#He would try to massage the area to try and relieve the aching pain

[lunarw0rks]

asking the task force boys to sit on your back because the pains having been PAINING lately

A/N: extremely relatable, anon. my joints sound like rice crispies at the ripe age of 18 :D i included alejandro and könig in this, too.

『♡』 masterlist ♡ rules ♡ ask box Warning(s): sfw, established relationship, hurt/comfort??, gn!reader

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

『 simon, gaz, and soap would actually do it, or something similar 』

♡ well, simon probably wouldn't be able to sit on your back without breaking your spine. he'd probably make you lay flat, instead, and use his knee to knead the knots and aches. "I can't go harder, love. you'll snap." if you insist; he'll give the smallest bit more of pressure, flinching if your back cracks. but given your sighs and moans of relief, he's done something correctly, right?

♡ soap would probably tease you about it first, but not refuse. you'd just successfully stroked his ego, though, so he'll never let you live it down. instead of sitting, he would have you on your stomach, straddling your waist as he firmly presses between your shoulder blades and the small of your back. an amateur chiropractor with shockingly gentle hands, "how was that?"

♡ gaz had probably asked you to do the same before. sometimes the weight of someone else is the only thing that relieves his aches from hours of carrying heavy gear. with you, though? instead of sitting, he would press your back to his chest, arching your back and massaging it until the inflamed muscles calmed. "christ, yours cracks more than mine, babe."

୨♡୧ ⋆ ୨♡୧

『 price, alejandro, and könig would give you a massage instead 』

♡ even if your back isn't bothering you, chances are price is already massaging your muscles. it's a habit, eventually. your waist, your shoulders, your thighs, and now your back. he tells you to lie down, and it's not a suggestion, either. "relax your shoulders for me, sweetheart." he uses his thumbs the most, pressing down on the most irritated muscles and kneading them until you feel the pressure more than the pain.

♡ alejandro, similar to price, is insanely touchy. he probably noticed your back bothering you before you even asked him, so you found yourself in bed quicker than you could protest. "lie down, let me help." his calloused fingers brush along your bare back, sometimes rubbing circles or just stroking the areas that ached the most. "your muscles are too tight, you need to relax tonight. that's an order, amor."

♡ yet another endearing factor of könig, how gentle he could be despite his size. you knew that, obviously, but his massage skills were on another level. his large hands perfectly cover every bit of achy muscle; kneading and caressing. if you even try to thank him, he'll shut you up. "no talking, schatz. never thank me for making you feel better."

[the-s1lly-corner]

I'm on my creepypasta bullshit again [currently creepypast and some animes I use to watch as a kid are hitting my brain full force again, lmao!!! For the millionth time, who would have guessed it] perhaps laughing jack x reader who struggles with migraines? Lately my memory has been getting bad, as my girlfriend has noticed, and pointed out that it might be due to stress and the amount of migraines I've been getting. I'm curious how jack would react to a reader whose going through the same?

Take your time getting to this! Get some water and food and have a break ^^ writing is hard, truly! Even coming up with headcanons because my head is empty, and if it isn't I'm stressing myself the fuck out lmao [like rn YIPPEE] anyhow, have the best of best days! Thank you for taking the time to even read over this.

Laughing Jack x reader who has migraines!

Aw man I'm so so sorry to hear you're going through all that man :( I hope things let up soon, make sure to rest and drink plenty of water!!

He would notice something is wrong with you; any irritability, struggling with words and memory, and generally being a little... ueuegg..

But I'm not quite sure that he would immediately know what's happening to you, hes a clown not a doctor! So theres a chance you may need to explain to him what's going on and what a migraine is

Because he sure as hell doesnt have internet access..... I mean unless he snaps your phone but he might scratch up the screen with his claws and no one wants that..

I think he would have a very

Interesting way to help you with migraines!

Stressed out? Hes going to be blunt and literally ban you from doing anything around the house. Let Jack take care of you! Sure he doesnt know how to cook and his cleaning habits are questionable ... but it's the thought that counts! Try to do work on your computer or phone? Hes gonna drag you to bed and trap you in his long arms!

Oooo hes warm, too, so that may help ease any pains as well...

He literally shoves his (warm) face into the back of your neck^

Makes sure the lights stay dim, curtains closed, ect. If he were more naive, he would yell at the sun to go away.... actually he might do that, in hopes that the goofiness would cheer you up just a little bit

That said hes going to be very pushy about your fluids, you're not going to be dehydrated on his watch! This man will march up to you with a water bottle and demand you drink. And you can bet hes going to perch himself at the foot of your bed to make sure you do just that

Gently massages the.. palm..? Heel..? The bit where the palm and wrist connect.. he massages that into any areas/pressure points to try to relieve any aches and tension. Very careful about his claws

He can purr, I think, so he might pull you into his chest and just. Let it rip

Let's you fall asleep on him as well, I think he would be the best snuggle buddy. Hes big, soft, warm, and he can easily snake his arms around you a few times since they can stretch and are boneless. Easily beats any weighted blanket, I think

[doodle-pops]

Glorfindel NSFW Alphabet

Request: -//////- *shamefully confesses* Mina, would you be willing to do Glorfindel and Ecthelion NSFW alphabets? Your relationship alphabets are amazing and very detailed and thought-through. - anon

A/N: I'm touched that you find my Alphabets to be well-written. Thank you!!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very giddy and goofy after sex. He likes to hold you close while laughing into your neck or chest as his hands roam your body, pinching and slapping your ass to listen to your giggles. Lots of kissing and cuddling Glorfindel likes to do after sex and during those moments, he loves pillow talk. When you both are finished and coming down from your high, he’ll pull you to lie on top of him while stroking your hair and massaging any body part he may have been too rough on. Talks about what he enjoyed during the moment and what he’d like to try. Discussions about your kinks and fantasies as well as your future. As much as he adores the pillow talk and massages, he has a high preference for washing off. Soothing waters that are vanilla and citrus scented while his gentle and tender hands wash away all the aches and pain.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He loves every part of him, there isn’t a body part that he doesn’t love about himself – he prides himself on his appearance and when you entered the picture, it went up an extra notch. If he had to pick, it would be his voice – yes it’s not a body part I know. Glorfindel does have a voice kink and knows what he does to you when he speaks. He loves to whisper lowly in your ear whenever he’s in the mood to rile you up in public or behind closed doors and watch you combust. He’ll nibble on your earlobe and plant a few kisses in the area while telling you all that he’s about to do to you. Glorfindel is aware of how soaked your underwear is and he does it on purpose.

On you, he loves your legs, especially when they’re wrapped around his head, squeezing the life out of him, He doesn’t mind, it’s one of the best ways to die – being squeezed by your thick thighs while he indulges in all that you have to offer him. Because of this, he loves to spar with you and let you have to upper hand at times, just to have your legs wrapped around him. He purposefully gifts you tons of trousers to wear because he prefers to see you in them over dresses. During sex, he’ll contort your legs in fifty different positions as long as you’re not uncomfortable.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Elves aren’t mortals thus, they don’t release the same amount of cum mortals do – all elves cum way more than mortals, not just Glorfindel. However, he just happens to release more than the average elf because of being alone for many years, he finally has the chance to relieve himself. Like many others, Glorfindel loves the idea of cumming inside you and remaining buried in your walls to feel you contracting and milking him out. Because he cums a lot, there’s a faint bulge outlining your lower abdomen. He revels in all the ways he can make you cum and does not mind having to hold you down and overstimulate you until you’ve beaten the previous record. During times of peace, he mentally adjusts to being relaxed and this causes his body to spur into overdrive and breed you like crazy, in hopes of having children.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

As much as Glorfindel’s a dominant elf and loves to dom you all the time, he has a fantasy of his where you’re the one in control, but he doesn’t know how to come out. He wants to roleplay with you being his master and him as the submissive, letting you control him and pull all the strings. Tie him to the bed and use him to your liking, make him beg for your touch and have him eating out of the palm of your hands. He loves the idea of you being dominant and he uses it as thoughts to help him get off until he breaks it to you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Come on, he’s one of the great Lords of Gondolin, he’s surrounded by people who are greatly interested in him, so he does know about the inner workings of intimacy. So many people would openly talk about how much they find their Lord attractive and all the things they’d like to do. Elves aren’t sexual prowlers like us humans, but Glorfindel does know the inner workings of sex. He knows what needs to be done, where his hands and mouth should be placed and how to bring you to your high. Anything outside of that is left for you and him to discuss. As a warrior who is fierce on the field, he is able to bring that side of him into the bedroom during your first time – you would question his movements and confidence.

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Almost all elves love to have you in the basic missionary position for the first time or during any romantic session. There are times Glorfindel will use missionary to take you roughly, that’s when he’s punishing you or being dom and wants to see every facial expression you make. To him, your expressions are his favourite – every eye roll, jaw slack, drool escaping your mouth, starry-eyed look you give him. He also has full access to your neck and chest to litter them in love bites and whisper every filthy thing in your ear.

A big lover of you riding him, all the more access to your chest and also gives you your chance of control. Ride him like there’s no tomorrow, dig your nails into his biceps, and leave tooth marks across his skin, he wants that, and he’ll give you your way. At the same time when the mood strikes to snatch your leadership moment away, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist, stopping you in your tracks and making you hang on for the ride. It’s literally a ride.

When it’s moments of peace and the urge to have children slide in, he’ll have you in the mating press all the time. Pushing your legs all the way to your shoulders and barrelling in and out of your heat to give you in cum. It’s okay if your legs hurt, he’ll give you the best massage ever when he’s done. During this moment, the softest yet filthiest words spew past his lips, and you wonder if dirty talking was made for him because of the pairing it with his honey voice – yea. You’ve been bred to perfection.

Adding to times of peace, mostly during his life in Imladris when life is slow-paced, he enjoyed spooning sex. Just laying on the balcony, lounging on one of the sofas and he'll lift your dress or push your pants down your thigh, throwing a blanket over you both and taking his time bringing you to your high. It's a slow session, filled with tons of kissing and cuddling and gentle whispers about his love and appreciation for you. He doesn't have the need to rush or anything. It is usually the aftermath of cockwarming.

As someone who’s a famously gifted warrior that is also part Noldor, thus being beefy and caked because he MMA a Balrog, thus weight means nothing to him. So, a favourite position of his to show off to his lover that he’s exquisitely strong and has no problem with your weight is to lift and stand. Your legs with rest in the crook of his elbows and he’ll have you spread apart widely for his taking and easily lift you up and down his cock. It’s perfect for when he also wants to sneak without anyone being aware. The only problem for you is that you can’t control any pace and has no choice but to remain in his arms and take it.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Yes and no. Being a very light-hearted and lovable person, Glorfindel does understand that there are moments during sex when you can’t help but laugh. Perhaps his fingers brushed near one of your tickle spots and caused you to laugh or you made a little slip-up – it’s okay. You are both in love and it’s a light and joyous moment, with no seriousness or no meaningful approach behind the actions. However, if it is a meaningful approach, he would appreciate it if you didn’t laugh too much, a light giggle is okay but not full-blown laughter. He wants to show you how much he appreciates and adores you, is thankful for having you in his life, and wouldn’t be pleased if you’re constantly laughing. Maybe laugh and joke about any incident after.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

My loveable boy is famed for the hair he has on his head and not down below. If there was ever any hair, it would be a darker shade of gold, like golden honey and it would be curly. But elves don’t grow any bodily hair like humans, so Glorfindel hasn’t any hair down below. No need to worry.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He can be giving it to you hard and fast and there is still some level of intimacy at the moment. Eye contact, hand holding, and lips attached to some part of your skin. Don’t look away from him and don’t let go of his hands. Glorfindel after the fall of Gondolin and reborn would cherish the hand holding as a sign of comfort – you let him know that you’re there. It’s a tear-jerker, but he truly loves when you hold his hand and give it little kisses on the back during sex. As for eye contact and those lips, he’s more serious with the lips attached than eye contact. His lips must be attached to some part of your skin, sucking and biting the life out of it because he loves the idea of marking.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Prefers if you’re there to relieve his tension, but in situations where you’re extremely busy and can’t attend to each other’s needs, then he’ll opt for pleasuring himself. He’ll sit in a warm bath, that way he’s a lot more relaxed, and gradually strokes himself off. He used images of you sucking him off or being dominant and controlling to reach his high. All of his fantasies are used to help him achieve his goal of cumming. It’s very rare for him to pleasure himself seeing that whenever he requires the need for intimacy, he usually waits until you’re available. This is majorly performed during times of war when his levels of stress are high and he’s missing your warmth.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

If I were to list all his kinks, I’d never finish, so his first favourite kink is the size difference. Glorfindel is a large elf with all his muscles and enjoys the fact that you’re smaller than him by leagues. Pinning you down underneath him, watching as you attempt to squirm your way out of his grasp gets his blood pumping. This is why he enjoys playfighting with you because 90% of the time it leads to him pressing you into the mattress pounding away at your walls.

If he loves size difference, he loves stomach bulging. He’s far from small and not for the faint-hearted. The sight of his cock buried deep within you till the point of having its outline visible through your stomach gets him going. He would take your hand and intertwine it with his as he presses it down on the imprint to feel how stuffed you are by his cock. Glorfindel just loves how consumed you are by his cock.

An avid brat tamer and please, the fact that you are smaller than him – perfection. Glorfindel loves the idea of you being dominant, but when you throw a tantrum, act bossy and defy his commands in public when he speaks to you, kiss your begging and pleas goodbye. Glorfindel is a mysterious brat tamer meaning that he’ll let you act that way for a long time while making counts of all your slip-ups. When he strikes, it’s practically punishment and humiliation you’re being served. He loves to mock you on all the things you’ve said that you’ll do and done.

As previously mentioned, he loves the idea of being dominated through roleplaying. It’s his number one fantasy to see you towering above him and pulling all his strings. You’re his master and he’s the servant. Use all the pet names you want, just don’t turn them into anything degrading, it turns him off. Tell him where you want to be pleased, how to please you, use him to your highest level of please to get off, and he’s fine with it. Glorfindel will be the best submissive you’ve ever had.

He also has a terrible love for seeing you in lingerie, it makes his brain malfunction and loses all composure. He’ll make you walk around in your little number and do your dance if you have one. It’s his way of admiring you and giving you the self-confidence to wear more for him. If you paired it with wearing his robes or his shirt and visited him during his late-night office hours – somebody’s getting crippled. Glorfindel has little to no regard when he has to remove your lingerie, torn between fucking you in it and covering you in his cum, or ripping it off you and promising to buy more. Either way, at some point, you’re wearing lingerie.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

A kinky elf who doesn’t mind engaging in a few locations outdoor. He has a slight exhibitionism kink. He likes to set you both up in situations where another would walk in on you both secretively. The elves he’ll allow are his close friends that he’s jealous off – no one would dare talk about what they saw their Lord doing with his lover. Glorfindel will take you in his office, his bedroom, in a random room in the palace during a celebration, in Ecthelion’s study to irritate the stern lord. He would set those locations up and around the estate where little to no workers are presented. That’s for when he's in a teasing and playful mood, but when the romantic and meaningful aura arrives, everything must be done behind closed doors.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Teasing touches, whispering lowly in his ear and brushing against him is going to get you bent over any surface and have a rough fuck. Nibble on his ears while doing so and rub his shoulders. He adores it when you wear tight trousers to show off your legs, so if you do so in public or during a sparring match, expect to be manhandled later. He loves it if you’re confident enough to dirty talk to him the same way he does with you. Whisper a gentle 'My Lord/Sir/Daddy' in his ear and watch as he folds you into whatever nearby surface (dangerous of you). Glorfindel is also a fun and playful person, so he engages in tons of playfights which mostly leads to some fun, light-hearted sex.

Aside from those reasons, when he’s feeling emotional or you may have done something that makes him realize his love for you, he uses it as an excuse for wanting to spoil and shower you with unconditional love.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing bringing you pain, making you bleed, embarrassing you, and sharing. He may have engaged in threesomes before, but those weren’t meant to turn into relationships – it was solely for pleasure. Asking him to do a threesome makes him become insecure and question you if he’s not pleasing you well or if you would prefer to be with someone else.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

When it comes to giving, Glorfindel is an eager pleaser. Everything is done out of your pleasure and his. I see him as someone who has an oral fixation, thus, he gets off on spending hours between your legs sucking you off and pleasuring you. He’s sometimes torn between wanting your legs wrapped around his head or pinning them down to the bed and spreading you wide open so he can savour all. When going down on you, his tongue movement is God-like, you’ll be left questioning him on his abilities and any other tricks he has up his sleeves. Long licks that swirl around your bud to suck on it like a pacifier. He’s teasing at times and even then, he buries himself in your heat making you cum as many times as possible.  

On the receiving end, he would never say no to being sucked off, though he tends to be wary of whether you can because he isn’t small. His length is impressive, and it barely fits in your mouth which is fine because you can use your hands. Likes to control the pace and gets a bit rough when lost in the pleasure. He’ll hold your head and thrust his hips into your wet cavern like a feral man. Doesn’t let you control the pace most of the time and loves to see you drooling on his cock. Filth tends to be spewing from his lips about how beautiful you appear with his cock down your throat or tears running down your face.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He’s a dom, which equivalates to his thrusts being fast and rough, but he still has a clear mind when he’s in his feral mode. He always listens to your whines to know if it’s literally too much for you to handle. When Glorfindel is feeling soft and tender, his pace is always sensual. Thrusts that fill you up and always leave you wanting more – deep and long. He’ll rest most of his body weight on top of yours so you can’t move except lie there and take his cock. Whenever his mood is heightened and he’s a bit jealous or stressed, his thrusts are hard and rough and deep. He’ll bend you over any stable surface, remove your clothing and take you. His pace makes your toes curl and causes you to dig into any object nearby for control. Glorfindel just turns your insides into jelly.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Not a big lover of quickies but if it needs to happen, then he’ll make the exception and follow through. He hates it because he can’t have you as properly as he would like. It’s just a quick fuck and go and he truly despises it, but when it has to happen, it’s roughly ten to fifteen minutes. Cramped in some room – broom closet – the both of you would find yourselves having a quick relief before you return to your daily duties. He always appears pristine and well-kept while you look like you’ve fought with wild animals and clearly lost. The only times he’d welcome quickies is if it’s times of war and the stress build-up is too much. For example The Last Alliance or nearing the Nirnaeth Arneodiad.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The only risk he’s willing to take is his exhibitionism kink, and still, that’s only around the estate for specific persons to observe, never in public. Depending on what the kink is and how you describe it, he’s willing to experiment with it, but don’t make him test out anything that surrounds heavy BDSM or pain and blood. He draws the line and tells you no.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This is Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer who grappled a Balrog MMA style and killed it as if it was nothing. He’s an emissary for the Valar given greater powers in spirit and body, why wouldn’t you think that he can’t go for the entire night. If you don’t let this elf stop or show no signs of wanting to stop, he’ll take you into the dawn of a new day. Boundless energy is one of Glorfindel’s middle names. Aside from that, the most amount of rounds he’s indulged in is three every great round back to back because his refractory period is phenomenal. In no time he’s up and ready to have you again. He loves to take his time to worship and cherish your body – he loves to make memories for whenever he has to jerk off. If he’s in feral mode, then it’s either five rounds or the entire night.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

If Middle Earth were to ever have toys, he’ll have a vibrator, a dildo, or a cock ring. He’d also like to invest in the spread bar to keep your legs open to his liking and elven rope for Shibari. He would be delighted to tie you up and have his way with you and would love it if the favour was also returned. As much as he hates it, loved it the first time you used a cock ring on him, denying him his pleasure. His main reason was that when you were finished with him, he got to have payback, plus, he enjoyed seeing you dominant and pleased with your work. Would use a dildo and vibrator for foreplay and also during sex to overstimulate you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Glorfindel lives to tease you to the brink of overstimulation. He’ll deny you your orgasm and allow for the pressure to build up before giving in. He doesn’t overdo his teasing till the point of you crying in pain, crying out of pleasure. For some unknown reason he loves to rile you up during the day – teasing little touches, whispers, brushing your nether regions, heck, he’d even finger you and then pull away before you cum and tell you to wait until later. It’s damn near possible to tease him because he has patience. Glorfindel has predatory instincts, thus he can eek things out for as long as he wants to, and it doesn’t bother him. You’ll have to tie him down with elven ropes if you want to successfully tie him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Glorfindel tends to become loud when you’re sucking him off. It’s the guttural moans and groans, the grunts and shouts of your name that escapes his lips. He wants any passers-by to know that his lover is pleasuring him to the extreme. When he’s buried deep in your heat, all the whispers and lowly moans are done near your ear because he knows that you love his voice. Dirty talking is always done, sometimes it’s softer in some sessions – it’s more praising when he is soft – and other times, it’s downright nasty. You need to know how you make him feel, how he’s going to make you feel and all that he’s about to do.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

A lover of mirror sex. He will take you in front of a mirror and make you keep your eyes open the entire time; you can’t close them because he’ll stop whatever it is he’s doing. Gripping your cheeks and forcing you to look into the mirror and look on. It doesn’t matter if you're insecure or not, whenever he gets the chance to have mirror sex, he uses the opportunity provided. It’s worse if you’re an insecure person, you can bet yourself that he’d have you kneeling before that mirror every time you have sex. He wants you to see the ethereal beauty that he sees whenever he takes you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Oh boy, you all already know how I’m about to describe this. Being reborn and given powers spiritually and physically also took a great toll on his physical form. Glorfindel's before and after length size did not really change, if anything, it’s his girth. Before his death, he excelled in length, his girth was there but not so dangerous to the point of requiring heavy forepay to slide in. Glorfindel after reborn most definitely needs to open you up before sliding in otherwise it’s an extremely tight fit. The stretch is deliciously painful, but it’s worth it. the veins on his cock, the length and his girth all make his cock appear perfectly proportioned. The best thing about his cock is that it’s curved so it hits that spot right off the bat, it just makes sucking him off a bit difficult.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

During times of peace when his urge is to have a family his sex drive is high, he’s constantly wanting to breed you in high hopes of you befalling pregnant. So long as he’s free and barely has anything to do in his daily schedule, Glorfindel will revisit your chambers twice a day, though, it isn’t every day – he’ll give you breaks in between. His sex drive is only high when he wants to have a family and is in the honeymoon stage of his marriage. As your marriage progresses and children already come into focus, his drive would reduce gradually and every once in a while he’ll have his way with you. I know Tolkien stated that after elves have all their children they stop having sex, but this is fanfiction and my headcanon, so he still has sex after you all have children.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Not someone to sleep right after sex. As a battle-hardened warrior who has become an insomniac, sleep is the last thing on his mind even after anything vigorous. His first and foremost priority is ensuring that you are well cared for. Water? Massage? Bath? Food? Cuddling? Once all those things are secured, he’ll lie next to you and watch as you fall asleep mid-conversation. It would take a long while before he dozes off since elves don’t require sleep the way we humans do.

Masterlist

Taglist: @spidergirla5 @eunoiaastralwings @someoneinthestars @aconstructofamind @mysticmoomin @lilmelily

[pregnancyismykink]

Imagine you work as a masseuse for pregnant people, helping them relieve the pressure in every part of their aching bodies

**

“Welcome to Body Wonders, how can I help you?”

Kim’s voice trails through the reception area and you smile, excited for another day of work. Already, several people linger in the front desk area waiting for their names to be called. Quite a few women and a select few men in varying stages of pregnancy, some in clear discomfort and others trying to hold it in.

You glance down at your clipboard as you push through the large double doors, reading the name of one your many regulars. “Matt, my man. Are you ready?”

Matt, a smaller man with a fairly thin build and cute fluffy brown hair, looks up immediately, relief written all over his face that it’s his turn. You watch as he struggles to stand from his chair, his belly protruding quite far considering he’s only about 6 months along now.

As he waddles over to where you’re waiting, you can’t help but notice that he’s favoring his right hip a little more than usual and his chest has filled out more as well. Most men don’t develop their breasts until month 8 but Matt is a special case.

“Thank god you were able to fit me in. I feel like my whole body is about to fall apart.”

You chuckle and hold the door open for him and he waddles past you, heading straight for your massage room.

“I can always make time for my favorite client. Go ahead and get undressed and I’ll be there in a flash. Holler if you need help.”

Matt nods gratefully and pushes inside the room, disappearing behind your well decorated door. It displays one of your favorite landscapes, rolling hills and deep blue skies, littered with so many different colored flowers it almost looks like it’s just paint splatter. But you love it and several of your clients have commented that they feel safer and more relaxed in the environment.

Jessica bumps your shoulder from behind and winks at you, pulling her hair up into a high ponytail. “You’re early today. Couldn’t wait to get your hands on him, could you?”

You roll your eyes and playfully shove her shoulder. “You have no room to talk, Miss ‘I got here at 6 to get myself off’.”

Jess just shrugs and smirks, turning back towards the front of the hall. She tends to have 3-4 clients a day but she made a special exception for her 6 o’clock client that you’d honestly rather not know about.

You just shake your head and grab the few items you need to get started. A bottle of lotion, essential oils, and a few tools that you know Matt enjoys.

The light flashes green next to your door, signaling Matt is ready and you make your way inside.

You open the door slowly, setting your stuff on the counter and find your specialized rolling chair you bought specifically for this job. It had great cushioning for your butt.

Matt, bless his heart, is just struggling out of his underwear and you graciously help him out, kneeling in front of him to pull them the rest of the way down. You blatantly ignore his smaller cock, knowing you’ll deal with it later, and admire his swollen naked body.

Once Matt is situated and sitting on the adjustable massage bed, you take a seat in your own chair and grab your clipboard.

“Alright, let’s see. Says here you’d like a full body + a special package. Do you want anything specific?” You ask, looking back up at a flushed Matt. He truly is a gorgeous little omega. His mate is also hot as fuck and adorable when he comes in for Matt’s appointments.

Matt shyly nods. “I’ve been really struggling with chest pains. Is there…can you help with that?”

“Of course,” you answer kindly. It’s actually one of your favorite things to do here.

“Before we get started, any sore spots I need to avoid?”

Matt nods again and points to his hip. “Doctor said I have an irritated sciatic nerve. It felt a little better this morning but I think it would be better to just leave it alone.”

You nod and mark it on your clipboard and then grab the bottle of lotion. “We’ll start with a simple body massage. Go ahead and get as comfortable as you can. We can adjust the table however you like.”

Matt nods, laying back slowly on the table, his belly sticking straight up in the air. You adjust the back of the table to sit up slightly, giving him a better back rest and then adjust his legs slightly so his belly can rest comfortably between them.

He sighs and lays his head back against the headrest, already relaxing.

This part, the massage and the general trust from the client, always got you excited. They’re always so trusting and eager for relief and you’re more than happy to give it to them.

You start with his legs. His ankles are swollen and probably aching, his calf muscles so tight, but you work at them slowly and firmly, rubbing out the tenseness there. Matt makes cute soft little noises every now and then, a louder moan coming out when you find a particularly tight knot. You can even see his cock starting to stir.

His body is yours to manipulate and you continue up his thighs, squeezing, pressing, and squeezing again, working out every kink and ache. And when your fingers brush up against his cock, he gasps and bites his lip on a moan.

“Just relax,” you whisper softly, your fingers now working on the spots where his thighs meet his hips. “You’ll feel better soon.”

You feel the tenseness leave his thighs again and you smile, brushing your hands between his legs now. His little cock jerks and you cup it, carefully stroking it up and down until it’s hard. Matt whines and his hips jump but you just keep going slowly but surely.

While your hand is busy massaging his cock, you move your other one up to one of Matt’s pretty new breasts. It’s still small, no larger than an A cup, but it rests in your hand perfectly. You brush a thumb against his pert nipple and Matt gasps again, his nipple growing firm just from this.

“Please do that again…it feels so good.”

You do it again, even pinching it a little when Matt lets out a gasping moan. You’re careful but firm as you massage his breast and cock and soon Matt is a flushed mess on the table, the scent of pregnant omega filling the room.

Even to your muted Beta senses, the smell is ripe and you know if Matt didn’t already have a mate, he wouldn’t have a hard time finding one.

You add some more lotion to your hands, smirking at the needy moan that Matt lets out and then you settle your hands right back where they were. Matt’s cock jumps and he whines, spreading his legs.

“Doing ok still?” You ask, checking in with him.

He nods quickly, his eyes closed and his mouth open in a silent gasp. You smile and continue to work him through it, feeling his balls tighten and his thighs tense as his orgasm gets closer.

You continue to rub and twist his cock, your other hand pinching his nipple, and he cries out as he comes, his cock spurting all over his stomach. His ass leaks slick and you smell the ripeness of it.

You help him through the rest of his orgasm, pumping the rest of the come out of his small cock as he whimpers.

As soon as you know he’s okay, you pull away, running a warm rag over his legs and his stomach to clear the mess. “Have you and your mate been doing the prostate stimulation I prescribed?”

Blissed out, Matt smiles. “Every night. Henry enjoys it, maybe even more than me.”

You chuckle. “I can imagine. But just remember not to overdo it. You’re much further along than most men at this stage in pregnancy, and you don’t want to make it too sensitive before you birth.”

He nods, listening intently. It’s his first litter and he tries to keep to every tip and trick in the books. “Is it normal to leak more later in the pregnancy? From my ass I mean.”

A slight flush covers his chest and you trail your eyes over it, enjoying the soft color of it. “Yes definitely normal. Your body is preparing and it’s going to start producing more of everything. Slick, milk, and even hormones. You’ll find yourself getting more horny as time goes on.”

Matt sighs, sitting back against the chair. “More horny? I’m honey enough now as it is. When Henry’s at work I feel like I’ll go stir crazy.”

You nod, making a few notes on your clipboard. “We can provide you some toys to help? I know it’s not the same thing, but it may help take off the intensity at least.”

He thinks about it and then nods. “I’d like that. I’ll stop by the desk on the way out.”

You nod, tossing your clipboard back onto the counter. “Okay let me look at your breasts.”

Matt leans back, no longer shy now that he’s been here so many times.

While they’re still small, they are starting to get more full, rounding out on his chest. His nipples are thicker and red from your ministrations. You massage around one of his small tits and feel his milk glands, stimulating them a bit.

Matt gasps at the feeling, unsure of how to feel.

“I recommend you doing this a few times a week. It’ll help milk production and also take away some of the ache. You’ll start noticing milk coming out as well, and that’s ok. That means they’re working like they’re supposed to.”

“How big are they going to get?” Matt asks, a common question from their male clients.

“It typically depends on the size of the litter, and since you’re a special case, I would say expect them to be at least C cups by the time you give birth.”

Matt’s eyes widen, shock written plain on his face. “A C cup?! I need to get bigger bras.”

You chuckle and continue to massage his breasts. “Once your pups are born, and they start breast feeding, they’ll get a bit bigger, but they will go back down eventually. Most men no longer need bras once their pups are weened off of breast milk.”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “Henry is gonna get a kick out of that one. He already loves them like—ah ow,” he hisses. He looks down and sees where you’re pressing.

“You had a bit of a blockage. I cleared it but we’ll need to keep track of that for future visits.”

He hisses again, feeling relief once you finally move out the blockage and continue your massage. You’re both quiet for the rest of the appointment, Matt clearly in bliss.

You finish up within your allotted hour and busy yourself cleaning as Matt gets dressed. He’s moving easier already, and you know he’s going to have a good night with his mate tonight.

“Take this to the front desk and they’ll help you figure out a toy to help. Also, don’t forget your breast and prostate stimulation,” you advise.

“Thank you so much. I’ll see you again next week?” He asks, taking the paper you offered.

“Yep, same time. Have a good week,” you say, waving goodbye as he makes his way out of the room.

You look at your clipboard, checking your next appointment and the time, and sit back smiling.

It’s going to be a good day.

[yououui]

Ahh for hurt/comfort kurofai prompt I had an idea: post nihon + "show me where it hurts" + fai asks about prosthetic arm and kurogane reflects it back at fai (about his trauma and closing off). Ofc if the idea's alright with you ;D

Send me a hurt/comfort phrase prompt!

Fai didn’t even get a chance to say a word before he was rebutted. He simply appeared in the doorway of their rented room, jar of salve he brought with him from Nihon in hand, and a hopeful look on his face. Kurogane turned away and continued folding his newly washed clothes.

“I’m fine, mage,” He said stubbornly.

He heard Fai’s quiet steps as he crossed the room. “Come on, Kuro-sama, I know your arm has been bothering you. There’s no need to act all tough. There are no threats here, you can take some time to just rest.”

Kurogane sighed, which Fai took as a sign of defeat, and allowed the mage to move him to the bed to sit. If he were being honest, his arm always bothered him. No matter how hard Tomoyo in Piffle worked, she had yet to create a prosthetic that could connect to his nerves and act as closely to a flesh arm as possible without pain. But he’d gotten used to it; the dull ache that radiated from his left shoulder was just something he’d learned to live with. He didn’t find it necessary to bother with it until it got too painful to ignore.

Fai, on the other hand, had a different idea. “Prevention is key, Kuro-pon!” He had said once. “If we properly manage your arm, it won’t be as painful later!”

And maybe he was right, but it was still a hassle.

Kurogane shrugged off his shirt and allowed Fai to help him remove the prosthetic. As soon as the weight of it was removed, Kurogane couldn't help the sigh of relief. Damn mage was probably grinning smugly at being proven right yet again.

“Okay, show me where it hurts,” Fai said as he scooped a generous portion of the salve into his hand.

Kurogane rolled his shoulders. “Kind of… in the middle, between my shoulder blades. And the left side of my neck.”

Fai nodded and immediately went to work. The salve tingled where it was spread and while it was no magic cure, it helped to relax his muscles, which in turn helped Fai to massage the stress away. Fai’s fingers pressed into a spot on Kurogane’s shoulder, right at the junction of his neck, and Kurogane had to fight to not let his head fall in relief. He couldn’t help the slight groan, though.

“There?” Fai asked, smile present in his voice.

“Mm,” Kurogane hummed in acknowledgement.

Fai began to sing a quiet song as he worked, as Kurogane allowed him to tend and care and relieve all of the guilt that built up inside of him each time Kurogane’s arm caused him pain. Of course, Kurogane didn’t blame him, nor did he regret it. He’d take the pain a thousand times over if it kept Fai by his side.

And as Fai worked and Kurogane’s body relaxed, his mind began to wander. He thought of their combined pains and separate traumas, the way each of them have helped tend to the other’s seen and hidden wounds more times than they could count and the way they would continue to do so.

“Where are you hurt?”

Kurogane had asked that once, long before they had reached this point. It wasn’t a question he needed to ask often; unlike with his arm, which caused different areas of his shoulder pain each day, when Fai was physically wounded it was never exactly difficult to see where, nor did he necessarily try to hide it. But that time, that night in Yama, Kurogane had his first glimpse of a different kind of hurt that existed within Fai at all times.

He had been polishing his blade when he heard a sudden crash—a mirror, smashed into shards at Fai’s feet.

“Mage?” Kurogane jumped up and rushed over to him. “What the hell happened?”

Fai didn’t answer. He simply stared down at the broken pieces of the mirror, fragmented reflections of himself peering back up at him. Kurogane frowned and took a look at Fai’s bare feet; no blood or cuts there.

He grabbed Fai’s hands—maybe a bit too roughly, but Fai wasn’t exactly helping—and turned them over. “Where are you hurt?” He asked as he looked for any sign of a wound.

He paused then, his eyes lingering in some kind of morbid fascination at the scars that marred Fai’s fingertips; faded and pale from a long passage of time, barely apparent unless you looked carefully, unless you felt the rough scar tissue. What kind of wound could cause such scars, and how much time had passed since he received them?

Fai yanked his hands back, hiding his scars, and shook his head. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling like he’d just finished a sprint, and he still did not look at Kurogane. His head was turned, staring down at one piece of the mirror, a foreign black eye looking back up at him, and his breathing became even more ragged.

“What? What’s wrong?” Kurogane asked. He took Fai’s chin in his hand and forced the mage’s head up. Once he had Fai’s eyes on him, he tried his best to mime his words so he could understand. “Where—are—you—hurt?”

He made a slashing gesture across his palm. Fai watched, looking much like a terrified little child, and then put his hand to his chest, curling in on himself a bit. Kurogane frowned and looked down at the pieces of the mirror; the mage wasn’t physically injured. He was having a panic attack, Kurogane assumed, brought on somehow by the mirror he’d been holding.

Kurogane put his hands on Fai’s shoulders and led him away from that spot, from the mirror. He sat Fai down onto his cot, grabbed his scratchy blanket and threw it over Fai’s shoulders. Fai watched silently as Kurogane picked up the pieces of the mirror. Maybe he should have done more to try and comfort the mage, but Fai’s breathing was calming down and Kurogane didn’t know what else to do—or what else Fai would allow him to do. They weren’t exactly best of friends, but Kurogane wasn’t a monster. He cared about Fai. Being stranded in a foreign world and fighting a war with just one companion would make anyone care.

Now, with all that Kurogane had learned, he knew what had caused it. The sight of black eyes, the identity of his brother hidden away, drowned in a pool of darkness. The familiar face that fueled Fai's very existence gone, and without it, Fai did not know how to live.

“Did you fall asleep?” A quiet voice whispered into his ear.

Kurogane blinked his eyes open and turned to look over his shoulder, nose to nose with Fai. “Finished already?” Kurogane asked.

Fai smiled and nodded. “You should keep your arm off for a while. Let your body rest.”

Kurogane thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement. This was a peaceful world, and even if something happened, he knew he could rely on Fai. Fai’s expression brightened when he got his way. Kurogane, a bit off balance but with Fai’s hand on his shoulder to steady him, turned a bit so that he could reach across with his one hand and cup Fai’s cheek.

Fai blinked in surprise at the tender touch but met Kurogane when he leaned in to kiss the mage. Fai’s cheeks were a bit flushed when they pulled apart—it was still amusing to see how flustered the mage could get despite how flirty he always acted. Kurogane stroked his thumb along Fai’s cheekbone.

“Are you doing okay?” Kurogane asked him quietly.

Fai smiled and nodded, a look of mild confusion dancing across his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” He said, voice just as quiet as if this were a secret from the rest of the world. He covered Kurogane’s hand with his own. “I’m okay.”

Kurogane nodded. Just like Fai felt it necessary to periodically check on his arm, he needed to check on Fai, too. “Lemme know if that changes,” Kurogane told him.

Fai laughed quietly and nodded. “You know I always do. I’m not nearly as stubborn as Kuro-tan.”

Kurogane couldn’t help but smile a bit at the reassurance. The mage was right, after all.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Makeshift Heating Pad - Shouto Todoroki x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

MHA Masterlist - Main Masterlist

A/N: So I had this one in storage for a little bit to ‘save for a rainy day’ and all that jazz, and because I’m having to do a little bit more research than normal for a request I received (don’t worry dear anon, I haven’t forgotten about you!) I didn’t want to have a serious lull in posting stuff. So, everybody, welcome to the chat this bad boy.

Warnings: Mentions of periods (menstrual cycle), Shouto being the best bf on earth.

Word Count: 1.4K

When that time of the month came around, you knew exactly what to do. You even went as far as to having an app on your phone that cataloged when you would get your period; giving you notifications the week before and then the day before. So, when that little notification bubble popped up before you went to bed, you should’ve remembered to take a painkiller, take an anti-nausea supplement, and use a feminine product, right? Oh, how unfortunately wrong you were. Normally you were very attentive, but when you were in the arms of your ever so doting boyfriend, sometimes logic flew out of the window as you were nestled in his soothing embrace. What a rude awakening it was in the very early hours of the next morning.

With a jabbing pain to your lower stomach, you shot out of bed, unfortunately knocking Shouto’s jaw in the process that had previously been resting on the crown of your head.

“...Sorry” you muster, using your hands to press down harshly on your stomach, trying everything in your power to smush down the pain.

“S’okay… are you okay?” Shouto’s sleepy and raspy voice provided some comfort to your pain as he rubbed a calming hand up and down your shoulder. With another stab of pain, you gasped. All you could do in response is shake your head. While you had some suspicion as to what was going on, Shouto didn’t have a clue. He tried to run through any events that happened recently. Did someone accidentally hit you too hard in that spot during hero training yesterday? Did you eat something bad last night? Is one of your muscles contracting out of nowhere? Unbeknownst to him, his last thought was entirely accurate as your cramps continued to subject your body to awful pain. “Would you like some painkillers? Would that help?” With a quick nod from you, he gently helped you move back to rest on the headboard of your bed, trying to make you as comfortable as possible. That’s when he saw the large patch of red that starkly contrasted the swan-like white of your sheets. He sucked in a breath, his eyes stuck on deep scarlet, which caused you to flick your eyes to what Shouto was so shocked at. That was when a harsh truth laid itself upon you.

“Shit…” you whisper, your jaws clenched and your eyes squinting in pain and embarrassment as you look at your period-stained sheets that you, just a second ago, were sharing with your boyfriend. “Sho, I’m so sor-”

“Here, let me help you up so you can go shower,” His soft, velvety words cut through your worried and panicked ones, offering you his hand for you to take. Your mouth formed a small smile as your eyes watered a bit, taking his hand and letting him walk you over to the little bathroom in your dorm. What U.A. provided wasn’t much, just a small little sink, toilet, and the skinniest shower known to man-kind, but it was enough for you to appreciate the privacy it provided. Walking to a communal shower with red-stained pajama shorts wasn’t in your top 10 things to do with your dorm life. The curtain was flipped back and the warm water was turned on for you by Shouto, who was currently fluffing out a towel for you to use.

“Thank you, Shouto, but you didn’t have to do all this,” you say, your voice thankful and entirely gracious. Heterochromatic eyes flicked over to you and the smallest smile quirked in the process.

“It’s the least I can do. I’ll leave you to undress and I’ll be back with clean sheets, okay?” With a nod and a simper, you let Shouto close the door behind him. You took your top, shorts, and undergarments off easily, but you let yourself mourn your underwear for a bit. Another cute pair lost to the ever hungry void of your menstrual period. 

The warm water did wonders to soothe the backache and headache that were both severely prominent to you, and the lavender shampoo, conditioner, and body wash left you feeling rejuvenated and fresh, but still tired. Wrapping the blanket that Shouto left out for you around your body and grabbing a few feminine products, you changed into the fresh set of comfort wear that he had slipped under the door for you and wrapped your hair up in the towel. Finally, you let the bathroom door swing open to reveal a freshly made bed, a painkiller next to a glass of water, and Shouto, who was holding a little grocery bag filled with extra period products and your favorite candy. You almost collapsed out of sheer happiness right then and there, but figured that Shouto’s efforts would’ve gone to waste, so you crawled over to your bed. The blankets and duvet felt cloud-like as your clean body slipped underneath them, causing you to let out a sigh of content.

“Comfy?” Shouto asks you, sliding in next to you and situating you in between his legs, your back resting on his torso.

“Very. Thank you so much-” And, once again, you lurched forward in pain. While back aches and headaches could disappear with a quick splash in warm water, menstrual cramps were a much different story. Quickly, Shouto maneuvers himself so that he could reach the glass of water and the painkiller, putting them gently in your hands.

“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain,” He says sadly, brushing your hair behind your shoulders so that it was out of your pained face. You shake your head and smile sadly.

“It’s okay, Sho, it’s kinda my fault for not preparing better for this. Usually I’m pretty good at knowing when this kind of stuff is going to happen. I must’ve forgotten to check my phone last night. You sucked in another breath as a second wave of pain washed over you, causing your fists to clench harder, your knuckles turning white.

“Is there anything I can do?” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the pulse point behind your ear, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Hmm…” You think for a moment, your mind circling to a suggestion that you have debated every single time you got your period. Shouto was a wonderful boyfriend - he was caring, kind, and a capable student, and you didn’t mean to be superficial, but his quirk and looks were also pretty high up in your mind. And, while his quirk was good for fighting and deterring villains, it also had much more practical uses. Like, for instance, using his left hand as a makeshift heating pad for your stomach. So, since he was already so comfortable with you as his girlfriend, you decided to just ask. “Well…” you began, drawing Shouto’s interest immediately. “You could, theoretically, use your hand as a heating pad for my stomach.” With your suggestion voiced into the air, all you had to do was await your boyfriend’s response. You squinted your eyes, a little scared of what his reaction would be, but you were pleasantly surprised when your shirt was being lifted a bit and a hand slid to rest on your stomach.

“Tell me if it’s too warm.” He says simply, letting his hand heat up. Now, you’ve used heating pads before and they worked to an extent, but they could not even pretend to compare to Shouto’s hand. It calmed your cramps almost instantly as he gently massaged the area, working the heat that was emitting from his fingertips just below your belly button so that he could try to relieve you of your pain. You hum in delight as you sink further back into his chest, laying your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you for everything.” You murmur, pressing a kiss into the material of his shirt. “Thank you for my sheets, and for the treats, and for being just the freaking best.” As drowsiness starts to take over your mind - a definite side effect of a source of heat warming you up - a sleepy smile spread across your face.

“It’s no problem at all, Y/N. But, if you don’t mind, can I see the app on your phone that tracks it?”

“What? Why?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“Oh, well, I just figured since you're my girlfriend I should know when your menstrual cycle occurs so that I can help make your experience a little easier.

“Like I said,” you say, moving a hand to his cheek and bringing him down for a sweet, tender kiss, “you’re just the freaking best.”

[storiesforallfandoms]

too much ~ henry cavill

word count: 1709

request?: yes!

“hii! i was wondering if you could write one where Henry Cavill and the reader are trying new things in the bedroom, like BDSM, and the reader gets overwhelmed so they have to stop and Henry takes care of them? thank you!”

description: in which they try to spice things up in the bedroom, but it becomes a little too much for her

pairing: henry cavill x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut, im also gonna put a warning of overstimulation and use of a safe word just in cause (i’ve seen it tagged as warnings before so i just want to make sure everyone knows before reading)

masterlist (one, two)

Henry was very much a gentleman when it came to sex. He wasn’t into doing things too fast or rough, unless it had to be a quickie. He was slow, gentle, tender. He treated every time you two had sex as if it were the first time.

That’s why you were so shocked when he asked if he could tie you up, blindfold you, and to tease you with the only actual sex toy you owned: a vibrator for the times when Henry was gone for a little too long.

You were definitely more than excited for this idea that Henry had, it would definitely be a great way to spice up your sex life, but you were still confused as to where it came from. You didn’t really have time to ask, though, as you were too excited to get things going the moment he suggested it.

You were sat on the edge of the bed, already stripped down to just your panties and bra. Henry was stood in front of you, holding one of his ties in his hand. He had taken out three - one for your eyes, and one for either of your wrists to tie to the bed - and you were grateful he had picked out something soft and comfortable for your first time trying this stuff.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he repeated for the third time.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want this,” you teased. “I’m sure I wanna try it at least. If it I don’t like it, I’ll just use the safe word, okay?”

Henry nodded. He leaned down to give you a quick kiss before wrapping the satin material around your eyes and tying it behind my back. With your vision gone, your heart started to race. You weren’t sure if you were nervous or more excited now, maybe a combination of both.

Henry helped to guide you gently onto your back and placed you in a way that your arms wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. He tied both your wrists to the headboard, allowing his hands to run down your arms and over your bare stomach in a painfully slow way. You tried not to whimper as they skimmed over your still clothed breasts, almost purposely teasing you.

One hand continued down your stomach and pressed against your clothed core, causing you to arch your hips in a way to press yourself harder against Henry. He chuckled as his fingers began to massage your clothed clit.

“You’re already so wet, baby,” he mused.

Now you were starting to regret agreeing to this. Not because you weren’t enjoying it, but because you knew you were going to regret agreeing to being teased so much when you just wanted to feel Henry inside of you.

You whined as you felt a loss of contact. You heard Henry walk away from the bed and you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to relieve the newly built up pleasure by squeezing your thighs together. Nearly seconds later, you felt a hand roughly pull your legs open again.

“Don’t be naughty, love,” Henry told you. “You have to wait for me in order to get pleasure.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” you said, pouting blindly into the darkness.

You felt his lips against yours, a slight smile on his face. “I suppose you’re right. I should’ve gone through the rules in more detail with you.”

His hand slipped under your panties and pressed against your clit. You let out a moan and rocked your hips slightly against his touch.

“Rule number one, stay still,” he started, pushing your hips back down onto the bed. “Do not move unless I tell you. Rule number two, no pleasuring yourself. That defeats the whole purpose of me teasing you.”

You could barley comprehend what he was saying as his fingers travelled further down. Two of them slipped into your wet opening, causing you to gasp. He pushed them in as far as they could go before pulling them back out immediately.

“Rule number three,” he said, “do as I say. Open up, princess.”

You opened your mouth and felt the two fingers he had just slipped inside of you press against your tongue. You closed your mouth and sucked his fingers clean, earning you a groan in response.

He roughly pulled your panties off and you heard the familiar sound of your vibrator start up. The feeling of vibrations against your already sensitive clit brought a string of profanities from your mouth. You pulled against the ties that bound you, although you were unsure as to what you were going to do if you were able to free yourself.

Despite what the first rule was, your back arched and your hips moved almost as a reflex to the waves of pleasure that were rippling through your body. He wasn’t punishing you for it, though. Although you couldn’t see hi, you could almost feel the enjoyment he was getting from your writhing.

Your body had grown so used to getting a quick pleasure at times of desperation from your vibrator that you could feel an orgasm coming already. You tried your best to hold it down, but you were already so turned on that you knew that wasn’t going to be an option.

“Fuck, Henry, I’m gonna cum already,” you breathed.

“Already, love? That didn’t take long at all.” You felt his lips against your neck, the vibrator still pushing down on your sensitive clit, and his hot breath against your ear as he said, “Cum for me, baby.”

That alone was enough to send you over the edge. Your eyes rolled back into your head and you let out a cry of pleasure as your entire body shook and trembled. Henry kissed and nipped at your neck, even taking your ear between his teeth in a way that he knew drove you insane.

You thought he would take the vibrator away from your after you had came, and that maybe he’d finally start fucking you, but to your surprise he still pushed the vibrating toy hard against you, causing you to continue your shivering of pleasure. For a moment, it felt so good that you thought you were going to cum again already, until the pleasure was replaced with an overwhelming feeling of overstimulation.

“I already came, Hen,” you said. “Aren’t you going to fuck me now?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I kind of like seeing you trembling like this. Maybe I just tease you for a little longer with this dirty toy of yours.”

You tried to move your hips away from the vibrator, but every move you made Henry would follow. While you liked this idea of him over teasing you before fucking you, your clit was starting to ache from overstimulation and your trembles were starting to cause some pain in your bound arms. You could feel tears welling in your eyes and you weren’t sure if they were good or bad ones.

“Stop,” you breathed, trying to move his hand away from you with your thighs. “Fuck, stop Hen. It’s too much...avocado!”

The word pulled Henry from this dominating role and he immediately removed the vibrator from you. You nearly sobbed with relief as your felt your clit throbbing.

“Fuck,” you heard Henry say as he moved away from the bed for just a moment. You felt the bed dip next to you and his hands working to pull you free from your bindings. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

“It’s okay,” you said, pulling the blindfold off the moment your hands were free. “You didn’t know. But...you’ll definitely have to give me a while before we have sex.”

Henry nodded and retreated to the bathroom inside of your bedroom. You looked down at your poor clit, all swollen and red, and cringed to yourself. You had never been given such pleasure before that resulted in you becoming so overstimulated. You weren’t angry or upset with Henry for it, it’s not like either of you knew how your body would react the way it did so quickly, but you knew he was going to be upset with himself due to this.

He returned from the bathroom and passed you a cold cloth. You placed the cloth against your core, nearly sighing as the cold liquid cooled the area.

Henry climbed onto the bed next to you and pulled you into his arms. He was much gentler with you this time, running his hands up and down your arms and kissing your forehead every so often.

“I’m sorry, love,” he repeated, kissing you once more.

“I told you it’s okay,” you assured him. “You didn’t know, Henry. Please don’t be upset over this.”

He sighed. You moved your head to look up at him. “Where did this idea come from, anyways?”

He shrugged in response. “I really don’t know. It was just something I wanted to do. I wanted to try something new and see how it went. Bad idea, obviously.”

“It was a hot idea,” you corrected him. “Just, next time, we skip the teasing and go right to the sex.”

Henry smiled and chuckled. “Okay, deal.”

You both laid together for some time. The ache between your legs dulled until it was non-existent. You got up to discard of the cloth and sat yourself on Henry’s lap when you got back to the bed.

“Where were we?”

Henry smiled, but shook his head. “I think you should rest yourself before we continue.”

You tilted your head in confusion. “But I feel okay now.”

“I know, but I still feel bad and would rather know for sure you’re not in pain while we have sex.”

You gave him a playful look, but you appreciated that he was respecting your boundaries and what your body needed.

You rolled back onto the bed next to him and cuddled into his side. You spent the next hour or so just talking for a while, before Henry offered to get up and make the two of you something to eat.

It wasn’t where you expected the evening to go, but regardless, you couldn’t be happier with how things had ended.

[dinner-djarin]

Sore (Bucky Barnes x f!reader)

(I know the gif is from Monday, but it's as good as it's gonna get)

Summary: Bucky takes care of your aching body, but while he’s at it, he might as well take care of the other ache that needs his attention.

Warmings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. (minors dni), possibly unprotected sex (not directly stated), fingering, piv,

Rating: Explicit

Words: ~1.5K

“Buckyyyy” you wine from your sprawled out position on the bed.

“Yes love.” He answers from the bathroom, finishing his night routine.

“It huuuurts.” You call out again, this time making your voice more soft with your complaint, enough to draw him in.

“What hurts?” He asks, and you hear the source of his tenor much closer than it was before. Suddenly you feel his heat radiate, and you open your eyes to see his form hovering over yours. A gasp escapes your lips, but he continues, “Tell me where, exactly.”

“Everywhere,” you respond breathlessly. Slowly he peels off your t-shirt exposing your bare chest. For a moment you almost groan at the idea, feeling less than physically capable.

Instead, his strong hands grip your body, as he kneels over your hips, and flips you onto your belly before you can even process the chain of events.

He leans over you and whispers directly into your ear, “Where, love?”

You mumble something incoherent as he starts pressing his fingers into your shoulder blades. His thumbs dig deep into the crevices of each muscle, finding the tight knots and loosening them with what you know must be little effort for him. As he outlines the dip of your spine with the palms of each hand, your entire body can’t help but shiver. One hand a bekon of heat, the other teases your senses with pure ice.

At the bottom of your spine, he kneads the palms of his hands into your ass. He works one hand over the flesh, starting dangerously close to the centre, and working his way out, pulling at the muscles. Then with his left, he grazes the area more gently, bringing cool relief to the inflamed area.

He then grabs the back of each of your arms and digs his thumbs between bicep and tricep muscles, making small circular motions that remind you of something-

A groan escapes your lips when he hits a spot in your neck so wonderfully painful. The mix of release and tension so overwhelming it forces the sounds from your throat without your permission. As he pulls on your muscles there, you notice a subtle relief taking over where a throbbing pain used to settle.

“Breath for me baby,” he whispers again. You heed his advice, taking a large, slow inhale and feeling the oxygenated blood reach your swollen muscles, trying to relieve the pain. As you are in the middle of your exhale, however, Bucky takes advantage and presses down once, strong and rapidly, right in the middle of your spine. Release cascades through each vertebrae, and this time you welcome the full moan that follows.

“Jesus, Buck. You are magic.” you whimper from your vulnerable state, feeling fully flattened and steamrolled.

“You don’t know the half of it sweetheart,” his deep voice returning in full force with that sentence, as he flips you back around.

Now with his eyes examining your worked over body, a rush of heat and adrenaline courses through you. You find yourself in a very different mood altogether.

Your cheeks redden as he stares you down, and you smile mischievously, as your fingers make their way to the hem of either his shirt or his pants - whichever you can get to first. When he notices the movement though, he pins your hands to the bed. “Not yet, darling. I need a good look at you. I missed you today.”

“One day at work makes you miss me this much?” You wonder aloud.

“Absolutely.” He dives down to meet your lips with his, and without hesitation you grant him access to your mouth. His tongue makes its way to your own, first with a lick to your upper lip, and a nip to your lower. His hands grab your breasts and he continues to massage them with his thumbs. You hiss at the contrast again, your right nipple perking instinctively at the freezing touch.

With his hands distracted, you reach back down to your original goal. You grab at the waist of his pants and try desperately to pull down, only getting enough fabric to reveal the v-shape muscle and trail of gorgeous brown hair, teasing you towards your true intent.

“Bucky, please.” you wine into his mouth, his right hand making its way into your hair, bracing the back of your neck to keep you locked onto his mouth.

“Slowly, darling. You're hurt, aren’t you?” he teases with a smile, and you groan at his taunting ridicule. You instantly knew the mood he was in, as he had often treated you just like this. He would continue to control every move, push you to your breaking point, and only then - when you were begging for relief - would give you what you desired.

His movements were deliberate. His left hand slid down your body, gliding over your hip and around your ass. He craved more of you in his grip and continued his kneading as you snaked your own arms around his waist, pulling him close in search of contact. In search of friction. Before you could achieve closeness yourself, he slid his hand below your knee and pulled your right leg over his shoulder and replaced his left hand over your clit. With just one layer of fabric between you, the cold was bearable. But soon, his fingers searched deeper, pushing aside your underwear and instantly finding the smooth skin with his thumb. You whined out at the contact. Writhing against his body as you processed his touch. Your nerves felt on fire, but your skin was ice.

After circling the area and letting you adjust to his hand, he slipped a finger into your cunt, earning him another muffled moan, this time verging on a coherent word - but not quite.

Your hips thrusted against his hand, begging for deeper contact than his finger was allowing for. He grew irritated at fighting against the fabric of your underwear and effortlessly ripped them off your body.

“You owe me. Again” you pant between laboured breaths.

“Add it to my tab, love.”

But Bucky was not done with you. Another finger found its way into you, and he curled them up repetitively - over and over - right in a spot that would have had you cursing his name if your mouth had been able to form the words.

You felt your orgasm rising quickly. The blood rushing in from your extremities, leaving them numb and almost cold, as your core heated up rapidly. Your mouth fell open and your breath began to stutter. But just before your walls could squeeze around his hand, he was gone.

“Hey!” You pouted as you snapped your eyes open, staring at him in ridicule.

“Slowly.” He reminded you in a dark, haunting voice.

“If every single muscle in my body wasn’t in a ridiculous amount of pain, I would so kick your ass, Barnes.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

But before you can respond, you are met with an achingly satisfying pressure right up against your clit, rendering you speechless again. Bucky slowly rocks his hips back and forth, soaking the length of his cock in your slick. Your body responds to his movements, and you jerk your hips up to his, seeking more contact, more of him. With each of your thrusts you feel his tip press just past your entrance, teasing you mercilessly, but still bringing you a steady sense of pleasure.

But just when you find a steady rhythm, he snaps forward, plunging into you with sheer force making you finally cry out his name.

Your position is heavenly. With your leg over his shoulder, he leans forward, stretching you to your limit and allowing him to reach a point so deep and aching that you lose all sense of rationality.

The words on your lips drive him crazy as he continues his bruising pace. Over and over you writhe as the pain and pleasure overwhelm you. Your body cries for more as you meet every thrust with your own, desperate for every inch of him. It brings him to the edge, hearing you pant and moan and ache for him. Every breath brings a new, wild sound, and it takes every ounce of restraint to hold back his own groans so he can indulge in every one of your own.

He sees how close you are to your own release. Your body begins to shake as pleasure washes over you. Your whimpers of pleasure turn into breathless pants as your body weakens. Your hips slow, but Bucky continues to grind into you relentlessly as you ride out your orgasm. Then it all happens at once. Your walls finally clamp, and spasm uncontrollably as your pussy tightens around his cock, gripping him in you and sending him directly into his own high. As you cum together, he releases your leg, and your mouths find one another again. Your body is in dire need of oxygen, but instead you supply it with more of him. His tongue begs for yours, and he enters your mouth, now occupying more space inside you.

Your hands lace behind his neck as you ache to pull him closer, and his hand grips your ass again pulling himself into you more as he slows his pace to an almost complete halt. Even when you’ve both come down from your climax, he remains over you, unwilling to leave your body just yet.

After what feels like eternity, he reluctantly leaves you, making you feel a devastating emptiness that you already desire to fill again.

The two of you lie in silence beside each other, trying to regain your breath and steady your heartbeats.

“What happened to slowly,” you question between exasperated breaths, a slight laughter escaping you once you find some air.

“Serves me right. Now I’m gonna be sore.”

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

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

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

“Rough day?”

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

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Grammys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Julia…”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

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

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

“Not everyday.”

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

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

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

//

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure is.”

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?”

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

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

“I guess.”

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

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

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

“I know. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

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

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because they call out your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

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

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

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

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

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

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

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

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

“The same one, yeah.”

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

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

“Still, that’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

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

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

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

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

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

“Okay, then.”

//

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

You’re drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because that’s the thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be right here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all much too confusing to him.

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

//

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

[underworld-of-imagines]

I’m There - Spencer Reid

Prompt: “My back’s killing me.”

Warnings: Explosion, guns

A/N: So I know this kinda sucked, I just wanted to write something short for Spencer and had no idea so used a few line prompts. Somehow came out with this, that really isn’t good. But oh well, at least it’s something.

“EVERYBODY GET DOWN!”

You had barely registered the loud yelling before the bomb went off, sending you flying across the warehouse. A low groan emanated from your throat as you collided with a steel support beam, the impact leaving a painful ache in your back.

“Shit,” you muttered as your boots landed on the floor again, sending shooting pains up your back. Looking around the room, you noticed everyone was focusing on peeling themselves off of various surfaces or apprehensively looking for the attacker. Nobody had noticed that you were injured, which was a good thing in your books.

“Movement in the next room,” Derek’s voice rung through your earpiece. Everyone looked around, most of them were still disoriented from the blast. You, being the most conscious out of everyone, decided to join Derek in the search.

Drawing your gun, you carefully moved up next to him, trying to keep your footsteps silent as you ignored the pain radiating in your back. Flanking either side of the doorway, you waited for the swat team to catch up for infiltration. Making eye contact, Derek gave you a small nod before breaching the room, you following hot on his trail.

A young woman was tied up, displayed in the middle of the room, a gag pulled tightly around her head. Holding your gun in the air, you holstered it before cautiously moving towards her. It barely took a few seconds before you recognised her as the missing girl you had been called to find. “Hi, I’m Y/N. Are you Nadia?” She nodded, fear in her eyes as you slowly held your hands out. “I’m just gonna remove this gag, okay?” Nodding again, you quickly began to remove the gag that was starting to suffocate her.

“Nadia, are there any bombs in this room?” Derek asked, his gun still drawn, surveying the room. You breathed a sigh of relief as she shook her head, sputtering something unintelligible about the attacker.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna get you out of here now.” Holding out your hand, you helped her out of the chair. “Can you walk?” She nodded her head, obviously traumatised by the events that had just taken place. “Good,” you smiled as you gingerly took off your FBI jacket, draping it carefully over her shoulders.

“The EMTs are just outside waiting for you guys,” Derek announced, holstering his gun. “You got her?” Nodding, you sent him a small smile before leading her out of the small office.

Everyone was still gathered around the warehouse, either talking in a corner or getting checked out by the EMTs. Putting your hand gently on Nadia’s back, you led her out of the warehouse, over to the ambulances.

“These guys will check you over, and one of my team will come take a statement. If everything’s good you will be free to go,” you gave her a small smile before walking away.

You quickly, but carefully made your way around the side, out of sight from the EMTs. Pressing your hand to your back, you hissed loudly at the pain from the touch. That wasn’t a promising sign for the injury. Hoping it was just a bad bruise, you slowly pulled off the bulletproof vest that was definitely making the injury worse.

“Y/L/N, good work today on finding the attacker. I just got the call that he was cornered by a SWAT team outside of his apartment building.” Hotch praised, moving to stand in front of you. “We don’t know exactly, but we assume that the bomb was wired with motion sensors that would set off once something got too close.” Nodding you smiled gently at his words. Often times stalker cases ended badly, with the object of attention not making it out alive. But this time you got lucky.

“Have the EMTs checked you out yet?” You gave a fake nod in reply, assuring Hotch that you were fine minus a small headache from the noise of the blast.

“Good, we’ll be leaving soon then.”

—-

Groaning annoyedly, you shift in your seat again, aggressively punching the pillow you had been leaning on. The pain was intense as you tried relieve some of the pressure on your back. Somehow, by some happy miracle, you had managed to keep your injury a secret from the rest of the team. Mainly by acting as normal as you possibly could since the explosion, which had occurred now 10 hours ago. You always quickly wrapped the case, packing your things and say goodbye to the police officers, before making your way back to the airfield. In the hopes you’d make it home in time for dinner (albeit rarely the case).

The rest of the plane was quiet, the team members either sleeping, or listening to some music to pass the time quicker. Unfortunately for you, nothing could make the time pass quicker, as you prayed to make it home where you had ice packs and painkillers to help with the very dark bruise that painted your back. All that you could do was wait, and hope that the time would hurry up.

Shifting in your seat again, you froze as Spencer began to stir.

“You’re still awake,” he pointed out, his voice deep and groggy as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, not really tired,” you lied, hoping that he’d fall back asleep.

“I’ll keep you company,” he stated, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. You envied the tall genius, not because he was a genius, but because he could make himself comfortable to sleep anywhere. However, after a few months, you had put it down to him being eternally exhausted, and passing out wherever he could.

“You don’t have to, you need sleep.” You smiled gently at his kindness; he was always kinder to you than the rest of the team.

“And you need to tell the truth Y/N,” he locked eyes with you, almost staring into your soul. “I know you’re in pain, and that you got injured during the explosion. It doesn’t take a profiler to notice that since the explosion, you have winced whenever your back touched something.” You sighed, placing your hands on the table, your eye contact with Spencer continuing. “How bad is it?” He questioned, reaching out to grab your hand in his.

“It’s just a bruise,” you explained, it wasn’t a lie.

“Tell me the truth,” he pressed, reading through your lies.

“My back is killing me, okay? I got injured and my back is killing me.” You admitted, you hated admitting defeat, especially to an injury as minor as a bruise.

“Show me,” he pulled you up, leading you to the snacks area and drawing the curtain. Sighing, you winced as he gently pulled up your shirt. He sucked in a deep breath, his finger gently tracing around the large bruise. “You need to get that checked out you know; it could be serious.” Nodding, you admitted defeat.

“I know it could be. Considering the blast of the explosion threw me into a steel support beam.” Realising your harsh tone, you let out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just, I know exactly how serious this could be. I’ve been in pain ever since it happened, and even just walking hurts. I just don’t want to admit that I got hurt, okay?” Spencer nodded in understanding.

“Does your head hurt?” Shaking your head, you looked up at him as he towered over you. “Can I just check?” You nodded, relaxing as you felt his fingertips massage your scalp. “I can’t feel a lump, but you could still have a concussion, you should get it checked too. Let’s go sit,” grabbing your hand, he led you back to your seats.

“I just hate being injured, it sucks. I don’t want it to be anything worse than a bruise, even though it probably is. I don’t want to be restricted to desk duty, and not go on cases.” You admitted, relieving a huge weight from your shoulders. Never had you admitted something like this to one of your teammates, but Spencer was different, you wished that he was more than a teammate. “I’m scared Spence,” you whimpered.

“How about I come back to your place tonight, help take care of you. Does that sound okay?” You smiled widely, giving him a nod.

“I’d really appreciate it. Thank you Spencer,” you appreciated Spencer, for everything he had done.

“Always.”

[harrywritingsbyme]

Sore

Based Off Of This Ask

I love love love this concept and I had to write a lil something on it! So here's a lil dose of some black!Y/n for ya✨❤️...Enjoy🙃

You just got your hair done. You’d spent your entire day yesterday sitting in a chair getting your hair braided. Row after row your hair was individually and tightly wound and until your entire head was finally done. And to say it took an extremely long time would be a complete understatement. Since Harry had to start his day a bit early, he offered to drop you off to your stylist on the way to his first task of the day. Now even though you were able to make it on time for your appointment at 10 am, you didn’t leave until 7 pm. In that 9 hour timeframe, Harry was able to go to the meeting he had scheduled for the day, he was able to finalize some songs that weren’t completely done in the studio, and he was able to get home and start on some chores that needed to get done before you called. Meanwhile you were glued to your chair all day long; with a couple breaks here and there of course. And once you did finally call though, it was pretty late and you were completely exhausted and very hungry. You’d gotten enough rest the night before and you picked up some snacks before going into your appointment, but 9 hours was a really long time. And by the time you were 100% done, those snacks had already been demolished and you were in desperate need of some sleep. So when you plopped into the passenger seat next to Harry once he arrived to pick you up, you were very much conflicted on whether or not you wanted to eat right then and there, or pass out and worry about food in the morning. The struggle was and is very real. 

Now even though you were glued to that damn chair all day, and you grew extremely tired and hungry, it was definitely worth it. Your  stylist killed it (per usual) and you hair was absolutely flawless. You were absolutely in love with it. Your braids turned out exactly how you wanted and you were beyond happy with them. The only problem with the perfection, and precision, is that your scalp was pretty sore and sensitive. Whenever you got your braids done, your scalp was always left feeling a bit sore and beyond sensitive. Even the slightest tug or touch could set you off into a slew of winces. You wouldn’t exactly classify yourself as tender headed, but you can say that your stylist really made sure to grip your hair. And this wasn’t event the tightest she could go. Now you thought that the food Harry got you on the way home would take care of your mounting headache. But once you finished eating and you were finally getting yourself ready for bed, you realized that the headache wasn’t going anywhere without a little help. So once you change into some comfier clothes, aka Harry’s t-shirt and a pair of panties, you grab the bottle of aspirin in the bathroom and you pop two of the pills out and into your hand before heading back into the bedroom. Now before you steal some of Harry’s water to swallow the pills, you sit them down and slowly put your bonnet on your head. Again, even the slightest movement to your braids could make your scalp sting. After slowly sliding the bonnet onto your head, you quickly take the pain relievers and crawl over Harry onto your side of the bed. And to take even more precautions to reduce any type of stinging or pain, you carefully rest your head against your pillow before getting nice and comfortable. Harry then reaches over to turn the light out, and he comes in to cuddle you.

“Want a forehead massage.” He asks, bringing his hand up to wiggle them in your face.

“Please?” You pout towards him through the darkness.

“Of course baby.” Harry replies softly, bringing his head up to your forehead. As soon as his fingers touch your skin, you can just feel the ache melting away. The way he’s putting a little pressure on you while using circular motions to diffuse the ache was so good.

“Feels nice.” You hum, completely melting into Harry and the sheets. It felt so good that not too long after Harry began, you were fast asleep. And in Harry’s book, that was a win. Before either of you knew it, you were passed right out. You were finally getting the rest you were in dire need of. Harry’s little massage was the perfect way to ease you right into your much awaited sleep. 

Now let’s fast forward to today, the very next day after getting your hair done. Your head wasn’t as sore as the night before but it wasn’t completely insensitive. Your headache was gone, and simply having your braids move around as you walked wasn’t as bad as it was last night. But if anything else were to be inflicted on your head, you’d be wincing and groaning at how your head was hurting.

For example, you were sucking Harry off. You couldn’t readily explain why and exactly how you ended up kneeling between Harry’s legs on the bed in the middle of the day, but you were. Everything you two did ended up in some type of sex. And you weren’t mad at it at all. 

As you took his cock back and forth, in and out of your mouth, Harry was just lying there and taking it all in. The way you drenched his cock with your mouth and languidly, yet swiftly sucked on him was something that Harry’d never experienced. You were sucking the life out of him and it felt absolutely amazing. 

“Fuck Y/n!” Harry groans out to you loudly, feeling the tip of your tongue swirling around the lower edge of his head. While you do this, you continue to squeeze and tug at his girthy and glistening shaft. Through the wet sounds of you slobbering all over his cock, you loved listening to Harry’s moans and whines out to you. Hearing how good you felt around him, whether it be your mouth or pussy always made you (and your pussy) very happy. You liked knowing that you were the one, and only one, who could fully pleasure Harry. You then shift your focus away from the swollen head of his cock and to the rest of him. Keeping your mouth wrapped around him, you begin to slowly take his cock in it’s entirety into your mouth. As your mouth sinks down his shaft and he can feel your throat closing in on him, Harry just about loses it. He felt like he could cum any second from the way you were taking care of him. When you successfully take all of him, you manage to hold him right there for a few seconds before pulling your mouth back up. But as you’re coming back up, you quickly push your mouth back down to he base of his cock. You made sure that your mouth/throat was completely filled with his cock. Your head was so far down that your nose was brushing against the hairs surrounding his cock. 

That did it for Harry. The way you quickly shoved your mouth back down onto him, buried your nose into the area surrounding his cock, gagged at how big he was as he was lodged between the walls of your throat, and squeezed at his balls was enough to drive him insane. And it did do that for sure. What you did sent Harry right over the edge. In a split second Harry was releasing all of his cum down your throat while he had ha hand wound into your hair. Yes, Harry has his hand tightly wrapped around your hair that was still a bit sore from the day before. Immediately after you feel the stinging sensation from his tugs and tight grip, you move up to pull your mouth up from his cock completely. 

“Ow babe.” You wince while trying to catch your breath. You then pull your head away from his grip so that he could get the message to let go.

“Did I pull too hard?!” Harry asks concernedly, quickly snapping up from his release to focus on what was going on with you. 

“No, you pulling is completely fine. I love when you normally do it. It’s just that my head is still a bit sore from getting my hair done yesterday.” You explain to him with a little huff before bringing your head back down to lick up any leftover cum that was on his cock.

“M’sorry baby, can I eat you out t’make it up to you?” Harry offers pitifully. There was a lot to take in at this point. Like he felt bad for not taking your braids into consideration, but those feelings were quickly being overshadowed by the feelings of your tongue daintily licking up any of his remaining cum that didn’t flow down your throat. 

“M’kay.” You agree to him once you’ve licked up and swallowed every last drop of his cum. 

“Switch with me baby.” Harry instructs, lifting himself up from the bed to move where you are. You quickly lift yourself up from between his legs and crawl up tp where he once was. After you both have switched positions, Harry wastes zero time pulling your shorts along with your panties down and off of you body. “Well don’t you have the prettiest pussy.” Harry admires, taking in the darker, and very sticky area between your legs. Sucking his cock was just one of the things that could always flood your panties. You just loved it. “Can’t wait t’dig in.” He continues, bringing his hand up to push your outer lips apart to get a better look at you. By doing this he could see just how wet you were for him and seeing that didn’t stop a shock from going straight down to his cock. “Oh and another thing. You can pull as hard as you want.” Harry announces up to you, sending you a little wink and a smirk before bringing his mouth in. And once he does, you become a complete mess. He completely buries his head between your legs and goes to town on you. You could feel his tongue lapping all of your juices up and circling around your entrance. It felt so good to have his mouth on you like this that your legs were constantly trying to snap shut around his head. You were doing this so much that Harry had to wrap his arms around your thighs and pin your legs to the bed so that you wouldn’t try to close them around his head. 

“Oh my god Harry!” You shout to him through a series of moans. Since his arms were wrapped underneath your thighs, Harry had enough wiggle room to bring his hand down you your pussy and spread you wide for him. By doing this, Harry was able to get every last part of you with his tongue. To say that it felt so good to have his tongue licking into he most sensitive parts of you, and even attempting to fuck you and his his tongue into your hole would be a complete understatement. All you could do was moan loudly, thrash your hips up and down with his mouth, and pull on his hair. Your fingers were tightly wound in Harry’s curls and he absolutely loved it. He always got a little kick out of you pulling on his hair. To him it was verification that he was doing everything right and pleasuring you beyond belief. 

As he continues to lick and suck and make an utter mess out of you, you can feel a warm knot forming in the pit of your stomach. The longer he continued to harshly suck and lick into you, the quicker your release sped towards you. Now even though you were the one obviously being pleasured, Harry also managed to take care of himself a little. Everything from the way you tasted and smelled to the way you cried out to him in pleasure, even to the little bit of hair that was beginning to grow and curl down there was effecting him. He couldn’t get enough of you and neither could his cock. As he devoured your cunt, Harry was messily rutting his cock into the bed. Since he himself came not too long ago, his cock was still pretty sensitive. Add onto that the fact that your pussy was to die for and you were clinging onto his hair for dear life while he ate you, and Harry was a goner. 

When he feels your little entrance begin to contract around his tongue, Harry begins to move his tongue around you even faster and he also begins to suck harder. He then gives you a couple more deep licks before focusing his attention onto your clit and the sensitive outer edges of your pussy. He uses the tip of his tongue to lick the outer part of you from top to bottom before focusing on your clit. When he sucks on your clit, he makes sure to moan louder so that the vibrations could really hit you and push you even closer to the edge of your release. He also uses one of his thumbs to pull back the hood of your clit to get even more access to the oh so sensitive bundle of nerves. When he does this, you lose it. 

“Oh my- fuck! M’gonna cum!” You rush out, feeling the once budding fire in the pit of your stomach overcome you. To make it even better, Harry uses his free hand to put a bit of pressure on your burning lower stomach to intensify your release.

As you came in his mouth, Harry’s head was spinning. He loved making you cum hard and feel amazing. And being up close with your pussy like this as you came only make his head spin even more. All he wanted to do now was keep on pleasuring you.

Once you’re completely done riding the wave of your release, Harry unhooks his arms from around you thighs and he rests his head on one of them to stay in between your legs.

“Am I forgiven baby?” Harry mumbles up to you.

“More than forgiven after that.” You hum delightedly through your labored breaths, still feeling the tingles and aftershocks from the release you just had.

“Wanna play some more.” Harry begins, bringing a hand to your pussy and squeezing the outer flesh. “Wanna be inside, can I?” Harry questions further, keeping his eyes on the supple flesh that was between his forefinger and thumb. Simply looking at it made Harry just want to take a bite out of you. He was addicted.

“Mm yes please!” You readily comply, looking forward to what he was planning on doing to you.

Forget the stuff you two had to get done around the house, this was going to be way more fun. And by the looks of it, you had a feeling that you wouldn’t be needing an aspirin just for your head. 

Masterlist

[calaofnoldor]

Dean, Don’t

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 1,906

Summary: You’re heavily pregnant and highly irritable. Luckily, Sam Winchester is the sweetest moose to ever moose.

Warnings: pregnancy (and all its related symptoms), ill-fated attempt at humor, disgustingly sweet fluff (seriously, you’re gonna need a tooth brush)

A/N: this might be my first ever attempt at this genre, so please don’t judge me too harshly :)

MASTERLIST

“Wow… geez, you look ready to-“

“Dean,” Sam shot his brother a warning glance as he guided you into the kitchen, a giant palm held gently against your aching lower back, “Don’t.”

Dean quickly raised his hands and the gesture, together with his wide eyes, seemed to say ‘I wasn’t gonna say anything!’, although you knew that was far from the truth. In fact, you knew exactly what he was thinking because you’d been thinking it too – every hour of every day. It was safe to say you really didn’t need any reminders of your current condition.

“Y/N’s already having a rough time with the twins keeping her up all night, and she’s been extra sore lately,” your moose came to your rescue as always. Sam had been doing that a lot recently, not only by shielding you from Dean’s crude comments (and consequently protecting Dean from your wrath as well), but also by comforting and distracting you from the woes of your third trimester.

“Well at least it’ll be over soon, right?” Dean tried again.

“Not soon enough,” you grumbled in reply, before attempting to stretch out your spine with an unfiltered groan of discomfort.

“Aaand, that’s my cue to leave!” Dean announced, grabbing his plate of bacon to go and sauntering off, though not before sending his little brother an exaggerated ‘good-luck-with-that’ expression.

Sam rolled his eyes despite feeling somewhat relieved by his brother’s departure, then turned back to you. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you off your feet.” He wore a sweet sympathetic smile; it was one he had been donning often as of late, but it only worsened your mood.

“Sam, I’m fine. I can’t be constantly sitting or lying down!” You barked irritably, but when you noticed the sad puppy dog look on your boyfriend’s face, your attitude instantly withered.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just hate this so much.” Your fingers began to massage your temples as your mouth continued to utter the words that took you beyond the point of no return, “I’m a hunter, you know? I’m supposed to be able to take down monsters with the swing of my machete! I used to be able to roundhouse kick those inhuman bastards when I wanted to, and now I can’t even put my own socks on!” That much was true. Sam had helped you with your socks earlier that morning.

“And sometimes you being so overprotective only makes me feel more useless,” you added with a defeated huff.

Sam waited patiently until he was certain your little tirade was over. “I know exactly what you’re capable of, Y/N; you never have to remind me. And I can guarantee that you will still be able to do all those things… after you’ve given birth to our beautiful babies, and your body recovers from this drastic change it’s endured.”

He moved closer to you and extended one hand to caress the side of your face, while the other splayed across your immensely swollen stomach. “But baby, right now, at 39 weeks pregnant with twins, you’re not supposed to be able to do all that. I wouldn’t want you to be doing all that,” he chuckled lightly with the afterthought as he pictured your heavily expectant form attempting one of your famous round house kicks.

You raised a brow at him, knowing how his mind worked, and he immediately sobered, “Y/N, my point is you don’t realize how incredibly strong you are already, even without all the pregnant kung fu fighting you seem to be so keen on.”

Although you were tempted to roll your eyes at his teasing, the boyish grin he cast you couldn’t be resisted, and the corners of your lips begrudgingly lifted. But a sudden lurch in your belly wiped the smile promptly from your features.

“Oh,” you breathed in a gasp, placing your hands upon the area of assault.

“What? What is it?” Sam questioned worriedly, as he too moved both his hands to your baby bump. His eyes flickered frantically between your face and stomach, trying to read the situation for himself.

“Nothing, just a really strong kick, I think,” was your reply after a pause. You looked up at him with what you hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned it with a certain tinge of apprehension, so you grabbed his hand and placed it where one of your wayward twins was moving erratically within you.

No matter how many times Sam felt it, he couldn’t help but beam with pride and elation at the thought of his children growing stronger each day, and the fact that you were the one fostering their development made him truly believe he was the luckiest man alive in that moment.

“Wow, I guess they’re really ready to come out, huh?”

“Maybe,” you mused, “Or maybe they’ll choose to torture me for another week. I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Still fondling your belly with one hand, Sam used his other to turn your face towards his. “I am really sorry that you’re hurting. I wish I could make it stop.” He said it with such sincerity, you were almost inclined to forgive him. Almost.

“I would say ‘it’s not your fault’, but it kinda is,” came your playful response, which happily earned you a loving kiss.

When his lips left yours, you continued, “Also, as if the fact that two of your swimmers managed to make it to my eggs wasn’t enough, did you really have to make both of them Winchester-sized too?” You motioned vaguely to the wide expanse of your front side.

Sam said nothing, but rewarded you with a hearty laugh and a second kiss.

Later that day, as you sat snuggled between Sam’s lengthy and outstretched limbs on the bed, the two of you absent-mindedly watched an old classic movie play out on the television. His lips grazed your hairline every few minutes and his hands rubbed incessant circles on your extended stomach.

“How do you know our babies will be beautiful?” You questioned Sam abruptly, your eyes never leaving the screen.

His chest rumbled with a deep chortle that resonated through your back and caused you to smile in turn. “Well, they’ve got you for a mother, don’t they?”

“Psh! You forgot to mention that they’ve also got a father who looks like he was sculpted by the Greek gods! But that’s not the point; genetics is based on chance.” You craned your neck to look him in the eyes.

“Fine. I just have a feeling then, OK?” Sam shut you up with a quick kiss to the lips and you of course assented.

“Do you still think they’re going to be girls?”

“I hope so,” he replied with a pensive smile.

You studied his elegant features for a minute before feeling a smirk form on your own face. “Well too bad, they’re both boys.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam’s brow furrowed in that way you always thought made him look unbelievably adorable, especially for a man of his stature.

“I just have a feeling, OK?” You quoted back at him. “They call it mother’s intuition.”

Sam’s grin returned and you couldn’t remember feeling better in the past month. Dean hadn’t disturbed you all day since the incident in the kitchen, and the support of Sam’s solid torso pressed against your back seemed to be alleviating some of the strain from your body.

But alas, nothing is ever what it seems when you’re living with the Winchesters. A sudden splash of fluid upon the sheets interrupted your scarce and apparently fleeting moment of peace.

It took you a moment to register the wetness between your legs, although Sam was already one step ahead of you. “DEAN!” he hollered towards the hall.

“Sam, I think my water just broke,” you told him in a slight trance.

“Yeah, I know, baby. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and changed.” Sam’s voice was soothing and you began to follow his lead, slowly rising to your feet as he supported you from behind.

Just then, Dean came barreling in, brandishing his gun as his eyes searched frantically for any potential sources of peril. His green gaze turned befuddled upon finding no clear cause for distress.

“Dean, go get the Impala ready. Y/N’s in labor.” Sam’s voice held that composed and assertive edge which it often did when he took the lead on hunts. You would have found it awfully attractive under different circumstances.

As it were, a fresh contraction tore through you when you reached the dresser, and you were forced to bend over to weather the impact, your breathing becoming a little uneven. Sam’s arms were instantly around you, while the sight of your hunched and gravid form awoke Dean from his stupor.

He cleared his throat and his voice seemed a little gruffer than usual, “Uh, OK. Right. So… the bags? What do I need?”

“I’ll get the bags. Just get the damn car ready, Dean.”

Still the older Winchester stood transfixed in his spot, his eyes were somewhat unfocused. “Wow. So this is really happening…”

“Dean!”

“Yeah! On it! Got it! Uh… fight the fairies, Y/N! We got this.” And with that, he finally took off for the garage.

You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself, “He’s right, you know? This is really happening.”

Sam turned around and held your gaze with such reverence and fondness, you nearly melted right then. “I know,” he stated simply, before he crashed his lips to yours in a rushed yet zealous smooch.

“Ow! Yeah, OK, I think the twins are sick of our antics already,” you gushed through gritted teeth as another tightening of your middle took over.

Sam cupped your stomach gingerly on either side, as if he could somehow abate the pain with his touch. “Right, let’s hurry it up then. I think all that soreness you felt before and the twins’ heightened movement might’ve been a sign of early labor.”

“You’re such a nerd, you know that?”

He only responded with knowing smirk, then continued to help you get changed so he could usher you out the door.

Dean met you outside, where he stood by the shiny black car, looking a little more prepared for action than earlier. “You guys good?”

“Yeah, are you?” Sam asked, a bit dubiously.

“Hey, I’m ready to get this show on the road!”

“Am I gonna fit?” You eyed the Impala with slight apprehension. You had always been a fan of the classic car before, but now that Sam had fertilized you so thoroughly, the backseat seemed a lot more daunting.

“Of course, my girl can handle anything. She’ll get you to the hospital in no time so that you can have my nieces.”

“Nephews,” you corrected, but nodded anyway and allowed Sam to help you inside the vehicle.

The boys stood outside for a moment longer. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam was glowing and Dean couldn’t have repressed the surge of love and pride that rose within him if he tried, despite his ‘no chick flick moments’ rule.

“Yeah, I’ve never been better, Dean.”

“Speak for yourself, asshole!” You would later blame the contraction for your foul language, but it was your shouting through the window that ultimately got you on the road.

“Yeah alright, we’re going! Just don’t be having any babies in my Baby!”

“Dean,” Sam’s bitch face revealed itself once more, “Don’t.”

→ CARRY ON

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! btw, if any of you sam girls wanna show off your love for the giant adorkable moose man, there’s a ‘sammy the moose’ print now available at lexicolor.redbubble.com!

also available in various styles, as well as on mugs, notebooks, phone cases, and a bunch of other stuff! and if you’re more of a dean girl, i got you covered too 😉❤️

[prettywordsyouleft]

Something For You

Pairing: Jackson Wang x female reader

Genre: fluff / roommates to lovers

Warnings: implied nudity through bathing

Word count: 1855

Jackson couldn’t watch you hobble about in good conscience anymore. It had been going on for days now, and each time he saw you, it seemed that your legs were barely coping with the strenuous activity you were enduring.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him whenever he questioned your unusual gait, the grimace mixed in with your smile not convincing him in the slightest. You were definitely in pain, the gasps of air and the deliberate effort it took for you to get out of a chair only concerning him further.

He knew your office moving buildings was going to be exhausting, but Jackson wondered if you were doing too much. Had you not hired movers to lift the heavier items? Surely it would be cost-effective to employ manpower than run yourself past the point of no return.

Deciding he had to do something – anything – for you, Jackson stopped by a pharmacy on his way home. Armed with various muscle soaks and topical creams, he waited for you to return to the apartment you shared. Dinner was being served up when you made your way through the front door, struggling to get up the step into the living area.

Shaking his head, Jackson came over and helped you before clucking his tongue at you. “Enough, Y/N.”

“Huh?”

“You need to rest.”

“There’s one more day of-”

“You won’t survive another day of this,” he pointed out, and your gaze lowered knowingly. Jackson sighed before pushing a smile onto his lips. “I cooked dinner.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Were you going to stand here after doing all you have today and fix yourself something nutritious?” he wondered, and your brief look in his direction confirmed his suspicions. “Ramen is not going to help you recover back your energy!”

“Thank you,” you mentioned as you allowed him to help you over to the table where a pasta dish sat waiting. It took you some angling of your body before you managed to sit down comfortably enough, and then you eyed the food with interest. “Woah, you went all out!”

“Hardly. Maybe I need to cook more often around here if you think this pasta dish is me putting on a good display of my cooking skills,” he boasted, and you giggled, a sound he hadn’t heard from you all week. It fuelled Jackson on, ensuring you spent the meal smiling the whole time. Although you had only been housemates for a short period of time, you were special to him. And after you had helped him get over a cold last month, watching you suffer now made him determined to return the favour.

It also just pained him far too much as a fellow human to see you struggle.

After dinner, you headed into your bedroom, and Jackson waited twenty minutes before launching into phase two. He started running you a bath, adding a generous amount of the muscle soak to the water. The bubbles overfilled the tub, and he was satisfied with how inviting it looked.

Knocking gently on your door, Jackson then entered your space, finding you at your desk, slumping over your laptop with evident distress from how much your back hurt. Jackson came to your side and shut the lid down. “I said rest!”

“Jackson! I have to find some time to work too!”

“Not tonight. You’ve done enough.”

“I’m too sore to go to bed and sleep right now,” you mumbled in response, and he nodded, helping you to your feet.

“I know, which is why I did something for you.”

You glanced at him curiously. “What?”

“Come with me,” he urged, helping you into the bathroom and the pointed to his efforts.

However, your reaction wasn’t what he had hoped for. “Oh. A bath.”

“I stopped by a pharmacy and picked you up a muscle soak,” he explained and whilst your eyes flashed with gratitude, you still didn’t seem overwhelmed. Perhaps you were too tired to show such emotion.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy it. Make sure you stay in there until the water cools off!” he enthused, shutting the door behind himself.

Jackson hoped it would relieve some of the tension.

The following morning over breakfast, Jackson eyed you carefully. You seemed to be ambling along with a little more ease, and this brightened his mood tremendously. You had gone to bed right after the bath last night, so he didn’t have a chance to ask if it helped until now.

You glanced up at him and smiled awkwardly. “I mean, it helped. Thank you.”

“Why do I sense a but in there?” he asked cautiously, and you bit at your bottom lip. “Did I overstep my boundaries as a housemate?”

“Oh no!” you gushed, waving your hands about dismissively. “It’s just… I don’t really have baths.”

“Ah.”

“It’s nothing traumatic, so don’t worry. I’m touched you thought to help me as you did. I don’t understand the concept of baths, though. I mean, what do you exactly do in them?”

Jackson frowned. “Well, you lay there and relax.”

“You and I both know I don’t know how to do that well,” you replied with a chuckle, shaking your head softly. “I sat there, and for a bit it was nice, but then my brain got bored with laying there and I started to overthink about things. How long do you wait it out?”

Jackson stared at you for a moment in silence, and then a snort left him. It was followed by a loud bout of laughter until he had to hold onto his side and try to calm himself down when he noticed your arched eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I’ve never heard anyone complain about how to take a bath before.”

“Well, my points make some sense. You see in the movies everyone is covered and soaking with pure happiness, drinking wine or reading a book. I don’t drink wine, and wouldn’t the book get wet if you lay down to cover yourself properly? Maybe it’s because I’m not as thin as those in movies. I definitely had to move around to keep parts of my body that were exposed warm in there.”

“You’re serious.”

“Completely,” you responded, and Jackson’s humour eased. He hadn’t ever thought about it. He had just taken a bath when his body required it and not really contemplated what it would be like for others.

“So it didn’t help you at all?” he wondered, slightly dejected. He had hoped you would feel better from it.

You sighed heavily. “That’s the problem I’m faced with. It did. My legs didn’t hurt as much to get out of bed this morning. So I guess I now need to learn how to enjoy a bath until I feel better.”

“I can help you,” he offered, and you cocked your head to the side with his words. Jackson grinned. “Not physically. But maybe I can give you some distractions to allow the soak time to not end in a rumination session.”

“Really?”

“Sure. If it’s helped even a little, it’s worth trying again, right?”

That night, you came home and had a bath. Jackson had recommended you listen to a podcast during the session, and it appeared you lasted longer in there. The following day, you had another and mentioned after that you had played with the bubbles for a bit as you once had as a child.

You seemed more relaxed within the bathtub.

And your legs, once swollen and hard to maneuver, were starting to look better from what he could tell. Jackson was pleased his efforts had helped with some of the recovery.

You smiled brightly at him when he returned home from work the next evening. Jackson gaped at you and then back at the door. “Since when do you beat me home from work?”

“Since I listened to your advice and took the afternoon off. And I had another bath.”

He smirked. “I thought you weren’t a bath person?”

“Well, that muscle soak really helped ease the pain. I figured it was worth getting through my discomfort if it meant I could function again.”

“So I did something right by you?”

“Don’t you always? You’re the best housemate I’ve ever had,” you told him genuinely, and Jackson was surprised that your compliment made his stomach erupt in flutters.

Blinking several times, he wondered if there was more to how special you were to him now.

“I’m going to run you a bath. I need to do something for you!”

Jackson chuckled heartily as he slowly moved through the house. It was ironic how years ago he had been the one to convince you of the magic in relaxation for your aching body in the bathtub. Now, he didn’t even have to say much to hear the tub filling up regularly. You poked your head around the corner of the bedroom door and grinned at him. “I put a lot of muscle soak in. I thought you said you were fit.”

“I didn’t realise that playing tennis against a pro would hurt this much,” Jackson lamented, and you pouted, walking towards him and reaching out for the bottom of his sports tee, lifting it over his head as gently as you could.

Jackson hissed as his shoulders dropped too quickly, and the pain seared again.

“You poor baby,” you cooed, and Jackson nodded, relishing in the special care you were giving him in his time of need.

It was out of compassion that the pair of you had gone from housemates to something more intimate. He had helped you when you suffered from pain moving office, and then you helped him when he got stressed out. With each time that you did something for the other, you grew closer, and soon it was at a level where you loved on each other through the hardships and highlights that life threw at you both.

Just as right now, your adoration was evident as you led Jackson down to the bathroom.

He eased into the tub with several groans, and you ran your hand repeatedly through his hair, hoping to relax him further. It was working, as was the muscle soak on his weary body.

“Can I get you anything?” you asked, and Jackson nodded once. “What do you need?”

“You.”

“I’m right here.”

Jackson nodded towards the bathtub. “It’s big enough for us both to share.”

“You are sore,” you pointed out and rolled your eyes when he pouted dramatically. “Seriously?”’

“I’m sure I’ll feel much better with your comfort in here with me.”

“Are you after a massage, Jackson Wang?”

He grinned. “That would be nice.”

“I’ll make sure you pay me back when it’s my next bout of body issues,” you warned as you started to strip off your clothes, stepping into the tub and moving close enough so you could work on the knots in his shoulders.

Jackson stared at you for a moment before shifting close enough to reach your lips, kissing you passionately. When he pulled away, Jackson smiled up at you. “I like baths better when they’re with you.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

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[butcherknives]

Ty! May I request headcanons of Dante, Vergil and Nero reacting to having a lover who has hypermobility (double jointed, things bend farther than average)? I have it and while it's nice some days, those areas can be super painful sometimes

Hey! It’s kinda coincidental that you asked me to write this because you couldn’t have known that I have EDS. Anon, I’m sorry your hypermobility bothers you, too. I hope you find some comfort in this. I’m gonna be drawing from my experience. I don’t mean to generalize at all. Thank you kindly for your request.

Sparda men and an S/O with hypermobility

>   gender neutral

Dante

The first time you show him how your thumb can touch your wrist in a rush of excitement, he throws his head back and laughs.

You show him other tricks you can do, such as twisting your arm nearly 360º or bending your hand backward as if it’s elastic. This delights his morbid curiosity.

Truly, he thinks these feats are incredible. In fact, he makes an attempt to mimic your actions only to find that despite being half-demon, he isn’t quite so flexible.

But damn, does he try to tuck his leg behind his neck.

He doesn’t manage to get his thigh closer than a foot from his head.

There are days in which your knees overextend and you wince. You reassure him that you’re alright, that it’s nothing to trouble his mind over, but you do begin to favor your leg. He always offers you an arm, even if you’re too proud.

He begins to investigate ways to assist you with your on-and-off pain. He keeps ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet for the aches and swelling, and buys heating pads for the days you struggle to move.

You don’t need to ask for anything. Dante is proactive, wordlessly delivering a fresh, hot towel with a smile and a wink.

You also don’t need to request his company. Dante sits with you on the sofa, or the bed, or perhaps the floor where you’ve decided is as good of a place as any to make yourself comfortable. He reclines, engages you in playful banter, or turns on an old movie to watch together.

His priority is making sure you don’t feel like you need to be coddled. Although he keeps a close eye on you in the thick of your pain, he keeps his conversation lighthearted and tries to make you laugh. Anything to keep your mind off of the ache in your hands.

He’s devoted and patient. With a kiss to your cheek, he slides an arm around your shoulders and keeps you tucked into the line of his side.

His love for you is Sincere.

Vergil

He has an inkling there’s something peculiar about the way your elbow seems to hyperextend when you wave your arm to draw his attention, or the fascinating way in which you can fold yourself in half. It’s more than a party trick, he’s certain, but he isn’t familiar with this talent of yours beyond hypotheticals.

It’s no surprise, then, when he learns you have hypermobility.

This leads to research.

It seems relatively harmless, although he notes that you do seem to massage your palms after holding a pencil for too long. Is it the way you’re holding it? Are there ways to relieve the pain beyond medication or treatment?

With a desire for answers, he scours the internet. He reads forum discussions, medical journals, and peruses natural remedies to find what can be most effective.

After all, “The most sublime act is to set another before you.” And you are the one he loves. There is nothing he wouldn’t do to make sure you are safe and well, as much as he’s able.

Most days he finds you are unaffected by any perceivable ailments. You smile and pop your wrist in succession until he clicks his tongue, pretending to be annoyed despite finding you endearing.

It’s the times during which you’re in pain that Vergil sets out to assist. He utilizes the knowledge he’s gained to offer theoretical solutions, if you’re receptive to trying. Stretches, warm and hot compresses, and staying gently active; he will encourage and assist wherever he’s able.

He always offers. He always checks. He never makes assumptions.

If you chose to have a quiet day in to stay off of your joints, this is alright as well. He’s more than willing to keep you company, if that’s what you desire. With a hand on your back, he’ll loyally stay by your side.

His love for you is Ardent.

Nero

He thinks you’re “damn talented”. He marvels at the way you pop your fingers into zig-zags and flex your shoulders back until the bones roll like wings. It’s awesome, incredible even.

How did you do that thing with your feet turned backwards?

You both have a lot of fun entertaining him with all of your double-jointed tricks, even when he pretends to be appalled despite the mirth in his eyes.

It’s when you keep popping your spine and forcing yourself upright that he starts to worry. He doesn’t connect the two pieces of information but when he asks if you’re okay, you explain that your have joint pain.

Ah, he realizes. Because you can twist yourself into a pretzel? Yeah, that makes sense.

Nero, much like Dante, is devoted. He’s understanding when you need to take time off of your feet and has a habit of perhaps checking in with you a bit too often, but you know he does it out of concern and affection.

He also asks you what you want him to do for you, which, even when you can think of nothing, is helpful in and of itself. He’s willing and able to do chores in your stead or run errands where you need him – whatever he can do to make it easier for you while you rest.

His attention is on you. Should you ask it of him, he would bring you the moon.

Somedays you request his presence and he obliges without question, going so far as to cancel plans or jobs in order to accommodate you. He won’t tell you he does this as he knows you’ll likely tell him not to, but if you need him, you take immediate priority.

He loves to make your favorite comfort meals or play video games with you, assuming your hands aren’t troubling you. And if you’re interested in it, and up for a laugh, he’ll turn on some hilarious video compilations to lift your spirit.

His love for you is Comfort.

[jinkicake]

See How Far You Can Get

Futakuchi and Kuroo with a bratty sub!

Futakuchi Kenji x Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

For anon, thank you for being so patient~ (o^∀^) Lately, I’ve been thinking about how Hawks and Kuroo share the same voice actor... It genuinely pains me inside like please,,, ugh that thought ruins me. (｀∇´)ψ Though, my favorite same voice actor duo has to be Oikawa and Hisoka because that is just so genius. Hottest voice awards on gawwd.

SMUT // NSFW

WC- 1,017

~~~

Futakuchi Kenji 

Futakuchi is such a smart-ass, he’d let you do whatever you want

He would probably fuel your motives and purposely do shit to get you to act up

He’d ignore you for a little bit just to watch you beg for his attention, or he would tease you in public with light touches just to see how you’d react

Yes, Futakuchi loves to taunt you, he just loves to messily ruffle your feathers

It would be hard to piss him off because he is entertained by the little tantrums you throw

Because there is ‘nothing like a good fuck to fix that attitude problem!’

Yet, like most people, Futakuchi has his limits and if you push past them…

He is not so forgiving, or delicate, with his punishments because seeing you so vulnerable makes him think o.0

Mentally prepare and know what you’re getting into, it can go from 0-100 real quick like you’ll be begging him to stop in no time

Futakuchi loves to rile you up because he knows he is the only one who can wind you back down

“I want you to stay quiet for me baby, can you do that?” Futakuchi bites your ear gently and removes the fingers from your mouth to see if you’ll oblige. You immediately scrunch your nose and narrow your eyes at him, shaking your head stubbornly. “Oh, that’s too bad.” He coos sadly, reaching down his hand to start caressing your slit with his fingers. “You’re not giving me much of a choice, are you?” His voice comes out rough as he cups your entrance, immediately thrusting two fingers inside of you as quickly as he can. The moan that slips past your lips is loud, but the only thing you can focus on is how his fingers are curling against your walls. His skillful fingers don’t falter once. Not as he reaches for your discarded underwear, not as he balls up the material and shoves it inside of your mouth. His fingers simply refuse to waver.

Futakuchi presses the heel of his palm against your clit, rubbing the sensitive button with each thrust of his fingers. He hovers his face over yours and his brown eyes watch your every reaction. He continues to watch to stare down at you as he feels your walls clench around his fingers, as you shove your hips against his hand to chase the high he so easily brought to you. It amazes him, how much your eyes can say when your mouth is preoccupied.

“The first of many, isn’t that right babe?” Futakuchi presses his lips to your neck, running his tongue along your skin to lap at the area before biting down on it. He moans lowly into your neck and you can feel the vibration throughout your whole body. You desperately try to wiggle your hips, to get him to stop moving his fingers but he doesn’t. And soon that painful sensitivity is gone, turned into a new set of pleasure. Futakuchi notices this instantly as you relax once more and is quick to reward you with a kiss. “That’s it, good girl.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

Kuroo doesn’t put up with your shit, point-blank periodt

Let me rephrase that, he himself is a very snarky and teasing person but if you tease him?! Goodbye it’s over for your ass

Kuroo does not know the word ‘no’ so don’t try it with him, he will burst a blood vessel

Like ‘wtf do you mean no’ , he will fuck it into your vocabulary so you learn

I feel like Kuroo has a very intense liking for punishing you

Seeing you all weak before him, ugh he would have the biggest grin on his face

He probably acts annoyed whenever you act out but deep down, he lives for it and secretly wonders how far you will do

He has so many methods to make your bratty resolve falter! From teasing to orgasm denial, the possibilities are endless!

Kuroo is still very soft deep down, he makes sure to take good care of you~~

And at the end of each of his ‘punishments’ through your clouded mind you start thinking of new ways to get on his nerves, heheh

You whimper against Kuroo’s hold, clutching onto his shoulders as you feel his hands roam all over your back.

“Don’t move.” He tells you, holding you flush against his hard cock and you simply refuse. You try to raise your hips but Kuroo doesn’t let you, he grips your sides tightly to hold you down and your hands fall from his shoulders to his biceps to dig your nails lightly into his skin.

“Please, Kuroo, I can’t-“ You whine and try once more to grind against him, you’ll try anything to relieve the ache bundled up inside.

“I said, don’t move.” He warns once again and you feel tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. Stubbornly, you look up at him with your watery eyes and large pout but Kuroo matches your pathetic expression with a serious one. His eyes are staring you down and not even the slightest curve of his lip is seen, ultimately he looks annoyed. When you let out another whine Kuroo is quick to silence you with a slap to your ass, leaving a harsh sting. A lone tear falls from your eye and Kuroo reaches forward to kiss it off your cheek while he smoothes over your hair and massages your scalp. “Patience baby girl, let it breathe.”

Kuroo’s gentle words do little to soothe the heat licking between your thighs so you try to focus on the hand in your hair. Much to your surprise, Kuroo starts slowly moving his hips again to thrust up into you.

“There we go, isn’t this nice?” Kuroo grunts and kisses your temple, the hand in your hair roughly tugs at random strands when you fail to respond.

“O-oh, yes it’s so nice, I love you~” Moans start slipping from your lips as his thick cock massages your walls. Kuroo chuckles lightly and tightens the grip he has around your waist, starting to fully thrust up into you.

“I know you do baby, I know you do.”

[ordonianhero]

Above and Beyond

author’s notes: This is a complete one shot. please excuse grammar and spelling mistakes. this story turning out way differently then what I was expecting. The characters belong to jojo56830 Linked Universe. I am sorry I haven been writing much and Chapter four of my main story is on hold till I feel motivated to work on it. so for now I am working on short stories. Hope you enjoy this one. Feel free to take inspiration and do fan art of this if you wish. 

Genre: Fluff- lots of fluff and comfort.

words: 2,805

Synopsis: They had been traveling for some time, the weather not letting up. Wild is running a cold. Everyone seemed tired and they needed shelter. Time’s own old injuries are acting up. So Twilight takes it upon himself to make sure they all get somewhere to settle down till the rain settles down and they can recharge.

Characters: EVERYONE  

Above and Beyond

  It was officially the first day of spring. The grass in the fields they crossed were lush and green. The trees just starting to blossom and gain back their leaves from the long winter days. little flowers bursting from the grounds. The sky was partly blue, with blankets of grey clouds of an upcoming spring storm. The birds were far more lively and chirping as they flew past the nine heroes as they wandered the land. However, despite it being spring, the cold air of winter still lingered. At night the temperatures would drop near to freezing, with frost caking the area. Then as the sun showed the warmth of the day would melt away the cold some. However the cold had seeped into the Older hero's bones. The aches were from old injuries he had gotten long ago.

 Legend was being extra quiet. He didn't trust his words to lash out wrong. enough of the cold and hard ground. Their feet sludge through the mud as another bout of showers begin. Spring showers as they are often called. Legend held in his outwardly grumbling. Twilight's own hair stuck to his face, water droplets dripping to his eye. He looked over at the Smith who was not really covered, he removed his pelt and placed the hood and rest over them. Meanwhile the traveler wore a brown cloak. The Captain had used part of his cape to shield Wind from the rain. Wild had been friendly to share some of his hood to Sky. Even though he had his own hood, it wasn't doing much. as the Cub sneezed.

 They at this time should find a place to say. From what Twilight could gage, this rain wasn't going to give up anytime soon. The sun teasingly shining through the clouds. The kept moving on with the Leader moving forward quietly. Every once in a while twilight caught him massaging a sore spot on his body. "This rain is really not letting up is it?" stated the Traveler. The rain drops bounced over a few flowers they passed. "They are spring showers." replied Twilight, the heavy rain now just letting up into a drizzle. "is it truly spring?" asked Wind as he peeked out from Warrior's cape. "It sure is. I remember the days working on my uncle's apple farm and dealing with such unexpected showers." Legend said very coldly.

They sloshing of their feet through the mud only made things even more dampening. The captain approached Twilight as they walked. "we should probably look for shelter. I doubt Time will want to. He seems determined to keep walking, but with each step, I am seeing him in pain." he spoke in a low whisper to the rancher. "I agree. I will offer to scout a head for shelter." he replied patting the Captain's soaked back. Twilight walked up to Time who's eyes were focused all about him. "We should find shelter. There's no point to trudge more in this weather. I can scout ahead if maybe to find us something." Time didn't reply. Twilight looked directly into their leader's eyes. They were filled with tiredness. The bags and dark circles gave part of that away. He then looked over at Twilight and nodded to him to do so.

Twilight nodded back as an understanding and took off ahead to go scout out ahead. "where is he going?" asked sky out of curiosity.

"Maybe he is abandoning us." Legend jokingly stated. Wild's eyes widen to that statement. "No he wouldn't." The young sailor's voice came.

"No. he is just scouting ahead." replied the captain, glaring at Legend.

"why didn't he ask anyone to go with him, it's not safe to go on their own." Replied Four.

"He can handle things on his own. I have seen him do so. Fear not." Came their leader's tired voice.

Wild then felt weak and begin to lean against Traveler. He let out another sneeze. Hyrule looked at his friend, he looked flushed. He was clearly sick. Oh Rancher, please find somewhere we can rest at.

-----

Once twilight was out of sight, he transformed into Wolf form. He could find places much faster that way. His paw sloshed as he went into full run and only stopping to sniff by old tracks of travelers from weeks ago. Which then lead it way west towards some forest. He stopped at the edge of the woods. Using his sense, he was able to calculate that they were not far from a traveler's cabin. He also used it to sense out if there was any enemies nearby. So far. none. Once he gathered all the information, he turned around and rushed back toward the group. Mud splashing against his fur coat.

The closer he got he transformed back and met up with the group.

"There's..." He was trying to catch his breath.

"whoa, looks our Rancher age is catching up with him." Legend laugh.

"Oh cut it out." Snapped Four.

The captain moved up to the front where Time and Twilight were. "find something then?"

Twilight shook the rain off him and then took a deep breath, "I was able to find a cabin. not far. I didn't see any enemies along the way."

"well that's good, wait- how close?" the Captain questioned.

"Oh, 'bout two miles away." replied Twilight.

"You ran, two miles." The sailor said surprised.

"I told you, I have faith in him." Time spoke giving the Captain a look. He reached over and ruffled Twilight's hair a bit.

The captain snorted. Twilight then eyed the rest of the group and spotted the Cub leaning against Hyrule. He looked bout ready to fall over. He rushed over to him and catches him. The group stopped. Twilight picked up the cub to carry him. Wild made a fuss to fight him on it. however he was too weak to do so. Goddesses you're stubborn. He walked over to Epona. Hyrule following behind him. Twilight Lifted the Cub onto her back, followed by himself. "Rest."

"I am not a baby..." Grumbled Wild.

"And you're in no condition to be traveling. You are not well." Twilight replied.

Wild let out a grumble and just rested against Twilight as they traveled on. Twilight own warm body helped combat the cold he felt throughout his own. Hyrule stayed close by Twilight.

-----

Once they had reached the cabin, they all sighed with relief. The rain had gotten to be coming down harder. Twilight hopped off Epona, Captain offered to take care of Epona as Twilight got Wild into the cabin. Four and Legend got a fire going. Twilight got Wild bundled up to keep him warm. Wild was about to grumble again. Sky helped set up Wild's bed roll. As Hyrule made up some herbal med to give to them. Wild was about to fight him on it till he gave in and took it. Wild could feel its effects as it relieved his aches. Twilight quickly got Wild into much drier garments and then let him fall to rest in his bed roll. some sleep would do him some good.

Everyone managed to get into much drier garments themselves. Time had even though known to not sleep much felt sleep take over him. He had fallen asleep himself. Hyrule was careful to not wake them as he went over and using some of his own healing magic, eased some of the old man's pains. Twilight looked about the room. Everyone looked grateful for the shelter as the rain pounded the roof. Sky found some wood to carve on, while four took to reading a bit. Wind was huddled up Warriors under a blanket. The fire was slowly getting the Cabin warm.

Twilight moved over to fill a kettle up and placed it over the fire to make some tea. Legend was sitting near Four. "So since the chef is sick, whose going to cook?" He asked.

The room stayed quiet. The sounds of those sleeping could be heard, mixed by the rain. "I will make a soup." Twilight replied. Anyone willing to help with the ingredients, much appreciated.

Sky stopped carving, "I can help."

"Me too." replied Four.

"Hyrule, you rest, okay." said Twilight, knowing the traveler need to recharge his magic.

"So what you going to make?" questioned Legend.

"Oh something I have learned from being around you all." Twilight winked.

"Oh this better not be something hyrule made up." Snorted Four.

"thee has little faith in me?" Chuckled twilight.

"Oh I trust you...just couldn't peg you for a cooker." replied four with a soft laugh.

"you'll be surprised." twilight said, as he grabbed out some potatoes, carrots, onion and celery. along with a big chunk of meat.

------

Sky helped peel the potatoes and cut them up in to cubes. Four was helping cut up the celery and carrots. while Legend was put to dicing up the onion. Twilight made work with cutting up the meat. Twilight filled a stew pot with water to let the water get to boiling. Legend as he cut the onion was fighting off the tears from cutting it. Which they all quietly chuckled. "aww so you do have feelings." Sky joked.

"shut it bird boy. someone had to cry at the travesty of this meal being done by the rancher." jest Legend.

"or I could of just let you starved." said twilight sprinkling herbs into the stew pot as the meat went in. Followed by him putting the cut potatoes, carrots and celery. He took the onion and tossed it in.

"you wouldn't?" smirked legend as he took everyone stuff to clean up.

"could be worst." Four replied.

"whats worst then-ooooooh. yeah that is worst." sky suddenly remembering about the goron spice. 

Twilight finished stirring things up, letting it simmer.

Sky then poured them each a cup of warm herbal tea. which warmed their souls. The rain still falling. Daylight fading.

Legend sat beside Twilight. "So what kind of stew are you making anyways? It seems familiar the ingredients."

Twilight softly smiled softly and bumps Legend gently, "something to feel like home."

----

The Nice warm hearth with a stew simmering nicely. The Smell was beginning to fill the cabin. Twilight checking it once in a while and adding more seasonings if needed. Legend took to reading some, while Four worked taking care of everyone's weapons. Sky was plucking gently at his harp. Twilight looked over and seeing a solemn look across his face. Twilight moved over closer to him. "Missing your gal hu?"

"Am I that really that easy to read? You and Time seem to be the two who pick up on that."  Sky looked up at Twilight.

"Hm, cause love is easy to spot and the missing of those we care about is easy to spot." smiled Twilight. He saw Time slowly waking up as well.

Sky plinked one last note before setting his harp down. "It's like before when I was searching for her. I was always one step behind to reaching her."

"Hm. That's got to be saddening." responded Twilight.

Time filled his mug with tea and sat by them on a stool. Hyrule also slowly woke up from his own rest, as he slept beside Wild. Warriors, snorted his self awake, not realizing he had fallen asleep. Which gain a chuckle from the Veteran.

Sky blushed a bit. "It's stupid."

"Nah, being in love isn't stupid. It can be amazing, painful and hard sometimes. But when you are that bonded with someone-its magical." Smiled twilight. He went back to the stew to check on it. Taking a sip of the broth.

"Oh, well aren't you a romantic." teased the Captain.

Twilight sputtered at that statement, burning his tongue a bit on the broth. Time just let out a soft chuckle.

"Excuse you, At least I know what being romantic is. versus whatever garbage you try." jeered back with a smirk at the captain.

"Yet you were the one with your heart shattered." the Captain threw back.

"Oh, oh we going there? be very careful what you say, or I may just put something special in your own food." replied twilight.

"Hey. question." their attention was pulled by wind speaking up. he let out a yawn as they all stayed quiet. "why Do you and captain always banter like this? do you have like something against each other?"

"Not at all, it's all out of fun. never intended to hurt each other. It's like a older younger sibling rivalry." Explained Twilight. Warriors nodded in agreement.

"So, like when my sister gets annoying like banter?" asked Wind innocently.

"nah, that would be the Veteran and pretty boy." Chuckled Twilight.

"Oi! No. We just pick on each other like a pair of old friends who attempt to one up each other." Legend replied.

Twilight went back to the stew and snorted.

"I am actually use to this style of talking sometimes. Back when I lead. The men and I would banter in our sparing practices." The captain explained to wind.

"would you like to lead then." Time joking stated. "cause you said 'Use to.' " his arms crossed and a smirk across his face.

"and put up with his left right march- how about no." Teased legend.

"any time old man. Any time." Captain stated with a smirk back.

----

Once the Stew was finished, Twilight filled their bowls. He then went over and got Wilds own bowl and filled it. He then gently Woke them up. Wild let out a grumble, then woke. He then smelt the stew, He looked at it and then back at twilight who was giving him a soft smile. He saw everyone Smiling at the having something to warm the belly. He slowly sat up and took the bowl. "you cooked this?" he asked quietly.

"its editable, trust me." smirked Twilight.

Twilight sat beside Wild. Wild leaned against Twilight and took a sip of broth. The flavor was so rich and full of flavor. His mind flashed to something he had made back when he was home in his own hyrule. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he at the stew. Nobody had noticed it except Twilight who had finished his own bowl.

"it remind me of home." wild hoarsely said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Everyone looked at Wild. Twilight gently rubbed his back. "It's something I learned from Legend, I am sure it something you picked up in your land too. I felt it was the best thing to make."

"Wait, you knew how to make my Uncles stew?" Legend stated in shock. "That's why I recognized this."

Twilight blushed. "well yeah."

"Can I have more?" asked wind.

"Is it better then Grandma's soup then." teased Captain.

"No, but its homey." Wind said, getting a second helping.

Everyone chuckled a bit. Wild finished his bowl and sleepily curled up into Twilight. Like a smile child when sick, all they want is to be comforted. Twilight just wrapped an arm and held him.

"Well since Twilight did most of the cooking, I think its best we help do the clean up." Time spoke up. The captain agreed. Time came over and picked up both Twilight's and wilds empty bowls. He gave Twilight a soft smile to the pup and Cub. Everyone seem to help out with clean up. along with making the fire more.

---

More Tea was made as bed rolls were set up. Hyrule made sure to give Wild more herbal med to help fight the cold he had clearly developed. Captain had gotten to telling a story at some point. Everyone was in such a chipper mood. As their night was starting to settle in for the night. Wild had drifted off back to sleep, bundled up in his bed roll and Twilight's pelt. Time pulled Twilight away. Twilight caring side often could get in the way of him getting actually sleep.

Twilight’s bed roll was set beside Time's. Captain put on last log to keep the fire going for the night. Before settling beside Wind. Time poured a sleep potion and gave Twilight it. "Here."

"I-"

Time just gave him a look and Twilight slouched and took it in his hand. Threw it back and scrunched up his face. Letting out a grunt of disgust. Time chuckled. Taking a bit himself. Twilight could instantly feel the effects of it in his body. He couldn't fight it any longer as he laid down in his bead roll. His eye closing, his body going into a resting state. Time just smiled and brushed a bit of Twilight's hair aside. "I am so proud of you. So proud of you."

He leaned over and gently kissed the top of Twilight’s forehead.

"my son."

-fin.