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omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts · 3 years

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A Siren Song

Pairing: Robert Dubois/ Bloodsport x Reader

A/N: so I just finished watching the new Suicide Squad for the second time and I’m even more obsessed now than I was the first time I watched it. It’s a brilliant film with actually good humor, a non-sexualizing and actually empowering view on Harley Quinn (that leg scene?? y'all-), the rats?? Rat-catcher 2?? THE SHARK?? FLAG?? Who looked really good in this movie, he might be another contender for a story as well as Harley Quinn so lmk ;) but Bloodsport immediately piqued my interest because it’s Idris Elba and he’s gorgeous, I loved the complexities of his character and I want to write for him and no one else has done it yet?? so shoutout to @honey-im-emotional for the support and push to do it! also love The Bodyguard movie, helped with the inspo <3 and i’m so sorry all of my stories are similar but I HAVE A TYPE enjoy and feedback is always appreciated loves and there will be SPOILERS so be warned, also if you want a Harley one next lmk ;) (it’s so long I’m so sorry lol)

Summary: You’re a highly targeted member of the royal family, the last in your line. Bloodsport is hired to be your bodyguard to both watch and assassinate the men after you. He believes it’s below his pay-grade, but reluctantly agrees, doing so to the best of his abilities. But the closeness brings more intimacy than you two expected, and sparks fly.

Warnings: foul language, sexual content, smut, choking, light bdsm, fluffy fluff, dirty dancing, dirty talk, violence and bad guys getting murdered, mentions of Harley x Reader (y’all sexy dance and kiss), reader likes women, dom! Bloodsport, age gap, alcohol consumption, jealousy, heavy kissing, slight angst, just a good time honestly

Word Count: 3,825

You dangle from the ceiling with your aerial silk, fitting your leg in the loop you’ve created, and dangling upside down. The rope wraps around your waist as you hang gracefully from your marble walls, flying. Your friend Harley Quinn taught you how to do this years ago, it now being your favorite form of exercise and relaxation when you need a moment to clear your head.

As you lightly spin, twirling and dancing in the air with your chandelier reflecting light everywhere, a dazzling fairy floating in a sea of stars. You hear footsteps approach and move to hang upside down, facing towards the grand door. Robert Dubois, a.k.a Bloodsport, walks forward to stand directly in front of you.

You have known him a few weeks or so now, him having to watch your every move and tracking down your family’s killers. He stands and meets your eyes as you dangle, hair falling below you.

“Hi,” you giggle, face flushed with heat. “I probably look ridiculous right now.”

He composes himself so he doesn’t crack a smile, but you see his lips twitch when he speaks, “No, Mrs. y/l/n.”

“I have a first name, you know,” you grin widely. “I’m younger than you, which hardly warrants such a professional title.”

“My apologies, y/n,” he fixes himself.

“It’s alright,” you ease, filling him with a sense of softness he hasn’t felt in a long time. You flip and land on your feet, letting go of your silks.

You don’t notice as his eyes glaze over your body in your sports bra and shorts, something his cold, calculated stare should never succumb to, but he does anyway and he kicks himself for doing it. You’re his client and should therefore remain as such, no conflict of interest or thoughts other than to protect. He didn’t want this job, hell, he still doesn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the money. Or maybe it was upon seeing you that first time, in that star-studded gown the night of a charity gala you were attending, the way the diamond littered fabric hung over your figure, absolutely dazzled. The way you looked at him and smiled, like you were used to with all the other nobles and adoring fans. But he let himself believe it was different.

He can’t do that anymore, however, because he can’t allow for any complications. And falling for his boss is certainly a complication.

You look at him and your eyes widen with realization, “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me cover up.”

You grab a tee shirt and toss it over your exercise clothes. He looks down as you do so and clears his throat. This brings a small smile to your face.

“You called me in here,” he gestures to the necklace charm hanging around your neck that you can squeeze and send an instant distress signal whenever you need it. “What can I do for you, y/n?”

“Wanted you to spot me,” you tease, a smile overtaking your delicate features. You have a sort of stunning beauty about you that takes him by surprise every time he lays eyes on you. Which is often. You lay on your yoga mat and sit up straight with that same damned smile.

“I’m here to do a job, y/n,” he says, his deep, honeyed voice coating the way he says your name like heat to sugar. “Not aid you in your workout routine.”

“What? Your assassin training didn’t include sit ups?” you smile, tongue in cheek.

“No, but if you need a way to kill a man with a book,” he presses a foot over both of yours as you begin to do sit ups. “Then I’m your man.”

“Yeah, you and John Wick,” you breathe out with a laugh. “And shouldn’t you be in here watching me already? Not by the door?”

“This room has no windows and no other door or entrance besides the one I was standing by. I thought you would want privacy,” he averts your gaze. “I’m sure it’s a hard thing to come by these days for a woman like yourself.”

You stop what you’re doing and look up at him, blinking, “Well, you’d be right,” you tuck your hair back. “So thank you.”

He meets your eyes, bordering on a smile, “You’re welcome.”

“Is that a smile I see?” you chuckle.

The smile shines, “It was a diversion. And you failed.”

You laugh loudly, “Will the next diversion be an actual laugh?”

“Wouldn’t be a proper diversion if you knew what it was.”

You tap his feet so he’ll get the hint and let you up. You rise to your feet and dust yourself up, “I appreciate your spotting.” You press a hand to his chest and hum. Warmth radiates from your palm and he inhales sharply. “For someone who wasn’t trained, you sure are a fast learner.”

He looks at your hand and back to your eyes, heat sprouting from where your hand touches. His hand flexes at his side as he looks around the room, to the door, seeing if it’s closed.

“I-” he cocks an eyebrow then settles. “I think I should go.”

He watches you look at him with wounded eyes, brow lowered, you open your mouth then close it.

You nod, moving away from him, “Right.”

You move to walk away when he stops you, mouth by your ear, voice dropping an octave when he whispers, “Just so you know-” you tilt your head up almost instinctively to hear him better. “-my assassin training did include reminding people who they are when they’ve forgotten their place.”

You look up at him fully now, “You work for me, remember?”

“I work for money. And you didn’t hire me. I was employed by Mrs. Waller to keep you alive,” he cocks his head slightly.

“So it would be frowned upon by her when you’re unable to walk if you touch me like that again.”

You couldn’t believe he had just said that. Your eyes widen and your cheeks once again heat up, blushing. Your chest gets hot when he doesn’t break the stare like he’s calling your bluff, and fuck, did he do just that. You turn away from him.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “That’s what I thought.”

~~~

“Robert said that!?” Harley exclaims, eyes wide. Her jaw is dropped as she does her mascara aggressively in the mirror. “He’s usually so...”

You tug down your tiny halter top over your head, your bright, flattering makeup complementing the colorful swirling pattern, “An empty void with no emotion?”

She nods emphatically, agreeing, “Exactly! I had no idea he had it in him?” she raises her brow and smooths down her leather black and red dress, “Or that he wanted to put it in you-”

You slap her arm, chastising, “You don’t know that. It might have been a threat to actually paralyze me in a very not sexual way.”

“I say both are arousing,” she shrugs, platinum curls bouncing.

You roll your eyes with a small smile aimed at the floor, “Anyway-” you slip a belt through your tight jeans, hitting at your waist when you cinch it in. “We should get going if we want to get to the club on time.”

She pauses. “Y/n. Are you sure we should be doing this?”

You do a double take, “You’re telling me that we shouldn’t sneak out and have a good time?”

“I know the irony is apparent,” she looks at you with a knowing stare. “But not if it means you’re in danger. Which you are.”

“I know,” you frown. “But I’ve been locked in this house for months, I miss going out and having a life. I’m tired of being coddled.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she sighs, looking past herself in the mirror to flash me a sympathetic smile. She thinks for a beat and finally spins around, “Alright, screw it, doll, let’s go paint the town.”

You buzz with excitement, grinning, “Yay! Thank you, thank you! I wonder who will be djaying...” you trail off.

Harley’s face falls and her mouth goes in a solid, straight line, looking past your shoulder, “I don’t think anyone will be.”

You laugh, completely oblivious, “Of course there will be. There has to be music. Dancing in silence would be pretty fucking awkward.”

“This moment is pretty fucking awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

A deep, irritated voice sounds off behind you, “Because you’re not going.”

You jump out of your skin, “Shit, Robert! You scared the hell out of me!”

“You’re not going to that club,” he folds his arms over his chest. You look over him and his casual, night wear: a loose tee and low hanging joggers. You almost wipe your mouth from salivating. Your outfit elicits the same reaction.

You pinch your eyebrows together, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can. I’m tasked with protecting you.”

“Yeah. And nowhere on your job description does it say ‘become my parent’. There’s not an opening now just because I don’t have one. I am a grown ass woman and I have been a prisoner in my own home. The same home where...” you pause, a lump in your throat at the reminder of your family’s passing. You shake it off, “I’m just tired. I want a piece of my life back. You can either stay here or come. Either way I’m going.”

He gives you a quick once over and contemplates his options before dropping his arms to his sides and letting out a long exhale.

“Fine.”

You somewhat relax at his defeated tone, “Fine, what?”

He relents, “You can go, but I’m coming with you. But if anything happens to you, I’m not to be blamed. I will leave your ass in that club.”

You grin and jump up to give him a tight hug around the neck. He stiffens before slowly rubbing your back. You sink into his embrace, feeling like you were floating in water, now above the surface as he brings you back to oxygen. Harley smiles at the exchange and she winks theatrically.

He glares.

It’s not long before you three arrive at the club, music blaring and colorful lights flashing over the crowded floors. From his stare and intimidating aura, the club staff thought he was a bouncer and let you all in immediately. But before he was roped into working, the three of you bee-lined to the bar.

“The prettiest and strongest drink ya got, sugar,” Harley smiles at the pretty bartender.

“And what if that’s me?” she responds, ebony hair falling onto one shoulder.

“Then I’ll have to drink you later,” Harley gives her a flirty once over and you roll your eyes.

The bartender grins and gestures towards me for my order, I answer quickly, “Scotch on the rocks.”

Robert looks at you, poorly covering his shocked expression. “Really?”

“Yeah, why?” you look up at him.

“Didn’t peg you for a straight liquor type, Ms. y/l/n,” he finally lets his hidden laugh show through, butterflies erupting in your chest. The diversion definitely worked, whatever you were thinking about before this has immediately left you.

“Then this is going to be the first surprise of many tonight, Mr. Dubois,” you return the smug look as he orders the same thing. You both share a look.

The bartender slides you all your drinks, each of you taking a long swig for liquid courage for the night. Harley’s favorite Doja Cat song comes on and she gasps, clapping excitedly when she grabs you by the wrist, pulling you on the dance floor, “Come dance with me.”

You mouth a small ‘sorry’ to Bloodsport who you left at the bar, he shakes his head with a smile over the rim of his glass, watching you guys’ drinks.

She dances wildly, jumping up and down, spinning to let her hair fall in many beautiful angles. She’s a powerful force and your greatest friend. She puts her arms around your neck and the two of you move in time with the music.

“So...” she motions to Bloodsport who’s being forced into a conversation with a woman at the bar. The woman puts her hand on his and he visibly shrinks back and whispers something to her that causes the most horrid look from the woman and for her to walk quickly away. You smile at the relief that interaction has brought you.

“So what?” you spin her around and pull her back.

“Quit with the good dancing, or I’m gonna fuck you myself,” she teases with a lightheaded giggle.

You smile, “We’ve tried that already, remember?”

“Too much history, I know, I know. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice...” she whispers into your neck, kissing the soft spot under your chin. Your skin heats up under her touch as she drags her hands down your sides, pulling you close to her so that you’re flush against her chest.

You give into her and kiss her slowly, her soft lips melt into your own when her hands tug in your hair. Harley and you have always had a complicated friendship, with enough sexual attraction to fuel a nuclear bomb, but not enough romantic. You love each other but not in the way you both need. You were in love with Robert and she is continuing to explore her sexuality because she likes women and so do you. So as she trails her hot mouth down your neck in the middle of dozens of bustling bodies and you lock eyes with an angry Bloodsport, you knew exactly what she was doing.

You whisper, out of breath, “Are you trying the jealousy trick?”

“It worked in college, didn’t it?” she kisses your cheek, smiling gently against your skin. “And it’s working now.”

“I think you’re just obsessed with kissing me,” you kiss her back.

“It was a win-win situation, doll,” she grins devilishly and you can’t help but agree. “So when you’re done with him, come see me. But right now, I have a sexy bartender lady to drink up.” You grip her hand and let her make her way to her next conquest.

Robert had seen the tail-end of your kiss, his deft fingers clenched around his whiskey glass. He knows he shouldn’t let this sort of thing affect him, something as juvenile and simple as jealousy. But he couldn’t stop that feeling of being stuck, unable to think about anything except the fact that it wasn’t him with his hands on you like that, lips marking you as much as he pleases. Sadness washed over him in a tidal wave and he set his glass down, about to get up to leave when he spotted a man eyeing you from the door. He looked familiar and it wasn’t just attraction he sensed in his eyes but something far more sinister.

A few more men followed suit and began making their way to you in the middle of the dance floor. He had no time to consider the facts, just to get you out of there as soon as possible.

You feel a rough hand tug your arm and turn to face who you think to be Dubois, you smile, “Enjoy the show?”

“Very much,” an unknown voice answers, and you look up, eyes wide. “Now why don’t you come with me for a little talk, beautiful.”

“Get the fuck off of me,” you yank your arm back, slamming your heel down into the perpetrator’s foot. More men surround you on all sides, making it impossible for you to escape or use your subpar martial arts skills. Aerial yoga was a very different ballpark than kicking ass. And you were just a beginner.

You poorly punch a man in the face, only making them all angrier when you’re grabbed from all sides, being dragged towards the exit kicking and screaming. You didn’t want to be that helpless damsel in distress, but as all of these men, men you recognized from your family’s death, were surrounding you, you couldn’t breathe. Their hands felt familiar, grabbing your arms like they’d done that night before you hid in the secret door in the dining room. You had watched these faceless men through a hole in that door, stifling your cries when bullets sprayed the room your family was having dinner in. So while they were coming after you and pulling you outside, it’s all you felt. That same feeling when he wasn’t near.

Drowning.

There’s a hand that pulls you back and you watch, dazed, as Bloodsport puts every man who touched you on the ground. It’s filled with swift yet aggressive and barbaric movements, controlled, expert chaos and it happens within moments. His chest is heaving when he looks down at you and scoops you up in his arms. You’d object in any other circumstances, but this time, head against his chest and tucked in his arms, you were okay.

His voice rumbles against your side, “We’re going home.”

~~~

Harley’s tears hit your shoulder as you sympathetically pat her back.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I shouldn’t have left,” she sniffles loudly. “I should’ve been there.”

You laugh softly, fitting your head into her shoulder, “It’s okay, Harls. It’s not your fault, there was no harm done.”

“There could have been,” she sighs. “I’m not letting you convince me to go out next time, you’re staying here forever.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, “Alright.”

She gets up and sniffs, wiping at her nose that’s now flushed from crying, “Good because I’m serious.”

“I know,” you laugh again, hugging yourself in a hoodie much too large for you, (because you stole it from Rick Flagg) swallowing you whole.

Your eyes wander down the hall to where Robert is no doubt pacing around in your bedroom, the only room not laden with cameras (ironically for privacy). You kick at the floor in your fuzzy socks and think of an excuse to go check on him, even though you’re probably the last person he wants to see right now. You, frankly, don’t care.

“I’m gonna go-”

“Check on Robert?” she finishes. “I know, honey. I was a psychiatrist, I’m not stupid.”

You crack a smile and grip her arm affectionately as you walk past her towards the bedroom. You don’t even take the risk of knocking for fear he’ll lock it and try your luck with just simply opening it. You see him, shirtless with a towel over his shoulder, a low hanging towel wrapped around his waist, while nursing his knuckles. He looks you over once you enter the room, trained eyes on you and the intimidation is definitely working already when he takes the damp towel on his shoulder and dabs the cuts on his skin.

He remains silent and you move to sit down on your bed, the awkward squeak filling the already high-tension atmosphere, thick enough to make your ears pop like you’re in an airplane too far up in the sky.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly, drawing his eye.

He hums and steps into your bathroom, washing off his hands.

You frown at his lack of response, “Are you really going to pout this whole time? Because honestly, it’s beneath you, Robert.” You lean forward, watching as he walks out of the bathroom, still half naked, still silent.

The silence is beginning to slowly kill you, especially when he looks this good, water droplets running down his chiseled torso from a hot shower. You didn’t let your mind wander because if the reaction your body is giving from the image before you was any indication, you want him. He walks in the room once again, mouth in an amused yet firm line.

In actuality, he was ashamed of himself. Not so much of you. He would’ve left as that despair overcame him back in that bar. He would’ve left you there and abandoned his mission, leaving you to be hurt. If it hadn't been for those men, you could’ve been killed and it would be his fault. He alerted Waller of the attack, making up a lie about the two of you going for a walk at night and getting ambushed there rather than at a club. There’s a hit on each of those men being taken out as we speak as well as a search for their boss. Even though that still got him chewed out. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to him if she found out the truth.

Robert walks slowly towards you, leaning against the bed frame, gesturing for you to continue. You watch him, distracted, as he wraps a bandage around his knuckles.

“I shouldn’t have kissed her to get a rise out of you, that was hurtful,” you exhale your words, quiet enough he wouldn’t be able to hear you if you weren’t within a breath of one another. You hang your head, “And it was stupid to go out in the first place when I am in this much danger. I could’ve been killed, and you could have been hurt. I’m sorry.”

He represses a laugh at the idea of him getting hurt, when the two of you both know that would never happen. But as the silence from him grows thicker, the more you start to ramble.

“Okay, this silent treatment isn’t going to work for much longer. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you need to stop.”

He gives you a look that says ‘make me’. But you both know you couldn’t if you tried, and vice versa. He thinks of you as a siren, one of those alluring creatures in old sailor tales that lured unsuspecting men to their painful deaths. As if he has no control of the way he feels about you. Which in a way he does, but he knows better. He knows better than to fall under your enchanting song, but he can’t help but be pulled beneath the surface of the water.

Robert tenses when you move forward and the hoodie falls off one of your shoulders, revealing more of your chest, the smooth skin that lays there.

His chest tightens when you look up at him and sigh.

“But thank you for saving me,” you say, both because you think that’s what he wants to hear but also because you mean it, you wouldn’t be here at all if he didn’t come with you.

He licks his lips and nods his head in simple recognition. He appreciated the apology, truly he did, but a part of him enjoyed the way you continued to ramble on, so he remained silent. This was an old interrogation tactic he learned when he served, keeping quiet always got people talking. He looks down at you and leans to meet your face, hands on either side of you.

“I don’t know what else you wish for me to say,” you admit quietly, fiddling with your hands.

He didn’t know either but whatever you would say, he would listen.

“So I take it you’re not mad anymore?” you infer from his relaxed posture, heart beating out of your chest, fast enough that it catapults to your throat.

He tilts his head down so he’s an inch before your mouth, breath fanning over your face. when he tugs you up to your feet, hands gripping the sides of your waist when he pulls you close. Your heartbeats began to sync up, chest to chest.

“I’m fucking furious, sweetheart.”

You meet his eyes, looking up in that seductive stare of yours you never knew you were capable of until him, and close the distance, kissing him lightly. His arms falter by your side and it’s the first time you’ve seen him hesitate, losing his cool. It’s the most gentle thing he’s ever experienced, everything in his life being forced, hostile, and malicious, while your soft lips against his are anything but. You kiss him like he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Then let me make it up to you.”

“Fuck,” he grips your sides harder, palm moving to push you closer with his hand flat against the small of your back. “We shouldn’t.”

You search his face for uncertainty, but all you sense is a profound sense of clarity, in the both of you. “I know.”

“Will you regret this?”

You shake your head, hand against his cheek, “No.”

His dark eyes fall to your lips, pupils filling his dark brown irises, lust blown, “You’re so good, baby. You’re too good for me.”

Before you can tease him about the new nickname and object to that, his lips have crashed against your own. His hand slides up to cup the side of your face, drinking you in with his intoxicating kiss. You hum, content, against his feverish mouth and he opens it, vulnerable and on display. You feel his guard still up, tense and calculated, so you rest your hand against his chest. You press a kiss to his eyelid, his cheek, his nose, his chin, his jaw, his neck. He softens beneath you, groaning aloud as his hands tighten.

“You don’t need to be afraid with me,” you whisper to him, tender fingers trailing down his shirtless chest, hot skin against hot skin. It’s enough to make you sweat.

He exhales and captures your bottom lip with his own, holding your face in both of his hands. The kiss grows heated and rushed, like you’re running out of time, as if at any moment those men would come back and find you and take you away from him again. His tongue expertly works with your own, licking the pout of your bottom lip, and coaxing you open. He slides his hand down between your legs, dipping his finger to find the slick in the middle of your thighs. You moan into his mouth, his other hand at the back of your neck when he buries his face in your shoulder. He kisses you there, the crook where your neck meets your collarbone, that damned sensitive spot. You succumb to his touch. His beard tickles your skin and you gasp when he sucks hard, a bruise forming.

You breathe a laugh, “Everyone will see if you leave a mark,” you tug on his hair when you thread it through his coarse curls.

He falls under your spell and there’s something so ironically beautiful about this trained assassin with a heart of gold and the scars to show for it, being so open with you.

His hands, his entire life, have been forced to be instruments of death and violence. But as they slide down your figure, holding your face, and pulling you into him, they’re his greatest gift. He’s surprisingly tender with you.

But then he has enough and pushes you down on the bed, arms trapping you on both sides.

He responds bluntly, “I don’t care.”

You part your legs for him and he releases a shaky breath. He slowly unzips your sweatshirt and it falls off you just as you do the same and tug his towel down. Both of you are bare before the other as you take a moment to drink each other in. You were just as, if not more, beautiful than he imagined you to be.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly as his hand drapes down the line of your figure. He touches you how someone would handle a glass vase filled with flowers.

You take his face in both of your hands and kiss him, “So are you.”

“I don’t think you know what you do to me, baby.” His hand finds your breast and squeezes while he kisses your neck.

You moan when he uses his other hand to grip your neck, thumb against your pulse point, “If it’s anything like how I feel right now, then yes, I do.”

He lifts his head up to watch your face as he chokes you, softly so he doesn’t hurt you but hard enough to play with your breath. His thumb opens your mouth and your legs tremble.

“So I take it you’re into choking, my love?” You nod excitedly, unable to speak, and his grip tightens.

You let out a squeak and he releases, face etched with worry, kissing your neck where he touched you. “Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head and smile comfortingly, “No, baby, I’m okay. I’ll tap out if it’s too rough, I promise,” you tease.

His grumbling voice deepens, “Good... because, darling, right now all I want to do is bury my face in between those gorgeous thighs of yours.”

You inhale sharply when he opens your legs once again, looking up at you and you nod in consent.

“I need words, beautiful,” he smirks with his mouth just above your center.

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and he responds with a swift lick to your pussy. He looks up at you and when he catches your eye, it’s as if the sensation grows stronger and your head hits your pillow.

“I’ve barely even touched you,” he mumbles into you and you feel his smug smile in your thigh. His fingers dip into you as he flattens his tongue and crooks them towards himself, you grip your sheets.

“Don’t... flatter yourself,” you sigh out. “I-it’s just been awhile.”

He removes his mouth and fingers from you, “So anyone can make you feel like this?”

You enjoy the feeling you get when he looks at you like that, his eyes dark and dominant, so you play along and nod. “Yes, in fact, I’ve had better.”

He licks his lips and gets up from the bed. He opens his drawer and you sit up to look what he grabs: a belt. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest even though you know you shouldn’t be. He gets back on the bed and climbs over you.

Robert looks at you, “Hands.”

You extend them to him wordlessly, watching as he ties your wrists together and puts them over the bedpost so you’re trapped there, unable to move.

“Now,” he holds himself above you, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You’re to stay tied up until I say so, anything like that again and they get tighter. Nod if you understand me.”

You nod emphatically. You had never seen this side of Robert before, so in control and not afraid to go too far, it was so unbelievably sexy.

The best part was he didn’t tie it tight enough, afraid of hurting you, so you could easily slip out your hands at any moment.

He kisses, painfully slow, down your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. He swirls his tongue around the erect bud and you gasp, desperate to touch him. He looks up at you from you chest as he switches to the other, massaging the unattended one as he sucks, the pleasurable feeling overwhelming you. So much so you have to clench your thighs together, longing for some sort of relief for the tension building in your abdomen.

“Baby, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him.

He shuts you up with a bruising kiss while his hand slips down to enter you, two fingers in already. He pumps them in and out of you before sliding back down the expanses of your body and letting his mouth latch onto your clit. He sucks hard and you stifle a loud moan that would surely alert everyone in the home of your arousal. He holds you down against the bed with a palm flat against your stomach as you begin to lift your pelvis. His tongue enters you while his fingers take over, stimulating you with gentle rubs and flicks. But just before you feel that euphoric release, his actions cease and you’re left hot and flustered.

“Robert,” you look at him with a deep frown.

He grins, “Y/n...”

You blow hair out of your eyes, “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He puts his lips near your ear, “Are you ready?” You nod as he pushes himself inside you and you bite back a moan into his shoulder.

You finally have enough, slip your hands out, and he pinches his brow, unable to hide his shock before you bring him down to press your lips against his. He melts into you, arms wrapped around you while he holds you close, filling you out in all the right places. He quickens his pace and you whine into his mouth, nails digging into his skin. You wrap your legs around his torso and he hits you so nicely. He was right, it’s the best you’ve ever had. He rises and looks at you, lips swollen and red from kissing, eyes clear and pupils large, and face flushed with heat. Your hair is in messy tendrils at all angles and you’ve never been more attractive.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises in your ear, placing kisses across your jaw. “Taking my cock so well.”

You whimper and his movements stiffen as he approaches release and so do you, walls tightening around him. He reaches down and rubs your clit with his expert fingers. You finish together, mouths open and hands all over each other’s bodies. It overcomes you in a tingling, perfect sensation, it continues on, leaving you aching and wanting more.

He rubs his knuckles over your cheek, softly and adoringly he looks at you. You tuck yourself into his arms under the blankets. Everything you both have wanted for a long time, laying right in front of you.

“Still want to make me not walk?” you tease, looking up at him.

He kisses your eyelids and you giggle, “Fuck yes.”

Part 2?

#harley quinn #harley quinn x reader #rick flagg #bloodsport #bloodsport x reader #robert dubois x reader #robert dubois #idris elba #suicide squad #suicide squad 2 #dc #dc smut #dc fanfiction #fanfiction #smut

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bopbopstyles · 4 years

Photo

ELEVATED SURFACES

RATING: R/smut (sex, heavy alcohol use, smoking, lots of cursing)

WORD COUNT: 11.6k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

MASTERLIST (check it out for extras) | INSPO TAG | PLAYLIST

a/n: as a recently graduated srat girl and lover of a good frat party, this one shot was intended to fill the whole in my heart which is LEGIT frat Harry. he is fratty and hot and long haired and a mess. if u like this try out TEMPTATION which is my other frat!h series and the first thing i ever wrote on this gd website (he’s not as fratty but we love him a LOT)

a/n pt.2: as a note, i want to make very clear that frats and greek organizations frequently harbor predators and abusers. i do not in any way condone that behavior or that reality, and i would like to bring attention to a petition to remove a fraterity that had done truly many horrible things--your signature would be a huge help. for survivors of assault, you are not alone, and it is not your fault.

As you rose up, your eyes locked on a figure in the doorway of the basement. His long hair was loose, curls that had been pulled out from the hair tie he always had on his wrist, a tight white shirt that you knew meant all of his tattoos were on display. Harry was watching you, you realized as you twisted your hips and bounced your arms up and down with the beat, singing the words. So you kept his gaze, and just to taunt him, when the chorus hit again, you dropped down, ass hitting your heels, eyes on his the whole time.

Harry is a very fratty frat boy and Y/N is a really good dancer

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕

“We really should not be still going to our own mixers,” Emily said to you, fluffing her hair and rotating to check her ass in her jeans. You looked up from where you were sitting on your bed, a gin and tonic in one hand to get your blood flowing before the party started. Emily sighed, and then turned from the mirror to you, grabbing the coffee cup that had never seen coffee, just alcohol. “Are people even going?”

You nodded, tossing your phone next to you and leaning against the bed frame. “Alexis is on her way over—she got held up finishing an essay. Maya said she might come, I tried to convince her by promising I’d bring my flask and you’d have your Juul.”

“I swear, she has to just give in and get one of her own.” Emily took a long sip and crossed her arms.

“She claims that will make her addicted.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She’s already addicted—she uses half my pods and ends up hanging out with whatever guy will let her take a hit. Is it just going to be us and all the new members?”

“No, I think some juniors are going. And definitely the sophomores—they’re all on the little hunt.” You got up, going to your computer to change the song, scrolling through your comprehensive and well-curated pregame playlist. “Plus, who gives a fuck, we’ll only be there for an hour or two for the free alcohol and then we’re hitting the bars.”

“True.” A knock came from the door, and Emily hollered to come in, and Alexis appeared in the doorway, her makeup looking utterly flawless as always. You had always wanted Alexis’s wardrobe and told her constantly, to which Alexis always replied that she wished you were the same size. Unfortunately, Alexis was a solid five inches shorter than you and had a completely different bra size, making sharing quite difficult.

“Bitches, I brought tequila!” Alexis swung into the room in a cloud of perfume, and threw her arms around you and Emily’s shoulders. “Come on, we need to get tipsy before we get to this mixer. Nick already texted me making sure I was coming.”

“Grab the shot glasses,” You replied, nodding to the makeshift bar cart in the corner, which as laden with glasses of all kinds and all your alcohol. “Are you hooking up with him tonight?”

Alexis shrugged, pulling her tequila from her bag and setting it on your desk before turning and going for the shot glasses. “Probably. I don’t know, he’s been weird lately—we hooked up on Monday night, but then he got all weird and left like immediately after and hasn’t texted me since. Barely acknowledged me when we saw each other in the library.”

“Was the sex weird?” Emily asked, unscrewing the top on the tequila so she could pour.

“Yeah,” Alexis replied, holding the glasses steady while Emily poured. “Like weirdly…intense? I let him come inside me which was probably a stupid idea, but I’m on the IUD so we should be all good. And then I offered to let him stay and he just got all flustered and said he had to go.”

You took your full shot glass, and you all clinked before tossing them back, the alcohol burning on your throat. You hated tequila shots but Alexis loved them, and you did admit they did their job. “Do you think he’s caught feelings?”

Alexis’s eyes widened. She had been pining after Nick for ages, his tall basketball stature and surprisingly good fashion sense a dime a dozen. Much less, apparently the sex was insane, so what wasn’t to like? “You think? I thought it might’ve not been his vibe.”

Emily grabbed the bottle. “Another?” You all nodded, and she poured again, The Weeknd crooning in the background. “Just see what happens tonight, feel out what his vibe his.”

“Good idea.” You slammed back another shot, hissing before setting down the glass. “Okay, that’s enough tequila or you two are going to be carrying me home tonight.”

Emily and Alexis laughed, before taking seats on your bed, continuing to chatter about the night ahead. It was a Friday, your favorite night because it was usually just mixers, no general parties, which as a senior you had grown to despise. The fighting for watered down alcohol, packed bodies and horrific gender ratio was simply no longer something you had the energy to deal with. Mixers were your preferred zone, filled with your sorority sisters who you adored, the opportunity to actually hang out with the frat brothers whose presence you enjoyed, and usually pong. Sometimes they even let you DJ because you had the best party playlists. The president of Sig Ep had actually asked for the link one time and you’d heard they used it sometimes when the brothers didn’t want to man the computer anymore.

You surveyed your outfit in your narrow mirror, the black denim jeans and simple white tank that showed a bit of stomach and your tan you’d worked hard on during your winter escape to the Caribbean with your lineage. It was simple, yet it suited your needs—after three and a half years of college parties, you had discovered getting dressed up for frat parties was a useless activity, since your clothes would get drenched in jungle juice and sweat anyways. You left your best outfits for Saturday nights spent clubbing downtown.

If you were being honest, the whole reason you were going tonight was because at the last mixer you’d had with Beta, you’d turned around on the dance floor to find Harry’s eyes on you. You were already dancing with another one of the brothers and ended up making out with him in a corner until you got bored, but you hadn’t been able to get the sight of his eyes on you out of your head.

You’d known Harry since freshman year, your interactions limited mostly to mixers and the occasional run-in in the dining halls when you exchanged pleasantries, or the one time he’d volunteered for a karaoke team for your sorority philanthropy event and you’d been in charge of his team. But the two of you had rarely ever spent time together. That didn’t mean you hadn’t had a lingering crush on him since you’d first laid eyes on him, though, and over the years he’d only gotten more attracted. A body that filled out his white t-shirts and black jeans, hair long and sweeping his shoulders to where he wore it in a bun most times, a jaw that could cut glass. He was hot and he knew it, as did everyone else on campus.

As juniors you had both been on the executive boards of your respective Greek organizations and had ended up in meetings together about housing violations and social calendars, but it hadn’t ever led to much more than you both complaining about how fucking annoying FIJI and their insistent requests for a house was, considering they’d trashed their last one. But this year, you’d found his eyes on you multiple times, and you wondered if perhaps your time had arrived. You’d both always danced around each other and you were curious after all these years if he was finally interested in hooking up. Not that you really expected much more, or were looking for much else—you were a senior, after all, and you were enjoying it.

“Y/N.” Alexis’s voice ripped you from your musings over Harry, her fingers snapping from her spot on your bed. “What’s got you thinking hard over there?”

“Harry?” Emily guessed, one eyebrow raising. “Emmett said he’ll be there tonight.”

“He’s always there,” you replied, because he was. Like you, he seemed to enjoy the mixers, but usually avoided the open parties unless he was on door duty.

“You’d hook up with him, right?”

You looked at Alexis. “Obviously. He’s so fucking hot.”

She laughed, as did Emily. “Then go for it, girl. It’s not like he’ll say no.”

You shrugged. “He might. Never know.”

“I seriously doubt that. You look hot as fuck, as usual, and are the life of the party. Beta adores you. They literally asked you to move in this year when they had an open spot.”

“It was a joke,” you reminded them, because it was—you wouldn’t ever be allowed to live in the house and they knew that. It was true though, you had become a bit of a groupie over the past few years, preferring the more laid back vibe in their house. You’d become friends with all the senior guys, except the weird or obnoxious ones, and had become a regular invite to Bachelor Monday watch parties in their second floor living room. You brought snacks and your friends, they provided the booze and the cable.

“Still,” Emily said, nudging you the toe of her black booties. “Don’t sell yourself short, babes. He is missing a brain if he’s not interested in you.”

“And seriously missing out,” Alexis added. You shot her a look, but she just chuckled. “Bitch, I lived next door to you last year. You are loud.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, laughing, but she was right. You were. Guys had told you on countless occasions, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care all that much. “Come on, we should go. Maya is texting me asking when we’re leaving.”

“Do you have your cigs?” Alexis asks you, downing the rest of the drink she’d made while you had been staring into space.

It was your vice, one you had picked up during a semester abroad and only did when you were drunk. You knew you should stop, but something about it made you feel powerful, a bit badass, so you kept doing it. “Obviously. Emmett will have a fit if I don’t.” You swiped your pack from your desk drawer and your trusty pale blue lighter, and shoved them into the pocket of your jacket. With one last swig of your drink, your veins buzzing with alcohol just the right amount, the three of you were off, singing an old Hannah Montana song in the elevator down to the lobby of your dorm.

One of the pledges was working the door, but happily let you three into the frat house. The lights on the main floor were off, except for the ones in the front study that doubled as a coat room, where you tied the arms of your jackets together and set them in the corner so you didn’t lose them. Your cigs were transferred to your back pocket, and you just prayed you didn’t forget they were there and crush them again.

Josephine and another junior were the sober sisters, and offered you three hugs before checking your names off the list. You got positive points for being there, as if that was the main reason you had shown up.

“Emmett!” Emily called, and the blond-headed boy’s head flipped up from where he was standing behind the bar. A Gatorade water cooler was sitting on the high bar, stacks of red solo cups and boxes of white claws and beers sitting on top of one another.

Aka, your happy place. “He’s bartending, thank god,” you said, and grabbed Emily and Alexis, weaving through the crowd. Girls stopped you all as you moved, hugs and squeals at your appearance. You had to admit, you were popular in your sorority, but mainly because you had made it your mission to get your money worth. As a result of your exec position, you’d gotten to know the sophomore member class and you adored them all, chaotic messes who always turned up with you and made you laugh hysterically. Honestly, you were sad to graduate because it meant leaving behind so many fun friends and memories.

“We’ve been waiting for you three,” Emmett said when you arrived in front of him. He was wearing the frat’s homecoming shirt from the previous year and his eyes were dilated, obvious that he had smoked before. “What are we drinking?”

“What’s the mix?” You asked, pointing to the cooler.

He grabbed three cups, knowing you would be taking it. “Shit ton of vodka, Kool Aid, water, the usual.”

“My favorite,” you replied, blowing him a kiss. “How is it downstairs?”

He filled the cups and handed them to you all. “They just wrapped up pong so it’s still getting moving.”

Alexis took a long sip before grabbing your hand. “Sounds like we need to get people dancing.” With that she turned around, her long slick black hair moving in a circle. “Let’s dance!” She called, and the girls around you cheered, following the three of you down the slippery steps to the basement.

Downstairs, The Motto was playing and you bobbed your head along with the beat, moving your hips as you entered the large basement space. It was dark except for a glowing sign with the Beta letters in narrow neon lights, casting the room with a tint of green. Your battered frat shoes, an old pair of white Vans, stuck against the beer and jungle juice-covered floor as you made your way to the middle. A couple of other girls and brothers were scattered around the floor, and you broke from Emily and Alexis’s hands as you twirled on the floor.

You raised your cup above your head and started dancing, rapping the lyrics by heart, moving your hands and hips along with the song. Emily and Alexis sang along with you and some of the younger girls showed up, then some other seniors who shared your love for frat parties. All of a sudden your little was screaming and running towards you, Mallory’s arms wrapping around your waist.

“Oh my fuck god, MOM,” she screamed, using the nickname she’d had for you since you’d taken her as your little two years ago. You laughed and threw your arm around her shoulders, screaming the lyrics. There was a specific reason you had taken Mallory as your little, and it was because she lost her shit at parties just as much as you did. You two were a dynamic duo like no other, and if your grand little didn’t have a huge exam on Monday, she’d be here too and you would all be dancing together as usual.

You downed your jungle juice, the sugary drink combined with the loud music blasting and your friends making your adrenaline kick into high gear. And then Maya appeared, arms waving like crazy, and then she dropped it low and you remembered why you adored her, even if she always stole Emily’s Juul. She had a beer in one hand and a white claw in the other, ready for the night ahead.

Then Emmett appeared, trailed by some of the other brothers in tank tops and t-shirts, one carrying a six pack on his shoulder and handing out warm beers to the brothers he passed. Emmett beelined for Emily, his arm thrown around her shoulder, their completely platonic friendship on show for everyone. The song ended and you took a breath, crushing your cup and tossing it into the corner so you could have your hands free. Emily pulled her Juul free and took a hit, passing it to Maya next without a question between them.

The opening notes of Come Get Her started and you immediately grabbed Alexis and Emily, beelining for the bar that the speakers rested on, something you weren’t even sure how it got there, but it was your favorite elevated surface of all time. Wide enough to dance, tall enough to be high but not too high where you couldn’t mostly stand. You clamored up, coming to nearly full height and turning to your friends.

“Somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper!” You screamed, your friends coming in a circle in front of the three of you, some other girls getting up on the bar. When the line came through again, you decided fuck it, and you dropped your ass low, bending your knees and tipping your head back.

When you danced, you didn’t give a single fuck about impressing guys or any of that. You just simply loved to dance with your friends, move your hips, and didn’t care what you looked like. Mallory screamed when you got low, your name falling from her lips in a squeal of joy.

That had him moving. He joined a circle where Emmett and some other senior guys were dancing with some other girls, beers in hand as they shifted back and forth. But you knew what would have them all actually dancing and screaming and jumping along with you. You needed to see Harry like that—loose and free. So you turned around and grabbed the attention of the sophomore on aux, his name something along the lines of Justin, and screamed your song choice to him. He gave you a thumbs up, and then you turned back around. Your hair was sticking to the back of your neck, and you rolled it into a loose, high bun, pulling the elastic on your wrist around it as you swayed to the song.

You could hear the song ending, and with your eyes on Harry, you decided you would get down. He was next to a pledge with a six pack, and you wanted a beer. You were mixing alcohols like nobody’s business tonight, but you’d done worse. You squatted down and kicked your feet out, Mallory’s hand coming out to help you down. “You good?” She asked, leaning in to you.

“Yeah, just hot,” you replied. “Going to get a beer.” She nodded and let you go. There wasn’t a need to watch your friends as much in a normal party, since you knew all the girls here. Maya pulled you in for a hug as you moved, and then the current president called out your name from where she stood with her boyfriend, a white claw in her hand.

Squeezing next to Emmett, you nudged the waist of the pledge next to you. “Can I get one?” You asked, pointing to the beers.

“Yeah,” he replied, pulling one from the case and handing it to you. It was a Natty Light, but you really could’ve given fewer fucks—they were a frat after all, they didn’t buy the good stuff.

You popped the tab and took a long swig, the liquid quelling your rough throat from singing. And then, the song changed, and you smiled, eyes meeting Harry’s. You decided you were going to draw him out. “I got hoes, callin’!” You screamed, the song starting the speakers, and the boys all joined in. Fuck it, you thought, and chugged the rest of your beer so that you could jump, your arms outstretched and pumping up and down. Your bun was bouncing on your head and you were grinning, the music flowing through you.

Harry was watching you, his head tapping, hair swishing back and forth. You needed more. So you moved into the center of the circle, knowing the guys would hype you up, and reached for him. “Why aren’t you dancing?” You asked him playfully, and his eyebrow shot up.

“Fuck! Shit! Bitch!” The best lines of the song ran through the speaker and you just grabbed his hand, which was warm, and pulled on him. Suddenly his body was in front of you, close, and you tried to process what your original plan was. But then, Harry started moving, back and forth, head bopping, rapping the lyrics in time, and you knew you had gotten him. “I be ballin’, like a motherfuckin’ pro,” you sang, starting up to jump, and to your surprise, Harry joined you, a carefree expression finally crossing his face. He was screaming the lyrics then, hair bouncing as he moved. He rotated, grabbing the shoulders of another one of the boys, who joined in with him, them screaming the lyrics at each other.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the change in his demeanor so sudden. When the song changed, T-Shirt by Migos coming on, he turned back to you. All of a sudden, his lips were next to your ear and you choked on air. “Fuckin’ love that song,” he said, accent smooth in your ear.

“You and every other frat boy,” you replied, stepping backwards. You had ended up at the side of the circle closer to the wall, and so you moved towards it, freeing yourself from the heavy circle of boys.

The song was slower, not a jumping and dancing song, but one that suggested the slow grinding of hips and closeness of bodies. Which fuck it, you wanted. Desperately. He was looking at you with an intense stare, smile sloppy from alcohol, Harry sweaty on his forehead, arms straining under the fabric of his shirt. He was following you, taking a step away from his friends and following your body as if magnetic. So you just went for it, putting your weight lower, and rolled your hips back and forth to the music.

Mama told me/not to sell work/Seventeen five/same color T-shirt

Your eyes met his, and the shared intensity of his gaze stirred something inside of you. Desire. A need to know what his skin felt like, a desire that had been lingering since you first saw him. Your hands moved on their own, draping over his shoulders, and his hands found the curve of your waist, and suddenly you knew what his skin felt like on yours. They found the bare skin between the hem of your shirt and the top of your jeans, burning your already warm skin.

Justin-something on aux changed the song, deciding that was enough, and then No Role Modelz was on, and you moved, swaying back and forth, your chests coming closer and closer. His face was inches from yours and you wondered what his lips would taste like. The slow rap and smooth feel of the beat had your eyes fluttering shut, mind twirling from the alcohol and the lowlights, the heat of the packed basement. If you didn’t have Harry under your hands, you might have left for a smoke break, an excuse for air. But you weren’t letting go of him anytime soon. So you turned around and when your ass touched his dick you couldn’t help but smile—he was already hard. You felt his arm move and watched him sip his beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. You rolled your hips against him and then reached up, grabbing the can and bringing it to your own lips, taking a sip and watching him watch you. The two of you were taunting each other, acting on a feeling that had always been an undercurrent in every one of your interactions, a slight sexual tension that if you pulled on would become taught.

Which as you pressed against him, you fucking yanked on. His free hand clasped around your hip, holding you close and swaying in time with you. You could feel the sweat that had soaked through his t-shirt a bit, but you didn’t care—you were sweaty yourself, so was everyone in the room. It was part of the appeal, the fact that everyone was a mess and no one cared. He was rock hard between the denim of both of your jeans, and you could feel the power racing through you, the fact that you had him like this going straight to your head.

When Mr. Brightside came on, you decided that was your smoke break time. You couldn’t stand the song after so many years, and the feeling of bodies pressing together as they jumped was too much for you. “I’m going to get some air,” you said, turning around so you could face Harry.

He was so close to you, just inches away, when his tongue licked over his lip. “Can I come with?”

“Sure.” You grabbed his hand as you moved through the crowd, pushing between frat brothers and your sorority sisters who were all dancing together to the song. When you made it through the exit you sighed, the stale air of the stairwell even feeling better than that room.

“Fuck it was hot in there,” Harry said, your hand dropping from his. He followed you up the stairs and you nodded. You pushed open the door and a Doja Cat song was playing, some people upstairs scattered around, drinking and talking, some sitting on couches together. You waved to Maya, who seemed to have also needed a break, and nodded to the door as if to tell her you were getting some air.

“I’m going to smoke if that’s okay,” you told him as you made your way to the door, pulling your cigs and lighter from your back pocket.

He nodded. “Can I bum one?”

You opened the heavy oak door and said hello to the handful of guys sitting on the steps, who were manning the door and making sure no one random got in. “Sure,” you responded to Harry finally, sitting down on the concrete half wall that lined the landing. You could hear the slight thump of the music, but for the most part it was quiet, the the frat house a couple yards away not throwing anything tonight.

Harry leaned against the wall close to you, taking your offered cigarette. You flicked the lighter and raised it to your cigarette, taking a drag when it lit. Then you handed it to Harry, who accepted it gladly, doing the same. The smoke filled your lungs and your drunken mind considered that you should quit, but at the same time, you liked having something to do when you got air, an excuse to be on the steps. One of the other guys asked for one, and you handed one over, making a new friend.

And then you looked back to Harry. “So,” you said, tapping the ash on your cig. “How have you been?”

You hadn’t seen him since your last mixer with Beta, but you two hadn’t talked in ages. “Good,” he replied. “Busy with classes and stuff.”

“What are you studying again?”

“Political science,” he answered, and your eyebrows shot up. You had expected business or economics, like most of the Beta brothers.

“Why poli sci?”

He shrugged, tapping the ash before taking another drag. “Dunno, really. Took a class freshman year and liked it enough.”

“You don’t want to work in politics or something?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do, honestly.”

“You make it sound like that’s unusual,” you tell him. “Most people don’t.”

He chuckles, a low sound from the back of his throat, and you like the sound of it. “I’ll tell my dad that next time we talk.” You could tell there was a story there, but didn’t push. It wasn’t that kind of moment. “What about you?”

“Psych and pre-law,” you reply, the answer rolling off your tongue with ease.

“Oh? What kind of law?”

You took another drag before answering. “Criminal defense, but I want to work with people on death row.”

His eyes widen, just as you expected. It’s the usual response from people. “Fuck, that’s awesome. What made you interested in it?”

“I just got really into true crime when I was in middle school and ended up doing research on the criminal justice system and what a fucking disaster it is. Death sentences and death row especially. So I want to overturn false convictions.”

He puffed a cloud of smoke, and you watched his lips form a circle, a dark pink color that drew you in. “And you said most people don’t know what they want to do.”

A breeze made the hair on your arm hair stand up, and you rubbed the skin to warm up. It was cold tonight. “I’m unusual,” you told him. “Most of my friends have no idea what they’re doing after graduation.”

You had reached the end of your cigarette, so you dropped it to the ground and stamped it out, the combination of the nicotine and alcohol making your head deliciously hazy. “I’m going back in.”

Harry dropped his cigarette too, putting out the bud. “Lead the way.” He swiped his ID card on the door to let you both in, and you held the door for him, the sound of Post Malone sweeping through the house. “Want another drink?”

You mentally considered how drunk you were, came to the conclusion that you could take some more, and nodded. “White claw, please.” If you laid off the jungle juice you would last a bit longer, and you weren’t particularly wanting to get wasted tonight—you wanted to see where this went.

Harry nodded and walked towards the bar, while you turned to the group of girls closest to you, who were drinking juice and chattering amongst themselves. They immediately started asking you about Harry, about what was happening, and you shrugged because you truly didn’t know. “He’s hot,” one of them, a sophomore named Cat said. “You going to go for it?”

“If the opportunity presents itself,” you replied. You weren’t going to push with Harry, the last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him. You’d follow his lead, see what he was interested in, matching his flirting and see where it went. Not to say you weren’t forward, but you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable either. “What about you guys?”

Cat launched into an in-depth analysis of the weird flirtation she’d been having with a junior guy in Beta, how they’d hooked up once but not again, but he kept looking at her. You encouraged her to go for it if she wanted, and she grinned, perhaps just needing an extra push. All of a sudden, you felt a hand on your back, and Harry was next to you, a Black Cherry white claw in one hand, a Heineken in the other.

“If I’d know there were Heinekens I would’ve had that,” you told him, accepting your white claw.

His hair fell behind his shoulders when he tipped the beer back. “Most girls don’t like beer.”

“Well you’ve met one now.” You liked messing with him, dropping flirtations into the conversation and pushing buttons. It made him smirk at you and you loved it, the twinkle in his eyes and the pinkness of his lips.

“H.” A guy appeared behind Harry. “We’re out of vodka.”

“How are we out?” He asked, taking another sip of his beer.

The guy, a pledge from the looks of him, grimaced. “Someone took one of the bottles.”

“Fuck,” Harry said with a sigh. “Have one of the other pledges go get more and keep the receipt. Get more claws while you’re out, we’re running low.” With that, he turned back to you, exhaling sharply. The boy disappeared, sensing that was his cue.

Right as you were about to speak, you heard the opening notes of I Love It from downstairs, and you turned to the girls around you. “Downstairs,” you told them, and they all tossed back the rest of their drinks before tossing them into the trash can a few paces away. You opened the door to the basement and then looked back to Harry. “Coming?”

That made him move, following you down into the dark stairwell that smelled of stale beer and sweat. He stayed close to you, and when your foot slipped on a stair he reached out to steady you, a hand to your side that made your body warm with more than just the temperature of the room. The girls in front of you streamed into the room, screaming the lyrics to the song.

“You’re such a fucking hoe/I love it!” You joined in, laughing at the lyrics in spite of yourself, but the truth is you fucking loved the song. It was absurd and was filthy, but you liked screaming the lyrics in a room with a bunch of your friends.

You twirled around and walked into the room backward, moving your body with the beat, taunting Harry to follow you. Which he did, as if connected to you by a magnet. You could see his lips moving, the lyrics falling from his lips to match you. You stopped moving in the middle of the room and Harry’s hands found your hips. Turning in his hands, a coy smile on your face, you knew what this song was going to involve. Hips moved on their own accord, grinding hard against him. You could feel his breath on your neck, the lyrics I’m a sick fuck/I like a quick fuck/I like my dick sucked/I’ll buy you a sick truck in your ear. Hearing the words on his lips for some reason had your blood pumping, and you wanted to hear them again on a loop.

His dick was hard against your ass and your hands stretched behind you, finding his hips to hold him close. His head fell to your neck, nosing at your skin, his fingers on the bare skin at your waist clenching. Your hips moved in time with each other, his body dropping to be at the height as yours, chasing the desire that was running between you. Your head tipped back against his chest and eyes fluttered shut, letting the alcohol in your veins and the music pounding in your ears take over. All you could feel was him, the cut of his body and the strength of his arms next to you, his hips insistently rubbing against yours and you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually grind on him.

The song changed, Work Out by J. Cole sounding through the speakers and you pulled away from him and turned to face him. You were going to put on a bit of a show, you decided, because why the fuck not. It was clear at this point that he wanted you as much as you wanted him, so why pretend like anything else was happening?

So when the lyrics Let me see you get/High then go low/Now, girl won't you drop that thing down to the floor? fell through the speakers you dropped to the ground, Harry’s eyes following you came back up slowly, your body just inches from his. His hands fell on your body, grabbing at your waist to keep you close, pressing his hips forward to grind right over the front of your jeans and you panted from both the heat in the room and the pleasure ripping through your body. When the chorus came again, you dropped down, and this time you ran your hands down his legs lightly as you moved, fingers dancing down and then back up the seams of his jeans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said and you could barely hear him over the music.

His eyes met yours, searing into yours, a question passing between you. And then you were moving towards each other, an answer to the question in the way your lips met, slotted together and pulled at one another. Your hands were pulling at his shirt, grabbing at the material and the skin underneath, one of his hand holding your head close to his, the other at your waist. It was fast and messy, your lip pulling on his bottom one, before chasing him, his tongue brushing at the seam of your lips before dipping inside.

Kissing Harry was hot. It was like setting your whole body on fire with desire and you just wanted to know what the rest of him felt like because his lips were sending you to another planet. He tugged on your bottom lip with his teeth and a moan escaped you, desperation clear in your throat. You could feel bodies press around you, the notes of Fire by Louis the Child ringing through the room. When the beat dropped, you knew people were jumping, the guys doing that thing where they slammed into each other like some kind of mosh. But Harry just stayed there, pulling his lips into yours, drawing wet pants from your body. He was holding tight to you as if you were going to slip away, even though that was the last place you wanted to go.

But you decided you wanted to tease him a bit more. Not let him get away, but just…push him a bit. So you drew away, enough to where you could dance, your sorority sisters at your back—you had seen Alexis move behind you. You grinding on her, your asses touching, and you could hear her laughter, before moving against you. It was something you two always did, dancing partners since the moment you met.

“If I go down in flames/The smoke going to spell my name,” you sang.

Harry watched you, his eyes burning a line down your body, the ministrations of your hips against Alexis’s. And then he was moving towards you, his front pressed yours and his lips were at your ear. “Drink?”

You nodded, and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. People were moving down them and you pressed yourself to the wall to let them pass, before following Harry up the stairs to the main floor. “Is there anything better than that shit?” You asked him when you stood next to him, his arm loosely around your waist, holding you to him.

His gaze drifted to the bar and then back to you. “I’ve got some stuff in my room.”

You knew he lived in the house, the result of being on exec last year and having first dibs after the current exec board was placed, the hierarchy the same as in your own sorority house. “Do you have mixers?” As much as you drank, you still hated drinking most straight alcohol, especially if you were going to be sipping on it. When he nodded, you replied, “Let’s go.”

You caught the eye of Emily who was standing on the other side of the room, watching you, and you pointed upstairs to tell her where you were going. After she gave you a thumbs up, letting you know she’d check in before leaving, a silent conversation well rehearsed over the years, you followed Harry up the stairs. Other guys and girls streamed down them, coming from rooms where they were smoking or using the bathroom or drinking just like you.

“What floor are you on?” You asked when you passed the first floor, twisting to go up the second flight.

“Third,” he replied, not pausing no the stairs. “It’s quieter.”

That made sense, as you could imagine if he didn’t feel like partying one night it would be kind of hard to avoid. You followed him up, the sound of the music fading as you made your way higher into the frat house. You passed other girls on the way you exchanged hugs and promises to catch up after chapter on Monday night. Finally, you made it to the third floor, and Harry pushed open the door to a room with his name on it.

You followed him in and the first thing you noticed was how much of a boy’s room it was. Messy comforter, clothes on the floor, alcohol bottles lining the window sill, the frat’s flag above his bed. Some posters and photos littered the opposite wall, a single framed photo of what looked like his family on his dresser, along with some random items like cologne and a brush and hair ties. A pair of athletic shoes and boots were shoved into one corner, and a tub of protein powder sat on top of his mini-fridge, along with a stack of solo cups. On his desk was a bong and a couple of lighters, his computer sitting next to it on a charger. The dorm room was narrow, most of it taken up with a double bed that you were a bit confused by, since most rooms just had a single.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess,” he said, shutting the door behind you. If you focused on it, you could hear nerves in his voice, a low laugh in the back of his throat as he surveyed his room. “Didn’t expect to have people up here.”

“It’s fine,” you told him, moving into the middle of the room to get out of the doorway, taking in the space.

“Uh, I’ve got Tito’s, Jack, some gin one of the guys got me.”

It drew you back to the whole reason you were in his room. He was standing next to his mini-fridge, a solo cup in his hand as he looked at you. “What mixers do you have?”

“Coke, juice, and tonic,” he replied. “Sorry, it’s not much.”

You shook your head. “Tito’s and tonic,” you told him. Usually you would’ve been all over the Jack and coke option, but considering how much you’d already drank the last thing you needed was to mix clear and dark liquors.

You watched him pour, leaning against his desk as you waited. He handed you the cup, asking you to try it and tell him if it was too strong. You took a sip and it was strong, but not too much. Then, he made a whiskey and coke you were jealous of, and the two of you stood in his room, not quite sure what to do. You didn’t want to go back down the party, the feeling of fresh air—even though it smelled vaguely like college boy, a mixture of sweat and cologne that you keenly recognized—feeling good on your skin.

“Want to listen to some music?” He asked, moving towards you. There was a bluetooth speaker on his desk, you realized, and shifted away so he could get at his computer.

You decided to sit on the bed, thighs resting on the soft comforter. “Sure.” You pulled your cigarettes and lighter from your back pocket, before looking back at him.

He fiddled with the speaker, the sound of it connecting ricocheting in the small room, before clicking keys to wake up his computer. “Any preferences?”

“I’m good with whatever,” you replied. “I like pretty much everything.” It was true, you had everything from country to Top 40s and rap on your Spotify, a variety of playlists to fit the mood.

He pulled on his bottom lip with his thumb and forefinger as he perused his Spotify and you tried not to focus on the sight. Low music began to sound in the room and you immediately recognized the beginning notes of Let Her Go by 6LACK, a smile drifting onto your face. He must have noticed, because he turned around, his cup in his hand. “You like 6LACK?”

“More like obsessed,” you replied and he chuckled.

He sat on the edge of the desk, his knees falling open, his back slumped a bit. “I don’t know a single girl who even knows who he is.”

You took a sip of your drink before replying, resting your body back on one hand. “They must not have good music taste, then.”

Harry gave you a small smile, an edge of playfulness to it. “Where’s home for you?”

“Denver,” you responded. “You?”

“Holmes Chapel.”

“Where’s that?”

He brushed a hand through his hair, the long locks slipping between his fingers and you couldn’t help but wish you were the one doing it. “South of Manchester. It’s a small town, lots of fields and shit like that.”

You’d never been to England so you had no idea of where Manchester was, but you didn’t ask. “Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I don’t want to like, move back or anything. But it’s a good place to go home to.”

Denver felt the same way to you—it was home, but it wasn’t a place you saw a future in. You’d go where law school took you, and then the work, wherever you could make the biggest impact. “Where do you want to go?”

The solo cup hung in his hands, and he twirled it a bit, the rim of the cup pressed between his fingers. “LA, maybe. New York. Not sure, really. London, most likely, unless I can get a job and someone to sponsor my Visa so I can stay.”

“Do you like the states?” You knew you were asking a lot of questions, but you’d never had a conversation like this with him and you were curious. Curious about him, about who he was, underneath all the frat shit that he loved so much.

“It’s different than home,” he replied, and you understood what he meant. “I don’t think I’ll want to be here forever, but it’s good for right now. Got friends here now.”

You took another sip of your drink, and then pushed yourself up, the need to pee suddenly overtaking your body. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall. Make sure you slam on the door before locking it—it got fucked up during homecoming and hasn’t been the same ever since.”

You nodded and took your cup with you, four years of college ingraining some lessons into your bones. Down the hall, you found a blond wood door and a doorknob that was barely attached to the door. You pushed it open and shut it quickly, shoving against it with your shoulder so that you could flip the lock. Inside, you wondered for the millionth time why boys were in capable from having a properly stocked bathroom. Head & Shoulders shampoo littered the floor of the shower, a flimsy shower curtain that had come free from a couple of the rings. You squatted to pee, grabbing the toilet paper roll that sat on top of the toilet, no one even bothering to properly put it away.

As you peed, you scrolled through your phone. Mallory had texted saying she was going bar hopping with some of her friends and you told her to text you if she needed anything and a heart, before checking her on Find My Friends to see she was, in fact at a bar. Then you texted your group chat with Emily and Alexis and Maya, who had asked how you were doing. You told them you were with Harry and most likely going to be here for a while, which got excited responses and Alexis sent the eggplant emoji, which made you snort. They told you to text you if you ended up staying the night so they could keep track of where you were, which you agree to do.

When you went to wash your hands, you rolled your eyes because of course they couldn’t even buy hand soap. You went to the shower and found a bottle of body wash, and squirted some into your hands before going back to the sink, rinsing them off. Then you looked at your face in the mirror, eyeliner and mascara still in tact, but your hair was a disaster. You pulled the bun free and let your hair tumble down your back, running through it with your fingers to calm the strands that were askew.

Standing the mirror, you had the opportunity to consider your choices. Did you want to hook up with Harry? Yes. That was a clear answer, despite your alcohol-hazed mind. Did he want to? Most likely—every indication had pointed towards yes. So your mind was made up as you pulled the door open and made your way back to his room, your phone tucked into your jeans and solo cup in your hand.

“You guys really need soap.”

He was still sitting on the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone and sipping on his drink when you came into the room. At the sight of you, he put his phone down. “I know—it’s fucking disgusting. I have my own, though. Sorry for not sharing.”

You set your cup on his dresser, deciding you were done, and moved towards him. “It’s fine. I made do.” His eyes trailed down your front, the sexual tension thick in the room. When he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed on it, you decided fuck it you were done waiting.

You crossed the space between the two of you in second, slotting yourself between his knees. His hands found your waist immediately, his solo cup moving to rest on the table once your body was pressed to his. Without pausing, you pressed your lips to his, reconnecting them in a fire—you needed him, you wanted him, you craved his hands on your skin. Now that you were alone, it was like you couldn’t hold yourself together and neither could he. His hands moved up and down your back, tugging you into his chest as your hands curled in his long hair. Lips fought for dominance, teeth tugging and tongues pressing for more. When he licked into your mouth a wet moan left your lips and you pressed into the crotch of his pants without even meaning to.

6LACK was still flowing through the speaker, and the smooth RnB just adding to the desire rolling through your body. When his lips dropped to your neck, sucking and biting on your skin, a desperate, filthy noise fell from your mouth and you couldn’t help but smile when Harry grunted into you. “I—fuck,” he mumbled, squeezing at your hips.

Suddenly your clothes were too warm, burning against your skin. You leaned back and pulled at the hem of your tank top, pulling it up over your head and letting it fall to the floor. Harry’s eyes went wide, blown out irises from alcohol and desire criss-crossing over your body. “You can touch me,” you said, confidence coursing through your veins and just desperate for him to do something.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling you back into him and attaching his mouth to the swell of your breast, right above the lace of your bra. Hot breath on your skin had you keening into him, back arching up into his mouth, your fingers tugging into his hair. You loved his hair, having something to hold onto and anchor yourself, and from the pleased hums he liked it too. His hands fumbled with your bra clasp, and when he got it free and pulled the material away, he pulled your nipple into his mouth and you audibly sighed. When he sucked on it, then laved over it with his tongue you couldn’t help but buck into him. You were putty in his arms and he had barely done anything.

Your hands pulled at his shirt, the desire to see his skin overwhelming you. He didn’t make you wait, helping you tug it over his head, and let it drop to the floor. Black ink scattered across his skin, words and images that made a million questions swirl in your mind. The G on his shoulder, the ship on his bicep, the name Jackson scrawled above a rose, the swallows across his collarbones and a butterfly on his stomach. He sat there, chest heaving as he caught his breath and your fingers brushed his skin, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Y/N,” he rasped, “bed?”

“Yes.” The word fell from your lips with ease, and he was backing you into it immediately, hands in your hair and lips on yours. Your bare chests touching sent you into overdrive, the brush of your nipples on his warm skin, a sheen of sweat covering both of you from dancing all night.

The comforter was plush underneath your back as you scrambled up the length of his bed, his body following yours immediately. Your legs fell apart so he could fit between you, and when he did, his dick rested right against your clothed clit and it made you gasp. “Feel good?” He mumbled, the words a haze in your ears as he plucked your lips between his.

All you could do was buck up, your knees finding either side of him. You wanted to be on top, to be in control. You wanted to grind on him properly, after waiting for so long. With a hand at his chest, you pushed slightly, enough for him to move back. He must have understood what you wanted because he flopped onto the bed next to you, one hand on either of your thighs and you mounted him, your ass sitting on the top of his thighs.

When you moved your center over his dick, both of you groaned, deep and drawn out, your head thrown back in pleasure. It was bliss, after so much waiting, to finally be able to do this, his hands crawling from your thighs to your hips to hold you in place, exactly where he wanted you. You put your hands on his chest to hold yourself up, and let your hips find a sinful rhythm, one that was making pleasure curl in your stomach. Pants left your mouth, matched by Harry, who was watching you as if you were a fucking art exhibit, eyes trying to take in every inch of you. Fingernails curled into his skin, red marks that you expected to be there tomorrow, when he nudged at your clit, and you rubbed that spot a few more times, his name falling from your lips in a beg. “Harry.”

That had him moving, pulling your lips down to his so he could kiss you again, his fingers cradling the back of your head. It was just rough enough where you were scrambling to catch up and it felt good, that this was consuming every part of your brain. You rolled your hips again, your hands pressing into the pillow under his head. Then, you felt his thighs agains your ass, and he was pushing up into you, making him snugly flush against you, the only thing between you two being your clothes.

Which you wanted off, and wanted off now. You moved back, crawling between his legs, and his eyes followed you, panting as he watched you pop the button on his pants. He lifted his hips to help you and you tugged the tight skinny jeans that showed every inch of his thickness underneath them down his legs. Then, you pulled on his briefs, and he was bare in front of you, exactly as you wanted him. Your jeans were constricting your movement so you turned tot he side, pulling the denim off of your body so you were left in your underwear.

Then you were on him again, but this time, it was your hand on his dick, fingers running up the length of him.

“Fuck,” he said, voice husky in your ears. He was gorgeous underneath you, desperation making his eyebrows crease, his long hair a mess on the pillow. Why had you waited so long to act on this desire? You suddenly couldn’t remember.

He watched you spit onto his most sensitive part, and then slide your hand over him, spreading the moisture. He hissed at the feeling and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last long here—he was already hard, his tip red and throbbing. The fact that you had him this turned on and you’d barely done anything made your ego soar, to be honest. You pumped him three times before licking up the underside of him, his hands curling in the comforter, a stream of curses falling from his lips.

When you took him into your mouth, a low, rough grunt filled the room and you smiled. You hollowed your cheeks and immediately took him all the way into your mouth, resisting the urge to gag when he hit the back of your throat. “Shit,” he rasped. “You—shit.”

You’d done what you were about to give him just a handful of times before, only with people who you knew you would feel pleasure from too when they did it, and trusted. And Harry fit both of those categories, because he could fucking smile and you’d want to fuck him. So you grabbed his hand and placed it on the back of your head, before taking him all the way to the back of your throat. Your mouth was full of him and it felt so good.

“Want me to fuck your mouth?” His eyes were glimmering in the light, completely focused on you. You were happy you had left the lights on, because it meant you could every inch of him, every reaction you drew from him.

In response, you licked at his tip, hoping he knew that meant yes.

He seemed to, because he curled his fingers into your hair and pushed his hips up, his tip hitting your throat immediately. You groaned around his dick and he cursed at the vibrations. Then, he kept his hips on the bed and instead pulled you up and down him, fucking your mouth just as you had wanted. You couldn’t do much from this position, so you focused on inhaling through your nose and running your hands over his skin, scratching at the butterfly on his torso. Leaving reminders of this night, of you, on his body.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pulling you off. “I—I have to stop. But, shit, you feel so good, babe.”

The pet name made you smile, sitting back on your heels to wipe at your mouth, the taste of his salty precum still on your tongue. “Do you have a condom?” You asked, because all that you had done had left you more than ready—you needed him inside of you.

Harry’s eyes went wide and he scrambled up. “Fuck,” he exhaled, grabbing at his desk drawer and pulling it open. Watching him look through his drawers completely naked was, you had to admit, a bit amusing, but you kept your thoughts to yourself. He wrenched another drawer open, tossing the contents about as he looked. Then he sighed, and looked back at you. “I’m out.”

“Go find one,” you told him, leaning back against the wall, letting your knees drop open to show your underwear. You could feel the wet spot on them and you knew he saw it too. “I’ll wait here.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll—yeah I’ll find one.” He pulled on his jeans, not even bothering with his briefs, eyes flickering to you every once and a while. “Shit, I’ll—I’ll be back.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at how flustered he was, pushing open his door and letting it slam shut behind him. Through the door you could hear him knocking on the door next to his, some muffled words, and then him knocking again. He was going fucking door to door looking for a condom, you realized with amusement. Then, the patter of feet on the stairs, and you knew he was going downstairs, that no one else was in their rooms.

While you waited, you grabbed your phone and scrolled through it. Caught up on texts, liked shit on Instagram, checked Snapchat even though you barely used the app. Most people were at bars, as far as you could tell, but it looked like they’d set back up pong downstairs according to Emily’s story.

All of a sudden, feet pounded on the stairs and you knew it was Harry. You pushed your phone back onto the desk, and when the door opened, he was standing there holding probably ten condoms. “How many did you get?”

He looked down at the wad in his hand and visibly blushed. “I—I thought I’d re-stock.”

You let it slide, even though you knew exactly why he got so many. He was hoping you’d have a couple rounds, and you were not opposed to the idea. “Come here,” you said, and let your legs fall back open.

He was on you in second, his pants kicked down his legs as he moved and you were surprised he didn’t trip. Hands found your skin and he pushed you up the bed, this time he was the one hovering over you, lips drawing eager mewls from you. You pressed your hips into his unclothed erection and he cursed, a grimace crossing his face that you knew was from him restraining himself. “Can I take these off?” He asked, fingers pulling at your underwear.

“Please,” you replied and that made him smile at you. He peeled them down your legs, tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Then he brushed a finger over your slit and you gasped, cool touch sending waves of pleasure through you. “Need you.” The two words made his head snap up from where he was looking at your pussy, eyes connecting with yours.

“I was going to go down on you,” he said, and although the thought was tantalizing, you needed him inside of you.

You shook your head. “Later.”

Harry wasn’t complaining. He grabbed one of the condoms from his desk and ripped it open, rolling it down his dick with a concentrated gaze. Then, he crawled up your body, reconnecting your lips, and you both sighed at the feeling of his dick rolling against your center. “Okay?” He asked, pulling away just a hair to check in.

“Please,” you begged, and that had him moving immediately.

He tugged one of your legs around his waist, and then he gripped his dick, brushing his tip to your slit once, twice, three times. On the third time, though, he pressed in, and your wetness accepted him immediately, allowing him to push in about halfway before he stopped.

It burned a bit—mainly just from his size, which was bigger than most other guys you’d been with. You hands scrambled across his chest, grabbing at his skin, struggling to get your breathing under control. “You’re big,” you said, unable to stop the words that fell from your lips.

A cocky smile drifted over his face and you mentally kicked yourself for adding to his ego. “Can I move?” He asked though and you nodded. His head bobbed down, and you realized he was watching where you two were connected as he pulled back and then pushed in all the way. A choked moan left your mouth and a similar one sounded from Harry’s, although his had a string of curses attached. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he rasped, hands adjusting so they were next to your head, his face above yours. “Fuck.”

You were about to tell him to move when he did it on his own accord, pulling out and back into you, the impact making your body shift on the comforter. There was a very real possibility of you having sore legs tomorrow, but you really didn’t give a fuck because he felt so good. “Holy shit,” you babbled, those words the only ones you could find as he thrusted in and out of you, finding a rhythm that made you both pant with pleasure.

Sounds drifted out of you without you even realizing, something that always happened when you had drunk sex. You couldn’t control yourself as much, unable to process how loud you were being, what you were saying. Looking back you couldn’t even remember exactly what you had said, but you knew it was a mess of curses and his name and God and just pants and mewls that were feeding Harry like a fucking three course meal.

He loved your sounds, used them to figure out what you liked, where to move and shift. You could tell because when you’d let out a sharp gasp he’d say, “Yeah, there? That’s the spot?” and drive in and out of you, hitting your g-spot perfectly with every move of his hips. Your hands were clutching at his hair as he thrusted into you, your ankles hooked around his lower back, and your body was desperate for release.

But you could also tell he was not going to last. His eyes were heavy, eyelids drawing shut with pleasure, fingers curling in the pillow next to you. Shoulders tensing and abdomen tight as he swiveled his hips, a broken moan falling between you. “Close,” he finally said, and dropped down to his elbows, so his face hovered above yours, only a hair away. “You feel so good, shit, oh my god—how do you feel so good?” His words were broken and that made them even better, that he had no control over what he was saying.

“Want you to come,” you babbled, “want to feel it, come on Harry, come for me, please, I need it.”

“Holy fuck—“ that had him snapping into you, hips slapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin overpowering the music that still played in the background. You gripped his shoulders when his head hung in the crook of your shoulder, and you knew he was about to come.

So you said one more thing. “I need you to come, Harry, please.” The words came out as a beg, exactly as you intended. His hips were stuttering immediately, curses falling between you like a broken record, repeating over and over again as he shot into the condom. He smattered kisses on your shoulder as he collapsed into you, sweat sticking to your skin.

He laid there for a second, panting, and you didn’t mind, even though you desperately needed to come. Perhaps it was how you clamped down on him, or you shifted your hips to feel slightly more of him, but Harry seemed to figure out what you needed. He lifted his head, took one look at you, and then pulled out, ripping off the condom and tossing it into his trash before crawling down your legs.

When his tongue licked your slit, you mewled his name, your hands moving into his hair immediately. You tugged and pulled on it as he licked over you, drawing circles that pulled desire from your flesh. And then he went inside, darting his deftly skilled tongue into you and practically thrusting it into you. His thumb brushed across your nub and you let our a shuddering moan, bucking up into his face. You were close—insanely close—the combination of his tongue inside of you and the thumb on your nub drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Harry,” you rasped, voice broken from panting. “I’m close.”

He seemed double his effort, tongue moving in and out of you at double time, his thumb brushing a brutal pace over you. You were twisting in his arms, hips bucking, curses leaving your lips. And when he pulled his thumb away and sucked on your clit, that’s when you came, in a mess of his name and broken gasps, choking on air. Your fingers curled tightly in his hair, anchoring his face to your center as you came, bucking up into him. He didn’t mind though, he just held your hips and took it, licking at you to draw out all of your aftershocks. Your eyes squeezed shut and your mind was a mess, swirling without the ability to grasp onto a single thread of thought, just a mess under his lips.

When you finally regained the ability to breathe, you pulled your hands from his hair and he sat up. You watched in awe as he licked his lips, gathering your juice, and swallowed them, a smile on his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really good at that?”

He gave you a cocky expression and then flopped down next to you. “They have, in fact.”

“Good. I’d be concerned about the other girls if they hadn’t.”

He laughed, and then pulled you into his body. You were surprised at his desire to cuddle, but you weren’t mad. “You can stay if you want. There’s people downstairs still and it’s cold out.”

You propped your head up on his shoulder. “There’s also all those condoms.”

“That’s true. Wouldn’t want them to go to waste.”

You trailed your fingers up his torso. “Might have to just stay the whole weekend if we’re trying to use them all.”

His eyebrows quirked, but he wasn’t mad at the prospect. “Wanna be my study break for the weekend?”

You smirked, leaning up to quickly peck his lips. “As long as you’re mine.”

He hauled your body on top of his and curled his fingers into your hair. “We’ll get your shit in the morning, then.”

“It’s a deal.” You kissed him, lips slotting against one another, slower and less hurried than before, but that same undercurrent of desire stringing between you two. You were already grinding into him, hips brushing over his as you moved.

Suddenly, a pounding sound came from the door, and you froze. “Fuck off!” Harry called, pulling the comforter that had ended up at the bottom of the bed over the two of you.

“Fuck—sorry—I need a condom, man.” The words were muffled, but you heard them all the same.

Harry snorted, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Go ask Nick,” he replied, “and leave me the fuck alone.” His hands grabbed at you, kneading into your ass, and you licked at his nipple.

It was going to be a long weekend.

SEND ME CONCEPTS ABOUT Y/N AND HARRY!

#frat boy harry #frat boy au #frat boy fan fiction #Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing

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pascalpanic · 4 years

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Prom Date (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: It’s approximately 2030, and you were in the graduating high school class of 2021. Your boyfriend, Frankie, is slightly older than you and doesn’t know that you never got a prom, a graduation, any of it. Being the sweetheart he is, he decides that he needs to fix that.

Warnings: cursing, the tiniest allusions to Frankie’s drug problem and his ex-wife, cavity-inducing fluff

WC: 3.4k

A/N: Okay, this one goes out to the kids who don’t get the chance for prom because of COVID: that sucks. This is my fix-it fic for you! This takes place after the events of Triple Frontier mainly because I didn’t want to write Tom but as if it happened a number of years after it did in the timeline so it’s maybe around 2030 here and the heist happened in like 2028ish then? So Frankie’s the age he was then, separated from the mom of his kid, and getting maybe like 50/50 custody of her. Here’s my inspo for what Luna, Frankie’s baby looks like! Her mom is only briefly mentioned but that’s where the gray eyes come from, the brown wavy hair is all him 💖. Also, I think the nickname Thumper is adorable for little kids who have lots of energy (it was also my nickname as a baby) and so Frankie most definitely calls Luna “Thumper”. I also, naturally, have inspo for the reader’s dress and Luna’s, but the outfits are never described specifically so you can feel free to imagine what you want for their outfits! Additional note: I don’t understand children’s milestones so please just suspend your disbelief if Luna is doing something that’s not fitting for a kid of 22 months, oops. Biggest thanks to @lunasblipsandblurbs and @ilikechocolatemilkh for their help- there may or may not be two characters named after them in here ;) and as always, my trusty proofreader Miki (who’s a nerd and doesn’t have Tumblr)

Movie night was going as it usually did for you and Frankie Morales: the TV droned quietly in the background while you cuddled with him, sitting in his lap. The two of you chattered and made out instead of watching the movie. Somehow the conversation made its way to your high school experience. That was a long time ago now. Both of you were fully grown adults. Hell, Frankie had a baby, you were working on a Master’s degree, and the two of you lived in a house together. Your high school experience was far different from his, you two soon discovered. He had all of it; you had your junior and senior year during a pandemic.

Your boyfriend looks at you incredulously. “So you never had a prom?”

You shake your head. “I wish I did, but no. I cried so hard when they announced that it wouldn’t happen,” you admit with a sad smile. “My best friend and I still wore gowns and got dressed up, but we just took pictures in the park and ate Mexican food on the couch.”

“As much as that sounds like a blast, that’s so shitty,” Frankie chuckles and snuggles you closer to his chest. “Was all of your senior year like that?”

“Pretty much,” you nod. “Fully digital and everything. Didn’t even get the chance to go to my junior prom either.”

“Jesus. And you had the shit luck to be born into the one year where you didn’t get either?” He asks, rubbing your back and nuzzling his face into your hair.

“Class of ‘21, what a time,” you sigh. It was true- you were the one graduating class that the pandemic hit hardest. It had upset you at the time, but you had gotten over it by now. It was years ago anyway, that didn’t matter. “My luck can’t be that shit. I still have a pretty damn cute boyfriend,” you tease and lift your head, softly kissing his lips before breaking away and resting your head on his shoulder once more.

Frankie pouts down at you. “But you got all of that taken from you! Senior year was supposed to be the time to slack off and have fun. I took, like, two shop classes and one on basic aviation. Didn’t do anything,” he laughs.

“Even if I was at school, it wouldn’t have been like that for me, Frankie,” you chuckle softly. “I was taking a bunch of classes for college credits and everything.”

“I know, hermosa, you’re a nerd. Just play along with me this time,” he asks jokingly, jostling you around on his lap.

“Frankie,” you squeal and cling to him, laughing. “Fine. Poor me, I didn’t get anything from my senior year. It has haunted me and made my life a living hell.” You give him a fake pout. “Is that better?”

A smile covers his face as he looks at you. “Much better. Because now that you’re upset, I’m going to get to make it better. We’re throwing you a prom.”

You immediately frown. “Frankie, we’re adults now. Prom is not important to me the way it was then,” you try to reason with him, but you know your boyfriend. If he’s got a plan, you can’t get him out of it.

Frankie shakes his head and takes off his ball cap, setting it on your head teasingly. “Too bad. We’re having a prom for you, babe. You deserve it, a night all about you. Here, you know what?” He says, his face lighting up as another idea pops into his head. “We’ll do it for your birthday, since that’s coming up. We’ll have a birthday party-prom for you,” he says, absolutely beaming.

“No, Frankie,” you start to protest, but he cuts you off.

“Come on, it’ll be fun! We’ll dress Luna up, I’ll rent a tux, we can invite the boys,” he offers and the more he talks, the more you have to admit that this idea sounds like a blast. Your frown slowly eases into a smile as he talks. “Oh, you like it, this is happening,” he laughs and kisses your head, pulling you close to his chest. “Babe, will you be my prom date?”

“It’s not the most elegant of prom-posals,” you tease, “but it’ll do. Of course I will.” You nod and beam up at him. He kisses your forehead and the two of you return to watching the movie.

When the day, your birthday, rolled around, your first order of business was queueing the music for the night. Frankie had decided it was your night, and that made it that much easier for him to pin that responsibility on you. It was to ensure you liked the music that was playing, he had said, and he had half-heartedly meant it.

As you sat on the bed you shared with your boyfriend, bouncing his daughter on your knee, you filled out the playlist for the dance. “There better be some Fleetwood Mac on there,” Frankie says with a grin as he walks into the room, fresh from the shower. Luna, his baby, reaches for him excitedly and he picks her up. “And maybe something like Baby Shark for this one,” he teases and blows a raspberry onto her tummy, earning a giggle from his daughter.

You grin up at him and his little girl, laughing. “Luna’s only in it for the pictures, come on,” you say and tilt your head as you look at him. “But you’ll be happy to know that I put down The Chain as the first song of the night.”

“Yes!” Frankie exclaims and flops down on the bed next to you, Luna giggling as the two of them fall. She crawls over to lie between the two of you, enjoying being between her two favorite people. “Aw, is that your mama?” He chuckles, and you shake your head.

“Frankie, no,” you say and bite your lip for a second, looking away from the two of them. You know she loves you, and you absolutely adore her, but it hurts your heart that you’ll probably be nothing more than Dad’s girlfriend to her. “She knows that.”

“Hey, she knows the difference in you and Maria,” he shakes his head. “But that’s her mother, and you’re her mama, right niña?” he coos to the little girl and she giggles, burying her face in your stomach. It melts your heart. “Yeah, your mama.”

“My niña,” you murmur happily and pull her up to your chest, wrapping your arms around her. Luna relaxes happily as her head meets your chest. Frankie chuckles a little at the fact that your Spanish grammar isn’t entirely correct, but he doesn’t challenge your words. “Are you gonna tell me what your daddy is planning for tonight?” You ask her, teasingly nonchalant, before looking down at Frankie.

His face holds a little bit of a red flush. “I have no clue what you’re talking about,” he says, playing it cool.

“I know you too well, Francisco,” you tease and look down at him, rubbing Luna’s back gently. “You’ve got some kind of surprise plan for tonight, and I can’t tell what it is, but I know you’re planning something. You’ve got the worst poker face,” you laugh and cup the side of his face with your hand, enjoying the feeling of the stubble beneath your palm.

Frankie shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeats, but you can feel the way his skin warms with the lie. “I don’t have anything planned that you don’t know about,” he tells you quickly.

You simply smile at him and rub the side of his face. “That’s a blatant lie, babe. But I’ll let it slide, since I know whatever surprise it is will be a good one,” you chuckle and press your lips to his. He smiles back and cups your face too. Luna makes a noise of disgust and pushes the two of you away. You both laugh at her action and smile down at the little girl, a carbon copy of her father save for her eyes. She takes her tiny hands and puts them on either side of Frankie’s face, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Oh my god, Luna,” you laugh. “Am I not good enough for your daddy? Is he breaking up with me, is that it?” You ask teasingly.

“I’m getting you dressed up and treating you nice before breaking up with you, yes,” Frankie retorts sarcastically and rests his head on your shoulder, picking up his little girl and bringing her to sit between the two of you, perfectly fitting in the space where your thighs press against each other.

“You never know,” you shrug with a smile. Luna grabs your face and kisses your nose this time, and your heart melts. “Aw, thank you. We’re each getting some love, huh?” You ask the little girl and tug at her wavy brown whale-spout ponytail. “Well, I think you and I need to get all dolled up, don’t you think?” You ask her and she giggles excitedly, babbling an affirmation in her little speech pattern.

Scooting off the side of the bed, you kiss Frankie sweetly before picking Luna up. “Alright, Thumper,” you say with a mock groan. “Wow, you’re growing so much,” you say as you jokingly grunt at the effort of holding her. “You’re gonna be as tall as your daddy soon!” Luna protests that, giggling and playfully hitting your arm, mimicking what she’s seen her father do teasingly.

Frankie watches the two of you adoringly, his heart in his eyes. The two girls that matter most to him. “Hopefully not,” he shakes his head, chuckling and simply watching the two of you interact.

Frankie and Santiago did a wonderful job decorating, and the backyard is beautiful just as the sun goes down. Twinkle lights line the perimeter of the stone patio, and the night is a wonderfully warm dream, the colors of the sky absolutely stunning with tiny cotton wisps floating through. The boys are all dressed in their tuxedos, Frankie even omitting his traditional ball cap and putting some gel into his curls, and you beam as you and their dates take pictures of the four of them. They’re making the “delta” symbol with their index fingers and thumbs, naturally, since the Delta Squadron seems to be their favorite thing to call themselves. “You look like a bunch of sorority girls,” you call out over the already-blasting music, making Frankie’s face flush slightly.

“Santi’s hot as hell, but you sure got the cute one,” Lex, Santiago’s date murmurs to you, and you laugh at that. You wink at Frankie and he winks back, right as you press the button to take the photo. “Look at that, I mean come on,” she laughs and nudges your side. You two just met tonight, unsurprising since Santiago always brings new girls around, but you find her to be easy company. The Miller boys each brought a date, neither anyone you know, but the two of them stand separately. “And you, my dear, are just as cute as your daddy,” she grins down at the little girl holding your dress. “Okay, enough of these idiots,” she calls. “Time for couples’ photos! Moraleses, you first,” she says and scoots you (and subsequently Luna) towards the fence wall, decorated for the photos with fake vines, flowers and twinkling lights.

“We’re not-” you and Frankie both stumble nervously, avoiding saying ‘married’ or any word of the kind. You both give up as your eyes meet, and a smile falls across both of your faces. You give your head a little shake and the two of you dismiss it. The men disband from around Frankie and Luna runs to his side, him squatting down to pick her up. “Mija,” Frankie exclaims as she barrels into his chest, nearly knocking him over. “Don’t you two look wonderful, all matching?” he murmurs and presses a kiss to your lips before Luna groans and pushes your face away.

You laugh, both at his words and Luna’s actions. The toddler had insisted that the two of you match colors; your dresses were different, but the same hue, and you both had absolutely beamed at the fact that the two of you were dressed similarly, especially when she informed you that she wanted to look just like you. “And you, in your tux,” you smile and break away, straightening Frankie’s bow tie.

The group takes photos of the two of you as you converse and kiss, especially at Luna breaking the affection up with her tiny hands. You take pictures in different poses: where you stand now, Luna standing on her own, you and Frankie in the classic and cheesy prom pose, some with just you and him, him and Luna, just you and the little girl, who absolutely thrives under the spotlight given to her by the adults. Benny comments like she’s a model walking a runway, and she giggles, hiding her face in the tulle of your skirt. You keep an eye on the level of the sun in the sky, since Frankie’s mom is coming to pick Luna up later to allow the party to last as late as you want it to.

As the pictures are finished, you go to the ledge where you set your phone, starting the first song for the dance part. Just like you promised Frankie earlier, it’s The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. All of the boys holler excitedly as they recognize the song, grabbing their dates and starting to dance with them. Frankie picks up Luna and starts swaying her along to the slow beginning; naturally, with a father like hers, she already knows the tune and shouts along to the words. You walk over to the two of them, singing already, and Frankie takes your hand, giving you a little twirl. You happily follow along, grinning at his little girl resting against his chest. She’s tired already, and you’re not surprised; despite the excitement of getting ready, it’s past her typical bedtime. He sets her down and she runs off to find her Uncle Santi, dancing with him, and Frankie takes you in his arms, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs with you.

As the song draws to an end, the second song comes on: a slow one, the song you and Frankie have always loved. His heart speeds up as he thinks about what he’s about to do. He signals behind your back to the older Miller brother, who finds his way to your phone and turns it down a little. You lift your head from his shoulder at the change in volume, clearly upset. “Will, why the hell did you turn it down?” you call across the backyard, and he simply shrugs, holding the best deadpan he can. Frankie pulls away from you, probably to go knock him upside the head, you assume, but the look on his face confuses you. “What?” you ask him, looking down as you notice Luna has once again attached herself to your leg.

Frankie takes a deep breath then grins at you, and your confusion is just as strong. You ask him the same question, tilting your head, and you notice that the rest of the couples have turned to stare at the two of you. “Mi amor, you know how much I love you, right?” He asks. You nod, a small smile on your face, still confused. “I adore you, with everything in me. The most important thing in my life, my little girl, she loves you just as much. I know I’m a difficult man. I’ve done some messed-up shit, been a junkie, been a recovering idiot basically,” he chuckles softly, “but you never care about that, just about who I am now. You’re so wonderful, so perfect,” he tells you, the softest smile on his face. Your heart starts fluttering. Where did this monologue come from? What is- oh, you realize, and the smile drops. His drops too and he pauses, but you grin again, even wider, and he picks up his train of thought.

“Do you have it, just like we practiced?” He asks as he looks down at Luna, who nods and giggles excitedly. She’s holding something, something she wasn’t before. “Buena, mija,” he nods and ruffles her hair. She hands the object to her father, quickly enough that you can’t see it, then runs off to clutch at Benny’s hand, leaning against him. Your heart stops in your chest as you see what he’s holding: a small, rectangular box covered in velvet. You go to say his name but the words die before they can exit your mouth. “Will you do me the honor,” he begins asking as he falls to one knee and taking your hand, “of becoming my wife, of letting me marry you and be with you forever?”

Tears well in your eyes at the love in your heart, your face hurting from how wide you’re smiling. He opens the box to reveal the ring inside, simple and elegant yet stunning, just like the relationship between the two of you. You go to tell him yes, to affirm the feelings inside, but your voice breaks. “Yes,” you say, your voice watery and cracking. You nod frantically and he takes the ring from the box, sliding it onto your finger. He stands and you immediately take his face in your hands, kissing him desperately and happily. You giggle into the kiss, and the men and their dates behind him break into whoops and cheers. You laugh as you break away, forehead falling to Frankie’s tuxedoed chest, before looking up through watery eyes and holding up your hand excitedly. Everyone cheers again and you laugh again too, hugging him tight. “Frankie,” you coo lovingly as you break from his chest and look up at him. “This is our senior prom. We’re just kids,” you joke. “You really want to marry me this young?”

That earns a belly laugh from him, shaking his head. “Shut up,” he teases back, spotting Luna’s excited bouncing. “Come here, Thumper,” he calls and waves her over. You both squat down and beckon her over, and she once again zooms into both of your arms.

“Mama and daddy getting married,” she squeals in her little baby voice and it melts your heart, her tone filled with contentment. You nod and squeeze her and her father tighter.

“We sure are, kid,” you laugh and stroke her head. “You’re gonna be my flower-girl-of-honor, right?” You ask and pull away from the hug. She nods excitedly.

“Flower-girl-of-honor?” Frankie asks and tilts his head.

“Well, she can’t just be my flower girl, Frankie,” you say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s my daughter, right?” you ask her, earning a happy nod. She agreed.

Later, Frankie’s mom indeed came and picked up her granddaughter, absolutely beaming and telling you that she was glad her son finally got the balls to propose. You had both laughed at that, thanked her once again for watching Luna for the night, and returned to the dance floor.

The party seemed to last all night, you and your new fiancé and the rest of the attendees having the time of your lives. “Well, this is the best prom I’ve ever been to,” you tease, grinning up at Frankie as the two of you slow dance. He just chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and singing along to the words of the music playing. “Oh my god, it was a prom-posal,” you gasp as the pun hits you. “Jesus, why did I do that?” he groans sarcastically. “That pun is gonna haunt me the rest of my life now.” “Just like I am,” you sing happily, grinning so wide your nose scrunches. He laughs and shakes his head at that, but pulls you closer into his chest. “You just made a promise you’re not gonna wanna follow through on, Catfish,” you tease. “I’m gonna make your life so miserable.”

Frankie sighs at your sarcasm but smiles contently as he looks down at you. “I don’t think you could if you tried, hermosa,” he tells you before bringing his lips to yours for a sweet kiss.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #benny miller #william miller #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝓣here was an ask meme going around about what scene was the sole inspiration behind your entire story and someone asked me what that scene was for Only Human and well it’s in this chapter and I will let yall guess which one it is :)

If you’d like a preview of Chapter 12 right now, you can join my patreon here! All proceeds will be donated to BLM. Thank you so much for all the love and support with this story ❤️

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER ELEVEN: ALL MY LOVE (4.7K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

If she thought she was miserable before, there was nothing quite like quitting Harry Styles. Especially when his concerned texts had stopped, and especially when she had to hear about him every night since she’d made her decision to never end up in his bed again. It became a regular thing that Will came home with news about Harry’s album and how things seemed to be going really well.

Without her, she thought. Things were going well now that he didn’t have her hanging onto him all the time like a little parasite.

Keeping her distance was hard, but she knew it would be better in the long run. Even if she had to have a few days of trouble getting out of bed. And crying herself to sleep again. She’d deal with it. It was better than living in a fantasy world with Harry.

Some of his things still took up space in her room. A grey hoodie from Randy’s Donuts, a pair of his socks. His house keys. The former she unfortunately found herself sleeping in once or twice. She hated herself for it, but she needed something. It was like switching to vapor to try and kick a smoking habit. Still not great, but not as bad as letting the addiction run its course.

She kept his keys in her nightstand, where they’d always been, but now they were just a bitter reminder of the last decent day they’d had with each other.

There were no regrets in her mind when she looked back on all of it. Maybe falling for Harry was a contender, but she wouldn’t take back any of their nights together if it meant she didn’t have to deal with her shattered heart. He’d helped her so much more than he even knew. He’d opened her up, showed her that not everyone’s hands had bad intentions. And most importantly, she learned to trust him, with her secrets, with her body, her entire life.

Two entire weeks had passed since she’d seen Harry and it only just began to hurt a little less. Still, Fridays and Saturdays were the hardest for her to get through because they’d been her favorite nights with Harry. By the third week, post-Harry, she had finally stopped thinking about him every hour until Will backpedaled all her progress at dinner on Tuesday night.

“I’m throwing Harry a surprise party at his house on Saturday.” He’d started, taking a bite of his chicken before continuing, “All of us in the studio with him put it together since he finally hit the halfway mark with writing. It’s not done but I know how hard it’s been for him so we felt like it was time to celebrate something, you know. Anyways,” he took another bite, “you’re all invited. Especially you.”

Will narrowed his eyes at Y/N, being the most aware roommate out of them all to know that she’d only been in a good mood a few days after the last party he took her to. She was back to hiding in her bedroom most days after that, so much that the past two weeks he wasn’t even sure if she was still alive at times. Something had clearly looked up when she finally joined them for breakfast and he was taking full advantage of it.

“I um… don’t think I can do another party at Harry’s.” She cringed, all the bitter memories of her last couple days with Harry flooding back.

Will sighed, recalling their conversation in the car the morning after. Maybe it wasn’t his best idea to invite her to another party Harry would be at, but if it would get her to do something besides work and hibernate, he’d take it. Besides, she said she didn’t like Harry that way and Will believed her. “It won’t be like last time.” He assured, “It’s mostly just people from the studio and his manager and stuff.”

She considered it. Maybe Harry would be too distracted with everyone else to pay her any attention. It didn’t take long, but she didn’t even want to try feeding Will excuses not to go. She wanted to see Harry again. And she hated herself for it, for not letting him go like she’d promised herself to do, and for stupidly being excited about seeing him again.

The ‘For Sale’ sign was still up in front of his house. Will talked her head off about it too, about the apartment Harry had shown him last week that he saw the ocean from.

She hated every second of it.

When they walked through the doors and she spotted how everyone else was dressed, she felt a wave of insecurities crash on her. Nobody was dressed as formal as she was, and maybe she wasn’t all that formal objectively, but she almost never wore dresses. Everyone was in jeans and polos or casual button-ups. A couple of women had on dresses too, but not quite like hers. They definitely didn’t wear heels either. She hated Will for not telling her she didn’t need to dress up, but, glancing over at him as they walked side by side into Harry’s kitchen, she realized she should have known better. He was also in jeans.

Some of them looked at her while she stood awkwardly beside Will, but luckily it wasn’t long after they had arrived that Harry was due back and the surprise part of his party got set into motion. There weren’t many people at his house, but they still hid everywhere they could, in his kitchen behind the island, crouched into corners together so that they weren’t visible from the front door. Everywhere it was physically possible to hide they did.

Except for Y/N. She didn’t want to see everyone happy for him. She didn’t want to know about how great his album was going to be or who he’d written his songs about. And she didn’t want to be among the faces of people he worked with, feeling so fucking out of place in her stupid fucking outfit she’d worn for stupid Harry who still didn’t fucking like her.

So she went someplace where she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. The room that welcomed her like a warm and unconditionally loving hug. Where she felt a wave of relief. Where she felt safe, sitting in his armchair at the end of his bed, staring out over the city lights in a way she didn’t think she would ever again.

She had no clue if he’d ever come up here and find her and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to. She just wanted to see the view one last time before it was gone forever.

The shouting from downstairs caught her attention because it was clear he had finally arrived. He could enjoy his night celebrating something huge for himself, even if it was only a small step in the making. She’d be out of his room before he found her in it anyways.

At least, that had been her plan. Just a little while longer and she’d leave. Spend the rest of her night stealing hopeless glances at him from across the room until she’d finally had enough and begged Will to take her home. That was the plan.

But it didn’t go as well in real life as it did in her head. Not when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and she panicked. She stood before they got there, spinning around the room for someplace to hide but it was no use.

Harry stood in his doorway before she even got the chance to think of another plan. Instead, he caught her red-handed in the middle of his bedroom, alone.

“I, uh…” she pointed her thumb over her shoulder at his large window, “wanted to see--”

“The lights, yeah.” He nodded, finishing her sentence. She couldn’t help the hurt inside to see the smile stripped completely from his face the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“What happened to you? You packed all your stuff and never answered my texts.” He took a step closer, his voice a little more commanding.

“I can’t do it anymore, Harry.” She mumbled, and he stopped walking towards her, completely taken aback by her words.

“Why not?” He breathed, feeling the heartbreak of the last few weeks without her all over again in his chest. He had even got so bad that after constantly turning down Will’s offers to hang out at the apartment, he nearly found himself begging Will to invite him over just to see her, but he knew that would have been a mistake. She needed her space and the way he’d felt about her after she told him to forget the kiss was more than enough to keep him away. He needed his space to stop being so mad at her.

But seeing her again, it all came flooding back.

She let out an exasperated laugh like he should know why. “You kissed me. And then?”

With his eyebrows furrowed, he came back at her twice as hard. “You told me to forget about it. So I did. Why are you mad at me for doing what you asked?”

He was right and there was no denying it. There was no more arguing with him about it. She dropped her shoulders and stared out the window again. “Can you please just tell me you did it because you were drunk? So I can move on.”

“Move on?” He snapped, his tone harsh enough to get her to look at him again, “You moved on from me the second I got home from New York, Y/N.”

She started to panic again, but this time there was no possibility of escaping. She had to face him, with or without tears in her eyes.

He continued while she was quiet. “I slept with her because I couldn’t sleep without you. I don’t understand how you’ve not realized that.” He continued.

“I don’t care who you sleep with, Harry.” She practically yelled at him and it took every inch of his self-control not to leap across the room when he realized she was crying.

“That’s the problem.” He deadpanned, keeping himself grounded instead of letting his emotions get the best of him like they always seemed to do.

“Harry!” Someone unfamiliar to Y/N shouted from downstairs, garnering both of their attention. “Hurry your ass up already!”

Pinching his bottom lip between his fingers, he turned back to face her, finding the tears that had spilled gone from her face like they’d never been there to begin with.

“I need to get dressed.” He explained and she quickly maneuvered herself out of his way. Not saying another single word to each other while she left his room and snuck back into the party she didn’t want to be at.

Glances were, in fact, shared between the both of them. Mostly because he wasn’t finished with her yet and in reality, neither was she with him. She could wallow in her self-pity all she wanted, telling herself Harry never liked her this or it was all in her head that. But she was fucking lost again without him the past couple weeks. Her only regrets now were leaving and she’d take it back in a heartbeat if she could. Just get over herself and be with him anyways because if she truly did not care who he slept with, she wouldn’t have let that stupid text message get the best of her.

She wouldn’t have spent every morning in the mirror telling herself she did not have a face Harry could ever love and bringing herself down for no fucking reason at all besides finding comfort in her own miserableness.

Hindsight is a bitch though.

The party died down sooner than his last one had, after they brought out a cake with a photo of Harry on it from long before Y/N knew him, possibly when he was sixteen or seventeen, she’d assumed, and then they proceeded to shove his twenty-five-year-old face in it and start a cake throwing war in the middle of his poor kitchen. That was when things died down. When some went home because they had children or were covered in cake and it was getting late, and others, who didn’t get absolutely pummeled by chocolate cake, stayed talking amongst themselves in his living room with empty glasses of champagne.

Y/N, on the other hand, was in an almost lifeless position beside Will on the bar stools at the island counter, barely listening while he and Harry and some others discussed stuff she knew nothing about all while Harry was still trying to get cake out of his hair.

She felt the agitating urge to clean up the rest of his kitchen, too, mostly because she couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. And maybe if she and Harry were on slightly better terms, she would be.

It was when Will’s phone rang that it finally got a lot quieter. There was still music playing softly in the background and chatter from others in a different room, but once Will took the call and left them all alone in the kitchen together, it was almost silent.

“You’re going to need to shower for like… forty minutes to get that all out,” Glenne teased. Y/N had learned she was Jeff’s girlfriend, and that Jeff was Harry’s manager. And she thought about how well all three of them knew each other and for how long while Glenne ran a strand of Harry’s messy hair between her fingertips to remove some stuck-on frosting.

“Forty minutes is a typical shower for him, try two days,” Jeff scoffed, poking fun at Harry’s expense.

“Heyyyy,” Harry grimaced, pretending to be offended as they both fucked with him, “stop taking the piss, I’m not in there that long.”

She hated that she agreed with Jeff. Harry did take long in the shower.

It felt weird, though, just watching them all interact, like she was someplace she wasn’t supposed to be. These were Harry’s friends and she was nobody to him, at least not publicly. And maybe not privately either. She had no clue how Harry felt about her, if he wasted any time even thinking about her at all anymore when she wasn’t around.

But then all eyes seemed to land on her. “Sorry, I forgot your name, um…” Glenne looked like she was reaching for something across the counter in front of Y/N while she tried mentally sifting through all the names she had to remember.

Harry answered before anyone could, however. “It’s Y/N. She’s… Will’s roommate.” Harry’s eyes went from Y/N, to Glenne, and finally landed on his manager. Giving him a look Y/N didn’t quite understand. Mostly because she was too focused on how cold he’d been talking about her, like she really didn’t mean a thing to him at all. She was just Will’s roommate to him. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling like it was more than she deserved from him.

“Y/N! Right! Can you hand me that phone right there?” She pointed to a discarded iPhone with a blue case that had been sitting in the same spot for quite a while, and Y/N returned it.

She didn’t say or do anything else after that, just slipped out of her chair, grabbed her purse and started walking away from them to find Will. She’d sufficiently had enough.

But when she reached the foyer, where she distinctly remembered Will running off too, he was nowhere to be found. She looked around for him a few moments more before pulling her phone from her purse to call him. Before she could, though, she noticed the text from him that had been sent five minutes prior.

(Will, 12:03 pm)

I’ll come back to pick you up. Sasha called, her mom’s in the hospital.

Her first reaction was shock, hoping that whatever was going on wasn’t too serious. And then she realized she was stuck at Harry’s after having already made her exit. She didn’t want to be mad though, Will had an emergency and it wasn’t like she hadn’t spent countless nights in Harry’s house before.

This was just one night she didn’t really want to spend here any longer.

And instead of waltzing herself back into the kitchen, she stepped outside for some fresh air. Or rather, she leaned into the doorway because it was far too cold to spend any length of time outside.

“Where’s Will?” Harry’s voice appeared from behind her and she twisted around quickly when he startled her.

“He had an emergency.” She slowly stepped back inside his house. “Said he’d be back to pick me up later.”

“Oh.” He paused, swallowing the nervous pit in his throat while whatever bottled up anger towards her that had been festering washed away. Seeing her standing there alone reminded him of every single one of her secrets she’d shared with him and even if he was mad, she didn’t deserve to be treated poorly by him. “You know you can stay here.”

She nodded, crossing her arms around herself and avoiding his eyes.

“I want you to stay.” He added once he got closer to her and her breath caught in her throat. He wanted her. Those words and the sweet smell of chocolate cake in his hair and just… him being near her again like this was enough to make her dizzy.

She thought about saying a million things to him, but settled on something that was classically her instead. “And I want you to take a shower.”

It was possibly the first time in weeks that she’d seen his smile. A genuine, dimply, toothy, Harry smile that made her hate all the time she spent missing out on it.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He pointed his index finger at her and she nodded just before he ran upstairs, taking them two at a time.

She didn’t like his house as much with all the people in it she didn't know. Not a single face she recognized as they littered all the places she and Harry had once been. The middle of his living room where they danced together. His kitchen where he’d given her a glass of water the first night they slept together. His couch where he’d given her the keys to his house.

Sighing, she found a spot where she could be by herself and texted Will back not to worry about her, that Harry was letting her sleep on the couch. Stretching the truth was something she did well when it came to Harry after all.

More people left, being seen out by Jeff and Glenne instead of Harry until what few people remained lingered on the sofas around her, drinking the last bits of wine he had left to offer and watching the logs burn out slowly in his fireplace.

Jeff plopped himself down beside Y/N and Glenne next to him, and while she was wrapped up in a conversation, he leaned slightly towards Y/N, keeping his voice down.

“Harry told me about you, you know.”

She looked up from her phone, a bit frozen in place as she slowly craned her neck over to him. He looked at her with a reassuring smile even though she was terrified to death. What exactly did Harry’s manager know about her?

“He’s been a pain in the ass recently thanks to you.”

“What?”

Before Jeff could explain anything, Harry was making his boisterous entrance back into what was left of the party. All cleaned up this time though with fresh clothes on and dampened hair. He looked like he’d just been working out with water leaving a sweat-like appearance on his forehead and what could be seen of his chest. He was still just as hot coming out of the shower and she mentally smacked herself for thinking it.

“Not saying that you all have to go home, but you do have to get the hell out of my house now.” They all laughed at him for a short while until everyone who had lingered to say their personal goodbyes and final congratulations to Harry started trickling off as he walked them all to his door. Jeff and Glenne were the last to go, but eventually she was alone again.

And she stayed on her phone until she heard his front door close and the familiar sounds of him pressing the code into his security system keypad. Her stomach did all sorts of twists from somersaults to cartwheels knowing it was just the two of them alone again. Knowing he was closing up his house while she was still in it. That she wasn’t going home tonight as planned after all.

“Are you sleeping in here?” He asked once he’d reached the open entrance to the living room, hovering his hand over the control panel, waiting for her before he shut off all the lights.

She pulled herself up from the couch after taking a deep breath. They were doing this again. And she knew damn well whether or not anything had happened with Will that she was going to end up in his bed somehow anyways. He followed her up the stairs and into his room again, lifting his fingers to graze her arm and get her to stop once they were smack dab in the middle of it.

When she turned to see what he was doing, his entire mood had shifted. He wasn't fun, bubbly Harry right now. He stared at her the way he had before he kissed her, except this time they were both completely sober. And maybe that’s why she let him take one step closer. She let him reach his hands around her back and carefully pull the zipper of her dress down.

“You still clean up nice,” he whispered, sending goosebumps all across her skin, “but you look even better in my shirts.”

Without even thinking, he pulled the shirt he currently wore off and over his head, handing it to her like a peace offering. But he just hoped she still needed him enough for at least one more night of their bullshit. He hoped she wanted him too, as much as he wanted her and he hoped that this wouldn’t even come close to being their last night.

They stared at each other while she switched outfits, his eyes never wavering from hers while she changed. Not that he didn’t want to look, but that he didn’t expect her to do it all right there in front of him like she had never done before.

“Better?” She asked once clothed again, her dress in a familiar pile on his floor.

He just nodded, slowly, and like he was in some kind of trance, especially when she turned on her heel and went straight for his bed. Getting in under the covers on her normal side and patting the empty space next to her for him to join.

Swallowing thickly, he slipped in beside her. Just like old times.

She turned on her side, facing her back to him and scooting herself right up against his front, grabbing his wrist to pull his arm over her and his body closer. All the cold words they had exchanged earlier in the night melting right away.

They got used to each other again, folding arms around each other so that there was no telling where Harry ended and Y/N began. He breathed in the beachy scent of her hair and she felt his heart beating against her spine. The three weeks she thought she could quit Harry were a total waste when they fit together just the way they always had. Like puzzle pieces who needed each other to finish the bigger picture.

Harry shifted slightly behind her and she felt the brush of his lips at her ear.

“You know the songs are about you, right?” He spoke softly, forcing her eyes to shoot open. And when he did it again, he said something that truly made her heart burst into a million tiny pieces of rainbow colored confetti. “Know you’re the one I’ve been in love with all along, don’t you?”

She twisted her head around to face him, to meet him a lot closer than they’d been since his last party. To look into his eyes and make sure he was being serious. And when she felt his heart pounding against her upper arm and his eyes steady as ever, she knew he wasn’t fucking around.

All he had to do was take one glance at her lips for her to twist herself just the tiniest bit further and mend them both back together again. This time there was no alcohol, there was no doubt or self-pity. No rock between them.

She slid her hand up his neck to his jaw, pulling him in while she arched her back against him to reach his lips properly. His own hand found a home at the side of her face as well, rubbing gentle strokes across her cheek as they finished where they left off all those nights ago.

Except this time, he had actually said what he needed to say to her before it was too late.

She felt him start to pull her onto him, as slowly as he possibly could. He gauged every one of her reactions just to make sure he never pushed her too far. And when she was half on top of him with her leg wrapped around his and one of his hands on her waist, things got a little deeper.

She held his face in both her hands, breathing heavily every time she got the chance to before going right back in for more. And his lungs burned too, moaning against her lips every time he lost his breath.

This time when she pulled away, it wasn’t to apologize or give him a look like she regretted it. Instead, she laughed and let him get some oxygen back into his system.

He had her again not even seconds later, though, and she was too wrapped up in it to even care about anything else. She’d save it all for the morning. Right now all she wanted was his lips and his hands on her lower back, wrinkling the fabric of her shirt in his hold so much that he exposed her pale pink underwear beneath the covers. She didn’t really care about that either.

What she did care about, however, was when he snuck a hand up underneath the back of her shirt, feeling his fingertips on her bare skin there for the first time ever. And instead of feeling scared, she opened her eyes slightly and saw him. That it was Harry she’d learned to trust. To touch her, to hold onto her secrets, and keep them safe. And he made everything so much better than it already was.

She explored his body a little bit more too, grazing her hand over his chest while he kissed her harder. Feeling his heartbeat in her palm and then his biceps tensing beneath his skin.

She let him undo the clasp of her bra, both hands around her back to get it off within a second, even while he was distracted. He knew she didn’t sleep in it, so he was only doing her a favor. Because now was not the right time to do anything he wanted to. There were still a lot of unsaid words and he really couldn’t keep his eyes open much longer anyways.

They separated again when she pulled away to remove the straps and throw the thing off the side of the bed while he grinned at her.

Coming back to him, he caught her face in his hand before she violated his lips any further. “I could kiss you all night, but I’m genuinely exhausted,” he whispered sleepily.

She shook her head at him, “And people say I’m the lightweight.” Scoffing, she instead settled into his side, resting against his chest in her familiar spot and watched his chest move up and down rapidly until he eventually caught his breath and fell asleep.

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#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #onlyhuman

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random-mha-thoughts · 5 years

Text

Murphy’s Law (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comedy/crack

Summary: Bakugou just wants a peaceful date with you and promises to tone down his aggression, but things don’t always go his way.

Word count: 2,206

Inspo: This tik tok

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: I absolutely love writing these comedy/crack style plots, they’re so fun! They just fit so well with Bakugou’s character, what can I say?

Starting next post, I’ll finally be posting some spicy content ;) Not nsfw exactly, but I’d give it a PG-13 rating if I had to.

Anyway, its 3 am and I’m about to pass out. Enjoy~!

"You smell like...cherries?" Bakugou takes a deeper whiff of the crook of my neck. "No, wait... Vanilla?"

I bite my lip, trying not to chuckle too hard and disturb his adorable sleuthing.

"I got it," he moves up to stare me right in the eyes for my answer. "Coconut." When I nod, he smirks victoriously. "I knew it." He peppers my face and neck in soft kisses, his grip on my waist tightening. "Admit it, your boyfriend is amazing."

I tilt my head and scrunch my eyes. "You're...okay."

His grip turns into erratic twitches as he tickles me. "Just okay, huh?"

My breath is stolen by laughter. "Okay! You're amazing!" I curse his knowledge of my ticklish spots.

Bakugou ceases his mischievous torture and returns to our original cuddling position: his one arm on top of my waist and the other enveloping my shoulders as I rest on his chest. We bask in the silence of each other's warmth and breathing, the faint sound of his heartbeat thudding in my ear.

His warm fingers draw patterns against exposed skin near the hem of my shirt. "We haven't been out on a proper date for a while, we should go this weekend," he proposes out of the blue.

I mull over the idea. We've both been busy with training, and we both mutually agree that we prefer spending more intimate time with each other like this than being out on a formal date. "What brought this up?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"It's just a random thing, no big deal," he snorts, trying to pass it off casually, but I know him well enough to know better.

"You saw Todoroki taking Midoriya out, didn't you?"

I hear the clinking of his teeth as he clenches his jaw, taking that as a positive response.

I sigh, loosing draping my arm onto his chest. "Katsuki-"

"I just wanna make you feel special, okay?" he blurts out, terse but affectionate in his own way. "I don't want you to think I don't care about you or that you're missing out on things other couples do. I'm your man, you deserve more."

My fingers softly trail up his arm. In other words, he feels like he's not doing enough in our relationship. I peck his lips. "Okay, let's do it. But let's not go somewhere too fancy. I don't feel like dressing up and all that. Besides, you're too...excited for those quiet places."

His eyebrows furrow. "Whaddaya mean by that?"

I want to chuckle at his defiance. "You get very easily riled up. Sometimes, you just need to tone it down a notch."

Though he pouts, he mutters, "I'll be on my best behavior, promise."

The weekend finally rolls around. The Sun shines brightly, there isn't a cloud in the sky, the temperature is brisk, nothing could possibly go wrong.

Bakugou agreed to meet at noon so we could go out for lunch at this cute outdoor restaurant downtown. I dress in a somewhat-fancy-somewhat-casual grey sweater, black leather pants, and Chelsea boots. While I'm deciding on what accessories to style with my outfit, there's a knock at my door. I glance at the clock, only then realizing it's 12:30, and rush to the door.

Bakugou stands in the doorway, looking like an absolute snack. For some reason, he's dressed in a crisp white button down, fitted black slacks down above his ankles held up by black suspenders, and brown dress shoes. Slack jawed, I barely have a second to comment on how amazing he looks before he storms into my room and I catch a whiff of his cologne, wanting to shower him with compliments.

"Katsuki-"

"I woke up late, I'm sorry," he growls, throwing a black strip of fabric around his neck and making a beeline for my full length mirror. He's trying to knot a tie around his neck, I realize. "My alarm didn't go off for some stupid reason, and I wanted to wake up early to get you flowers before coming here. This date's already ruined and I'm not even ready- AND THIS STUPID TIE JUST WON'T TIE PROPERLY!" Clearly, he's already worked up and his tie won't cooperate with him.

At first, it's cute watching him struggle, but I realize he's genuinely bothered by this entire situation. I wrap my arms around his torso from behind. "Babe, it's fine. We're not in a hurry, just take your time." I assure him softly. "I was just finishing up myself."

At the sound of my voice, my boyfriend releases his tension in a sigh. "You're right. I promised I'll be calmer today." He finally finishes tying his tie and smooths it over.

I smile and kiss his cheek to comfort him. "You look so handsome."

A light blush colors Bakugou's cheeks as he runs his hands through his hair. "I did it for you, dummy," he admits in the softest voice.

We stare at each other in the mirror fondly for a moment, and I ruffle his hair. "Let's go, whenever you're ready."

As we're getting ready to leave the dorms, Kaminari and Mineta are playing some sort of weird game in the hallway with Mineta's purple spheres where Kaminari tries to hit them with his lightning.

One of them flies past Bakugou's head, just missing it, and he almost goes off. "I swear if one of those things hits me in the face, you idiots are-!" Cutting himself off at the end, he takes a deep breath. "I'm calm, I'm calm. Let's just get out of here."

It's cute watching him struggle to stay calm for my sake.

And it doesn't get any easier. Somewhere during the walk over to the restaurant, the sprinkler system turns on in someone's lawn and managed to almost spritz Bakugou's crisp outfit. He says nothing and holds in his complaints, like a true trooper. The next thing to go wrong is the train getting delayed. Such a small nuisance is too much for the boy, as evidenced by the wild tapping of his foot on the floor to the point where some of the other passengers stare at him.

"If I could use my quirk, I would've just blasted us out of here to the restaurant," he mutters in my ear.

I squeeze his hand in mine. "You're doing a great job, babe."

The smile that appears on his face is absolute bliss.

After the train finally moves and we reach our stop, we make our way through the city hand in hand, talking only to each other.

"You've out-dressed me, Katsuki. Where did these clothes even come from?"

"My mom always told me a formal outfit is a staple," the boy shrugs in response. "I just didn't want to wear the jacket because it's still daytime."

In the back of my head, I realize that Bakugou seems to have an unconscious eye for dressing presentable, he just chooses to wear joggers and a T-shirt all the time.

"I just figured we were going to a nice place and I wanted to look good, you know?" he continues. "Even though everything's kinda gone to hell so far today."

My heart melts for how hard he's trying, and I decide to hug his arm for comfort. "You're doing amazing. I'm having fun just being with you so far."

In return, he kisses my forehead. "The date's not over yet, we still need to eat." He takes out his phone. "I just need to make sure we're going-"

We collide into someone who's not watching where they're going, and, unfortunately, Bakugou's phone gets knocked out of his hand. Almost in slow motion, we watch as the poor device crashes against the concrete face down. I can feel his grip on my hand tighten as he growls and picks up the phone, hoping for the best, only to realize there are now spidery cracks across the surface.

I hold my breath for the inevitable outburst, which doesn't come. A vein pops in Bakugou's neck and a muscle jumps in his jaw, but no sound escapes his lips except an extended, harsh exhale. "Can I check it on your phone, babe?" he asks through clenched teeth, and I offer to be navigator myself out of pity.

When we finally get to the restaurant, we sit down and have our meal in peace. The blond seems to relax as food slowly fills his belly and we carry light conversation with each other.

"You finished all the rolls already?!" I guffaw, covering my face to keep myself from being too loud, "Were you that hungry?"

"I told you I got up late!" he growls, ripping off a piece from the last roll, "I haven't eaten yet all day."

I take his hand from across the table. "And you deserve it, with the day you've had so far."

Smooth as a criminal, he kisses my fingers gently, "At least you're here. But you shouldn't give me your hand so easily, I might bite you because of how hungry I am." He jokingly starts play biting my hand, making me laugh again. And just for a moment, our eyes catch each other's, sharing our affections wordlessly.

Until something - or someone - crashes into our table.

Both of us get to our feet instinctively and inspect the damage. The person who had crashed our table is a male waiter we recognized moving around since we've been here.

"That man is a villain! He's trying to rob the place!" one of the staff announces from across the room.

The man slowly tries standing on his feet, catching onto the closest thing to help himself. Which happened to be Bakugou's pant leg. Looking up, the sorry villain realizes he's just sealed his fate.

Bakugou's face is crimson with impatient rage, bottled up from the entire day and ready to explode onto the nearest victim.

"What. The actual. Fuck?" he murmurs from deep in his throat down at the villain, who's eyes are widening as he registers he might actually be facing a devil. The boy's breathing gets ragged. "You have exactly," he pulls and undoes the knot around his neck in one swift movement, not breaking his malicious glare on the villain, "Two seconds," he throws the tie aside and slides his suspenders off his shoulders, "Before I blast you into oblivion," the top buttons of his shirt are undone.

"I-I'm so sorry I interrupted your date," the villain's eyes widen as he slides backwards into the broken table. "Y-You two must've been having a good time-"

"Damn RIGHT we were!" Bakugou bellows, sleeved already folded and he's pushing them up past his elbows away from his hands. "Now you're gonna DIE!"

As hot as it was watching my angry boyfriend slightly undress, I don't want him getting in trouble doing something illegal. I grasp his taut elbow, avoiding his forearm. "Katsuki, just leave this for the pros to deal with, don't get yourself in trouble."

He slowly calms his breathing, but still eyes the man with a murderous glint as we back away from the situation.

We silently eat our sandwiches on a park bench. Bakugou's gnawing and mashing his food to get his anger out, his tie hanging out of his pocket since he couldn't be bothered to re-tie it around his neck, or readjust his outfit.

I quietly admire his rugged appearance and let out a small chuckle.

He shoots me a look. "What're you laughing at?"

"I'm just thinking how much better you look when you're all undone like this," I remark, finishing the last of my own sandwich, "You looked too uptight before, this is way more casual."

My comment is met with a smirk and a huff as he uses one arm to pull me so close to him, I might as well be on his lap. "Is that your way of saying I look hot all angry like this?"

"Maybe." With that, I steal the last bite from his sandwich.

Bakugou sets the wrapper aside and hugs my waist with both hands, setting me properly in front of him so I can look him straight on. "I'm sorry I lost my cool like that. I promised I'd stay calm for you today, but nothing even went right all day and then that mess happened."

His ashamed expression makes me plant a quick kiss on his lips, allowing a light blush to appear in its place. "You're amazing, Katsuki. You've had such crappy luck all day and you managed to hold in your anger for most of it. But, while I appreciate the effort, you really didn't have to." I wrap my arms around his neck affectionately. "I love you and all your hotheaded screaming, you dope, no fancy dates or rules needed. Don't feel like you need to do more for me when I just need you."

A heart-melting smile spreads across Bakugou's face as he rests our foreheads together. "I don't deserve you, babe, you're the best I could ever ask for." Our lips join together in a sweet kiss for a moment.

I break it with a chuckle. "Honestly though, I really would've liked to see you smash that guy's face in."

"Me too!"

#Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou imagine #crack #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha fanfiction

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kcrinas · 4 years

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hi sexies ! i’m dani ( she/her ) , 21 & i’m from the gta aka ur messy canadian wassup 🤠 thank u guys sm for applying all ur muses are so beautiful & im sm in love already ! i rly wanna plot w every single one of u so pls give this a like for permission for me 2 come bug u for plots ! 🖤 karina’s info & wanted connections r under the cut !

karina maji was spotted in the fashion district adorning gucci leather ankle boots , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to don’t stop by meg thee stallion . you may know them as @karina or as that mishti rahman lookalike . their twenty - fourth birthday just passed . while living in tribeca , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be tenacious but on the other hand quixotic . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cisfemale / she/her + dani / 21 / she/her )

* 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 :

full name : karina aarvi maji .

nicknames : kar , rina , maji

age : twenty - four .

gender : cisfemale , she/her .

sexual orientation : pansexual .

hometown : chicago , illinois .

occupation : professional mma fighter / instagram model .

zodiac chart : aquarius sun , gemini moon , scorpio rising .

character inspo : alicia mendez ( kingdom ) , cristina yang ( grey’s anatomy ) , princess jasmine ( aladdin ) , megara ( hercules ) , alyssa ( the end of the f*cking world ) , kat stratford ( 10 things i hate about you )

* 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 :

tw : death , accident , drugs .

karina’s life began in chicago , illinois . born where her parents spent their life , grew up together & eventually ended up married . it was the perfect love story , best friends - then lovers - then soulmates . tied for life , married young , in their mid 20′s . but the love between the two of them never faltering once even after another 10 years pass .

her mother , was a highly sought after model . her father , one of the most legendary ufc fighters in the league . the maji’s were considered royalty to the tabloids , their love story inspiring many . their life was seemingly so perfect , a dream to many . & when they found themselves blessed with a little girl after five years of marriage , it just made them an even more “ perfect ” family .

karina was treated like a princess , her parents adored the ground she walked on & karina did the same with them . she was well - behaved growing up , knowing how lucky she was to be living so luxurious , something her parents taught her to appreciate since she was old enough to understand . they drilled gratefulness into her head by the age of five . it was a very rare occurrence where karina would fight or disrespect her parents .

they lived in chicago for many years , a way for them to keep their roots established while raising karina . & have more privacy than living in their career hubs would give them - aka , nyc or la . it was much more accessible for her father to work out of chicago , but for her mother , there were many hours spent travelling between chicago & new york . too many .

( tw death , plane crash ) it was the mere age of 17 , when karina’s loving mother never returned home from her trip to new york . tragedy struck when her plane crashed due to pilot error . the day that changed not only karina’s life permanently , but her father too . both their hearts broke into two that day .

she wondered for months how she could possibly continue life & living without her mom in it . & the older she got , the more & more the feeling invaded her . through every life experience she had afterwards she wished with everything in her that her mom was there next to her .

karina went from a happy , extroverted & polite girl to a closed off , sardonic & enigmatic woman . it was as if the light was taken out of her body & she turned into someone unrecognizable .

( tw drugs ) it tore her dad apart , after taking a year off to mend , he fell into a spiral of alcohol & drugs , and he never went back . his career completely ended . to this day , her dad hasn’t stepped foot in the ring since her mother’s death .

her senior year of high school - karina fell into that same spiral . using cocaine , xanax , weed & booze to cure her broken heart . & she felt like it did , for a little while anyway . by some miracle , she graduated with her diploma . but that didn’t mean much anyway , karina wasn’t going to college , she knew exactly what she wanted to do with the rest of her life .

karina grew up religiously watching her dad fight , she’d seen tapes of every single one of his fights before she was old enough to watch them & from before she was born . religiously trained & boxed with her father every sunday since she was eleven . she learned the ins & out at a young age , & fell in love with the sport the second she took her first swing .

she fell even more heavily into training after her mom passed , spending practically every single day honing her skills & building herself to follow in her dad’s footsteps & become one of the best fighters the ufc has ever seen .

began building her career at eighteen by moving to new york city , she was signed by the age of 20 . suddenly appearing in the tabloids , there was something about her that seemed to bring in people’s attention . mma fans or not , she gained a large following on social media .

suddenly , she was getting sponsorship offers left & right . whether it was mma related or sugarbear hair , she was getting them . karina took the ones that paid her well , & her following just seemed to keep rising every day after that , basically became considered an “ influencer ” along with her other title .

at the age of 21 , karina became one of the youngest female ever to be signed by the UFC . this was a big deal to her , as it’s a dream so many fighters wish for . something it takes years of hard work & dedication to accomplish . something she worked her entire life for .

she’s been fighting with the ufc for the last three years , loving every minute of it . the intense training , the fights , the interviews , it all gives her a rush she can’t explain . something drugs couldn’t give her , which she’s required to get tested for every once in a while , usually before a fight . she’s found her ways around using without it ruining her career and/or getting caught . let’s see how long that lasts .. ; - ) ksjndfsfd

with all the money that she’s reigned in the last few years from the ufc along with her instagram sponsorships , she’s sending a lot of it to her father , considering his “retirement” fund is basically non - existent while he stays cooped up in their chicago family home , surrounded by memories of her mother . while karina stays resided in her cozy tribeca home , only steps away from her training gym .

* 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 :

karina is a v hard nut 2 crack . she’s closed off , sardonic & doesn’t really converse much with strangers

it’s basically been her & her dad since her mom’s passing , so she’s very hard to get close to . but once u do , she’ll never let u go .

she’s loyal to a fault , because she’s always afraid of people leaving / d*ing .

she’s trying to branch out & make more friends since moving to tribeca , but she truly doesn’t open up to anyone . if she opens up to you about her life or her past , she truly trusts u , & that means something

she tends to come off as intimidating or .. bitchy , even when she doesn’t mean to . her personality just tends to be dry . she tends to have dark humour , so she has to be careful who she makes jokes around skndfkk

sometimes tends 2 stir up drama even by accident . nskjkf

if she’s not training for a fight , she’ll be out partying every night . dancing on tables & probably getting herself kicked out of whatever bar/club she found herself in that night . doing what she can to get drunk or feel any type of high , whether that be drugs or waking up next to a stranger .

she’s heavily into fashion & always posting cute outfits on instagram , something that caused her following to grow .

she’s lowkey a hopeless romantic ... seeing how her parents fell in love , but it scares tf out of her because of their ending . & she’d literally never admit this to anyone ever .

she’s a new muse & i’m still developing her but i have sm muse so i’m very excited & i rly hope you guys like her !

* 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 :

ok hello if u read that long ass messy shit ur a baddie 🖤 anyway , for wc’s , i literally have so many !! they are all listed here @karinawcs , so take a peek & if you like any of them lmk bc i have tons of headcannons / ideas for all those ! hehe ily let’s plot

#10 yrs later hfdkskf #sry this got so fkn long ...#plot w me pls 🥺🖤#wealthyhq:intro

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kayrogers · 5 years

Text

to all the girls i've loved before ][ p. parker

a tatbilb au

Paring(s): LJ!tom holland x PK!reader

Inspo: TATBILB cause Peter is a total soft boi and also I'm a slut for rom-coms

Word Count: 1700+

Warning(s): cursing and awkward kissing

Part: prologue | part ??

A/N: this has literally been a draft in my notes for like over a year, but college has been creatively hitting me in the stomach with a baseball bat so I only wanted to start it when I got a semi-break. Obvs updates will not be regular just like everything else I write because I am the worst, but I mean thanks in advance if ya read it!

‘ Dear [Y/n] [Y/l/n],

First of all, I refuse to call you [Y/l/n]. You think you’re so cool, going by your last name all the sudden. Just so you know, that only makes you one of the guys. That’s it.

Did you know that I didn’t stop thinking about our kiss every time I saw you in school for at least the rest of seventh grade? Sometimes I think you do. Because you always seem to know everything. And you always smile when you see me blushing like you know you’re the reason why. That’s what I hate about you. Because you do just know, or at least you act like it. You’re too cool to be bothered by anything, or be wrong EVER.

Well here are some things you don’t know that I think:

You swear all the time and say the grossest things. I’ve heard every dirty joke Flash has ever made, and you beat him without trying! And you just assume everyone will think it’s cute cause you’re a pretty girl and you curse. And if they don’t, who cares, right? Wrong! You care. You care a lot about what people think of you.

You always show us bugs you think are cool and it’s gross. That’s terrifying and I hate when you stick them in my face cause I’m grossed out. It’s rude.

You’re so good at everything. Too good. I have to try harder around the guys to be half as cool as you.

You kissed me for no reason! You knew Flash wanted to kiss you. Everyone knew that Flash wanted to kiss you. He made all of us spit-shake on not kissing you if we ended up in the closet for 7 minutes in heaven because he liked you. But you still did it. Why? I wanted my first kiss to be special, and with my future girlfriend. All romantic, you know? That’s what it was supposed to be. And it wasn’t any of that. Thanks to you it was the most un-special kiss it could be AND I got my ass kicked by Flash!

The stupidest part is, that kiss made me like you. I never did before. Didn’t think of you as anything but one of the guys. Flash has always said you’re the prettiest girl we know. And yeah, that’s true. But I still didn’t LIKE you. Missed the hook that every other guy was on in middle school. A lot of people are beautiful. Doesn’t make them interesting or intriguing or cool.

Is that why you kissed me? Cause I was the only one who wasn’t wrapped around your finger? Well it worked! Ever since then, I saw you. I mean really looked at you. Behind every scratch, bump, and bruise from whatever sport you were playing, I saw you. How you weren’t just beautiful, that word isn’t good enough. You just exist effortlessly.

And yes, I did go through the thesaurus for that adjective. You’re hard to describe, [Y/n].

After you kissed me, I liked you for the rest of seventh grade and almost all of eighth. It’s not easy watching you with Flash. It’s also not easy when he shoves it in my face all the time cause he doesn’t like me anymore. So thanks for that! But I get it, if I had you I wouldn’t be able to shut up about you either. You make him feel special. Because that’s what you do, right? You’re good at making people feel special.

But not me anymore. I haven’t really seen you over the past year. And any time I do, you’re with Flash. Your spell has worn off [Y/n] [Y/l/n]. I am proud to say that I am once again the only boy in school to not be hooked into you. All because I got too much of you at once and now I don’t think I’ll want to be under that spell ever again.

What a relief!

Peter Benjamin Parker ’

You felt your brows furrow, cheeks equally red from a shyness you hadn’t felt in years and slight anger. Clearly he wrote this years ago, but why send it now? Right after Flash cheated on you?!

Did he like you? Did he hate you? Why did you care? It was just Peter-fucking-Parker.

You purse your lip, placing the letter back on the desk. Your blood boiled, heart skipping a beat. Every single reaction in your body was opposing and you hated how much it affected you.

So what would be the best course of action? To act like it didn’t effect you at all. At least, that’s what you saw as the right decision. It’d be easy, just let Parker down and tell him you didn’t feel the same. Because maybe that’s what this was? Maybe Peter did fall back “under your spell” and now that you were finally single he had to tell you? That was the only idea which came to your mind anyways.

You looked over at your closet, eyes focusing on your favorite shirt. It was a white crew neck sweater decorated in the entomology of beetles, and you decided you would be wearing that to turn him down.

“Don’t like my bugs? Yeah okay, Dickhead.” You muttered and pulled the item out before forming the rest of the outfit which consisted of running shorts and sneakers. Classy, right?

You took a picture of the letter before folding it back up and placing it into the envelope. Why? Well not that you’d admit it, but you were never complimented like that before. And that part of the letter made you feel kinda nice actually. He paid attention to you back then, which could have been sweet once upon a time. Now? Now you didn’t know how to feel about it and that bothered you immensely.

Later, in school, You mulled over how you would confront the boy. It was weird, really weird. You and Peter hadn’t really talked since middle school and the most the two of you interacted in high school was you apologizing for Flash being a dick to him about 24/7. And now he was apparently infatuated with you once and you had to tell him that you didn’t feel the same. But as the clock ticked on, you knew you had at least one class with him and that was gym.

You anxiously gripped the letter in your hand, jogging along the track and looking for a familiar set of brown curls. It didn’t take long for you to catch up with him, spotting Peter and Ned half-walking the whole thing while the gym teacher wasn’t looking.

“Yo Parker! Wait up a second.” You called and his head whipped around, his eyes instantly going to your sweater.

‘Do bugs really bother him that much?’ You thought and held back a frown before shrugging it off. There were more important matters.

“Nice shirt! Is it accurate?” Ned instantly chirped up and you let yourself smirk, he always had such an excited demeanor in a way that could light up a room if anyone bothered to notice him.

“You think you’d catch me wearing pseudoscience? What the hell do you take me for?” That smirk grew into a smile as you spoke to Ned, not noticing the pale color staining Peter’s face. Because while you were focused on Ned, Peter was focused on you.

Specifically, the letter in your hand.

“You’re right, I apologize. What brings you over here anyways? You usually lap us twice by now.” You looked over to Peter while Ned talked, watching how he was unable to even look up from your hand.

“I wanted to talk to Peter, actually… alone?” You scratched the back of your neck while Ned let out a big ‘ohh’ and quickly made himself scarce.

The boy looked more nervous than you had ever seen him, running his hands through his hair so much that every knot could have been plucked out by now.

“What um- what’s up, [Y/n]?”

“Listen, I’m gonna make this quick to save both of us the awkwardness. I think it’s really nice that you think I’m one of the prettiest girls in our grade and stuff… but me and Flash just broke up and I really don’t see you that way-”

The only thing you heard from him was an exasperated ‘what?’ before practically watching the boy fall in slow motion. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and you gasped out loud when his head hit the ground.

“Oh my god, Peter!” Dropping to the ground after him, you immediately move his hair from his eyes and wave your hand in front of his face.

“Are you okay? Parker? Do you know your name? What day is it?” You gave a choppy version of the concussion questions your coaches asked after a particularly bad hit to the head, panic evident in your eyes.

‘Did I just concuss this kid?!’ you thought wildly.

Slowly, he sat up, taking a couple breaths while you kept your hand on his shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” he said exasperated and you watched his eyes grow twice their size as he glanced to his left.

Storming towards the two of you was a recognizable scowl, an envelope in her hand. Michelle Jones. She was MJ to you, once upon a time, but you couldn’t think of the last time the two of you said a word to each other.

“Oh god!” Peter rolled his eyes, grabbing your attention yet again.

In a blink, the boy had managed to grab your waist and pin you underneath him, one hand was gently caressing your head while the other wrapped underneath you. You couldn’t even take a breath before his lips were on yours, surprise flooding your system. His lips were soft and you hadn’t even realized how your body instantly reacted to him as if you had done this a thousand times before, kissing him in a quick but simple rhythm. But once your brain did register it? You grabbed his face, separating the two of you.

“Parker, the fuck?!-”

“Bye!” He blurted out before letting go of you and running off at a speed you didn’t even think was possible for him.

So this left you, alone, confused, and strangely breathless on the ground.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

taglist(s):

tatgilb -

permanent -

@ultrunning @jesseswartzwelder

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #tatbilb #tatbilb imagine #tatbilb au #au #spiderman homecoming #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine

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beardedniall · 5 years

Text

Package Deal (Part One)

Author’s note: A collection of moments when your dog is secretly stealing your mans. I have many more ideas, that’s why the “Part One”. So please tell me if you liked it and if you want me to write more about Niall & Nala. The doggo in this one is based on my own pug, including the name. Let me know if you wanna be blessed with pics of her, hehe. Again, thanks to @undertheniall for giving me inspo.

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: none

---

“There’s my good girl,” you heard your boyfriend’s voice unusually high-pitched voice and the clattering of your dog’s claws on the wooden floor as she scuttled and jumped around to greet him. Once he had gotten rid of his coat and kicked off his shoes, he made his way to the living room where you were sitting on the couch working on your laptop, followed by the pug girl that was still jumping up his leg to get more cuddles. Niall stopped for a second, bent down and took her wrinkly face between his hands.

“Gotta say hi to your mom too,'' he explained to her before kissing her nose and standing back up.

You drew back your head as he tried to give you a kiss once he had reached the couch.

“Are you trying to kiss me right after you kissed the dog?”

His arms supported himself on the backrest left and right next to your shoulders while his face with a pair of raised eyebrows was centimeters away from yours.

“You kiss her all the time.”

“Yeah but it’s different to get the germs right from the source.”

“Huh, alright then,'' he sulked playfully but before he could get away from you, you wrapped your hands around his neck and pulled him towards him, involving him in a soft kiss.

As he leaned into your touch, you could feel a hairy ball trying to shove your notebook from your lap as she squeezed between the two of you. Her wagging tail tickled the back of your arm, causing you to flinch and let go of Niall.

“Nala, you’re a little shit, you know that?” you giggled as you pushed her off of you and back on the couch.

“Ya gotta accept her love, babe.”

“I think she’s here for you, not for me.”

You were mainly joking but there was some truth to your words. Within a few months, your dog had become a part of your relationship. It went without saying for you that you couldn’t be with anyone who didn’t want her as well but it got to a point where you sometimes thought Niall was more in love with her than he was with you, even though they hadn’t had the best start.

In the beginning, he had been struggling a little every time you and Nala had been over. His OCD had kicked in when she had lost her fur all over his house and since she was allowed everywhere at your place, she hadn’t understood why she couldn’t simply jump on his couch to join the two of you. The couch dilemma went from her being allowed when she sat on top of someone after a week, to her own blanket where she could lie a few days later to utter freedom now. At this point, she even slept in his bed when you were gone or when she sneaked in in the middle of the night. The only thing that was still off-limits was chewing her bones on any surface that was fabric.

It had been really heartwarming to watch how they had grown close to each other over time and how she had helped him deal with his OCD. Nala had stolen his heart as quickly as you had and even though Niall still liked his house clean, he didn’t feel the need to wipe his floor each time your dog walked from the kitchen to the living room. His vacuum cleaner was still in use every day when she was around, though.

“It’s because I’m the one giving her food,” He explained why she apparently loved her more than you.

“Too much of it.”

“But she looked hungry,” he defended himself before giving Nala the final piece of her treat.

“She’s a pug, she’ll always give you big eyes for food.”

Her happy chewing made you a little less angry at Niall for fattening her.

“When do you give her a treat though? Only when she does something right?”

“Yes, that’s what they’re for,” you chuckled before squatting down to get on your dog’s level, “You really know how to wrap your daddy around your little paw, hm?”

She only looked at you with a tilted head and a wagging tail.

“Did you hear that, Nala? I’m your daddy now. Took me three months to get there.”

You hadn’t expected him to notice the little nickname you gave him but you were relieved that he was embracing it instead of being put off.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for that rank.”

“Are ya kidding? ‘m spoiling her all tha time.”

“Oh yeah, to her you’ve been her daddy all along. She loves you.”

“As much as you?” he asked you with a smirk on his face as he watched you and Nala cuddling on the floor.

“At least.”

You stood up and sneaked your hand under his shirt to place it on the small of his back while he put his arm on your shoulder and pulled you in for a kiss.

You were just taking in his scent with your face buried in his collarbone when a stinging pain rushed through your side.

"Nala what the-"

Your dog was climbing you as if you were her personal jungle gym, looking down at you with her fore-paws on your arm and the other two still pressing into your side and onto an organ that felt like you’d definitely need it. She moved forward over your chest until she decided to lie down, her butt hanging off your upper arm while her face was lying on Niall's shoulder, subtly pushing your head away.

"Someone's clingy," your boyfriend chuckled and started to stroke her favorite spot behind her ear, making her stretching herself and rolling over. After a few more seconds of getting spoiled, she opened her mouth wide in a yawning motion. Both of you turned your heads away immediately and held your breath for a moment until the bad dog breath was gone.

"Your dog is filthy."

"She's your dog too now."

Niall's big suitcase lied on the bed while he was rummaging through his walk-in closet to get everything that he needed for the next few weeks. All the outfits he would wear for promo were Ellie's concern so he only had to think about what to wear when he wasn't giving interviews or playing small gigs. But even that seemed to be a challenge judging by the big pile of shirts on the bed and the shoes lying around on the floor. No wonder, considering how many clothes he owned. After a while of picking out, taking a closer look and putting back, the sound of claws clicking on the wooden floor let him know that a certain someone was looking for him. Nala wiggled her whole butt when she found Niall in the bedroom and ran towards him before she jumped on the bed to be closer to him. A few wet pug kisses later, she climbed on Niall’s thighs who had sat down next to her by that time.

“I gotta pack, you cheeky devil,” he explained to her while scratching the fur behind her ear. Her response was lying down properly and supporting her head on his knee, exhaling loudly to let him know that she was comfortable now.

He sighed and picked up one of the shirts that was already lying on the sheets to fold it and put it into his suitcase.

“There’s gonna be dog hair all over these.”

Nala only yawned before cuddling into his lap again. After he had packed everything he had chosen so far, he looked down at the little pug, a feeling of pity hitting him before he carefully picked her up to lay her down on the bed so he could stand up. Her legs were kicking him, trying to get her out of his grip, until she stood on the duvet and could treat him with an offended glance - that’s how he interpreted it at least.

He got back in his walk-in closet to find the last pieces of clothing, hearing Nala reorganising the sheets in the background. When he reentered the bedroom a few minutes later, he let out a hearty laugh. Instead of being cuddled up in the blanket or the twelve pillows that decorated the bed, Nala had made herself comfortable in his suitcase right on top of the shirts that now weren’t only hairy but wrinkly as well.

“Listen you little monkey, I’ll be back in a few days time, okay?” Niall tried to comfort her while getting her out of the suitcase on onto the bed again, “And you’ll stay here with your mom anyway so you don’t miss me too much.”

Her big brown eyes looked up at him, her head slightly tilted as if she understood what he was saying before he let himself fall on the bed and embraced her in a hug.

#niall horan #niall horan x reader #niall horan fluff #niall horan imagine #niall horan fanfiction #niall james horan #niall horan oneshot #niall horan blurb #my writing #niall x nala

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smolfangirl · 6 years

Text

A little fresa story V

This is it. The last fresa part. It’s been taking ages to finish, but it’s here now, and I might be a bit emotional. I have lots of people to thank and credit tho, so I’ll save my breath :D

Thanks and/or credit go out to:

@huffletiika for the date night idea and the patience with my attempts at Spanish

My roommate for the actual, very true quote about answering a phone

@miris-xo for, well, everything

A gif from the TV show Bones that I can’t find rn even though I tagged it for this purpose :( but it was my inspo for the scene where Matteo comes home

Also @lutteoheart for the basic idea for the last scene with Aurora, I changed quite a bit, whoopsie

And, dear mortals and bots, one last time: @ac-ars and @sky-girls used the name Rory first. I used my own brain to end up with this name (also because of my roommate who is obsessed with Gilmore Girls and keeps trying to talk me into watching it), which is why I didn’t give them any credit.

Word count: 5.6k

///

“Can I say something weird?” Her voice is nothing more than a whisper. Luna leans against Matteo’s chest, so close to him that their conversation moves on quietly and calm. His hand softly ruffles through her hair while their favorite movie flickers over the TV screen. He ordered their favorite pizza and even lit some candles to set the mood for this special evening.

But somehow, Luna isn’t feeling any of it.

“Weirder than your comment last week? What was it?” Matteo pretends to think, the amused snort impossible to miss. “It’s strange when you pick up the phone and someone answers?” Her idiot fiancé chuckles and wiggles away from the finger she tries to poke him with. “Hey, you have to admit that was priceless. High-quality comedy, even.”

Luna grunts. Moves away a bit, until he pulls her back into his arms with a laugh as warm as her hands when she hides them in the sleeves of his hoodie. “Okay, okay, I’ll let it go. What did you want to say, little moon?”

With a sigh, she stares at the empty crib by the sofa. “I miss her.”

Glancing up at him, she discovers a sad smile on his face. “I miss her too.”

“Does this mean we’re a horrible couple or just good parents?”

Matteo rests his chin on her head, releasing a heavy breath. “I don’t know… but is it too bad if we drive to your parents and pick her up?”

She wants to answer immediately, she wants to grab her jacket and the car keys and walk out of the door. Her leg already twitches towards the ground, because she misses her little sunshine this much. She wants to hold her in her arms and cuddle with her until one of them falls asleep.

But something holds her back.

Something; the dreams, the ideas, the plans that added up for this night during the past days and weeks. It doesn’t matter that none of them received the luxury of turning into reality. As long as she can indulge in his voice when it drops as he’s almost breathing the words, as long as his touch fuels her heart, Luna is fine with whatever they do in those few sacred hours alone.

Or that’s what she thought.

Because in this moment, the house feels empty. Lifeless, almost. Every decision, every minute is about their daughter since she was born, she’s the fixpoint they both revolve around. However, now that she’s being spoiled by her grandparents tonight, Luna’s mind runs all over the place like a Ferris wheel on the loose.

“I don’t know,” she finally mumbles. “I miss her, but this is our first date night.”

“I don’t know either.” A pause. “You know what’s funny? Gastón was so sure we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves, but we haven’t even made out like lovesick teenagers yet.” His lips hover over her, way too pointed. He’s being dramatic, like he loves to be, but it makes Luna giggle, and when she catches a breath a minute later, her shoulders are less filled with tension.

“How about this, chico fresa? You can try to kiss me, and in an hour, we’ll see if we still want to give up and get her?”

Matteo raises an eyebrow, the hand in her hair frozen. “Try to kiss you? Are you planning to resist me?”

“Well, there’s some popcorn waiting in the kitchen…” Luna explains while she struggles to get up. However, his grip on her tightens and with his best smug grin, he leans in to press his mouth on hers, a slow, savoring kiss that says, ‘I know you’re not serious about resisting me’. The second one steals a sigh from her and by the third, she surrenders to the soft movements of his lips.

///

When Matteo lets go of her to finally prepare the popcorn, the last minutes of the movie play. Luna sits through the credits without seeing them. Her mouth tingles from kissing him endlessly, but also from smiling so much. It almost hurts – or maybe that’s just her stomach protesting for a snack or two… (Since when does she feel snacky only two hours after dinner?)

Eventually, she gives in and follows the sweet smell into the kitchen.

Wrapping her arms around Matteo’s waist, she asks him how much longer they have to wait to get the bag out of the microwave.

“Always so impatient, munchkin,” Matteo teases her, without giving her the satisfaction of an answer. She snuggles closer to him and grins, “Except when it comes to marrying you.”

He shakes his head. “Rude and uncalled for.”

“Aww, I’m sorry, my chico fresa. But see, I wanted to talk to you about that anyway, and you just gave me the perfect set-up.”

In a smooth twirl, he faces her to lift her on the counter, so they’re eye to eye. Luna hurries to send him a smile, because if she wants to avoid one thing, it’s any doubt in his mind about her love for him. “I was thinking, what if we, hypothetically I mean, hired a wedding planner? One of these fancy people with lots of connections and the weird talent to make literally anything happen, no matter how extraordinary. Like these tv shows? I mean, we could still focus on Rory without having to postpone the wedding again. It might strain our budget a bit but,” she says, although Matteo doesn’t let her finish.

“You know the budget is no problem,” he replies before he caresses her cheek.

The noise of the microwave cuts through the silence, mixes with the obnoxious pop song from the movie credits. Yet his gesture alone turns this moment into something precious, intimate. Like the popcorn or the DVD-player don’t matter. Don’t exist.

“If you think a wedding planner can help us, we’ll hire one,” he adds.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

This time it’s her who pulls him close for a kiss. And when the microwave gives off a little pling and he attempts to break apart, she waves him off, whispering the popcorn can wait.

Eventually, they stumble back to the couch. Too lost in each other, it’s a miracle already that they’re not dropping their snack left and right. Luna selects her favorite scene from the movie but looses track of it quickly when Matteo starts feeding her and rewarding her for every bite, with a peck on her hand, her shoulder, her neck. She pays him back by throwing a piece of popcorn up in the air for him to catch.

He throws one for her next. Back and forth, it soon turns into a competition filled with laughter until her stomach hurts and her lungs plea for more oxygen.

“Try one more time,” Matteo instructs her, barely breathing after her last failed attempt. The piece of popcorn he catapults into the air hits her nose and falls on her cheek from where she catches it with her tongue. “Not bad,” he presses out in between more hysterical giggles, and in revenge, Luna threatens to hide some sugared corn in his hair.

Shrieking, he ducks. “Mercy on me, please!” he begs, hands lifted in surrender. (Luckily for him, the bowl is almost empty anyway.)

“Hmmm…” Slowly, Luna moves closer to him until his breath tickles her skin. “What would I get for giving you peace?”

“Always so demanding, little moon.”

She rests her head on his chest again to glance up at him with her best puppy eyes. “That’s not an answer, Matteito.” For a moment, he returns her gaze, speechless. Then, a smile unfolds on his lips. “You know, I could show you the final cut of the music video. But only if you promise to not get any of this sticky stuff close to my hair.”

“Deal.”

///

Contigo todo cambió

Veo un mundo diferente

Dejé de sentirme solo

No cerraré mis ojos nunca mas

Estás siempre en mi mente

///

“What do you think?” His voice cracks from all the excitement. His left leg shakes a bit, and the way he looks at her, Luna can’t help but think of Simón’s dog when he watches his leash being taken off the shelf.

She chuckles. “Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I bet you my left skate that there’s at least one gossip magazine that thinks the sunrise after the moon means you dumped me for some other girl. But other than that, I absolutely love it. Your ass in those outfits will have the fangirls go crazy.”

Dumbfounded, Matteo stares at her. His face mirrors the turns and jumps his brain takes, and if Luna concentrates enough she can see smoke coming out of his ears.

A few seconds later, he catches himself and grins slightly. “That sounds like a safe win for you. And horrible news for Rory. Who would even be the one to tell her?”

Silence.

“Oh my god.”

“Did we really just forget about our daughter?”

Helpless, Luna throws a glance at the clock on the wall. 9pm. Way past bedtime for little Aurora, and almost two hours after their mini-breakdown as well. “I think we did,” she whispers.

Matteo looks like he bit into a lemon. “We’re such horrible parents.”

“Oh god, we might be,” Luna agrees, cheeks paler than a moment ago. Guilt takes over, she can’t believe she didn’t think of their chica fresa for one second while goofing around with Matteo, when usually not a second goes by without her daughter being in the back of her mind somehow.

But when her parents bring her over not even half an hour later, a part of her decides this has been the best date night in easily a year.

///

It’s not the right weekend to sit alone in a hotel room with an overpriced bucket of ice cream from the room service while crying to the rhythm of the rain on the window pane. There are other weekends, other days for Luna to sob into tissues until they cover half the floor.

This isn’t the weekend. This shouldn’t be it.

But here she is, lonely yet not entirely alone, while everyone important and famous in the skating community is celebrating in the lobby. If she takes a deep breath and remains silent for just a few seconds, she can hear them shouting and cheering from downstairs.

In a mindless gesture, her hand rests on her belly. Maybe her absence will cause rumors, a drop of gasoline in a flame that’s already smoking. No, it will definitely cause rumors. Since her planned break from the work as Argentina’s most promising skating trainer leaked to the press, they’ve been watching her every breath. Day for day she wakes up to new theories and emails begging for an interview, and the desperate need for a vacation and more time for her family are the nicest speculations the media had to offer.

And the ones closest to the truth.

Luna sighs. If Matteo was here, maybe she’d have a laugh over all the stupid gossip, or maybe she wouldn’t be so exhausted from crying. But he’s back home while she’s here, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the tears from rolling over her face.

Without wanting to, her mind jumps back in time to a competition years ago, the last test leading up to her first ever world championship, where she found herself in a situation painfully similar to her current one.

Back then, she sat in a hotel room just like now, crying on the floor. Back then, she doubted everyone and everything, and mostly herself. She leaned against the bed, sobbing and shaking until her eyes burned and throat dried out. Because of Matteo, because of a fight with him and the break they hastily agreed to take. She cried because she missed him, and because her skate at the final rehearsal for the most important sport event of her life went terrible. Catastrophic, even. Jumps she couldn’t stand, turns she began too late for the music, a fall.

Leaving the rink, she didn’t even know how to look her trainer in the eyes.

And then she cried because that just made her miss Matteo more.

(A week later, Luna had cried once again, tears of joy mixed with the sadness that he wasn’t with her for her victory and that he hadn’t even send a text.)

Now, it’s different. There’s been no fight, no competition and still… the result remains. Luna cries because she misses him, she misses her sunshine of a daughter, she misses all the little drama coming along with having a young family.

With her hormones all over the place, indulging in a distraction seems impossible. No colleague, no idol in the world could make her feel better now. This mood swing demands to be felt, so she’s staring at the hotel ceiling, trying to come up with a solid reason to call her husband during dinner time. Maybe he’s breaking the rule of no phones by the table to wait for her number to light up on the screen?

Luna still ponders over his opened contact when a call comes in.

Matteo.

“Chico fresa, hey, oh my god, what a surprise!” Her tongue almost trips over the letters, earning her an amused chuckle from the end of the line and another teardrop on her cheek. “Hi, my little moon, how are you?”

Her sniff ends in a deep breath ending in a sob, and she’s not sure she can speak. “It’s so nice to hear your voice, you have no idea how much I miss you and… and I…” She stops, blowing into a tissue.

“Luna, hey, are you okay? Hang on, are you crying right now?”

She pauses. Nods. “I miss you, chico fresa. I want to be home, with you. With…”

“Mommy?!” A high-pitched voice filled with excitement creaks through the speaker. Hurried little footsteps follow, and Luna wonders how a heart can both heal and break more at the same time. “Mommy! Mommy!”

“I’ll put you on speaker,” Matteo announces and a second later, Luna can hear their little chica fresa giggle. “Hello Aurora, darling!” She keeps her voice steady, tries to smile. Her baby girl doesn’t need to deal with her homesickness, besides, smiling is almost easy when she imagines Rory’s face beaming with happiness. “Is everything okay? Is daddy being nice to you?”

“NO,” Rory shouts at the top of her little yet powerful lungs, making Matteo wince. “Aurora, you're hurting my feelings here.” Then, her husband declares, “Just for the record, that is still her favorite word that’s not gibberish. She’s a liar.”

A hint of a laugh hushes over Luna’s mouth. Her mood already lifts, the weight on her chest fades and as her hand finds her belly again, gently stroking it, she thinks that perhaps she’s done crying for today.

Little Aurora, however, isn’t as happy anymore. “Coglio!” she yells at her dad, once, twice.

Luna frowns. She waits for a second, allowing her brain to catch up on the meaning, and when realization hits, it’s not so surprising anymore that Matteo remains silent.

“Matteo?”

“Yes, my love?” A casual tone, too casual in fact.

“Was that supposed to be an Italian curse word?”

Silence. Then, a groan. “I used it for Gastón once, okay? Once. He annoyed me so much with his stupid puns and it just kinda… slipped. But since then, she keeps repeating it, while ‘please’ is just too hard for her to say, I guess, since she only heard that one about a million times.”

“You’re…” she takes a breath to scold him, half-serious about the annoyance she’s intending to show. But he cuts her off with a smirk that she can hear all through the phone, which sounds dangerous enough all on its own. “No, no, no, don’t act like you’re all innocent here. I first thought I’d let it slip, you know, to be a nice husband, but now you asked for it, chica delivery. Would you mind explaining to me why your daughter keeps mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like baby talk for your favorite curse word, hm? Because I definitely don’t use it, so you better not give me shit right now.”

Speechless, Luna listens to his ramble.

Matteo has a point, of course, maybe she used cabrón one too many times in front of her baby girl. But to be fair, she never expected him to find out…

“Don’t you have anything to say to your defense?” her husband inquires, chuckling.

She clears her throat. “I mean, I can still blame Simón for teaching her naughty words. You’ve got nothing on me, chico fresa.”

“Ah, that’s where Rory has the whole lying thing from.”

“While it’s your fault she’s as dramatic as you are. If you could keep your dignity while throwing tantrums, you would never stop.”

By the time Matteo gasps in pretended offense, Luna’s grin deepens. The few days apart from him made her long for these silly banters more than she ever deemed possible. At home, not a day goes by without at least one teasing comment in the other’s direction, and over the years she grew as used to it as to the comfort of his touch. Since she arrived here at the conference, stepped into halls too crowded to get reasonable internet connection to chat with him, it becomes more and more obvious to her how much they both enjoy gently mocking each other.

When Matteo begins to argue he’s not that dramatic, therefore his daughter can’t be either, said little troublemaker cries out. He sighs. “Can you hold on for a minute? She’s ready for dinner now and…”

“She won’t eat unless you sing to her?” Luna finishes the sentence. “I told you, she learned from the best.”

“Aww, thanks, babe,” he giggles in a pitched voice, before he pauses and adds, “She is so damn extra. Hm, you tiny troublemaker? Insisting on your demands like the cute diva you are?” In a sing-song Matteo tells Aurora how soon she’ll outdo every spoiled starlet he ever met in the course of his career, but from the content babble that follows, Luna figures dinner won’t be a problem for today. Or for as long as Matteo sings, really.

The next time her husband takes a short break from feeding their chica fresa and complains about Rory’s eating habits, Luna suggests calling his best friend. “You could ask him about spoiled toddlers, I’m pretty sure he can tell you a weird habit or two about Felicia as well.”

“Hm, yeah… no. This is really weird. And I’m not talking about the singing.” He sounds horrified, which brings back pictures of one particular evening where Rory decided to be extremely picky.

And a bit gross.

“Oh boy, please don’t say she wants to eat her veggies with chocolate yoghurt again.” With a glare into the ice cream bucket in front of her, Luna notices her dessert melted and now resembles that yoghurt way too much.

She pushes the bucket away.

“Nope,” Matteo replies, to which Luna breathes in relief. Maybe she can still enjoy her sugar treat, after all. “Trust me, this is worse.” (Or maybe not.)

Taking the spoon out, she licks it, while she wonders what could be worse than veggies and chocolate yoghurt. Nothing comes to her mind, although she’s sure Matteo will explain whatever it is in great, disturbing detail.

Of course, he doesn’t let her down. “Remember when you were full of pride that our baby will be half Mexican and half Italian and said that it will be so cool?”

“Oh boy, please, just make it quick. What did she do?”

“She put spaghetti in a tortilla. Or, forced me to put spaghetti in a tortilla for her.”

“Ugh, what? Gross!” Luna gasps, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. It’s not that late, but she isn’t exactly keen on provoking any attention from other hotel guests, or worse, be heard by the paparazzi lurking outside. Sighing, she gets up to close the window.

Spaghetti in a tortilla, that must be the weirdest and most cliché combination Aurora has come up with so far.

“I know,” Matteo says. “It’s such a disgrace to the pasta.”

///

They stay talking on the phone for easily an hour more. Matteo puts her on speaker as he changes Aurora into her pajama and with a smile, Luna listens to the lullaby he puts her to sleep with.

However, as nice as being part of the nightly ritual is, his silence warns her the moment he closes the bedroom door behind him and walks back into the living room.

“Luna,” he whispers, her name as fragile in the air as a floating bubble. “Are you okay? I didn’t expect you to be crying when I called you.”

“Yes,” she mumbles back. “I just missed you and it got a bit too much.” Laying on the bed, her legs dangle from the edge, draw circles into the air that give her thoughts a calm rhythm to think to. It’s a bit embarrassing to look back on all the tissues she wasted with her crying, especially when the reason was so… not exactly meaningless, but simple.

“Aww, little moon, is the convention that bad? That you can’t be three days without your favorite fresa?”

Luna snorts, although it comes out weak towards the end. “Let your pregnant wife be emotional, okay?”

“But you’re having fun, right? Meeting some cool people who you can show off to with your medals and titles?”

He’s only half serious, but sometimes, Luna wonders if Matteo forgets that she’s not the center of the figure skating world. So far Luna felt like the others were the ones impressing her, not the other way around. She got introduced to people who won everything there was to win, who competed in three, if not four Olympics, who dedicated their whole life to this sport since they were little kids. And yes, she claimed the title as world champion for a few years, and she’s infinitely proud of her Olympic gold medals. But she’ll never be close to achieving legend status like the skaters around her, and that’s okay for her.

“I am having fun,” she admits, quickly smiling, yet carefully as to not let it slip into her voice. “You know, it’s actually nice to be more than just your wife for once. No one really cares about you here, or only very little.”

No reply, not even a snort. Just silence.

“Your ego can handle that, right?”

///

When Matteo unlocks the door, he swears he’s going to fall on the sofa and won’t move again until it’s time to go to bed. Interviews tend to be fun, but Jazmín didn’t interview him, no, she interrogated him. Squeezed him like an orange for breakfast juice, and now he feels drained of every last bit of energy. Not even blasting his favorite songs on the ride back home helped to forget her over-excited laugh or the never-ending questions, about the meaning of each new song, about Luna, about his family.

Just the thought of having to promote this episode next week makes him want to delete every single social media account he has.

With a sigh, he slips out of his jacket and loudly announces to Luna that he’s back. No answer, instead, silence greets him. Perhaps she’s napping somewhere, wouldn’t be the first time, although jealousy stings him at the mere thought. Not only can Luna spend more time with their chica fresa, she also manages to doze off before dinner, yet doesn’t struggle to fall asleep at night while Matteo can only dare to dream about day-time naps.

If you ask him, it’s not really fair. (But he chose this, after all.)

He trots into the living room. Knowing his sleeping beauty, he needs a solid plan to wake her up, but all ideas fall short as soon as he discovers her on the couch. The view in front of him surprises him, charms him, all while a warm fuzzy sensation lingers in his chest.

He might have expected his girls to be asleep, but he didn’t expect them to be asleep together. Luna’s hair is spread out over her shoulders, head supported on the cushions and her mouth opened just enough to give his wife a peaceful (and maybe a little bit dumb) expression. On one side of her, Matteo spots an open book, little Aurora’s favorite, a story full of tiny adorable animals and terrible rhymes. Too many times did they read it to her until her eyes slowly fluttered shut, too easily can he recall those lines. But it doesn’t quite matter, not when his daughter rests against Luna’s still growing bump, snoring gently.

It’s the cutest thing he has seen all week.

They neither wake up from his soft hello kisses nor from the picture he snaps for the next family collage. Only when dinner warms up in a pan and the delicious smell of risotto fills the room does Luna join him.

“I didn’t notice you were home,” she mumbles, hugging him from behind the exact moment the baby decides to kick. Right into his back. It doesn’t really hurt, but Matteo winces anyway. “Damn, this one’s definitely a troublemaker.” A short kiss for his wife and he leans down to gently follow their little one’s movements. “Hm, tiny peanut? Hello to you too.”

“You know it’s weird how you say peanut when it feels more like a watermelon.”

He chuckles and checks how much the risotto heated up. While he feeds her a spoonful, he replies, “I’m not gonna call our baby a watermelon just because it’s more accurate. You were the one who suggested to wait with the name and all. So, peanut it is.”

“But why peanut? Why don’t you say… I don’t know, raisin?”

“Because raisins are gross, duh. They’re the wrinkly grandmas of grapes, I’m not eating that.”

Luna chuckles as she shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to eat our baby.”

“Sometimes I get the feeling you think I’m stupid,” Matteo pouts, earning him a soft pat on his cheek. It’d be a cute gesture if it wasn’t for her answer. “Only sometimes?”

“Haha, you’re so funny, Valente.”

She sticks out her tongue at him.

Matteo sighs in surrender, then changes his mind. “So, since we’re talking names now, what do you think about Violet Drizzle? Or Sven Olaf?”

“Sven Olaf? Like from Frozen?” With the nod he gives her, his wife seems to realize where this is going.

She pops her finger bones like she’s about to step in the ring.

“Sure. Why not Misery? Or what about Ben Jerry? Unicorna?” Rolling his eyes, Matteo tries to shake off the laughter. Fails. Coming up with ridiculous baby names isn’t hard, he knows too many celebrities and their children, but he didn’t expect Luna to play along so quickly. (And fairly, so brilliantly.)

Within the blink of an eye, he follows her suggestions with five more. In the span of three minutes, they’re bickering like it’s the most important competition of their lives. Ideas are traded back and forth, and so is their laughter.

But none of their names clearly outdoes the others, and they’re both too stubborn to surrender. Except when he’s about to suggest a draw, Luna makes him laugh so hard he almost burns dinner.

His wife snorts, although the huge grin on her face gives her away. “Jeez, chico fresa, if you’re as careful with Fresa Risotto as you are with our dinner I might have to raise my kid alone.” Snatching the spoon out of his hands, she shoves him towards the sofa. “Why don’t you just go and wake Aurora up? She asked about you all afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes before he caresses her bump one last time and leaves the kitchen, grinning. His daughter already blinks her eyes open at him.

She’s tired. Still tired and clearly confused and not quite landed in reality yet. Once the last shreds of sleep let go of her, though, she squeals and claps her hands in excitement. Just like her momma, Matteo thinks as he picks her up to press a kiss on her forehead.

Aurora beams with joy.

“Hello, my sunshine, did you sleep well?” When she babbles something that he assumes to mean yes, he asks if she wants to be a little airplane. Of course, Rory nods – she’ll never say no to her favorite game after all.

When Luna calls him for dinner, he’s still whirling his baby girl around and around and around.

///

“Did you call Simón today?”

He’s sitting in front of the couch, Aurora on his lap. Since her favorite toy disappeared without a trace, she’s been whiny, but cuddling with him distracts her enough to give Luna time to find it.

His wife nods. “Yeah, he sounded really excited to be back on tour. Greetings from Pedro, by the way.”

“Thanks. Did you talk to him, too?”

“No,” she replies, and sighs when Rory’s little plush cat remains nowhere to be found. “We weren’t on the phone for long, Simón seemed kinda… busy.”

Matteo sends her a look. Usually, they ended up chatting for hours especially on a day like this, with no concert in the evening. “Huh?”

His chica fresa plants her hands all over his face. When he kisses her little sneaky fingers, she giggles. “Come on, Matteo,” Luna meanwhile groans at him. “I told you about Emma and him. You said he obviously had a type and all. Now, if I could just find this stupid kitty…” Before he gets a chance to remember Emma, Luna waddles out of the room.

Matteo prays she finds the plush toy quickly. He wants his intel, after all.

///

She’s clumsy. Not normally, all this training to become a world champion wasn’t for nothing. But her bump makes it hard to navigate her own body sometimes, and she can barely spot her feet. Can’t spot them at all, to be correct.

So, of course she stumbles over the bright red plastic car on the floor.

Matteo blinks at her confused, then breaks into laughter. She tries to catch the kitten in her hand, almost catches it. Accidently throws it up into the air again, reaches out again. Ultimately fails, because it’s keeping her balance or the plush toy.

Her husband still laughs. “Don’t bother,” he manages to get out once she tries to bow down enough to grab it. (Her belly. Naturally. She feels like a walrus.)

But it’s not Matteo who picks the kitty up or presses it against his chest with a cry of joy. It’s her daughter, who must have escaped her daddy’s grasp and now clutches her fingers around the worn out plush. Dragging her regained treasure along, she crawls back to Matteo before she sits down to stare at Luna.

A frown appears on her forehead.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luna asks. “I’m sorry I couldn’t find Mr. Whiskers earlier.”

Rory stares. And frowns. And stares. The grin on Matteo’s face slowly dies.

“What are you planning, fresita?” he whispers, although too late. One last skeptical glance and their baby girl tosses her cat into the air and watches it fall down.

Matteo is rolling on the floor. “I can’t believe I have two Lunas now,” he pants before losing his breath from all the laughter.

Rory beams with pride and repeats it a second and a third and a tenth time.

///

He makes it up to her with a massage. Their little sunshine is dozing off in her bedroom, their favorite show flickers over the TV screen and he even prepared a hot chocolate for her.

“Didn’t you want to tell me something about Simón’s new blondie?” he asks so casual that she’ll probably figure he’s been thinking about it for at least an hour.

Rolling her eyes, Luna gently slaps his arm. “Rude, chico fresa. Emma might be blonde too, but she’s not like Ámbar.”

“You still meant to tell me.”

“You’re right, I was.”

He presses a kiss on her neck. Maybe she’ll scold him for setting her up on a distraction without letting her finish, but her skin is warm and soft and he’s just a man who loves his wife a bit too much. (To his surprise, she even robs backwards on the couch until she lays against his chest.) “So,” he whispers into her ear, “how do I know Emma?”

“She spent a few weeks in the Roller back during my last year of school, remember? I think they met up during the promo gigs or something.”

“And they’re good together?”

Luna tilts her head for their eyes to meet. She smiles. “I’m pretty sure they’ll marry each other one day.”

His hands wrap around her bump. Carefully traces the baby’s little kicks, while he thinks if Simón was half as happy as he feels, the guitarist would get incredibly lucky. “You believe he might overthink what he said about not wanting to get married ever?”

“Sure,” she smiles, again, and steals a kiss from his lips. “That was after Ámbar, after all. Emma is different. And you know him, he’s an old romantic.”

“Like me.”

“Nah, you’re just cheesy.”

Offended, he gasps. But in the totally not fake dramatic argument that follows, they both think how they wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the whole wide world, because as long as they’re together, everything will work out fine.

#soy luna #lutteo #my sl fanfiction

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝒜 lot happens in this chapter. You’re welcome and I’m sorry at the same time. If you’d like a preview of Chapter 11 right now, you can join my patreon here! Thank you so much for all the love and support with this story ❤️

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER TEN: DANCE IN MY LIVING ROOM (5.7K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Harry’s mind went to overthinking mode again when he was alone. When he was tidying his room and hiding Y/N’s things in case Will decided to come upstairs for whatever reason and see replicas of all her toiletries on his counter. The impromptu party was in four hours but when he walked back into his room and stared at his bed, he quickly got lost in his thoughts.

The last time he’d seen her had been Wednesday night.

And it was because he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stop picturing her crying alone in her bed and then crying himself into hysterics about it. He even tried washing every piece of his bedspread to get her scent off his pillowcases just so he could get some sleep, but that still didn’t work. The distance he thought he needed had only made him miserable, even more so than before. She didn’t have to care about him, he supposed, he just needed to see her.

So that’s what he ended up texting her at ten o’clock at night. On Wednesday.

(Harry, 10:02 pm)

Please come over.

I need you.

It was desperate, he knew that. But it had worked. She showed up thirty minutes later with her usual backpack, and ten minutes after that in her usual spot under the covers with him.

She hadn’t wanted to at first, because it was late and because it had been a while since he had last asked her to come over, but him needing her was what did the trick in the end. She knew she was sad and alone and she assumed he was as well. That’s why they’d gotten into this mess and the first place, to not be so sad and alone anymore, so it would have been a text she’d regret ignoring, that much she knew.

Things were still different, though. He’d been the one cozied up to her side this time. It was his head resting on her collarbone, his hair tickling her skin. His arms wrapped tightly around her entire body like maybe he really did need her. And that’s how he’d fallen asleep, using her as a pillow while she stayed up, switching between staring out his window and at him. At his back as he inhaled and exhaled evenly. At his face when she periodically pushed his hair out of it and periodically played with said hair. He was asleep anyways, he’d never know the difference.

He had needed someone, she reminded herself. Not anyone in particular. He needed what she needed. But for her, there wasn’t anyone else. No one really quite knew her like Harry did and she wasn’t about to go out tomorrow and find someone to replace him. She’d known him for over a year, having a dormant sense of trust in him even before they started all this. It wasn’t easy for her to jump into things, and even though she knew it wasn’t a piece of cake for him either, he managed better than she ever had.

She had thought about his journal while he slept, and whether or not it was in his nightstand like it usually was. Even with things slowly breaking apart, she could never do that to him. As much as she had wanted to, she couldn’t read through something so personal to him, especially when she didn’t have his permission. She knew she’d grow to resent him a little bit if the roles were reversed.

So, she kept her mind off of it. She had kept her mind off of everything except for the present because it was easier to tolerate. Harry sleeping soundly on her chest like he wanted to be there was all that had mattered.

And when it was Friday night just before people started arriving at his doorstep he missed her all over again. Every single close friend that showed up to his door that wasn’t Y/N didn’t get the same attention he knew he’d give to her.

Luckily for him, however, Will was in charge of something, which meant he’d be arriving earlier than most. Harry had the alcohol covered and a couple of leftover chip bags from previous nights to tide everyone over until Will arrived, even though he still managed to run late, as per usual.

When Will did finally show up, Harry stood in the middle of his foyer, surrounded by others who had just gotten there, completely out of breath. And it wasn’t because he’d just ran around his house like a chicken with its head cut off--which he had done earlier in the evening--it was because of who slid through the doorway right behind Will.

Who was at his house dressed in something other than jeans or sweatpants. Who was, in fact, in something he’d never seen her in before. And if he had, he hadn’t been looking at her with the same pair of eyes he was now.

Will greeted him first, using his free hand to go in for their typical handshake while Harry was still far too preoccupied with Y/N. He stared at her from over Will’s shoulder while she stood there out of place. She made him feel like his brain wasn’t in his head anymore but he somehow operated anyways, no matter how poorly he was doing it. His ears started ringing and he grew uncomfortably hot in his outfit while struggling to make out the words to tell Will to put the fucking cheese and crackers in the kitchen already and leave them be.

“So where’s this girl at?” Will asked suddenly, glancing around the room, unaware that he was pressing every single one of Harry’s nerves.

Harry’s eyes found Y/N again, then went back to Will. He wanted to say that she was here. Right fucking behind you, actually. But Harry reconsidered that decision quickly. “She couldn’t make it.”

He knew Y/N heard him and it hurt to see the way it didn’t seem to bother her at all that he might be talking about some other girl. Then he just hated himself for saying something with any intention to hurt her, just to see if she would be jealous. Will hadn’t really left him with much of a choice, but Y/N deserved better regardless.

“Fuck, I wanted to meet her and talk some sense into her for you, but oh well.” Will patted Harry’s shoulder before heading off.

Once he was finally gone, once she was the only thing left in Will’s absence, she averted her wandering gaze from the other people around them and met Harry’s eyes. She bit back her resentment and worked up enough muscles in her face to fake a smile, even though Harry just blankly stared at her.

Then he snapped out of it when she handed him a bag full of various chips she and Will had picked up along the way to his house.

He took it from her, mostly as an excuse to pull her just a little bit closer. He wrapped his free arm around her back like he was greeting a friend and thanking her for buying his favorite flavor of Doritios. It was innocent, to everyone else. But just between them, he brought his mouth to her ear and said something a little less predictable.

“You clean up nice.”

She rolled her eyes and hugged him reluctantly. It was hard accepting his compliment and feeling his hands on her when her skin burned with jealousy.

“I thought I told you to tell me if you wanted to be with someone.” She whispered back.

When he pulled her in front of him again and saw the sad look on her face, he hated both himself and Will in that moment.

“I--” Harry started but then his annoyance with Will hit an all time high when he heard the other boy calling her name from the kitchen.

She gave Harry another fake smile and started off to find Will. He tasted all the regret when he watched her walk away, staring at her dress and the way it hugged her in all the right places. The way it came to just the middle of her thighs and he realized that’s what he’d missed out on the night they went to sleep with a little less clothes on. That’s what he’d been missing out on ever since, and that’s what he would continue to miss out on if he didn’t do something.

And so he decided tonight was the night. He would tell her everything. And if she didn’t feel the same then at least he tried. At least he’d finally be open with his feelings that had come to an agonizing head the past couple of weeks.

Maybe he had been foolishly in love with the little things he learned about her all those nights ago. And maybe he had gone without someone for so long, he just needed anyone who cared to hold him at night. But it wasn’t just some silly crush or craving intimacy anymore. It was real.

He knew that before he went to New York, he was sure of it. But letting her slip right through his fingers like he’d been doing made him certain of it as he watched her now. He was in love with her, not the way she made him feel or the idea of her. Just her.

By midnight they were drunk. Beyond that, actually. Wasted was a better word for it, and they were wasted enough that all the tension between them washed away with the tequila.

Y/N was so drunk, she completely forgot about their conversation earlier in the night. She took off her shoes and truly let go while singing the lyrics to Drunk In Love at her fullest volume, not a single care in the world about Harry’s love life. She was gone, as gone as Harry who did the exact same thing right beside her. Bumping shoulders with each other while everyone in the room acted as if they were at a full-fledged Beyoncé concert and not Harry’s living room. It made him happy inside again, warm and summery. Maybe it was the alcohol, having lost count of how much he’d had to drink, but either way, he was happy.

And she seemed that way too, particularly when she turned to him, grabbed his arms and danced with him exclusively. Like Will wasn’t in the room anymore. Like nobody was in the room at all. It was just the two of them… and Beyoncé.

They flailed around together for a while, taking another shot each, clicking their glasses together until she fell against him, her arms reaching up around his neck for support. She still danced though, still moved her body to the right beat. And he was too drunk to care about them having their hands all over each other in front of everyone.

When he did start to care was when it was far past midnight and he was sleepy. Others had already claimed their spots around his house if they were too drunk to drive themselves home. It had definitely started to empty out when others, who were far less intoxicated went home. He just didn’t remember when they’d said goodbye.

Will had already claimed an entire sofa when he passed out there around an hour ago, being the first to drop. Y/N and Harry the last ones as they somehow managed to hold each other upright in the middle of the living room again, swaying along to Harry’s oldies playlist and fucking up all the lyrics their sober minds knew by heart.

When he got particularly sleepy, his forehead just sort of fell onto her shoulder with a mind of its own and he cuddled into her neck while things got a little less silly between them.

“Do you even need me anymore?” He asked, and even though his voice felt like a dream, she knew it was real the way his breath tickled her skin and the way he held her waist a little bit tighter.

“Do you?” She retorted.

“Always,” he answered quickly.

And just as quickly, she pulled away from him, far enough that he had to hold the weight of his head up on his own while she glanced between his eyes to see if he was serious or not.

They stared at each other, neither ready to look away again for a long while. It took him glancing at her lips to get them both to snap out of it. To realize they were swaying awkwardly to Aretha Franklin in the middle of his fucking living room.

“Can we go upstairs?” She whispered.

It was then when he realized what he had wanted to say to her had gone tragically unsaid. He hadn’t done jack shit he’d wanted to, the only thing he managed was screaming lyrics into her ear and desperately seeking her validation, if either of those counted as saying anything to her at all.

So he made his move.

Grabbing her hand, he led the way toward the stairs, but when he paused abruptly to turn off the music and the lights, her body collided against his back and they both laughed uncontrollably. Going upstairs this drunk was a dumb idea, but it didn’t seem to cross either of their minds as they continued on.

Once they were out of immediate eyesight in case anyone woke up and spotted them, he whisked her off to his bedroom where they could do what they did best. Where they could be connected, and not just be two drunken, missing puzzle pieces stumbling around alone in the world again.

She followed him, letting him pull her along up the stairs while they both shushed each other when their giggling got too loud.

He closed the door once she was in his room with him and neither of them cared too much anymore about being loud or getting caught. She separated from him then, dancing her way over to his closet for her spare clothes while he plopped down on the edge of his bed and waited for her, kicking his shoes off in the meantime.

She was back moments later with her dress gone and just a shirt in its place, but it was one that didn’t belong to her. Staring at her across the room as she stood in just his black t-shirt sobered Harry right up. The dress she wore had been one thing but this was... his inebriated brain couldn’t even process it.

Swallowing, he moved his hands to the buttons on his shirt but never took his eyes off of her.

She walked over and carefully helped him just like she had done before. This time, though, once his shirt was off, she stared a little longer. He watched her eyes bounce around lazily from each tattoo like she’d been dying to see them this entire time. He stood in front of her while tugging his pants off quickly. They were close, fewer layers between them again. And they were drunk.

She moved around him to her side of the bed and he watched as she crawled in before he joined her under the covers naturally, like there hadn’t been a split between them whatsoever the past few weeks. Like they were them again before New York happened. Everything finally felt right in the world again.

They laid facing each other, both keeping their hands to themselves. His arms didn’t stretch around her frame the way they always did because he was far too lost in her eyes. They weren’t so dull anymore but instead looked normal, like her eyes that trusted him and cared about him and needed him.

“Harry?” She whispered, pulling him out of whatever distant land he’d just gone to.

“Hm?”

“How many tattoos do you have exactly?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at her. He had the same old Y/N back that told her little comic-relief jokes and never failed to make him smile. He was warm again.

“I dunno.” He chuckled a bit louder than anticipated, but when she joined right along with him, it didn’t matter so much.

Without even thinking of the consequences, she moved her hand to his face, cupping his jaw like soft linen against his rough, grainy stubble. And then she pressed her thumb into his dimple, not unlike the last time she’d done it, and made him laugh even more.

She kept her fingers in his hair, and the next time they were back to watching each other in a comfortable silence was different. He wasn’t looking at her eyes, at least not for all of it. He glanced at her lips once quickly, but enough for her to notice, and then landed back on her eyes. Like he was asking for permission. And she gave him a subtle, but definitely there, nod.

He scooted closer then, watching her face for any signs that he should stop. When he didn't find any, he carefully rested his hand on the side of her face, watching as her eyes fluttered shut with the feeling of his touch on her skin.

He waited until she opened her eyes. Until she saw him and knew he was about to kiss her. That his face would be the only one she saw when he pressed his forehead against hers.

His breathing was erratic and she couldn’t get her lungs to function properly. But either way it was happening, even if she had to pass out. She was kissing Harry whether or not her lack of oxygen killed her.

The last thing she saw before he closed the gap between their mouths was his smile. And then he melted it right against hers. All of the time he spent daydreaming about it was nothing compared to the real thing. Not when she clasped her own hands around the sides of his face and went a little deeper. Not when his fingers slipped through her hair to the back of her neck and he breathed in the sweet smell of her shampoo. Not when she moved her lips against his in ways that made the immobile butterfly on his stomach flap its wings.

Until, of course, she pulled away with a gasp. Both their lips pouted and damp and begging to be kissed again. She looked at him like she’d just realized what they were doing. Like she was about to push him off of her because they definitely should not be fucking kissing right now. But instead, all it took was one last glance at his mouth before she was all over it again.

He fell slowly to his back thanks to the unrelenting way she kissed him. It was like she couldn’t get enough of him, like she’d never kissed anyone before this way or maybe not even at all. And she never wanted to stop. He moaned into her mouth when she pulled more of her weight on top of him, digging her fingers into his hair. And he kissed her back, of course, as if no one he had ever kissed before came anywhere close to how she made him feel. All he saw behind his eyelids was bright yellow and all he felt inside his body was a hot summer day on the beach in California. His hands digging into the soft sand that smelled peculiarly like coconuts…

He got lost there for a while until she did it again, until she broke contact and stared at him the way he wished she’d stop doing. But when he moved to reconnect their mouths, she backed away even further until not a single one of her body parts was on top of him or touching him at all.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, laying flat on her back with her palm on her forehead and her fingers twisted into her hair where he wanted his to be again. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Wh-” He started, being immediately cut off by the way she covered her face with her hands. Embarrassment. He knew that emotion on her all too well. She was embarrassed that she’d kissed him.

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Her voice was like crisp autumn air cutting his summer short and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Can we go to sleep and act like that didn’t just happen?”

Although he wanted nothing to do with forgetting about it, he didn’t want to upset her more. He’d rather never kiss or touch her ever again than make her upset or uncomfortable. So, he nodded his head and pulled her into him like nothing had happened after all. Even though it killed him.

Even though he still hadn’t said anything he’d wanted to and now he wasn’t sure if he should.

Maybe it was a huge mistake. It didn’t feel as wrong as his previous mistakes involving Y/N, but she still made it feel that way. She made it feel like the worst thing they could have done was be drunk and make-out in his bed. And maybe it was. Nothing had gone the way he planned it in his head, but he had been fine with that. Until she wasn’t fine with it.

She was up before him, gone before he even blinked a single eye open. It was like her first night here all over again when he woke to a cold, empty bed and his heart sunk in his chest.

Instead of her he found a thin piece of fabric, and after bunching it up in his fist, he brought it in front of his face. He untangled it and blinked a few times, confused until he realized what it was. His shirt. The one she’d put on last night that nearly had him drooling.

And then he remembered what happened. He still felt her on his lips, burning like fresh mint. He went back further into his memories from the previous night and realized why she was gone.

Will.

He figured everything out when he walked downstairs and found her on the couch where she was supposed to be. Where Will would wake up next to her in an hour and not suspect a damn thing. He might have some words about why they’d been dancing on each other last night, if he even remembered it, but at least he wouldn’t know that they slept in the same bed. And he especially wouldn’t know about that kiss.

Harry escaped back upstairs once he knew where she was. Once he couldn’t stand another second around people, even if they were all dead asleep. He didn't even want to see any of them. He wanted to be alone in his bed where he could cry his stupid, hungover eyes out.

“Is there… something going on with you and Harry?” Will asked, breaking the awkward tension in the car ride home from Harry’s.

She shot her eyes over to him in a panic, “No, why?”

“I swear you guys were dancing all over each other. You never even talk to him.”

Her heart started to race as she thought of an excuse, any excuse to throw him off of thinking about that any longer.

“I don’t even remember anything from last night, Will.” She lied.

He was quiet, but his face was still skeptical, so she went on pulling some morally questionable strings to get him to believe her. “You know I’m not into any of that.”

Nodding, he sighed and that seemed to do the trick. “I know. He’s just… really messed up right now and I was worried about you getting involved with him.”

“I’m not.” She said, with a little too much confidence. “He’s nice but I don’t like him like that.”

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince more in that moment, Will or herself.

Her stomach fluttered all weekend every time the mere thought of Harry crossed her mind. It only got worse when she found one of his sweaters at the bottom of her hamper or when the scent of his cologne still lingered on her sheets. When she got a glimpse of her dress peeking out of her closet and remembered how it looked in a pile on his floor. When she showered and suddenly all her things looked like they didn’t belong in her own bathroom. When she tasted the tequila as it came back up Saturday morning and couldn’t help tasting him as well.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t convince herself that she didn’t like him as easily as she’d convinced Will. She didn’t want to like him anymore, not since he came home from New York, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of that yet either.

And then he’d kissed her.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

By Monday at work she stopped fighting how she felt about him. He kissed her and there had to be a reason for it. Maybe her chances with him weren’t as nonexistent as she thought they were and maybe he did actually like her the way she wanted him to.

She couldn’t help but wonder, however, if it had just been a side effect of getting Harry properly drunk. They both were. Will had plenty of stories about how clingy Harry was when he got wasted, so maybe that’s all this was. Maybe he was just drunk and doing stupid things like the stupid thing he’d done in New York. She remembered his and Will’s conversation at the party. The girl that apparently couldn’t make it. Harry hadn’t looked at Y/N or kissed her that night like he had anyone else on his mind.

After work, she gained the courage to text him. It was no use sitting around overthinking things. She had to know if he felt at all the same way she did. If he’d want to kiss her again while they were sober.

With shaky fingers, she typed out her message to him. Although she hesitated before hitting send, there was still a sigh of relief when she finally did.

(Y/N, 5:43 pm)

Can I come over tonight?

It was like it always was. Same positions, same view out his massive window. The only difference when she arrived was the ‘For Sale’ sign out front reminding her that his time in this house was temporary. That he was going to leave it and all the memories they had together behind him the second someone made the right offer.

But everything else, it was all the same.

“So you’re really moving then, huh?” She asked, curled up into his chest as if nothing had happened Friday night. The kiss seemingly erased from his memories completely and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She’d gone in hoping he would do something, but he never even mentioned it and so she decided that she wouldn’t either.

“Finally found an apartment in the West Hollywood area. Figured it was time.”

She felt her body droop, like she’d gotten her hopes up that maybe he’d change his mind about leaving. He’d be a further and harder drive to get to with traffic, but she guessed it would still work. She just didn't want to change at all. She wanted to stare out at his view for the rest of her life.

“I don’t want you to move.” She knew it was one of the first times she’d really laid her heart right out there with how nervous it made her to say that one simple sentence. She felt better once it was out though, like maybe her opinion on his changing zip code mattered enough to make him stay. And she didn’t often feel like any of her opinions ever made too much of a difference.

He rolled his eyes down toward her, “Have properties in London I want to put the money in, I’m afraid. Wasn’t even going to bother getting an apartment here until…” He stopped himself before he said something that crossed another line as if kissing her hadn’t been enough. She didn't need to know he only wanted a semi-permanent home in L.A. because of her. Because his rocky and indecisive plans changed the first night she slept over. Even if he didn’t want to keep his current house, he still wanted to be close to her. Gauging her reaction after they’d kissed, however, telling her any of that would be stupid.

“Until what?”

He shook his head and yawned. “Nevermind.”

She narrowed her eyes at him though, wishing she knew everything that was going on inside his head. If only she could be a fly on the wall inside that brain of his then life might be easier.

“So you won’t even think about staying?”

He sighed and turned onto his back, keeping his arm around her as she adjusted beside him. “Why should I?”

She didn’t say anything else after that. Even when he glanced at her sideways for any good excuse for him to stay. Her heart broke though when, with that simple little question, she finally got her answers. He didn’t feel the same way. He didn’t want to kiss her again. He didn’t want to stay in his house. He didn’t want to preserve all the memories they’d had here together. It meant nothing to him the way it did to her.

She didn’t have any other reasons besides selfish ones to answer his question, so she didn’t. It was his money and his life. She had nothing to do with it.

But he wanted her to. He wanted her to say everything to make him stay. And so when she was quiet, it was just another blow to his chest. Another piece of evidence that she didn’t care about him the way he thought she might. Especially after they’d kissed. He thought maybe something might change, but here they were, pretending it never fucking happened. Convincing each other that it bothered neither of them if he were to move.

He fell asleep shortly after that while she stayed up. While she watched the profile of his face as he ventured off to dreamland, wondering if he’d ever dreamt about her like she had him. If he’d ever thought about her while he was alone like she did. If he wanted her at all in the same way she wanted him.

Thinking about his lips again wasn’t her best idea, especially not when they were right in front of her and she could do nothing about it.

Until her phone buzzed on his bedside table where she’d left it and she got a break from her own mind. She grabbed it from behind her without looking so she didn’t disturb Harry too badly. It dinged again once she had her hand wrapped around it, but once the screen was lighting up her face, she realized it wasn’t her phone at all.

She’d already seen it though, and she mentally cursed Harry for having the same phone as her and putting her in this position. There were two texts stacked together on his lock screen but she’d only seen the most recent one before clicking his phone off and putting it back.

The stupid fucking text still flashed in her mind when she shut her eyes tight to stop thinking about it. It wasn’t entirely that she’d unintentionally read his private conversation, it was the contents of it that turned her heart into a cinder block weighing down on her chest. And more than just the contents, it was the name of the person messaging him.

(Jess, 10:56 pm)

And maybe we can hang out this week?

Jess. Like the Jessica he’d slept with in New York.

She didn’t want to overreact for no reason, but she couldn’t really help her mind from spiraling out of control, even if she did curl up beside him again. Even if a few tears spilled out onto his shirt while she thought about losing him. While she thought about letting him go. He didn’t have to stay and do anything for her. She’d let him walk right out of her life if he wanted to. And if he was too chicken to tell her he didn’t want her around anymore, then she’d be the first to go.

It was time.

Because even if Jess had nothing to do with anything, she was miserable the way they were. Her constantly falling hopelessly in love with him every time she saw him, just to be left disappointed. It wasn’t healthy. And if she left now, it would be a clean break. Cold turkey. She’d kissed him and got his sad, but honest answer.

He didn’t want her. He didn’t need her. He was just drunk, doing stupid things.

She was up well before him, not that she got much sleep all night anyways. It was the first time, however, that she’d woken up without his touch as he had his back to her, a good chunk of space in between them. The distance only cemented her decision.

She tiptoed to his bathroom, where her various things had been taking up root in his shower and on his counter. She’d become more comfortable than the first time she set anything down in his bathroom. They weren’t so organized anymore as they once had been and she didn’t pay much attention to how much space she was taking up until his bathroom suddenly felt cold and empty.

She wiped a tear from under her eye, not allowing it to escape down her cheek as she gave one last once-over of the bathroom before she flipped off the light and left.

He didn’t even stir the tiniest bit while she gathered more of her things. While she cleared out her drawer in his closet and lingered at his pink suit jacket, wishing she could go back to that time when everything hadn’t gone to absolute shit yet.

The last thing she did, before she took the stairs out of his life completely, was peak out the curtains. She couldn’t stand to look at him alone in his bed, knowing he might not care that she’d be gone when he woke up. So she took in that view L.A. for what might be the last time and tried to convince herself to stay. No matter what she told herself, however, the rational parts of her brain won. And so, she slung her bag over her shoulder and left him.

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