gesturing to the chair in front of them.
Harry, arm bent at the elbow, one hand under the table and the other holding his phone, doesn’t bother to look at who came in until he’s finished reading his emails. He wouldn’t have to read his emails if he hadn’t wasted his time by being late, and mostly by being tackled by a wet puppy looking girl and her stupid pumpkin spice latte. The said pumpkin spice latte that is all over his designer shirt.
When he finally raises his glance, he’s met with a pair of big, wide eyes that remind him of those of a scared deer caught in headlights, and there’s no hint of a joke in his tone as he says: “fuck no.”
...
YN wonders whether she should quit.
It’s not her fault, really, and it’s not like she isn’t trying. She thinks she’s doing a fairly good job.
She’s trying really hard to make up for the coffee incident, and she begged Harry to tell her where he got his shirt so she could at least repurchase it for him, but once he’d told her it was Gucci, she realized it cost more than her rent so she let it go… trying the best she could to watch where she was going as to not repeat the accident again.
Harry is… well, he’s kind of difficult to work with.
She doesn’t know whether it’s because of the coffee incident or because he just doesn’t like her, but he’s really stand-offish.
He doesn’t talk much to her — only when the work demands it, and at first it was fine, YN understood why he’d act like that, but now it’s just getting kind of frustrating, especially because he’s making her job ten times harder than it already is.
She’s determined to show him that just because they started off on the wrong foot, she’s not just some clumsy little girl that had to have friends in the right places to get a job!
“Harry?” She trails off, peeking her head inside his dressing room.
He’s sitting on the couch, his back bent down and his hands fiddling with his shoe laces.
YN notices he’s dressed in his workout clothes (a pair of Nike shorts and a black tee), and she wonders whether he’s going to the gym? Maybe back at the hotel? It would be rather bothersome to go all the way back but she doesn’t say anything since it’s not her place.
When he hears her he raises his head to look at her, his brows hiking up high on his forehead. YN wonders why he’s even surprised to see her… she’s been on his ass for a month straight now, never really leaving his side unless when necessary.
“Hey” he greets her, nodding his head towards her.
“I finished everything you asked me t’do” she smiles, and if she wasn’t sure he’d find a way to piss her off, she would’ve felt at least somewhat triumphant. But she doesn’t.
Because she knows Harry doesn’t like her, so no matter what she does, it will never be good enough to redeem herself.
“Everything, really?” He asks surprised, “hav’you folded all the merch like I asked?” When YN nods he goes on, “ironed my outfit?” She nods once again, “and ‘s my schedule ready for tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She nods swiftly, “I even color coded it” she grins.
He seems to think a bit about his next words, and then, “okay, then. Help me work out, will ya?” he says, refraining himself from smiling a mischievous smile at the sound of her groan.
He’s sure it wasn’t intentional, and she feels extremely embarrassed and hopes he hasn’t noticed or at least won’t call her out on it.
“Let’s go, YN, I don’t have all day” he chuckles darkly, patting her on the cheek as he walks past her.
YN knows she should definitely quit.
...
“What the hell is this! I thought ye said it was all done?”
YN really feels like she could cry. She’s 22 years old and she’s on the verge of crying on her job. A job she begged God to get, a job that’s fundamental to get her in the art school she’s always dreamed of.
Things haven’t been easy.
Harry has been a dick to her every day and there’s only so much one can take.
He’s mean, rude, and always cold. He never smiles even when she brings him coffee (black with no dairy milk because it nauseates him), he never praises her (not even when she color codes his google calendar), and every time she enters a room he hushes as if he’s telling this great secret she’s not supposed to hear.
Today has been a long day.
She’d woken up at 5 am to grab him breakfast (not that he demanded it, but she felt as if she needed to in order for them to start the day on a good note — it hasn’t worked, it seems) and after that, she’d watched him workout at the gym in the hotel, the stuffy room nauseating her to the point where she had to beg him to turn the AC on to let the air change.
After his workout, she’d made her way to the venue.
He’s playing at Madison Square Garden tonight, and even if it’s not his first time, the tension could be felt in the air and in the way he huffed and puffed at everything she did.
It’s her job to take care of the merch stand inside the arena, no matter what city they are in, she has to fold the merch and make the stand presentable and organized, so when the staff comes in before the show everything is neat and clean.
She’s been doing this for a month now so she knows what Harry likes and how he demands it to be cleaned, and until now nothing about her work had disappointed him. So why is he acting like she’s this major screw up that can’t fold clothes?
It’s not the fact that he’s doubting her that hurts her, it’s the fact that he’s doubting her honesty.
It was all finished. She had folded all the merch like he asked and the stand was in perfectly good tidiness when she left it; sadly, that’s not how Harry had found it, much later and much closer to the show.
Maybe his pre show jitters made him a little more on edge, because the way he’s stomping his feet and pointing at the merch is making her feel really guilty for not doing her job correctly. Even if it wasn’t her fault, she should’ve checked before telling him she was all done!
“Harry,” she trails off, and she feels pathetic as she hears her voice come out all watery, “I swear, i did like you asked. Why would I lie!”
She’s almost begging and pleading him, her eyes stinging with the devious tears she’s trying really hard not to let fall.
“I don’t know why. But why is the stand in this mess? You know this can’t happen before a show, YN!” He reprimands her sternly.
YN feels like she’s a bad student getting yelled at by her teacher, and she gulps before saying “I know, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it now! Tidy here and then sod off!”
She nods her head quickly and hurries to get back behind the stand, folding the clothes as fast as she can to fix the mess quickly. She hears him walk away with a grunt, and once he’s out of her line of sight she feels the warm tears start falling from her eyes.
Finally.
She chokes down a sob as she keeps tidying up, wondering what the hell happened to the very organized stand she’d left.
Once she’s done, she double checks everything to make sure (just in case) and then she climbs over the counter to get out. She quickly makes her way to the dressing room as she hears the buzzing of the fans standing outside the venue, waiting trepidating for the gates to open, and she’s thankful she’d been fast, otherwise Harry would’ve fired her on the spot.
She gathers her work bag and tosses all her belongings inside, sneaking out of the door when she realizes Harry is inside the bathroom showering.
She doesn’t bother to call a Uber. She chooses to walk, hoping that the fresh air could soothe the headache that crying had left her with.
It’s a little bit chilly, but she welcomes the cold October weather with contentment, finally free of the heat weave that had populated her summer days. She wishes she could enjoy it more, and if it wasn’t for her mood, maybe she would’ve grabbed a little drink and a sweet treat on her way back. But there wasn’t anything sweet about the way Harry had treated her, so she walks sulkily back to the hotel, ready to pack her bags and leave. She’s decided. She doesn’t want to be his assistant for not even another day.
It had been a long day.
…
it’s past 11pm when Harry crosses the threshold of his hotel room, immediately tossing his sweaty clothes on the chair next to the small desk. His room is nice, big but not uncomfortably large to the point of making him feel lonely, and his bed is soft just the way he likes it, and he can’t wait to shower and get under the covers, but… there’s something he needs to do first.
So, he quickly showers and changes into way more comfortable clothes, a pair of black sweats and a grey treat people with kindness hoodie, slipping his vans on and walking immediately out of the door.
He’d like to say the uneasiness he feels in his belly is hunger (he had only soup for dinner), but it’s definitely not. He’s nervous. And he feels like a dick. And he doesn’t really know what to say to YN to make it up to her.
Should he say he was just tense because of the show? In his mind he knows that wouldn’t be too believable, because he’s been doing shows for most of his life, and if he acted the way he did before any of them, he probably wouldn’t have many friends.
As he’s searching for things to say, he hasn’t even realized he ended up in front of her door, the light beige wood dooming on him and almost making fun of him.
He closes his hand into a fist and knocks on the door, the pit of his stomach prickling.
YN opens the door almost immediately, and he wonders whether she was waiting for him.
He knows she wasn’t as soon as he sees her face fall once her eyes land on him.
She actually looks pretty cute, all snuggly and sleepy dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and sleep shorts, but when she looks up at him he notices her eyes are a faint red color, and his heart tugs in his chest when he realizes she had been crying.
It was never his intention to make her cry, and he really does feel bad.
“What?” She asks dismissively, her body still shielding the room from his view.
“Know ‘s late but… Can I come in?” He asks wryly, his breath coming out in puffs out of his nose as if he had been running.
“I don’t know” she ponders.
“Please, YN”
She takes a moment to reflect and then opens her door wider (he’s technically still her boss), turning to the side to let him in.
She closes the door behind him and waits for him to talk with her arms crossed against her chest. He doesn’t really know where to start, whether he should address the fact that she’s been crying or how he treated her, so he settles on “how are you?” And he feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth. She sniffles before shrugging.
“Sorry, that was stupid” he pinches the bridge of his nose as he shakes his head.
YN doesn’t know what happens next.
She’s probably just tired, and maybe really hurt by how Harry treated her so she… she starts crying.
She feels her eyes fill with tears, stinging her water line. And it’s really embarrassing but she really doesn’t care. She figures he’s going to fire her anyway so she might as well let it all out.
She chokes down a sob, turning her head to the side to be as subtle as possible, but he notices straight away, walking quickly towards her.
“YN please don’t cry” he pleas, stretching a hand out to her to squeeze her shoulder.
“I’m sorry” she sobs, hiding her face and her tears behind her hands, pressing the tip of her fingers to her eyelids.
Harry really doesn’t know what to do. He thinks of himself as a good person and a good friend but this is different. He’s supposed to be her boss. But, he realizes, he’s also the reason she’s crying, and Harry is everything but cruel, so he tugs her by the shoulder into his chest, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, his hand caressing her back soothingly.
She sobs into his chest, and “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened with that stand. I did everything like you asked”.
“It’s okay, it’s okay” he comforts.
To really tell the truth, Harry had forgotten all about the clothes. Yes, he had been pissed about the conditions he found the merch stand in, but she had tided up quickly, so in his mind everything was forgiven. He hadn’t really realized how stern he had come off to her.
“YN I’m not mad about the merch stand. I’m so sorry I was so rude”
“No,” she’s quick to object, “I get it, you want everything to be perfect. Trust me I know! But I’m trying my best to make everything perfect like you want” she sniffles, pulling her face away from his chest.
She dries her face with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, sighing heavily.
“You’re doing a great—“ he starts, but she interrupts him immediately, “I don’t know how to work with you if you’re like this. You’re probably going to fire me for saying this but I can’t stand this anymore” she shakes her head to reinforce her words.
“Please don’t say that! I don’t want to fire you! I think you’re doin’ a really good job”
“Really?” She asks surprised, he’s never really told her that.
“Yes, of course! I’m so sorry I’ve been a dick to you, for this past month. I… I’ve got some trust issues, ya know? and It takes me a while to get accustomed to new people but… I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. It’s not your fault”
“I thought you kind of hated me” she admits.
“I could never,” he shakes his head, “I’m so sorry I made you feel that way”
“Yeah” she sniffles, “you really were a dick” she chuckles once she sees the surprised look on his face. “Plus I’m the only one who knows how to make your little soup” she adds.
“Oh, you’re right” he agrees, “I could never fire you, then. You’re trapped”
“Ah! You’re trapped” she giggles, the tears starting to dry on her face and a bit of color returning to her cheeks.
“But… really, I’m so sorry. I promise it won’t happen again” he says again, looking directly in her eyes to make sure she understands he’s serious.
“Okay” she says softy, sniffling.
“Now” he trails off, “I’m really hungry. Should we go get something to eat?”
October
“Halloween is not fun.” Harry says, crossing his arms on his chest like a petulant child.
YN rolls her eyes for what seems like the millionth time, a groan escaping from her parted lips: “but it is!!” She says again.
The discussion had been opened by Harry himself, claiming he didn’t understand all the excitement YN had claimed to be feeling about Halloween.
It’s not like he doesn’t like Halloween, he just doesn’t like… scary stuff.
He hates horror movies and he hates everything paranormal — sure, he loves Twilight (he’s watched it twice already since fall started) but that movie according to him is on a whole other level, and it can’t be described as scary as much as it is angst-y.
So, when he heard YN all giddy and giggly about this god awful day, he couldn’t just not say what he really thinks of it. Of course she’d love Halloween, Harry thinks.
“I think you just never truly had the whole Halloween experience” she shrugs from her position on the couch.
“Trust me,” he says seriously, “I did. Jeff forced me to watch all the Saw movies… it was awful. Couldn’t sleep properly until Christmas”
YN has to refrain herself from laughing.
“That’s not what I mean! Watching scary movies is like… the last thing on the list of fun things to do for Halloween”
“Yeah?” He challenges, turning around in his turning chair to face her, his skin dewy with the moisturizer he’d been massaging on his face.
“Yes! My favorite is pumpkin painting” she beams excitedly.
“Pumpkin painting? You have to have made that up” he furrows his brows.
“What! No! It’s been a thing for… Ugh I don’t know but it’s really fun and I always do it. Come see!” She pats the couch next to her and grabs her phone from the pocket of her hoodie, opening her camera roll and scrolling with her finger until she reaches last year.
He rolls his eyes at her, getting up from the chair nonetheless.
He doesn’t sit next to her, instead he towers over her and lowers his head to look at the screen of her phone, his shin touching her knees “ye have a lot of pictures on that damn phone”.
“Shh!! Here!” She opens the pic and shows it to him: a big pumpkin rests on what seems like a kitchen counter, its previous orange skin painted the brightest shade of pink, with some white splotches of paint that Harry thinks could be little ghosts by their pair of eyes made with two black dots.
“Wow… that clearly is something…”
“okay! — she sighs, locking her phone — I didn’t say I was good at it. ‘S just fun an’ I always do it with me mum!” She lifts her head and their eyes lock, his are a bright emerald green today, and she can see herself reflected in them, clearly, and she wonders for a moment how he sees her, what he thinks of her. It lasts only a moment, though, because he averts his gaze quickly, and just as quickly he straightens his posture, towering over her once again.
“‘S a cute idea” he agrees, taking a step back to put some distance between them.
YN nods in agreement, picking up her laptop to get back to work immediately.
Everything is green.
…
Harry is hiding something.
He’s been giddy all day and YN noticed first thing in the morning, when she happened to toe his shoe off when he was walking in front of her and he didn’t say anything (it’s the only thing that drives him mad. Like… really mad. He once snapped at her in front of everyone because she kept doing it — accidentally of course). Now, this is not to say Harry can’t have a good day. Since that night in her hotel room, things have been really good between them, and even if their relationship is strictly professional, YN wonders whether a friendship could blossom between them.
But, she’s also gotten to know him rather well in the two months she’s been working for him, and she knows when he’s hiding something.
It all started yesterday, when he pretended he had to run some errands alone, and demanded YN stayed at the hotel “to check no one broke into his room” which is a really fucking stupid excuse. When he got back to his room it was late in the night and YN was snacking on some chips, all snuggled up and cozy in his bed, on the verge of falling asleep.
Nothing seemed different about him since the last time she saw him, and she wondered for a brief minute whether he went out to meet with someone. Having a personal assistant be with you 24/7 can be really invalidating to any romantic relationship someone could want to establish.
If the only way harry could get a significant other (or even only a sneaky link, YN isn’t one to judge) was to hide from her and demanded her to stay back, it was really pathetic on her part. She pretends like the thought of Harry with someone else doesn’t irritates her. (She’s been stuck all evening in his hotel room while he went out and about!!)
“Whatcha doin’ in my bed, pet?” He teases once he enters the room, toeing his shoes off and leaving them by the door.
“Your bed is way comfier than mine” she grins, squeezing the comforter closer to her body.
“I bet” he chuckles.
“Yeah. But I’m the one working all day so I should get the comfier bed” she shrugs.
“You’re working?” He says, feigning shock as he brings a hand to his chest, “I thought you were my friend willingly!”
“Oh fuck” she sighs, “Jeff told me not to tell you… I must have forgotten”
“You really are a menace” he chuckles and she giggles, making room for him as he plops down next to her.
“What are ye watchin’?”
“Just an old episode of How to get away with murder” she says, pressing the “ok” button on the remote to show him the title.
“Never heard of tha’” he furrows his brows, repositioning himself so his legs are stretched out in front of him.
“You’ve never… what?! That’s crazy! This is probably the best tv show since Grey’s Anatomy went down hill!”
“Is it scary?” He asks, his brows furrowing on his forehead.
“No, not in that sense at least”
“Okay, then.” He gestures to the remote, “let’s watch it.”
She grins at him and nods, selecting the first episode from the menu. She presses play and when the show starts running, she grabs the chips she was previously nibbling on, putting them between their bodies and telling him that if he wants some to just take them.
The light from the tv illuminates the otherwise dark room, and YN has to refrain herself from turning her head to look at his profile.
She smiles Every time he gasps when something unexpected happens, and when the first episode ends, he begs her to put the second straight away. She does, and she listens to his calm breaths that almost lull her to sleep. The bed is comfortable and his warmth from beside her makes her feel safe and soft, and YN thinks it’s really nice he’s doing this with her. She doesn’t stop to wonder what it means.
…
It’s only the next day that YN gets to finally find out what Harry has been hiding.
Turns out, he actually wasn’t sneaking out to meet someone behind her back!
That morning Harry had knocked loudly on her door, tantalizingly sing-songing her name. When she had opened the door, still wearing her pjs and her hair all messy, she had furrowed her brows deeply on her forehead: “Harry!” She had reprimanded him, “it’s 7 in the morning!”
“Shh, lemme come in” he begged, jumping on his place excitedly.
He’s wearing his workout clothes and YN knows from his schedule that he has an appointment with his personal trainer at 7.30.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tonight, after the show, don’t make any plans. I need you for something very serious and very important.”
And YN would really like to tell him that it’s not like she’d ever make any plans that didn’t revolve around him, but she nods nonetheless, still a bit startled from his irruption in her room that early in the morning.
That’s how they ended up here, on the floor of his hotel room, probably more than thirty tubes of paint splattered messily in front of them, and two giant pumpkins resting between their legs.
“It’s officially a week before Halloween!” Harry had said, taking the pumpkin out of the bag and showing it to her triumphantly.
YN had gasped, her hands coming up to cover her mouth shockingly. Never in a million years would she have thought that was what he planned to do.
She feels warm inside, like a light has been switched up and is warming all her limbs, her chest, her belly. She doesn’t know if he realizes how much this means to her.
She carefully takes the pumpkin he’s handing to her and sits cross legged on the floor. He sits down next to her, and their knees are brushing with every movement one of them makes.
“Pass me the remote, please?” He asks.
She nods and grabs it from the bed behind her, handing it to him.
“I really need to find out who killed her” he says seriously, turning the tv on. “Is it Sam?”
YN chuckles sitting next to him, shaking her head as she bends her back down to grab a paint brush.
“I’m not tellin’ you! That takes away all the fun”
“I don’t care, YN. I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t tell me!”
“You’re so dramatic” she giggles.
She hands him a brush too and he thanks her with a mischievous grin, “if I end up dying from exhaustion it’s on you!”
“Shhh, ‘s startin’” she gestures to the tv and they both turn their head to it.
YN grabs a tube of red paint and opens it, squirting a small pump on the plate Harry had gotten her.
“What are ya making?” He asks her after a while.
“I don’t know” she shrugs, “I was thinking something simple like… red hearts”
“Tha’s cute” he agrees, “should I make it How to get away with murder themed?”
YN starts giggling, pushing his shoulder with hers, “that would be cute I guess”
“I’m just kidding. Although I think I could totally rock that”
“Yeah, you would” she agrees.
Harry ends up making it Mickey Mouse themed, drawing two big red ears a pair of big black eyes. He even helps YN with hers (she settled on something more minimalistic) which is ironic because even though she’s the one that loves art, she’s not really good at it.
Harry even snapped a few pictures to send to his mum, one with YN too, “wait, stay right there. Show the pumpkins!!”
“Harry the paint is still fresh I can’t — ugh fine!” She says lifting her pumpkin by the stem.
He leans in next to her, their temples almost touching, and Harry snaps the picture, a warm smile on his face, dimples showing and all. “Mum’s gonna love this.”
They watch a couple more episodes of this tv show Harry has gotten obsessed with, and once the clock strikes midnight YN is so exhausted Harry has to finish her pumpkin for her.
Her eyes are aching and she brings her fingers to press on them, hoping to relieve some of the burning.
“Everything all right?” He asks turning his head to look at her.
“Yes” she nods, “just forgot my glasses and the tv is hurting my eyes”
“Wait” he tells her, standing up on his feet quickly. He heads over to his bedside table and opens the drawer, rummaging through all the stuff he keeps inside it.
He sits back down after a minute, closer than he was before, and he shows her a pair of glasses, “here”.
She looks at him surprised, and “thank you” she says, grabbing them from his hand and sliding them on.
The glasses are comfortable, with a kind of thick frame, and she understands immediately they are a much better quality than hers.
She’s surprised she can see clearly with them, and she enjoys the much needed rest the glasses provide. She leans her head on the back of the bed behind her and sighs contentedly.
“Better?” He asks.
“Much better.”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses” he says after a while, his gaze still on the tv, “never seen you wear ‘em”
“Yeah” she agrees, embarrassed, “‘s just… don’t really like the way I look in them. Plus it’s not like I’m completely blind!” She hurries to add “they just get really tired and… yeah”
He turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed on his forehead and his eyes scrutinizing her face.
She feels embarrassed under his gaze and she squirms imperceptibly in her spot.
“You look proper cute, actually” he says with a swift nod as to reinforce his words.
She blushes and prays that he doesn’t notice, mumbling a ‘thank you’ and quickly averting her gaze back to the tv.
She feels once again that warm feeling inside her, but this time it’s all over her body and it’s kind of overwhelming.
She debates whether she should leave or stay, but Harry’s presence is so comforting beside her, and it’s not like his comment has to mean anything.
It’s just a compliment.
Like a friend would to another. Right?
…
It’s not easy to avoid your boss.
Harry is everywhere, and it’s not like YN wants to avoid him, it’s just inevitable since she realized she actually has a crush on him.
On the span of these three days YN tried to tell herself it wasn’t that big of a deal; Harry is handsome, he almost resembles an angel, and he’s funny, and since he’s warmed up to her she realized he’s also nice, and caring, and soft. His smile is bright as the sun. His eyes are a peculiar shade of green she has never seen before and she noticed some nights they turn almost blue and she really would like to ask him why but she figures that’s way overstepping her boundary so she just keeps quiet every time she notices it.
And he’s many things all together.
And maybe if she avoids him this feeling will go away and everything will go back to normal sooner than later.
On the fourth day, he catches her on her way back to his dressing room and she almost has an heart attack. She had been so careful up to that point!!!
She was sure he was still in the shower, and she needed to grab her sweatshirt from the dressing room since it was starting to get chilly, but once she opened the door, there he was, sitting on the couch in only a towel and a sweatshirt. Her sweatshirt. She feels like she could combust any second.
“YN! Hey!” He cheerfully greets her once he notices her, locking his phone and leaving it next to him on the couch.
“Hi, H” she replies “just needed to grab my… sweatshirt” she clears her throat embarrassed, pointing towards his torso.
He looks down to himself and then his eyes widen in surprise, “this one’s yours? I’m so sorry pet, thought ‘t was mine!”
“Tha’s fine” she shrugs, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that he called her a pet name.
“You wan’ it back?” He asks, grinning.
“No, no that’s fine, I’ll find something else” but before she can even answer he’s already getting up, slipping out of the sweatshirt. He walks towards her and hands it to her, “hav’to get ready soon anyway”.
She nods and as he walks to his clothing rack where his outfit is already displayed, and YN lets her eyes linger for a brief moment on his back, his skin is already moisturized and YN wonders if it feels as soft as it looks, his little moles and freckles look like little constellations on the skin of his back, like the Gods blew stars onto it when they created him, and the color of his skin is almost lunar-like, despite how much sun he gets.
“Feel like I haven’t seen ya in ages” he interrupts the silence after a while, and YN watches as he picks up his tank top from one of the hangers and slips it onto his head.
She nods when he turns to her, the tank top is white and she can see the faint ink of his tattoos, “had so much work to do” she sighs.
“Are you sayin’ I’m overworking you?” He chuckles, and she’s quick to say: “no! No! Just… you know with Harryween coming up there’s so much stuff to do”
“Yeah” he agrees, “maybe tonight we can watch a couple of episodes…?” He questions tentatively.
YN would really like to say yes. She really would.
“I’m really tired, Harry…” she trails off, “maybe another night?”
“Yeah of course” he shrugs.
He leans down to slip on his leather trousers, tossing the towel on the couch next to him.
“But you can obviously go on though!! I already know what happened and…”
“What? No! I don’t want to watch it without you, that’s our thing.” He says, shaking his head and furrowing his brows, “‘s okay, I can wait a couple days. Even though I hav’to tell ya… i think I may be in withdrawal… i have been tempted to look up spoilers online”
She giggles at his playfulness, “Harry! I told you not to do that!”
“That’s why I didn’t! But eventually I have to know, I have a couple of ideas on who did it though”
“I’m not saying anything”
“Fine” he groans jokingly, “but you have to admit I deserve an award for putting up with all your torture”
“You’re so dramatic!” She laughs through her teeth.
“Yeah, yeah. Actually!” He starts, and he smiles a malicious smile YN is afraid to know what it means, “everything would be forgiven if you came shopping with me tomorrow”
“Harry! I have so much stuff to do! I can’t just ditch everything to go shopping with you”
“Please!!” He pleas almost like a petulant child, “I don’t want to go alone! ’s boring!”
“Jeff gave me so much stuff… you know how he gets when I don’t get things done” she sighs. She’s still holding the sweatshirt he gave (back) to her, and she squeezes it against her chest.
“Screw Jeff” Harry shrugs, passing a hand through his hair to comb it.
“He’s literally my boss”
“No” he’s quick to say, walking towards her and stopping when he’s in front of her, crossing his arms on his chest “Jeff is your employer. I’m your boss” he chuckles darkly, poking her in the stomach playfully.
“Uggh fine! I’ll come” she sighs, finally giving in to his demand. “But you’re buyin’ me coffee tomorrow”
“Deal” he nods his head swiftly.
She rolls her eyes and gives him a little shove on the shoulder, “see ya after the show! Good luck”
“Thank you pet” he says smiling at her softly.
She gives a small smile back and turns to walk out the door.
Once she’s out, the cold air of the AC hits her, and she’s quick to slip over her head the sweatshirt she actually came to get in the first place.
It’s still warm and his sweet musky scent lingers on it. She buries her nose into it and walks to find Jeff, telling him the new plans for the next day.
…
“I need you to do my makeup”
It’s the 31st of October, just a couple of hours before Harryween, and Harry still isn’t dressed in his Dorothy costume.
His makeup artist had texted him that she wouldn’t be available to work on Halloween (she has young children and couldn’t miss a chance to spend the holiday with them!), but Harry was so busy he hadn’t paid too much mind to it. He knew if it got to the point where no one else was available, he could do it himself. It’s just makeup, it’s not supposed to be hard.
Well, turns out, it is hard.
So, YN was really his last hope.
That’s why he knocked loudly on her hotel door, impatiently waiting for her to open it.
He heard her groan and then the sound of feet walking quickly towards him.
“What!” She says before even checking who it was.
“I need you to do my makeup”.
That’s how they ended up in her room, both sitting cross legged on her floor with a bunch of makeup bags opened next to them.
She would really like to be fussy and pouty about it, because not only he has her working on Halloween (she didn’t specifically ask for the day off, but she figured it wasn’t necessary for her to be at the entire show and he could’ve maybe let her off a little earlier, but, no — he had demanded she stayed through the entirety of the show) plus now she’s going to be late and she probably won’t have time to do her own makeup like she wanted specially for her costume!!
but… how can she possibly complain when he’s sitting in front of her like an obedient puppy, looking at her with curious green eyes every time she takes a product out of her bag?
This little crush she has on him is starting to get out of control! Instead of being annoyed at him she’s referring to him as a cute puppy! what is wrong with her!
“Wha’s that for?” He asks, pointing to the little tube of moisturizer she takes out.
“Moisturizer. This one’s lighter than the one you use because I have oily skin, but I reckon it could work as well” she pops the cap open and squirts a small amount on the tip of her fingers.
She warms it between her hands before looking at him questioning, silently asking for his permission to touch his face.
He nods immediately once he understands, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Hold your hair for me please”
He brings a hand to his forehead and tucks away the curls that fell onto it.
YN feels her heart beat hard against her chest as she gets closer to smear the cream onto his face, massaging his cheekbones and his sinuses to ease the product into his skin.
Harry sighs once she starts massaging his temples, and he makes sure to thank God in his head for his makeup artist and her children, because YN is really gentle.
She has really soft fingers and her touch is delicate, and he thinks she touches him like something fragile that is worth preserving. And he likes the feeling a little too much.
“All done!” She beams, removing her hands from his face (she even dragged the cream onto his neck!).
“Now I think we should do eyebrows” she takes out a small black spoolie and she starts brushing through his brows, “I don’t think yours need much filling.” She ponders, “maybe just in a couple spots we can make ‘em more thick if you’d like”.
He nods, “I’d like that”.
“Okay!” She grabs her pencil and draws a couple of stray hair.
“Now… I think mascara. And then we’ll do the blush. Close your eyes” she instructs, unscrewing the tube of mascara and removing the excess on the tip. She brings a hand to his eye and presses her thumb to his eyelid, that way she can see his eyelashes better.
She starts coating them with the mascara, first one eye and then the other repeating the same process as well, “your lashes are so long” she whispers, almost to herself, but she hears him chuckle through his nose nonetheless.
“All done!”
He opens his eyes and they flutter a couple of times, the new added weight of the mascara kind of uncomfortable at first.
Once he gets accustomed to it, he looks at her with his piercing bright green eyes.
YN looks between them as she closes the tube mascara; they’re the deepest shade of green today, and the black coating his lashes is only making them stand out more.
“Now?” He asks, and she tries to hide her blush as she tilts her head down to rummage through her bag.
“Blush! I’m thinking lots of blush!”
She takes out a bright cherry blush and “that’s way too red” he protests, furrowing his brows.
She shushes him immediately, “just trust me on this ‘s gonna look so cute!!!”
This time he doesn’t close his eyes, but he chooses to look at her.
The concentrated expression on her face is really cute, her brows are furrowed as she applies the blush with her fingers (she explained she prefers fingers because brushes can irritate the skin and cause break outs and she doesn’t want that).
He feels her apply some on his nose too, and he involuntarily scrunches it. She giggles at it and then keeps blending the blush on his skin.
From this angles YN can see he has freckles on his nose, and she doesn’t know why but it makes her feel warm. He seems more real like this, his nose sensitive and with a constellation of freckles on it. She wonders if they get darker in the sun, and she figures she’ll probably know once the summer arrives.
“Looks proper cute!!!” She sighs dreamily, looking at his face to admire the finished look. “I just know your fans will go crazy” she smiles softly.
He grins at her and gets up on his feet, heading for the bathroom to look at himself.
“Fuck I look good!” She hears him say from the bathroom, “the blush is my favorite part”.
She smiles to herself as she starts tidying her makeup back into the bags, even if it’s pointless really because she has to do her own now.
She gets up from the floor and checks for the time on her phone that’s charging on the bedside table, just as Harry gets out of the bathroom. She still has a hour and a half to get ready, and she thinks she could make it work.
“Thank you again, pet” he smiles down at her and she suddenly feels too hot and breathless.
“It’s okay, no problem at all!”
…
It’s past midnight once YN finally returns to the hotel.
A guy from the crew named Peter (he’s a light technician) invited YN to go out with him and his friends, but she’s so tired she declined politely, promising to make up for it another time.
She doesn’t really know what Harry is doing, and she wonders if Peter invited him as well and if perhaps he declined, but she doesn’t have to wonder much because not even half an hour later she hears a knock on her door.
She’s already wearing her Halloween themed Snoopy pajamas, and if it was any other situation she’d probably feel embarrassed, but she’s so tired she just can’t wait to get to bed.
When she opens the door she sees it’s Harry, and she notices — happily — that he’s wearing his pajamas as well (His consist of a pair of plaid pants and a grey hoodie, but still a pajamas nonetheless), and his face is free of the makeup she’d put on him that same afternoon.
He holds in his hands two full grocery bags, and she looks pointedly at him.
“Can I come in? My arms are starting to get sore”
She nods and moves to the side to let him in, closing the door behind them after.
“So.” He starts, placing the bags on her bed, “I was about to go to bed when I realized it’s still Halloween”
She furrows her brows at him, “I thought that was like the whole point of Harryween?”
He chuckles at her, “of course, I know. That’s what I’m saying exactly.”
“I don’t follow?”
“I had you work on Halloween! You told me before how much you love Halloween and I didn’t think to give you the day off”
“Oh, Harry. It’s okay, really! Don’t worry about that, it’s stupid!” She says, but not without blushing a little.
She knows it’s just decent courtesy to remember conversations one shared with another, but she says a lot of stuff and she didn’t really think he would remember! Plus, he doesn’t really like Halloween, so she thought he’d actually regard her interest in celebrating it as annoying.
“It’s not stupid” he shakes his head, “I thought to remedy as best I could. But I have to confess, Jeff did the grocery shopping so I can’t take credit for it.”
She giggles and walks closer to the bed, peeking her head to look inside the bags, “it’s okay. You were busy”.
He laughs and nods, spilling the bags onto the bed. An undefined amount of sweets fall on the bed, and YN gasps at how many choices of candies and chocolates Jeff picked out.
“Fuck! i think he got every possible candy available” he snorts.
She agrees with a laugh, “what are we supposed to do with all this food?”
“I know it’s not the best but I thought we could watch a movie and eat it? But if you want to go to sleep that’s fine I mean I-“
He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels embarrassed.
What was he thinking? Walking into her room like a maniac with two bags full of candy and expecting her to be down to watch a movie with him. She works for him. This is entirely not appropriate and he’s aware of that, but… when he saw her on the side of the stage, singing mindlessly along to Golden, dressed as Princess Belle he realized how cruel he had been to take Halloween away from her.
Not only had he deemed it as “not fun” right in front of her enthusiasm, he also specifically requested for her to work, and even if she had not expressed formal complaints, she probably should have.
Because he had been a dick.
So, in his quick pee break, instead of freeing his bladder, he texted Jeff if he could do him a big favor and grab every single candy he could get his hands of, recommending specifically to get as many choices to pick from as he could (he didn’t know what YN liked and he couldn’t risk it).
YN quickly interrupts his train of thoughts, “okay!!! But I get to choose the movie though”
“Okay, -- he nods amused -- Deal. But — he says, picking up the remote from the coffee table to hand it to her — Nothing too spooky”
YN gets comfortable on the bed next to Harry, the candies resting at their feet. He has a package of Sour Patch Kids resting on his tummy, and every time YN wants one she has to move her arm, and it brushes against his chest.
She feels… weird. It’s weird to her that he would do something like that, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. If it was any other case, if a guy did something like this for her, she’d immediately thought of it as a date, or a way to show interest in her but with Harry… it’s different.
She doesn’t think he likes her like that.
Maybe he sees her as a friend? She doesn’t think she’s particularly fun, but he always chooses to hang out with her, even after a tiring day…
She gets shaken out of her thoughts once she hears him gasp from next to her.
“Oh God, what happened?” She looks at him pointedly.
“I told you no scary movies!” He whines childishly, closing his lips in a pout.
“Harry! ‘S Caroline! It’s not scary!” She can’t help but giggle at him.
“It’s scary to me” he huffs, taking a candy from the package and popping it into his mouth. He takes another one and shows it to her, which she gladly takes from his fingers.
“I promise if you get past the scary part it’s really good”
“Fine” he nods, “I’ll watch it. But please tell me once it gets scary again”
She smiles fondly at him and nods back, “yes, don’t worry about it.”
...
“You know, you were right… once you see past the scary scenes it’s actually a pretty good-“
It’s after the movie has finished that Harry realizes YN has fallen asleep next to him.
He rolls his lips into his mouth to bite back a smile, grabbing the remote to shut off the tv.
She must be so tired.
He has her working non stop while she should be out and having fun at her age. She isn’t that much younger than him, but he knows how much can change from your early to your late twenties.
He also knows he should get up from the bed and go sleep in his own one, but… he’s really comfortable right now and she’s really warm next to him, and she smells like candies and vanilla, the perfect scent to lull him to sleep.
He’s also very tired, and before he knows it, his eyes are closing shut and his mind is already wondering to faraway countries, with cotton candy skies and chocolatey grass.
The air smells like vanilla, and he doesn’t know if he’s dreaming or if it’s her next to him, he just knows he was definitely wrong; Halloween isn’t as bad as he thought.
it's hereeee and it's halloween themed ;))) (!!!!!) let me know what you think and if you want part 2!!!! taglist: @gem1712 @jerseygirlinca @lexiecamposv @ameerakane20 @lovrave @mema10 @sunshinemoonsposts
#assistant!yn#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles one shot#harry styles#harry styles angst#harry styles x reader#harrystyles#harry styles imagine#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#one direction#harry styles one direction#harry styles x you#harry styles x oc#harry styles love on tour#love on tour#harry styles tour#assistant!reader
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Mutual | Lucien Flores x f!Reader
summary: you and lucien have both been invited to this dinner with explicit instructions: play nice. but it's kind of hard when you can't stand each other. even harder when the meaning begins to blur with his hands on you.
pairing: lucien flores x f!reader
ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. smoking, drinking. idk, hate fucking essentially. misuse of a champagne bottle, edging?, sexual tension, f!masturbation, unprotected p in v (you know what to do, and it's not this), oral (f!receiving). reader wears a dress and is implied to be shorter than lucien, but is otherwise undescribed.
wc: 4.8k
an: i succumbed.
The only thing you and Lucien Flores have in common is the need for a cigarette after dinner.
Nothing else.
You stand on opposite sides of the patio outside the open glass doors which lead back into Anna and Alex’s house, and you know that Anna, at the very least, will be watching you. Making sure you play nice.
Something you’d vowed to do when she’d called to invite you to this dinner party. Lucien will be there, she’d said, it’d be great for me, for us, if you two just tried to get along.
So far, you’ve succeeded. You’d listened politely to his stories at the table, hadn't even rolled your eyes when he laughed and joked and flirted with your fellow guests. You’d drunk your wine and stayed quiet through it all, offering your own contributions to the equal delight of the friends who'd gathered. You’d been surprised when Lucien had smiled along with them, even going so far as to chuckle at your story about the dog next door.
And now, outside, the rule still stands. You eye each other as you smoke, finding yourself amazed again by the way he doesn’t speak. Not a snide thing to say, no quip to make, just him watching you. Eyes flitting from your legs, to your hips, to your chest, to your face. And you’d tell him to quit it if you weren’t doing the same thing. If you weren’t enjoying the way his silk shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, the way his curls flop over his forehead, the way his chains catch the light, the way his stupid, pretty eyes glitter across from you. You hate yourself for it, want to crack some nasty sentiment across the stone, but you don’t.
You’re on your best behaviour, after all.
Something which Lucien has clearly forgotten as he pushes himself off from the wall he’s leaned against, stepping closer, closer to you by the bush with the red flowers. You brace yourself for whatever it is he’s about to say, for whatever smoke he’s about to blow in your face, gearing up for the taunt you’ll throw back.
He stops before you, barely an arms length away. You tense, waiting.
He holds out the bottle of champagne he’d swiped from the table on his way out. You blink at him.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m playing nice.’
You stare at him, sceptical. This is not Lucien. This is not something you’re used to.
But maybe he’s trying, too.
You take the bottle from him, and he lets it go easily. You watch him as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up until the bright fizz of the bubbles meets your tongue. He watches your mouth, pink slip of his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip as he drops the butt of his finished cigarette to the floor, not looking where it lands. You swallow, take another gulp for good measure, and hand it back to him. His fingers graze yours as you do.
You freeze at the jolt of electricity his touch brings, hand remaining outstretched as he brings the bottle back to his side. You watch, aloof, as he plucks your cigarette from your fingers and flicks it into the darkness before slotting your hands together, mind swirling as he pulls you closer.
‘Come on. Want to show you something.’
Maybe it’s the wine, but you can’t find the words to protest as he tugs you away to a deeper part of the garden.
Lucien turns you to face him at the furthest wall he can find, and you finally find your words as your back hits the concrete.
‘What did you want to show me?’
You glance around behind him at the flowers that burst from the ground, bright even in the darkening half light. The water feature Alex had installed last year trickles musically somewhere to your left, though you can't see it.
His answering grin is dirty, something fluttering in your tummy as you grind your teeth, nostrils flaring. You do not have the patience for this man, or the butterflies churning in your stomach.
‘Lucien.’
His hands find your waist and the curve of your ass in a flurry of movement, his grip strong, the bottle cold through the material of your dress. The air leaves your lungs. He hums as he draws himself close to your lips.
‘How beautiful you look tonight.’
You snort at him, disbelieving. He can’t be fucking serious.
‘Lucien, what the fuck -’
He cuts you off quickly, dipping to fit his mouth to yours in a searing kiss, hand moving from your ass to your jaw as he licks into your mouth. Your blood roars in your ears as your own hands scrabble to find purchase on his chest, slipping against the silk. You mean to push him away, but somehow you pull him closer, your body doing the opposite of what it’s told as you open your mouth further to him, groaning softly. He tastes like champagne and cigarettes, and you grip his neck to bring him further in, your other hand smoothing over his bunched shoulder, his strong bicep, down to his waist, fisting his shirt. He chuckles against your lips, and sharp anger surges in your gut. Shit. This is Lucien.
You use the hand at his middle to push him roughly away from you.
‘Get the fuck off me.’
He smirks, one hand still on your hip as he takes a swig from the bottle of champagne. You watch him, breathing heavily, stare as his lips close around the mouth of the bottle, and you're betrayed by what you’ve only pictured in your most secret moments. Your eyelids flutter, fingers twitch for him, cunt clenches around something that isn't there. He comes towards you again, and this time you close the gap, leaning forward to crash your mouth against his. You lick at the seam of his lips but he keeps them obstinately shut, and with irritation flashing through you, you drag your nails hard down his forearm in retaliation. He grips the nape of your neck, pulling your head back, and taking advantage of your open lips, spills the champagne off his tongue and onto yours. It's warm, still sparkling. Tastes like him. You swallow it down greedily, reminding yourself that you should be disgusted, certainly shouldn’t be pulling him in to kiss him again, shouldn’t moan so loud when he grinds his hips against yours as he rumbles how you drive him fucking insane against your neck. Shouldn’t be so wet, pinned up against this wall by a man you have long held such disdain for, shouldn’t grind back against him, shouldn’t be panting into his mouth like some kind of dog, shouldn't be forgetting where you are, who you’re with -
This time, you’re more forceful. Lucien stumbles back with hooded eyes and shining, swollen lips, his own breathing coming fast and deep. You stare back at him, still stunned, and without meaning to, your eyes drop down to his crotch, finding the fabric there tight with his arousal. He’s big, must be with the way his zipper is straining. Your mouth runs dry, your stomach swoops. Fuck.
You watch with as much disgust as you can manage as he palms himself roughly to relieve some of the ache, your own hands itching to do the same.
‘So pretty, baby,’ he teases, stepping forwards, head falling towards yours again. Why won’t he stay away? ‘So pretty, wanting me like this -’
‘Stop,’ you hiss. It’s unconvincing even to your ears, and he smirks like he knows. He knows. ‘I don’t - I don’t want you like this -’
He presses his forehead to yours, not touching you this time, instead letting his nose trace your cheekbone, your jaw, down to your neck.
‘You don’t want me like this?’ He purrs. You manage to shake your head. You can feel his smile as he laves a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, and you whimper, hot all over, so wet, so needy for him. He chuckles again. ‘No,’ he confirms. ‘Then maybe… like this.’
He sinks to his knees in front of you, curls mussed, lips parted, eyes blown. He stares up at you, reverent, taunting, as he skates his broad palms over the tops of your thighs, stroking the skin, murmuring how soft you are. Oh, and you are so fucking angry. So fucking angry as he grips and soothes your flesh, as he squeezes and kneads your ass, as you hold onto his strong shoulders and breathe his name. Even more pissed when he doesn’t have some kind of asshole comment to make, furious as he leans into you and presses kisses to where his hands have been, mouthing at your skin, leaving it wet with his spit, with champagne, so fucking mad as he sips from the bottle again and spills the liquid from his mouth onto your thighs, as he kneels back to watch it trickle over your knees, down your shins, to your feet, to drip onto the floor. You are on fire.
‘See? Beautiful.’ He murmurs. And oh, what you’d do. What you’d do to him. You’d pull at his hair and scratch at his chest and bite into his neck and you’d make him suffer, make him ache, make him feel the same heat you’re feeling. You just can’t seem to move.
Can’t seem to move as he brings his mouth closer to your cunt, splitting the folds of your wrap dress further, pushing his hands up to your hips, holding you still as he takes in your lace panties, the only thing covering you from him. He looks up to you again, burning with desire. Your cunt pulses painfully, and you hiss his name.
He smiles, cruelly.
‘Relax, sweetheart,’ he murmurs, ‘We’re playing nice, remember?’
Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his face to your clothed cunt and breathes in deeply. He moans loudly, and you whimper in response, hands flying to his hair at the feeling of his hot breath on you, tugging as he mouths at your pussy through the material. You feel his tongue, warm and strong, drag over the lace covering your clit and you groan, going slack against the wall. He nudges the swollen nub with his nose, his free hand coming between your legs to touch you.
‘So wet,’ he breathes, ‘That what I’m doing to you?’
You shake your head no even though he can’t see you, still playing with your pussy through your underwear. A plea bubbles up your throat, and you swallow it down. You will not beg Lucien Flores to touch you. You don’t even know how you got here in the first place.
But that’s forgotten as he moves again, kissing your clit through the fabric as he brings his other hand, still holding the bottle, between your legs. You hiss as he presses the lip of it to your hole, all protests forgotten as he grinds it against you, the pressure easing a small amount of the ache you feel.
You forget that it’s wrong as he uses it to push your panties to the side. Forget as he runs the cold glass through your wetness, almost do beg him to touch you, to lick you, to do something before he settles it against your slit, right where you think you might need it most.
‘Still don’t want me?’ he breathes against your skin.
A shallow breath escapes you.
‘Fuck you.’ You whisper, no conviction behind your words. He rests his forehead against your hip, and begins to press, begins to relieve some of that ache, that want -
‘Luce?’ Anna calls out from the direction of the house. You freeze, fist tightening around his curls, but Lucien is unphased, working the mouth of the bottle past the tight opening of your pussy. You gasp brokenly at the cool feel of it, fingers constricting even further. Lucien moans beneath you, moving to nose at the crease between your thigh and your cunt, pushing the neck of the bottle further in. You moan loudly, knees giving a little, and he clutches your hip tighter to keep you from falling.
‘Luce?’ Anna calls again, a little closer this time. You groan his name in response, torn between wanting more and wanting this to end before disaster.
The next Lucien? comes even closer, and you use your grip on his hair to pull his face away from you, tipping his head back so that he meets your eye.
‘Stop.’ You bite out. He grins and gives one more pump of the neck of the bottle. You whimper, head falling back to the concrete behind you as he removes it completely, rising to his feet with a groan. You watch, bleary eyed, leaking, chest heaving, as he dusts off his pants and adjusts himself, his eyes never leaving yours. He steps back and away, eyes raking over your body as he raises the bottle to his mouth, licking around the neck before taking a deep drink and disappearing back up the path.
He’s sick. You hate him.
You return to the house on shaky legs through the backdoor, hoping to make it to the bathroom, only to be intercepted by Alex. He’s scraping leftover food into the bin, and smiles as you enter before double taking at your appearance. You must look wrecked.
‘Are you alright?’ He asks, brow creasing with concern.
You hum, clearing your throat before answering.
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
Alex raises an eyebrow at you.
‘Did he say something to you?’ he asks.
‘Did he - what?’
‘Lucien. Did he upset you?’
You blink at him. Right. Play nice.
‘I - no. He didn’t. He was actually quite pleasant.’
Alex stares at you.
‘Pleasant?’
‘Yeah.’
You hold his gaze for a little longer, feel a guilty little heat crawl its way through your belly.
You’re warm, so unbearably warm.
‘Is it alright if I go and lay down upstairs for a bit?’ You ask. ‘I feel kind of funny.’
Alex frowns, placing the plate he was holding on the counter.
‘Sure,’ he says, ‘Do you need anything?’
You smile weakly, shaking your head.
‘No,’ you reassure him, ‘That’s okay, thank you. I just need a moment.’
The guest room on the top floor is cool, and the curtains are open. Warm, orange light floods in from the street outside, and you settle yourself on the middle of the bed, ready to get this over with. There’s no way you can go back downstairs with this need, this coil wound so tight in your belly. You swoop your palms over your body, nipples tightening beneath your dress, feeling the swirl, the drip of yourself between your legs. You grind the heel of your palm against your mound and moan softly, rucking your dress up to your hips so you can slip your fingers beneath the lace.
Fuck, you are so wet. So goddamn turned on by that stupid man that you may as well throw your underwear away. You sweep a finger over your clit, hips twitching at the contact, eyes falling shut as you dip the digit to your entrance to collect your arousal, working the nub in tight circles.
Your legs fall slack as you build yourself up, moans falling from your mouth in quick succession as you imagine what it would have been like to have him take you there, against the wall. What it would have been like to be fucked with the bottle, to have his tongue really on you, mimicking your movements now, to fall apart against his mouth, see him pull away with your slick covering his face. You rock your hips against your hand, quickening your movements, fingers dipping in and out of your slit between working your clit as the coil tightens and tightens, as the hot, heavy feeling grows and grows, as sweat beads at your temples and the valley between your breasts, as you try not to moan his name -
Like you’ve summoned him, Lucien clears his throat in the doorway.
You snap your legs shut, heart hammering in your chest, heat blooming through your cheeks.
‘You fucking - asshole -’ you seethe, and he laughs, eyes roving over your sweaty body. ‘Get out.’
‘Wanted to check you were alright.’
You gape at him.
‘Fucking bullshit, Lucien,’ you grit, snatching your hand out of your soaked cunt. You bundle it in the silk of your dress as you try to cover yourself, but his eyes follow, tracing the glint of your slick in the dim light.
‘Seems like you’re okay, though,’ he continues, slouching against the doorframe. ‘Just look like you could do with some help.’
You choke on a laugh, frozen, glaring at him from the bed. He bites his lip.
‘You’re fucking insane.’
‘Insane enough to fuck you.’
You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the flash of arousal that shoots through you, clenching your jaw.
‘You are not going to fuck me.’
Lucien steps away from the doorframe, moving into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him. Without looking, he reaches out with one hand and twists the lock with a click.
He comes towards you slowly, eyes hungry. Your heart is in your mouth as you watch him, adrenaline kicking in so hard even you’re not sure what you want. Aren’t sure whether you can admit what you want.
He reaches the end of the bed before dropping a knee onto the mattress, reaching out to grab an ankle, pulling your leg flat. You burn at the feel of him holding you, preventing you from moving, from hiding.
‘Then stop me.’
You don’t. You can’t as he crawls his way up your body, as he touches every inch of skin he can so gently, so delicately. Fresh slick pools out of you at the feeling, at the sight -
His stupid puppy dog eyes and floppy curls and broad shoulders beneath his silk shirt, silk shirt that looks like sin as it drapes over him, moves with him like water, and his chains, his chains, how they’d look swinging over you as he buries himself inside you, raw and hungry and -
You can’t stop the moan that slips from your lips as his hand cups your cunt, as his mouth finds your neck. Body quickly liquid, molten beneath his touch, legs falling open.
‘Please -’ it slips from your mouth before you can stop it, but it feels good, finally, to have him give you what you need.
‘Good girl,’ he says, ‘Playing so nice.’
He slips his hand beneath the lace of your panties, trailing two fingers through your arousal, mirroring your moan as he does. He circles your clit, dragging you back to where you were, drinking down your noises with his mouth close enough to swallow your breath, but not close enough to kiss. You stare up at him, eyes wide, mouth open, a line forming between your brows. You gasp, so pretty, and he hums, slowing his movements to an agonising pace before slipping them from your heat entirely. You whine at the loss, huffing against the mattress, pouting at him pathetically as he smiles down at you.
‘Let’s get these off.’
He kneels back to pull your underwear away from you, and you wriggle at the cool air that comes into contact with your cunt. You watch, breathless, as he bundles them up and slips them into his back pocket, irritated, but not irritated enough to demand them back. They were expensive.
He drinks in the sight of your bare pussy with ravenous eyes, resting his cheek against the flesh of your thigh. The scruff of his beard tickles and scratches, the feel of it so Lucien, but you can't find it within yourself to care. He brings a single finger up to trace through your folds, and you whine desperately, embarrassingly at the sensation.
‘Pretty enough to make a grown man cry, baby,’ he hums, nuzzling your thigh as he blinks up at you with burning eyes. ‘You ever made a man cry before?’
‘Yeah,’ you breathe, ‘Wanna see if I can make you cry, too?’
He grins, a dirty little thing, before closing his teeth over the soft skin at your hip. You moan again, and he leans in closer, licking a long, hot, wet stripe from your hole to your clit. You shudder, a broken sound escaping your mouth. God, what is wrong with you?
‘So sweet,’ he murmurs, ‘You always this wet when someone teases you?’
You arch your back against him, head turning in the sheets.
‘No,’ you groan, ‘Get this wet when I’m about to make myself come.’
He huffs a laugh against you before driving his tongue against your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. He is hot and wet against you, so strong and soft like velvet as he tastes you, holds your thighs apart with his strong hands, fingers pressing in so hard you’re sure they’ll bruise. You writhe beneath him, hands flying to his hair, grinding up into his face. He licks and licks, devouring you, moving his head from side to side, gripping your hips to keep you moving against him as he quickly builds you again back to your high, sliding two fingers inside easily, curling them up into the spot deep inside you.
You can’t tear your eyes away from him, the strong curves of his body, the sweat on his forehead, the way his eyelids flutter at your noises, those deep brown eyes watching you with something carnal, something possessive in them.
You whine and moan above him, keening as he reaches his other hand up to swipe a thumb over your nipple, pinching it as you plead for more, as you tighten around his fingers, as you flood his mouth, as the toil tightens again, as you teeter on the edge -
Lucien pulls his mouth from you with a wet sound, withdrawing his fingers at the same time.
You cry out.
‘No,’ you whimper, ‘No, Lucien, please -’
‘Atta girl,’ he says, ‘I knew you could ask nicely. Knew you’d beg.’
Your back flies off the mattress as you reach to claw at him, ready to rip him to shreds, but he’s too quick, kneeling back again to undo his belt, unzip his fly, pull himself out, and oh -
Oh. Fuck. He’s big. The heavy weight of him held in his fist as he pumps himself slowly over you turns your clawing into gentler hands, and he moves so you can wrap yourself around his cock. He feels like silk, so close to his shirt, rock-hard and twitching as you move your hand languidly up and down his length, squeezing, swiping your thumb over his tip as it drips precum. It's hard not to admire him like this, hard to remember why you hate him so much. The ache between your legs borders on unbearable.
He groans loudly, rocking his hips before wrapping his hand around yours, untangling your fingers to hold himself again, guiding his cock towards your entrance. He runs his length back and forth between your folds, covering himself in your slick, feeling your clit twitch beneath him until you beg again - ‘Please, Lucien, please - fuck me -’ before he’s sliding home in one long stroke.
The air is knocked from you at the feeling, at how full you are. He hinges to cage you with his arms, and you clutch at his shirt as he begins to move, slow, so slow. He licks his lips as he watches your face, your mouth in a little ‘o’, neck straining against the pillow, and you move a hand to the back of his neck, wanting to kiss him, wanting to taste him, taste him taste of you. You want to take his plush bottom lip between your teeth and hold it there, hold it there until you taste blood. Bu he picks up the pace, thrusting harder and faster, and you lose your grip, back arching as the delicious burn returns yet again.
‘Fuck -’ you gasp, ‘Holy fuck, Lucien, oh my god -’
‘I know, baby,’ he whispers, fucked out and broken as you already. ‘I know.’
He groans from somewhere deep in his throat, head thrown back to expose his neck, and you want to kiss him again, swallow him down, consume him whole.
You close your teeth over the chain that’s swinging in your face so he can't pull away, and he moans, forehead knocking against yours. You bite down harder, wanting it to break, wanting to shatter it, shatter him. As if he can feel it, he grinds deeper, harder inside of you. You feel yourself clench, feel it begin to spiral. You spit the jewellery out to whimper, scratch down the length of his back over his shirt. He feels so good. Feels so fucking good, and it’s infuriating.
‘I hate you,’ you whine breathlessly. He moans into your neck, breath hot and damp against your skin.
‘Yeah,’ he gasps, ‘Feeling’s mutual, baby.’
He marks the sentiment with a particularly dirty kiss to your throat, and with that, you see stars. You clench and break and stutter around him, splintering and bursting around his cock, crying out so loudly that he secures his large palm over your mouth.
‘Yeah, good girl,’ he pants, ‘Good fucking girl.’
You moan again, and he can feel your body twitch with the aftershocks, contracting and leaking around him. He takes both your legs in his hands and places them on his shoulders, folding you into yourself, fucking into you deeper, harder than before, hitting another angle even more intense than the last. You cry desperately into the pillow, wincing as you tighten again, impossibly fast, too intense, too far away to warn him. But he knows. He can feel it. Tries to hold himself back a little longer to fuck you through it, reaching down to thumb your clit, swiping through the mess you’ve made, he’s made, entranced by the sounds you’re making, the slick sound of him moving in and out of your cunt, the lightheaded feeling he’s got, the desperation, the urge, the need -
He breathes in the scent of your skin as his thrusts get sloppier, inhaling deeply through his nose. He wishes he could kiss you again. Wants to feel the press of your mouth against his, the breaths you take, your tongue against his.
But if he does, it’ll be over. The game will be up, because he won’t be able to hold back the real want he feels, where all this anger stems from. He’s so nasty, so mean because he wants you so bad. So bad, from the moment you met. From the moment you looked him up and down and listened to his arrogant introduction with a little sneer. He wants that attitude - wants to fuck it right out of you.
Your ankle smells sweet against his cheek, and he turns his head to kiss and bite the bone there, feeling you tense and pulse around him at the scrape of his teeth. You twist in the sheets, breathing ragged, eyes scrunched shut, fists clenching the cotton as you moan his name, as you try and bite back the gasps and cries of your second orgasm.
‘Again,’ he grits out, ‘Again.’
‘Lucien -' you cry, reaching for him, ‘Lucien, fuck -'
He comes at the first flutter as you clamp down around him. Buries himself right down to the hilt as he spills inside you, coming with a pained moan and a murmur of your name, eyes fluttering shut as he rocks in and out of your pulsing cunt, fucking his spend deep. He lets your legs fall from his shoulders as he catches his breath, steadying himself with a palm on the mattress as he watches you come down, staring at the rise and fall of your chest beneath your dress, nipples still straining against the fabric. He wants to take them in his mouth, wants to work you up to take you again, but he slips out instead, brushes his hair back from his forehead, watches his cum begin to dribble out of your puffy cunt. You catch him and reach down to run your fingers through the mess of you both, and Lucien looses a strangled groan as you feed it to yourself, tongue working over your digits. You remove them with a pop, sliding your legs closed and settling yourself on your elbows.
He kneels back on the bed, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to focus on something that’s not you for just a moment as you rearrange your dress and swing your legs off the bed. He feels like he should say something, something to cut across what you've just done. Something appropriately callous, but he can't bring himself to. Can't find it within him.
He hasn’t even finished buttoning his pants before you swan out of the room, dress as perfect as it was before, clinging to your curves, moving with your steps. You don’t look back at him as you leave, don’t utter a word.
That familiar flare of anger rises in his chest again. A muscle ticks in his cheek, and he sits down heavily on the bed, clasping his hands together over his knees. He takes a deep breath, exhales through his nose. He soothes himself with the thought of your cunt leaking his cum all over your seat downstairs, thinks about how it’ll ruin your pretty little dress. Tries not to think about how he won’t be tearing you out of it later, won’t be able to taste himself mixing with you like he wants to.
Tries not to think about the perfume you had applied to your ankles.
Tries not to think about how maybe, just maybe, you’ve thought about this, too.
#lucien flores#lucien flores x reader#lucien flores x you#lucien flores fanfiction#the uninvited#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#lucien flores smut
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sent to save me | sidney crosby (ch. 4)
series masterlist
summary: trina crosby gives her son some advice. sid and annie have a conversation about… well everything
warnings: general angst, swearing, allusions to smut but nothing graphic
author’s note: I hope y’all like this chapter. I was unsure about it for a while but I’m happy with what I ended up with. enjoy!
xoxo
nina
Geno and Anna return the next day, wide grins plastered on their faces as Nikita fawns over baby Eva. Geno pulls Sid into a long hug before letting Anna fuss over him with thanks for taking such good care of Nikita.
When Sid returns to a silent house he lets out a sigh, sinking into one of the barstools before pulling his phone out and pressing the call button.
“Sweetie! I’m so glad to hear from you,” Trina Crosby’s comforting voice almost pushes Sid to tears as he listens to her across the line. He wishes there weren’t 1200 miles between them so that his mom could hug him like he was a little kid again. “Sidney? What’s wrong?”
He takes a steadying breath before speaking, “I, uh, ran into Annie the other day.”
“Oh sweetheart,” Trina sighs out across the line. “I’m so sorry. Was… Is everything okay?”
“Yeah I…,” Sid hesitates for only a moment before hanging his head and groaning. “She has a seven year old daughter. Vivie… Vivienne Taylor.”
The line is silent for a moment before Trina’s soothing voice is back, “Sidney… Are you okay?”
The question finally prompts a sob from Sidney as he leans over his counter, shoulders shaking from the force of his cries. He can hear his mom shushing and comforting him over the line but he barely registers it as he slumps forward.
“Baby it’s okay,” Trina soothes as Sid’s cries lessen. “It’s okay, you’re alright.”
When he’s mostly stopped crying Trina takes the moment to speak in a low and soothing tone to her son, “I know you’re feeling every emotion under the sun but let me tell you a story. When I was pregnant with you I was worried every single day that something bad would happen to you. Your father didn’t help, in fact his worrying and fussing over me made me more anxious. I kind of retreated into myself, in my mind that was how I could protect you. And when I held you in my arms for the first time I swore nothing would ever hurt you. Of course then your father and I had the smart idea to put a pair of knife shoes on your feet and drop you onto a frozen lake to whack at a ball with a wooden stick.
“My point here is that I’m sure Annie didn’t… Didn’t mean to keep your daughter from you,” Trina sighs across the line and Sid can almost see her running a hand across her forehead. “I know Annie and I know how a mother’s mind works and it might not have been the best decision in retrospect but I truly don’t think she was trying to hurt you. Have you seen her?”
Sid chuckles and wipes at his cheeks, “Yeah she’s gorgeous. Reminds me a lot of Taylor when she was little. You’re gonna love her.”
“She’s my first grandbaby of course I’m going to love her,” Trina laughs across the line. “I have faith in both you and Annie to work this out. I know you really love her.”
“Mom-”
Trina scoffs, “Don’t try to lie to me Sidney Patrick. I know how you feel about that woman. And if this reignites things between you two I think it’ll be good for you both.”
“Thanks for the pep talk mom,” Sidney grins as Trina chuckles. “I love you.”
“I love you too. And send me some photos of my grandbaby!”
+
Later that day Sidney drives over to Annie’s house to talk. He knocks on the door, noting the bright garden out front and the hand painted flowers on the porch rails. When Annie opens the door in a simple cotton dress and bare feet his breath catches and he can’t help the stutter of his heartbeat as they meet eyes.
“Hi,” Annie breathes out, opening the door wider. “Come on in, Vivie is sleeping over at her friends house tonight so there’s no one home.”
Sidney walks into the house, staring at the photos of Annie and Vivie on the walls. There’s pictures of a newborn Vivie, school portraits, beach vacations, and selfies of the two of them. Sid stops short when he lands on a picture of Annie with a round belly, grinning brightly up at the camera. He can tell from the background that she’s at their favorite cabin in Vermont where they’d spent hundreds of winter weekends with each other.
“Can I get you anything?
Sid whips around to look at Annie who’s nervously fidgeting next to the kitchen island. Her home is warm and inviting, exactly what he would’ve pictured for her.
“I’m okay,” Sid says as he walks over and settles into one of the barstools at the island. “I… Do you want to go first?”
Annie heaves a deep sigh before fixing her gaze on her hands, “I… We were still fighting when I found out I was pregnant and… God Sid everything was a mess. You were gone so much and I was home alone and I didn’t want to bring a baby into that. And then when we had that final fight… I don’t know. I know it was wrong but I didn’t want our baby to be born into that, into a world where we were fighting constantly and you were on the road all the time. It was shitty of me, so fucking shitty, and I’m so sorry but… It felt like the right thing.”
“Annie…,” Sid’s voice is low and he can tell that whatever he says next is not going to sound good. “I… You can’t just… Fuck! You knew you were pregnant when you ended things? Are you fucking serious?”
“I-”
“And even after that! You had to have known I was benched, that my career was over,” Sid stands and runs his hands through his hair angrily, turning away from Annie. “Even after that you didn’t think to tell me? When I was stuck at home and couldn’t fucking leave? When I was doing exactly what you wanted me to? I mean, fuck Annie, did you ever think of me?”
“Sid please,” Annie begs, eyes welling with tears as she desperately looks to Sid. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear. I just wanted to protect Vivie. I… The press were already saying that our breakup was the reason you got injured and I didn’t want Viv to be clumped in with that.”
“Bullshit!,” Sid roars and he knows he’s too loud, too angry to be having this conversation. “You could’ve told me An! You could’ve called and told me anytime between then and now. You were just fucking scared. Of what I don’t know but… But I’ll never understand why you did what you did. How you hurt me, hurt Vivie, with all of this bullshit.”
“I was scared of getting hurt too,” Annie exclaims, hands flying up as she holds back tears. “I was scared that my heart would get broken because you’d wake up one day and realize that… That Vivie and I weren’t worth it anymore.”
“Annie, why would you think that,” Sidney’s voice fills with hurt as he stares at her. “I know that I wasn’t home very much and I hate how I treated you but… God I would’ve given you the world, Ans. Anything, I would’ve given up anything for you and for Vivie. But you took that choice from me and you took it from our daughter too.”
There’s a tense moment of silence as Sidney looks up at Annie. Her face is a perfect picture of anger as she stalks towards him, her finger jabbing at his chest, “Fuck you Sidney. You don’t know shit about Vivienne, you don’t get to make decisions for her. I do! She’s my daughter!”
“And she’s mine too,” Sidney counters as he presses closer to her, Annie’s face paling at his tone. “Vivie is half me and you fucking took away any chance I had to make decisions for her, Annie. Do you get that? Do you get that I only met my daughter because my god son is her best friend? I could’ve gone my whole fucking life not knowing that there’s someone out there that’s half me and half the woman I love. How do you not see how fucked up that is?”
“I- You,” Annie stutters over her words as she stares up at Sidney with wide, watering eyes. “You… You still love me?”
Sid runs a hand through his hair and looks away from Annie before turning back to her with shining eyes, “Of fucking course I do. You stole my heart, ran away with it eight years ago and I’ve never found anyone else to fill that hole. You… You’re everything Annie, you always have been. That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”
Without any hesitation Annie leans forward and locks her lips with Sidney’s. He’s helpless to fight her off, instead wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer. He knows that this is a bad idea, but the feeling of her in his arms after so many years is hypnotizing.
“You… Fuck Sid” Annie pants as she pulls away from him, their foreheads touching. “You’re magnetic, I can’t stay away from you.”
Sid leans back and meets her eyes, searching for any sign that this isn’t what she wants, “Tell me. Tell me to stop Annie and I will.”
“Please don’t stop,” Annie whispers, meeting his eyes. “Please Sid.”
Their lips crash together again, bodies pressed so close there’s nothing separating them but their clothes. Sid’s hands dwarf Annie’s hips as he lifts her to wrap her legs around him, their lips still locked in their heated kiss as he stumbles blindly down the hallway.
Sidney doesn’t stop, can’t stop as he and Annie fall into bed together. The feeling of her smooth skin, the sounds of her angelic moans, the way she’s always reaching for him… It makes his heart pound in his chest, makes his breathing shallow and his head feel like.
The feeling of Annie in his arms makes Sid feel alive for the first time in eight years.
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