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formidxble · 4 years

Text

summary: you and chan follow a routine every night. tonight’s different.

pairing: bang chan x female reader

word count: 3.1k

genre: angst, like Extreme Angst™️, college!au, established relationship

warnings: a lot of swearing, toxic relationship, mentions of sex ( oh and btw, this is not beta read. we die like men)

note: omg? finally? i got to write something and now i’m posting it on here? confidently??? who is she, we don’t know her! enough jokes though, this is my first fic ever that’s going to be posted on this platform, so i’m excited! constructive criticism and feedback are welcome 👉🏻👈🏻.

tagged ❤️: @popisdead @hanflix

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

it’s become routine at this point.

when chan sees your room’s light turn off, it’s a signal that your roommates are now headed to bed and that you’re ready to come out and meet him. it’s been a busy few months for the both of you and the nights were the only time you two could meet. he’s a business major working on his business proposals for the semester and you’re a performing arts student, preparing for this semester’s art production. saying it was hard to make time to see each other was an understatement. nevertheless, you two made sure you still met, may it be only for a few minutes. some nights you were lucky, being able to meet for an hour or so. nights were reserved for chan and for chan only.

after putting on your coat, you reached out for the door knob as you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. “are you coming or not? i’m freezing” you sigh softly.

the first few nights were fun, you have to admit. impromptu grocery shopping for the both of your food supplies for rest of the week, a few make out sessions here and there, and sometimes, leading to even more if you both were lucky enough. it gave you a high you never thought you would ever come down from. whenever he kissed you after a long day, you felt as if the weight on your shoulders fell off, even for just a moment. whenever chan held you in his arms and told you it was going to be okay, your chest loosened, even for just a moment. chan was the calm in the chaos and when you were in his car, holding his hand and feeling his lips lingering on yours, he provided the needed break you longed for during the day.

but, as the days and weeks passed by, the nights became shorter and quieter. rides became quicker and the good conversations slowly turned into mere small talk. no longer would he give you soft touches, no longer would he ask how your day went, and no longer would chan look at you the way he did before. no more i love you’s, no more second glances when he dropped you off at your dorm during the early hours of the morning. you excused the change of behavior as the result of your fatigue in school. the change was expected, you always told yourself.

it’s become a mantra now, something you repeated to yourself as you lied in bed at night, a routine. a routine.

you close your eyes for a moment as you twist the doorknob to open the door. you focus on your phone again as soon as you got out of your dorm. “coming."

you spotted chan’s car a mile away. before, he would put the window down to greet you, a soft smile spreading across his face. now, you were faced with the car’s tinted windows, your reflection staring back at you as you wrapped your fingers around the handle of the car door. you heard the lock click.

“hey,” you mumbled. you heard a soft hum in response. you quietly put the seatbelt on, relaxing your back on the seat as you stared ahead. chan was on his phone, seatbelt off. light from his phone illuminated his features. the bags under his eyes were a little bit more prominent than the last time you noticed. you wonder if he’s been eating, getting enough sleep, but you weren’t in the position to ask now. not when frustration is starting to boil in your chest.

you didn’t know if you should call him out. it was his way to unwind as well, but then again, he was there to pick you up for a short date. this was the only time you both had for yourselves, yet here he was, texting away on his phone. this shouldn’t annoy you as much as it does now because chan does this whenever he was waiting.

“hey,” you repeat louder. chan looks up from his phone, an eyebrow raised.

“yes?” he asks, turning his phone off. the two of you are surrounded in darkness, with only the light from the lamp posts outside lighting the interior of the car.

“what do you mean, ‘yes?’ are you serious?” chan furrows his eyebrows at your words as he straps himself in. he turns to you, blinking. you suck in a breath.

“this is the only time we get to spend together and you’re on your phone? are you ser—“

“i’m sorry. there,” he breathes, “can we move past this? i’m not in the mood to fight.” he interrupts. you open your mouth to say something back, but you’re cut off by the movement of the car.

the air inside the car was heavy, heavier than usual. sure, you and chan had a couple of unresolved fights the other nights and sure, you spent you early mornings crying over him, but it should have been resolved with the few kisses he gives you, right? then why are you so upset now? chan makes amends, tells you he’s sorry for raising his voice, for ignoring you the whole day. he was busy, right? of course he’ll end up not texting you. he kisses the pain away, even though he’s the reason for said pain. he talks his way out and if he avoids the topic of the fight, you wouldn’t mind. that was the routine. but not tonight, apparently.

“you’re always not in the mood.” you whisper, crossing your arms in front of your chest. you watch the trees outside of the car starting to blur as chan’s driving sped up. this night will end as quick as it started, you thought. you hear a sigh beside you.

“i just—“ chan starts, “i can’t fight anymore, y/n. i’m tired.”

“and you think i’m not?” you answer back, looking at the man beside you, “god, we never talk anymore, chan. all we ever do is fuck the pain away and—“

you’re cut off by the sight of chan’s knuckles slowly turning white on the steering wheel. you almost don’t see the way he clenches his jaw. he pulls the car over at the side of the road and for a second, you think you two will be able to finally talk about your issues, the problems that were never muttered, but still plagued your relationship. god knows you wanted to hear from him, anything— fuck, just anything to finally resolve it, fix it. to finally end the routine you both had. but that hope shatters as soon as his mouth opens.

“what do you want me to say? we’ve been okay, we’ve been fin—“

you let out an exasperated sigh, eyes meeting his, “we aren’t fine, chan, we haven’t bee—“

“what do you mean?” chan questions. he removes his seatbelt to turn to you. a gentleman he still was, even though you knew he was avoiding the topic. again. “fuck, what do you want me to say? i was on the phone. how does that merit a full blown argu—“

“it’s not about the damn phone!” you exclaim, finally feeling the frustration in your chest blow over.

were you going crazy? why didn’t he see the changes? doesn’t he feel the frustration? were you the only one feeling this way, then? does he feel that everything was okay or were you that good at acting that everything was okay, that nothing was wrong? you run a hand down your face as you try to collect yourself. the car became quiet, as always. chan was never really vocal about things like this and let you do the talking. maybe this is why issues were never resolved.

“then, what is it about?” chan mumbles, eyes never leaving your form. you let out a soft scoff.

"what is it abou—are you kidding me? are you fucking with me?”chan raises an eyebrow in response, furrowing it afterwards. he lets out a sarcastic laugh after a few beats of silence. he shook his head as he turned to face the road again.

“is this fight going to last all night? if so, i’d rather just drop you off,” he starts to put his seatbelt on, "we can continue our date when you’re not this moody."

and at that moment, your world nearly stops. the silence in the car was loud and the tension, if you could see it, could be cut with a knife. his words echo in your mind as the car starts moving again, chan preparing to make a u-turn to go back in the direction of your dorm.

“not...this...moody?” you repeat to yourself. chan nonchalantly hums in response.

you couldn’t even look at this man anymore. it was as if you didn’t know him anymore. he carried the name of your boyfriend, but was he really the chan you knew? the chan you knew won’t be able to say these things to you, let alone treat you like this. you feel like a deer in headlights, shocked at how everything led up to this moment. and to think that the turning point of your relationship was something as simple as chan being on his phone. you closed your eyes as you tried to fight the lump forming in your throat.

“so, what am i supposed to do?” you ask. "just go home and think about what i did? what i said?”

chan shrugs. he shrugs. you couldn’t believe how he didn’t take this conversation seriously. was it because you’ve been in this exact same situation before? sure, fights have been frequent, but were they frequent to the point that chan just straight up ignored them? to the point that he never brought the topics up again? no effort to try and fix it?

was he that tired that he was willing to let everything pass? let you suffer in silence?

“stop the car,” you whisper shakily. chan doesn’t listen, though. he never does, he rarely does. he never listens anymore.

“chan, please stop the car,” you feel stupid begging, but that does it. he stops the car again, your dorm building in sight. his knuckles start to turn white again, but he closes his eyes this time. you hear him take a sharp inhale through his nose.

“i can’t fight anymore, y/n, please, just...we can fix it tomorrow, whatever it is.”

you let out a soft sob at his words. “chan, you always say that, god, you always say that.”

chan grips his steering wheel tighter. “yes, i do, but we always fix it. we always end up fixing it.”

“no, we fucking don’t!” you scream now, releasing the frustration that has been clawing to come out, “no, we don’t fix things, we fuck it away and we pray that things magically turn okay in the morning, but it never does! it never fucking does!”

chan stays quiet, eyes drifting to the car floor. you wish you could know what he was thinking. you wish he would talk to you, tell you what he really felt instead of just sitting there. god, were you tired. you were tired of pretending things were okay when they aren’t. you were tired of telling yourself it would be fixed, that the relationship would go back to normal, but it never does. and you just somehow have to live with it because that’s how it is with you and him. that’s the routine, right? and even though you hated it, you tolerated it because you loved him. but people will reach an end point, one way or the other. you can’t help but feel that this was yours.

“loving you is so exhausting, chan, i—“ your voice cracks, “i’m supposed to be content with this treatment? you and i not talking the whole day and then meeting at night just to make up for lost time, have sex, and pretend that everything’s okay, that the fights have not gotten out of hand, that we’re going to be ok—“

“we are going to be okay, fuck, it’s not that easy,” chan mumbles, “i’m trying, y/n, but i can’t give you everything you need, not anymore.”

silence fills the car and it engulfs the two of you.

"what changed?" you sob softly, tears now slowly flowing down your cheeks. it was okay, a few weeks ago. days became busier, tasks became heavier, but did that mean that your relationship had to deteriorate the way it has been?

“nothing changed, please, y/n,”chan breathes, not turning to look at you, “we just got busier and—"

“we weren’t like this, chan, we used to talk about things. w-we used to...talk. we can’t even do that now? am i asking for too much? i shouldn’t be begging for your time, chan, please—“you cry out softly. “why am i always second to you, chan? i try to be the best for you, chan, please.”

chan lets out a shaky breath as he tries to find the words to respond with. “y/n, it’s not y—“

“spare me the bullshit. spare me the "it’s not you, it’s me”. at least, be honest with me.” you say firmly, wiping away the tears on your cheeks harshly.

“i...i just don’t feel like i’m ready for this yet, okay? i want to fo—"

your feel something in your chest. a pain you’ve never felt before. chan’s words become a blur as you feel your back hit the seat.

you’re taken back to a time in your childhood when you were trying out the jump rope your friends had. being the idiot you were, you jumped in time with the rope and it tangled on your feet. you ended up falling on your chin, scraping it in the process. the pain rang through your skull and for a while, you couldn’t move, tears merely streaming down your cheeks. and to that that one time during one of the art productions in university, you ended up falling off of the stage. of course, it wasn’t anyone’s fault, but maybe if they turned on the lights before lowering the stage, you wouldn’t have broken your ankle. you remember how worried chan was, but most importantly, you remember how much it hurt. you couldn’t walk and if you tried, it would shoot pain up your leg.

adding all the pain you’ve felt in all those moments, it wouldn’t amount to the pain you feel now.

not ready? not ready after 3 years? how could he say that? this was the man you saw your future with, someone who was supposed to be your soulmate. that was him, that was chan. the nights you shared, the words you uttered, were all those fake? were all those just to make everything feel okay?

not ready?

not ready.

the words echo in your mind like a broken record. were you supposed to beg him to stay? beg him to be ready when he just admitted that he wasn’t? as you turned to look at him, you didn’t see the chan who loved you. instead, it was the shell of the man who used to love you, care for you. fuck, was love supposed to hurt this bad? you feel your heart starting to crack even more.

if this was love, you didn’t want it. not anymore.

“drop me off,”you mumble after a deafening silence, voice shaking as a sob threatens to come out of your mouth. chan turns to look at you, finally. you don’t meet his eyes anymore. you, instead, just look straight ahead. if he wasn’t ready for a commitment, even after 3 long years, then you were not about to beg him to stay. chan opens his mouth to say something, but you notice that he just swallows his words. he turns to look in front of him as he pushes on the gas again to drive back to your dorm. if he wasn’t ready, then he wasn’t ready. there’s no point in trying to convince him he is. the next best thing is to leave and let him figure out what he needed to figure out. if he needed space, he could have told you. what bothered you the most is the fact that chan’s always been about communication, but somehow and somewhere along the journey, he changed. maybe that’s just how it goes.

when he pulls up in front of your dorm building, chan turns to look at you again, eyes scanning your features. “i’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

you shake your head, eyes closing as you tried to fight the urge to cry again. the question he asked has always confused you. it was always like this, that even after a fight, he expects to see you again, the same time, the same place. you were tired and it didn’t help that you now knew why he wasn’t acting the same— he wasn’t ready to commit to you, even after all this time.

“i’m ending it here, chan."

“ending what?”

ending the routine, ending the cycle, ending us. these words rang through your head and you didn’t know which to answer. was he acting aloof so that he could get off easily? that maybe you’ll let him off again because he somehow can’t understand what was happening? you swallowed.

“us, chan, i—i can’t go on like this anymore,” you pause. was this what you really wanted or were you doing this to prove a point? you weren’t sure, but one thing’s clear, you had to do this, not only for him, but for you. you can’t subject yourself to this cycle anymore. you had to break it sooner or later. “when i get out of this car, we’re over."

chan’s car became a place of love and security in a world full of uncertainty and chaos. it was where you both spent time together when you needed a break, when you needed to be together. now, it was a place of loneliness and despair. it became a place full of resentment and unresolved issues and you can’t help but wonder how chan will be able to sit in his car again without thinking of this moment. before he could respond, you were out of the car.

in the back of your mind, you hoped that he would call you, run after you. beg you to stay, tell you that everything will be fixed if you just gave him time. you prayed in your head desperately. if he did so, you know you’ll come crawling back to him. if he showed some sort of care, some sort of longing, some sort of initiative that he wanted things to work out, that he wanted this as much as you do, then maybe you’ll come back to him again. that’s how it always was, right?

right?

behind you, you hear the car drive away.

#stray kids #bang chan au #bang chan x reader #skz #college!au #bang chan #the way i sobbed while writing this is criminal #kpop scenarios #kpop #skz imagines #bang chan angst #skz chan #skz angst #thanks for reading!!#kim tries to write #archive #stray kids imagines #skzstorynet

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 11 (NSFW)

Masterlist

IT’S THE MOMENT YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR BESTIES! Thanks as always to @acollectionofficsandshit I think I broke her with this chapter! She also found the song for this chapter so special thanks for that as well ❤

Word Count: 7.6k

Recommended song: “The Man Who Can’t be Moved” by the Script

The steam of the shower cleanses your senses and washes away the sweat from your workout. Crisp September air rushes through the open window and raises goosebumps on your skin as you step out. You turn off the tap and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel in an attempt to ward off the chill. A glance at the clock tells you that you have a half hour to get ready before your date picks you up.

Peter was one of the few guys in your major that paid you any attention. Most of them tolerated you at best but it had never bothered you. You were independent enough that you could make it through class on your own and google what you didn’t understand afterward and learn it before the exam.

It had been fairly easy to fall in with Peter and a few others during the first few weeks of summer classes. What began with group study sessions and quickly developed into hanging out one on one with Peter on the weekends to go to coffee shops or play video games.

When Peter had asked you out two months ago, Pierre's voice nagged in the back of your head. He asked if you were ready to move on from him and if you could really forget him.

The simple answer was no, forgetting him was impossible. No matter how many years passed, he would always own a part of you.

Peter was sweet and he cared about you but you were quickly realizing the bond you shared with him didn't run as deep as it had with Pierre. He started as your friend and you really didn't feel right letting it develop past that. Although you had agreed to that date and plenty more in the time since, it still didn’t feel like a relationship. You had to stop yourself from imagining someone else's arm around you when you lounged on the sofa or someone else's lips kissing you goodnight.

You slip into a form fitting red cocktail dress and sweep your hair over a shoulder, banishing the memory. The person staring back at you in the mirror is a stranger, a ghost of who you once were. You pull your lips into a smile nowhere near as bright as it was months ago.

A knock on your apartment door startles you from your trance. Peter holds a bouquet of flowers, a broad grin on his face. He was handsome in a traditional sense, with a sharp jawline and playful forest green eyes that promised a good time. He was adventurous; a night in wasn’t in the cards. Everything was an event with him and you didn’t mind the distractions one bit.

"You look amazing as always," he says, stepping inside and kissing your cheek. You sniff the flowers lightly. Daisies were some of your least favorite flowers but the gesture was too sweet to point that out.

"So do you," you respond, gaze sweeping from his scuffed wingtip shoes to his crisp blue button down shirt. Ocean blue, washed out against Peter's pale skin, but would have looked perfect on Pierre's golden complexion.

You had to stop thinking about him. You saw him everywhere. On more than one occasion, you dropped out of a conversation when you caught a glimpse of blond hair bobbing through a crowd or heard a laugh startlingly similar to his. You couldn’t escape the idea of him whether you liked it or not.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks, touching your elbow.

God, you were so far from okay. Your mind was a melted mess of memories of a blond Frenchman and all the broken promises between the pair of you. This was pointless. You were wasting your time with Peter. He was great and should have been everything you wanted but he just wasn't enough.

"I'm so sorry," you start, handing back the flowers. "I don't think this is going to work."

"Oh thank god," he says, shoulders drooping as he runs a hand through his hair. "I've been thinking the same thing, I just didn't want to be the one to say it." You both laugh, the tension ebbing from your frame.

"Don't get me wrong," he continues, "You're amazing. There's just no…"

"Spark," you finish. "Yeah, I agree. Friends?"

You stick out your hand and he shakes it firmly. "Sounds like a plan. No hard feelings. See you in class on Monday?"

"I'll be there."

You slip out of your heels with a sigh, glad you don't have to endure that form of torture any longer. For the first time in months, you allow yourself to scroll through Pierre's Instagram.

Instead of being flooded with personal pictures it had become mostly posed shoots.it was the kind of thing that seemed staged, like he was only posted because his PR team deemed it necessary.

As time went on the content became more and more clinical. He was giving fans less of an insight into his personal life and focusing on racing content. You knew he had probably thrown everything he had into the season in an attempt to move on and you couldn't blame him.

If his Insta was to be believed, he had earned a handful of podiums in the four months since you had mostly lost interest in the sport. After Austin it had been nearly impossible to watch a full race and you had instead been getting your biased updates from Max, who conveniently left out all but the barest details of anyone’s race weekend but his own.

There was no point in trying to convince yourself you no longer felt anything for Pierre. Just scrolling through his page reignites the flame in your chest that had been burning far too dimly for far too long.

Heart pounding, you double tap a photoset of him modeling for Alpha Tauri, the lighting accenting his eyes. Their distinct, rich blue had always been your weakness.

Your fingers find their way to the charm at your throat. You hadn't taken it off once since the gala. It was pointless to deny the sway he still held over you all these months later. Maybe it was time you stopped pretending you were fine and finally give in to the pull.

The past few months have given you plenty of time to reflect. The media would hound you like dogs but at least while you were in London they would leave your family alone. And really, enduring their scrutiny was a small price to pay if it meant loving Pierre.

“I’m an idiot,” you mumble, pulling up his contact in your phone. Breaking up with him had been the dumbest decision of your life. You’d watched him from afar as he traveled from grand prix to grand prix, touring cities and sleeping everywhere except where he belonged: curled up next to you in your tiny London flat, whispering sweet nothings in your ear until you both fell asleep.

You couldn’t bear it any longer. Fuck what anyone would say. Nothing could be worse than knowing your soulmate was out there and you let him go.

Heart pounding, you type out a text. I miss you.

Shaking your head, you erase it. How are you? Seemed more appropriate.

"Here goes nothing," you murmur and hit send.

**********

It started off as any other free Sunday did: Charles and Charlotte arriving at his apartment carrying snacks and beer which neither of them would tell their trainers about tomorrow and plopping in front of the television to watch the PSG match.

The trio roared at the screen at poor calls and yelled when a goal was scored, all completely lost in the sport.

Pierre absently registers his phone buzzing during the last few minutes of the match but ignores it. PSG comes out on top and he finally checks it, nearly choking on the pretzels he was eating.

How are you?

Pierre has to read it thrice before he’s convinced it’s real.

"Holy fuck," he says softly, tipping the phone so Charles can see.

"Told you mate." He takes Charlotte's hand and stands. Football match completely forgotten, Pierre lifts a hand in a wave as the couple leaves. His eyes are fixed on the screen as he tries to comprehend the gravity your words carry.

After months of waiting in agony and wondering if you still cared, you’d texted him.

He had no idea how he managed to keep his feet on the floor. He was completely weightless, reading your message over and over again until it sinks in.

He takes the three simple words as permission to finally delve back into your life, immediately scrolling through your instagram to catch up. He double taps every post save for the ones with you and some tall, handsome guy. His stomach twists.

Fuck it. Even if you just wanted to catch up, he'd take it. If you told him you were with someone else and you were happy, he'd learn to live with it. He was starved of you and was prepared to beg for crumbs of your life.

I'm fine. You have time for a phone call?

It was a leap but he acknowledged and accepted the risks.

Yeah. That would be good.

You pick up on the second ring.

"Hey."

Pierre squeezes his eyes shut, pushing back the lump in his throat. Years of memories rush over him in the space of a breath. The shock in your voice when you found out he was a driver for the first time. Your smile and breathless laugh when you met him in the garage in Brazil after his first podium in Formula 1. The tentative glances he had thrown your way for months after he finally accepted that he had begun to fall for you. The way your velvet lips felt when he made a gamble and kissed you for the first time. The drunken lilt of your voice when you told him you loved him that night in London.

Before he can stop it the bad comes rushing back too. The memory of the terror on your face when he let it slip that you were together sends a chill through him. If there was one moment he could change, it wouldn’t be the time he fucked up and lost his seat at Red Bull. It would be to keep his damned mouth shut at that karting track and preserve the bliss of that day and tuck it away in a bulletproof case that he could pull out and look at whenever he wanted.

"Hey you," he manages, silently thanking whoever is listening that he keeps the tremble out of his voice. "Been awhile."

"Yeah," you say sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he says quickly. "You never need to apologize to me."

You were the last one that needed to apologize for anything. He should be the one beginning for forgiveness. It was his fault you’d panicked. He should have fought harder for you, proved that he could make it work and save you both from months of heartache. But then again, maybe you had moved on. He couldn’t expect you to wait for him forever.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent for so long until you clear your throat. For the first time he can recall, the silence is thick and heavy with unspoken words. It had always been effortless, the stories and words flowing like a babbling brook between the two of you. Now the confessions on his tongue remain poised there, too terrified to give them the light of day.

"How's your season been?" He’s thankful you break the quiet first but the question makes his stomach sink.

"You haven't been watching?"

"Not really."

"Oh." It made sense that you would distance yourself from him and that was fine, but he couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt. "It's been decent. Red Bull wants me to come to Milton for contract discussions this week, actually."

"You're moving back up?"

"Potentially." Horner had only called him earlier that week to discuss the potential of him returning to Red Bull next year. The informal agreement was that if he could make seventh in the championship in a midfield car, they would bump him back for the following season.

It wasn’t a concrete guarantee- that’s why Horner wanted to speak with him in person. He had a year left in his contract and being in a Red Bull meant he would be able to prove his worth to other teams and potentially secure a world championship worthy seat at a team that actually appreciated his talent.

He draws a breath before continuing, "I'll be in London on Monday. You know- if you wanna get together."

You stay silent for a touch too long and he panics. It was too soon. He should have kept his mouth shut because now he’d driven you away again. “Nevermind, forget I said anything-"

"No," you interrupt, "no, I'd love to see you and catch up. I don't have classes on Tuesdays. Have any free time then?"

His eyes slide shut and he exhales. The flack he would undoubtedly catch for shuffling around a few interviews would be worth it to see you. "Yeah. I can swing by your apartment around seven?"

"Okay," you say, a touch of excitement lacing your voice. "I'll make myself presentable."

"I-" he stops himself before the words can slip past his lips. "I'll see you then."

*********

Pierre blows out a breath and adjusts his backpack. He stands at the threshold of your building, keys in hand, unsure if he should let himself in. The dilemma had kept him rooted to the spot for nearly ten minutes now, weighing the pros and cons of his options.

“Hey you, blond fucker.” Pierre whips around and is met by Daniel’s girlfriend glaring up at him from the sidewalk. She tips her head to the side to study him. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that had to cancel plans to be here tonight. “You gonna grow a pair and go up there or just keep staring at the door all day?”

“I’m going,” he grumbles, “are you?”

“Oh, I was going to but clearly whatever you have planned is more important.” Her grin splits her face ear to ear. “About damn time she got ahold of you. I was getting sick of listening to her gripe about you twenty four seven.”

“Didn’t she tell you I was coming by? If you guys have plans I can come back later.”

She waves a hand and dismisses the offer. “Absolutely not. Go get your girl.”

“She’s not-” The glare she cuts him snatches the words from his mouth. She makes a shooing motion before setting off down the sidewalk, munching on whatever snacks were in her shopping bag.

Pierre shakes out his hands and tries to gather the courage to use his key. The hopeless romantic argued that you would expect him to use it because you would know he still had it. The rational side of him butts in to point out that it might catch you off guard if he showed up without warning. He settles on buzzing your unit, your answer fuzzy from the distortion.

"Pierre?"

Even with the warbly static in your voice, his name on your lips is the salvation he’s been dreaming about for months. "Yeah it's me."

"Don't you have a key?"

"I wasn't sure if I should use it."

You don't answer, instead letting the buzz of the electronic lock do the talking. He takes the stairs three at a time, barely winded by the time he reaches the third floor. He doesn't even have to knock, your door swinging open as he steps up. The sight of you knocks the breath from his lungs.

It didn't matter that you were in a simple hoodie and jeans, feet bare and hair swept back in a low bun. You are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and after months apart he nearly falls to his knees then and there to beg for your forgiveness, to get lost in you until two souls became one and he never had to live another second apart from you.

"Are you gonna stand there or do you wanna come in?"

God, he had missed your teasing jabs. His fingers ache for contact with your soft skin and he curls them into a fist to resist the urge. “Coming in,” he says softly, purposefully brushing your arm as he skirts past you. Every inch of him sings from the barely there touch, his soul aching for more.

Just stepping foot into your quaint flat has the weight he had been carrying on his chest for months beginning to ease up. Nothing beat the elation of being back where he belonged, not even spraying champagne from the top step on a podium.

Determined not to scare you off before he could have a proper conversation with you, Pierre opts for falling into the same humor you had used earlier. The corners of his mouth twitch upward. "Is that takeout I smell?"

You nod, your cheeks turning a pale pink. “I got you two orders of beef lo mein. I figured you might be hungry.”

As if summoned, his stomach growls. “Yeah. I haven’t eaten since breakfast."

“Figures,” you say, eyes glinting with mischief as you settle into the plush carpet and pull a takeout box towards you. "I got it from that place across town, the one you liked best." Pierre perches on the edge of the sofa and snags the plastic tray with his name on it, eyes never leaving yours.

Now that you were mere feet from him he found it increasingly difficult to deny himself the relief of kissing you here and now. He wanted to trace his thumb over your lips before replacing it with his own, to slot his mouth over yours until time was nothing and he was no one other than yours.

You clear your throat and drop his gaze first, sending him crashing back to reality. “So, ninth huh? Glad to see you cracked the top ten.”

Pierre scrunches his nose and spears a piece of broccoli. He was shit with chopsticks but you always got a kick out of him fumbling with them. “Not where I’d like to be but I’ll take it. Horner took notice obviously, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I think an invitation to Milton Keynes is enough reason to hope," you say around a mouthful of sticky rice.

This interaction was reason to hope. The fact that you were once again on speaking terms, that things were finally returning to some semblance of normal, was enough for him to believe that one day everything would be back to how it was before. That maybe, just maybe, he could hold you in his arms again and fall asleep to the soundtrack of your heart beating in his ear.

Remembering the guy from your instagram, he scans the room for any sign of a male companion. Finding none, he asks, “How’s your boyfriend?”

It probably would have been a good idea to go about this particular line of questioning with a bit more tact. Inquiring so blatantly betrayed his inner thoughts, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't have it in him to care, not when his world might be turned upside down by your answer.

“Oh, you mean Peter?” You sip your water, seemingly working up the courage to explain. Each moment that the silence dragged on it became more of a physical monster. Pierre could feel it growing until it threatened to sink his claws in him and drag him deeper into the pits of his insecurity.

“If that’s his name, yeah.” Pierre braces himself for whatever comes next, reminding himself to be happy for you no matter what you choose. It would take time but he could put aside what he still felt for you and learn to accept your choice if it meant staying in your life.

You shake your head. “He’s a friend from uni. He’s not my boyfriend. At least not anymore.”

“Oh,” he says, frowning down at his food to cover the way his heart skips. “But he was?”

He had expected you to move on, if he was being honest. No way in hell did you deserve to be as miserable as he had been since you'd left- you deserved all the happiness he couldn't seem to give you and more. And if someone else had been the one to grant you that happiness, he should thank them.

“For a little while,” you say softly, like it would cushion the blow. “It didn’t feel right.”

He was familiar with that feeling. Nothing he did felt right after the break up. Just about the only thing that kept him sane was telling himself that you’d come to your senses sooner or later.

And now that he was here, his world was beginning to right itself.

“Earth to Pierre,” you say teasingly, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I just- I’ve missed this,” he says, picking at his food.

“What, eating subpar takeout in my tiny apartment?” You laugh and stuff another bite in your mouth. God, you could be so oblivious. It was one of the many things he adored about you.

“I do. I miss doing anything that involves you, actually.”

There it was. His heart laid bare before you for the second time, waiting to see how you would respond. You set down your chopsticks and wipe your lips. His eyes track their movement as you whisper, “I’ve missed you too.”

Four syllables and he melts. It takes all he has to keep himself from sobbing with relief. It was everything he had come here hoping to hear. He couldn’t endure this again, couldn’t lose you for a second time-

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he pleads, body thrumming with the need to wrap you in his arms. “Don’t put me through this again unless you’re here to stay.”

He wasn't strong enough to tell you to stop. He would let you wreck him and he would be completely powerless to stop it. He would welcome it if it meant you granting him a sliver of your time. It would ruin him for anyone else but he didn’t have it in him to turn you away.

You rise to your feet and pad around the low table until you’re standing knee to knee, his neck craned up to study your face. You just keep looking at him, the leash on his carefully controlled restraint slipping as he rambles, “Because I can’t take it if you leave me again, I won’t-”

You simply nod, as if that’s all the answer he should need. But it’s not enough. “Tell me,” he pleads. “Tell me you mean it.”

He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that you had reduced his normally impenetrably stoic mentality to a jumble of you. If he was being honest with himself, you were the light of his life, the reason he pushed so hard for results on track. Everything had gone black and white when you left and racing had been the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams. The need to make you proud still propelled him forward even if he'd had no idea if you still cared.

So no, he didn’t care at all that he was practically on his knees. He would grovel at your feet for his entire life if it meant you’d grant him one more day to be with you.

“I mean it,” you murmur and place a hand on his cheek. He draws a shaky breath, leaning into you. Home, home, home, his head screams, acutely aware of every square inch of contact between the two of you.

“I’ve had plenty of time to think about it, and I’ve finally come to terms with it- your lifestyle. If I love you, I have to accept it being public. I have to build myself a shelter to withstand the storm, but I’ll make it big enough for two.”

It takes everything in him to keep from crushing you to his chest and never letting go. He had to ask, had to be certain beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was forever. “Promise me you won’t leave again if things get hard. Promise me we’ll get through whatever they throw at us together.”

“I promise. I’m not afraid anymore,” you murmur. Pierre’s head falls forward to rest on your hip bone, your fingers threading in his hair. “Daniel’s girlfriend helped me see that it doesn’t matter what anyone says. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I haven't been the same since I…”

“Neither have I.” His thumb winds under your shirt to sweep over your soft skin. “You’re safe with me, you know that right? I can protect you from whatever they say and you’re right, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is this-” he finally lets himself look up at you- “what we have. I’ve never stopped loving you, not once.”

Your smile is soft and tentative as you climb into his lap. His hands slide up your sides to pull you closer, refusing to let an inch separate you now that you’d bridged the gap. “I promise I’m not going anywhere. I learned my lesson.”

You lean down to ghost your lips over his brow, his closed eyelids, his nose. He can feel himself reconstructing under your touch, that final piece of the puzzle clicking home after being lost for so long. “I promise that I’m yours until the last star falls from the sky.”

He had lost four months of time with you. He wouldn't allow another second to slip through his fingers.

Anticipating his movements, you meet him halfway. Fireworks explode as his lips finally return home and his world is finally, finally righted. Your nails scratch lightly at the nape of his neck, drawing him impossibly closer as your body moulds against his. He had nearly forgotten how perfectly your curves fit against him after all this time. He was determined to memorize every mountain and valley of you by the night's end.

His hands grip your thighs and he stands. Your arms automatically wind around his neck to keep from falling. He carries you to the kitchen and sets you on the edge of the island, never breaking the kiss. Nothing mattered outside of this apartment; not his career, not any baseless gossip, nothing existed beyond the space where your skin met his.

Pierre pulls back long enough to remove his shirt. Your fingers dance over his skin, relearning the planes of his chest like you had all the time in the world. And you did; he would stay here as long as you let him, reveling in the way you drank up every inch of his body like it was the first time you’d seen it.

“I love you,” you say as he kisses along your jaw.

How many times had he dreamt of you whispering that to him the past four months? How many times had it echoed in his head before a race, taunting him? He could scarcely believe his mind wasn’t playing more tricks on him now. He had to be certain it was real.

“Say it again,” he breathes. “Please. Please, tell me again.”

“I love you,” you repeat, punctuating each word with a kiss. “I love you Pierre, my champion, my heart, my everything.”

Pierre groans against your mouth, knotting his fingers in your hair and tugging your head back to expose your throat. He nips at the soft skin, not caring that he was leaving a trail of tiny marks in his wake. His focus was entirely on the gasps he was dragging from you with each touch, your heels digging into his ass and begging for him to be closer.

"My sweet, kindhearted man," you continue breathlessly. He didn't know if the words were for your benefit or his. "My best friend. My one and only love."

In that moment, you could ask him to bring you a star from the midnight sky and he wouldn't stop until he found a way to make it happen. You could ask for his last dollar and he would hand it to you with a smile on his face, completely enthralled with the way his name sounds on your tongue, professing that you still wanted him as much as he wanted you.

You were his undoing.

“Off,” he growls, tugging at your sweatshirt. You obey instantly and fling it aside, neither of you caring when dishes clatter to the tile floor and undoubtedly break. Your jeans follow suit after he helps you slip out of them. He runs his fingers over the delicate black lace of your bra and panties and pauses to appreciate that you knew exactly where the night would lead.

His cock twitches as you reach between your bodies to run a knuckle over his clothed length. “Your turn.” You undo the button with practiced ease, taking your sweet time as his breath comes in ragged gasps. He’d had a taste of you and hadn’t forgotten how you’d felt around him. He needed you more than he needed the air he breathed, his desperation taking over as he swats your hand aside and strips off his jeans and boxers himself.

He drops to his knees and grips your thighs, pulling you forward until your center is inches from his face. The yelp that escapes you is intoxicating, your hands flying back to catch yourself. His teeth sink none too gently into the flesh of your thigh and he’s rewarded with a moan before he flicks his tongue over the hurt.

Your head falls back and Pierre places one of your legs over his shoulder. “Mon amour,” he purrs, garnering your attention. Your head lolls forward and he waits until you meet his gaze to speak again. “You know I love you, right?”

“I never doubted it,” you confirm, lips curling in a smile. “But why don’t you prove it to me again?”

He pulls your panties aside and blows lightly. You groan, thighs tensing under his fingers as your toes curl and he chuckles. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“Do you really want to tease me?”

“What I want,” he says sharply, “is to have you moaning my name until it's the only word you know.” His tongue flicks out to dance over your thigh, dangerously close to where he knows you want him. “What I want is to make up for lost time.” He rips through the thin lace of your panties and lets the ruined scraps fall to the floor.

“Those were expensive.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

He would buy you an entire lingerie store if he could rip every set of it off you. He didn’t care how much it costed, it was never too much when it came to you.

“What I want most, my love,” he murmurs, smiling when his hot breath curls over your dripping cunt and you squirm, “is to forget everything else and stay here forever.”

You cry out when his tongue finally flicks through your folds. Pierre hums approvingly at your reaction, one arm snaking up to pin your hips in place. He sucks lightly at your clit and your fingers tangle in his hair.

“P-Pierre,” you breathe. He pulls back and you whine at the loss of contact. He grins up at you, the wickedness of it dragging the moan from your lips that he was after. He was drunk on the sound, desperate to hear it again and again.

“There’s my good girl.” He runs his tongue flat over your sex, savoring the taste as you squirm under him. You let out a choked noise when he repeats the motion before fucking you with his tongue, his nose hitting your clit with each stroke.

He doesn’t miss the way your lip wobbles and Pierre knows you’re ready to cry with frustration. He decides he’s tortured you enough for now and relents, putting two fingers in his mouth to wet them before plunging them inside you.

His mouth is spelling his name on your clit a moment later, your walls already clamping down on his fingers as your orgasm nears. In the handful of times he’d taken you to bed, he had already learned that when your head rolls back like that and your breathing stops, you’re seconds away from climaxing. He doesn’t let up until you’re shaking beneath him, finally slowing to work you through your orgasm without making you hypersensitive.

“Baby,” you groan breathlessly. Pierre slowly withdraws his fingers and wipes them on his thigh before pressing a final, tender kiss to your center that makes you jump.

“Use my name,” he demands, uncoiling to his full height. He grips your wrist and hauls your boneless body up, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders to keep you upright.

“Pierre,” you murmur and he grinds his hips against you in approval. He captures your mouth with his, taking advantage of your hazy mind to lazily explore it.

You hum into the kiss, managing to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. Suddenly the column of your neck is all he can think about and he wraps a hand around it, squeezing with enough force that you pull back with a gasp.

“Too much?” He murmurs, lessening his grip. Your brows knit together and your lower lips juts out, begging for him to take it between his teeth. He leans in and gives in to the impulse as he swipes his thumb under your jaw.

“Tell me if you want my hand on your throat, my love. I need to hear you say it.”

“Please,” you say finally. Your eyes are cloudy when they meet his. “Keep it there.”

He shows his approval in the form of a light squeeze. You angle your hips up, nudging his cock with your center. You reach a hand down to wrap around his shaft and drag the head through your folds, teasing him as he had done to you. The grip on your throat tightens to a point bordering blissfully between pain and pleasure, both a warning and an order to continue.

If you knew how close he was to flipping you on your stomach and slamming into you, you’d call him crazy. Or maybe you’d like it, judging by the way your head falls back as he rocks his hips and inches into you.

You both moan when he decides the time for restraint has passed and he slams into you. You lift your hips to meet his with every thrust, clearly missing this just as much as he had. God, he’d lost months of fucking you, of feeling you clench around him and writhe beneath him. If he could stay like this forever he would, his hand around your neck and cock splitting you open as he laps up your moans like sweet candy.

“I’m- Pierre,” you squeak out, and he knows you’re barreling towards your second orgasm of the night. He pulls you up by your neck until you’re eye to eye and forced to look at him.

“Come for me,” he whispers, slamming into you again and again. “Come on my cock mon amour and I might just cum inside you.”

His words are your undoing, pleasure rippling from you in waves as your mouth falls open in a silent plea. He grants you no clemency as your cunt twitches around him, instead following through on his promise and following your lead.

You pants mix with his own as he struggles to keep both of you upright, his knees turned to jelly. Your head rests on his shoulder and he presses a kiss to your temple, slowly pulling out of you. A pitiful whimper escapes your throat involuntarily.

“I know,” Pierre murmurs, reaching over to start the kitchen sink. He wets a clean cloth and runs it between your legs, still supporting you as he doesn’t trust that your legs won't give out if he doesn’t. When it’s clear you can barely form a coherent thought, he scoops you in his arms and carries you to your room. He nudges the bathroom door open with his hip and sets you on the vanity.

The absence of his body heat makes you shiver when he goes to turn on the shower, adjusting the knobs until he’s satisfied with the temperature. He gathers you in his arms and steps into the tub, your sigh audible as the warm water hits your skin.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs before kissing your temple. You nod against his chest and he sets you down, keeping his hands on your waist just in case. You’re thankful for it when your knees wobble, a hand flying out to steady yourself.

“I’m okay,” you say after a beat and grin up at him. “I can stand, promise.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m taking my hands off you,” he says, grinning right back. “At least not for long.” He reaches over your shoulder for the shampoo and gestures for you to turn around. You obey, tipping your head back to wet your hair. A blissful sigh escapes you when his fingers meet your scalp, the cherry blossom scent blooming in the air as he works it into a lather.

Taking care of you was just as satisfying as the sex was. He cherished the intimacy of taking this small burden from your shoulders. The seemingly simple task was one of deep seated trust and it proved to him that your love ran bone deep. There was a level of trust in you letting him wash you that he didn't want to have with anyone else. It was reserved for you and you alone.

“Close your eyes,” he warns before guiding your head back under the water for a rinse. He cups a hand to your forehead to keep the soap from your eyes. Your smile is soft but unrestrained as you lean further into him until your back is pressed to his chest.

You both stay silent as he runs the creamy conditioner through the ends of your hair. His hand cups your jaw and tips your head back for a lazy kiss before he rinses that too and cuts the tap.

Once you're wrapped in a fuzzy white towel he finally dries himself off, fighting off a chill. He doesn't realize you're watching him until he turns around and notices you standing in the doorway.

"What?"

You push off the wall and pad back to where he stands to wrap your arms around his middle. His thumb traces patterns on your shoulder, perfectly content to stand there dripping on the tile until morning.

When it's clear you're lost in thought he speaks up. "What's on your mind?"

"When did you know you loved me?"

"Like the exact moment?" He asks, caught off guard. You nod against his chest.

"When you visited me in Milan last summer," he says a few heartbeats later. That night insisted on making guacamole at two in the morning and woke me up because you couldn't find a lime. You told me you couldn't sleep because it was all you could think about after you saw that couple at the cafe eating it."

"Why then?"

"Because I knew I didn't have a lime but I was fully prepared to knock on every door in the building to find you one. Because in that moment all that mattered was seeing your face light up when I handed it to you and knowing that it was me that made you smile like that. I knew then that I’d do anything for you."

It still amazed him how a lime of all things was the tipping point. In that moment, a lime was important to you and it so naturally became important to him. If anyone else had woken him from his deep sleep he would have grumbled and told them off. But you, seeing your face inches from his, the light from the hall casting a warm halo around your frame as you whispered his name, he hadn’t cared at all.

"But then I found the juice in the fridge," you recall and glance up at him.

"Yeah, you did. And you felt so bad for waking me up- you had no idea that I had already fallen so hard that I had to keep myself from shutting you up with a kiss.”

The easy admission seems to stir something in you and you rise up on your tiptoes to press your lips to his. “I knew that time you sent food to my dorm at midnight when I was pulling an all nighter. I was studying for my calculus final, remember?”

Pierre nods. “I was in Barcelona. You weren’t answering your phone so I sent a message with the takeout guy.” He had been wholly enamored with you at that point, having quickly learned that trying to keep his feelings buried deep was an option that would never work. So he leaned into it, letting little bits of it shine through in hopes that you might pick up on it.

Your laugh rumbles through him. “It was the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for me. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was too nervous.”

“Took us long enough to figure it out didn’t it?” He untangles himself from you and leads you to bed.

“I’m just glad we did eventually.” You let him guide you to the mattress while he stays standing and goes to your closet. He hunts for the shirt he wants to see you in, praying you hadn’t gotten rid of it. He finally finds it tucked back in the corner and pulls it out, the cobalt blue fabric a little faded from how often you’d worn it over the years.

“I remember that,” you say softly as he returns with it and slips it over your head.

It was the first shirt he had ever gotten upon entering Formula 1 and somehow you had wound up snagging it from his closet while he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen during that same trip to Milan. He had choked on his guac when you reappeared wearing it, eyes lingering on the Torro Rosso logo on the chest and his name splayed across your back like a claiming.

"I don't have sweatpants for you anymore," you point out with an apologetic wince. "I got rid of them."

Pierre just shrugs and hands you the shirt. "I have a change of clothes in my backpack. I was planning on working out to blow off some steam if…"

He trails off and you nod in silent acknowledgement. He didn’t have to voice the thought, you were already in his head and knew exactly what he meant. Unable to help himself, he kisses your head just because he can before retrieving his bag from the kitchen. "I have something for you," he says and lets the towel around his waist drop.

You let out a low whistle and grin at him as your eyes slide over every inch of his body. He takes more time than necessary to pull out his shorts, appreciating your gaze. You're still watching him as he slips them on and brings his bag to you.

"Do you wanna see what I got you or are you gonna stare at me all night?"

"I think I'll stare."

Pierre rolls his eyes and chuckles, plopping down next to you. "Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

You do as he asks but not before cocking a brow at him. Knowing the sound of the package will give it away, he does his best to draw out the first item as quietly as he can. The second he sets it in your hands a smile splits your face. He'd tear down the energy station with his bare hands to keep that expression on your face.

"It's candy." Your eyes open and you gasp. "Laffy taffy? But you can only get this-"

"In the states," He finishes. “I got as much as the store had.” The chewy, fruity candy was your absolute favorite and every once in a while you craved it. His backpack was currently stuffed full of it and various other packages of sweets, having been collected at every gp he had been to since Austin.

You tear into the package and dig for a pink one. You hold it out to him triumphantly and somehow, it’s that simple gesture that makes him melt. “You like the strawberry ones don’t you?”

“Yes baby, I do.” He lets you pop the sweet in his mouth - Pyry would certainly not approve- and grins at you. “If you eat too many before bed you won’t be able to sleep.”

“It’s still early,” you point out but don’t hesitate to set the sweets aside and cuddle up to him when he lays back. “Got somewhere to be?”

“I have to be at Milton by eight,” he says, wrapping an arm around your middle. “But you’re coming with me.”

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wroteasongabouther · 4 years

Text

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 4

a/n: i seriously cannot thank you guys enough, and i apologies for taking a lot longer to post. but the love and kind words and support that you’ve given me has been just incredible and i could cry happy tears honestly. now, i hope u enjoy part 4 and all that it includes and pls remember to reblog and leave feedback if u did like it and share it with ur followers/friends ❤️ love u all!

and of course, as always, thank you to @arrogantstyles for beta reading 😘

word count: 16k

warnings: mentions of masturbation (right off the bat too ur welcome lol), cursing, consumption of alcohol (i swear they’re not drunks, just ‘tis the season ya know), and minor sexual content (!!!!!!finally!!!!!)

fic page // let’s chat // cstsyl playlist

Harry’s breathing is loud, echoing off the walls of his shower as he struggles to inhale and exhale slowly once more. He inhales deeply and lets his hand that was resting upon the wall in front of him drop back to his side. He huffs through his mouth, blowing away some drops of water that were dripping down his face, while the other hand releases the grasp he had on his cock. Harry didn’t intend to masturbate in the shower like some hormonal teenager; he didn’t plan to masturbate last night before he got under the covers, either. It’s all Y/N’s doing, he thinks, she was clouding his head more than usual. Harry couldn’t stop thinking about last night, the lingering stares, her small delicate hands lingering on his thigh or dancing over his rings.

“Jesus,” Harry’s voice is hoarse as he curses himself. He was this close to falling back into yet another spiral down the rabbit hole that was Y/N. Which would more than likely result in him playing with himself, again.

Bringing both his hands under the water, he gives them a quick rinse before turning to his shelf where his body wash is. He pumps a bit of the goat's milk and lavender infused soap into his hand and brings it to his chest, rubbing in circles till it begins to bubble on his skin. He works his way down to the mess between his thighs, gently cleaning himself up before rinsing off. Harry turns to face the wall again.Sighing, he cups his hands under the stream of warm water and splashes it onto the wall before he just brings his hand up to wipe away the remains of his little private solo session.

Once he’s all squeaky clean, Harry turns off the water and shakes his hair out a little before he’s opening the glass shower door and stepping out. He grabs his towel, drying himself off before wrapping it around his waist. A part of him will always want to grab a second towel to wrap up his hair, but it’s no longer the length that it’s needed. Sometimes he misses his long hair. Harry makes sure the fan is on before he leaves the bathroom and walks into his bedroom.

I wonder what Y/N is doing? He thinks as he reaches into his drawers for a pair of pants, some grey sweatpants, and then walks over to his closet to grab a dark blue crew neck jumper and a plain white shirt to wear underneath. Wonder what Y/N is wearing today, Harry daydreams as he lets his towel drop and steps into his pants, then into the sweatpants next. Suddenly Harry comes to realize what he’s doing, how utterly annoying he is by thinking about what Y/N is doing at any given moment. It’s something he’s caught himself doing before, actually. He inhales through his nose and shakes his head. Just relax, he thinks and then finishes getting dressed and pockets his cell phone that was sitting on his charger before he’s walking out to his living room.

As Harry’s preparing his coffee machine for his first cup of the day, his phone begins to vibrate. Fishing it out of his front pocket, he looks at the screen to see Mitch’s contact photo. Harry sets the baby blue mug he had grabbed into place for his coffee to brew and then swipes his finger across the screen to answer Mitch’s call.

“Hey,” Harry says, holding his phone between his ear and shoulder as he opens his bread box and grabs a loaf of twelve grain.

“Is she still in bed?” Mitch asks. Harry’s eyebrows crease at his friend's absurd question.

“What?” Harry questions. His focus is on unraveling the bag his bread was in, grabbing two slices, before twisting it back up and sticking it into the bread box. He shuts the bread box and walks the few steps to his left to his toaster, plopping the bread slices into it and pushing down the buttons to get his breakfast toasting.

“Is she still in bed?” Mitch repeats himself, this time taking a brief pause after each word to really get his words across. Harry just rolls his eyes at Mitch and takes his phone back into his hand. He catches sight of the digital clock on his oven and his face twists up in confusion suddenly.

“Have you gone to sleep yet?” Harry asks, puzzled by how it’s just past nine in the morning and Mitch is somehow awake enough to call him.

“No, but that’s besides the point here, H,” Mitch says, breezes over the fact he’s an absolute lunatic for not going to sleep yet. “You’re dodging my question, so therefore I’m going to assume she’s still in bed,” he resorts. Harry can tell by the sass in his voice that he’s still buzzing from whatever amount of alcohol he had after him and Y/N left the bar last night. Harry watches his coffee drip into the mug slowly and furrows his brows once again at his friends words.

“Who’s still in bed?” Harry asks. Mitch lets out a deep breath and Harry just knows he’s rolling his eyes too.

“Who do you think I mean, Harry? The queen of England? No, I mean Y/N. Obviously,” he grumbles into the phone. Harry grabs the handle of his mug now full of coffee and rolls his eyes again.

“Y/N and I didn’t sleep together last night, sorry to disappoint,” he chirps back at Mitch.

“Bullshit, you two were basically eye fucking last night, the sexual tension was insane,” Mitch states. While Mitch is talking, Harry blows on his coffee before taking a small sip. The black coffee is still hot on his tongue, but doesn’t burn it thankfully. Suddenly his two slices of toast pop up, he sets down his mug and opens his fridge to find his small container of margarine. As he’s opening a drawer to find a butter knife, he lets out a tiny sigh.

“Like I said last night,” Harry pauses to make sure Mitch is listening, “I’m letting things settle down for her and see how it plays out,” Harry explains, resting his phone between his ear and shoulder again in order to take out the toast and spread butter on both slices.

“And what you’re saying is it didn’t play out with her ending up in your bed last night? I’m shocked, really,” Mitch says, his voice sounding genuinely surprised to hear that Harry’s night didn’t end how he imagined it would.

Honestly, Harry imagined it the same way at some points last night too. Thinking about how Y/N was a bit of a touchy drunk, therefore did that mean that she would be looking for her rebound hookup? Harry didn’t want to be that though. There was too much potential between them and this connection they’ve made so quickly, that he didn’t want to ruin it with some drunk hookup. But, yes, he imagined it, cause he’d be an idiot not to - a hot girl smiling all night at him, how she would jut out her chest just slightly cause he figured she loved how his eyes wandered over her body at times; so of course he thought of how their night could have ended differently together. Hell, he masturbated while thinking about it, twice within the past twelve hours to be exact.

Plus, their time last night was more than the sexual tension that may or may not have happened. Harry’s stomach is fluttering around just thinking about the gitty smiles and sweet words from Y/N, and how well she clicked with his best mates too. And truthfully, he was happy with how the night ended - with them in their own beds. Because their time would come eventually, Harry would let things play out however Y/N needed it to and he would wait for the right moment to swoop in and give her what he hoped was the best kiss of her life. Big dreams, Styles, he thinks to himself.

“She didn’t even think you liked her,” Harry tells Mitch, causing him to let out a snort.

“You know how I am,” he dismisses Harry's comment, “but I don’t know man, she’s good for you,” Mitch adds in a soft voice. His words make another storm of butterflies to erupt in Harry’s stomach as he smiles. “I didn’t not like her, I just sat back and let the two of you laugh all night and eye fuck each other on occasion too,” Mitch explains a little too casually. Harry shakes his head and takes a bit of his toast.

“Go to sleep, Mitch,” Harry says after he chews some of his toast.

“Good idea,” he yawns. “Talk soon,” he says.

“Bye,” Harry responds, taking his phone away from his ear and hanging up the call.

Harry grabs his plate with his half eaten toast in one hand and his coffee in the other, bringing it to his small dining table that sat against the far wall of his kitchen. Sipping his coffee now, it’s not too hot and he can actually enjoy it between bites of his toast. During him eating he finds his thoughts drifting to their typical place these days - Y/N.

Long story short, he found himself only liking her more than before after how things were between them last night. He can’t even imagine how far gone he’ll be for her if things actually went further than this blossoming friendship - with a dash of sexual tension - that they’ve established.

“This hangover is truly going to kill me,” Y/N groans out.

She’s finally standing on her two feet in the bathroom after having been sitting by the toilet for the past twenty minutes. Both her palms are face down on the counter, her arms straight as she leans forward slightly and lets her head hang heavy between her shoulders. Looking up at her reflection she sees just how dirty the tequila has done her by the bags under her eyes and the queasy feeling in her stomach as she just thinks about how much tequila she had last night.

“It’s karma for not sleeping with Harry,” Sammy taunts her, his voice coming through the speaker of her cell phone that rests on the counter beside her.

He called earlier while Y/N was still asleep, the first time in forever that she slept past ten in the morning. She had seen the call, but was too busy rushing to the bathroom to empty her stomach to return it. Then she showered away the gross hungover feeling, it only helped a little, before she got dressed into a pair of leggings and an old college hoodie and ended up in front of the toilet again as the tequila teased her making her think she was going to throw up but she didn’t - thankfully.

“I thought about it, Sammy, I swear,” she shares, letting out a sigh as she looks up at the ceiling and relaxes her body again - the threat of vomiting again seeming to fade away.

“So why didn’t you?” Sammy asks.

“Cause I just didn’t want it to be like some pointless quick fuck with him,” Y/N tells him truthfully. “Sure, I loved how as we both got buzzed things got a little more careless and touchy and flirty. But it was just fun and it made my head spin and my heart pretty much leaped out of my chest. It wasn’t just stupid pointless flirting to get laid, it was deeper than that,” she explains to her best friend. As her words spill out she realizes she doesn’t quite make sense, and yet it made perfect sense in her head how she felt about Harry.

“And you feel this way and managed to somehow not tackle this man down and fuck his brains?” Sammy questions, his voice in a joking tone but Y/N knows he’s genuinely confused.

“Obviously I imagined it,” she admits, “I fucking brought out my vibrator last night, Sammy, I was that turned on by the damn guy. But I really don’t want to mess this up with Harry. I don’t want to jump right into it after the break up with Mark, and then ruin what is hands down the best connection I’ve ever felt with someone before. I just want to see how things play out, don’t force anything, you know?” she spills out, letting out a deep breath afterwards.

Those words have been heavy on her chest since she woke up this morning and replayed everything that happened between her and Harry. The smiles, the longing looks, the drinks, the touching, the smirking, and the goddamn sexual tension. Yes, she wanted to kiss him, many, many, times; all over his body, anywhere that she could. She imagined how their night could’ve ended if she wanted just a simply messy hot drunk hookup. But she wanted more than that with Harry - so much more. It was the honest truth, regardless of how soon she’s broken up with Mark, she can’t ignore how her feelings have grown towards Harry. So, she was just going to let it go on and whatever happens, happens.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” Sammy asks, bringing the topic away from Harry - only for Y/N to bring it right back. Which was exactly how her thoughts have been doing lately too; drifting away from Harry for only a moment before flying right back to him.

“Um, I sort of drunkenly made plans to watch a movie with Harry tonight,” she says, “I don’t even know if he remembers, I’m just going to wing it and knock on his door later.”

“You know what you should do? You should invite him to the work holiday party,” Sammy suggests, “I’m getting tired of talking about him so much and yet I don’t even know what he really looks like cause you suck at taking discreet sneaky pictures,” he explains with a dramatic sigh. Y/N rolls her eyes and finally decides now is a good time to leave the bathroom, no longer feeling too sick from her hangover. But she still heads back to her bedroom, flopping down onto her bed.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to make it weird and invite him to something less casual,” Y/N says.

“Well, see how things play out these next few days and if it’s good then invite him, seriously I’m dying to see some eye candy, Y/N,” Sammy groans.

“Okay, Sammy, we’ll see,” Y/N says, matching his melodramatic tone. She lets out another sigh, which is then taken over by a yawn. “I’m going to go, my head is pounding and I think I should try and nap before dealing with some work emails and then going to Harry’s,” Y/N explains.

“Fine,” Sammy sighs, “it’s weird that you’re the hungover one and I’m not,” he mentions. Y/N lets out a laugh through her nose and shuts her eyes.

“Honestly, it is,” she agrees, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Ok, bye, feel better,” Sammy says, Y/N hears the smile in his voice.

“Thanks, bye,” she says and then hangs up the phone. She puts it down beside her and keeps her eyes shut. Taking a few deep breaths, Y/N tries to fall back asleep again. And she’s just about to when she hears that familiar heart warming guitar from Harry’s apartment. She wonders how long he’s been up? If he’s hungover at all too? She could text him and ask, but instead she just lays there and smiles as she listens to the muffled sweet melody he’s playing - then falls back into a deep slumber that her hungover body so desperately needed.

Y/N had texted Harry earlier, after he had written an entire song, surprisingly not about her this time. Well there was one line he wrote down that had to do with Y/N - played with myself where were you. It was cheeky, and didn’t really go with anything else he had so he just flipped through his journal and let himself get immersed into his songwriting during the hours of the day. Only ever stopping to make himself food or to use the washroom - otherwise, he was working hard without even meaning to.

Her first text read, So what time should I come over to watch the Polar Express? And then her second one made Harry chuckle, Also that guitar playing sounds pretty heavenly today, can’t wait to hear it in person later. With a winking face emoji at the end and everything. Cheeky girl, and anytime after seven should be fine to come over. Harry texted her back, also adding a winking emoji and then he went back into his work, ordered dinner, and now here they were.

There’s a rather soft knock on Harry’s door, causing him to stop writing in his journal and gets up to answer it. After unlocking the door, he swings it open and is surprised to see Y/N’s arms full, nearly dropping a can of whipped cream as she smiles at him.

“I brought everything for hot chocolate,” she states, beaming up at Harry over the container that holds her hot chocolate mix.

“I can see that,” Harry chuckles and reaches out to take everything from her. “You know I could’ve helped you carry a few things over, and I also have plenty of mugs here,” he says, lifting a finger that held the Grinch mug he had used at her apartment about a week ago now.

“I know, but mine are Christmas themed and it’s literally twelve days till Christmas and I need to use them as much as possible,” Y/N explains as she steps into Harry’s home and closes the door behind them. Harry takes in her appearance. Black leggings and a FIT jumper, and a pair of pink fuzzy socks on her feet. Harry’s brows pinch together as he holds back a laugh. “It’s only a few feet between our apartments, as you know, shoes are kind of pointless going back and forth,” she states with a nod.

Harry chuckles, lifting a brow and turning the corners of his lips up into a smile before saying, “yes, been there,” he says recalling the last time they had a movie night.

And just like that time, they moved together to the kitchen - after Harry locks the door behind Y/N - and they begin to make their hot chocolate in the two Christmas mugs Y/N brought along with her. Harry finds it endearing that she felt she needed to not only bring the supplies for hot chocolate, but also brought along her Christmas themed mugs. She truly does love the holidays, Harry thinks as he pours the boiling water into the mugs that Y/N had put the mix into. As they’re in the kitchen they’re talking about how their days were.

“So hungover,” Y/N groans, confirming how she had felt today after Harry had asked.

“You did drink that tequila like it was water though,” Harry states, chuckling as he watches Y/N stir the spoon in the mugs to mix up the hot chocolate. Y/N lets out a playful hiss as if the thought of all that tequila hurt her to think about now.

“I probably looked like a drunk in front of all your friends,” she thinks aloud. She frowns as she wraps her hand around the can of whipped cream, shaking it a few times before tipping it upside down and pushing the tip of it to fill up the top of the mug. She grabs the Grinch mug with one hand and holds it to Harry, making it smile as he realizes she remembered how he used that mug last time.

“They were just as drunk, maybe even more,” Harry tells her, “in fact, Mitch pulled an all nighter.”

“Well, good,” Y/N sighs, following him into the living room with both her hands wrapped around the Santa mug. “I really did have fun though,” she adds as they take a seat on the couch.

Harry meets her gaze after she takes a sip of her hot chocolate. A bit of whipped cream gets on her upper lip as she pulls the mug away. Y/N realizes and sticks her tongue out to swipe it over her lip, licking it away. Harry’s gaze is glued to her movements, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as he inhales slowly through his nose. And those certain thoughts of Y/N didn’t hide away for very long, Harry thinks before he clears his throat quietly and lifts his mug to his lips.

“I did too,” he says, “all of us did, they said you were cool like five times in our groupchat,” he adds before taking a sip of his warm drink. Y/N stomach lunges knowing that him and his friends talked about her in their groupchat. Has she been a topic of discussion before?

“Me? Cool?” Y/N questions, confusion thick in her voice. “No way, they’re the cool ones, not me. I mean you are all clearly very musically gifted and get to just hangout and make music and I find it all just very… Cool,” Y/N explains as she ends with a small sigh and smiles at Harry.

“It can be pretty cool, yeah,” Harry nods, mirroring her smile.

“Speaking of being musically gifted,” Y/N hums, smirking over her mug before taking another sip.

Harry knows where she’s going with this already. He gets that familiar nervous feeling in his stomach, nothing like the butterflies he was feeling just before knowing that she finds his line or work ‘cool’ - in fact he feels his smile slip immediately but tries to cover it with a cough. He sets down his mug and brings his hands to his lap, leaning back into the couch while he looks at the blank TV screen on the wall.

“Will you play something for me?” Y/N asks in that intoxicating softly spoken voice of hers.

“I want to play for you, I do,” Harry assures her after a few beats of silence, as he tried to figure out how to get her to drop this idea of him playing for her.

“But?” Y/N inquiries, tilting her head slightly to try and look at his face better. He looks uncomfortable, Y/N thinks and tries her hardest to not frown. She guesses that he’s just got a bit of stage fright of some sorts. But he plays for a living, there must be a few people he plays in front of at the studio.

“But, I want to have the perfect song to show you,” Harry tells her as he turns to meet her eyes. It’s not a lie, he truly does want to play the most perfect song for her. But that nervous feeling in his stomach doesn’t go away.

“I’m sure all your songs are perfect,” Y/N assures him. Her voice is still as gentle as before.

“And also it’s my wrist,” Harry says suddenly, lifting his right wrist up, “I got surgery on it earlier this year, it’s just been acting up.” Quick thinking, Styles, he thinks and gives her a smile.

Y/N remembers how she had heard him playing earlier today. But by the way that Harry’s avoiding Y/N’s eyes again while this stretch of silence falls between them, and the fact he’s rubbing at his wrist for good measure too, Y/N knows that he’s not ready yet to play in front of her. So, she gives him a sweet smile and stands up from the couch suddenly.

“I have this heating pad, I use it on my ankle that I broke a few years back, it helps sometimes,” Y/N explains, “I’ll go get it,” she says.

Truthfully she just needed a moment to not have to hide how it hurt her feelings just a tad that Harry didn’t feel comfortable enough around her to play. It wasn’t the biggest deal ever, because she sure that one day he will. But it still makes her a bit sad that today’s not that day.

“Y/N, it’s fine, really,” Harry brushes off her suggestion.

“H, I live next door, I’ll be back in two seconds,” she insists, giving him a smile and walking from her seat on the couch, setting down her mug on the coffee table before she’s making her way around Harry as he sits there watching her.

“Okay,” Harry says softly and nods before Y/N is walking out of his apartment. The second the door closes behind her Harry’s deep in his thoughts.

Harry has a pretty high case of stage fright, the feeling of nerves bundling up inside of him at the thought of performing in front of people even made him feel a bit sick sometimes. It was something he’s been working on for years now, through schooling and with his career as a songwriter starting up afterwards too. He would eventually talk himself out of the fear of failing during any uni exams he had, and would ace it naturally, but that ball of nerves sat heavy in his stomach the entire time. When it came to his job, he simply warmed up to his colleagues. At first he didn’t speak up much, would stumble on some notes, but things worked out in the end. It helped a lot after he found his current group as they became his closest mates too, so he became much more comfortable with playing for them over some time.

He realizes that he considers Y/N a close friend now too, and that should mean that he would feel more than confident walking over to the acoustic guitar sitting at it’s stand in the corner by the chair in the living room - but he didn’t quite yet. And one of the main reasons was because he felt something much deeper than friendship. He really freaking liked her. And if he played something, mucking it up like an idiot because of his nerves, he would beat himself up over it for days if not weeks.

Harry imagines the first time he plays a song for her that will be perfect. The song would be about her, he’s got a few of those now, and as he plucked along slowly he’d peer up at her to find her smiling back at him. Then he would really surprise her and sing. Harry knows he can sing well, but again his stage fright that relates to a fear of failing causes him to not sing all that often. He’ll sing for demos for work, or when he’s by himself, but that’s about it. Mitch actually had asked Harry if he wanted to be a part of the band before he found their lead singer, but Harry politely declined and has more than enjoyed just sitting back and watching his friends play instead. Although there’s a small pit of jealousy and envy that’s been growing in size every time he watches them.

Suddenly the door opens back up and Harry’s snapping out of his thoughts to look over his shoulder at Y/N walking in with some brown fabric in her hands. She turns to lock Harry’s door, then turns around and holds up the heating pad in her hands with a smile. It’s a sloth, a simple stitching on it to show it’s hugging wherever it’s placed on someone’s body and a smile on its face.

“I got it not too long ago, while shopping for other people's gifts, actually,” Y/N admits and starts making her way into the kitchen. “Do you do that thing where you are supposed to just be buying presents for other people but you end up buying yourself something too?” She asks Harry, raising her voice slightly as she’s put some distance between them.

“Yes, it’s hard not to,” Harry says as watches her open his microwave and place the sloth inside. She pushes some buttons and it starts up. As the sloth spins inside, Y/N turns around and leans her back against the counter and looks through the open concept space at where Harry sat on the couch.

“Have you bought any presents this year?” She asks, knowing that he’s not going home for Christmas so therefore he wouldn’t have to buy much.

“Just some for Mitch, Adam and his wife and then Tom and Jenny,” Harry states, “what about you? Do you have lots of family to buy gifts for?”

“Not really,” Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug, “I’m an only child, but my aunt has a couple kids so I kind of go crazy for them,” she explains with a smile. The microwave beeps, signalling that the heating pad was all warmed up, and Y/N turns back around to open the door and grabs it. It’s not too warm, so she closes the microwave door and makes her way back over to Harry.

She hands the heating pad to Harry and he gives her a smile. He says a quiet ‘thank you’ and places it over his wrist that’s resting on his thigh. It does feel rather nice, actually, he thinks as he adjusts his hand under the warm sloth. He feels a bit bad for making up the little white lie, although his wrist does ache from time to time, it wasn’t in any sort of pain right now. But he’s just being a stupid little coward and deflecting her attention on him playing her something on his guitar. Harry does notice how Y/N’s eyes linger on the acoustic guitar across the room as she leans over to grab her hot chocolate again and takes her seat on the couch once more. You’re such an ass, Styles, Harry thinks to himself but clears his throat and looks at Y/N.

“Did you enjoy growing up as an only child?” He asks. Harry personally couldn’t imagine growing up on his own. His sister, Gemma, was one of his best friends and he was also rather close with cousins while growing up too so they felt a bit like siblings too.

“Not really, no,” Y/N answers truthfully. She clears her throat and looks down at the Santa mug in her hands. “My parents were always busy with working or socializing, sometimes I was invited to come along, other times I was kept away with a nanny or my Aunt would visit sometimes and keep me company.” She tells Harry, feeling herself slowly open up to the idea of sharing everything with him. She hardly told Mark a thing about her childhood or her parents - mostly because he already knew, since he grew up in the same sort of crowd.

“Are you close with your Aunt then?” Harry asks, keeping his voice in that low tone that still brought goosebumps to Y/N’s skin from time to time.

Y/N’s lips tug slightly up into a smile, looking up from her mug and meeting Harry’s gaze. “Yes, she’s probably the one family member that I am close with. I love my parents, don’t get me wrong,” she pauses and ponders how to explain it to him, looking up at the ceiling for only a moment before looking back at Harry. “They just value life a bit differently than me. My Aunt, Vivian, she’s just the most chill and most like me I guess,” Y/N settles with keeping it easy, not digging too deep into her family drama.

Her Aunt Viv, who was her mothers younger sister, was truly the only person in her family that she felt she connected with. Y/N did love her mom and dad, they gave her a life better than she could ever ask for, but they were much more into the lifestyle and gaining wealth and social status over being a true loving family. Hence the many after school programs they stuck her in, and also having a live-in nanny till she was fourteen. But when Viv was around things felt a bit normal in her ridiculously abnormal life.

Viv didn’t have the same big dreams of being a gold digger like Y/N’s mom did, so she went to university, fell in love with a nice young man who worked a normal blue collar type of job and they bought a house just outside of New Jersey. They never ask for any help from Y/N’s parents, and they worked very hard for the life they’re provided for their two young kids. She just found Viv to be much more inspiring than her own mother who’s days included online shopping and luncheons with fellow wives who lived off their wealthy husbands' money. As Y/N grew up, Viv would take her away from her nanny some nights and would just bring her to her home and watch movies, have painting nights, and would even sit down with Y/N for hours watching red carpet events too - knowing her love for fashion even at a young age. She became Y/N’s friend more than another snobby family member.

Harry had respectfully stayed quiet as he saw Y/N fall into deep thought. He didn’t want to ask anymore questions that would cross any lines because from what little he has heard, Y/N’s family life is a bit more complicated than he could imagine. Y/N smiles suddenly, as she’s thinking of a memory.

“Viv was actually the one who really got me into the love for the holidays,” she states, “like, yeah, my parents would go all out with the decorations and the gifts and the parties. But Viv introduced me to the better part of the holidays in my opinion, like she’d take me to the rinks around the city to skate, and she’d show me the city’s festive sights. We’d even have days dedicated to going to the Christmas market. And during all that she’d always have a Starbucks holiday drink in her hand. I guess you could say I sort of modelled my young adult self to be like her during the holidays,” Y/N explains with a smile on her lips.

Those times slowly sadly faded out after Y/N got into high school, and Viv finished uni and met her husband. They wouldn’t go to the rink as much, or go for pointless walks to see the city’s many lights and Christmas Trees. Before Y/N knew it, all those childhood memories that she cherished just slid away, but she understood - they both grew up and she would hold onto those memories that her Aunt Vivian gave her to her heart closely forever.

“But as we both got older, life got busy and now she gets to do all those things over again with her own kids and not her sisters neglected one,” Y/N tries to make it sound like a joke, but it wasn’t.

She hides her frown behind her Santa mug and takes a generous sip, the drink having grown colder as time has passed. Harry’s about to make a comment, about how he’s grateful that Y/N did at least have her Aunt, but Y/N speaks up before he can.

“What about you? What were the holidays like growing up?” She asks, a smile returning to her lips.

“Great, honestly,” Harry nods, letting a short chuckle pass his lips, “my family can be a bit nuts, they love family time and being overbearing with playing silly games or family photos. But, I love it,” Harry explains, smiling.

He thinks about last year, how competitive him and his family got during a game they had played, or how big his mum and gran smiled as they popped Christmas crackers and everyone wore those paper crowns for one of the many photos his mum insisted on taking.

Y/N is mirroring his smile, tucking her mug to her chest as she listens to him. Sounds like a much better time than the memories she has with her parents around the holidays, Y/N thinks feeling a bit jealous - as she did whenever anyone told her of their holiday traditions and such. She can’t help but notice the distant look in his eyes as he grabs his mug.

“It’s actually the first Christmas I won’t be spending with my family, as I mentioned before,” he states, clearing his throat afterward as the emotions threaten to come in quick. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate and points to the TV then. “Should I pull up the movie before we’re sitting here drinking cold chocolate?” Harry asks. Because, truthfully, he could sit here all night and talk about life with Y/N but they had planned to watch a movie.

“Sure,” Y/N smiles, although feeling a bit sad being reminded that Harry wasn’t going home for the holidays. She takes another sip of her drink again, before she’s turning her body to watch the TV screen on the wall as Harry grabs for the remote and finds the Polar Express on demand.

As the movie begins to play, they both get comfortable and sip their hot chocolates till their Christmas mugs are empty. Harry offers to take Y/N’s mug, so she doesn’t have to sit up from the slouched position she’s slipped into in her corner of the couch, placing it beside his on the coffee table before he relaxes back into his spot. It’s about half way through the movie, after they had jokingly sung along with the hot chocolate song of course, when Y/N is nearly laying out on her end of the couch. Harry feels selfish for not offering the side he’s on, as he has his legs stretched out on the chaise of the couch. Y/N slowly lets her legs slip out across the cushion between them till they’re just slightly bent and the fuzzy pink socks on her feet just barely brush Harry’s thigh.

Her toes wiggle a little, tapping against the side of Harry’s thigh ever so gently, but it causes a much less gentle reaction in his body. His stomach fluttering and his heart pounding as he glances at Y/N in the corner of his eye. A feeling of undesirable desire filters through him as she wiggles her toes again before settling her feet hardly even touching him. But it’s more the act of being comfortable around Harry that has him feeling like his heart might explode.

He’s tempted to grab onto her ankles and stretch out her legs completely so her feet would rest in his lap. Maybe he’d rub her calves, hoping the feeling made her stomach flutter as much as his. But he didn’t want to cross any sort of line. So he was content with the tiny bit of contact between them from her feet resting on the side of his thigh as the movie kept playing.

It wasn’t till near the very end that Harry heard a soft snore come from Y/N. He turns his head completely and looks over at her. Her eyes shut, her lips parted slightly, as she laid on her arms folded under her head. Harry isn’t sure how to react here, should he wake her? Or let her slumber because it’s obvious she needs it since she fell asleep during what she claims to be her favourite holiday movie. Harry ponders for a moment before he decides to finish watching the movie. Once it’s finished is when he’d make his decision.

“Y/N,” Harry says as the credits are rolling. She doesn’t move a muscle. “Y/N, darling,” Harry tries again in a gentle voice, placing a hand on her leg and giving her one good nudge. To which Y/N doesn’t respond at all.

That hangover must be hitting her body hard, begging for the sleep she needed to fully recover. So, Harry reaches for the knitted blanket that’s resting over the back of his couch and paces it over Y/N’s body. As he gets up from the couch, he turns back around and looks at Y/N for a moment - taking in her effortless beauty even while she’s sleeping.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, Harry gathers up their mugs, bringing them to his kitchen and quietly rinsing them out before he double checks that the heat is at a reasonable temperature. It was supposed to get rather cold tonight and he didn’t want Y/N to wake up freezing in his home. Once he’s turned off the TV and the only lights left on are from his tree, he turns back to Y/N. The soft glow from the Christmas lights casting over her breathtaking features causes yet another stir of feelings inside his stomach.

He wishes he could bend down, place a soft kiss to her forehead - maybe one day soon he could. Maybe even get to fall asleep next to her, staring at her beauty till he drifted into a slumber as well. But for now, he just quietly walks down the hall to his bedroom and leaves his door open a few inches just in case Y/N woke up in a panic or anything. He’d be a lighter sleeper than usual tonight, thinking about how close Y/N was.

At one point in the middle of the night Y/N woke up. Her eyelids were still heavy as she tried to focus on the space around her. She had fallen asleep during the movie, in Harry’s apartment, on his couch - oh god. A wave of embarrassment washed over her as her eyes flicker from the blank TV screen, to the now empty other side of the couch, before settling on the warm lights of the Christmas tree.

She should get up and head home to her own apartment and not be an idiot who falls asleep on her friend's couch uninvited. Y/N’s fingers curl around the top of the warm blanket that Harry must’ve draped over her before heading to bed himself. The pads of her fingers brush over the soft fabric while her heart beats like crazy in her chest. Harry’s sweetness and well mannered actions shouldn’t surprise Y/N anymore - but they do. She smiles and brings the blanket to her chin, snuggling into the couch once more and tries to not think about how sore her neck and back will be in the morning from sleeping on the couch. Instead she looks at the Christmas tree as her eyelids grow heavy again and she slips back into her dreamstate once more.

The next time she wakes it’s due to the sun peering through the curtains in Harry’s living room. She blinks a few times and brings a hand up to rub the sleep from her eyes. Suddenly she hears a noise coming from a few feet away from her. Y/N’s heart all but leaps out of her chest as she sits up on the couch and looks to where the noise came from. Her wide eyes meet Harry’s equally widened eyes, him pausing mid-movement as he must’ve been grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, bearing his clenched teeth to her in a joking but nervous way. His dimple deepens at the facial expression, Y/N notices it right away even from a room away from him.

“It’s okay,” she replies. Her voice sounds a little scratchy as it’s the first time using it since waking. How utterly adorable, Harry thinks as he smiles at her and sets his mug down at his coffee maker before hitting start. “And I should be the one apologizing, I kinda ended up crashing on your couch uninvited,” Y/N says, running a hand through her hair to try and tame it.

“It wasn’t a problem, Y/N, nothing to be sorry about,” Harry tells her, walking towards her till he got to the large threshold between his open concept kitchen and living room. He crosses his arms at his chest and Y/N notices how the muscles in his arms flex immediately. “Must have been a hangover side effect, hm?” Harry questions.

Y/N clears her throat as she tries to not take in Harry’s appearance in the morning but she can’t help herself. He’s wearing a pair of black sweatpants with a simple grey t-shirt, white socks covering his feet, and while him dressed down did look hot - it was how his hair looked that really took her breath away. The way it looks much more fluffy than usual, most likely from rolling around in his bed, made her stomach flutter and she ended up biting her bottom lip as he brought a hand up to push back the bit of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Y/N blinks a few times before meeting his gaze again.

“You’d think the nap I took before coming over would help with my hangover but I guess not,” Y/N states, she exhales through her nose and shakes her head before folding her arms over the back of the couch and rests her chin on them. “But again, I’m sorry,” she adds.

“And again, it’s okay,” Harry ensures her, dropping his arms to his sides as he smiles. “Now, would you like a cup of hot chocolate or coffee?” He asks.

“Coffee,” Y/N answers, her voice back to that soft and gentle tone that made Harry’s head spin. He recalls when they first met, and how he wished he could hear her voice each night and morning. His wish is slowly coming true, although he imagines it involving her in bed more often than not. But for now, he’ll take her waking up on his couch any day if it means he gets to hear her voice.

Harry nods and walks back over to where the mug filled of freshly brewed coffee now sat. Y/N tilts her head to the left, still resting her chin on her arms, as she watches Harry move around his kitchen. He calls over his shoulder to ask what she’d like in her coffee, with which she replies ‘two teaspoons of sugar please’ - that earns her a half smile as he glances her way again and mutters ‘why am i not surprised’, causing Y/N to mock a hurt look on her face and gasps.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She questions, watching him stir up the sugar in her coffee. Harry turns and brings the mug over to her, causing her to sit up straight again and grab it from him with both hands.

“It means you love sugar as much as any toddler would, I swear,” Harry teases.

“Something wrong with liking the taste of something sweet?” She questions, raising a brow as she looks up at him from where he stood on the other side of the back of the couch.

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat at her choice of words. He immediately wants to answer back with ‘well I want to taste you, all of you, so no’ but instead he holds back his filthy thoughts and gulps. Y/N notices Harry’s Adam's apple bob up and down as she stares up at him through her lashes, slowly bringing the mug he had just given her to her lips to give it a taste. Harry watches her the entire time as she sips the coffee and licks it off her lips. Everything inside of him is begging to touch her. To bring the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip, catching the last few drops of her drink off her lip, and bringing it to his mouth to get a taste. Or to just take the mug right back, place it on the closest surface and take her face into his hands to kiss her fiercely.

Harry struggles but pushes away his thoughts once again, for what felt like the millionth time this morning, and raises an eyebrow, “sweet enough for you?” He asks, his voice teasing.

Y/N smiles sweetly and nods once, “it’s perfect, thank you,” she replies.

Harry mirrors her smile before he walks back to his kitchen, only then looking down at his sweatpants to ensure there wasn’t any noticeable bulge. It had taken a few disturbing images in his head to calm himself down and not be sporting a hard on in front of Y/N. But he manages, grabs his own mug - since Y/N now held his typical mug he uses for his morning coffee - and sets it into place.

“Any plans today?” Y/N asks, taking another sip of her coffee and feeling the warmth flood inside of her body. Or maybe that feeling was from how Harry had looked at her just now, she thinks.

“Nope,” Harry shakes his head and grabs for his own mug of black coffee. “What about you? No work today?” He asks, bringing the mug to his lips and blowing to cool it down before taking a sip.

Y/N shakes her head and leans back into the side of the couch, “my boss was nice enough to let us have today off, then back in for a few days but Friday, the eighteenth, isn’t really a big work day. We’re having our annual holiday party that night, so we mostly spend the day finalizing any party planning,” she explains to Harry as he leans back against the counter and sips his coffee again.

“Well that’s nice of her to give you the day off, then after the eighteenth are you off work for holidays?” Harry asks.

“Yup,” she nods, “I get two weeks off, back into the swing of things on the fourth of January,” she states.

“Sounds nice,” Harry says with a smile. “I’m jealous you guys have an office Christmas party, my label only really does something for a select group of people. Whoever made them the most money, honestly,” Harry exclaims. What he doesn’t mention is that he had been invited, and has been for the past three years due to his songs hitting it big on radio or on the charts and causing some big ripples for the artists career that had bought them.

“Sounds like the party wouldn’t be all that fun then,” Y/N notes, tilting her head to the side as she watches Harry make his way into the living room and takes a seat on the couch. She tucks her feet up just under her bottom, resting her mug on her knees but still keeping both hands on it of course.

“I’m sure yours is a lot more fun,” Harry nods in agreement.

She should ask him to be her plus one then. But she hesitates, unsure of how he would see her invite. Would he think she’s trying to make it a date? So soon after her break up? Would he think he was being played as her rebound? She would then have to try and cover up that it wasn’t a date, that they could just go as friends, but then she’d sound like she was friend-zoning him and she really didn’t want that. So, while she’s all in her head about what to do, Harry decides to take a chance.

“Did you want to go for a walk around Central Park?” He asks, looking hopefully into Y/N’s eyes. “We can skate there, I’m sure you’ve been but their rink looks like it would be nice too,” Harry suggests.

Her lips tug up into a smile, “yeah, I would love that,” she pauses as her heart pitter patters in her chest at the sight of Harry smiling back at her. “After breakfast though, I’m starving,” she says, being a bit dramatic. But it makes Harry chuckle, which is exactly what she hoped for.

“How do you feel about some chocolate chip pancakes then?” Harry asks, raising a brow as he sits up straight again and mentally goes through the recipe in his head. It typically doesn’t have pancakes, let alone chocolate chip pancakes, but he has a feeling Y/N would like them. Her love for sugar being obvious by now.

“Love them,” Y/N says with a smile still on her lips.

Where did this perfect man come from? Y/N finds herself thinking as she watches Harry get up from the couch and walk back into the kitchen. He sips his coffee as he walks before setting it on the counter.

“I can help if you’d like,” she offers, raising her voice slightly so she knew Harry could hear her.

But Harry dismisses the idea quickly and tells her to just sit back and relax. Any bets on how much longer it took for her to fall for Harry? Y/N thinks, biting her bottom lip as she watches him bend over, peering deep into his fridge as he moves things out of the way in search for whatever he needs. His bum looks rather nice from this angle, she finds herself shamelessly checking him out. Her guess was that it wouldn’t be much longer at all till she fell for him.

“Did you invite him yet?” Sammy asks, biting on his pen as he leans back in his chair. They were waiting in the conference room, along with everyone else that held a higher position at her work, for Amanda to join them and start their final meeting of the year.

“No,” Y/N replies. She shrugs her shoulders and picks at the corner of her notebook.

“And why the hell not?”

“I don’t want to make it weird, bringing him to a work thing and have to explain to everyone how he’s just a friend even though I wish he was more,” she tells Sammy, eyes still on the torn up paper on the table in front of her.

“Well if you don’t invite him then you’re missing the perfect opportunity to make it more than a friendship,” Sammy states, giving her a side eye before he just rolls them and leans forward in his seat again. He leans towards Y/N and looks into her eyes, letting her know he means business. “Talk to him tonight, invite the poor man, and get out of your own head. You don’t have to keep yourself waiting because of what Mark did when you have what you truly deserve right in front of you. Harry makes you happy, I can just tell by the way you smile at your phone or when I see you ditched hanging with me to hang with him and his friends instead,” he says the last bit with sarcastic bitterness.

Y/N lets out a deep breath through her nose and licks her lips. Her brain is running a million miles an hour. As it has been for weeks now, since she met Harry honestly - she just likes him that much. At first she tried to deny it, and last weekend after her sudden break up with Mark she tried to convince herself again that she needed to keep Harry as a friend. But now, now she just wanted him - all of him, all of the time.

“Okay,” Y/N nods.

Sammy’s lips spread up into a wide smile, the look of excitement clear on his face, but to add to it he pumps a fist into the air. Y/N just rolls her eyes and laughs at him. Amanda enters the room soon after, starting up their final meeting of the year. She goes over numbers, stats, comparing last year to this year, and even promotes a few people. Thankfully, Y/N and Sammy are in their ideal positions now, so they never have that nervous feeling of going into a year-end meeting praying for a promotion. But Y/N still grins and claps for her colleagues who are working their way up in the company. After going through some minor details for their annual holiday party tomorrow, Amanda dismisses the team and Y/N is soon after heading home for the day.

Don’t be a pussy. Ask Harry to come to the holiday party or else. Sammy had texted her after they parted ways at the subway. Y/N bit down on her bottom lip, reading over the texts again as the elevator sounds a soft ding! and she walks out onto the sixth floor. Y/N confidently walks on her platform Doc Martin boots passed her own apartment door and right to Harry’s. Lifting her free hand, the other holding her Starbucks holiday drink, she knocks four times on the door before patiently waiting for him to answer. Her heart is beating so loud she can practically hear it ringing in her ears.

Harry answers the door after a few moments, his eyebrows pulling together at the sight of Y/N on the other side. While it’s a delight to see her, they hadn’t planned to hangout at all - so he’s rather surprised to see her standing before him. Y/N smiles and Harry’s quick to mirror it.

“Hey,” she breathes out, the same bundle of nerves that have been with her all day seeming to not relax in the slightest.

“Hey,” Harry smiles, “what’s up?” He asks, leaning against his door.

“Um,” Y/N pauses and closes her eyes, opening them to look at the floor before she takes a deep breath to meet his gaze again. Oh no, Harry thinks, feeling nervous since answering the door as he’s unsure how to take in her nonverbal cues right now. “So, you know that holiday party my work’s having that I mentioned?” Y/N questions, when Harry nods she doesn’t leave another second of hesitation slide by her before continuing. “I was wondering if, maybe, you’re not busy, if you wanted to come with me,” she stumbles out her invitation.

Harry’s truthfully a little surprised by her inviting him. His eyebrows now raised up his forehead as he processes her words. He immediately wants to say yes, obviously. Besides his clear as day feelings for Y/N, he also saw her as a friend too and he would love to accompany her for anything she asked him to.

“Everyone gets a plus one, and I can’t imagine bringing anyone else but you with me. Also, Sammy is practically begging me to introduce you two already,” Y/N exclaims as it seems Harry was in his head for too long. He smiles at her statements. First, blushing slightly at her comment about how she couldn’t imagine inviting anyone but him, and then holding back a chuckle at her mentioning her friend Sammy.

“It’s tomorrow, right?” Harry asks, half to just be sure and half to delay his answer to jokingly stress her out a little maybe.

“Yes,” Y/N nods, biting on her bottom lip for a moment. When Harry’s eyes fall to her teeth nibbling on her pink lips she notices and stops, butterflies present in her stomach at the thought of Harry thinking about her lips.

“I think I’m free,” Harry teases. He brings a hand to his chin, looking up at the ceiling in a joking manner as if he’s pondering what else could be on his schedule for the day. Y/N knows that he’s not doing a whole lot these days, but for all she knows he could have already had things planned with his friends. But Y/N can’t lie - she’s happy to hear he hasn’t.

Y/N chuckles and reaches forward, smacking his arm that’s resting on his chin with a gentle force. Harry chuckles along with her and stops his act as if he’s really thinking about if he can accept her invitation or not. Y/N lets her arms fall back to her side again and smiles, looking into Harry’s dazzling eyes as he smiles back at her. They stand there in his doorway, smiling, for a few beats of silence before Harry tells her.

“You’re going to have to help me with an outfit though,” he says, “there is no way I’m going to a party in New York City that a ton of fashion obsessed people will be at, without your help,” he states. Y/N chuckles again and nods, bringing her Starbucks cup to her mouth slowly.

“I can do that,” she says, tilting her cup to have a sip of the warm liquid.

“Okay,” Harry nods, “and what time will you be picking me up for this date?” He asks jokingly, although a big piece of him is hoping she won’t deny that it’s a date.

Y/N smiles, feeling a blush creeping onto her cheeks, “like, six-ish,” she tells him.

“Sounds good,” Harry says.

“Good,” Y/N nods, a smile still on her lips, “I have to go now though, I have a few presents for my coworkers I need to wrap and some last minute phone calls to make to get things all set for tomorrow,” Y/N explains, taking a few slow steps backwards while her eyes are still glued to Harry’s.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Harry says, his smile never flattening either.

“Yes,” Y/N nods, her stomach in a fit of butterflies as she realizes that she really just invited him to her work party.

Turning on her heels, she hears Harry close his door, and walks to her own apartment to unlock the door. She did it, she’s going to be bringing Harry to a work function - this was kinda big, she realizes, but she’s too excited to worry right now. So, instead she turns on her Christmas playlist on her TV, after she steps out of her shoes and hangs up her coat, and sings along as she sets up her little workstation to wrap a few presents.

Y/N has been running around like a chicken with their head chopped off all day. She was determined to have this holiday party be perfect. Harry was her plus one, she imagined things going so well between the two of them tonight. But then things started to go south the moment she walked into the office this morning and Amanda bombarded her at the front doors, “we were double booked” she had told Y/N. Turns out their location for their party tonight was double booked and the other function had already paid off the business to let them have the space. Therefore having Y/N scrabbling for a place to have this party.

“We should just have it here,” Sammy suggested.

It was a last resort suggestion, but in reality it could work. The building their office was in had a decent sized room that was used for conferences and such. And after calling the building staff they learnt it wasn’t being used, so they started working on getting that set up.

Y/N was on the phone for hours, making sure the catering and bar services company they hired knew the relocation, and having them show up on time to get the set up going too. Then she was downstairs to help the decorations team replan their set up before she was literally running down the streets to the Target in order to buy new table clothes that would fit the tables the building provided. And somehow, with a little blood and sweat and a few tears shed too, Y/N made it happen.

She lets out a loud deep breath and looks at the room around her. The shimmering lights hanging down from the ceiling, perfectly placed so they wouldn’t hit anyone in the head but still looking very dreamy. There’s one wall full of fresh wreaths, some huge and some small, with matching red ribbons and ornaments on them. It’s picture perfect and Y/N already had taken a short video of them as they were setting it up to post on her Instagram. The way the plain white tablecloths she had bought earlier were now styled with more fresh pine that was used for the wreaths, with a few candles on each table and more red Christmas ornaments too, it all just looked so good. She especially loved the large real Christmas tree that she and Sammy took the time to decorate that sat in the far corner of the room by the gorgeously decorated bar that stretches along the back wall. Overall, it’s fashionable, Instagram worthy, and perfect.

Y/N is about to tell someone hired for the event to add a few more beaded garlands around the entryway when her phone rings. She gives the young woman a smile and holds up a finger while producing her phone that’s in her jean pocket. Looking at the screen she sees Harry’s name at the top, which causes a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She smiles and swipes a finger across the screen to answer his call.

“Hey,” she says, walking away from the people that are rushing around her to finalize the party.

“Hey,” Harry breathes out. Y/N can hear the nerves in the one word. She furrows her brows and begins to worry that maybe he can’t make it anymore, suddenly feeling very upset at the thought. “You’re late,” he states. Y/N’s brows pinch together further and her eyes narrow.

“What?” She questions.

“Well, it’s almost six, and you’re supposed to help me pick something to wear, but I understand if you can’t or don’t want to. I’m sure I can figure something out, but don’t want to make you look bad by bringing a badly dressed bloke to your party,” Harry explains, catching himself sounding a bit needy. He didn’t need her to help style him for the holiday party, but he wanted her opinion of course.

“Oh my god what time is it?” Y/N gasps, asking Harry the question but really more asking herself as she realizes time has slipped by her in the whirlwind that was relocating this party.

“Um, quarter to six,” Harry tells her.

“Shit, H, I’m sorry, I haven’t looked at a clock in hours, I’m still at my office. We had to work fast and relocate the party for tonight, I’ve been so busy I didn’t even realize,” Y/N explains, her eyes searching around the room for either Amanda or Sammy or really anyone that could take over for her to hurriedly get ready.

“Oh, it’s okay, not a problem really,” Harry says, tapping a pen on the notebook that’s in front of him. He had been caught up a bit with his own work too, writing a song.

“Okay,” Y/N sighs, “game plan, you can send me pictures of some things you can wear tonight, I’ll give you my opinion, and then I’ll get ready here and are you okay to meet me in the lobby at seven-thirty?” Y/N asks, finally locking eyes with Amanda across the room.

Amanda’s eyes are wide at the sight of her, arms thrown up into the air as she’s confused as to why Y/N is still here - Y/N may have told her she had to meet up with her new plus one. Amanda was just as excited to meet Harry as Sammy was, damn gossiper had gone and told Amanda all about Y/N and Mark’s breakup and about Harry now too. Y/N had glared at Sammy as Amanda asked a million questions about Harry earlier.

“Okay,” Harry nods, “I can do that, did you need me to bring you anything or are you all set at your office?”

Y/N smiles at Harry naturally asking her if she needed anything from him. “I’m good, I’ll just text you the address and let me know when you’re on the way, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry echoes.

“Okay, I have to go, I’ll see you soon,” she says. Harry says a goodbye before she hangs up the phone just as Amanda is walking up to her.

“What in the world are you still doing here? I thought you were supposed to leave like an hour ago to go get ready and meet up with your new man?” Amanda questions. She is dressed for tonight's festivities, wearing a sparkling silver gown that fit her like a glove. Her hair is out of it’s usual low ponytail and is pin straight. She looks amazing, of course.

“First,” Y/N points a finger, “not my new man, by any means. And second, I got caught up helping with some issues with catering and then I was fixing some lighting issues. I’m going upstairs to get ready, and Harry is meeting me here,” she tells Amanda.

“Go, go,” she shoos her off, “steal a good dress from that room of broken dreams.”

Amanda is referring to the small room upstairs in their office that holds many pieces from over the year that clients didn’t fit, didn’t like, or just simply didn’t get to see. Y/N nods, having already planned to go there, and rushes away to get upstairs and get ready. As she opens the door to the room full of clothing Harry texts her a few pictures of items in his closet he has for tonight.

Her eyes are glued on her screen, attention taken away from her finding something the moment she sees Harry’s name. There’s a black suit laid on his bed in the first picture, the idea of seeing him in a classic black suit and tie has her feeling some type of way, but it’s not the look for tonight. She swipes to the next photo and likes the cream and light blue vertical stripe button up shirt but not the deep purple trousers he paired with them. But in the next picture she really likes the fun look to the trousers, like a sort of grandpa’s sweater vibe with browns and whites in an interesting square pattern. Completely ignoring the black shirt he had paired with it, she texts him back.

Shirt from the second pic and pants from the third one! Trust me! Lol. And here’s the address, she types quickly, sending him her location, before pocketing her phone and turning to the first rack of clothing. Immediately she grabs for a light blue Gucci suit jacket. It would go with Harry’s outfit perfectly, she thinks with a smile, putting it to the side for him. She remembers the suit was too big for a certain younger actor who was hosting SNL last week, Timothee something or another, if she’s remembering correctly.

Y/N goes through what feels like is a hundred dresses, pantsuits, and everything in between before she finds the one she likes. It’s her size, thank god, and isn’t too shimmery and crazy like she feels everyone else will be dressed like. It’s a bit of a darker blue that the colour of the suit jacket she had pulled aside for Harry, with thin straps and a tight torso that had wires for under his boobs for a built in bra type of look. It ends just above her ankles and is embroidered with beautiful beads and stunning flowers and leaf designs. But with a bit of a scandalous look as the embroidery isn’t as crowded near the bottom of the dress and leaves her in a sheer fabric. Overall, she just really enjoys how it looks and feels - and truthfully, she can’t be too picky with such little time to finish getting ready now.

It works out perfectly as she looks over herself in the washroom on the main level, fluffing her hair that she had curled and touching up her makeup, Harry texts that he’s just about to walk inside. Hurrying through out of the washroom, she walks out into the lobby, the black heels she had taken from the heap of shoes upstairs click along the floor as she waves hello and smiles at the people around that she knows. There would be just over a hundred people in attendance for their party tonight, not too big but not too small either, and she was happy to see all the familiar faces she’s gotten to work with over the year. But, there is one face in particular she’s most happy to see.

Only Harry’s not alone. In fact, she shouldn’t be all that surprised to see her best friend had managed to single him out in the small crowd that was waiting to get into the conference room she’s spent all day setting up. She sighs and makes her way towards them, smiling at another colleague that gave her a quick compliment as she passed by. Sammy caught her eye first, noticing how she’s glaring at him but he only smirks back at her.

Then Harry shifts, looking over his shoulder at whatever Sammy is looking at, and he pauses at the sight of Y/N only a few feet away. Holy shit, Harry thinks to himself as he takes in how she looks. The dress fits her flawlessly, accentuating her curves and causing Harry to shamelessly check her out. She’s always beautiful, stunning really, but tonight she looks like she should be a runway model. He feels a bit underdressed beside her, even though she picked out his outfit, even just a jacket would make him feel a little less casual at this event.

“You look,” Harry pauses as he struggles to find the right word. Y/N has stopped now in front of him, hands fiddling with her small clutch resting in front of her. “Just, unbelievable, wow,” Harry finally breathes out. His words cause a warm blush to creep over his face, her eyes falling to the floor to catch his black boots on his feet, as she hides away her grin.

“You look really good, too,” she tells him, although her words are far less swoon worthy than his words. It still causes Harry to smile too, his stomach doing a few flips.

“And how do I look?” Sammy asks jokingly, breaking their moment as they both turn to look at him. He’s smirking and holding out both arms, showing off his sparkling gold suit jacket that he’s worn with some black tight suit pants and a black button up shirt. He looks good, obviously, but Y/N shoulders shake as she chuckles at her friends behaviour.

“You look marvellous,” Harry compliments him with a smile, Y/N looks at Harry and shakes her head.

“Oh, he’s good,” Sammy notes, pointing a finger at Harry but is looking at Y/N. “If you don’t keep him I’ll take him, like that little feeling I get in my stomach when he speaks, hm,” he hums, winking at Harry for good measure too. Both Harry and Y/N chuckle at her friend. Suddenly someone is calling for Sammy’s attention, and of course, he answers to it right away and leaves Y/N and Harry to themselves.

“I’m sorry about him,” Y/N says as they face each other once more, “Sammy can be a lot to handle,” she adds.

“He wasn’t that bad,” Harry assures her.

She hums and smiles, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. “I find that hard to believe, but alright,” she says, “oh! I have something for your outfit,” she mentions, grabbing his arm gently to guide the way to the building's front desk where they had set up a coat check.

Harry’s in his own head about how she so naturally grabbed onto him, her delicate hand wrapped around his arm before dropping down to her side again as she approached the line that was for coat check. He furrows his brows, confused if she was going to ask for the jacket he had brought with him, but instead he watches as she walks around the tables and helps herself to the rack of jackets. She pulls out a light blue suit jacket and smiles over it at him, watching as his eyes widen. He knows the jacket, it was a part of Gucci’s line last season. He had browsed through some Vogue article and loved the colour immediately, how did she know?

“It’s just sitting upstairs, unworn, and it deserves some attention,” Y/N explains, holding it out for him.

“I can just wear this, tonight? No fee?” Harry asks, finding this situation a little unreal honestly.

“Well,” Y/N gives him a smug smile, “how about your fee is a dance with me, later,” she bargains.

“Oh, there will be plenty of dancing, of course,” Harry says. He takes the suit jacket off the hanger, passing the empty hanger back to Y/N and then puts on the jacket. Shrugging his shoulders a few times to get it to sit right on his body, but boy does it ever fit him well. Like it was made for him, honestly. Cause my god does it ever look good on him, Y/N thinks as she watches him straighten out the jacket till it feels comfortable. Harry looks up to see Y/N staring at him, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. He smirks, dimples popping up for show, and it causes Y/N to snap out of it and turn to put the hanger away. She then takes the few steps forward to Harry and smiles while looking up at him.

“You look phenomenal,” Y/N tells him, upping her previous compliment from before. Harry’s heart swells at her words and he extends his bent arm, for her to hold onto his forearm.

“Shall we?” Harry asks, motioning for her to grab onto his arm and walk into the now open doors to her party.

“We shall,” she smiles and puts her hand on his arm to let him guide them into the party she spent all day preparing. Y/N can’t help but notice the looks the people around them are giving her, a few smirks from other girls - with obvious jealousy on their faces. It makes her head spin, realizing that she’s about to be the talk of the office all because of the hot guy on her arm. Little do they know, he’s a lot more than how good he looks in this light blue suit jacket.

It only takes an hour before the rest of the people at the party realize that Harry is more than that pretty face of his.

He charms the socks off of every single person she introduces him to. Not to mention that Sammy is basically attached to his hip, begging for the attention, and Amanda has given Y/N a thumbs up every chance she’s gotten. Which she’s currently doing from the sidelines of the dance floor as Y/N is dancing around with Sammy, Harry and a few others now a few hours into the party. Y/N chuckles, the few tequila drinks making her feel a bit giggly, as she throws her head back and sways to the music. Harry’s watching her, admiring how carefree she looks as she dances to the music. Not an ounce of worry of any judgement from her coworkers around her.

“Y/N,” a colleague of hers comes up, putting a hand on her arm to get her full attention. She smiles as she meets her eyes. “Merry Christmas love, I’m going to head out with my husband, who very much loves your new boyfriend by the way,” she explains, mirroring Y/N’s smile. Harry is distracted, dancing with Sammy, and thankfully doesn’t hear her comment.

“Oh! He’s not my boyfriend,” she informs her, for probably the third time tonight. But her older colleague, Heidi, is rather forgetful when she has a few glasses on wine - something she’d learnt over the few years of working together. “Also, I have a present for you, just wait here and I’ll go get it and be right back I promise,” Y/N assures her, giving her a pout for good measure.

Heidi sighs but is still smiling, “fine, I’ll wait,” she nods.

Y/N is walking passed Harry, causing him to pinch his brows together and reach out for her. Through the night they didn’t leave each other's side, even when one of them had to use the washroom they let each other know. His hand is gentle, grasping onto her arm as she’s about to walk away, and pulling her to look his way. Y/N matches his look of confusion but smiles at the little pout on Harry’s lips at the sight of her leaving the dance floor without him.

“Where are you going?” He asks, bending his head down closer to her. His breath is warm against the skin, his lips mere inches from her ear. A chill falls over her as she looks back into his enchanting eyes.

“Upstairs, I need to grab something,” she states.

“Oh,” Harry pauses, “okay,” he says, still looking into her eyes. They were so beautiful, she’s so beautiful.

“Did you want to come with me?” Y/N asks. She doesn’t know why she does, maybe because she doesn’t want to leave Harry’s side for a single second or maybe her buzz from the tequila is making her brave. She imagines some alone time with Harry for the first time tonight would be nice.

Harry nods and slowly lets his hand drop from her arm to her hand. Their fingers intertwining like it's natural, ignoring the wide eyed look from Sammy, and Y/N leads the way out of the room and into the lobby. Harry thinks she’ll drop his hand once they reach the elevator but she doesn’t. It’s like a volcano of butterflies has erupted in his stomach. Feeling bold, he brushes the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand a few times as he inhales her sweet smelling perfume as she stands so close to him while waiting for the elevator doors to open.

Every moment they’ve had together tonight has been amazing, the same longing looks and full smiles between them but were always surrounded by others. Seems Y/N is rather popular at her place of work, everyone wants to hang around her and he’s been introduced to more people than he can count. Although Y/N did whisper in his ear “Sammy and Amanda are the only ones you really need to remember”, thankfully. But he really is having a good time as they enjoyed a quick meal at the beginning of the night, talking amongst the people at their table, then when that was finished up the wine was replaced with harder alcohol and things got pretty wild. Turns out these New Year City fashion obsessed people knew how to party and it wasn’t all gossip and trends with them. Harry was finding himself laughing, dancing and feeling more free than he had in quite a while. And maybe the tequila drinks he’s been sipping was helping, as he actually ended up liking Y/N’s drink of choice.

“Everyone loves you,” Y/N states, breaking the silence just as the elevator opens and they step inside. Harry smirks and lets her step up to hit the button inside, using her free hand as they still are holding each other. Their hands hang in the air as she steps forward, hitting the button, and then steps back to be right beside him.

“Glad my charm could be of use to impress your coworkers,” Harry says, making Y/N smile but rolls her eyes as she squeezes his hand that still holds her. They’re holding hands! Don’t freak out! Y/N is internally screaming at herself.

“Cheeky,” Y/N teases, using his word back at him finally. Although all those times he’s texted her ‘cheeky’ or ‘cheeky girl’ she does get butterflies in her stomach.

“Oh really?” Harry questions, huffing out a chuckle while raising his eyebrows.

Y/N laughs and Harry pulls on her hand that he’s holding to bring her even closer to him. Their sides touch, her bare arm brushing against the suit jacket, and she swore a spark of electricity shot through them as they were now leaning against one another. She looks from their feet, toe to toe, to how her bent knee just barely strokes against his pants, then looking at their conjoint hands - Harry still rubbing his thumb against her warm skin every once in a while - all the way up to meet Harry’s eyes. His face is so close, only a few inches away from hers. Y/N’s breath gets caught in her throat, her lips parting as she inhales slowly while looking into Harry’s eyes. Are they about to kiss? Both Harry and Y/N’s thoughts are swarming with the idea of their lips pressing together and sharing their first kiss right here, right now in this elevator-

A sudden ding! causes them to blink out of whatever trance they were in. Y/N turns her head to watch the doors open onto her office floor, only a few dim lights are kept on during the night hours so it looks a bit different than during the day. Harry’s only watching her though. Taking in every inch of her lips. The curve of her cupids bow, the pout of her bottom lip. How good the red lipstick still looks even hours later since their night has gone on. Oh how he wants to mess up that red colour, smearing it with his own lips, he’s in his head with many thoughts as Y/N tugs on his hand to bring them out of the elevator and into the main area of the office.

She has to let go of Harry’s hand to enter in the code to the main doors for their office that are frosted glass, beside the large desk that their secretary answers calls and logs in clients entering for any appointments. The sleek look from the large frosted glass doors and all white marble flooring and white desk compliments the big block letters of their company name that have neon lights behind it. Currently the colours were red and green, glowing with full holiday cheer as Y/N loved so much.

Harry’s watching Y/N, her slight sway to her body as she pushes open the door and holds it open for Harry to walk through. He nods and smiles, then let's Y/N lead the way. While her office floor is all very exciting and professional, he’s more focused on Y/N. She’s talking about how she had bought some gifts for her coworkers and got so busy today she forgot a few. Harry was in awe of her and how she managed to pull off the relocation of this party so quickly. Amanda and many others were praising her all night, which Y/N would only respond by shaking her head and brushing off their kind words. He admires that about her a lot, how she is confident but doesn’t let people’s praises go to her head by any means.

As Y/N is walking across the room to her desk, something catches Harry’s eye. He pauses, double checks that Y/N isn’t watching him, and then leans over to the bulletin board at some random desk. With one swift movement he rips it off and then quickly stuffs it into the pocket of his jacket before he turns around to find Y/N at what he assumes is her desk. It’s a large white desk, up against the floor to ceiling windows, it’s quite the view - but, again, his eyes are only on her.

“Okay, so this one’s for Heidi, and then this one is for her and her husband,” Y/N is rambling aloud as she reaches under her desk for the few last presents she had. The only other one was for Sammy, so she should bring it down with her too to catch him before either of them leaves.

She stands up straight again, putting the presents on the desk when she looks over her shoulder at Harry. He’s staring, which isn’t new, but it still makes her smile and her head to spin knowing that his eyes always seem to be on her. But it’s the mischievous smile across his lips that brings Y/N to a stop, pinching her eyebrows together as she tilts her head to the side.

“What’s with the look?” Y/N asks, getting right to the point.

Harry raises a brow and jokingly says, “what look?”

Y/N just rolls her eyes and hums, pushing her hair over one shoulder as she turns her body towards Harry. She crosses her arms over her chest and Y/N doesn’t miss how his eyes drop to her movements for a split second before meeting her eyes again. She feels like she’s on fire under his stare, the burn so deep within her only blazing when he licks his lips. This is it, this is the moment, Harry thinks before he can second guess himself. He takes a step forward, standing so close to Y/N that the toes of their shoes touch and she has to look up into his piercing stare now.

Y/N notices him reach into his pocket, and then just as quickly, he takes his hand out and holds it above them. She furrows her brows, looking up to see something green between his fingers. Her heart stops, her breath getting caught in her throat as she inspects the item more. But when Harry clears his throat, her attention falls back into him. His beautiful green eyes look a bit nervous, it’s adorable, Y/N thinks.

“Can I kiss you underneath the mistletoe, Y/N?” Harry asks, his voice in that now familiar and warm low tone.

Y/N is pretty sure Harry can hear her heart beating out of her chest right now. She stares back into his eyes, feelings for this man hitting her like a wrecking ball. Y/N has never felt something so strong for someone before. And Harry standing here, holding mistletoe, asking to kiss her, it by far one of the most romantic things ever. Unsure she can find her voice, Y/N settles with nodding her head twice and never letting her eyes fall off Harry’s. His lips turn ever so slightly upwards, smiling, before he takes a deep breath and leans forward and both their eyes flutter shut as the moment they both have dreamt of is becoming a reality.

When their lips finally touch it feels like time itself stops around them. Like no one else or nothing else matters in the world but them in this moment right here. Y/N’s heart hasn’t settled one bit, and her knees feel weak as Harry’s free hand gently touches her hip to steady them both. She tries to ignore the touch and instead focus on how soft his lips feel against hers. The feeling flares the burn she feels around him and only amplifies at how addicting his kiss is.

But it was clear, Y/N and Harry both could never dream up a kiss was perfect as this one. Harry’s pure raw emotion that he feels as he decides to pull back from the kiss, to look at Y/N with his eyes only half open, he just had to make sure he wasn’t imagining any of this. But she’s just as beautiful with her swollen lips and half open dreamy eyes as he had thought.

This time Y/N pulls Harry down by wrapping both arms around his shoulders, nudging his head down to meet her halfway and get lost in their kissing again. Harry now is clenching the plastic mistletoe in one hand while both his hands curl up at her hips. With every second, every smell of her rose perfume filling his nose, he’s sure he��ll wake from this dream at any time. The twisting in both their stomachs don’t settle as the kiss continues, Y/N’s lips parting slightly as she breathes out a small gasp when they both pull each other even closer.

Their bodies are basically molding into one, Y/N’s hair falling into their face as she tugs him even closer if it’s possible. But Harry quickly reacts and brings the hand without the mistletoe up, carding his fingers through her locks and bringing the hair away from their moving lips before he rests his hand on her cheek. The only reason that they both pull apart the second time is because they need air - both their chests are heaving against one another as they struggle to catch their breath.

Y/N could never describe the sensations she was feeling in the fleeting second after their kiss. She opens her eyes, looking at Harry’s chest as it rises and falls in quick motions, before she slowly raises her gaze. There’s a pit in her stomach, feeling a bit nervous to meet his eyes after such a passionate kiss. So she takes her time, her eyes scanning over Harry’s face. His sharp jaw, clenching as he watches her. She smiles at the sight of her red lipstick just faintly smudging against his own lips. Finally, she lifts her eyes and meets his stare.

“Amazing,” Harry breathes out, his breath fanning over her lips.

“Breathtaking, actually,” Y/N corrects him, lifting her lips into a bit of a cheeky smile. Harry huffs out a chuckle and smiles, squeezing her side as he lets his hand drop from her face. He seems like he might step away, but Y/N doesn’t want their little bubble to burst quite yet. So she pouts and rubs her thumb over the side of his neck slowly. “Kiss me again, please,” she says in a soft voice.

“Always, darling,” Harry tells her and brings both his hands up to cup her face, tilting her head back just slightly in order to place his lips over hers again. Their kiss only last for another moment before Y/N gets a sudden prick to her cheek, causing her to break away and furrow her brows.

“What the-?” Y/N pauses as she takes Harry's hand and uses her fingers to pry back his own. A giggle passes her lips as the sight inside his hand. She takes the plastic green leaves and red berries. Rolling her lips into her mouth, she tries to hold back the laughter bubbling inside of her.

“What?” Harry questions, letting Y/N take the mistletoe out of his hand.

“Harry,” she sighs and looks up at him, “this is holly, not mistletoe,” she explains. It’s a common misconception, truly, but it only makes the moment they just had all that more special.

Harry’s cheeks heat up instantly at her words. Pure embarrassment washing over him as he didn’t even realize his mistake. His whole big romantic gesture now in the ruins because they kissed underneath holly not mistletoe. Harry shakes his head and reaches for the holly in Y/N’s hand, but she moves faster and closes her hand around it - not caring that it pokes her palm. He is the one to pull together his eyebrows now, meeting her eyes.

“No, it’s okay,” she admits to him, placing the holly carefully on her desk without looking away from Harry’s eyes. “I don’t care that you made a common mistake, don’t beat yourself up about it,” she says, bringing her free hand to brush against his warm red cheeks. “It was-” she pauses and lets out a deep breath, “you’re perfect, H,” she says.

“No, you are,” he declares, meeting her halfway again to crash their lips together once more.

thanks for reading, please reblog/leave some feedback if you enjoyed it! until part 5 😘

*like this post if you’d like to be added to the cstsyl taglist!*

#harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles series #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #1dff #cstsyl #OK AT FIRST I HATED HOW THIS PART WAS TURNING OUT BUT I ENDED UP SAVING IT??? I THINK?#pls feel free to talk to me about it!! and remember to like and reblog :)

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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Unprofessional [pt. 1] /// Yandere Tendou x f!Reader

Summary: The new hire you’re supposed to be training at your office job is a little too attached for his own good…or yours. [Part 2]

A/N: Someone requested yandere Tendou and I was like !!! However when I wrote it, it turned out kinda long so I split it into 2 parts; I’ll answer the req when I post part 2. Anyway I’m obsessed with the concept of salaryman Tendou, please enjoy!

Tags/warnings: yandere, timeskip (Tendou is 22-23 in this), workplace/office setting, liberal use of “senpai”, alcohol, Tendou’s crackhead energy is toned down a little bit because of the setting [In part 2: smut, 18+]

You don’t really like Tendou when you first meet him.

Your first impression when your boss introduces the new employee is that he’s all talk and no substance. He’s been hired fresh out of university, and he’s got the stink of a former frat boy all over him—that baseless enthusiasm, chaotic goodwill and arrogance mixed together. That might have been your type when you were still sucking down cheap keg beer from red solo cups, but you’re two years into your career as a real grown-up adult now, and the cockiness that radiates off Tendou in waves is just…annoying.

Unfortunately, when your boss tells you to take the newbie under your wing, train him, and be his mentor, it’s not a request. It’s a demand. So you decide to suck it up. If you’re going to have to spend every second at the office with Tendou trailing after you like a baby duck, you may as well get used to him.

After a few weeks, you have to admit he’s not that bad. Sure, he’s not the best at respecting personal space, but how can you blame him? When he looms over you to reach for a file above your head for the nth time and traps you between his body and the cabinet, you finally lose your patience and snap at him to give you some space, but he looks so surprised and apologizes so sincerely that you can’t help forgiving him. You feel a little bad, even, when he explains that he’s never worked in an office before so he’s not used to all the rules that he’s expected to follow in a professional environment.

You can’t really fault him for that, especially when you’re the one who’s supposed to be teaching him these things. “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything,” you tell him, and he perks up so quickly that you feel even worse for chewing him out in the first place.

The thing is, Tendou doesn’t really stop getting close to you once you chastise him. It just bothers you less. The dozenth time his hand lingers over yours while you’re passing him a document or he picks an invisible thread off your blouse or sits a little too close when you’re riding in the back of a taxi to a client meeting, you start convincing yourself that you’re overreacting. He’s probably not being that much more pushy than your other coworkers—you’re just more aware of him because you don’t know him as well.

And it doesn’t help that he’s tall, towering over you and pretty much everyone else in the office. The cheap suits he cycles through can’t quite conceal the hard lines of muscle underneath—oh, whoops. Now you’re the one crossing boundaries. Tendou is so big that you’re just…more conscious of his presence, right?

This is drilled into you one night after a marathon overtime session when you’re carrying a tall stack of boxes back to the archives. Maybe it’s because you’ve been at work for 11 hours, but the files feel like they’re filled with rocks, not paper. Your muscles are this close to giving out when Tendou appears out of nowhere to pluck the files out of your arms. “Here. Gimme, gimme, I’ll take ‘em.”

The way he carries the heavy boxes so effortlessly makes you kind of embarrassed at how much you’d struggled with them. “You’re pretty strong, hm,” you say absently. Oops, was that inappropriate? You don’t want him thinking you’re hitting on him or something.

“Oh—yeah I guess?” Tendou’s laugh (the one that used to grate on your nerves) sounds like he’s pleased with himself. “I go to the gym a lot.”

“Wish I could find the time. Or the discipline,” you reply as he replaces the file box in the archive room.

“Wow, senpai is calling me disciplined. My heart is pounding.”

His tone is sarcastic enough that you don’t think twice about the second part of his statement. “Don’t get too full of yourself. If you have the energy to go to the gym, you should spend that time double checking your expense reports before you submit them.”

“Ouch.” Tendou holds his hand over his heart in mock betrayal. “Targeting my weak points, how ruthless. But seriously, working out is second nature to me. Been doin it since I was a kid so it doesn’t take any kinda discipline.”

“Oh? Did you play sports or something?”

“Yeah…” Tendou’s voice trails off and when you pause from your task of organizing the files to look up at him, he’s staring directly at you. “…Used to play volleyball. Grade school through college.”

The way he’s looking at you, searching your face for something you can’t identify, makes you think this is more important than it seems. You tip your head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

“Our team in high school was pretty good,” he says slowly.

“That’s cool,” you say, turning back to the paperwork. “Did you ever play Shiratorizawa? They’re my old high school—I think their volleyball team went to nationals back in the day. I was never into sports though.”

A moment passes, and you frown. Did you say something wrong? But just before you’re about to change the subject, Tendou starts laughing. “Shiratorizawa? No, I don’t think I ever played them.”

Your laugh joins his a second late, although you don’t know why he thinks it’s funny in the first place. In the echo of your voices, you can hear how quiet it is in the archives. There’s something here you’re missing, but you’re not sure what.

Luckily enough, the somewhat awkward atmosphere doesn’t carry over to the next day. When you get into the office, Tendou is his usual clingy self, distracting you from your own work to ask you to teach him something and pulling you away when you’re talking to your coworkers so you can double check his emails before he sends them. If anything, he’s more attached than usual—when you go to a contract renewal negotiation with a client he insists on tagging along, so you let him after making him promise not to get in the way.

Of course he doesn’t keep his promise, but you end up appreciating his intrusion more than you could have predicted. The client is stubborn and rude until Tendou chimes in (much to your dismay, at first) with an offer to add on some oddly specific perks to the contract. You’re already practicing your apology speech to the boss in anticipation of losing the client, but to your amazement he agrees to Tendou’s terms and the deal is sealed, along with a healthy bonus for you.

You’re on cloud nine, practically skipping out of the building with Tendou at your side as you fantasize about what you’re going to do with the bonus after you split it with him. A weekend vacation out of the city? An online shopping spree? Some fancy dinners at five-star restaurants? Knowing you, the money will end up going straight to your savings, but you still can’t contain your giddiness. “How did you know he wanted that add-on? Seriously, I had no idea!”

“A guess! I’m good at reading people.” Tendou’s just as elated as you, pumping his fist and whooping like a kid as soon as you’re away from the client’s earshot. “Woohoo! Yay! Our first sale together!”

“A guess? You risked that huge contract on a guess?” You roll your eyes but you’re too excited to be mad at him. “Anyway, you don’t have to say ‘our’ first sale, I know it was all you. I’ll tell the boss you’re doing a good job.”

“No way, it’s ours! Both of us. Me and senpai.” Tendou’s hand reaches down and his fingers lace with yours, squeezing so tight his knuckles go pale.

The thrill of your success flickers as nervousness sets in. Is he holding your hand? “Tendou—“

“Senpaiiiii~” he says in sing-song, swinging your hand as you walk to meet the taxi and ignoring your meek attempts to pull away. “Didn’t I do a good job?”

“Y-Yeah. Good job, Tendou.”

Work friends. The two of you are work friends. Your boss passes all comments to Tendou through you (mostly things about how he’s good with clients and charismatic but needs to stop making minor errors on paperwork). When one of you is sick, your coworkers ask the other to pass on their good wishes. Tendou fits into his role at the office seamlessly, and you can’t say you don’t appreciate the fact that all of his good work is reflecting well on you.

So when his birthday rolls around two months after he’s hired, it’s up to you to plan the office drinking party (only after he complains to you about how he doesn’t have any friends since moving to Tokyo). You have the date you got from Facebook—May 20th—circled in red pen on your private calendar along with a little doodle of a birthday cake.

“What’s that?” asks one of your coworkers, pointing to the circle, as you flip through your agenda a week before the event.

“Tendou’s turning 23,” you tell him. “It’s a Friday, so some of us are going to go to a restaurant and drink a little. You’re coming, right?”

“Oh…yeah.” Your coworker scratches his head and clears his throat. “You guys are pretty close, huh. Um, I actually wanted to ask—you’re not together, are you?”

A chill runs up your spine. “Together? Who said that?” If this rumor gets around to your boss it’ll kill your career. These things always look worse for the woman than for the man. God, it was probably something Tendou said without thinking, he’s always talking about you and someone could easily misinterpret all that praise…

“Well, if you’re dating—“

“We’re not dating,” you say quickly. “We do a lot of work together because I’m training him, but it’s not like that.”

“Really?” Your coworker straightens and smiles. “Cause I was actually thinking of asking if you wanted to go out this weekend—“

“Senpai? Can you help me with this draft?”

Damnit, it’s Tendou getting in the way at the absolute worst time—especially considering he just had to come up behind you and put his hand on your shoulder. Seriously, how many times do you have to tell him to stop doing that when you’re talking to someone else? You’re not sure whether to be irritated at him for cutting your coworker off, concerned that the other man won’t believe what you said about you and Tendou having a strictly professional relationship, or relieved that you don’t have to give an answer to what sounds like an offer for a date.

You cast an apologetic glance at your coworker and make your way over to Tendou’s desk, hoping against hope that the interruption doesn’t look too suspicious. You’d die if word got around to your boss that you were dating your mentee.

///

You’ve got this office drinking party thing down to an art. Step one is to load up on greasy appetizers that’ll increase your alcohol tolerance, step two is to drink plenty of water, and step three is to pour yourself a single drink early and take small sips.

There’s a step four, too: make sure no one else’s glass get’s below the 1/4 mark. Your boss and coworkers are a lot less receptive to how little you’re drinking when they’re all nice and tipsy. It’s a system you’ve perfected over the years, one that allows you to have fun with people from the office without risking making an ass out of yourself or getting a hangover (which, at 25, is a lot more unpleasant than it used to be).

You can’t count the number of times you’ve witnessed the awkward drunken escapades of your fellows, which range from the endearing (your boss crying over how much he loves his wife) to the awkward (coworker makeout sessions) to the potentially criminal (bar fights. So many bar fights). You’re happy to remain a neutral observer, and tonight is no exception.

The only problem is that Tendou hasn’t yet mastered the art of drinking lightly when you’re around people you work with, so now, at the end of his party, he’s (for lack of a better word) trashed. His cheek is mashed flat to the restaurant table like it’s glued there and his head is surrounded by progressive rings of bottles and cans. It’s some kind of miracle that he hasn’t yet gone to the bathroom to get sick.

“Sorry Tendou,” you sigh. “I should have been keeping a better eye on you.” You had no idea he’d get so drunk so quickly. Aren’t tall guys supposed to have high tolerance or something?

“Sssshenpaii,” Tendou slurs, hoisting his head off the table with that looks like Herculean effort. “I liiiike when…when ya look at me…”

“Ha, ha,” you say sarcastically.

Tendou’s head whips around. “Where’d everyone go?”

“They all left—now it’s time for us to go home too. Come on, I’ll help you get to the taxi.” You pay the bill (oof, there goes your petty cash for the week) and pull on Tendou’s shirt sleeve to get him to stand up. Luckily he’s just sober enough to realize what you want him to do and he follows you out to the street with an arm draped over your shoulders to steady his meandering footsteps.

The real trouble comes when the two of you are seated comfortably in the cab and the driver asks for Tendou’s address, which, apparently, he can’t remember. You do the sensible thing and look through his phone, but his own contact card provides no hint to where he lives in Tokyo, only a phone number, email, and address in Sendai which has to be his parents’ house—

Wait.

Tendou’s from Sendai?

You’re from Sendai. You didn’t know he was too. What a coincidence that both of you moved to Tokyo from Sendai. You’ve mentioned your hometown to him a couple times—how come he never told you he’s from the same place? You’re only two years older than him; maybe you’ve run across him in Sendai before the two of you started working together.

Now that you think about it, his face has always been kind of familiar…you thought it was just ‘one of those faces’, but…?

This isn’t the time to wonder, though. You poke Tendou gently in the side, careful not to jar him enough to risk any stomach upset. “Tendou? Do you remember what street you live on?”

After a long pause Tendou names a street, but it’s your company’s address which isn’t located anywhere near a residential district. When you tell him to think harder, he grimaces, lips pulling back to bare his teeth. “Don’ wanna go home…lemme sleep over at senpai’s house.”

“What? You can’t stay at my place.”

“Why noooot? ‘m tired,” he drawls, eyes closing as his head droops onto your shoulder in the back of the cab.

“It’s—it’s inappropriate—wait, no-no-no-no don’t fall asleep,” you tell him desperately but it’s already too late. A light snore filters out of him and you curse. “Tendou—“

“Address?” the cab driver barks insistently, giving you the stink eye in the rearview mirror.

Shit. Well, it is his birthday, you have a pull-out couch, and it’s not like anyone from the office is around to see you going home together. Tomorrow morning you’ll just have to give him a lecture about professional boundaries and make him promise not to breathe a word of this to your boss.

You give your own address to the cab driver. Tendou sleeps peacefully on your shoulder throughout the entire drive, rousing only when you whisper his name in his ear outside your building (which is a miracle, because you know without a doubt that you’re not capable of carrying him). When you get up to your apartment, you deposit him on the sofa bed and tell him not to look through your stuff while you brush your teeth.

Obviously, he doesn’t listen to you. When you emerge from the bathroom, Tendou is standing in the middle of your living room and turning the pages of an old photo album of yours.

“Hey, give me that.” You try to pull it away from him, but he doesn’t let go and his grip is stronger than yours, so the album remains firmly in his hands. “If you’re sober enough to mess with my things, you should go home.”

“This is senpai, right?” Tendou says, pointing to one of the photos.

Despite your exasperation, you lean in to take a look. It’s a picture from high school with you and some friends, all of you wearing your Shiratorizawa uniforms and grinning cheekily at whoever took the picture. Your fingers are cocked up in a peace sign. “Yeah? That’s me.”

“So cute…senpai is really cute…” Tendou’s long finger trails over the edge of your face though the filmy plastic covering the photo.

“Um…you need to get to sleep,” you say nervously, pulling a little harder on the album.

He doesn’t budge, instead just flipping back in the album to older pictures from when you were little until he stops at a photo of you and your younger brother in grade school. Against your better judgement, you frown and look closer to try and pick up whatever caught his interest in this particular image.

“How old…?” he asks.

“I don’t know, 10 or 11 maybe?”

Tendou nods. “When I met senpai…you were this old, yeah.”

“Jeez, you’re really drunk. We met two months ago, remember? I was on the interview board.”

“Yeah.” Tendou’s gaze is glued to the photo. “I was so sad, ‘cause senpai doesn’t remember me. But also really happy to see you after such a long time…I thought it was a dream…”

“Hm? I don’t get it.”

Tendou finally looks up from the picture and meets your wary gaze with those wide red eyes. God, you used to think his face was so creepy—lately you find his zealousness endearing, almost childlike, but right now? It’s making your feet itch how much you want to step away from him. “I was really hoping you would remember on your own, but I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“How me an’ senpai met…”

Are you imagining it, or does his voice sound a lot less slurred than it did just 20 minutes ago? “You’re not making any sense.”

“Shh, just listen…your little brother played volleyball when you were kids, didn’t he?”

How did he know that? You nod hesitantly.

“Yeah…he was in my grade. He was a bad kid, y’know that? Always saying mean things to me.”

It’s true. Your brother’s always had a mean streak in him.

“He used to call me a monster. ‘Cause, y’know—“ Tendou taps a finger against his face. “Guess I look weird. And my name, too. So he said he didn’t wanna play with me. Demons can’t play on human teams. Every day, saying cruel things. I really hated him.”

Monster. Volleyball. Your little brother. Tendou Satori like the mind-reading spirits from folklore. Something’s coming to mind, a memory you haven’t thought about in years—no, decades.

Your little brother making fun of another kid. A tall kid with red hair in a bowl cut.

“I-I remember,” you stammer. “I came to his practice one time and you were there, right? That bowl cut kid was you. I got mad at him for calling you names and I yelled at him. That’s when we met?”

“Correct!” Tendou’s beaming like you just told him he won the lottery instead of recalling a random fifteen-year-old memory. “You made him let me play! I got to get on the court, and block him, and see his beaten face looking up at me. All because of senpai.”

You can play this off, you think to yourself. Tell him you’re sorry for how your brother treated him. Ask him why he never told you that the two of you have met before. Say something. Anything. But your mouth is too dry to let you speak.

“And, you know…” Tendou’s voice softens and a light blush dusts his cheeks. “I thought you were so cool. I couldn’t believe you were related to that jerk. Can I…tell you a secret?”

No. Deep down you know what he’s going to say, and you don’t want to hear it.

Tendou’s hand comes up to comb through your hair, gently pulling through the delicate strands next to your face and tucking them back so he can lean in and whisper into your ear (even though there’s no one else around). “I like you, senpai.”

Stop it. Stop it. Your blood feels cold in your veins.

“I’ve liked you ever since then. I used to wish we were in the same grade so I could be your friend and talk to you every day. Whenever we were in different schools I missed seeing you in the halls and hearing your voice when you spoke to other people.”

“Stop...stop talking,” you whisper, but Tendou continues like he didn’t hear you.

“Why’d you have to go all the way to Tokyo for college? In my third year at Shiratorizawa I studied for your school’s entrance exam forever, but I didn’t get in. Was too busy with volleyball, I guess.” He pauses. “Oh, by the way, I went to Shiratorizawa. I lied about that, sorry. But—seriously, d’you have any idea how hard it was for me when you were away at university? Not seeing the person I love for six years?”

Love, he said. You feel nauseous. “Tendou, you don’t—“

“Let me finish, okay senpai? You don’t know how much I’ve been through. Always having to respect your ‘personal space’—“ he frames the phrase in mocking air quotes— “when I need to touch you so bad I feel like I’m gonna explode.”

And then he’s hugging you into his chest, crushing your torso into his. You struggle and try to get him to let you go, but Tendou is so much stronger than you.

“You’re not that different from your brother after all, are you?” he hums into your hair. “You’ve been torturing me. You know how you lean over my desk when you show me something on my computer? I can…see down your shirt when you do that. And I smell your perfume. I spent two hours at the mall trying all the different perfumes so I could find the right one…thought my nose was gonna stop working! But don’t laugh—“

You’re not laughing.

“—the salesgirl looked at me funny but I got it eventually. Chance Eau Fraiche, right? I can’t believe how expensive that stuff is, what is it made of gold? It was worth it though! I saw this news article about how smelling things in your sleep can trigger memories, so I tried spraying your perfume on my pillow before I go to bed and now I get to see you at work and when I’m dreaming—”

“STOP IT!” Your slap echoes across the room with a resounding crack. You’ve never hit anyone before in your life, but your aim is good enough to leave Tendou staring with a shocked expression off to the side and a bright red mark on his face. His arms fall down from you and you back away from him, clutching your hand to your chest. “You need to get out. You’re drunk and you’re not thinking clearly. We...we can talk about this tomorrow, but right now you have to go.”

Your heart is beating like hummingbird wings, sending a flush up to your face that you know is visible. Tendou ghosts his hand over his cheek and is quiet for a long moment. “I wanted to do this the right way,” he says finally.

“What?”

“I tried. But you’re so obsessed with professionalism. You refused to see me like that,” he sighs. “You’re too responsible. Although it’s one of the things I like about you.”

“Please listen to me...” The psychological anxiety of this revelation is stirring up a primal fight or flight instinct, and you start backing up.

“I really wanted to treat you gently. You deserve to be treated well…”

“Tendou, wait.” How far are you from your bedroom? You don’t want to resort to hiding from him, but you’d feel a lot better with a locked door between you and him.

“…but senpai, I’ve waited so long. And it’s my birthday.”

Your hands scrabble for the doorknob, only—oh. He’s not just stronger than you, he’s faster too.

➠ [Part 2]

#Tendou Satori x reader #Tendou Satori #Tendou x reader #haikyuu x reader #Tendo Satori x reader #Tendo Satori #Tendo x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #yandere #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yandere Tendou Satori x reader #yandere Tendou Satori #yandere Tendo Satori x reader #yandere Tendo Satori

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maddiewritesstucky · 4 years

Text

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60 for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway.

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea.

"Steve,” he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to.

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night.

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning.

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of home and family and right.

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter.

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’ with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off.

...Steve’s not here to actually see this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve.

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam.

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get.

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour.

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted.

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better.

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away.

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb.

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on.

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell.

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time.

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock.

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off.

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream.

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah - there’s a lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.”

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together.

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...”

“Mm?”

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?”

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him.

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been.

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way.

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it.

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up.

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.”

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?”

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick.

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift.

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D! to oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.” Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.”

Oh.

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway.

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures.

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?”

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours.

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins.

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.”

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings.

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close. So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.”

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.”

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose.

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall.

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.”

“Oh my god.”

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later.

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly.

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips.

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...”

“Fuck, Bucky, I...oh...”

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him.

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him.

“You said it, pal.”

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach.

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to Steve. It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath.

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair.

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.”

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose! ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.”

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time.

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.”

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?”

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him.

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #steve/bucky #stripper!bucky #architect!steve #pwp #sexy shower antics #Post-run Steve can get it

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hughjidiot · 3 years

Text

Under Your Scars, an Amphibia Fanfiction

(TW for panic attacks. Takes place post-canon with aged-up characters.)

Marcy has been together with Anne for one year now and wants to make their anniversary special, but memories of what happened in Amphibia all those years ago threaten to bring everything crashing down.

Thankfully for Marcy, Sasha is there to hold her together while she falls apart.

AO3 Link

---

The shower knob squeaked as it was turned to the right, cutting off the steady stream of warm water. Steam filled the tiny apartment bathroom as Marcy Wu stepped out of the shower, water dripping down her in rivets, eyes shut tight. Quick as a flash the nineteen-year-old STEM major whipped the fluffy green towel off the bar beside the sink, wrapping it tightly around her torso.

It was only when she was fully covered that Marcy dared open her eyes.

She wiped the condensation away from the mirror, brushing her wet hair away from her eyes. She popped open the medicine cabinet above the sink, removing her toothbrush and toothpaste before gently closing the door. As she cleaned her teeth, the mint of the toothpaste tingling against her tongue, Marcy ran though her to-do list in her head. A paradoxical mix of anticipation and apprehension roiled in her gut.

Today was hers and Anne’s anniversary.

Marcy still couldn’t believe it had been a full year since she and Anne Boonchuy had officially started dating. A full year since Anne had first taken Marcy’s hands in her own, blushing and stuttering, asking if Marcy wanted to have dinner together that weekend. Not with Sasha as they usually did; just the two of them. Marcy had been stunned into silence, a silence that Anne had initially taken for a rejection that had her stammering out an apology looking close to tears.

Marcy’s senses had returned to her just in time, and she’d practically screamed yes, of course she’d go out with Anne.

In hindsight it seemed natural that the two girls would end up together. They’d been friends since kindergarten, complimenting each other perfectly. Anne would be the one to look out for Marcy and keep her safe, while Marcy would be the one to help Anne with the schoolwork she always struggled with. Along with their mutual friend Sasha Waybright, they completed each other, made each other whole.

Granted there had been some… complications in their adolescence. Complications that were exacerbated by circumstances that most teenagers couldn’t imagine dealing with. But in the end the three had worked through everything, coming out with a stronger friendship, a genuine friendship. A friendship that had naturally segued into romance for Anne and Marcy, with Sasha fully supportive of her oldest friends getting together.

Now it was time to celebrate one year of their relationship.

The day had gotten off to a great start already, Marcy waking up to find that Anne had already gotten up and prepared a full breakfast of all their favorite foods. They laughed and joked as they ate, finding simple joy in each other’s presence. They talked about Anne’s work and Marcy’s schooling, and how much they were looking forward to the reservation they’d made at that new Italian restaurant for dinner tonight.

Marcy felt her face heat up as she finished brushing, spitting the foamy mixture into the sink. Their dinner date wasn’t until eight in the evening, it was a little after eleven now, and Anne would be back from working the lunch shift at her parent’s restaurant around two. Meaning they’d have almost the entire day all to themselves. And Marcy wanted it to be special.

After a year together, after a year of going no further than heavy make-out sessions, she’d decided it was finally time to take things with Anne to the next level.

Feeling that her hair was dry enough, Marcy retrieved the hair dryer from the cabinet. She closed the door again, and froze at the sight of her reflection.

Her towel had slipped ever-so-slightly, exposing a triangular patch of pale-pink skin just below her collarbone, extending to underneath the fabric.

Marcy felt her breath hitch as the memories came flooding back to her.

Memories of her arguing with her parents on that autumn day.

Running from her house in tears, screaming that they were ruining her life.

Finding the Calamity Box in the pawn shop.

Remembering the book from the library, thinking it had to be a coincidence, that there’s no way it would actually work.

Then, the fateful decision: what’s the harm in trying?

Marcy felt her hands start to tremble. The memories came faster.

Standing outside the pawn shop with Sasha while Anne stole the music box.

Seeing a blinding flash when Anne opened the box at the park.

Landing in a city straight out of one of her video games.

Meeting him. The “good king” who took in a confused and frightened visitor from another world. The man who housed, studied with her, gave her a crossbow as a gift and taught her how to shoot. An adult who actually listened to what she had to say, who encouraged her to embrace her own interests rather than force his ideals on her.

Being made the head of an entire military branch. Going on thrilling missions and daring adventures, just like her favorite fantasy novels.

Then, meeting Anne again after so many months apart.

Marcy’s eyes started to burn, welling up with tears. More memories, slamming into her like a physical force.

Feeling such hope and joy as she was reunited with her oldest friend.

Showing her the city. Introducing her to King Andrias.

Doing research on the music box so that the girls could finally get home. Just like Anne wanted.

Letting her go so she could spend just a little more time with her surrogate frog family.

Watching Anne dash through the streets, leaving Marcy alone.

Then, seven words from King Andrias that would again change the course of her life: “I have a proposition for you, Marcy… ”

Marcy’s legs trembled, and she dropped the hairdryer and gripped the counter to steady herself as she tried desperately to get her breathing under control. Not helping was that the motion had caused her towel to drop further, exposing even more of that damned scar. The memories wouldn’t stop.

Travelling across Amphibia with Anne and the Plantars on a quest to charge the stones of the Calamity Box.

Meeting Sasha again after so much time apart, who seemed to have truly grown and turned over a new leaf.

Lying to both of them about going home.

Returning to Newtopia with the fully-charged box in tow.

Watching in shock as Sasha and Grime stabbed them in the back and launched a full-blown toad rebellion.

Watching in horror as Anne exploded at Sasha, ending their friendship right then and there.

Thinking that it was fine, this was fine, they’d had their spats before, Marcy could fix this like she always did.

Working with Anne, the Plantars, Yunan and Olivia to free King Andrias and crush the rebellion.

Then, the moment everything came crashing down.

Keep it together, Marcy thought to herself in the bathroom, shutting her eyes tight. She bit her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as her mind was assaulted with sounds and images. Not today. Not today…

Listening in stunned shock to Andrias’s delusional ranting.

Watching the Calamity Box light up the castle, feeling the entire structure rise into the sky as a small army of robots seemed to show up out of nowhere.

Pleading with Andrias that this wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t part of the plan.

Standing there helpless as Andrias coldly revealed the truth in front of everyone.

Desperately trying to explain things to Anne and Sasha. Sasha backing away in anger and disgust. Anne looking at Marcy with such hurt, such betrayal.

You did that to them, a voice whispered in the back of Marcy’s brain. You tore them from their homes, their lives, put them through hell. It was all you, Marcy.

Fighting Andrias’ robots alongside everyone.

Staring in horror as Andrias cruelly dropped Sprig to his death.

Diving out the window after them, whistling for Joe Sparrow to fly in and save them both. It was the least she could do. He was Anne’s best friend, after all.

Returning to the castle with Sprig in tow, watching in awe as Anne laid the hurt down on Andrias, using powers that none of the girls understood at the time.

Grabbing the music box, using it to open a portal home. Anne and the Plantars rushing through while Sasha and Grime held off Andrias.

And then.

Pain.

Pain unlike anything Marcy had ever felt.

Looking down to see the glowing tip of Andrias’s sword protruding from her chest.

Hearing the stone-cold voice of the man she thought she could trust: “Now look what you made me do.”

Pain.

Using her last breath to apologize as her body went numb.

Pain.

Hearing Anne’s anguished cry as the world around Marcy faded away.

Pain pain pain such horrible pain-

Marcy practically ripped the medicine cabinet open, grabbing her anti-panic attack medication. She untwisted the cap and, despite her shaking, managed to get a single pill out and popped it into her mouth. She slammed the cabinet door shut and turned on the faucet, collecting water in her cupped hands and taking a huge gulp.

Unfortunately, her rapid movements sent the towel tumbling to the floor, leaving that goddamned scar on full display.

An ugly, thick, jagged line of pale-pink, starting below her collarbone, crossing down over her heart and ending just below her right breast.

A permanent reminder of the biggest mistake of Marcy’s life. A mistake that had nearly gotten her killed. Almost got her friends killed. Could have killed them at several points, if things had gone just a little bit differently.

Aside from the doctors she’d seen when their adventure in Amphibia was over, she’d never shown anyone the full scar. Not her parents, not Sasha, not even Anne.

In her mind’s eye she saw Anne staring at her bare chest, recoiling in shock and horror from the sight of the scar. A reminder of the one who uprooted Anne from everything she knew on her thirteenth birthday and dropped her into a hostile new world that had almost killed her multiple times.

She heard Anne’s words from all those years ago echo in her ears: “How could you?! I’ve been missing my family, my life!”

Marcy tore out of the bathroom, eyes shut against the sting of her tears. She sprinted to the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed, not daring to open her eyes until she had pulled the comforter over her still-damp form and covered her scar. Her breathing was heavy and ragged, her vision was blurry, her heart slammed against her ribcage, and a sensation of pins and needles settled in her hands and feet.

Marcy curled herself tight into a ball on the bed she shared with Anne. Sweet, kind, wonderful Anne who was hard at work right now, who would walk through the front door in just a few hours expecting to spend a magical anniversary with her girlfriend.

That thought did little to calm Marcy down.

She reached for her phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t easy with her hands trembling the way they were, but she managed to pull up Sasha’s name and hit the call button. Marcy waited for what felt like an eternity as the phone rang until, mercifully, it was answered on the second ring.

“What’s up girlfriend?” Sasha Waybright asked casually.

“S-sasha?” Marcy choked out.

“Marcy?!” Sasha’s tone changed in a heartbeat. “What’s the matter? Where are you?”

“Apartment. Anxiety attack. It’s r-really bad this time…”

“Hang on, I’m on my way!”

Sasha hung up. Marcy let the phone slip from her hand and she curled up tighter, trying to focus on her breathing.

Several minutes later, Marcy heard the front door unlock and Sasha’s voice call out: “Marcy?!”

“In here,” Marcy managed to reply.

Sasha came rushing into the bedroom. The blond woman took one look at the scene on the bed and gasped, hand going to her mouth.

“S-sorry to bother you,” Marcy said with a forced smile, craning her neck to look. “I-I didn’t have anyone else to call…”

“Marcy it’s okay,” Sasha said right away. She crossed the room and laid down on the bed, wrapping her arms around Marcy and pulling her close. One hand went to Marcy’s wet black hair, stroking gently. “It’s okay, just breathe with me. Breathe, Marcy. In and out. In…”

Marcy took a shaky breath, holding it in.

“And out.”

She forced herself to exhale slowly, the tears still falling.

“In… and out…”

---

It took several minutes, but the combination of Sasha’s comforting presence and the medication managed to calm Marcy down. After making sure Marcy was okay, Sasha laid out a t-shirt and some sweatpants for her before heading out to the kitchen to fix her something to eat. It took every ounce of Marcy’s energy to pull herself out of bed, quickly putting the shirt on first to get that scar covered. She pulled on her pants and shuffled out of the bedroom, moving at a slow and steady pace.

“Hey Mar-Mar,” Sasha said gently. She was sitting on the living room couch, two bowls of mint chocolate-chip ice cream placed on the coffee table in front of her. “Hope you don’t mind but I raided your freezer.”

“It’s fine,” Marcy said with a small smile. She grabbed one of the bowls and shoveled a huge spoonful into her mouth. The pleasant taste of mint spread across her tongue as she crunched chocolate chunks between her teeth. “Sasha I’m so sorry for dragging you over here-”

“Uh-uh-uh!” Sasha said firmly. “I don’t wanna hear any of that junk. You know I’m always here for you and Anne, no matter what.” She paused to eat some of her own ice cream. “So… it was really bad this time, huh?”

Marcy shuddered as she thought back to her panic attack in the bathroom. “Yeah. I haven’t had an attack that bad in a long time.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, do you know what triggered it?”

An image of Anne recoiling at the sight of Marcy’s scar tried to force its way into Marcy’s brain, but she derailed that train of thought.

“Well… do you know what today is?” Marcy asked.

“Your’s and Anne’s anniversary,” Sasha answered instantly. She furrowed her brow. “What, did you guys have a fight or something?” Sasha’s eyes widened. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

“No no no!” Marcy said quickly, waving her hands. “No, everything’s fine between us. And it’s been going great so far: we had a nice breakfast this morning and have a reservation at the new Italian place tonight.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Marcy paused, a blush settling over her cheeks. “Well… Anne gets home from work in a few hours, and then we have a few hours before dinner. I wanted the two of us to have a… special time together. If you know what I mean.”

Sasha pursed her lips in thought, then her eyes widened and she smirked. “Oh I get you,” she said teasingly. “Finally gonna kick things up a notch, huh? Marcy you dog.”

Marcy gave a small smile and blushed deeper at Sasha’s playful ribbing.

“So what are you worried about? Do you need anything ‘special’ to spice things up? ‘Cause there’s a shop like three blocks from here, I can tag along if you’re nervous about going by your-”

“No, that’s not the issue,” Marcy said quickly before her face could burst into flames. She gave a heavy sigh. “I’m just worried about… this.”

She grabbed her shirt collar and pulled it down just enough to expose the top part of her scar.

Sasha furrowed her brow. “Your scar? What’s the big deal about that?” Her eyes widened and she winced. “Er not to say your scar isn't important, I mean! I know that it’s from a major time in our lives a-and I’m not trying to downplay the crazy shit you went through, I just-”

“It’s okay, I get what you mean,” Marcy said. She sighed heavily. “But that’s… kind of my problem.”

“Uh, I’m not following you.”

Marcy sighed heavily. “It’s just… when you get down to it, everything we went through in Amphibia was because of me. I was the one who found the Calamity Box. I was the one who knew exactly what it would do. I helped you pressure Anne into stealing it, all because I couldn’t face being alone.”

Marcy felt her eyes start to burn as the tears welled up again, and she quickly wiped them away. “I didn’t wanna be alone, and I ripped you guys away from your lives and families! I dropped you into a dangerous world, a place that could’ve gotten you guys killed!” The tears welled up again and Marcy’s voice hitched as she went on. “And then I lied to you both about going home! I-I just assumed you guys would want to keep going on adventures with me forever, I never even considered your feelings! I was so blinded by my desires that I didn’t even realize a power-hungry tyrant was playing me like a fiddle! And he… h-he...”

Sasha’s arms shot out, pulling Marcy into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Marcy,” she said softly. “Everything’s okay. Just breathe.”

Marcy took several deep, shuddering breaths. She could feel another attack welling up inside her, but the medication kept it in check. Sasha held her for a few more minutes until Marcy felt calm enough to continue.

“This scar is a permanent reminder of everything I put us through,” Marcy said when she pulled away. She subconsciously traced her hand across the scar over her shirt. “It’s something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life. Most of the time I can’t even look at it without triggering an attack. And I guess I’m just… afraid of Anne seeing it, okay? What if she sees it and remembers that everything she went through was my fault? What if…”

Marcy paused for a long while, looking down. When she spoke again, her voice was barely a whisper. “What if she realizes just how horrible I am?”

Sasha reached out to put a comforting hand on Marcy’s shoulder.

“Oh Mar-Mar…” she said gently, a soft smile gracing her features. “You’re such an idiot.”

Marcy looked up sharply. “Huh?”

“You really think Anne’s gonna leave you over something like that?” Sasha chuckled and shook her head. “For someone so smart, you can be pretty damn stupid sometimes. Anne is crazy about you Marcy. You should hear the way she goes on about you during our girls’ nights. There’s no way in hell she’d leave you over everything that happened all those years ago.”

“But I was the one who-”

“And that’s another thing! You’re putting way too much blame on yourself for that mess. Sure you might have found the box but I was the one who convinced Anne to swipe it. And you’re not the only one who made some big mistakes in Amphibia.” She chuckled. “I mean at least Andrias tricked you. I willingly tried to start a violent uprising to overthrow the government.”

Marcy rolled her eyes. “And look what happened when we stopped you.”

Sasha shrugged. “Yeah, but hindsight is a bitch like that.” She gently grabbed Marcy’s chin to turn her head towards Sasha, looking Marcy in the eye as she continued.

“Look, I’m not trying to downplay your mistakes. Because you made some big ones, I’m not denying that. We all made mistakes, but we all owned up to them. We learned from them so we could become better people. And you’re forgetting the important thing of all: we forgave you. Anne and I both forgave you a long, long time ago. Okay?”

Marcy felt a pang in her chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard those words, not by a long shot. But it didn’t lessen the impact one bit. She could feel the storm clouds of anxiety that had been roiling inside her begin to dissipate. “... Really?”

Sasha smiled sweetly. “Really.”

She yelped as Marcy shot forward to wrap Sasha in a hug, but quickly returned the embrace.

“Thank you Sasha,” Marcy said, “I really needed this, you have no idea.”

“No problem, Marcy,” Sasha said, patting her friend on the back. “You gonna be okay?”

Marcy pulled back and nodded. “Yeah. I… I think I’ll be alright.”

“Good. Now before I take off, are you sure there’s nothing you need help with before Anne comes home?”

Marcy opened her mouth but paused, the gears turning in her brain. She slowly smiled as an idea began to take shape.

“Actually… I think there is. I’m gonna need some rose petals.”

---

The apartment was dark when Anne arrived after work.

This fact didn’t surprise her too much; Marcy had a habit of gaming with the lights off, much to Anne’s charaign. But when she fished the key out of her pocket and let herself in, she was surprised to see the living room TV dark and the couch Marcy-free.

“Honey, I’m home!” Anne called out her usual greeting as she stepped across the threshold, gently shutting the door behind her.

No response.

Anne frowned as she shrugged her coat off her shoulders. Was Marcy taking a nap or something?

She was about to call out again when she saw them: rose petals on the floor. They started just beyond the front door and led down the hall towards the bedroom. The door was open just a crack, soft light coming from inside.

“Well well well, what have we here?” Anne asked herself with a chuckle as she kicked off her shoes. “Marcy Wu, you charmer.”

Anne made her way down the hall, gently opening the bedroom door.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The lights in the bedroom were all off and the curtains had been drawn; the only illumination came from the candles burning on the nightstand. The trail of rose petals continued across the carpet to the bed itself.

Marcy Wu laid back on the bed, her upper body propped up on pillows with her arms spread out casually. The blanket covered her up to her chest, clinging to the contours of her body, the creamy skin of her bare shoulders tantalizing peeking out from where the blanket ended. Marcy smiled warmly at her girlfriend, giving Anne the sultriest gaze she could muster.

“Hey Anna-Bananna,” she said in a breathy voice. “How was work?”

Fire blossomed in Anne’s face as she opened and closed her mouth, which was suddenly very dry. “Uh… guh…”

Marcy felt her confidence ebb at Anne’s stammering and she chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, was this too much?”

“Oh no no, it’s more than fine!” Anne said quickly. “I mean I was thinking you’d have something waiting for me when I got home, but this…” Anne made a show of tugging at her shirt collar. “This is beyond anything I could’ve imagined.”

Marcy perked up, smiling shyly as she brushed some of her hair behind her ear. “So you like it then?”

Anne crossed the space between them in a fraction of a second, joining Marcy on the bed. She cupped Marcy’s chin and leaned in for a long, deep kiss. Marcy returned the kiss with gusto, reaching up with one hand to thread her fingers through Anne’s hair while the other held the blanket in place.

“I love it,” Anne said when she pulled away, fixing Marcy with a fiery gaze that had her trembling in anticipation. As much as Marcy wanted to start tearing Anne’s clothes off right then and there, she took a deep breath and held herself back.

She had to do this right.

“Anne,” Marcy said as she sat up, still holding the blanket up over her chest as she looked into her girlfriend’s eyes, “this last year has been the happiest of my entire life. When I’m with you, everything just feels right. You complete me in ways no one else ever has. You give me strength and confidence, inspire me to be a better person. I love that you’re the last thing I see before I go to sleep each night and the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning. I love you, Anne Boonchuy.”

Anne placed a hand over her mouth, eyes twinkling. “Marcy…”

Marcy took another deep breath. “I know we’ve gotten pretty… familiar with each other over these last several months. And if you’re ready to take things to the next level…”

She let the blanket fall. “Then so am I.”

Anne’s blush deepened as her eyes traveled downward. Marcy kept her face steady, but some dark corner of her brain was still expecting Anne to pull back at the sight of her scar, reminded that everything that happened in Amphibia - all of her hardships and brushes with death - was all because of Marcy.

But there was no revulsion, no anger. There was lust and desire in her gaze to be sure. But there was also passion and love. The same spark Marcy saw when she and Anne would get lost in each other’s eyes while eating dinner, or walking in the park, or just cuddling on the couch.

Anne looked back up at Marcy, then leaned in for a second kiss. Tender and gentle but with a hunger and passion bubbling just below the surface. Marcy melted into the kiss, allowing herself to be pushed back onto the pillows as Anne crawled further onto the bed, climbing on top of her girlfriend. Anne pulled away after several long seconds, both girls breathing heavily, staring at each other with smoldering eyes.

“I’ve been ready for a long, long time,” Anne said. “I love you Marcy Wu.”

Marcy felt her heart soar.

She wrapped her arms around Anne and pulled her close for yet another kiss. The third of many, many more.

#amphibia #marcanne #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sasha waybright #fanfic

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wanderlustinwonderland18 · 4 years

Text

Stepanova & Bukin: “Our Fans Really Want Us To Be Together”

How do you feel about being the new Russian National Champions?

Vanya: Wow! To be honest, we didn't get enough sleep. It was a busy time. We sat, talked with the team, discussed a lot. This was our first competition in a long time, so we were a little exhausted.

Sasha: So far, we don't really feel that something major has happened, but the assessment of our coaches is very important for us. They didn't know how we would perform. Yes, the coaches did everything to make us perform well. But from the very start, everything depended only on us... And we managed to perform well so many thanks to our team for this.

Vanya: In general, we liked everything very much. We missed the audience a lot and we hope to perform somewhere else soon. Yes, there are nerves, but they are very pleasant nerves. Competition is great.

Is this national title the main award of your career?

Sasha: No. We have silver and bronze medals from European Championships. We have also performed well at World Championships. The situation here is completely different in all aspects. We had a different task... But overall, we are very pleased with the title of Russian National Champions.

Vanya: Yes, indeed, this is the first time for us. The support was great. Even though the arena was only 35 percent capacity, we felt incredible warmth.

Is the lack of vivid emotions due to the fact your main competitors were not here?

Sasha: Yes, many skaters were missing in Chelyabinsk. It’s a pity that this is the case. We, ourselves, were not able to participate in early competitions such as the Grand Prix in Moscow.

Vanya: For instance, Dima Aliev did not compete here although we were expecting him. We are friends with him, and we communicate a lot. We hope to meet the entire Russian team after the New Year.

Did this situation personally blur the impression of the Russian Championships?

Sasha: Of course. In addition, the federation indicated that this is not the final selection for the World Championships. We simply perceived it as a certain stage where we need to show what we are capable of.

Vanya: On the other hand, the fact that it was our first competition in a long time added more importance to it.

Is it a shame that Europeans got cancelled, while everything goes well in other sports?

Vanya: Of course, it's upsetting.

Sasha: I don’t really follow what is happening in other sports, but the cancellation of our Europeans was not a surprise. Everything pointed towards this direction gradually. We were ready for this news. We understand that holding a competition in such conditions is difficult and unsafe.

How do you feel now?

Sasha: I’m good now, thanks.

Vanya: Yes, we have already recovered.

You guys joked at the press conference that you were unlucky, because you were ill with COVID at different times.

(Sasha and Vanya laugh)

Sasha: Well, yes, we were really out of luck.

How did this happen? You spend so much time together.

Sasha: At first, I just caught a cold. There was bronchitis or something like that. I got better and then fell ill again, but with COVID. I don't know why that happened, but after I got sick, the coaches and Vanya fell ill.

Vanya: Why this happened is still a mystery to us. It is very incomprehensible.

How did you handle the disease?

Vanya: It was not easy. I had palpable lung damage. The temperature was monitored for a very long time, and the dose of antibiotics was quite strong. The hardest part is not how I got sick, but how I went back to the ice. It was very strange and a little scary.

Sasha: You may be fine at home, but as soon as you go out on the ice, you immediately start coughing due to the cold air and the slightest exertion. Usually for us, skating in circles is nothing at all... But after the illness, the body perceives it as a serious threat and reacts instantly. It is scary. You start thinking: "How am I going to skate now?"

Did it come to hospitalizations?

Sasha and Vanya: No.

Vanya: Fortunately, it didn't come to that. I didn't have extreme temperatures (around 37.5 to 38 only). The only problem is that it lasted a long time. Sasha’s condition was different though. High temperatures in the beginning, but the illness quickly disappeared.

Sasha: In my case, it started with a common cold, then the whole body began to ache. I came back from training and it felt like someone was breaking all my bones from the inside. Then, body temperature began to rise. The maximum was over 39. I immediately took antibiotics. The state itself was unpleasant - you go to the kitchen, or to the bathroom and you are already very tired. You also hear how you breathe.

Sasha, I looked at your Instagram and came to the conclusion that you love black and white tones. Why is that?

Sasha: In black and white, there is...

Vanya: Magic.

Sasha: Yes, some kind of charm. Many photographs look better in black and white. I like the lines and shadows.

Do you hear from fans a lot?

Sasha: Very much! Just yesterday, one fan gave gifts through the coaches. She loves our group very much, follows us to all competitions. From my understanding, she is not alone. It is just her who communicates with us. I called for a photo session, but unfortunately, this has not yet happened because of the virus situation. But yes, they write a lot! They post stories, write long messages. Sometimes I read and tears come, people give a lot of themselves. You think how this is possible. Many are busy with family and work, but they take time for us.

Vanya: Most of the times, they post our reactions to performances. This has already become a meme! We have been compared to animals. Sasha recently reposted a picture where I am a dog who smiles, and she is a serious cat. In many shots, myself and Irina Vasilievna (Zhuk) are explosive, and Sasha and Alexander Vasilievich (Svinin) are more restrained. It’s cool and funny!

Does this reflect your nature?

Vanya: I’m probably more emotional after performances. I keep everything to myself so much that it just breaks at the end. Sasha, on the other hand, gives so much to the performances and at the end, she has nothing left.

Are you offended by any comments?

Vanya: Some comments are very interesting. There have certainly been times where I wanted to respond, but realized that it was pointless. It is nonsense.

Sasha: Because you will be invested in it.

Vanya: Now, I laugh at such comments. If a person doesn't like something and expresses their opinion, please, especially if it is really constructive criticism. When you see that this is not the first time a person has written, and really understands figure skating, you can listen to this... But there are some that just write for the sake of saying something.

Sasha: Yes, there are some who throw out unnecessary emotions based on nothing.

Has it ever happened that thanks to a person's comment, you changed something in your performance?

Vanya: A couple of times.

Sasha: It is not with regards to steps and technical issues though. Most comments are like “I want power, brightness.” At such moments, you can reconsider and decide that, indeed, something is missing somewhere.

It happens that unpleasant things are written by fans of other teams.

Vanya: I'm okay with this, but if you like another couple, why are you writing under our post? Go to your guys and write good things.

Sasha, you are sometimes compared to Victoria Sinitsina? Are you okay with this?

Sasha: Yes, absolutely! We sometimes laugh about our similarities. We also have common views on wardrobe sometimes.

What about the comments that you and Vanya would make a good pair in real life?

Sasha: It's fun too.

Vanya: On one hand, that is a compliment because it means that we can show real emotions on the ice. People believe in our story and think that we are also together behind the scenes... But we have already said many times that we are not a couple in real life, so it is quite strange when people ask about this.

Sasha: It's very cute though!

Vanya: Those who have been with us for a long time know that we are not together, but our fans really want us to be together.

Do you follow the situation regarding Russia's two-year sentence? You guys already had some bad experiences in the past with this decision.

Sasha: Yes, we heard this news. As far as I understand, the consequences could be much worse - all athletes from Russia could be expelled indiscriminately. They could say, "Russia, goodbye." But we are still allowed to compete. Let it be without the anthem at the World Championships and the Olympics, but on our form, the name of the country can still be written. This is already pleasant for us. I do not know all the little details, but in this situation, I want to find something positive.

Vanya: Of course, we are upset, because this is our country. We would very much like to perform with the flag and anthem. But the decision has been made, and nothing can be done. We will calmly prepare for all the major competitions. It remains to be seen how athletes will be admitted to the Olympics.

What would you change in ice dance to make it more popular?

Vanya: Ice Dance is a very creative sport. Everything should look simple, easy, and unpredictable with us. In my opinion, to make our sport more popular, teams must be given more freedom for creativity. Then, the couples will not be alike. We have many rules that do not allow us to go beyond.

Sasha: In general, the rules are made for judges. Previously, ice dance judging was based on "like it or not like it."

Do you have long-term career plans?

Vanya: This season has shown that it is difficult to plan the future. We have decided to live day by day, and prepare for specific events. There have been many times where we plan a lot, and in the end, the plan does not come true.

Do you think about life after sports?

Sasha: I do not have any serious thoughts. Maybe participate in shows, but there are no specific plans. However, I can definitely say that I want to stay in figure skating and take a new role in the sport. For now, we still have a lot to accomplish. We have just reached the top level. We have just started receiving recognition from the audience.

Vanya: And we are very grateful to our fans. When new broke out that we were sick, many wrote to us and supported us. It is really motivating!

Do you have plans for the New Year holidays?

Sasha: I would like to go to the skating rink in front of the Red Square. I have never been to massive street skating rinks, so I want to feel this atmosphere.

Vanya: Oh cool! Let's go and invite everyone!

A small wish to your fans at the end of the interview?

Sasha: Health and love. Be happy no matter what. Live everyday.

Vanya: To make all your dreams come true in the New Year.

#MY BABIES ❤️#Stepanova Bukin #Alexandra Stepanova #Ivan Bukin #Figure Skating #Ice Dance #Dance #Skating #Sports #Arts #Interview #Partnership #Love #Life

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hufflepuffhollander · 4 years

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the photoshoot: tom holland imagine

a/n | i got this idea from a facebook post i saw and ran with it! i’ve never included a photo story in my writing so i hope i didn’t botch it! my WIPs are all pretty angsty so i figured i’d fluff it up a little for y’all (also this gif amirite)

summary | you are picked for a social experiment: a couples’ photoshoot where you don’t meet the person you’re posing with until the beginning of the session.

tom x fem reader | contains fluff, fluff, and more fluff | word count: 2.1k | enjoy!

“My god, just pick a dress, y/n. We’ve been here for hours.”

Your friend stood with her arms crossed as you studied yourself in the dressing room mirror, making faces of content then unrest, unsure if this dress was the one to go with- or if it could’ve been any of the last 15 you’d tried on.

“I can’t decide, maybe I just need to go through them again-”

“No!” your friend said, grabbing the pile of hanged clothes off of the hook on the wall and holding them out of your reach. “You’re overthinking this, it’s just a photoshoot! You don’t even know the guy! And the one you have on is obviously the best choice.”

You turned back to the mirror and stared at the starchy white fabric of the dress, its eyelet lace design making it a tight fit that accentuate your curves. You sighed in resignation. “Fine. But if the pictures come out and I look like a ghost, I’m blaming you.”

You took the outfit home and laid it out in preparation for tomorrow, kicking yourself for having signed up for this in the first place. After a long week, you only wanted to stay in your sweatpants in bed tomorrow instead of getting all dolled up to go take photos in cliche poses with a total stranger. You sent your friend a passive aggressive text about it, since she was the one who made you sign up for the ‘social experiment’, and all you received back was an annoyingly curt “you’ll thank me later”. You threw your phone aside and went to bed early, crossing your fingers that tomorrow would go by as quickly as possible.

You arrived to the shoot location the next day- a vineyard an hour away that you got turned around twice trying to find. Once you stepped out of the car, the photographer came to greet you, a friendly woman in her mid thirties wearing all black and a massive camera swinging around her neck like an oversized necklace.

“Ah, y/n, thank you so much for coming! It seems like your partner is running a little behind, so we’ll just have to wait for a few,” she smiled bleakly, running away to ridicule one of the men setting up the reflective umbrellas.

“We want to capture the people, not the sun, Nicholas.”

You leaned against your car already annoyed at your partner for failing to show up. You had woken up two hours early to curl your hair and do a full face of makeup, and this is how you get rewarded? You swore up and down that you’d smack your friend when you saw her later. The photographer, whose name you learned was Karen—typical—brought you into a tangle of grapevines to test the lighting and shoot some practice photos. You were already horribly uncomfortable when it was just you standing alone, and couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be when another clueless anti-model had to pose next to you.

“Doll, just put your hand on your hip, like this-

“Well no, not like that—uh, Nicholas, can you go pose her?

“Just smile, dear. You look...really unhappy.”

It was nightmarish.

You were saved by the bell as another car pulled into the lot and a guy of average height wearing a crisp blazer stepped out, wearing the snobbiest looking pair of wayfarers you’d ever seen.

“Oh, great! Tom’s here,” Karen cheered, happy to rush away from the agonizing one-on-one session you’d just had. You looked at Nicholas, trying again to fix the umbrella.

“Tom?” you asked, and he just nodded.

“Yeah, Tom Holland. Don’t know how she managed to get an A-lister out here for this, but that’s Karen,” he responded, walking away.

Wait, what?

Karen waltzed back over to you with him in tow, a smile plastered on her face so big you thought the one she flashed you earliest must’ve been entirely insincere.

“Great! Here we are! y/n, this is Tom,” she said, pushing him forward to stand in front of you. He gave you a bright smile and stuck out his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, love.”

You shook his hand without speaking because you literally had forgotten how to breathe. This was your stranger? You’d had the biggest, most incurable crush on Tom Holland since you were a teenager, and all of your social skills that you’d picked up as an adult had clearly just evaporated in the sun.

“Uh, hi-” Karen and Tom shared a laugh at your starstruck expression. “Sorry, do you two know each other?”

“Yeah, Karen and I go way back,” Tom said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing her tight. “She taught me how to model.”

“Well, it’s not hard when you have this face to work with!” She pinched Tom’s cheeks and grinned, then looked you up and down, reminding you with a glance how hard it had been just to get you to smile for the camera without looking deranged. Ouch, Karen.

“Okay, well, let’s get started then,” she skipped off back to the rows of vines lining the field and Tom ushered you with his hand. “After you,” he smiled.

You tried not to stumble over your heels stepping in the uneven earth below you, and Karen brought the camera up to her face with a squeal. “Alright, sweeties, let’s make the camera think you’re falling in love!” Karen, you decided, was an extremely over-the-top human. “This is your meet cute. You’re just seeing each other for the first time. Make it sparkle.”

That was all she gave you direction-wise, and you and Tom just stood staring at each other a few feet apart as the camera started clicking. The shade of your cheeks made it look like you’d just run a marathon and you just started giggling out of sheer nerve, making Tom start to work up a laugh, too.

“She’s a bit much, isn’t she?” he motioned with his eyes so Karen couldn’t pick up on his comment.

“I don’t even know what she wants me to do.” you said, concentrating on a bushel of grapes instead of Tom’s dreamy face because you were worried if you spent more than three seconds looking into his eyes, you’d pass out cold.

“Well I’m basically a pro at this, so let me help you, okay?” he said, reaching out for your hand again. You took it as your heart did somersaults in your chest, and as he exclaimed “ooh, nice nails”, you genuinely smiled, giving Karen exactly the shot she wanted.

Your hand was shaking, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m absolutely clueless!”

Tom shrugged and looked off to the side. “Well, you said it, not me...”

You gasped and feigned offense, whipping your hand out of his. “How dare you!”

He laughed and tried to take your hand again, but you dramatically swiped your arm out of his reach, and the camera picked up a series of shots that made it look like you and Tom were playing ninja.

“Uh, what are we doin’ here, folks?” Karen questioned as you and Tom ran in circles around one another, him trying to get at your hands and you doing everything in your power not to let it happen. Your nerves melted away as the endorphins kicked in. Eventually Tom gave up and decided to grab hold of you, pick you up and twirl you around, in the chaos yelling “We need to please the Karen!”. You were laughing and out of breath from running around, and you slowly lowered your head to his, the look in his eyes reading that he was about to kiss you...

“That was amazing!” Karen squealed, shaking you from Tom’s mesmerizing stare, pushing the moment past you. Tom let you down to the ground, both of you shocked that he’d made such a bold move in the first place. He wiped his hands on the legs of his pants and cleared his throat as you fiddled with some of the curls that had come loose around your face. Karen couldn’t be happier; the money shot came out looking like a magazine ad.

Tom gave you a sheepish smile. “Uh, sorry if that was too-”

“It wasn’t,” you batted your lashes at him and could’ve sworn his cheeks were tinted just as pink as yours.

Karen’s loud voice pitched in as you had ended up standing still, a photographer’s worst nightmare.

“Okay, so we’ve met, now show me that chemistry!” she shouted, getting an eye roll from you and a snicker from Tom at your reaction.

“Is she expecting us to fall madly in love now that we’ve known each other for more than five minutes?” you asked, fluffing out the skirt of your dress.

“Weirder things have happened,” Tom shrugged his shoulders and winked at you before turning around and walking towards a cluster of vines, picking off a grape and popping in his mouth with a satisfying crunch.

“Oh, are we allowed to eat them? I’m dying out here in the sun!” You followed his pattern and picked a few grapes out of the brambles, noticing a few rows away that there was a small table with two glasses and a bottle of wine. Tom followed your gaze to the alcohol and looked back at you, his expression reflecting exactly what you were thinking.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he smirked.

You collectively ignored Karen’s remarks as you wandered to the table and filled the glasses.

“Are we sure this is here for us?” you looked around skeptically.

“I have no idea, darling. Cheers.”

You sat down in the grass and clinked the flutes together, still unable to believe this was really happening to you. You and Tom started to talk about nothing, already feeling a thousand times more comfortable around each other, bonding over this shared weird experience—and the fresh off-the-vine wine certainly didn’t hesitate to calm your nerves.

As Tom was leaning closer to you, gaze notably flicking from your eyes to your lips, Karen snuck up to you—pretending to be a grape?—and snapped photos of your impromptu picnic.

“Just adorable,” she murmured, and you almost spilled your wine because of how startled you were. Damnit, Karen, you keep ruining the moment. But she didn’t think twice about the interruption; she almost had tears in her eyes because of how perfect the shots were.

You both sat up and away from one another, feeling stiff now that a lens was pointed at you.

“Well, don’t stop on my account!” she chortled, wholly unaware her debut was what killed the vibe.

Tom stood up and offered his hand to help you stand, not immediately letting it go as you wandered to a different part of the sunny vineyard. You pushed the photographer out of your mind as you chatted again, bumping each other’s shoulders as you walked and not minding it a bit. Every time you saw a certain glint in Tom’s eyes, any moment he caught you looking, there could’ve been a spark there that ignited something more. But you were constantly interrupted by shutter clicks, yells at Nicholas, and annoying directing interjections by the appropriately-named Karen.

At one point, Tom had clearly had enough of the pestering, and took your hand, pulling you into an array of closely packed trees so you couldn’t be found.

“Woah- what are you doing?” you asked, confused at the sudden change of scenery.

“Guys? Where did you go?” You heard a shrill voice coming from outside the trees, and Tom attempted to shush you by pulling you close into his body and covering half your face with his hand.

“Shut up shut up shut-”

You heard Karen’s voice grow quieter as she searched in the opposite direction.

“Tom!” you chuckled, prying his fingers off of your cheek. “You’re going to smear my makeup!”

“It’s not like you need it, y/n,” he said without thinking, attention still focused on hiding.

Your whole face grew hot and you couldn’t help but smile like a complete fool. When he looked down at your reaction, he noticed the weight in what he’d said, and made the cutest giggle you’d ever heard, trying to avert the focus from his compliment.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t handle another photo directive being shouted in my ear,” he breathed while pushing his hair back out of his eyes in some devilishly handsome way. You were still clutching the hand that had been on your face, and Tom looked down to interlock his fingers with yours.

“You do know we’re at a photoshoot, right?”

He playfully shoved your shoulder with his free hand at your sassy comment.

“Just saying, I thought you were a pro-”

You heard the photographer’s voice come into the foreground again and you abruptly ran as fast as you could with heels on, still holding Tom’s hand as you trailed behind him. You found yourselves in an even more tightly packed bramble of trees, facing each other with barely a grapevine’s width between you.

“Oh, you have a stick in your hair,” you whispered, reaching up to pick a tiny branch out of his curls. As you looked from his hair to his eyes, he was staring deeply into yours, prompting you to leave your hand resting at the back of his neck.

Wordlessly, he leaned in and kissed you in one fell swoop, and you thought you might implode on the spot when his lips came in contact with your own. He tasted like cologne and crisp grape juice and it was a mixture of scents you hoped would never leave your nose—just the way he kissed you so sweetly made you want to bathe in the stuff.

When he pulled back, he brought your intertwined fingers up to cup your cheek, and you let your hand rest on the back of his as you tilted your head to instigate another kiss, still enjoyably dizzied from the one before.

Tom let his mouth linger over yours after another long kiss before coming up for air again, and you could see his eyes wrinkling at the corners, knowing he was smiling without being able to see the rest of his face.

“You know, I was hesitant to do the whole ‘stranger photoshoot’ thing, but now I’m pretty happy I was able to be convinced.” He sighed contently.

“This was more of a stranger hide-and-go-seek than a photoshoot, I feel like,” you spoke from your lighthearted chest in airy breaths and moved to lock lips again, unable to get enough of your stranger. He put his hand on the small of your back and leaned you backward, deepening the already electric hold he had on you.

“I don’t want you to be a stranger anymore, darling,” he mumbled against you, sending vibrations through you with his voice. You just whispered a soft “okay”, lost for words, as his mouth touched your cheek, your jaw, and then back to your lips for more of your wine-infused kisses. You were wishing this moment could last forever, Tom holding you and sending shivers down your spine, right as you heard a click and saw the bright white flash of a bulb.

“Jesus, Karen!”

But she didn’t care that you were mad; her experiment had worked, she’d gotten her strangers together—and just look at that shot.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #tom holland pictorial #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagines #tom holland one shots #tom holland blurbs #tom holland pictorials #tom holland fanfictions

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nitannichionne · 3 years

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If He Was Your Fan, Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2 (A Henry Cavill Fanfic)

Chapter 61: Britainization, Part 2

Henry announces that he is driving you and Stella to a place for breakfast. You and Stella are both relieved you got dressed up a bit. The name Lanes of London Mayfair is a big indication that you should. You are dressed in a fluffy burgundy fisherman’s sweater and black leggings with brown riding boots, looking ready for a day of shopping but not at the gym. Stella is in a white shirt and beige jeans with dark brown sports jacket and ankle boots. You are happy you left your usual athletic gear behind.

After that, Henry takes you and Stella to a place that is not even listed.

“Henry?”

“Hmm?”

“I looked up London Trench,” you tell him. “They are online orders only, aren’t they?”

“For the general public, yes.”

You and Stella look at each other. She looks excited but you feel sick for some reason.

With a knock on the door, and Henry telling his name and time on the intercom, you are buzzed in. You step into a boutique that almost looks hidden.

“Mr. Cavill?” a woman bows.

“Hello,” he nods. “This is my lady and her friend. My lady needs a few trenches.”

A few? Did he say few? A few trenches was like…rent money! You look at him incredulously, and he only gives small smile.

“Must make it worth their while,” he shrugs.

Within an hour you are in selections called the Queen Classic, a straight cut, and the Goddess, an A-Line for dresses. You opt for the Goddess, and he takes you to Burberry’s for something shorter and surprisingly more expensive than that. You are cringing inside, and Henry hasn’t flinched. He is happy to see you try on coats. You feel the looks of the sales people at both stores. Face to face they are amicable and friendly, but you see the looks in the reflections of the mirrors when they do not think they’re looking. They don’t think much of you, maybe they think you’re a flavor of the month? Maybe it’s all in your head?

“Well, that’s that,” he sighs. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you smile. “yeah.”

“Sweetheart?” he says slowly, his blue eyes searching yours.

“I-I didn’t realize they’d be so—”

“Good coats are required here, love, I won’t have you getting sick,” he nods, tipping your face up for a quick kiss.

You nod and smile in understanding.

“Alright, you two, don’t get into too much trouble,” he winks. He gets in his car and is gone.

“Gotta be at work today by four for the dinner rush,” Stella said brightly. “What do you want to do?”

“Let’s just hit a mall or something,” you say. “and we can’t go someplace Henry would.”

“I know, the places he took us!” Stella laughs. “He’s…he’s kinda out of it, isn’t he?”

“Childhood weight problems aside, I don’t think he realizes how hard it is out here, no!” you laugh back. “Experience is the best teacher on those things.” You get slightly serious. “I hope he never suffers like that. No one should.”

You both decide to go to Victoria’s Secret several blocks away, opting to start walking off that massive breakfast you just had. When you arrive, you ask for what they have in emerald green.

“That his favorite color?” Stella asks.

“No, it’s actually blue,” you say. “hey do you have any blue green?”

“Hold on, let me see what we have,” the clerk smiles and leaves to check.

“You seem to buy a lot of that stuff,” she says softly. “Do you wear it?”

You are looking on a rack, but you are thinking of the previous night:

“It’s tomorrow,” Henry said softly and pinned you against the door to kiss you.

You instinctively put your arms around him, welcoming his kiss, his touch. You raise your leg and he semi squats to help you wrap it around him. You both pulled at each other’s clothes hungry to feel skin to skin, your kisses passionate and breathy. You pulled your sweater over your head as he wrapped your other leg around his hips, kissing your chest and licking the skin between your breasts that your bra left exposed. He carried you up the steps to your loft bedroom and laid you on the bed, pulling your jeans off. He smiled at your navy blue bra and panty set. He returned to kissing you, and you pull at his sweater as he unbuckles his belt, slid it off and threw it carelessly on the floor. He slid his jeans off, and stood in nothing but boxer briefs that did not hide his arousal. He crushed you into the sheets and you arched to him, wanting nothing more than to feel him…

“It’s a lot easier to always wear bra and panty sets,” you joke softly.

“How many do you have?”

“Uh….I really don’t know?” you answer honestly.

After getting lingerie and clothes, you catch the tube to Angel Central Mall, and do some shopping there. You feel terrible that there isn’t time for a mani pedi, so you find a massage place that does shoulders and neck, promising to do a pamper session on another day.

As you both make your way back to Brixton, you look at the sights out of the window, try to remember the exchanges. You are so grateful to Stella for being your friend, smiling at her as she steals a nap during the ride home. You notice that some young people are staring at you. You sigh. You may be recognized, you have to get used to that.

youtube

Back in Brixton, walk back to your building together.

“There were people staring at you?” Stella gasps “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“There was no danger,” you tell her smoothly.

“Why haven’t you posted yet?”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you posted yet?”

“I post all the time—”

“Never pictures of yourself, though.” Her eyes narrow. "And never of you and Henry."

“Even before I dated Henry, I never posted much about my love life online,” you shrug. “My s/o’s asked to take pictures, so I didn’t deny them, but I’m not big on my love life on social media. Special occasions or requests sure but—”

“I get it, you like that your relationship is between you and Henry, not you, the world and Henry.”

“Yeah, it’s more intimate that way,” you smile. “I have pictures of Henry and me on my phone. Besides, it’s lots easier if there is a breakup.”

“Breakup?!” Stella chortled. “Break up? You and Henry? I don’t think so.” She pauses and turns you around in mid walk. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. He has no intention of letting you go.”

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve had the rug ripped out from under me before, that’s all.”

“You have?” she asks. “How bad?”

“Engaged,” you shrug, earning a small gasp from Stella. “he thought the ring on my finger, though not the marriage one, meant he could treat me any way he wanted. He cheated, he lied…it was like he thought the commitment gave him carte blanche to act up.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “Rings can be a symbol of love that will never end, but for some it is ownership or cuffs.”

“Kinda dark, there.” she says softly. "I don't think Henry is--"

“Sorry, it’s in the past, and I’m over it, but I learned that commitments mean different things to different people.” You take a deep breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way, Stella.”

“What do you mean?”

“The last time I was in love was my ex-fiancee,” you tell her. “and that was a long, long, time ago.”

“So you are in love with Henry!” she cheers.

“Yeah, of course, I am!” you laugh at her. “He’s intelligent and fun, has a good degree of common sense. He’s a natural leader and he is protective of and warm to those he loves. I need that, all of it. I have never felt so safe before, never..”

“He’s not bad looking either!”

“His looks can only go so far,” you shrug. “I’ve dated men who were good looking, even a model and an athlete. You’d be surprised how little that all matters if they are thick or coldhearted. Or even worse, a man with money who thinks he can treat you any way he wants because he buys you things--”

“Thick.”

“Yeah…” you giggle, realizing you’re using a British term. “thick.”

You both drop your stuff and go back to Market Row, Stella to work and you to do more shopping. Upi check out some of the surrounding stores, hoping for some really special finds that could liven up or make you feel more unique.

You finally make your last huge purchase: a bicycle. You head to Brixton Bikes for that, and get the lights, the helmet, anything you need. Strapping your bags to the rack in back and no longer a single walking moving target, you head home.

Just as you get a good stride on, your Bluetooth starts to play the instrumental version of “Addicted to Love.” You smile, clicking on. “Hey, love.”

“Hey….are you out and about?”

“About to head home,” you say.

“By yourself?”

You don't miss the edge in his voice. “On my new bike,” you tell him. He is quiet. Ooh, that’s not good. “Sounds like you’re in pub.”

“Yeah, yeah, very good, I'm at the pub, " He says. You can hear the smile in his voice for not using the word bar. "just for a pint with friends,” he says. “I just wanted to see how your day went.”

“Pretty well, but we didn’t have time for spa,” you say. “but I did find some nice things.”

“Good, glad to hear it,” he says. “I’ll stay on till you get home.”

“Awwwww.” Some men sigh dramatically in the background.

“Shut up!” Henry laughs.

You talk until you are safely inside your studio. “Alright, I’m locked up tight.” You feed Luna.

“Good,” he exhales. “they say it isn’t safe for women—”

“I am a moving target now, Henry.”

“Alright, alright,” he exhales heavily. “Talk to you later?”

“Definitely,” you sigh, sitting on your couch and starting to unpack your purchases. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.” He purrs, earning another round of catcalls from his friends. He laughs.

“Good night.” You shake your head at him and his friends.

“Good night.”

The first forty eight hours in your studio have been anything but calm, but now there is quiet. After unpacking your things and washing them for wear, you finally get ready to go to sleep. You take a shower and make your way up the steps to bed. It suddenly looks too big to you. You suddenly notice there is something under your covers. You pull them back and find the t-shirt he wore under his sweater last night. You squeal and throw off your nightshirt, trading it for this one. His scent surrounds you as you pull it over your head and you fall on the bed, your impact setting off the scent of him in your bed. You inhale with a smile as Luna jumps up and sleeps at the foot of the bed opposite you, where she usually nestles by Henry’s feet. You look at each other and you sigh dreamily, closing your eyes and letting sleep claim you.

BULLETIN: With this new beta thing, I may have to start a new master list. I will be sure to put the link to 1-60 if I do. Love you, thanks for your support and especially for your comments, likes and reblogs. You truly give me life, people, you really do.

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomnimaniac @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @sunshine96love @michelehansel @thelastsock @tumblnewby @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocks @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @kaatelyynn-blog-blog @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerwriterchic @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl1 @xoxohannahlee @fckdeusername @maan24 @kaatelyyynn @absentmindr @introvertedmouse @sassy-pelican @griscka75 @angelcavill66 @marantha

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henrycavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #lovestory #august walker #captain syverson #clark kent #geralt #sherlock #superman #walter marshall #will shaw #witcher #Youtube

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peaceisadirtyword · 4 years

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Move On (Modern!Ivar/Reader)

A/N: Hi♥️ I don’t even know what is this, to be honest, I started writing it the other day and this came out. It’s not good, it doesn't even make sense, I think. It’s angsty, bad written and awful, but it’s the first thing I was able to write in nearly a month, and as I didn’t post anything these days, I decided to post it. I’ll probably regret it in the morning, so if I delete it don’t be surprised. Sorry. I also worked a bit on Don’t Play With Fire, but... Well, I'll continue with the drabbles tomorrow😅

Warnings: an attempt of angst, mentions of insecurities, my bad writing, I don’t even know what is this I'm sorry

Words: 2425

gif belongs to @hvitserkk

You sighed in boredom as you took a sip of your drink, looking around the nightclub as you held back another sigh.

You knew you should have stayed home that night. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun, and you didn't want to ruin everything but you felt so alone...

Your eyes went back to the bar, where your boyfriend stood, leant on one of the stools as he spoke to the blonde girl that was, in some way, responsible for your bitterness.

Ivar had been distant for weeks. He was having some rough therapy sessions, so you supposed that was the reason why he was acting so weird. He barely called you, and didn't answer your texts -this was normal, Ivar hated texting, but usually when you texted him he called you to talk-, you had stayed at his house a couple of nights, but he didn't even touch you. So different from the long nights full of sex, cuddles and making out sessions you had barely two months ago.

Your didn't even remember when was the last time he kissed you.

But now you kind of imagined why.

Everything had changed when the blonde girl had moved to the apartment next to Ivar and Hvitserk. You remembered how she had came to their apartment as you were having breakfast; with her perfect smile and a soft voice, asking if they had sugar; she just moved the day before and didn't have time to go to the grocery store just yet. Her eyes had lingered on Ivar for too long, but you didn't really give that much importance; you were used to people staring at him. Even if he didn't realize it, Ivar was amazingly handsome; which was the main reason people stared at him, and not his legs.

What worried you was the look Ivar gave her. He widened his eyes and cleared his throat before introducing himself. That day you had a huge fight; not because of that, but because he got annoyed at you when you proposed to go to the cinema just the two of you.

Since then, Ivar had invited her everywhere, even in those nights out with his brothers you did every week; and even if you didn't want to be jealous, knowing Ivar could have as many friends as he wanted and he was probably trying to make her feel more comfortable as she just moved in and didn't know anyone.

But whenever she was close... He changed too much.

"Hey" Hvitserk sitting next to you interrupted your thoughts "Are you okay?"

You sighed again but smiled at him and nodded.

"Just a bit tired" you shrugged "I'm going home, I think"

"Now?" Hvitserk frowned "It's too late, why don't you wait and come with us? You shouldn't walk alone at this hour"

"Yeah but..." you looked at them again. Hvitserk followed your gaze and rolled his eyes at his brother "It's a bit boring, right?"

"I don't like her either" he muttered "She seems... Too nice. But only with Ivar; she barely pays attention to anyone else"

"I mean, we don't know her, she might be the sweetest person in the world" you shook your head "It's Ivar who I'm worried about"

Hvitserk frowned again.

"Hey, don't worry about him, okay? Ivar would never do that"

"Yeah..." you cleared your throat, looking away from them "I hope so"

"He's not stupid enough to ruin a four year relationship for a girl he just met" he shrugged "Trust me"

_________________________________________

You looked at your reflection on the mirror. Without your makeup, you felt even worse than before. Your eyes scanned your face, sighing. You had learnt not to compare yourself with other women, but sometimes -like this time- you couldn't help it.

Ivar had barely talked to you since you left the club. Freydis had came with you, talking sweetly to Ivar and Hvitserk, and even you; but you only answered with 'yes' and 'no', because you knew that you'd be rude if you said something else, and were too tired to argue.

She had said goodnight with a wide smile, and Ivar had smiled back at her; a smile that left his face as soon as the two of you were all alone in his bedroom.

It was like he couldn't stand being near you.

When you entered the bedroom again, he was already in bed, and barely looked at you, focused on his phone. You preferred not to ask who he was talking to.

Kneeling on his bed, you looked at him biting your lip. You had the feeling he was angry at you, but you didn't remember doing anything to make him mad.

"Ivar" you said his name softly. His deep blue eyes fixed on you "Are you okay?"

"Yes, why?" He nodded calmly.

You blinked, confused. Maybe you were imagining everything. Maybe you were exaggerating and nothing had changed, it could be that.

Right?

You crawled under the covers, dressed on one of Ivar's shirts. His bed was the most comfortable place you had ever slept on. It was warm and soft, but in that moment it felt like the coldest place on Earth.

You moved closer to him, but Ivar didn't look at you. When you touched his arm softly, he tensed up, but his eyes were still glued to the screen.

He didn't move, not until you tried to snuggle up next to him, when he sighed in annoyance and moved away. Then you immediately moved away, muttering an apology.

Then you turned around, and let a couple of tears run down your cheeks before closing your eyes and forcing yourself to sleep.

_________________________

When you woke up, you were alone in bed. Ivar's side was already cold, which meant he had gotten up much earlier than you. You took a deep breath before closing your eyes again and covering your face with the sheets. You absolutely hated fighting with Ivar, especially when he was angry and wouldn't tell you why.

When you entered the kitchen, Hvitserk was already there, looking at his phone as he ate breakfast. He greeted you with a wink and a smile.

"Morning" you muttered.

"Good morning, princess" he chuckled "Had a rough night?"

You sighed and rolled your eyes, making him laugh.

"Where's Ivar?"

"He went for a walk" he shrugged "He seemed angry, I didn't dare to ask because he was having breakfast and had a knife on his hand"

You rubbed your face tiredly.

"I don't know what's wrong with him, he's acting so weird... Last night he barely looked at me, but when I asked if he was okay he said yes"

"He's difficult" Hvitserk shook his head "I'm sure it's nothing personal, he's like that with everyone"

Yeah... But not with me.

You stole one of his toasts, making him pout and glare at you, but let you eat it and even poured another cup of coffee for you.

"I should get dressed and leave" you muttered, drinking the coffee quickly and grabbing another toast "I have things to do today"

"Want me to drive you home?" He asked with his mouth full.

"No, thanks, I prefer to walk a bit, to clear up my mind"

He hummed, nodding his head. You felt his eyes on you as you left the kitchen and walked down the hall to Ivar's bedroom.

________________________________

"And... This is my room" Ivar bit his lip nervously, letting you in. You entered with a wide smile on your lips, excited to see it for the first time. It was full of books, and the king sized bed was covered with a black duvet. Everything in that room screamed Ivar and you loved it.

"It's really nice" you smiled at him "I like it"

He blushed and closed the door behind him.

"It's not much... Most of my stuff is at my parents' house"

You looked at the bookshelf, reading the titles of the books and frowning every time you saw one in a foreign language.

"Is this Icelandic?"

He nodded.

"Floki and Helga had a house in Iceland, I used to spend the summer holidays in there since I was six" he muttered "I learnt the language, it's the closest to Old Norse"

"I didn't know you spoke Icelandic" you looked at him in awe "Impressive"

He blushed again.

"I'd love to go to Iceland" you said, moving to look at the books he had on his desk, next to his laptop "It must be amazing"

"It is" he nodded "You should come with me next summer, we could go for a couple of weeks" he whispered, almost like he was scared of you hearing it.

You blushed too, but smiled and approached him again.

"You haven't even asked me to be your girlfriend and you want us to plan our first holiday together" you giggled, and Ivar's eyes widened. He looked terrified.

"I..."

"I'm joking, Ivar" you laughed "Sorry, I could go as your friend too... So, what's your plan? It will rain all day" you pouted "But we can do something else, right?"

His eyes fixed on you made you nervous.

"Yeah, we could... Do something in here..." He cleared his throat "Netflix?"

You nodded, making him sigh in relief.

He gestured towards his bed, and you sat on it as he grabbed his laptop before sitting next to you.

It was there, laying on his bed and sharing a blanket with him, watching Netflix in silence, both too nervous to even look at each other when he cleared his throat.

"Y/N" he muttered, making you look at him "I really want you to come to Iceland with me"

You smiled at him, biting your lip to hide the excitement that made you tremble.

"I'd love to go to Iceland with you"

"As my girlfriend" he muttered.

"As your girlfriend" you answered, leaning in to kiss his lips softly. Ivar hummed and kissed you back. The movie playing on his laptop already forgotten.

__________________________________

You entered his bedroom, missing that shy and sweet Ivar that blushed every time you looked at him. Four years later, you felt like everything had changed except for that bedroom.

You laid on the bed again, unlocking your phone and answering some texts. Torvi had sent the photos all of you had taken together the night before. You scanned your face and frowned, biting your lip. Why suddenly you hated the way you looked? You thought you were already over that.

You heard the main door closing, and some voices down the hall. Ivar was back, and you locked your phone and kneeled on the bed, ready to face him. His stupid behavior was hurting you more than you thought, and you needed him to stop.

He looked almost surprised when he saw you.

"Hi" you muttered.

"Hi" he answered with a sigh, approaching the bed to sit down, grunting softly and grabbing his leg.

"Are you okay?" You saw him wince and bit your lip.

"It's just the humidity" he shrugged "Apparently, it will be raining the whole day"

You nodded, watching him carefully.

"Ivar... I think we need to talk" you said softly "I don't know what have I done to make you be so angry at me, but I'm sorry, this is killing me I... Please, just talk to me so we can figure this out"

He rubbed his eyes, nodding.

"You haven't done anything" he cleared his throat "I went for a walk because I needed to think"

"To think about what?" Your voice trembled a bit.

Ivar took a deep breath, clenching his jaw before turning to look at you.

"I think I'm in love with someone else, Y/N"

A part of you already knew it, even if you didn't want to believe it. But it broke your heart anyway; you felt some tears fall down your cheeks and stood silent. Ivar didn't look at you.

"Since when?" you managed to whisper.

"I don't know, it just happened..." He finally looked at you "I'm really sorry, Y/N, she..."

"I know who is she" you interrupted him. If he said her name you would start sobbing "Have you... Done anything?"

"No" he shook his head "We didn't do anything, I swear, I wouldn't do that"

You nodded, even if knowing he hadn't cheated on you didn't really comfort you in any way.

"So..." You sniffed "This means..."

"It's over, Y/N" he shrugged "I don't want to hurt you"

"A bit late for that I think" your voice cracked.

"I'm sorry" he muttered again.

You stood up, and got dressed as fast as you could, trying to control the tears and with your heart racing. You even felt dizzy. Ivar didn't move. He stood there, sitting with his eyes on the floor, biting his lip and fiddling with his crutch.

You opened the door. Standing there for a moment looking at him, trying to find something to say. He looked at you again, and this time at least he looked hurt.

After a couple of seconds, and feeling the tears filling your eyes again, you turned around, leaving the room and closing the door behind you. The sound drowned the small sob you let out.

Hvitserk was standing on the living room, he frowned.

"Hey, hey" he tried to hug you but you moved away "What happened, Y/N?"

"I need to leave, I'm sorry" you muttered. He nodded.

"Okay, do you want me to take you home? It's raining, and it's cold"

You shook your head.

"Thank you, Hvitty, for everything" you tried to smile, but it looked more like a pout.

"You don't have to thank me" he smiled softly "Call if you need anything, okay?"

You nodded.

"Bye" you whispered before opening the door.

Hvitserk was right, it was raining and the cold made you shiver even more as you walked down the street. You felt a strange pressure in your chest, and could barely breathe. Ivar's words replayed on your head again and again. You felt a mix between anger and sadness, your throat burned and the tears barely let you see where you were going.

Still trembling, you took out your phone and unlocked it. The thought of locking yourself at home all alone scared you.

You pressed the call icon and tried to control yourself, stopping and leaning onto a wall.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Alfred" surprisingly, your voice sounded much better than you thought "Are you busy?"

________________________________________________

Tags: @mblaqgi @alicedopey @lol-haha-joke @hallowed-heathen @naaladareia @tephi101 @captstefanbrandt @love-hate-love @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @moondustmemories @therealcalicali @chimera4plums @blushingskywalker @awkwardfangirl02 @gruffle1 @justacripple @love-dria @heartbeats-wildly @letsrunawaytotomorrow @inforapound @sallydelys @hellogabysblog @trashcanx @winchesterwife27 @hecohansen31 @youbloodymadgenius @xinyourdreamsx @funmadnessandbadassvikings @eteramfools @tgrrose @flokidottirsstuff @lovessce @tootie-fruity @didiintheblog @alexhandersenx @belovedcherry

#ivar imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #modern ivar #vikings imagine #vikings #modern vikings

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kumeko · 3 years

Text

Title: home isn’t a place (it's a person)

A/N: For A Lover’s Lullaby: @doropetrazine! I wanted to write some tender care during the war, with Petra helping Dorothea center herself in the midst of all the tragedy and bloodshed.

…

Dorothea had long mastered the art of post-battle self-care. Trapped in a war she’d never wanted, she had to. This wasn’t like her academy days, where the worst she’d faced was a menacing brigand, where her faltering attacks only had to maim and not kill. If she had failed then, her housemate or her teacher could pick up the slack. And if she killed, well, it was only a ruffian. There wasn’t any need to hold back.

Not that that made it any easier. The ever-stoic Hubert had treated those missions like another duty, just another item in his checklist to help Edelgard, and Felix had the strength to shrug off the blood like water off a duck. Dorothea had done neither of those things, the red staining her clothes too bright for her to ignore. A life was a life, no matter how corrupt. Back then, she would beg Ingrid to take her on a long, lazy flight, or borrow one of Hilda’s trashy romances for an extensive hot bath.

Those weren’t options for her anymore. The blood on her hands burned like a brand these days. Her enemies were her former schoolmates, old friendships gone wrong. Dorothea’s attacks were deadly, living in a kill or be killed situation. Any reprieve she’d find off the battlefield was a solitary one.

No, that wasn’t entirely right. Dorothea smiled softly as she stood in front of a plain beige tent, on the outskirts of the battle camp. Five years ago felt like an eternity sometimes, with how everything’s changed, but at least one thing remained consistent. No matter where she’d went the past year, Petra had been by her side.

And hopefully, no matter where she went after, that would still ring true. Ducking into the tent, Dorothea smiled automatically as her eyes landed on her paramour. It was hard not to. Petra stood out no matter where she was, and nowhere more than against the drab browns and greys of their standard issued tents and linens. As with all tents, there was a single cot on the side, with barely enough free room for a person to pace, let alone decorate. Despite that, Petra had managed to put her colourful touch on everything—her clothes strewn against her bed, the bags and pillows that covered her floor. Two lanterns hung off center pole, casting long shadows that did little to dim Petra’s natural cheerfulness. She sat cross-legged on the floor, her axe to her side. It gleamed in the flicker light. Humming off-key, Petra’s focus was entirely on the bow she was restringing.

“I didn’t mean to make you wait so long!” Dorothea apologized as she stepped further in, the tent flap closing behind her.

Surprised, Petra’s attention snapped to her. It took mere seconds for her serious expression to melt into a softer smile, her eyes lighting up as she took in Dorothea. Setting aside her bow, she leapt to her feet. “Dorothea! You have come much later than I was thinking!”

“Sorry, I had to…” Dorothea clasped her hands. After several rounds of washing, they were practically scrubbed raw but she could still feel the grime in her nails. “Clean up a bit,” she finished lamely.

Petra grimaced, no doubt remembering the muddy terrain they’d just crawled through. “I do not want to be experiencing that again. My weapons are very dirty.”

“I can tell.” Dorothea chuckled, gesturing at the polished weapons and then at Petra. “You still haven’t taken your armour off.”

“Of course.” Petra turned to her axe, her chest puffed slightly with pride. “These weapons are how I am being able to protect you.”

Her heart made a funny flip at the casual line, at how matter-of-fact Petra was about it all. Petra always acted like it was common sense, these small trinkets of devotion, these little declarations of love that Dorothea had never experienced before. “Petra…”

“Hmm?” Petra looked back at her and cocked her head. “Is something being the matter?”

“No, not at all,” she replied truthfully, her ears burning red. Reaching out, she tugged on Petra’s armour. “Here, let me help. It’s good to take care of your weapons, but you have to remember to take care of yourself too.”

“That is why you are being here,” Petra replied, her smile growing broader as she turned around to give Dorothea access to the many straps that kept her leather armour together.

The hide always felt too thin to protect Petra as she fought on the front lines, but it was lithe and flexible, allowing her to move as freely as she wanted. Dorothea would probably never stop worrying about it. Keeping her gaze firmly down, she calmed her beating heart she nimbly pried off the armour with a practiced hand.

It wasn’t long before Petra was free of it all and back to her usual bright outfit. She extended her arms above her, her eyes closed as stretched out her muscles. “Thank you! That is much better.”

Dorothea giggled as her girlfriend rolled her shoulders. “You wouldn’t be half as stiff if you’d just take this off sooner.”

“I will be keeping that in mind,” Petra agreed amicably, leaning backwards to realign her spine.

“Now the last part.” Dorothea sat down on Petra’s bed.

“Are you sure?” Petra asked, stepping closer. She leaned down slightly, her hand cupping Dorothea’s cheek as she studied her face. “You are looking tired.”

Reaching up, she covered Petra’s hand with her own. It felt like touching the sun. “Aww, you don’t want me to fix your hair?”

“That is not what I am meaning,” Petra replied softly.

“I know.” Dorothea lowered her eyes, leaning into Petra’s touch. “I know, I just…I need to fix your hair.”

It was her aftercare, though she hadn’t told a soul about it. She wasn’t sure she could even admit it to herself yet, just how much Petra had ingrained herself into Dorothea’s daily routine.

Petra frowned before pulling away. Dorothea immediately missed the warmth. “After this, you must be resting. You are tired, even your laugh is tired.”

Dorothea had appeared in several major productions, acted since she was little, and made it a point of pride that no one could tell when she was faking it. Somehow, Petra always saw through that. It was something she both loved and hated about her. Nodding, she agreed. “I will. Just after this.”

Satisfied, however reluctantly, Petra plopped on the ground in front of Dorothea. She leaned back slightly. “You could get hurt if you are tired.”

“I’ll be careful,” she promised, already reaching for one of Petra’s braids. It didn’t take long for her to unravel it, to take the thick strands and split them apart. Petra had spent weeks teaching her Brigid’s braiding styles and Dorothea’s hands had long memorized the steps.

For a second, she was transported to another time, another place, when the hair in her hands had been golden and the room they were in made of stone. Five years ago, she had carefully brushed Ingrid’s hair while Annette had worked on her nails. Hilda had gone through her closet, searching for something, anything, that could work for a ballgown. It had been a gossip-filled day, enhanced only by Ingrid’s constant flustered state. “We can’t do that again,” she muttered.

“Do what?” Petra asked, curious.

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud and Dorothea smiled ruefully. “Silly classmate things. If the war hadn’t started…we could have worried about balls.” Distracted, she stopped braiding. “If the only battle we’d faced was the Battle of the Eagle and Lion…I wonder what could have happened.”

Petra didn’t say anything, and Dorothea chuckled awkwardly. This was supposed to be her relaxing session, not deep, dark thoughts session. Trying to dispel the heavy mood, she went back to Petra’s hair. “Sorry, that was a silly question.”

For a while, there was only quiet. Her dress rustled slightly as she shifted in her seat. Petra’s long soft locks bound together easily, unlike her own silken mane. Outside, the sun might have set, people had their dinner, patrols walked the camp. Outside, a war raged on but here, in this tent, there was only peace. Only her hands and purple hair and more colours than she could ever name. The candles flickered, casting long shadows over them, and Dorothea wished she could see Petra’s expression right now.

“I am glad,” Petra finally uttered. Despite how quiet her voice, her tone was unerringly confident.

Dorothea blinked, not sure she understood. “You’re glad?”

“That even though war is happening, we are being together.” Even without seeing Petra’s face, Dorothea could picture the gentle expression on it. “I do not think I could be fighting you. Not ever.”

“Me neither,” Dorothea replied immediately. It hurt to imagine Petra on the battlefield, under the banner of a different army. Of them facing each other on opposite sides of the war. To have lost love before it could have even started, a world without these quiet evenings—she would have been infinitely poorer for that.

Petra turned back now, her eyes shining in the dim light. “No matter what will be happening, I am happy. You are my home.”

Dorothea swallowed and maybe it had been better when she couldn’t see Petra’s expression, couldn’t see the naked love that shown brightly for all to see. All those years ago, when she had worried about marrying for money, when she had pictured her future as an empty one as some noble’s consort, she could never have imagined she’d be here. Flustered, she reached into her purse, pulling out a small seashell. If there was ever a time to give her gift it was now. Pressing it into Petra’s hand, she murmured, “For you.”

“A shell?” It was Petra’s turn to be surprised and she held it up, admiring how the light reflected off the reddish-brown shell. “It is very pretty, but I am not understanding.”

“You can’t go ho—” You’re my home and Dorothea faltered, her skin too hot. Me too, lingered on her tongue, too heavy to say. “To Brigid for a while, right?” She held a hand to her ear, motioning for Petra to do the same. “It sounds like the sea. It’s a lot clearer than other shells, and I know it’s not the same but—”

“It is beautiful,” Petra interrupted, closing her eyes as she listened. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you for, for…everything.” It had been a silly crush all those years ago. Now it was something far deeper than that. She tucked a lock behind her ear, her cheeks still flushed red. “You…you’re my home too. I’m glad I’m marrying love.”

At that, Petra opened her eyes, indignant. “It is better to be marrying love, but you are to be marrying me.”

Dorothea couldn’t help it, she laughed. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Petra and burying her face in her neck. Pressing a chaste kiss against her brown skin, she murmured, “You’re right, I’m marrying you.”

#fe3h #fire emblem three houses #doropetra #dorothea arnault #petra macneary #fanfic

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stressedkitkatttt · 4 years

Text

Taking Your Virginity - Headcanon

Okay, so I got two requests for the same thing literally seconds apart from one another. And since you guys seemed to like my Headcanon of having sex on your period, which you can read here if you haven't already, this is another requested headcanon - the boys taking your virginity. Also got kind of carried away with this but who's gonna complain? Sorry if they all seem similar, but these are my opinions and how I see something like this going down.

Note: If this seems similar to other headcanons, I apologize. I'm not trying to steal anyone else's work. Also, this is my opinion blah blah, and not a reflection of their real experiences. Also, I was too lazy to write in condoms, but please do use protection in real life. Also worthy of noting - I posted two stories within four days of each other, something I don't think I have ever done XD

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: boys being soft, sex for the first time, sort of descriptive smut

Anon 1: Are you taking requests if so can you do a headcanon about the boys having sex with a virgin for her first time

Anon 2: Can you do a headcanon about each of the boys taking your virginity?

DISCLAIMER: Do NOT think it is okay to take my stories and post them somewhere else without my EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Do NOT think it is okay to take anyone else's stories and post them somewhere else without their EXPLICIT PERMISSION. Giving credit does NOT count as permission. You may reblog my stories, you may NOT repost my stories without MY PERMISSION.

~~~~~~~~~~~

✫ So we can all agree that Chris knows his way around the block. You, however, were the total opposite. So when you had met him at a party, you were shocked when you both hit it off.

✫ The thought of sex never really appealed to you. You didn't want to wait until marriage but it also wasn't at the forefront of your mind. That changed when you met Chris. He was funny, his laugh was contagious, and you somehow knew that if you were going to lose your virginity to someone, it would be him.

✫ After months and months of talking to one another, you guys became official, out of the public eye, of course.

✫ I see you losing your virginity with him after a night out. Like you would tell him that you were ready and then the next day, he would be a total gentleman - taking you out to your favorite places, eating dinner, then coming home and just making sure that you were comfortable with him. Or just after a day out in general.

✫ You guys relax against the bed and you know that you're ready. So you let him know.

✫ "Hey Chris," you mumble against his skin. He replies with a hm. "I'm ready." It doesn't long for your words to sink in and he turns and faces you.

✫ "Are you sure?" He says as he cups your chin. You nod and he grins, leaning in to kiss your lips. He takes things slow, letting the fire build slowly between you two. He gently lays you on your back and lets his hips grind into you. The makeout session is comfortable since it's the farthest you've ever been with him.

✫ "Chris, I want more." He nods and lets his hands wander under your shirt and your underwear. Soon, your hands also wonder and before you know it, both of you are naked in front of each other. Your heart jumps at the size of him and he notices how you tense slightly. He assures you that he'll make it as comfortable as possible for you.

✫ You trust him and he begins to prep you, sliding a long finger through your folds and pushing in when there's enough wetness to help ease his pass. When he's stretched you out enough, he lines himself up and asks again if you're sure. You nod and as he pushes in, he makes you focus on him.

✫ You stare into his doe-like eyes seriously, I have never seen someone with eyes like that. Going from innocent to "I can fuck you till you can't handle it anymore" in .2 seconds like wtf Christopher

✫ Anyways. You get lost in his eyes and he bottoms out, hips flush against yours. You feel pressure down below and you're obviously not used to it, so he continues to distract you, placing little kisses against your skin and whispering things like, "You're doing so well amor," and "You're going to feel so good". Maybe tries to make you laugh since he's always so damn happy.

✫ You've never felt so full, in this sense. Well, it's your first time, duh. When you finally grow accustomed to his size and feel, you tell him to move. He pulls away, not all the way out, and pushes back in. Soon, he feels you relax and begins to pull almost all the way out.

✫ He was right - he was making you feel really good. Since it's your first time, he takes his time, makes sure that you're enjoying yourself. When you cum, it's amazing and with Chris mouthing marks onto your neck and whispering things in your ear in between, it just amplifies the sensations he's giving you.

✫ He helps you clean up and relax, cuddling with you afterward and getting all lovey-dovey with you, asking you if you're okay and how he did for your first time.

✬ Same as Chris as far as making the night as comfortable for you as possible. I see them all trying to make it comfortable for you. Maybe he would stay in a cuddle, watch movies, really show a softer side to you.

✬ I say that you and Richard will have been together for a while before you open up to him and admit that you're a virgin, or maybe you'd tell him off the bat(depending on what type of person you are). Maybe you'd be a little self-conscious because Richard is experienced and you aren't? I seem him being a little surprised and excited that he'd get to be your first time.

✬ You'd be getting comfortable with him when his dick brushes your leg and you're a little shocked. I see him letting you explore his body at your own pace, let you get used to him in such an intimate position at your own pace. Though he takes control in some places.

✬ When he's prepping you, he's whispering sweet things and helping you take your mind off of what's to come. When he's done prepping you and begins to push in, stopping to let you adjust every few inches, and tries to take your mind off of what's happening by leaving little kisses. Once he's fully inside you, he lets you take all the time you need to adjust.

✬ "Okay Richard, you can move," your voice falters. He nods and starts slow, and even at this slow, gentle pace, he still hits places deep inside you. Same as Chris, in the sense that you're filled up.

✬ "Does that feel good, baby?" He grunts against your neck. You can't reply verbally but you manage a nod and he smirks, his ego would boost to the fact that you're speechless because of him. As you both get closer, he picks up his pace slightly and your seeing stars, putting passion into his thrusts.

✬ He also helps clean you up and makes sure you're okay. You just nod, feeling drained of energy and basking in the afterglow. He pulls you into his chest and you both relax and eventually fall asleep.

✬ And when you've fucked a few more times, he'll start bringing out a more dominant side, just to see what your limit is and what you can and can't handle.

✵ That hair tho. 🥴👌 Blonde-haired Zabdiel is supreme

✵ Like Richard, maybe he would let you explore at your own pace? I also see you and him having a relaxing day and you feel comfortable enough with him that you want to do it with him. You and him have been together for quite some time now.

✵ I say it would start with you two cuddling on the couch or bed and maybe you guys are in the feels and a makeout session ensues. You never went passed make outs and the occasional roam of his hands, and he never pushed you to do anything.

✵ This time was different. You wanted to go all the way with him. You grind on him and he'd let you explore him, making your way down his body to his hard cock, confined within his sweats.

✵ You mess with him a little before pulling down his sweats. I see him letting you stroke him a few times before he makes it all about, bringing you back up and putting you beneath him. I see him taking his time going down you, finding sweet spots on your neck, giving your chest attention before finally reaching where you need him most.

✵ Running his fingers through your folds, slicking you out, even more, he presses a digit in and begins to slowly move it in and out. When you get used to one finger, he'll add a second, scissoring you out to help open you before grabbing more lube, just to be safe.

✵ Taking his time entering you, he presses in slowly. You tighten around him and he would do things to help relax you, peck your lips, rub his large hands against your sides, etc. When he does finally bottom out, he continues to comfort you, letting you take your time adjusting.

✵ When you tell him it's okay to move, he creates sensation you didn't know could exist. I see him also whispering sweet things in your ear. He has you moaning in no time, even at a slow pace. "Feel good, amol?" He grunts and you nod, moaning his name.

✵ He brings you over the edge with a few more thrusts. Maybe he would pull out and cum on your chest instead of cumming inside you, to not go too far with you for your first time. Once you get more comfortable, you'll start finding out what he likes and stuff. Definitely would take a nap with you right after.

✺ I don't think he's a virgin... Though I half want him to be if he isn't but if he hangs around Chris... His beard throws me for a loop. For the sake of this, we're gonna say that he is a virgin as well and he's saving himself for the right person

✺ You two would have defiantly talked about it in advance, planned a day to do your favorite things to help calm both your nerves. Also, you two would have been together for a while before this topic came up. When the time comes and you both feel you're ready, you take things to the bedroom.

✺ Would be awkward, since you both have never done this before. I can see this as a "find out what we like before we actually get down to it" kind of thing, but Joel makes sure to make it about you. I see him making you cum on his fingers first, and you stroke him before you finally can't take it and you want him inside you.

✺ He also uses extra lube, just to be safe, and he makes it very clear to you that if you need him to stop, tell him to stop. Also asking if what he's doing feels good. If it's his first time, he might have trouble holding back his orgasm from the feeling of your walls against him. And that's fine, you don't hold it against him, and reassure him that it's okay.

✺ When he bottoms out and you've adjusted, and he begins to thrust, you both would get lost in the feeling. Maybe you both hear a weird noise and laugh about it, cause let me tell you, sex in real life is very different from sex in fanfics and isn't always so picture-perfect.

✺ You both probably wouldn't last long, so you try to make the most out of what time you have. He helps clean up the mess and you guys would practice some more, but maybe not as much as say, Chris or Richard, seeing as you would have other things to do than just fuck.

❂ Though he's young, he's not a virgin. He doesn't have as much experience as Chris or Richard or Zabdiel, but its experience nonetheless. You on the other hand... Not so much. Sure, you've dated in the past, but none of them felt right.

❂ That changed when you met Erick. He made you comfortable and never pushed you to do anything you didn't feel comfortable with. And that's why you wanted him to be your first time.

❂ When you tell him that you're ready and want to take your relationship to the level, he is excited to be your first. I say you and him plan a night in, just relaxing, watching movies, him playing guitar for you...

❂ You feel that tonight is the night and you're ready. He will ask if you're sure about this and when you say yes, he leads you to the bedroom. He takes his time with you, giving your body all the attention - to your chest, to your neck, whispering little things in your ear...

❂ When he reaches your entrance, he plays with you a little, just to see if you like anything he does. When you're slicked enough, he pushes a finger in and continues to move, adding a second one to the mix.

❂ When he feels you're stretched out enough, he pulls down his boxers and asks one more time if you're ready. You tell him yes and takes his time pushing in, pulling back and thrusting in if he meets resistance. Once he's bottomed out, you moan his name.

❂ I see him making it a fun deal, kind of like Chris, which helps ease your nerves. You tell him he can move and he has you moaning. His body is flush against yours and you can hear his grunts. If you get tired of the slow pace, you ask him to speed up a little, and he does, dragging out his thrusts.

❂ He helps clean you up and asks if you're okay and how it was for your first time. Maybe you take a nap afterward.

~~~~~~~

Tgalist: @cracraforfandoms @kmsmedine @kikixfandoms @xmaudjexo @richardscurls

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reidingandwriting · 4 years

Text

A Thousand Years

Word Count: ~3,600 words

Ship: Aaron Hotchner x Reader (my first Hotch fic!!)

Warnings: A curse word or two, a suggestion towards smut; dialogue and plot kind of follows scenes from season 7, but plenty of originality :)

A/N: Credit for the inspiration goes to imreallyfunnybtw on TikTok!! The video that inspired this video is linked here. Can I please have an Aaron Hotchner of my own? This takes place around season 7, except for Beth it’s Y/N! I wrote this as a gender neutral reader with no descriptors, but if I missed anything while editing, please let me know :) I got permission from the creator to post this, so I hope it doesn’t disappoint!!

When Hotch lost Haley, he never really planned on getting into another relationship. He went on the occasional date, being dragged into playing a wingman role while with Rossi, but there was never that spark. There was never that feeling he had always heard of, that moment you knew you wanted that person in your life. And it’s not like he had much time for another person in his life. When he wasn’t at home with Jack, he was at work- whether that was at the FBI Headquarters in Quantico, or in another state for days at a time. And when he wasn’t working, Aaron valued every moment he could get with his son. When he did have time for himself, he often found himself in the park. And that’s where he met you. He had just finished his run when you came along.

------

“Either you do sprints for fun,” Hotch turned around as he heard a voice, a person jogging over and stopping a few feet away, “or you’re training for something. I hope it’s the latter because only a sadist would sprint like that.”

“No, I’m.. I’m trying to do this triathlon in February.” He spoke between pants, and your eyes lit up in recognition.

“The FBI one, right? You’re an agent? Oh, shit. I’m not supposed to ask if you’re an agent.”

“Yeah, the FBI one. I work for the,” a brief pause, “justice department.” A faint smile graced his lips, and you felt your own mood lifting at the sight. “I’m guessing you’re training, too?”

“Yeah. For a MS triathlon, in January. I’m not in nearly as big of a rush as you though.”

“Well, I only have about forty five minutes a day. Between work and home, it’s… hard. And that’s just for the running. For biking? I’m pretty sure my tires are inflated.” Hotch let out a laugh and you smiled, an idea now in your mind.

“Well, I was planning on cycling this weekend. I’m not the best cyclist, so I could always use a partner. If you’re not busy.”

“I, uh, don’t know my schedule for work yet. But I should know in the next few days, and I could call you?” Hotch asked and you nodded.

“Yeah! Yeah. I have a card somewhere.” You pulled a card out of your armband and handed it to Hotch. “If you have any free time this weekend, give me a call.” You started to walk off, but stopped when you heard him speak again.

“So, what made you think I was an agent?” You turned around and shrugged.

“I saw your suit. What else could you be?” And with a wave, you spun back around and jogged off with a laugh. Hotch watched you with a smile that didn’t leave until he got to work.

“So, are your tires all pumped and ready?” You asked as you settled on your bike. It was late Friday night when you got the call from Hotch, where he asked if you were free in the morning. You happily agreed, and now you were back in the park where you had met- bright and early on a Saturday morning.

“Hopefully. So, you haven’t done a lot of biking?” Hotch asked and you shook your head. “But you’re going to do a triathlon?”

“Go big or go home.” You put your helmet on and adjusted the strap, and the look on Aaron’s face made you giggle. “That’s what my dad always says.”

“Your dad sounds smart.”

“He was. He passed away a couple months ago.” You weren’t a profiler, but it didn’t take one to notice the emotion that flashed through his eyes, the understanding. He’d been through loss as well.

“I’m sorry. Is your mom still alive?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah. She’s doing a lot better.”

“That’s good. And how are you?”

“I’m hanging in there.” A silent moment of understanding passed before you spoke again. “So, where are we headed?”

“I usually go up Connecticut, through Rock Creek Park, then back through Sixteenth. But we don’t have to do all that if you don’t want to.” “No, let’s do it.” You shifted as Aaron put on his helmet. “If we lose each other, we will meet back up with each other at Dupont Circle for coffee.”

“If we lose each other?” Aaron’s brows furrowed. “I thought we were doing this together.”

“The chase is the best part of it.” You winked before you pushed off the ground and pedaled away. Hotch shook his head, a fond smile on his face as he got on his bike and pedaled off after you.

------

That bike ride became the first of many training sessions together, which led to a few dates sprinkled in between. Whether he’d admit it or not is a whole other story, but you had worked your way into Aaron’s heart. While the two of you hadn’t been official for long, he felt as if your connection had been there from day one. Hotch was grateful for that feeling, which made your first real date much less nerve-wracking. It was Valentine’s Day, thank you Morgan for the reminder, and Hotch couldn’t remember the last time he felt that nervous for a date.

------

Aaron stood on your front porch, bouquet of flowers in one hand, and his other knocked on your door. He took a deep breath to compose himself right as you opened the door.

“Hi.” You said as you opened the door. “Oh, the flowers are beautiful. Thank you.” You took the flowers from Aaron. “I didn’t think we had anything planned.”

“You’re welcome.” Hotch said and he watched as you lowered your head to sniff the flowers. “And we didn’t, but I just get called away so often. So I thought we should take the opportunity while we had it.”

“That was very thoughtful. Let me grab my stuff and I’ll be right back.” You stepped inside and set the flowers down, then fixed your hair before you grabbed a sweater. Perfect, you nodded at your reflection in the mirror by your door before you stepped back out to meet Aaron. “So, what’s our plan?” You asked as you closed your door, locking it.

“Well, I suppose I could tell you. But, uh, I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” He flashed a pair of tickets at you and you gasped. “So I guess you’ll have to trust me.”

“My first mistake.” You teased as Aaron started to walk down the stairs. “Oh!”

“Did you forget something?” Hotch turned to face you and you took a step closer to him.

“This.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his lips, which he gladly returned. You broke apart seconds later, a lovesick look on both of your faces. “Thought I should spare us the awkwardness later.” You walked down the stairs and offered your hand out to Aaron, and he took your hand, lacing your fingers together. “You don’t have the market cornered on surprises, Aaron.”

“It’s not often I’m left speechless, but I am now.” Aaron’s laughter filled the street and you had discovered your favorite sound, and you wanted to hear it forever.

------

After that date, Hotch knew he wanted you to meet Jack. And you couldn’t wait to meet him. Needless to say, both of you were nervous about the meeting. Aaron because you were his girlfriend, and Jack was his son. And you knew Jack was the most important person in Aaron’s life, and you wouldn’t want anything to come in between the two of them, so you hoped with all of your being that you and Jack would get along. You both had decided the FBI Triathlon would be the perfect time for you to meet his son.

------

You were a few feet away from all the commotion as Hotch crossed the finish line, and you were cheering the entire time. You saw a group of people move over towards Hotch once he crossed, and you guessed they were his team, especially when one of the men set down a kid who then ran over to Aaron. Jack, you thought to yourself with a smile. He took a drink from a volunteer, thanking them, before he bent down to Jack’s level and put his medal on the hyper boy, a homemade sign clutched in his hands. Hotch talked to the group for a minute before you called his name.

“Hotchner!”

“Y/N!” Hotch looked up then looked back at Jack. “Jack, there’s someone I want you to meet, come here.” You met Hotch halfway and tightly embraced him, a big grin on both of your faces.

“You were amazing, congratulations.” You let go of him after a minute and Hotch stepped back.

“Thanks. Y/N, I’d like you to meet my son, Jack. Jack, this is my friend, Y/N.”

“Hi.” Jack smiled up at you and you bent down, shaking his hand.

“Hey there, Jack, it’s nice to meet you.” Your nerves had melted away once you saw Aaron with Jack, and you felt much more at ease.

“Do you work with my dad, too?”

“No, we’re just friends.” You looked up at Hotch before you knelt to Jack’s level.”Did you make that yourself?” You nodded towards his sign, which he showed off when you mentioned it.

“Yep! I cut it myself. And put the sparkles on it, too.”

“You know what? I look at art all day long. And that, my friend, is pretty good.”

“Thank you.” Jack said.

“You’re welcome!” You stood back up and Aaron spoke.

“We’re going to get something to eat. Do you want to come?” Aaron asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“Okay, great.” Hotch led the way, Jack beside him, and you followed as the three of you made your way to his car. And all of you were oblivious to the looks on the faces of the team just a few feet away.

“Who is that?” Morgan asked.

“Did you know he was seeing someone?” Spencer asked as he watched the pair.

“They’re so cute together.” Garcia cooed.

“Come on, let’s leave them alone.” Rossi ushered the group away and Emily turned to him with a gasp.

“You knew!”

------

Months had flown by since you first met Jack, and you frequented the Hotchner household, each time better than the last. It started off with a dinner here and there on the weekends, or a night where you’d play games or watch a movie until Jack fell asleep- where you’d then spend some time talking quietly with Aaron, your bodies curled into each other’s, before you headed home. Until one night, where he asked you to stay.

“Stay with me? Uh, with us. You could stay for breakfast before we go to work.” Hotch had asked, and how could you say no to him? That night together, with your head against Aaron’s chest and his arms wrapped around you, you both knew that you wanted many more nights like those. After that, you spent most of your free time with the Hotchners. Building forts with Jack and helping him with homework, cooking dinner with Aaron and doing little things around the house to give him more time with his son.

When Hotch met you, he never imagined that, months later, he would be in a serious relationship with you. But ever since you had entered his life, you had proved yourself to be resilient. And completely unpredictable. That was something Aaron loved about you, he never knew exactly what was running through your mind. Which led him to now.

He’s seen a lot of unexpected things in his life, he worked as a profiler for god’s sake. But the one thing he never expected was to see you, dancing around in the rain with Jack, your phone playing music from its spot on the front porch. Of course it was on the railing, you knew how worried your boyfriend got over you breaking your phone. Again.

“Y/N, please, quit leaning over the railing.” Hotch’s ‘dad voice’ came out in full effect as he saw you leaned over the side of a bridge, your phone in your outstretched arm. Your other hand was holding Jack’s, who was content looking at the fish in the river below the bridge.

“Just a second! I want to get a good picture.”

“You can get just as good of a picture without dangling.” Aaron tried to reason, but you waved him off. Unfortunately for you, with your wave, you sent your phone flying down into the water below.

“Oh, sh-oot.” You turned towards Hotch, your eyes narrowed as you pointed at him. “I blame you.”

“Me?!”

Hotch grabbed your phone and set it somewhere safer and shook his head at the sight in front of him. You and Jack were both wearing your rain boots, and you were loudly singing along with the music. Jack tried to protest through his laughter, feigning embarrassment, but you scooped him into your arms as you kept singing.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train going anywhere!” You spun around as you sang the last word, and the sound of Jack’s laughter made Aaron smile. You set Jack down and you continued dancing, cheering when Jack danced around with you. You didn’t see Aaron on the porch until Jack pointed him out.

“Dad! Come play with us.”

“Yeah, Aaron, come play.” You pouted at Hotch, but he didn’t miss the teasing glint in your eyes. “Or are you too cool to join us?”

“And miss out on watching you two? Maybe later.” Hotch chuckled as he leaned against the railing of the porch. You shrugged as you turned back to Jack.

“Bet I can make a bigger splash in that puddle.” You pointed towards a puddle a few feet away, and Jack ran off, accepting your challenge. You winked at Aaron before running after him. You continued to jump around in the puddles in the yard, and you made sure to let Jack win a few rounds of your splash contest.

You squealed when the song changed to a song Aaron was familiar with, and you looked at him. “Turn it up!” Hotch groaned dramatically but turned the song up as you started dancing and singing.

“Kiss me once cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice cause it's gonna be alright. Three times 'cause I've waited my whole life. One, two, one two three four! I like shiny things but I’d marry you with paper rings.” You continued to dance to the music and Aaron couldn’t help but notice how happy you looked. How happy Jack looked. Your connection with him wasn’t forced, you never pushed or tried to put yourself in a situation until you knew Jack and Aaron both were okay with it. Hotch was more nervous than words could explain when it came to you and Jack, but the sight in front of him made his worries melt away. You were dancing, hands up in the air as you twirled around, laughing as you stumbled and nearly fell back into a puddle. Jack was doubled over in laughter and you playfully narrowed your eyes at him.

“Oh, you think it’s funny, huh?” Once you were steady on your feet, you began to count. “Three… two…” Jack’s eyes widened and he ran to hide behind his dad.

“Base! Can’t get me up here.” Jack peeked out at you and stuck his tongue out, and you mimicked him. “Wait, need a break. Need a snack, then we can keep playing?”

“Of course we can. Take your shoes off at the door.” Aaron said to Jack as he went inside.

Once Jack was inside, you walked over to Aaron, still swaying your hips to the music, until you reached the steps. You then held your hand out and looked up at him. “Come on, you have to come dance. Let loose a little, have some fun.” “I can ‘let loose’ without getting rained on.” Hotch said and you pouted.

“Please? Just one dance. Then I’ll let you continue to be a grumpy old man who’s allergic to fun.” Hotch narrowed his eyes at you, and you smirked, knowing you had him now.

“Old man, huh? I’ll remember that.”

“I’m sure you’ll remind me tonight.” You climbed up the steps of the porch and grabbed your phone. You scrolled through your music before you found the song you were looking for. “But first,” you pressed play on the song before you took Aaron’s hands, “we dance.” You led Aaron down to his front yard and turned to face him. “You do know how to slow dance, right?”

“Let’s find out.” Hotch pulled you into him as the song played, letting the music lead as you started to dance. The rain drizzled over both of you, but you smiled up at him as you danced.

Heart beats fast

Colors and promises

How to be brave

How can I love when I'm afraid to fall

“I can’t hear this song without thinking of those stupid Twilight movies you showed me.” Hotch chuckled as you danced, his arms warm against your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“They were such a vital part of pop culture for years, they are not stupid.” You scoffed. “You were so into them. If I remember correctly, you gasped at the last movie when you thought Carlisle died.”

“Hmm, can’t say I remember that.” Hotch tried to deny but you saw the smile he tried hard to suppress.

“I may not be a profiler like you, but I do know when you’re lying.” You rested your head against his chest and let the steady sound of his heartbeat relax you.

But watching you stand alone

All of my doubt, suddenly goes away somehow

One step closer

“You’re really good with him.” Hotch spoke after a minute and you looked up at him. He had a soft smile on his face and a certain look in his eyes you couldn’t decipher. Love, maybe? You felt your cheeks heat up at the thought, and you shook your head to clear your mind.

“He’s a great kid. He has a pretty awesome dad, too.” Aaron leaned down and pressed a kiss to your head, your wet hair tickling his face.

“And he has you. He loves you, you know?” You smiled and combed your fingers through his hair. “We both do.”

“I love him, too.” You leaned up, your lips brushing against Aaron’s as you whispered. “And... I love you.” Hotch closed the gap between you two, and the feeling of his lips against yours still gave you butterflies after all these months you’ve spent together.

I have died everyday, waiting for you

Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

You pulled apart moments later, a lovesick smile on Aaron’s face and yours. You breathed out a sigh as Aaron brushed your hair out of your face, before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, enjoying the peaceful moment before you heard the front door open and close.

“Daddy, Y/N, I have popsicles!” You and Aaron laughed as you looked at Jack, who held three popsicles in his hand.

“We’ll be right there, buddy.” Hotch said to Jack before he looked at you again. “Hope you like the blue ones, red is mine.”

“Blue is the best anyways.” You ran your finger down Hotch’s blue shirt before you took his hand and walked over to the front porch.

“The team wants to meet you. Properly, at Rossi’s. Jess has already agreed to watch Jack, if you want to go. Dinner on Sunday?” Aaron looked over at you and you looked up at him.

“I’d love to. You’ve told me so much about them, I can’t wait to properly meet them.” You climbed up the porch stairs and took a seat beside Jack, Aaron sitting on the other side of him. “Rossi’s got some big shoes to fill, with our little chef in training here. He made some amazing pancakes with me this morning.” You ruffled Jack’s hair and took the popsicle he held out for you. “Thank you, Jack.”

“I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever had.” Hotch took the other popsicle from Jack, kissed his head, and thanked him. “Maybe Jack should cook dinner, too.” Jack giggled and shook his head.

“You promised Chinese noodles.”

“Lo mein.” You corrected him.

“Lo mein.” Jack mimicked before handing his popsicle to you. “Please?” You tore the popsicle wrapper open and handed it back to him. He accepted it with a soft ‘thank you’ and tucked himself into your side.

“You did promise at lunch we could have takeout for dinner. Since Jack ate those disgust- I mean, delicious brussel sprouts without complaining.” You corrected yourself when Hotch’s eyes playfully narrowed at you.

“Y/N didn’t even eat theirs without making faces.” Jack spoke as he bit into his popsicle and you gasped.

“I did not! You’re imagining things, bud.” You patted his head and bit your popsicle. Jack dove into a detailed retelling of lunch, and the sound of your laughter along with Jack’s storytelling filled Aaron’s ears and he couldn’t be happier this was his life.

And all along I believed, I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more

Taglist: @ssa-sugar-tits and @spidey-reids-2003 ❤ Taglist and requests are OPEN, just send me an ask or a message :)

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