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outofsstyles · 4 years

Text

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

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

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

“Rough day?”

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

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Grammys.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you going?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Julia…”

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

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

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

“Not everyday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure is.”

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?”

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

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

“I guess.”

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

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

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

“I know. I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

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

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because they call out your name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

Harry’s not having a good day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

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

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

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

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

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

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

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

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

“The same one, yeah.”

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

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

“Still, that’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

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

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

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

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

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

“Okay, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

You’re drunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because that’s the thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be right here!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s all much too confusing to him.

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds great.”

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

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

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

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

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

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing

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theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Attacked

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Fight sequences, injury.

Summary: Ultron crashes the Avengers party and you leap into action with the team.

Part 1 - Attacked | Part 2 - Aftermath

Steve noticed the faint glimmer of silver in your hands and knew that you were going to unleash one of your pods at the robot. Ultron whirred slightly as he swayed in place reciting his monologue about how he could change the world.

Quite suddenly, he stopped talking and looked up at the team.

"..."

Several Iron Legion armoured robots broke through the walls and flew straight towards them. Steve kicked the table up for the robots to hit in mid-flight, grabbed you firmly around the waist and pulled you both backwards behind the couch for protection. Fragments of the glass table began to shower from above and a hole was blasted through the fancy sofa.

You freed an arm and threw a pod that blasted overhead and distracted the armour for Steve to make a getaway. You grabbed the nearest drink on the table behind the sofa and threw its contents on a fast-approaching iron legion armour. The robot halted its attack and began to spark as the alcoholic beverage did its work and jammed up its system.

It crumpled to the ground in a heap and began to spasm. You knew that it was only a matter of time before it exploded and turned to help the rest of the team fend off the crazy attack. You only managed a step when a metal hand clasped around your ankle and rooted you in place. Looking down, you saw the robot staring up.

"Oh, come on." You groaned and quickly tried to pry the metal fingers from your skin.

The robots eyes changed from blue to red momentarily and, with its free arm, picked up an empty wine bottle and broke it over your head. Biting back the pain, you saw the robots eyes change back and looked up at where Ultron chuckled in his unfinished body.

"Just trying to help." Ultron said, his voice slurring at the end. You could feel a warm substance trickle down the side of your head and paid no attention to it as you resumed to free yourself from the death-like grip of the robot.

If you had a spoon lying nearby, you could have used it to escape - but no such item was in sight.

Out of options, you opened your mouth to call out for help but before you could get the words out, a vibranium shield landed at your feet, specifically in the metal arm of the robot, cutting you loose.

The robot at began beeping at frightening rate and you felt a body tackle you to the ground just before the mechanical armour exploded in a rage of fire. Coughing, and groaning at the pain in your back, you opened your eyes and stared up at Steve who was shielding you from the debris. He was careful not to put too much of his body weight on top of you as he didn't want to aggravate any injuries.

"Are you okay?" He asked as he looked you over. Upon the noticing of the blood running down your face, Steve frowned and brushed his thumb lightly over the wound.

"Well, that was dramatic." Ultron critiqued as the last of his drones were destroyed by Thor.

You and Steve looked up from where you were on the ground and remembered that there was still a larger threat to deal with. The blonde-haired soldier stood up first and then helped you to your feet, keeping an arm around your waist.

Masterlist here

#theladyofmanyfandoms #theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction #gif is not mine #steve x reader #steve imagine #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

Text

200 Followers Appreciation Post

I'll be very honest, two months back when I joined Tumblr, I hadn't expected that my writings will be read by many, and the last thing I had expected was to be followed. Now look far we've come, from 0 followers to 200.

A personal thank you and a lot of love to each and every follower of mine.

I think this is the best part of our fandom. We love each other like family.

As a little token of my thank you, I decided to publish two of my requests combined as one today. Hope you like it. 💓

Tommy Shelby x Fem! Reader

Request 1- Prompt "We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies."

Request 2- Reader was always in love with Tommy, thinking he can't love her back she starts writing cheap novels as a way to deal with it. Her books become popular and everything is cool until Tommy finds out about her hobby and notices similarities between her writing and real life.

Warnings - Angst

GIF Credits - @thomasshelbyltd thank you. ❤️

A Maid's Diary

You slumped against your desk, letting your head rest against the old wooden table top, your elbows on either side of your face. Your desk was a cluttered mess, with sheets of paper flooded all over. In your hand, you held a pen, as you were just seconds back, scribbling vigorously on a parchment as an idea had just hit you, and just as swiftly, the idea had vanished from your mind.

You couldn't forget and you couldn't forgive your best friend, Linda, for having betrayed you by sharing your diary to a local printing press, who had, without your permission, published your countless feelings that you had penned down in your little diary, without even your consent, although they didn't take the credit for it. You were still the writer, even though the publishers never published your real name on it, just a pen name.

As much as you hated to admit it, the little push made by your friend had worked tremendously and your popularity had grown amongst the lower middle class especially; as that is where you hailed from. They loved your modesty, they loved how humble and down to earth you were, although you were extremely talented.

Little did they know, that the book that had been published, as an act of mistake, was actually based on your life.

"What is it that you are reading?" Tommy pushed his round glasses over his eyes, as he looked through them and fixed his broody stare on his wife.

Grace was sprawled on the couch in his study, shimmering in a beautiful pearl white satin nightgown hanging loosely over her slender frame, her natural blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She seamlessly brought up her ring studded hand to her hair, running her fingers through the locks as her eyes came to rest on her husband.

"Would you look at this Tommy?" She raised a red little book in her hand, showing it to him briefly, before she sat back more comfortably. Their son, Charlie, crawled about on the carpeted floor, playing with a toy train. "I don't know who this woman is, but if you read this book, you would feel like you are a bloody part of it."

"Is it one of those fucking love stories again, Grace?"

"It's much more than that, love. It's complex. It's like reading a person's life, living her memories."

"Right, well, I'm out, I've got a bloody meeting with Arthur at the pub." He stood up, sliding his hand into his waistcoat and pulling out the pocket watch, taking a quick glance at it. He then kissed his wife a goodbye, lifting Charlie up in his arms, "Be good, you cheeky little oaf."

Little did he know, how that would be the last week, that he was spending home with his wife. The next week, Grace Shelby was shot, and she couldn't make it.

As days inched by, Tommy started growing more and more morose. Although he didn't show it, those around him felt it everyday. The snapping and the yelling increased, and Tommy found himself sleeping less and less, and chugging down more and more of that alcohol to keep his mind at rest. There were weeks when Tommy didn't see his son. Although he felt guilty, for neglecting him, as the poor child had lost his mother, just like he had lost his wife, he couldn't bring himself to face him, as he reminded him so much of her.

Soon, weeks turned into months and finally, Tommy's agony subsided to a bit. It wasn't as if it was an overnight process, but somehow, over the course of time, Tommy didn't feel the hurt anymore, as he initially did— or maybe, he learnt to live with it.

One night, when the nightmares crippled him to such an extent that he found himself unable to sleep, he decided to go through Grace's belongings, something he had kept locked up in the attic, afraid to touch them. Holding a lantern in his hand, he walked up the flight of stairs, the old floorboards creaking underneath the weight of his foot as he stepped into the dinghy little room. In a corner, a brown crate was hoarded up, keeping all of Grace's belongings.

Pulling off the the wooden board that was nailed shut, he pried it off and ran his hand through the dust coated silk dresses, his fingers gently brushing against the fabric. He let out a weak, pained exhale, slowly sliding down against the floor, pulling his hand out as he started fumbling around his pockets for a cigarette.

With a lit cigarette in his left hand, he slid his right hand back in, feeling around the box until his palm hit something hard. Pulling it out, he saw a little red book that was now turning a shade of purple at the edges. The book was coated in a sheet of dust, causing Tommy to squint his eyes slightly and scrunch up his nose as he brushed the dust off its cover.

A faint smile, a fond remembrance of Grace reading this book with such enthusiasm brought a weak smile to his lips. He took a drag of his cigarette, pulling himself off the floor and pocketed the book, walking out of the attic.

It was his eyes, eyes that could hold an entire ocean in them, that captivated me. I often found myself looking at him, stealing glances, when no one was looking. A part of me begged for his attention, hoping, yearning that he would atleast give me a glance but he never did.

The more he read through the passages, the more he realized what Grace had meant. This was not just a book, it was someone's life, it was someone's feelings. The words were simple and not at all fancy, the backdrop set was not that of a fine mansion, it was a tiny little house, in a clamoured street, a family of five siblings, four boys and one girl, and the writer, who was just a servant. The writer knew the love she felt for one of the sons of the house was wrong, improper and it was forbidden because she was a servant and they were her employers but she couldn't help how she felt, no matter how hard she tried to forget. Tommy couldn't help but feel drawn— drawn to the writer's pain, her anguish and the feeling of being stuck at the end of a self destructive, one sided love. He knew what it meant to not get to be with the person you loved. He had experienced the pain, although in a different sense but somehow, he could relate. Although Thomas Shelby didn't show any feelings, he had eventually fallen head over heels in love with Grace Burgess and life with her had been a life of roses and poppies, while he was a crown of thorns; that Grace bravely adorned on her head.

It was a cold night, and I was freezing. I could feel my cheeks turning to stone and my hands fervously rubbing against my arms to keep myself warm. I could see them right in front of my eyes; the whole family. They looked happy. They brothers were teasing their sister, who had a look of dismay plastered over her face, and the youngest brother, who was just a toddler, ran about the parlour, sucking on his thumb. I wondered if it was selfishly wrong of me to think of him in this way, to imagine how our little household would have been, had I been bound to him by marriage. I wondered if it was a sin, wondering what I would have named our children if we had a handful of them.

Thomas found himself leaning back comfortably in bed, straining into his glasses, wanting to read more, although his body and his eyes were beyond tired. It was as though he could see a glimpse of his life before the war had been, right through someone else's eyes. He could see little Finn, perched on the carpeted floor, running his toy train all over it, making a weird engine sound with his mouth while John and Arthur teased Ada for something she had probably said. He could picture himself by the window, staring at the dimly lit sky, the illuminating stars, thinking of the moment Greta took her last breath, her frail hand falling limp in his warm one.

How unlucky had he been with women, he had watched the women he loved die, in in his arms.

As I scrubbed the dishes in the kitchen, I could hear the curses in the parlor. He was screaming at himself, bringing the dishes down, breaking them one by one. No one dared stop him, because no one wanted to be slammed against the wall or have to be the one taking a porcelain hit on his face. I wondered if I should step in, maybe give him some tea but I didn't. Maybe, he didn't need it. It was only later that I found out he had lost the love of his life.

He shoved the book aside and sat up straighter, running his palm through his face, his breathing shaky and rushed. He grabbed his cigarette box off the bedside table and lit himself a cigarette. Maybe reading this book had been a mistake, it was opening up all his raw wounds that he had buried away.

He was leaving. I wanted to ask him when he would be back but of course, that would have been such a silly question. And besides, he had a lot more on his plate, why would he want to speak to a servant? I stood behind the kitchen wall, listening to the solemn parting, the shuffling of feet, listening to them leave until finally I could hear them no more— I could hear him no more.

Years after years, I went on with life, with a smile on my face. I did what I always did in the mornings; scrubbing the floors clean, washing the dishes, preparing supper and doing the laundry. At night, though, I thought of him and his blue eyes. I wondered if there was any news, for I hadn't heard anything about him in ages. Maybe my prayers were finally answered, the war ended and they all were back home. Only they weren't themselves. The war had killed a part of them. They were the ghosts of war, left to meander the Earth until they finally died.

"Mr. Shelby?" Tommy sharply looked up, his eyebrows straightened into a visible frown.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Charlie's asleep, the supper's ready. I was wondering if I could get a night off—"

"Mary, you may. You have bloody worked hard enough to earn a night off. Go on then, hurry up, it's pretty dark outside."

He watched her leave, staring at the door before bringing his gaze back to the book, wondering if the writer was out there somewhere. And he wondered, and hoped, that she had finally gotten to be with the man she loved. She deserved it. She deserved all the happiness in the world.

I finally mustered the courage, after what seemed like eternity, to speak my heart out. I was afraid of rejection, but he deserved to know. I deserved to be free of this heavy secret in my heart. I didn't care if he would ask me to leave, stop coming to work from tomorrow but he needed to know I loved him. So, I stepped out into the chilly night, wrapping myself with whatever warm I could find. I walked and walked, until I was at his pub. Of course, he wasn't there. With a heavy heart then, I thought of going back home, through an alley, that was a shorter route. Little did I know, I was never going to get the man I loved for he already had the woman he loved, the woman from the pub; that barmaid. I saw the man I was in love with, from a window, the way I always imagined him to be with me, kissing her and stroking her cheeks. It was as though I heard a devastating sound somewhere close by, but it was nothing but my heart—shattered into two.

Thomas Shelby was many things, but he was not ignorant, or dumb. He slammed the book shut, shoving it on the bedside table. His heart was racing rapidly and he could feel blood rush through his veins. Arching his body forward, placing his elbows on his thighs, he buried his face into his palms. Every single detail in the book, every single piece of writing was something he had experienced before. It couldn't be a mere coincidence, could it? He slid out of bed, stomping through the hallway into his study until he was perched on a stool by the telephone his fingers frivolously moving against it. He knew what he had to do now.

"Pol?" He mumbled into the phone the instant he heard her on the other side.

"Tommy? It's fucking midnight, what's the bloody matter?" Tommy didn't mind he had woken her up. He needed answers.

"Do you remember a maid that worked for us?" He sighed into the receiver.

"Tommy, we have hired a dozen fucking maids, which one are you talking about?"

"She was with us when Greta died, when we went to war—"

On the other side of the telephone, Polly's demeanour softened. She remembered you, she even knew how you loved Thomas, but she could never bring it up to her lips, because she knew that you and Thomas had no future.

"Yes."

"Do you know where she is? And for fucks sake, don't lie."

Your coffee mug lay on the table untouched, smoke bellowing out of it in waves. Outside your window, snow drizzled from the sky, like tiny droplets of fur falling to the ground, your garden sheeted in pristine virgin white.

"Love, you have to bloody see this," your friend Linda's voice echoed through the closed door, loud enough to alert you.

"What is it?" You threw open your window, watching your bestfriend stand at the gate, her eyes fixed to your window, "Just get your bloody arse down here (Y/N), I have to show you something. Come on out, now."

Annoyance.

You practically ran down the flight of stairs, not even stopped to calm your breaths.

"Jesus, Linda, it's fucking snowing, I'm going to freeze to—"

"Sorry love." Linda gave you an apologetic smile, her index finger pointing towards the silhouette of a man leaning by your front gate, slowly sliding out of the periphery of gaze. Neither were you watching her. You were watching a ghost of your past, that stood leaning by the metal gate on your front door, a cap on his head, a long overcoat drawn over his scrawny body. He had gotten weaker than you had last seen him.

"Miss (Y/N)." His voice was curt, yet warm, without a trace of malice in it. After all these years, he was right here, on your doorstep.

"Mr. Shelby? Would you like to come in?"

He shook his head, rather, his eyes and you knew that he didn't want to talk in the confines of your home, under prying eyes. He slowly pulled out a book from his pocket and your eyes widened. Your fingers flew to your lips and you felt a rush of blood in your body, an instant feeling of being in the warmth of a fireplace. You wanted to reply, but you couldn't find the words.

"You read my book, you found me out."

"It wasn't that fucking difficult to figure it out, love."

"Jesus, would you please come in? It's freezing out here, you're going to bloody catch a cold—"

He cut you off as you turned to walk in, grabbing you by your arm, not hard, but firm enough to stop you from walking. He then pulled you towards him, your front hitting his hard chest, to look into his face.

"It was you all along?"

You didn't know what to say anymore. He had found you out. After all these years.

"I don't understand—" You whispered, shaking your head. You couldn't lie, his eyes were making you nervous and all the feelings that had simmered over the course of time were finally lighting up again. "I'm sorry, I didn't know it will get published."

"Do you believe in destiny?" He cut you off.

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to mentally think where he was going with this, "Perhaps, Mr. Shelby, but you need to be clearer than that."

"I didn't believe in fucking destiny, until this minute. I can't believe I'm fucking saying this—" You could see reluctance in his eyes, an inward fighting. You could see that he was thinking hard, probably having a hard time figuring out what he should say to you. "You remember Greta?"

You were hundred percent sure you weren't smiling, but had you been smiling, it would have withered.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby, the girl that died holding your hand, the girl you loved."

"Good, and what about Grace? The woman you saw at the fucking window."

Your cheeks reddened at the remark with embarassment, making you regret how he had read that part. That was a private thing between Thomas and Grace.

"I didn't mean to pry, I was just passing through the alley and I looked up and I —" You voluntarily bit on your tongue in an attempt to silence yourself because you knew you were babbling and your words were not making much sense. You needed to compose yourself, compose your thoughts.

"I married her, yeah? And do you know what happened then?"

You closed your eyes briefly, hoping he wouldn't see the pain in your eyes. When you blinked your eyes open again, you straightened slightly, almost taking a step away from him. He caught your arm, pulling you back to him.

"We have a lovely boy together, Charlie, he's three almost."

You wondered if Tommy was here to chastise you, to make you apologize, or maybe, your book had caused a rift in their marriage.

"She was shot. Fucking took a bullet that was meant for me. I fucking watched her die. Twice, (Y/N). I think it was my destiny. Will you ask me why?"

"Mr. Shelby—" You hopelessly began, trying to tell him how sorry you were about what had happened. But what could you do? It wasn't as if you had shot Grace.

"Just bloody ask me why."

You stiffened at the harshness of his voice.

"I- Why?"

"Because this fucking destiny had something else in mind for me. Perhaps it was you all along, the one I was maybe meant to be with."

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, a sudden palpitating feeling in your heart, a sudden throbbing in the back of your mind. You pulled your arm away, wincing slightly at his sudden outburst, instantly moving away.

"Your words make no sense. Will you please stop?"

He parted his lips in an attempt to reply, but all that shot out of his plump lips was foggy winter air and he shut it. His hand flew to the side of your face, but he didn't touch you. He merely took a loose strand of your hair, curling it over his index finger. You could feel the sudden tension, his lips so close to you, you knew if you didn't stop him, he would kiss you. And later regret it.

"Mr. Shelby, this is a mistake. If I was your destiny, I would be the one buried in a grave and not the women you loved. I did love you," you spoke, hopelessly pulling yourself one step away but this time he didn't make an attempt to pull you close, perhaps having sensed your reluctance.

He raised his eyebrow, "Did?"

"I still do, but I don't think we were meant to be."

"I see," he almost stepped closer, reluctantly, fighting for control at the back of his mind. This was a new feeling. He knew he didn't love you yet, but at the same time, he knew he was in love with the woman from the book. The woman who had always loved him.

"Why?"

A single word can hold a vast meaning. A single word can have an answer that you could probably write a book on.

"Because Thomas .. We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies," you whispered in a low voice, tears shrouding into your eyes.

"Yet there's a bloody thing that binds us to each other. Something neither you nor I can see," he mumbled under his breath, sliding his hand into his pocket, pulling out a box of cigarettes.

You didn't know what to say to him. Your mind was fervently throbbing through your skull. Your heart leapt with joy but your mind didn't let you be at ease. He waited a few seconds but when he realized you had made up your mind, he decided he will not push you. You had given him the answer. You didn't want him. He nodded softly, letting his eyes wander down to your feet for a bit before giving you a last look as he turned his tail and started walking off, his boots crushing the snow as he started walking away.

And just like that, you realized that history was repeating itself. But this time, it was all your fault. You were letting him walk away when you could finally be happy.

"Thomas stop.." His name flew out of your mouth even before you could clamp your mouth shut. You saw him freeze, but this time, he didn't turn your way, but with his back turned towards you, you missed the hint of a smile that crossed his lips; the way you had stopped him meant that he still had hope.

"I would like to work for you again, does Charlie need a nanny?" You bit your lip.

It was nothing, but yet, it was a start. If destiny really wanted the two of you together then you wanted to try it out from the beginning, maybe make the man fall in love with you and not the woman who wrote the book. You wanted him to love you and not pity you.

"Twenty shillings, you stay at the Arrowe House, no further will be discussed on that, yeah?"

You gave him a weak smile, although you could not see his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow then, Mr. Shelby, first thing in the morning at 9."

He nodded and then, sliding his hands into his pockets, he walked away, his heavy boots crushing the snow underneath, generating a squishing, crunching sound until you could hear him no more. You couldn't wipe that smug smile from your face as you looked up at the sky, scrunching up your nose when you felt something cold; perhaps a snowflake had landed on the tip of your nose. It was a start, a start of a new day and who knew, perhaps a new life for you. Needless to say, you were excited.

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #tommy shelby #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders x reader #200 followers appreciation #thank you for liking my work

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littledrummeraussie · 4 years

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At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 3

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 5345 words tags/warnings: past: still an unhealthy load of flirting. they are still sharing food. slow dancing. a second of angst. thank god there's only one bed. smut. oral sex (female receiving). sex with protection. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia. slow dancing again. some light references to an upcoming sexual situation.

“How did we end up having sex?” your head leaned back against Ashton’s shoulder and he huffed with a chuckle, wrapping his arms more tightly around you.

“It was probably the eggnog we had with dinner. Or was it champagne?” his cheek rested against your temple and you nuzzled a little closer to him. “I don’t remember.”

“Or just the undeniable sexual tension,” you giggled, turning back to wash your used mugs and put them on the rack to dry. “There was a lot of flirting for sure.”

Bailey has already gone back upstairs to the boys and you decided to clean up a bit before doing the same. Ashton stepped behind you the moment you went to the sink and pushed his body against your back, locking you in his embrace. He lightly swayed with you, humming to a Christmas song that got stuck in his head from last night and before you knew it he already pulled you away from the counter, turning you around to grab your hand and waist and suddenly you were dancing in the kitchen, both of you barefoot and in your sleep clothes.

“We haven’t danced in forever,” he kissed the shell of your ear, his breath hot on your skin, and you melted against him, letting out a sigh.

“I remember dancing with you in our room,” you turned your head a little, pressing your lips against his in a sweet peck. “Before you’ve kissed me.”

“I still remember how you’ve looked in the Christmas lights,” he knocked his forehead against yours, eyes hooded but full of love. “Absolutely breathtaking. Just like now.”

“I was in a nice dress and heels and now I’m in my PJs,” you rolled your eyes with a smile as Ashton guided you towards the living room, dipping you a little before pulling you back against his chest.

“Told you: breathtaking,” he pushed his lips against yours, making it clear that the discussion was not up for debate anymore. “Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.”

With that Ashton pulled your hips against his and you giggled into the crook of his neck as you felt his hard-on press against your stomach. You pushed yourself up on your tiptoes, smearing kisses on his cheek and lips, his only answer a breathy sigh.

“Is that for me?” you bit your bottom lip, a faint blush on both of your cheeks. “Do I still have that effect on you?”

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he buried his face in your hair, taking another deep breath, inhaling you. “It’s been 7 years and I still fall in love with you every day.”

*****

“Have dinner with me?”

“I thought we just did that for the last two nights,” your eyes followed Ashton as he rounded the coffee table, sitting down next to you on the couch.

He’s been away for an hour, wanting to call up some people and have a walk while you finished watching a movie, still wearing your PJs and wrapped in one of the blankets. Ashton’s cheeks were pink from the cold (or maybe a blush that hid there), curls hanging over his forehead dampened by the snowy weather. His fingers ran through his hair to push it back, pulling his legs up on the sofa before slowly sliding a foot under your blanket, his toes cold against your bare ones even through his sock.

“I know, but… this is different,” he finally looked up at you when you didn’t pull away from his touch. “They are offering a fancy dinner for the guests downstairs and I thought that we could go too. There’s also a chance that I have already asked them to reserve a table for us.”

“You seem pretty confident that I’ll say yes,” you teased him, a smile pulling at your lips; both of you already knew the answer to his question.

“You’ve just told me that we’ve been having dinner together for the last two nights,” he quirked an eyebrow at you. “So why would tonight be any different?”

“You just told me it’s gonna be different,” you giggled and Ashton rolled his eyes at you. “But I would love to have dinner with you, yeah. Thank you for asking.”

Later that evening, when you were getting ready for dinner you found yourself thinking about this occasion and what it meant. Ashton could have just ordered dinner for the two of you, asking for room service and be done with it like any other night before. But he asked the staff to reserve a table for you, asked you if you wanted to join him – and that sounded a lot like a date for you. Even if it was only for one night.

Ashton was already waiting for you in the living room wearing a black button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a button or two undone at his neck. The moment he heard you entering he looked up, eyes going wide and lips parting, and you felt yourself blush under his gaze. You knew the little black dress looked good on you, but you did not expect a reaction like this from him – even if you were hoping for it. He quickly caught himself and stood up from the couch, stepping to you and looking you over.

“You look… breathtaking,” he finally said, his gaze locked on yours. “Are you sure you’re my date?”

“I don’t remember anyone else asking me,” the little word made your heart beat quicker and you chuckled, making Ashton do the same. “You’re really handsome as well.”

“Shall we then?” he motioned for the door and you nodded, leaving the room together.

Ashton offered his arm to you when you stepped outside and you accepted it, letting him lead you towards the elevators. Your eyes lingered on each other, smiles and giggles were shared as you arrived downstairs to the restaurant. He gave his name to a waiter and she led you to a table at the back, giving you some time to settle down. Ashton pulled the chair out for you, his fingers brushing against your shoulder before he sat down as well, his hand reaching for yours almost unconsciously before pulling it back like he didn’t do anything.

The waiter came back for your drink orders, and you both quickly decided that eggnog wasn’t really something you wanted to have, so you agreed on a glass of champagne to celebrate the holiday. Your drink and food soon arrived and a comfortable silence settled over the table, only interrupted by giggly remarks and not-so-quiet whispers that left the two of you breathless with laughter. Stealing bites from the other’s plate wasn’t surprising anymore, so you just let your foot lightly kick against Ashton’s whenever he reached over the table for which he curled his ankle around yours, giving you a toothy grin and a wink.

Maybe it was the champagne giving you courage, or maybe you just couldn’t help yourself anymore, but with dinner over and the two of you still sitting there sharing stories you let your hand wander, fingers lightly stroking over Ashton’s arm where it rested on the table. He followed you with his eyes, slowly turning his wrist so you could brush against the moon tattoos on the inside of his arm, drawing over the inked lines with your fingertips. You wanted to take a better look at them since that very first night, and it seemed like Ashton didn’t mind you exploring – the content smile pulling at his lips told you that he was more than okay with your ministrations.

Someone stepped to your table and you were ready to pull back, feeling like you had forgotten about yourself but Ashton loosely tangled your fingers together at the last moment, giving them a light squeeze. Your waiter was back with two plates that she put in front of you, telling how the cakes were a gift from the house as part of the fancy dinner you just had. When she left Ashton gave one more comforting squeeze to your hand before letting you reach for your fork to start on your dessert.

“I can already see you eyeing up my chocolate cake,” you took a bite of your dessert while giving Ashton a knowing look and he shrugged with a grin, a sparkle in his eyes.

“You should know me by now,” he licked some whipped cream off his fork, eyes never leaving you. “I swear they’ve brought two different cakes on purpose.”

“Want a bite?” you offered with a smile and Ashton nodded without hesitation.

You cut off a piece and leaned over the table, holding the fork up for him. Ashton opened his mouth, taking the offered cake between his lips, and that was the moment when the both of you realized that you actually used your own fork to feed him – and that you really didn’t mind sharing it with him. Your eyes were locked on each other as he licked his lips before complimenting the cake, already cutting off a piece from his own dessert and sharing it with you, this time using his own fork to feed it to you.

A smile was shared between the two of you, a light giggle bubbling up from your chest as you both turned back to your cakes. You’ve never felt this comfortable with anyone on a first date.

*****

“You think we could move to the couch?” Ashton lightly nipped your ear, fingers pushing under your shirt at your waist, his touch familiar and warm against your skin. “Just wanna make out with you like we used to.”

“How about you get the fire going…” you nodded towards the fireplace, a glint in your eyes. “…and we could do a little more than just making out, huh?”

*****

“Thank you for the dinner invitation. It was really lovely spending time with you. Again.”

“The pleasure was all mine.”

With dinner over you’ve decided that it was time to go back to your room and maybe watch another Christmas movie while trying to get news about your cancelled flights, seeing if the snowstorm settled down enough that you could travel again. There were no more words between you as you stepped into the elevator, the silence as comfortable as it always has been.

Ashton’s eyes were following the floor numbers while the back of his hand brushed against your hand, and you felt him curl his pinky finger around your own, the touch slow and a bit tentative until you let your fingers tangle with his, your hands loosely interlocked and slightly swinging between the two of you. His eyes moved from the numbers to you, giving you a soft look as his thumb stroked over your skin, and for a moment you let your head rest against his shoulder, your eyes closing as a hundred scenarios ran through your mind.

The elevator stopped with a short ding!, pulling you out of your daydreams. Ashton lightly tugged on your hand and led you down the hallway to your room, his hand still holding onto yours. He fumbled with the key, his cheeks slightly pink as he finally opened the door and let you inside. You knew he felt it too, how something has happened between the two of you, how the world shifted just a little bit inside the quiet of your hotel room, how something has changed between the then and the now.

The room was still dark with only the small Christmas tree giving off a colourful glow, and you let yourself get lost in the festive feeling of the holiday as you watched the lights dance around. You felt Ashton step behind you, his shoulder brushing against yours for a moment before you heard music coming from somewhere and his hand reached for yours, making you turn around. His phone was lying on the table, a slow song playing on the tiny speakers as he offered his hand to you and without hesitation you slipped your hand in his, the other one quickly finding its place up on his shoulder as he curled an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

There was something really beautiful in that moment, something that took your breath away – maybe the Christmas lights or the music, or maybe just Ashton himself with his hazel eyes and dirty blond hair, looking at you like you were the single most beautiful thing in the entire world. You slowly swayed together, lips parted and eyes almost unblinking, like you were scared the moment would be broken if one of you blinked. The music slowly faded away, leaving the both of you in the silence, still holding onto each other.

Your hands slipped around his neck, fingers playing with the fabric of his black shirt as they smoothed over the collar, sliding down on the lapels and skipping over the first two buttons until you got to the one that was still done up on his chest. You lightly fumbled with the button, slowly undoing it and going for the next, fingertips just brushing against his skin under the fabric. But then you felt Ashton reach for your wrists and pull them back on his shoulders, and you felt heat crawl up your neck; in that moment you were sure you have misread all the little signs and that he will tell you that you should stop right then and there, and never talk about it again.

“I’m sorry, I– I shouldn’t have…” you stumbled over your words, voice small and eyes looking anywhere but at him, ready to pull away at any second.

“No, Y/N. No,” Ashton’s voice was soft and sweet, hands lightly cupping your jaw and tilting your head up to look back at him. “I just… just want to kiss you.”

He leaned forward, knocking his forehead against yours and once again you got lost in his eyes, ready to memorize all the colours before they slowly closed as he pressed his warm lips against yours. His eyelashes tickled your skin and you let your fingers slide into his hair at the nape of his neck, keeping him close as you kissed him back, lips slowly gliding against each other’s, the touch hesitant but curious. Ashton’s lips slightly parted as he tried to breathe and kiss you at the same time, a quiet moan slipping out when your tongue brushed against his. You sucked on his bottom lip, nipping it lightly with your teeth, and you felt his fingers tighten on your jaw, his kiss suddenly turning hungry and passionate.

Your fingers tangled into the lapels of his shirt as you held onto him, knees suddenly weak from the force of his kiss. He swallowed your moans and needy whines, arms curling around your waist as he pulled you to his chest; he was like a starved man, craving something only you could give him. His tongue licked into your mouth deepening the kiss and you felt dizzy from how much you wanted him.

Ashton pulled back for a moment, lips red and kiss-swollen, eyes dark in the colourful lights, and you couldn’t help but press your lips back against his, needing to feel them kiss you again. His grip on your hips tightened, slowly taking a few steps backwards to fall back against the couch, pulling you into his lap. Your fingers found their way back to his shirt, fumbling with the remaining buttons and undoing them quickly, palm pressing against his chest as your teeth closed around his bottom lip, pulling on it slightly. Ashton groaned, and before you could pull back to take a look at him he leaned forward, capturing your lips in another kiss, finishing it with a playful bite, just like the one you gave him.

He brushed the hair away from your neck, kissing and licking the soft skin as his hands slid up your back, slowly pulling down the zipper on the back of your dress. Your lips met in another kiss, palms cradling his jaw as he pulled you flush against his chest, and suddenly you felt hot feeling his hard cock press against you where you straddled his lap. The needy sounds leaving your lips made him grab your hips again to help you grind against his bulge and your fingers tugged on his button-up shirt, wanting to finally pull it off him.

With Ashton’s help you threw the shirt on the floor, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold onto him again. It was like he was waiting for this exact moment, suddenly rising from the couch and pushing you onto your back, climbing after you, lips kissing up your neck and along your jaw until he knocked his forehead against yours, out of breath and pupils blown wide. Both of you were panting, the air hot between the two of you as you looked at each other, waiting for what the other was going to say.

“Come to bed with me?” Ashton’s voice was husky with some softness to it, and you tangled your fingers into his hair, lightly brushing through it.

“What’s wrong with the couch?” you let out a breathy giggle and smiled at him, making him chuckle.

“I just need more space,” he mumbled against your lips, leaving small pecks on them. “You’ve told me that the bed is big enough for two and that you don’t mind sharing.”

“That’s true,” you nudged your nose against his, pressing another kiss on his mouth. “Alright, lead the way.”

Ashton pulled you up and gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly as he made his way to the bedroom, and you hid your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He pressed a kiss on your cheek before mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘ready?’ then suddenly dropped you on the bed, crawling after you in a second. You kissed between giggles, his fingers pulling on your dress until he could finally remove it, tossing it next to the bed before going back to press another round of kisses on your neck and collarbones.

He followed the path down to your breasts, palms sliding up your arms and pulling on the straps of your bra, his lips already skimming against the warm skin he uncovered. The lingerie soon landed next to the dress, and Ashton held himself up above you, drinking you in with dark eyes and parted lips like he just couldn’t get enough of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, already lowering his head to press open-mouthed kisses on your chest and you curled your hands around his biceps, squeezing them.

“Ash,” your voice was a whisper, a moan, or maybe even a needy plea, you weren’t sure; you just wanted him as close as possible.

“Trust me,” his eyes found yours as he looked up while his lips pressed a kiss between your breasts. “I know what I’m talking about.”

Your fingers were cradling through his hair as he kissed and licked the soft skin of your breasts, lips slowly closing around a nipple to run his tongue over it, sucking it gently. His palm cupped your other breast, thumb flicking against the hard nub as his teeth lightly bit the other one, and you tugged on the locks between your fingers, both wanting to keep him there and pull him up for a kiss. Ashton licked your nipples one after the other then slowly blew on them, the cool air making them harden even more, and you felt your back arching at the sensation.

“Beautiful,” he whispered again, pressing another set of open-mouthed kisses between your breasts and over your ribs, making his way down on your stomach.

You shifted on the bed already feeling heat pool between your legs, Ashton’s touches making you feel like your body was on fire. There were kisses left on your hip bones as he slowly slid away the lace of your panties, nose pressed against your skin and breath tickling you as he tugged it lower. He stopped only for a moment, eyes searching you, and you gave an encouraging squeeze to his shoulder to continue, his answer a kiss on your wrist before sliding the panties down on your legs.

His palms smoothed against your calves and the back of your knees, slowly stroking up your inner thighs, parting your legs to lie between them. The feeling of his fingers on your thighs tickled, making you giggle lightly, and Ashton gave you a crooked smile before pulling your legs over his shoulders, lips pressing kisses closer and closer to where you needed him. You fisted the sheets as he slowly licked over your slit, thumbs stroking your lips before spreading them to lick between your folds, tongue swirling around your clit at the top. He groaned at the taste, already diving back to lap at your pussy, and your fingers tangled into the hair at the back of his head, wanting to keep him between your legs.

His lips closed around your clit sucking it into his mouth while his fingers teased your entrance, not pushing in just rubbing the sensitive skin, licking over it fast just to slow it down again, his satisfied moans making you shiver. Hazel eyes were looking up at you with desire as he gave one last lick to your pussy, nose brushing against your swollen clit before pressing a kiss on the skin just above. Then Ashton pushed himself up, body hovering over you as you grabbed at each other, sharing sloppy kisses and swallowing the other’s needy sounds.

You felt him slightly tremble as your fingers ran down his chest, smoothing over muscles and sensitive nipples, a small laugh mixed with his sighs as you tickled a sensitive spot just under his ribs. Your palm curled around the bulge in his jeans, rubbing him through the fabric, making Ashton lightly bite into your shoulder to stifle the growl escaping him. His mouth was back on yours and you sucked on his bottom lip while fumbling with his belt, tugging on the button and zipper to free him from his jeans. His cock was hard and thick, soaking the thin fabric of his boxers where the tip leaked precum, and you reached for him, pulling him out of his underwear and giving him a few light strokes, making his eyes roll back.

“Is that all for me?” your voice was just above a whisper, lips brushing against his cheek as your thumb teased the tip of his cock, and you felt Ashton give a short nod.

“All of me is for you,” Ashton’s whine was music to your ears, his words making your heart beat quicker. “Fuck, Y/N–”

“I want you to,” your fist tightened around him while his fingers tangled into your hair, kissing you between words and moans, never getting enough of the feeling. “I want you, Ash, please.”

“You sure?” he knocked your foreheads together, nose nuzzling your skin and you nodded, squeezing his shoulder.

“Do you have any…?”

“Yeah. Just a second.”

His lips pressed another kiss against yours and slipped off the bed, pulling off the rest of his clothes before quickly searching through his bag, pulling a box of condoms out of an inside pocket. You sat up and watched him roll one onto his cock, biting your lip as you entertained yourself with the thought that he bought the package just because of you during one of his solo trips the day before – even if it wasn’t true it still made arousal bubble up in your lower stomach.

Ashton climbed back next to you, giving a squeeze to your hips as he sat against the headboard, motioning you to straddle his lap. Your thighs rested on both sides of his hips, bodies melting together as you kissed and caressed each other, his hands on your hips pulling you closer to his cock. You grabbed his hard length, rubbing your wet lips against him to coat him in your juices, your fingers tangling into his hair as you slowly let the tip slip inside you, both of you moaning as you worked yourself back on his cock.

“I didn’t plan on having sex during this trip at all,” his lips peppered kisses on your neck while pushing deeper, a whimper escaping you when you made sense of his words. “But you had me wrapped around your finger the moment I’ve met you and I couldn’t take chances.”

“Do I have that effect on you?” your fingers were still cradling through his curls as you settled in his lap, getting used to feeling him so deep inside you.

“You have no fucking idea,” he captured your lips in a kiss, hand cupping your jaw while the other stroked over your back soothingly.

Your hips slowly started moving on their own accord, your pleas whispered against Ashton’s lips urging him to do that same, and you felt him adjusting you in his lap, building his pace as he fucked up into you. His thrusts met yours as you were riding him, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, your high-pitched moans stifled by his kisses. He grabbed a handful of your ass, making you ride his cock faster and faster until your thighs started to strain and you buried your face in his neck.

Ashton held you tightly as he moved you onto your back, pulling your legs around his waist, your heels digging into his ass. He held both your hands above your head, fingers tangled together and squeezing tightly as his hips snapped against yours, his skin dragging against your clit, making you shake and clench around him. With parted lips and foreheads pushed together you both felt your bodies shake, smearing kisses on cheeks and noses as Ashton buried his face in your neck, trying to catch his breath. For a few seconds he stayed there, his pants hot against your skin before pulling back up, tongue licking against your mouth before kissing you deeply.

“I can still go on,” he mumbled against your skin, hips lazily trusting into you, cock still hard inside you.

“Yeah, me too,” your thumbs stroked his cheeks, kissing his nose sweetly. “But you gotta move.”

A smile played at the corner of his mouth before pushing himself up, pulling you with him. You pecked his lips again, giving a small bite to the bottom one and he pouted at you when you moved away from him. You made sure to give him a flirty wink before moving to the end of the bed and grabbing the headboard, slightly wiggling your ass, making Ashton groan and kneel behind you. His lips attached themselves to the spot where neck meets shoulder, sucking the skin between his teeth as he swiped his cock up and down between your folds, finally pushing back in. He quickly started pounding you again, his movements jolting the bed and making the frame thump against the wall.

His chest melted against your back, lips still kissing and biting you as his hands travelled up from your hips to your breasts, cupping them in his palms and thumbing your hard nipples, making you squeeze your pussy around his cock. You felt the pleasure building in you again as his thick length dragged against the sweet spot inside you, and you let your moans freely spill out of you, mixed with pleas of ‘more’ and ‘harder’.

Suddenly you felt him pull you against his chest as he sat back on his heels, cock still buried deep inside you as he fucked you faster than before, teeth closing around your earlobe, his hand between your legs as he thumbed your clit, drawing quick circles on it. You grabbed onto his arm, head leaning back against his shoulder, repeating his name between whimpers, begging him to make you come again.

“Ash– ‘sh, please,” your lips pressed against his jaw, the kiss landing sloppily on his skin. “Please–”

“Want to see you cum on my cock,” his breath was hot on your ear, his voice full of lust and longing as he still fucked you. “Want to feel you cum on it, want you to squeeze me so hard that you make me cum too.”

You felt your body tremble and shake against his as he finally got you there, his words in your ear making you wish he would fuck you until morning came around. You whined as he pulled out, knowing he wasn’t done yet – knowing that you wanted him back inside you right away. Ashton’s lips pressed a series of kisses against your spine before turning you back around and lying on top of you, easily sliding back into your pussy. Your arms slid around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he kissed you passionately, swallowing each other’s moans while his hips snapped into you, his own orgasm approaching fast.

He mumbled against your lips, words of ‘beautiful’ and ‘please’ and your name whispered on your skin as you squeezed around him. Then his hips stuttered, abs tensing against you as he sucked in a breath, his sounds full of pleasure as his cock twitched and pulsed inside you. He lazily trusted into you a few more times, riding out his high with his forehead knocked against yours, dark hazel eyes staring into yours. His lips parted around another moan before smearing them against your lips in a kiss, and you buried your fingers into his hair again, playing with the damp locks as you lazily made out.

“I don’t wanna move,” Ashton nuzzled his nose against yours, eyes hazy and voice thick with sleep.

“Me neither,” you stroked your palm against the back of his neck and the top of his spine, making Ash let out a sound that almost sounded like purring.

“Let me clean you up, okay?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together in one more kiss before he pulled out, making you hiss a little. He leaned forward kissing the skin between your breasts, then went to the bathroom looking for a washcloth. By the time he got back he already got rid of the used condom, now focusing on wiping your thighs and between your legs before crawling back on the bed, settling next to you.

Ashton quickly pulled you to his side before grabbing the blankets, tucking them around your shoulders to keep you warm against his body. You pressed a kiss against his shoulder, nuzzling his skin sweetly before you snuggled against his chest. His fingers brushed through your hair, lightly playing with the tangled locks as he stroked them away from your face, his cheek resting against the top of your head. Silence settled over the room, the only sound the rustling sheets as you caressed each other, enjoying your afterglow.

“Ashton…”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m on your side…” your lips brushed against his throat, and you felt him lightly chuckle before kissing your forehead.

“Sure there are sides anymore? I thought we’ve got better at sharing,” his voice was soft and flirty, something you’ve got so used to in the last two days. “And in that case: I think I’m on your side.”

“My side is your side, and your side is my side,” he giggled as you drew patterns on his skin, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “And since we’re so good at sharing… do you think we could have breakfast in bed?”

“Deal,” Ashton tilted your head up to kiss you, lips and tongues lazily brushing as you both hummed. “Anything else you wanna share with me?”

“I think I’m falling for you,” you confessed as you bit your lip, knowing this wasn’t what Ashton was thinking about.

“Too late,” he lightly shook his head, the soft smile still on his lips. “Because I already fell for you.”

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

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum @fanficsandotherthings @melanindarling

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #ashton irwin smut #dad!ashton #afic: at christmas all the roads lead home #series: at christmas #fiction time

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fred-george-fic · 4 years

Text

In the Middle Pt. 3

Cedric x Reader & George x Reader (Eventually)

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who’s enjoyed the story so far! I really appreciate it!

Summary: It’s time for the wizards to enter their name for the Triwizard Tournament!

Pairing(s): Cedric x Reader & George x Reader (eventually)

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: Angst?

Masterlist:~Part 1~Part 2~

The Goblet of Fire

The time leading up to October 30th, went by extremely quickly. Cedric and you continuously spent time together. You two would take trips to Hogsmeade on the weekends, study in the library together, and flirt with each other during Herbology. George and Fred would constantly tease you during other classes and meal times about the amount of time you were spending with Cedric, but you didn’t seem to mind.

“He’s taken her away from us, Georgie.” Fred would say as he sat on the common room couch.

“We spend time with her for six years straight and this is how she repays us.” George would say shaking his head. You would roll your eyes in response, but you knew you had been neglecting your best friends.

You walked with the twins to the Great Hall in order to welcome the two other schools to Hogwarts. The Beauxbatons join in the hall first, giving a dance that leaves over half the boys mouths hanging open. You roll your eyes and make eye contact with Cedric, who winks at you, making you smile. Next the Durmstrang Institute boys come into the hall with their own performance. This time the girls stare in amazement, particularly Hermione looks at Victor Krum a little bit extra than the others. When she makes eye contact with you, she blushes and you laugh slightly.

Once everyone is seated, Dumbledore begins his speech stating that a champion from each school will be chosen by the Goblet of Fire and students have until the following night on Hallowe’en to put their name in. As the Goblet is put down and the age line is drawn, you could see Fred and George coming up with a devious plan. As you exit the hall, Cedric comes running up to you, wrapping you in a huge hug. “Hello, Cedric.” You say laughing. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m going to put my name in.” He says pulling you out of the hug and holding your shoulders.

“What?” Your eyes get wide. “Cedric, it’s dangerous!”

“I know, but I really think I could stand a chance. Besides, what are the chances of me being picked?” You take a step back from him, trying to take in the information he just gave you.

“Ced-” He kisses you then, pulling you towards him and wrapping you back in his arms.

“I know.” He rests his head on the top of yours. You knew you couldn’t stop him, you just had to support his decision.

“Okay, I’ll support you.” You wrap him into a tight hug, trying to fight back the urge to beg him not too.

“Thank you.” He kisses the top of your head. “I need to go to my common room, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” You nod slightly. He kisses you softly and runs towards his friends, waving back at you one last time before sprinting away down the corridor.

The next day you sat in the Great Hall watching potential champions put their names in with Hermione. You were counting the number of Hogwarts students putting their names in, to hope that Cedric had a high enough chance to not be picked.

When you hear the doors open, you see Cedric walk in completely drenched, while his Hufflepuff friends laugh and cheer around him, pulling him towards the goblet. As they push him past the ring, his face becomes full of determination. Everything seems like it’s going in slow motion, you hope he’ll see your worry and decide not to put his name in, but his hand reaches up allowing the flame above to consume the paper. His face breaks into a wide smile as his friends immediately fill the room with cheering. You lock eyes for him for just a moment before one of his friends jumps on him in excitement hiding his face. You immediately look away, turning your attention to the door opening and the cheering beginning again. “Just cooked it up this morning!” You her one of the twins say running into the room.

“Oh no.” You say looking startled. You knew the twins wanted to enter, but you never thought they would actual succeed.

“It’s not going to work!” You hear Hermione say.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that Granger?” George says squatting down next to you.

“You see this.” Hermione points at the circle on the ground. “Dumbledore drew it himself”

“So?” Fred says while squatting down next to Hermione.

“So, a genius like Dumbledore couldn’t possibly be fooled by something as pathetically dimwitted as an aging potion.” She scoffs at the boys.

“Ah, but that’s why it’s so brilliant-” Fred begins.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim witted.” George finishes.

“I really hope you’re right, Hermione.” You say looking at her.

She gives you a look and smirks “I know I am.”

Then the two boys drink the potion with a “Bottoms up” and jump into the age line, cheering once nothing happens. They both put their names into the Goblet of Fire and it immediately shoots how small blue balls of fire and repels the boys backwards. Once they land, you notice they now have grey hair and beards. You laugh slightly, as the boys begin to fight. A crowd begins to gather around them yelling “Fight, Fight, Flight!” But once the crowd hears the doors open back up, everyone turns around. Victor Krum enters and puts his name in the Goblet, smiling at Hermione immediately after.

“It seems someone is starting to fancy you Hermione.” You tease her. She blushes quickly reopening her book and beginning to read. “Well, I guess I should go take care of my rapidly aged best friends.” You say getting up and pulling the two old men off of each other. “Let’s go to the Hospital Wing, boys. Madam Pomfrey can teach me how to undo something like this.”

The truth is, when you weren’t spending time with Fred and George or Cedric, you enjoyed spending time in the Hospital Wing helping Madam Pomfrey treat the patients. You desperately wanted to be a healer and always wished Hogwarts offered a class specifically on healing. But you always settled for Madam Pomfrey teaching you.

-------

You reach the hospital wing, with George and Fred following behind you and have both of them sit on one of the beds. “What were you two thinking? An aging potion, really?” You grab Madam Pomfrey’s attention before they can answer.

“Ah, you brought me two more. Easy fix.” She began to remove their beards, showing you how as she did. You began to remove George’s beard when you heard her sigh.

“Are you alright, Madam Pomfrey?” You ask, looking at her concerned.

“I am just worried about the tournament. I feel it is going to bring the school nothing but grief. We already had to deal with dementors last year, who knows what this tournament will bring.” She sighs again and continues removing Fred’s beard. “They are just putting these poor children through so much. Seventeen is still a child in my eyes.”

You continue working on George’s beard, nodding your head. “I completely agree.” As you finished up removing the beard, you noticed that George’s hair began to change back to its vibrant orange. “There’s the Georgie, I know!” You run your hand through his hair and shake slightly. As you did this, George’s eyes met yours, you stood there for a moment, staring at each other. You hear a cough breaking you out of your trance and look over to see Fred looking normal as well.

“Alright, time to explain yourselves.” You say taking a step back from the boys and crossing your arms.

“Fame-” Fred nodded.

“Glory-“ George continued.

“Money.” They both said in unison, looking at each other with a smile.

“You know, not everything is about making money.” You say sitting beside them on the bed.

“We know that, but ever since Bagman ran off with our savings-“ Fred began.

“We’ve had no hope of opening up our store.” George finished, looking down at the ground.

“I’ll help in any way I can, okay? But, you both need to stay safe, or else you’ll never be able to open it.” You look at the boys, hoping to attempt to boost their spirits. “I have some savings, it’s not much, but you can have it.”

“Y/N, we could never take money from you.” George says, looking over at you.

“Yeah, there’s no way!” Fred yelled, causing Madam Pomfrey to shush him.

“It’s an investment, you can pay me back later.” You give both the boys a comforting smile and get up off the bed. “We should head back to the common room before the ceremony starts.” All three of you leave the medical ward and begin to head back towards the common room.

-------

Later that evening, after Fred and George had been de-bearded, everyone headed to the Great Hall in order to learn who the three champions are. As you sat there, you hoped that Cedric’s name wouldn’t be called. Since you were helping Madam Pomfrey with the twins, you didn’t get a chance to see him after he put his name in. As the students begin to quiet down, Dumbledore begins his speech and the first name is called.

“Victor Krum!” The boy from Durmstrang walks up and stands at the front, he was the seeker you saw at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Fleur Delacour!” A beautiful girl with blonde hair from Beauxbaton walks up and stands next to Victor.

“And finally, Cedric Diggory!” Everything goes quiet for a minute, you can see people cheering, but your ears just start ringing. You grab George’s hand, holding onto it tight. You needed to hold onto something, anything, because you felt like you were going to faint. George looks over at you, eyes wide and holds your hand tightly. You make eye contact with Cedric as he stands at the front, he tries to smile at you, but you just stare at him in disbelief. All of the sudden, the Goblet of Fire turns fire red and spits out on last name.

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore says almost as if he doesn’t believe it. Harry doesn’t get up at first, he just sits there, unsure of what to do. “HARRY POTTER!” Dumbledore’s voice becomes more urgent as Hermione pushes Harry up to the front of the hall. Soon all the champions are taken out of the room and the other students are told to return to their respective common rooms.

At first you don’t get up, you feel like you’re glued down to the bench. George is still holding your hand, saying something to you. But you’re struggling to listen. You keep hearing Dumbledore shout Cedric’s name and the faint cheers erupt through the halls.

“Y/N!” You finally hear George say, you notice that Fred is sitting on your other side.

“Sorry. I- I don’t know what came over me” You quickly get up and walk with the two boys, both of them sharing worried glances above your head as you walk back to the common room.

-------

“Hey, Y/N?” Harry comes back from the champions meeting and approaches you where you are sitting staring out a window in the common room. The rest of Gryffindor was throwing a party in Harry’s honor. Fred and George were hovering nearby, in case you needed a friend, but continued chatting with other people otherwise.

“Harry!” You quickly get up and hug him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m a little dumfounded, but fine nonetheless.” He gives you a hug, grateful to have someone looking out for him immediately, besides just celebrating. “Cedric is outside waiting for you.”

“Thank you Harry” You quickly run towards the door, immediately seeing Cedric on the other side. You rush over to him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He kisses the top of your head and holds you there for a long moment. The longer he holds you, the more emotional you become and you quietly start crying into his shirt, your shoulders rising and falling.

“Hey, look at me.” Cedric cups your face in his hands, pulling it up to face him. “I’m going to be okay. I promise.” He kisses you then, softly. He uses his fingers to wipe the tears off of your face, then gently kisses you on the nose. “The first task is on the 24th of November.”

“Okay.” You whisper quietly and look into his eyes “I’ll be there to support you. I know if anyone can win this, it’s you.”

A wide smile spreads across his face and he kisses you deeply. “That’s all I needed to hear. Now, go get some sleep, love.” He kisses your forehead and releases you from his grip. You give him one last peck before going back into the common room, heading into your dorm and drifting off to sleep.

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #the weasley twins #george weasley x reader #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory imagines #george weasley imagines #the goblet of fire #cedric diggory #george weasley

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yutahoes · 4 years

Text

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Five)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff, Mentions of Sex, Public Teasing

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

5. Cinderella

This wasn't Yuta's first time in Paris, that was what (Y/N) thought when he hailed a cab and fluently asked the driver to bring them someplace. Now, she's starting to wonder about how many girls he had brought here in Paris. How many girls he had sex with. How many girls had kissed those red lips?

And she lightly felt a pang on her chest at the thought that this will indeed be a once in a lifetime event.

The cab stopped in front of fancy boutiques that made her surprised, what are they doing here? They should have gone to a restaurant somewhere and get this over with, maybe they'll have an early night out and have some desserts afterward. She followed him inside one shop, surprising her further.

Boutique shops in Paris clearly are no joke. It was now clear to her why this was called the fashion empire. The shop has a high ceiling and an elegant looking chandelier at the center which redefines the image of high-end boutiques in her mind. "What are we doing here?" she asked while holding his arm but Yuta just smiled then held her by the waist.

The ladies in waiting were looking at them that made Yuta greet them, "I would like to purchase a dress for her." he said in English that made her look at him. He's going to buy a dress? For her?

The women were clapping their hands in delight as he gave her a light nudge to follow them. This is weird, (Y/N) thought. What is this dress for? And why would he purchase such a thing like this for her?

The dress was a sleeveless black one which stops midthigh that made her in awe with it. Upon trying it on, she was surprised at how much the dress cost. She'll have to work for a year to buy just a simple dress. The dressing room door opened and Yuta was just gaping at her. She quickly noticed that he's wearing a dress shirt now and that she might be mirroring the same expression as him. She wanted him, so bad.

"We'll get that," he claimed then grabbed a heeled shoe, giving it to another lady. She asked for her shoe size and left with the same shoe that Yuta asked for.

"Do we really need to dress up for this?" she asked as she sat on the couch, the dress riding up on her thigh that made him stare while licking his lips. The lady went back with the pair of shoes and Yuta kneeled to remove her worn-out sandals and replace them with the black stilettos.

This gesture of him is so hot, she thought, why does everything about this guy screams 'fuck me'? Once done, he trailed his hand up until it reached the back of her knee, flexing her leg. She isn't imagining things but Yuta's arousal can be seen bulging in his black pants, he's fucking turned on by this and she's glad that she isn't the only one.

He pulled her up, pulling her closer by the waist and she badly wanted him to kiss her. "Do you want to skip dinner and just do this?" she implied that made him smile.

The total irony. Why does he look so adorable now? "I made that mistake once, I'm not going to do it again." He let go of her and she felt the urge to touch him again. God, why is she so desperate for him like this? "I'll just get a coat..." But she stopped him, stepping closer that they're almost touching once again.

"Can I get one more thing?" she asked and he nodded, suddenly curious. "Color?" she asked with a hint of playfulness in her tone. Yuta may have caught it that he chuckled first before answering red and she disappeared somewhere in the store.

When she returned to the lobby, Yuta was already by the cashier and purchasing their outfits. She immediately saw him fishing out a black card and handing it out to the lady in front who thanked him. Just as she was about to give him the receipt, she quickly snatched it and grinned at the guy. He can't know about the lingerie she just bought even if it's obvious.

Yuta just smiled, handing his hand out for her to take. He got the black card and went out of the boutique holding hands. "Dinner?" he asked and she nodded, suddenly feeling hungry not just by food but because of Yuta.

He surprised her one more time when the cab arrived at one of the most famous restaurants in Paris. She had heard about it before since it boasts that their VIP Lounge has an overlooking view of the Eiffel Tower and the price is to the roof. "Good evening, Mr. Nakamoto." the man from the lobby greeted in English and they started conversing about the reservation he had.

"When did you get a reservation for this?" she asked, knowing full well that even though this is too high end it's not easy getting a reservation.

The man guided the two of them inside. "Earlier, when you were changing," he said that made her stunned. How did he get a reservation that fast?

She was about to speak once again when the interior made her speechless. Why is everything in Paris so fancy? The faint music made her more nervous than earlier, this is really romantic and Yuta made it happen. This isn't a normal lust anymore.

They stopped by a small table at the edge of the restaurant and true enough, she could see the breathtaking view of the Eiffel tower lights by the large window pane. Yuta, like a gentleman as he is, pulled the chair for her and even placed the napkin on her lap. "I'll come back with the menu, Mr. Nakamoto." Their server claimed and made his way through the calm dinner place.

The guy sat in front of her and she gaped at him, maybe there's a better view other than the Eiffel tower. "Do you usually do this?" she asked that earned a curious glance from him. "Take girls out in some fancy romantic shit."

He chuckled at her choice of words just as another server offered them wine. Yuta took a swig of the red wine and asked the sommelier to refill his glass. "I told you this is my form of apology and I want you to enjoy your vacation here in Paris since I'm intruding your time," he said that made her chuckle.

This is one weird way of apologizing. "If this is how you apologize then I wish you'll hurt me always," she mumbled then drank her wine.

Yuta smirked as the menu came, "Be careful of what you wish for." he whispered that made her look at him. Fuck, she's so sexually frustrated now.

She can't really focus on the menu at hand with how wet she's feeling, wanting friction between her legs. Well, two can play this game. She started giving him footsie from under the table that made Yuta glare at her. "What would you like to have?" he asked while smirking, opening his legs up to let her feet work on his thigh.

"I'll have what you have," she said then closed the menu to fully gauge his reaction. He was completely calm while giving his order to the waiter but when he asked for dessert, Yuta kindly declined that surprised her.

Once gone, he turned to her and gave her a frustrated sigh. "Can you please stop that? I might come in my pants if you continue doing that. Fuck." he said when her foot reached his hard cock, making her gasp. He is indeed hard.

The girl giggled before putting down her foot. "I told you we can just skip dinner." But he just shook her head, looking so amused at what she is claiming. "You're a tough one," she mumbled that made him laugh.

(Y/N)'s head was on her hand that was above the table, eyeing the beautiful Eiffel Tower which she can only see in pictures. She wished she had her tab or even a paper to draw the magnificent scene in front of her. She mumbled that it was really pretty and he answered that she is really pretty that made her look at him, why is he saying things that don't mean anything? Is he serious about that? Does he even want to have a relationship with her or the typical fuck boy ways? Maybe that was it.

"Are you a fuck boy?" she asked that made him surprised, looking at her as if she struck a nerve. "I mean there should be a catch. A guy as handsome as you, as rich as you, wouldn't just pick up random girls in Paris to date and have sex with unless..." He shook his head, drinking wine while keeping his eyes on her. That gaze, why is he making her this hot? Maybe, he really is a resident fuckboy.

"I'm not." he refuted then put down the glass of half-filled wine. "And I didn't pick you up..." he said while doing quotation marks with his fingers. "here in Paris, it was in the plane." he continued that made her nod. He sighed then put both his hands above the table, closing the distance between the two. "I saw you at the airport before the flight. You were shouting at that man who groped the girl in front of you." And she was reminded of what happened before her flight to Paris. At how she shouted at a certain sleazy old man for obviously touching the young girl's ass on the line. He was so embarrassed especially when the girl started crying and telling every onlooker that he did touch her. "It felt satisfying watching the old's man face when you groped him," he said with a laugh.

She laughed as well, visualizing how the man was so scared of her especially when she started touching him like how he did to that girl. "Well, he deserved that humiliation after everything he had done," she claimed then drank some of her wine.

"You're really headstrong and that made me attracted to you," he mumbled while staring fondly at her.

(Y/N) chuckled, when did being headstrong become her strong point? "Did you know that because of that I was often sent to the disciplinary office when I was young? Even my co-workers think that I'm a guy because of that." she shared that made Yuta laugh, that was perfectly plausible. She gazed at him with horror as the food came, he ordered steak? "Wait, how about the airplane seats?" she asked as he took her plate and started cutting the meat for her.

Yuta nonchalantly grinned. "I asked the stewardess to switch my seat to the one next to you. The ahjumma was really thrilled to be in the business class for that trip," he confessed that made her surprised, mouth forming an o as he handed her the plate of food.

"Are you stalking me?" she asked in surprise that made him chuckle. "So this is not a coincidence anymore?"

The guy smiled after getting a bite of his steak. "If I'm stalking you, I would have known your name already," he said while focused on his food. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow at him, recalling the events that happened between her and him, and realized that she hasn't said her name even once. "Don't worry, I like the mystery though," he claimed that made her laugh. "Let's just enjoy dinner first and maybe enjoy the other things later."

(Y/N) nodded, realizing that the best way to have some action going is to finish dinner early. The steak was delicious, and although she hated the mashed potatoes at the side, Yuta ordered her to eat it in a commanding tone that made her visibly shudder. Damn, he had this dominance washed on him that she wonders if he's like that in bed. Well, he did tell her that he doesn't let girls top him so he's probably that dominant. Is he sadistic though? A Christian Grey type of guy? If yes, then she's into some exciting night.

He paid for dinner using the card once again and even fished out his wallet to get some cash as a tip to the waiter. That was too much, (Y/N) thought, but he reasoned out that she did enjoy and that's what really matters.

The rain subsided and the chilly air of Paris welcomed them when they left the restaurant. She borrowed Yuta's coat but it's still cold and she cursed the dress for making her like this. Feeling really chilly, she made an excuse to have physical contact with the guy walking beside her and he just smiled when she hugged his arm. "Are you that cold?" he asked and she nodded, "No doubt. Your hands are freezing."

Yuta held both of her hands and breathed on it to keep it warm that made her stare. This looks like a normal thing to do if you are Parisian and in a relationship with each other but none of those two applied to them. "This feels like a dream," she mumbled honestly that made him look at her, tightly holding her hands. "To see the Eiffel Tower at night, feeling the Paris breeze, eating in some fancy restaurant, and wearing a really expensive dress." she enumerated then let go of his hands, feeling chillier now that physical contact is gone. "So thank you, Yuta shii, for making my Hot Parisian Romance dream come true."

He smiled, pulling her close that there is no distance left between their body. She can feel how hard he is and realized that it might be really painful for him. "Not quite. We're not in the hot part yet." And she smiled, asking what he had in mind.

He took this as an invitation to kiss her and if they're in Korea right now, they would have gotten the ill-look of people around. It was a good thing that they're in Paris, the city of love. Once again his mouth didn't disappoint as he kissed her, holding her cheeks as he devours her mouth and tongue. "Fuck, I could kiss you like this forever," he mumbled in between kisses, holding her cheeks while giving her butterfly kisses. "I'll just get some cash for the cab then let's head to the hotel for the hot part." She smiled at the thought, holding hands as they walked the streets of Paris.

He would stop occasionally to give her a quick smack on the lips and the tingling feeling started to form in her stomach. During the past relationships, she had never been this clingy but why does this guy make her feel like this? She looked like a schoolgirl who is so much in love. She might have looked so easy for him. And honestly, she didn't care. This was the first time that someone showed interest in her like this and she liked the attention, really. So just for this night, she wanted to be Cinderella and be a princess to this guy.

Yuta pulled out his black card again, inserting it on the ATM, and even if she didn't want to, she discovered his pin as 1026. Getting some cash, that surprised her, he handed her the card and asked to put it in her purse which she agreed. He wouldn't forget about it anyway.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 4 / Chapter 6

#yutanakamoto #yutasmut #yuta smut #yuta nakamoto #yuta nakamoto smut #nct smut

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animebw · 3 years

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Binge-Watching: Kaguya-Sama: Love is War, Episodes 4-6

In which I break down the strength of the show’s character writing, Chika is the perfect wild card, and I sense an even better show just waiting to break free.

World of Idiots

Comedy is hard. Talking about comedy is even harder. There is nothing in storytelling more complex to construct and more ruined by commenting on said construction than a joke. As you might imagine, that makes talking about an anime like Kaguya-Sama somewhat of a challenge. This show is focused on comedy from start to finish, only sprinkling a faint few nuggets of characterization and emotional depth among a swath of wall-to-wall jokes. If I want to talk about this show, 90% percent of that conversation is going to revolve around its comedy. That’s not a bad thing, it just means I’m gonna have to activate some analytical sensors I don’t use as much around these parts. If Kaguya-Sama’s a comedy above all else, I’ll just have to analyze it as a comedy. If that means thinking too hard about a series of rapid-fire gags, so be it. There’s value in talking about why a show makes you laugh just as much as any other aspect. And hey, that’s the first hurdle already cleared: this show makes me laugh. It makes me laugh a lot. As long as it keeps doing that, talking about how it accomplishes that feat isn’t going to be too much of a chore.

From a broad perspective, I think the core of why Kaguya-Sama’s comedy works is character writing. I’ve already touched on how both Kaguya and Shirogane are their own brand of overthinking dumbass (and Kaguya’s love of setting up overcomplicated schemes continues in full force here), but these episodes make it clear that the side characters are just as well thought out. Everyone brings a very unique comedic energy to the table, and by mixing and matching those energies, the show can keep finding new ways to tell jokes and keep its formula fresh. There’s Kaguya’s maid Hayasaki, an uber-straight-woman who tends to cut the bullshit in whatever situation she’s involved with and yank the rest of the characters into action whether they’re ready for it or not. She exists to break Kaguya’s paralyzed flailing and send her hurtling full-tilt into phone calls with her crush, all while mercilessly prodding her to recognize her feelings with the dry deadpan of a girl who’s seen this shit too many times to be phased by it anymore (”Which means he’s naked.”) She’s probably my favorite of the bunch, and that’s even without the revelation she moonlights as a gyaru for her school friends. On the other end of the spectrum, there’s the introverted treasurer Ishigami, who exists to shoulder the cruelest punchlines and suffer for our entertainment. Do you need someone to shit their pants in fear of Kaguya’s rage (”To think she could strangle me with the edge of the couch...”) or be crushed by Chika’s disgust because his attempt at a compliment was a little too creepy? Ishigami will happily be your punching bag. Well, not happily, but he’ll at least roll with the punches and fire off some fantastic self-deprecating humor as he slinks miserably out of frame so you don’t feel too bad for laughing at his failures (”I’ll be going home because of Stockholm Syndrome.”)

Dynamite Girl

And then there’s Chika aka the wild card to end all wild cards. She’s able to slot into whatever role her flights of fancy take her, none the wiser about the carnage she causes in her wake. She can stand on top of the joke by bursting out some sick beatboxing skills when you least expect it, but she can be the butt of the joke when those skills fail to impress (”Say oh!” *deafening silence* GOOD FUCKING BYE). She can throw off Kaguya and Shirogane’s best-laid plans by showing up with a well-intentioned helping hand that defeats the entire purpose of their schemes, but she can also accidentally make those schemes a success by bringing them exactly what they were looking for all along (see, the climax of the umbrella skit in episode 5). At times, she can be the smartest, most helpful person in the room, relentlessly pushing Shirogane to succeed even as his horrendously bad volleyball skills drive her to the brink of madness (The “I raised that boy” moment was so much funnier in context, good lord). At other times, she can be the purveyor of the worst advice on the face of the planet that somehow loops back around to turning out okay in the end (”I think we just created a pair of anarchists!” Nope, just charity workers.) And sometimes, she’s just absolutely fucking merciless. That moment where she weaponizes her probably very real insecurities of being left out as a weapon to defeat Kaguya at a word-guessing game? Holy shit, that had me doubled over laughing. And the sheer smug in her voice as she prods Shirogane into letting her teach him volleyball was absolutely priceless. There’s no telling whether this girl will be the victor or victim, actor or acted upon, problem-solver or problem in and of herself. All you know for sure is that wherever she gets involved, shit's bound to go off the rails in the most entertaining way possible. No wonder she’s the show’s most popular character.

Sprinkles on Top

Still, I don’t want to entirely write Kaguya-Sama off as just being a joke-fest. Small though they may be, there are moments of sincerity peppered throughout that suggest a more fully rounded show bubbling just underneath the surface. As hilarious as Chika using her social anxiety as a weapon was, Shirogane’s probably right that there’s an element of uncomfortable truth to her fears of not being able to read the mood. And he shows real sensitivity toward those fears, even if he’s not really able to articulate them meaningfully. He even picks up on how Kaguya gets mad for his sake during the French exchange program (”Kaguya threatens her with words that would be illegal to broadcast.”), and he appreciates how well she knows him on multiple occasions. Beneath his stubbornness and, shall we say, limited understanding of women, it’s clear that Shirogane’s a genuinely good dude, and it makes sense why Kaguya has a crush on him. There’s even hints at a rough family life; the fact his dad answers his cell phone without his permission suggests they don’t exactly have the healthiest relationship. If Kaguya-Sama decides to start pulling on these threads and incorporate a more emotional throughline with its comedy, it might just upgrade from a really good show to a great show. In fact, I suspect it might just head in that direction before all’s said and done. You do not rise to the top 25 highest-rated shows on MAL and Anilist without something that really connects with people. Consider me excited to see it grow from here!

Odds and Ends

-”You provide the cat ears, and I’ll provide the Shinomiya!” lol whut

-”IT’S SO CUTE!” It’s fucking mutual askdjhaksdh okay that’s great

-”Congratulations. Your first message from him.” D’aaaaaaaaw.

-Ooh, that’s actually some nice French from the French students. Well done, show.

-”I ran to the drama club for supplies.” Oh. My. GOD. Love Detective Chika for the win.

-How... how does one even manage to smack themselves on the back of the head while playing volleyball? That’s, like, advanced levels of fail.

-”Yay, balls are fun!” Never change, Chika.

-”How does such a thing happen?” holy shit her distressed face I’m dying

-”I think she might have killed two or three people already.” Wouldn’t put it past her, tbh.

-”Oh, just a bit of mischief.” “She’s cute.” Hard agree, my man.

-”Because if you had... I wouldn’t be using a toy right now.” Poor Ishigami, lmao.

-”I’m sorry. I don’t see you as anything more than in insect.” fucking rip

-askdjkasd the freaking dumptruck

-Honestly, Shirogane’s got a better eye than me. I never notice when girls paint their nails or get a subtle haircut or stuff like that.

Aaah, this show is fun. See you next time!

#anime #the anime binge-watcher #tabw #kaguya-sama: love is war #kaguya-sama #kaguya sama #kaguya-sama wa kokurasetai

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labyrinthsofyou · 4 years

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room for two

pairing: wong yukhei & female reader

genre: fluff & suggestive

words: 8, 091

summary: it feels right to ask yukhei to move in with you.

one of wong yukhei’s favorite thing to do is to make your worries disappear.

sometimes it’s the hugs that he gives. when he envelops you in his strong arms, warm and safe you are like nothing can hurt you. other times it’s his kisses that do the trick. he leaves them affectionately on your lips, on your cheeks, on your forehead and even on the tip of your nose. but not always can he hold you or kiss you to make those worries go away. so instead you will get his words, genuine and heartfelt just like everything about him.

when you feel like less than yourself, your confidence dipping a little, yukhei reminds you that you can do anything.

“don't listen to what anyone else says. you are incredible. i trust you.”

when you can’t sleep, tossing and turning because your mind is spinning, yukhei whispers for you to breathe.

“don’t think about anything else, okay? just close your eyes and listen to your breaths. do you feel how your breaths go in and out? focus on that.”

and when you’re unsure, anxious in whatever predicament you find yourself in, yukhei tells you that timing is everything. he advises you to assess the situation, observe your surroundings, think carefully and feel with all your heart. everything will fall in place afterwards.

“babe, that’s a lot of steps to remember when i’m freaking out.”

he laughs lightly, kissing your frown away before leaning into your ear.

“the first time i kissed you, did you know you were just so beautiful under the lights? your eyes, your smile, everything about you was glowing. you were talking about wanting to see the world and i just kept thinking how much i wanted to be there next to you when you did. i remember feeling so nervous, wondering what if someone saw, but i just had to. when i finally kissed you, it felt so… wow like fireworks. and look where we are now?”

so much more yukhei tells you and in the back of your mind, you keep his all words and remember them when you need them most.

like for tonight.

for the first time in a few weeks, he has a free night. there aren’t any recordings, practices or flights on schedule. it will be just you and him.

and when yukhei had told you so, embraced you and murmured he wanted to go out with you, you had stared at him before giving him a small peck to his lips. you had suggested instead a date night in of yours and his favorite take-out food and a movie of his choice. besides it had been raining and, in your mind, being indoors and dry in his arms as the raindrops hit against your windows hadn’t seemed like a terrible idea.

yukhei had sighed at the sweet look you gave him and shook his head before chuckling softly. “i get to take you out next time though, okay?” his plump lips had formed a pout.

you had giggled, feeling your heart skipping a beat. “deal, babe,” you had promised with a kiss.

so, on your couch you currently sit, snuggling into his side. your naked legs rest over his thighs and his hands set on your knees, his fingertips absentmindedly draws circles as he watches the movie playing. too excited he is to finally see this. your gaze dances along his profile, seeing the faint reflection of the moving pictures in the lenses of his glasses. he seems to be in awe of everything going on in the brightly lit screen. relaxed and comfortable he looks and you are certain this is one of your favorite shots of him.

“did you see that?” yukhei quietly asks you, his eyes following the movements of the actors on screen.

no, you didn’t.

you also haven’t been processing much of the movie since he pressed play. and it isn’t because you don’t want to. this film has received nothing but positive reviews regarding the storyline and acting. just a little distracted you are. to be honest, since yukhei walked through that door, greeting you with his wide beam and light caresses to your lips, you have been. and adding to it, a lot anxious and worried you are as you feel the beats of your heart picking up.

there is another reason you had wanted to stay in tonight.

because as yukhei presently enjoys the action on the screen, thinking about what’s going to happen next in the plot, you’re thinking about what’s going to happen tonight. when the movie eventually ends, when he starts kissing you goodbye to return to the dorms and when you finally ask him to move in.

with you.

in your mind and your heart, you have been questioning if you are truly ready. for a while you’ve been living on your own. your home has become your private safe haven when you are stressed and overwhelmed and simply just want to shut out the world. it would be strange to be living with someone else again. you’re nervous it’ll be too sudden for him. never any mentions of living together has yukhei ever uttered to you. you have pondered if it has ever even crossed his mind, that he is content with what he currently has going on with him leaving before the sun comes up to head back. and deep down too, it’ll be a lie to say you aren’t scared of how everything has the possibly of changing between you. the handful of times you have managed to go away together for a weekend doesn’t compare to living together, of sharing the same space daily.

this is a step to something more.

and each time these thoughts enter your mind, what always seem to gently echo behind them are his words.

assess the situation. observe your surroundings. think carefully. feel with all your heart.

because timing is everything and all will fall into place.

so, you had begun assessing the situation.

and a month ago, yukhei had bestowed a long parting kiss to your lips and left you with promises to let you know when he returned to the dorms safely. in your living room alone, you had stood. the quietness had felt foreign like it always did for a moment after he’d leave. the pillows and blanket on the couch you were certain still had his lingering scent. hours you had spent with him. yet you hadn’t been able to fight the feeling of missing him already. ridiculous you had felt because weeks you endured of seeing his face through a screen and waiting for his arms to be wrapped around you again. you had countries and oceans between you at times. but thirty minutes apart had suddenly felt almost overwhelming.

you had laid in bed after midnight, reading his messages of good night wishes and sweet dreams and how he and his friends were toasting marshmallows in their oven. you had glanced at the empty space beside you while your fingertips grazed the cool sheets. how you wished yukhei could had been beside you until dawn yet fully knowing the time with his group you never wanted to take away from him.

the thoughts in your mind you had pushed away.

and you had done your best of trying not to think of them. but then yukhei had come over late in the evening after practice. all he had wanted was to see you, missing you too much even though you were in the same city. the drama you had been watching was soon forgotten as his body rocked against yours and yukhei loved you like only he could. then asleep in his arms on the couch you had stayed until the disappearing night sky gently woke him up.

“i have to go,” he had mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep and tiredness.

back to the dorms yukhei had to return to for a shower and change of clothes before his schedule. even when you hadn’t wanted to watch, the same clothes he dressed in again. a dozen quick tender kisses to your mouth and one to the forehead telling you to go back to sleep he had pressed on you. then quietly yukhei had shut the door behind him, the sound of the lock clicking too loud in the early morning.

you hadn’t been able to sleep though.

instead the rest of that morning you had spent watching the sun slowly rise and allowed yourself to imagine how maybe it would be a little easier if he could get ready for his schedule here, if he had a change of clothes to wear after a shower here.

you had walked around your apartment observing as if it had been your very first time in there. you had taken note of the area, the furniture placement and how much space it would be needed for you and him for more than visits and date night ins. you hadn’t been able to deny your place was tiny especially compared to the dorms. but you were certain it had the necessities you and him needed. a fairly decent kitchen to cook in, a table for meals for two (or more), a living room spacious for the blanket forts and a big enough bedroom that allowed a bedside table for you and him. the bathroom even had an updated shower with extra room to spare for his tall height and frame.

and as days passed with the extra time on your side, gradually you had begun cleaning what you could and organized all you owned. you had told yourself you needed to tidy up anyway. but in the end, you had been left staring at the empty area on the left side of the closet and bare dresser drawers for too long. you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from picturing his neatly folded shirts, his warm hoodies and sweaters hanging, his pants tucked away and everything else he’d wish to fill up the space that would be just for him.

those images had brought a flip to your stomach and soon after you found yourself foolishly searching up articles of significant others moving in, reading on what others believed was the perfect timetable. some couples took six months while others took years. you read about joys that made you excited and frustrations that made you sigh. yet the more you had read, the more you wondered if what you had was so much more different. the stages and times of other couples hadn’t been like yours.

the first time yukhei ever told you he loved you hadn’t been a grand gesture of a candlelit dinner, a fancy dress and flowers. instead it had been in the wee hours of the morning when he was in another country for filming and with you and him in pajamas because you had stayed up just to see his face and hear his voice. and before you had ended the call, yukhei had whispered it with a shy grin. it had been simple yet honest and caused the fluttering in your chest.

and you had considered his job and his work too. a different city every few days or an entire day practicing the new choreography, you had thought of the schedules. how sometimes you hadn’t been able even see him when you and him were in the same city. how at times yukhei would just drop by even if only for an hour after all his schedules had ended because being on the phone with you wasn’t the same thing. yet regardless of time apart or the distance that separate, every time yukhei had been back to you, there was the familiarity. his touches, his kisses, the way he teased or complimented you with his words had been as if he never left. his presence was just as strong as if he had been there since always.

hope had sparked in you.

and as you gaze at yukhei now, his warm caresses so soothing while the distinctive scent of his favorite cologne of musk and citrus surrounds you, in your heart you feel everything.

bold he makes you feel when he takes your hand because you know he is besides you. yet nervous he can make you. his kisses that leave the butterflies in your stomach and his stares with the goofy smile on his face because you’re his favorite sight, still gets to you. safe you are with him because his presence and his arms provide the best security and warmth you are certain you have ever felt. and after all this time, the love for him in your heart has never wavered.

it feels right to start a new adventure with him.

you move, your eyes turning back to the screen as you rest your head on his shoulder. it only takes seconds until you feel the tender kiss to the top of your head. a soft grin forms on your face as yukhei tugs you closer. and for the remainder of the time then, you do your best quieting your nerves and worries and concentrate on the movie. you listen to his quiet commentary, his animated reactions and his applause when the credits begin to roll.

“i might have to watch it again. that was amazing.” he’s smiling wide and threads his fingers through his hair.

yukhei stands momentarily, arms stretching high up to relieve his muscles with a deep breath before he drops back down onto the couch. you reach for the remote to shut everything off. he grabs the pillow at the corner of the seat and with a few fluffs, plops his head on it with a yawn. you turn to him to see a loving beam form before you as he throws his legs over yours. his tall frame is just the perfect length of your couch with a few inches to spare. you chuckle softly as yukhei lifts and opens his arms, an invitation and desire for you to go to him. you comply, shifting around his long limbs until you are laying with him. legs are tangled and his arms wrap tightly around you.

“i like cuddling with you,” yukhei informs you, his voice charming and curve of his mouth boyish.

with a gentle touch, you readjust the frames adorning his handsome and satisfied face. “now aren’t you glad i suggested to stay in tonight?” you question with a smile, the sounds of raindrops still heard against your windows.

yukhei folds an arm underneath his head and his face shines before he leans to give you a soft kiss on your lips. “as long as i’m with you, baby, i’m good,” he remarks with a wink.

you roll your eyes and hold back on your smile widening. his hand quietly sneaks beneath his hoodie you are wearing and lightly massages your flesh at the curve of your waist. you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and breathe in.

it will be soon.

you allow your eyes to flutter close for a moment. you love him. yukhei sighs blissfully into the peacefulness of the room while his hand tenderly runs up and down on you. and you know, whatever his response will be, even if you want him to fill those drawers and the closet with his belongings, even if you think you and him are ready for this, if he tells you not yet, that he is not ready, what you feel for him will not change.

time soundlessly ticks away as the rain continues to fall. you remain content just listening to his soft breaths and feeling his heart beating beside you. but then a buzzing brings you out of it all and you feel the slow and lazy movements from him. the hold on you seemingly tightens as yukhei extends his arm to reach for his phone on the coffee table. he flips it over and you glimpse up at him as he reads whatever messages he received.

“is everything okay?”

yukhei nods. “yeah, it’s good. practice’s been pushed back for an hour tomorrow morning.” he scrolls through his phone for a minute before locking it and sliding it back. “which means i can probably stay a bit tonight.” he giggles with glee at the thought of sleeping a little more and being with you a little longer.

you wonder if this is some sort of sign for you.

he presses you closer to him as if you aren’t already laying on top of him. your head rises and yukhei bends forward to leave a brief kiss to your mouth. you watch as he settles down, folding his arm beneath his head once more. a dreamy smile plays on his lips while his eyes gradually shut. he looks happy, peaceful and so calm. yet you feel your heart beating loudly and your head spinning. you tug the sleeve of the hoodie over your fingers and take a deep breath. you hear his voice in the back of your head.

timing is everything.

“i want to talk to you about something.”

the eight words come out a tiny bit uneven. you aren’t sure if it even sounded right. but then yukhei’s opening his eyes. those eight words put together he is certain does not sound good. yukhei has seen enough dramas and movies to know something is wrong. the strokes on your skin halt. you also don’t fail to notice the uncertainty in him speaking or the fleeting panic flashing in his large eyes.

you clear your throat, trying to steady your voice and your nerves to repeat again, “i want to talk to you about something.”

his stare on you is intense and the combination of that and your anxieties has what you’re wearing too hot and heavy. his brows faintly furrow and a soft frown appears before you. “is everything okay?”

and now it’s his turn to ask you. there’s the concern in his tone and you hate yourself for a second for scaring him. a low uneasy chuckle escapes from you and the corners of your lips turn up weakly. you push yourself a little up, propping yourself up on your elbows. the position offers you a clearer picture of his face.

“yeah, everything is fine. i just- i just i wanted to talk to you about something.”

you’re suddenly aware that it’s your third time reiterating it. you avoid his gaze. you feel insane, struggling to talk to him about this. yukhei moves to sit up, causing you to do as well and on his thighs, you end up. he senses the trepidation radiating off of you. still away from him you look and yukhei puckers his mouth, tilting forward to graze his warm lips on your very hot cheek. slowly he moves until his mouth rest next your ear.

“talk to me,” yukhei prods, his words deep and gentle. “what’s going on up there?”

when you finally turn to him, there is an affectionate smile accompanying his soft gaze. his patience right now is steady. yukhei reaches for your hands, pulling them out from within the long sleeves. his hands are warm and strong as he laces your fingers to his. your bottom lip catches between your teeth for a minute before you breathe in deeply. you angle your head and softly grin at him.

“i’ve been thinking for a while about us, about you and me and where we are. and it made me think about how it would be nice, you know, for nights like this. or maybe even any other night, when it’s late or if you’re tired or because you just want to, that you wouldn’t have to go back to the dorms,” you pause, feeling your heart pounding faster with every word you say. “that maybe you can stay here.”

you notice the expression on his face shift the slightest as yukhei catches onto what you are implying, what you are asking him.

“i’ve been cleaning and i left drawers and some space empty… for you. i know this might not be the dorms, but i think we can make it work for us here.” you can’t tell if the faint twitch of his eyebrows is positive or negative. “i know we never discussed it nor have you or i even mentioned this before. i didn’t mean to spring this on you like this, but i have been thinking about it. i’ve been trying to make sure with everything before asking you. i even did research and read articles about it.” you try your best to gauge what he is really thinking. you hear the trembling exhale escape your lips. “and i think we are ready for this. it feels right.” you feel a smile hesitantly form on your face. “and with your text now, the timing just seems perfect.”

yukhei gives nothing though.

“what do you think then… about moving in with me?”

a sudden weight you are supposed to feel lifted off you with your question. instead the silence from him presses down on it while his stare stays fixed on you. you find yourself chewing on the inside of your lips because the longer yukhei remains quiet, seconds turning in minutes, dizzy and nauseous you are feeling. you want him to say something, anything because with yukhei, he always knows what to say.

your nervous eyes turn downcast. regret fills you for throwing this at him without warning. maybe you should have made a list of better reasons, dropped hints or perhaps gotten a glimpse of what he even thought of living together. but it’s too late now and you prepare yourself to laugh it off and tell him ignore the last few moments. you swallow the small lump in your throat with soft uneasy laughter following.

“do you want something to drink?” you hear yourself asking, despite the two bottles of water sitting on the coffee table already.

quickly you let go of his hand and move to stand.

this is a possibility you remembered. that he might not be ready, that really, he has not considered living together. yet you can’t stop the growing tightness in your chest from the deafening hush. the embarrassment washes over you and the faint sting builds in your eyes.

“i’ve thought about it, you know.”

yukhei's quiet confession freezes your movements towards the kitchen. it takes you a minute before you turn back to him. he threads his fingers through his hair before looking at you. you don’t say anything or fight when he reaches for your hand again.

“a few times actually,” yukhei admits with a guilty heart. “how nice it would be to not have to wake up earlier. how convenient it could be for me to get ready here and then meet everyone. how at the end of a long day, i can just forget about everything and i wouldn’t have to worry about anything but just you and me.” his fingers interlocks with yours. “it would be a new and exciting stage for us.” he is young, yukhei knows. but he also knows he keeps picturing you in his future. and moving in together, living together is towards that direction.

he feels that twinge of ache in his chest. “so i have thought about it. i still do think about it.”

you let out a shaky breath. “you’ve never said anything about it.”

yukhei pulls you back to him and in moments, you’re straddling him. he tilts forward, pressing his forehead to yours and sees the faint glassiness in your eyes. his large hands cradle your cheeks as the tip of his nose brushes against yours. your arms circle around his shoulders, your fingertips finding the hairs on the nape of his neck.

“i know.” yukhei gives you a short nod. “i know i didn’t. but i wanted you to be ready to share this with me. this is your place, your home. i didn’t want to push you into it,” he says honestly and watches you nibble the corner of your mouth. his touch drops to your hips, thumbs slipping again below the hoodie to stroke your bare skin. yukhei angles his head back. a gentle and almost sad smile is on his face as he exhales slowly. “and because every time i think about it, want it, a part of me starts feeling… guilty.”

the confusion across your face you can’t mask while your brain goes through the possible scenarios from his words. “why would you feel guilty?” you ask hesitantly, a part of you fearful of what his response is.

and yukhei doesn’t mean to make you worried. he doesn’t mean to cause the slight tension in your body. he just wants to be truthful with you. he wants you to really understand what you are asking him is what you will really want.

“because i might not always be here with you.” his voice softens with the reality. “i’m gone for a month at times and even sometimes when i’m back here i don’t always get to see you. that’s already unfair to you.” almost two years later, yukhei still remains in wonderment that you are in his life. “i don’t want you regretting it when i’m supposed to be here and want to be here but i can’t.” it will feel more different when his belongings will be here and he’s not. even after all this time, yukhei still thinks that eventually not seeing him enough, missing him too long will become too much and too tiring and you will regret it all with him. the ends of his mouth briefly twitch up and falls. “that scares me.”

it is his greatest fear when it comes to you.

his eyes drop momentarily before he looks at you again. yukhei shrugs shortly with a regretful chuckle. “i think that’s why i insist on always taking you out so much sometimes. i don’t want you missing out on anything because of me,” he confesses.

he wants you to have the experiences you deserve.

the sight of him remains a little hazy as you bite the inside of your cheeks and feel the faint throbbing in your heart. to say you never wished to see him more, to spend more time with him and do what people normally do and experience in a relationship is a lie. it would be nice to have that.

but with yukhei, the warmth he radiates, the fluttering in your stomach, the love he gives you, you are certain magnifies by hundreds and is incomparable to what other people have. he has changed your world. you will take the late-night special dinners, the video calls with different time zones and the all-night long reunions when he’s finally back to you because it means one thing only.

that he is in your life.

you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

everyone in the world are the ones missing out.

your hands move to hold his face in your hands. you tip forward and gently take his mouth into yours. it’s sweet and reassuring and as simple as the kiss is, yukhei feels the fast palpitations of his heart. when you lean back inches to get a clear look at his face, his eyes glisten with the tears that threaten to fall as a fond watery smile gradually forms in front of you.

“as long as you’ll have me, i’m not going anywhere.” your thumbs stroke his warm skin. you give your shoulders a nonchalant shrug. “you’re stuck with me,” you whisper, your own smile matching his.

you mean it with your heart and soul and you hope he knows it.

a laugh that comes from deep within his chest makes the curve of your lips even more radiant. a vague shake of your head you give him. you move your forehead to his. he wonders if you know how much happiness beats into his heart because of you. “and what you think,” you murmur, his smile freezing and embedding in your mind. “i want you. i’m not missing out on anything. i have you.”

without hesitation you’re encased in his arms. his hold on you is firm and loving and yukhei knows he doesn’t want to let go. his mouth finds yours, touching and teasing with the faint pecks. he inhales the scent of vanilla from your shampoo before tenderly latching onto your soft lips with a smile.

in an instant you feel his passion, his warmth and his love.

you angle his head when he slides his tongue in fervently. you let out a soft moan through the sounds of wet kisses. yukhei is relishing the silkiness and heat of your mouth and tongue as he grasps your hips and nudges you back. you fall back onto the couch with giggles in between your lips as he comes along with you. he’s heavy yet cozy and comforting like a quilt on a winter night on you. your legs over his hips, you’re careful without pressing into his glasses as an arm encircles his neck and a hand moves to hold onto his shoulder to have him close. yukhei lets go of your mouth, beaming against your wet lips.

“i love you.”

yukhei has lost count now with how many times he has told you this. but he also knows he can tell you forever if you let him. there’s a shine in your stare he cannot miss. the warmth blossoms in your heart. the giddiness and happiness flows through you as if it’s the first time you heard it.

you move back to him, breath prickling his skin with the tips of your noses caressing before you catch his mouth again. and you move languidly, wanting to cherish how good he feels against you. how even after perhaps thousands of kisses shared between you and him, you remain ever so fascinated by how your mouth moves and molds to his.

but soon yukhei releases you again to leave slow open and wet kisses along your neck. your eyes are fluttering as he sucks at the base of it. his touch slides underneath the hoodie, the material rising up while his hands grasp on all he can. your fingers run from his shoulder into his hair. he’s focused and softly biting your skin when he feels the handful of gentle tugs of his hair to look up. and once yukhei does, his eyes connect to yours with his breaths a little labored. he lightly grinds into you and a whine squeaks out from you.

your body is heated and so inviting to yukhei. you want him now and you are sure he does too by the way he seems to be staring at you with stars in his eyes. but he notices the faint shake of your head while his fingertips outline the edge of your bra. there’s something else to get through first. you erase the tiny gap once again, tenderly swiping your tongue against his parted lips. yet he can’t help but close around your mouth, insistent to kiss you for a moment longer.

when yukhei reluctantly pulls back, you let out a sugary chuckle at how he looks with his hair messy and crooked glasses. your fingers rise to straighten them for him. there’s a beam on his face and a glimmer in his eyes at your gesture.

yukhei falls beside you and you shift to allow his tall body to adjust to the space. he holds you close, tugging the hoodie back down. but his touch remains beneath it to continue caressing your skin. his head rests besides yours on the armrest. you turn to him, finding him looking at you attentively. and for a while then, you watch one another and listen to breaths slowly begin to match. your hand moves to gently smooth the side of his hair.

“i love you, too.”

your whispered words cause his cheeks to faintly dimpled.

silence fills between you again for a minute until yukhei inhales, letting it out slowly. “so, what do we do now?” and his question for you and him brings it all back.

you lick your lips, catching the flicker of curiosity in his eyes before you speak with your voice calm and quiet. “i know you’re worried and i don’t want to lie to you and say a tiny part of me isn’t still too. those same thoughts ran through my head. but then i remember how every time you come back to me,” yukhei watches you sigh with the tiny joyful smile appearing on your face. “and i wouldn’t change anything.”

one by one he slowly registers your words.

“what i said, i meant. it’s you and me, baby.” you make sure his eyes are on yours. “but if you need more time, wait a little bit longer, that’s okay.” because as much as you want this with him, start this new adventure you have been envisioning with him, you want him to be happy. “i love you and i’m not planning on going anywhere, okay? we have time,” you whisper as the strokes on his hair stop.

you watch as yukhei faintly bobs his head before you do the same and give him a chaste kiss. you wrap your arm around his torso and nestle your head to his. once more you close your eyes, feeling the safety and security with his warmth and the rises and falls of his chest beside you.

he is it for you.

and as you hold onto him until he has to go, yukhei listens to the steady patterns of your breaths.

his heart and every fiber in him you have affected.

he recounts the first moment he ever saw you. he recalls the first date of nerves and giggles with him hoping for more days with you. he remembers when he finally got to hold you for the first time after an entire month apart. he thinks about the first time he heard your sweet moans and desperate whimpers from his touches. so many firsts he has had with you, each one making him fall a little deeper than before.

many more firsts with you yukhei wants.

you softly sigh and he feels your hand gripping on his shirt. instinctively his arm tightens.

compliments from people yukhei has shyly heard and accepted with gratitude. how he works hard, how he puts his energy and mind into everything he does and how he deserves success because of it. but yukhei doesn’t know what he has done to deserve you. your laugh is one of his favorite sounds. your understanding and support of his work has not changed since the day you learned who he was. he will forever be amazed at the way you seem to perfectly feel and fit against him every time. and when the days become unpredictable and the faces he meets change daily, a constant you are to him. everything about you is familiar and as gravitating as day one.

yukhei wonders if this is what luck truly feels like.

how will it be possible to love you more than he already does, he is not sure. but yukhei wants to find out. you keep him on his toes, waiting in anticipation and awe of what else he has yet to discover about you.

yukhei turns his head, pressing the sweet pucker of his mouth to your forehead. he lightly nudges you and whispers your name. it takes a moment for you look at him through slightly hooded eyes. a quiet whine comes from you and he giggles almost guiltily from taking you out of your early slumber.

“what will i put in them?” he softly questions.

you hum, trying your best to process his question as you gently rub the remaining sleep from your eyes. his lips curl upwards with the sparkle in his gaze before echoing again, “what will I put in those drawers?”

yukhei is certain now that you are more awake than before because your eyes widen a little. your breath hitches in your throat and it takes you a minute to clear it, “whatever you like,” your words barely above a whisper.

he hears you though, your response earning you a nod while his brows wrinkle like he is in deep thought.

“anything?” his hand leaves from underneath your hoodie, his long fingers pushing up his glasses. “shirts? pants? are they good?” yukhei inquires interestedly.

you feel the hasten rhythms of your heartbeat, wondering if he can hear them too. “of course,” you manage to squeak out.

his mouth forms a small ‘o’ like he finds this shocking information.

“that’s good.” yukhei tries his best to sound calm even though he knows you’re not and his own anticipation builds with the passing moments. his hand cups your cheek, your skin so warm to his touch. “hmm, how about socks? you know, just in case my feet get cold at night.”

you don’t miss his façade falter for a brief second. his lips form a line with the faint indentations in his cheeks, trying to suppress a broaden smile.

“only if you want,” you murmur breathlessly.

yukhei gives you another short nod before bringing you nearer and leaving a just a few inches between your parted lips. his eyebrow rises up for a second. “and underwear? i can keep them there too, right?” there’s a teasing lilt in his words.

you hold onto your smile wanting to break out. “as much as you want.” you lean forward to press your forehead to his. “but if you don’t mind, preferably the colorful ones.”

in an instant then, his face is too bright and yukhei is laughing with the corners of his eyes crinkling. he crushes you to him, leaving wet kisses all over your face as his fingers tickle you. your laughter mixes with his and he feels his heart wanting to burst. he is certain he has it all right now.

when yukhei eventually stops after your playful cries of mercy, he lies beside you once more. he watches the high you were on fade before you shift closer to him. you hook a leg over his thigh as his hand gently massages yours with his touch reaching the hem of your shorts every now and then.

“what does this mean then?”

even with his teasing inquiries, you can’t stop yourself from questioning. the quiet minute between you makes you nervous, your heart pounding against bones and your sight turning misty again.

yukhei leans in to give you a soft peck before he speaks. “that there are some details we still need to figure out.” because even if he can’t be with you every day, yukhei wants you to feel as if he is. “i want to contribute like i am here every day. i don’t want you to feel like you’re alone, okay? that even if i am not here with you, i am,” he states, his stance solid. “so, if you want, we can figure them out together. how does that sound to you?”

you watch his lips coil up and wonder if he knows how much not only do you love him, but you admire him too. everything he does, yukhei does with his heart and mind.

a slow nod you give him. your arm drapes over his shoulder as you press into him. “yeah, i’d like that,” you reply with a grin. “it is a yes then, right?”

and yukhei chuckles at you, feeling the light shakings of his body against you. he wonders what games your mind is playing on you. he holds your face lovingly and firmly, bringing you into a tender kiss. he leaves his lips grazing yours, smiling wide alongside them.

“most definitely, it’s a yes,” he confirms.

the excitement fills your heart. the faint squeal that suddenly comes out has him giggling. yukhei slips an arm around your middle, his hug warm and cozy. your face buries into his neck, breathing in his scent.

“you make me happy.” you muffle into his skin and yukhei shifts to look at you. you give him a pull until he’s rolling onto you once again. he stares down at you, the gleam in your eyes captivating. you tilt your head, your hands reaching up to hold onto his neck with the pads of your thumbs stroking his jawline. “so very unbelievably happy,” you emphasize each word.

yukhei bestows a brush of his mouth to your nose. “right back at you.”

his hands glide to grip onto your hips, humming quietly when you gently dig the heel of your feet into the back of his thighs. you want to stay like this with him for as long as possible. his eyes lock on yours as he continues drawing circles on you. but the blissful and comfortable silence breaks when yukhei laughs lowly.

“what?” you chuckle interestedly.

he gently shakes his head with a sheepish grin. “it’s just- you know, every time the guys catch me getting back in the morning, wearing the same clothes, they always tease me about how the ramen was,” he recounts with the tips of his ears turning red.

it takes you a brief moment to put together his statement and then yukhei is watching your eyes widen. his loud giggle immediately surrounds you as your face heats. he finds this amusing and you find this mortifying. the thought of seeing his friends again after this revelation has you covering your face with a cry of embarrassment. but light creeps back into your eyes when his large hands gently take hold of your wrists, pulling your hands away. yukhei laces his fingers together with yours and rests them on either side of your head. the glare directed towards him has him releasing another short laugh.

there’s the faint stiffness in your body. “and what exactly do you tell them?” you’re slightly afraid to ask because you know he loves his friends who are like brothers and they talk about almost everything.

but yukhei’s still beaming with his eyes twinkling through his lenses. his face inches closer to yours, eyes transfixed on you. your hands tighten around his.

“that I don’t kiss and tell.” he loves them like brothers, but whatever you are thinking he will never do that to you. yukhei feels your body relax slowly beside him as he chuckles once more. “you’ll never have to worry about that,” his tone is quiet and honest.

he hums softly and gives you a quick kiss. you nod briefly, a smile steadily coming out before his gaze. “i’m sorry for doubting you,” you apologize with a tiny pout.

you let go of him, leaving his hands to rest beside your head as your fingers move to thread and fluff his hair. his lips twitch up delightedly as he shifts into your touch. yukhei watches you angle your head and chew on your lips for a minute before your eyes avert his while you let out a faint nervous laugh.

“be honest with me. how is the… ramen every time?” you cannot believe yourself for asking him this but your curiosity gets the best of you.

and yukhei chuckles deeply at how flustered you are as your stare meet his again. your fingers gradually stop moving when he leans back into you. his mouth grazes yours momentarily before it turns into a sincere smile. “it’s delicious,” he whispers, his voice intense with an inflection of teasing in it.

his hands travel down to hold your waist. he pulls you nearer.

“yeah?” there’s a trace of surprise in your tone. your ankles cross behind his lower back to push him closer, leaving just a handful of centimeters between where you want him the most.

he grinds into you unexpectedly then, the feeling of his growing need has you letting out a soft gasp. “always.”

yukhei looks brighter than the sun now as he stares at you and does it again. your back instinctively arches and you grip onto his shoulders. there’s a smirk on his face when he drags his hips a little harder and much slower for you to feel exactly what you do to him. he grunts when you meet his movements.

your face, your entire being is hot while your heartbeat races in your chest and you feel yourself starting to pool. for a minute then there is a steady a rhythm between hips and a stream of moans filling the room until yukhei suddenly stops to your disbelief and pulls back the slightest. you’re feeling the thin layer of sweat building on the back of your neck. his breaths are jagged as he coolly pushes his glasses up.

yes, he wants and needs some relief. but, yukhei also loves the current dazed look across your face as you let out short quick breaths to calm yourself. he’s biting his lips and looking a bit devilish at you. his hands slip underneath the hoodie, the thick material bunching up. he stares at the expanse of exposed skin, his large hands slowly sliding up to cup your covered breasts. you let out quiet sighs at the pressures of his touch, your hands falling to cover his.

“that’s good,” your words draw his attention back to your gaze. you lick your lips and softly hum. “cause it’s always perfection to me.”

with your words you deliberately grind your hips against him just like before.

you can play too.

yukhei’s satisfied expression gradually fades as his eyebrow rises up. you kill him in the simplest ways with the simplest words. another roll of your hips and the little desperate whine out your parted mouth makes him grasp your waist again. you smile, watching as he quietly clenches his jaw, feeling the increasing strains you are causing on his body.

your stare glitters with anticipation and excitement when you rock your hips again and again and yukhei can’t control his own hips eagerly moving forward to connect to you. a deep groan escapes from his throat when you stop while a light chuckle slips from yours despite how sticky you are feeling.

with a fleeting glance down at him, yukhei watches with slow gulps of air as your mouth curls sweetly before you look back up at him. his grip moves to the back of your thighs. he kneads your flesh, his squeezes strong and affectionate. he shifts back when you give him a tiny push. your fingers gingerly make their way down his body. your touch is light like a feather yet teasing and he can’t help the sudden shudder. yukhei sees the hint of mischief in your gaze when they reach his sweatpants.

your heart is full and you are glowing.

you run your fingertips along the edge of them before dramatically clear your throat.

“so what color are they today?” you question with a sugary giggle. “maybe i can decide if i like them or not.” a finger slides underneath, grazing the band of his underwear.

regardless of the current state of his body, his infectious laughter promptly filters the space you when you wink.

you're going to be the death of him.

yukhei nods and leans forward again, leaving half a dozen of small yet enticing kisses on your mouth. you sigh happily, your warm breath fanning his hot skin. he smiles when he feels your fingers slowly hook onto his either sides sweatpants.

“be my guest, babe,” his tone deep and lingering with want. “but you’ll like them,” he insists.

you’re grinning alongside his smirk. “and if i don’t,” you argue quietly. yukhei softly licks and takes your lips between his, tenderly tugging and nipping on them to his pleasure. when he lets go, you lift your hips up and rock against him again with a teasing whimper. “hmm, what will you do?”

there’s a pout to your faintly puffy lips and a sparkle in your eyes.

yukhei chuckles and shakes his head at your challenge. his expression is confident and his heart is delighted.

“trust me, you will.”

within seconds then your lips are captured, your laughter is muffled and yukhei ends up proving you very wrong because they’re a bright red and you really do like them.

you can’t wait until he put them in the drawers.

#lucas scenarios #lucas fluff #yukhei scenarios #wayv scenarios #nct scenarios #yukhei fluff #lucas imagines #yukhei imagines

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modern-inheritance · 3 years

Text

Modern Inheritance, Fill #1: Eragon Being a Dumbass

Prompt: I want Eragon being a dumbass when Murtagh is the only one to look after him, or the aftermath when Brom finds out about the dumbass thing.

(Note: This may conflict with the timeline of Eragon’s first seizures set by ‘Fatherhood.’ I’m keeping it as is though, as it fits with some characterizations. Arya’s laid out because she pushed herself past the breaking point to watch over Eragon while he was comatose and all that beforehand, Brom and Saphira are left to do the emergency work that requires heavy lifting and magic while they all use kid gloves for Eragon following his injuries, and Murtagh is...well, he’s Murtagh. So yeah, timeline is sketch and always will be.)

“You wanted to look…at a greenhouse?” Murtagh stared down the long rows of planters, dumbstruck. “Why?”

“Are you kidding me?” Eragon spun around and threw out his arms. “This place is amazing! Do you understand just what they’re doing here?”

The giddy smile plastered on Eragon’s face was a welcome sight. It had only been around twenty four hours since the Rider had been released from his room in Tronjheim’s hospital. With Saphira and Brom doing their best to help the dwarves stabilize damaged tunnels and Arya practically asleep on her feet between meals, Eragon had expected to be cooped up in the Elves old embassy. Murtagh had been his rescuer.

The two youths had spent the day walking around the dwarves city mountain, following sights, sounds and smells that struck their fancy.

A fountain gurgling hot water into a stone tub down an alley had occupied their attention for well over an hour as residents of the nearby living quarters happily cooked food in the steaming basin. Both Eragon and Murtagh had been urged to share in the simple feast, and left with full bellies.

Down one hall, Murtagh discovered that the massive hexagonal garnets, square pyrite and triangular topaz plates that mosaiced the wall played musical notes when pressed. At Eragon’s behest, he had lifted the Rider up on his shoulders to hit the high notes and wobbly played the bass end of their favorite songs.

Not long after, Eragon had suddenly perked up and pulled Murtagh after him into a bright room that smelled of composted, moist earth and hummed with UV lighting.

Murtagh crossed his arms, a little amused at Eragon’s enthusiasm. “They’re growing food. In a cave.”

Eragon’s smile, if even possible, grew wider. “They’re growing wildly different plants in the same spot. Look, look!” He again grabbed Murtagh by the wrist and pulled him to the closest raised bed, pointing to a short plant with ragged edged leaves. “Look, this is strawberry. But other there, on that corner, that’s a blueberry bush. Blueberries need acidic soil but strawberries prefer neutral. These two shouldn’t be growing so well in the same bed!”

Eragon dashed off again, pointing out the plants he knew and chattering excitedly about their proper growth conditions and how the climate for some of them shouldn’t be attainable underground but somehow the dwarves had to be using magic to alter spaces around specific plants to allow them to flourish. Murtagh followed a bit more slowly, taking in the smell of pungent herbs as they wandered into an area apparently dedicated to their growth. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was nice to just take a moment and appreciate the simple lives of plants.

“No way!” Murtagh jerked, startled by Eragon’s raised voice. He realized then that the young Rider had disappeared from his sight, and with a sudden pang of anxiety he bolted down the green corridor.

Brom always said Eragon was a magnet for trouble, and Murtagh believed him. ‘I can’t leave him alone for two bloody minutes!’

The young man skidded to a stop, heart pounding…to see Eragon happily cramming a handful of leaves into his mouth.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Murtagh rushed forward, grabbing the younger boy by the cheeks. “Spit it out! You don’t know what that is! I swear you’re worse than a bloody puppy!”

Eragon grinned and pushed Murtagh back, swallowing his newfound treat as he did. “I know exactly what it is!” He plucked another leaf from the bushy plant that practically spilled over the edges of the raised bed in front of him and held it out. “This is Virestalk. It grows all over Palancar Valley. It helps you get back on your feet after being sick.” He offered the leaf to Murtagh. “Want some? It’ll probably help you get over that concussion.”

“…I think I’ll pass on the magically grown plant in the magical garden with apparent energy restoring properties.” Eragon shrugged and popped the leaf into his mouth before grabbing two handfuls off the bed and shoving them into his pockets. “Come on. It’s almost dinner time. Arya’s probably awake by now and losing her mind over where you are.”

“Can we stop at that little place we passed earlier with the chicken kebabs? I’m getting hungry again….”

~~~

Murtagh paused, flattening himself against the wall to allow a group of dust coated dwarves past as he looked around. Eragon had fallen behind again, and, with a few choice swears, Murtagh followed behind the grimy workers and retrace his steps.

He found the young Rider staring into the window of an empty shop.

“Hey. That’s not the chicken stall you know. They’re going to run out by the time we get there if you don’t hurry up.”

Eragon slowly turned his head to stare at his friend. He blinked twice, eyelids moving almost comically slowly before he slurred out, “Murtagh…there’s so many colors.”

Murtagh stared back. “…What?”

“The parrot. It’s got…so many colors. Where’d you find it?” He raised an arm and pointed towards Murtagh’s shoulder. “Where’d you come from, bird?”

‘…Oh. Oh this is not going to go over well.’

~~~

“Why do you smell like…oooooh like cotton candy?” Murtagh did his best to resist the urge to just drop Eragon down the short flight of steps leading up to the embassy door as the boy nuzzled his face against his sleeve.

Instead he grit his teeth. “Because I was born in a cotton candy factory.” Really, it would be so easy. Just…sling him over his head from where he was draped across Murtagh’s shoulders and dump him down like a sack of unruly potatoes.

Eragon let out an impressed gasp as his human transport kicked the embassy door, yelling for Arya to open it. “Woooooow! Are you made of cotton candy?”

“Don’t you DARE–”

Both stopped dead, Eragon with his teeth halfway to Murtagh’s arm and Murtagh flexing in preparation to throw him, as the door swung open to reveal not a very groggy elf, but instead a rock dust sprinkled Brom.

He took in the scene with a deadpan expression before asking, in an equally deadpan voice, “What the hell is this?”

“Just let us in and let me put him down, will you? He’s heavier than he looks.”

By the time Murtagh had deposited Eragon on the couch, Arya had dragged herself out of her room to see what was happening. She took a cursory glance at her charge where he lay ‘catching butterflies’ that floated around his head, sniffed the air twice, gave an amused snort, and settled into an open armchair to sleep again. “I smell Divining Sage. Nice going, Murtagh.”

Brom rounded on the young man. “You let him eat Divining Sage?! Do you have any idea what the hell–”

There was a crash from the direction of the embassy’s warehouse where Saphira usually settled down.

“S’all right. I’ll get it.” Arya waved Brom off and pulled herself out of the chair. “Keep tearing into him.”

Murtagh felt his face going red.

What the hell? What the hell. So they all foist Eragon off onto him and when something, because it’s ALWAYS something with Eragon, happens because the boy’s a complete idiot when it comes to self preservation, they all blame him?

“Divining Sage is a fucking hallucinogen, why– how did you even find–” Brom threw up his arms, a flabbergasted mix of angry and confused as to how the situation even came to be. “Are you THAT DENSE?!”

“I don’t see you looking after him!” Murtagh angrily pointed to the Rider currently petting an invisible cat and cooing nonsensical praise to it. “You left him here alone with a practically anesthetized bodyguard and said ‘Yeah, sure Murtagh, keep him busy for a few hours!’”

“I didn’t tell you to get him high, you idiot welp! Where did you even–”

“Oh don’t you blame that on me!” Murtagh jabbed a finger in Brom’s direction. Even as angry as he was at becoming the scapegoat for Eragon’s own idiocy, he knew better than to try and throw hands with the old man. “If I was going to get him high it wouldn’t be off some backwater psychedelics, it’d be off some proper Urû’baen kush and plenty of stout! He ate that crap himself!”

That finally gave Brom pause. “…He what?”

“He stuffed his face with it! I tried to stop him, but he said it was Vire-vine or something.”

Brom slowly turned to stare at Eragon. Eragon smiled widely back before pointing and laughing at Brom’s face.

Then the old Rider sat down and began to laugh as well.

“Virestalk. He thought…it was Virestalk.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Of course he did. They look almost identical. Damn fool probably wanted to give some to all of us to recover after the fight.”

Murtagh approached slowly. Now that Brom was no longer yelling, his own anger began to fade. He puzzled over what it was being replaced with before asking tentatively, “He’s…going to be okay, right?”

Brom sighed and nodded. “Yes. He’ll be fine. The effects wear off within a few hours. We’ll just have to watch him and Saphira till they do.” There was another crash of falling boxes in the warehouse, followed by faint Common Elvish swearing. “Hallucinations affect both partners so….” He gestured down the hall as Eragon took another swipe at a nonexistent Urgal. The sound of the boy’s war cry was mimicked by a loud growl from an apparently hallucinating Saphira.

“Oh.” Murtagh paused. “We have a hallucinating dragon in the building.”

“Yes. And it’s going to be a very long night.”

#Modern Inheritance #inheritance cycle #eragon #modern inheritance stories #the cyclists #Ket's Modern Inheritance Cycle #modern inheritance asks #modern inheritance fills #murtagh #saphira #brom #arya #farm boy!Eragon canonically loves plants and still does in MIC #and yes i got eragon high #i feel like he needed it after all that #murtagh is trying to figure out wtf life is going to be like now that he has this weird family #brom is trying but doesn't know 100% how to react or parent #he's still everyone's dad tho ofc

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baepop · 4 years

Text

PRIVATE // 6

You crash the proposal dinner.

Word Count: 5.9k

Pairing: Jungkook x You x Jennie

Genre: So much angst...and smutty smut

You awoke in Yoongi’s bed the morning after. Your eyes had swollen and crusted over from the excessive crying that took place all night. At the thought of why your eyes were so puffy, the realization set in all over again. Thankfully, you were too tired and numb to start crying again. The pain inflicted on you from the memory of meeting Jennie’s mother was now dull and instead overshadowed by slight embarrassment at letting Yoongi see how upset you were. Though you were still pissed that he kept something so important from you, you were grateful that he was willing to nurture you in this wounded state instead of being his usual callous self. Yoongi could surprise you with his soft side from time to time.

You yawned and stretched out your limbs, your body feeling as stiff as if it had been asleep for years. You had no idea what time it was since Yoongi’s room was always dark from drawn blinds and dark curtains. You hesitated in getting out of bed for a few more moments, reveling in the comfort Yoongi’s quilted blankets offered. You knew that the minute you forfeited their warmth, you’d have to face reality’s all too cruel embrace.

You rolled over and slowly sat up right, preparing your bare feet to touch the cold hardwood floor, but before you did, you realized there was a body lying in the way. You fisted your eyes groggily then peered over the edge of the bed to get a better look. Yoongi was laying on the floor and his body was so still you weren’t sure if he was actually sleeping or just laying there with his eyes closed. You jabbed your toe into his rib and he instantly swatted it away. Ah, the latter.

“I thought you were sleeping on the couch?” You watched as he stretched and settled his hands across his flat stomach, eyeing the ceiling.

“I was. But I dunno…just decided to sleep in here. Had to make sure you weren’t gonna fucken kill yourself or some shit.”

This time, you jammed your heel into the boy’s side, earning a grunt of pain out of him. “Ha-ha. Very funny. Seriously though…thank you. I mean I still hate you for being a deceitful piece of shit, but thanks for having my back last night.”

“Wow, that’s like…the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Yoongi’s monotone made you giggle, but it came out horse. “Seriously though, don’t mention it. Last night was stressful as hell. Please do not put me in that predicament again.”

“I refuse to feel badly, you deserved every bit of it. But don’t worry, you won’t be put in the middle of any of this anymore. I’m going to settle this shit tonight,”

Yoongi paused briefly before replying, “So you’re still hell-bent on going huh?” You hummed a confirmation and hopped out of bed carefully so as not to step on him. Yoongi sighed and sat up, scratching the side of his head. “I guess there’s no keeping you from it then. They decided to host the dinner at Jennie’s place last minute, six o’clock. Now let me sleep.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.” You left his apartment swiftly to catch the very next shuttle going towards your apartment. You wanted to get home as quickly as possible and start your day. Considering that the fanciest dress you owned was an LBD with cutouts at the hips, you’d definitely need to do some shopping.

Jennie sighed heavily and massaged her temples. Her mother’s shrill voice could be heard even through the thick wooden door she was hiding behind. Her mother always made it a point to oversee the event planning even though she always hires professionals to do just that. Turns out it wasn’t just Jennie with whom she’d never be satisfied with. Jennie felt badly for the staff because, while she was able to escape her mother’s demands even if only momentarily, they could not.

There was still 45 minutes until the start of the first course, but Jungkook and his family were already perched in Jennie’s living room, politely pretending not to hear all the yelling going on in the dining room. They were making conversation with her father whom had just arrived from a 16 hour flight. Just when things got quiet from behind the door, Jennie’s mother barged into the kitchen and forced her daughter out of hiding out so she could mingle and be the perfect hostess. As she stared at the backs of her guests’ heads peering above the sofa from afar, her stomach churned, and she wished so badly that you were there to make this easier. She hated everything about this, but she agreed to it and there was no backing down now.

Jennie swallowed thickly and approached her guests. Her father immediately noticed her and made room for her next to him on the couch. He embraced her with one arm once she finished bowing to Jungkook’s family and began praising her. She grimaced and avoided eye contact with Jungkook, hating the way her dad sounded fake while complimenting her. Jungkook fought his instinct to roll his eyes valiantly.

You heard laughter and a medley of voices you’d never heard before from the other side of Jennie’s front door. You took a moment for yourself in the hallway to calm your nerves. You stared down at your heels and smoothed your lavender satin dress over your stomach. Loose curls hung from the sides of your face while the rest formed a carefully crafted updo. There was still 15 minutes until the dinner would be starting, but it seemed the event was already underway and in full swing. You didn’t hear Jennie’s or Jungkook’s voices at all and feared this was a huge mistake. You were so mad at them, but the momentum from your hurt feelings was losing steam as it suddenly became all too real. You took a few more deep breaths, deciding that you wouldn’t let this dress go to waste and that if you were going to lose your best friend and your boyfriend all at once then you wouldn’t go down without swinging. You knocked on the door loudly three times and listened carefully. It seemed no one was aware of the knocking, yet you heard the distinct sound of heels against hardwood approaching the door.

As the door opened, Jennie’s mother peered from behind it. Her shocked expression morphed into one of disbelief and then annoyance at your presence in the doorway. You cleared your throat when the woman seemed to be in no hurry to actually let you in.

“I’m just here to show my support, like you wanted me to.” You stared into her eyes innocently, but she could see right through your feigned innocence.

“Mom, who is it?” Jennie called out from the living room as the conversations died down. You smiled sweetly at the older woman, both of you realizing that she wouldn’t be able to turn you away quietly. The older woman stepped aside so everyone could see who had arrived.

“It appears your friend has come to show her support.” You stepped through the doorway and waved at the crowd of people sitting down. Jennie shot up in alarm and stared at you with wide questioning eyes. Her smile was wide and her expression inquisitive, her silence urging you for answers but you simply returned a blank stare and tight smile. The older man next to her whom you presumed to be her father stood up as well.

“Jennie, don’t be rude. Go greet your friend!” He then turned to you and smiled. “You came just in time, dinner is just about to be served.” You smiled and tucked a curl behind your hair as you bowed. “Thank you! I just wanted to be here during a really important occasion as Jennie’s best friend!” You made your way over to Jennie and hugged her halfheartedly while she was still unable to form words. Her hands lingered on the small of your back.

As you situated yourself at the independent sectional in between the two parallel couches, you finally allowed your eyes to rest on Jungkook. He was dressed impeccably with his hair swept to the side exposing his forehead. He had his eyes trained forward, determined to avoid your piercing stare. He was rigid as stone, but you were still able to detect the subtle way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. It brought you faint satisfaction that you made him nervous. You were unbelievably pissed at him.

Jisoo on the other hand, was barely able to contain her laughter at the absurdity of the situation. She took turns staring in between the three of you then smirking down at her lap. Although she held no allegiance to you and continuously made that crystal clear, you were upset that she hadn’t said anything to you either despite having plenty of opportunity to do so.

As your eyes traveled further down the couch, you took in Jungkook’s dad for the second time. He seemed to be confused as to why you looked so familiar, so you offered him a little help.

“It’s nice to see you again Mr. Jeon! Do you remember me? I helped your son pick out that suit.”

His eyes lit up instantly, “Ahh, yes of course! It’s lovely to meet you again. Thank you so much again for your help! He looks handsome, doesn’t he?” Jungkook’s father laughed and patted his son on the shoulder. Jennie’s parents laughed and nodded in agreement. You tried your best to laugh along hoping the stabbing feeling in your heart would go away soon.

“Oh, it’s my pleasure of course. Anyone who’s courting my bestest friend in the whole wide world should look the part!” You smiled cheesily between Jungkook and Jennie. You could see Jisoo’s frame shaking from the corner of your eye.

Jungkook’s dad made a comment on how small the world seemed to be just as a waiter appeared to escort everyone to the dining table. You took a seat next to Jisoo and watched everyone else for queues on how to behave appropriately. You’d never attended a fancy dinner and had no idea which utensil was for what.

“Lay the fabric over your lap, dummy.” Jisoo commented under her breath at you as the staff members placed small bowls of soup in front of everyone. You did as she instructed, trying not to seem like a rookie in front of so many wealthy people. If you were honest, you were in no mood to eat. The spectacle unfolding in front of you was proving too much to handle already. Jungkook and Jennie were made to sit across from each other as their parents took turns talking about how great they were and how profitable it would be to merge their families.

You watched everyone take hold of the wider spoon to the right of the bowls and followed their lead. You dipped the utensil into the reddish brownish liquid and sipped gingerly through barely parted lips. It was delicious of course, but you couldn’t force yourself to eat so you settled for wading your spoon around the bowl while looking around the table.

Your eyes first gravitated towards Jennie’s face. She was smiling at her parents and Jungkook’s but it didn’t quite meet her eyes. As if sensing your eyes on her, her head drifted in your direction and your eyes met for the second time that night. The edge of her lips feebly quirked upwards but you decided to turn your head and ignore it. Your petulant behavior didn’t bring you the revenge you craved, but it was a start.

Your gaze moved on to her mother who was animatedly chatting amongst the older people. Everyone laughed at her jokes and hung on her every word. They probably didn’t suspect her of being the type of woman to lure a college student into a car for the sole purpose of crushing her romantic relationships.

Her husband on the other hand, smiled with his eyes here and there but barely contributed to the conversation. He simply nodded along when a story included him in it and ate his food. He seemed tired and for a brief moment, you pondered what his relationship with Jennie might be like.

Jungkook seemed to be embarrassed by his dad’s constant praise. His hand barely left the back of his neck since everyone sat down. He circled his spoon around in his soup just as you did while sneaking glances in your direction. Your eyes dared him to look back at you for once and face you, but he never did. You sighed and faced forward again, waiting for the next course, but you instantly noticed Jungkook’s mom’s trained eyes on you. She seemed to have been observing you for a while. You blushed and smiled, but her look remained concerned. She spoke to you quietly from across the table without disturbing the ongoing conversations. “You’re a…friend of Jennie’s?”

“Yes, we’ve been inseparable for the past year!” A giggle bubbled up in your throat but died before it could realize its potential. The woman was clearly unconvinced. Your smile faded and you began sweating, feeling like she could see right through your false happiness.

“And how do you know my son, again?” You were starting to feel uncomfortable with her questioning, feeling as if she knew more than she was letting on.

“Mom, she was the girl who helped me with the suit, remember? What’s with the third degree?” Jungkook chuckled nervously from a few seats down but you could sense his annoyance. You were relieved he came to your rescue, but it was hurtful being reduced to just another store clerk. You felt a lump in your throat form.

Much to your relief, the waiters instantly appeared with the second course. Bite-sized appetizers sat perched at the center of each plate placed in front of all the guests. The dish was some variation of bruschetta and it smelled fantastic. Your mouth watered as you picked a piece up between your fingers and plopped it in your mouth. You hummed in delight with your cheeks so full your eyes turned into crescents. Jennie’s mother scowled at you for eating with your hands, but her husband reacted by chuckling to himself. You almost choked in a hurry to swallow.

The rest of the courses went smoothly, for the most part. After the appetizer, a spring salad was served followed by seared steak and finally, a pop colored mousse with an ambiguous taste that intrigued you. The only hiccups happened when you had to hold back dramatically gagging as their parents discussed the topic of grandchildren. The three of you wore the exact same pale and uncomfortable expressions. However, when Jennie’s mom decided to brag about Jennie’s nonexistent cooking skills, you failed to hold back the cackle that escaped your mouth. You held up your palms together apologetically for disrupting dinner again while Jennie covered her grin with her palm. Jungkook allowed himself a small smirk.

As the dishes were being collected around the table signaling the end of the dinner, Jungkook’s father began talking about his son’s budding career in baseball. He seemed to be immensely proud while informing Jennie’s parents of all the scouts that have visited Jungkook’s games.

“Isn’t that right, Jisoo?” Mr. Jeon turned to his niece while explaining how supportive she was of Jungkook’s athletics. “She attended the last one where he pitched a perfect game!”

“Uh, almost, Dad. I almost pitched a perfect game.” Jungkook intervened, the blush evident on his face. It was strange to see him in a setting where he wasn’t overtly cocky.

“Ahh, Kook’s always so modest!”

Jisoo put her phone away at the sound of her name but the bored look on her face stayed. “Oh…yeah I was there. It was a great game. Wasn’t it, Y/N? She was there too, being just as supportive!” Everyone turned to you at the table and you could feel the nervousness prickle at your scalp. You and Jennie’s mom shared the same horrified expression. You whipped your head towards Jisoo whom was facing you. No one could see the wild amusement on her face.

“Uhhhhhh…Yeah. I was there. I…uh…I’m all about school spirit! Way to go Jungkook.” You laughed pathetically, hoping their parents wouldn’t catch on to just how strange this situation was. You gulped while looking around the table. “Uh, Jisoo actually invited me! We’re actually becoming really great friends!” You ruffled the top of her head. The pale girl sneered at you and cringed at the physical contact.

“Oh? And how is it that you know my niece, seeing as she doesn’t go to your school?” Jungkook’s mom quirked her eyebrow at you and you never wanted the earth to swallow you whole more than at that very moment.

“Yeah, how DO you know me?” Jisoo placed her elbow on the table and leaned her cheek onto her palm, enjoying your misery down to the last drop.

You hated all this lying. It only led to more lies and you couldn’t take much more. You frowned and looked at Jennie who seemed to mirror your look. You took a deep breath, resolute in explaining what’s really going on.

However, it seemed Jennie was an expert at reading your face because she shot up from her seat before you could open your mouth.

“Oh my god! I accidentally ripped my dress! Y/N, come help me fix it!” Jennie scurried out of the dining area and up the stairs that led to her room. You hesitantly excused yourself from the table and made your way to the stairs but not before glancing back over your shoulder and meeting Jungkook’s annoyed stare. He was finally looking straight at you.

You held your dress in one hand and the railing with the other as you made your way up to Jennie’s room. You were so preoccupied with escaping the interrogation that you were only now realizing this would be the first time you’ve gotten some alone time with Jennie, since the night of the party and more importantly since you found out what was going on with her and Jungkook. You held your hand on your chest and felt your heart thumping furiously, willing it to calm down before you entered the bedroom.

You took a steadying breath, closing and locking the door behind you. Jennie was sitting on the edge of the bed, one of her legs crossed over the other. Her arms were folded in front of her and her fingers drummed impatiently on her arm. Her dress was in pristine condition, just as you suspected.

“Seriously Y/N? What the hell was that!? Are you playing some kind of game with Jisoo? Get it together! You were about to ruin everything in front of my family. Why did you come here if you weren’t going to take this seriously!?” Jennie was sputtering angrily. She had never talked to you like this, ever.

Your heart quickened in pace and you could feel heat radiating from your face. Your breathing shortened as you stood there getting scolded by her. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you two and smacked her in the face so hard your hand tingled. Jennie brought a hand up to her cheek but refused to move or talk any more. You were both in shock and reeling from emotions running high.

“How dare you,” you struggled to find the words to convey your electric emotions, “you have no right to sit there and scold me like a child after what you’ve been up to behind my back. I wouldn’t have to be so careful about what I say if this situation wasn’t so fucked up! Nothing about this is normal Jennie, NOTHING. And you’re the worst fucking friend EVER.” Jennie remained quiet and didn’t bother turning her head to look at you, so you turned to leave the room in a huff. Jennie’s hand immediately shot out and caught your wrist before you could get away.

“Don’t go.” Jennie’s voice was so small it was almost inaudible. You turned around to see her looking up at you with panicked eyes, but you were too mad to care about sparing her feelings. You ripped your arm out of her grasp as your chest heaved. Your heartbeat thrummed loudly in your ears.

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got!? What was your plan exactly? After the stunt you pulled at the party and now stabbing me in the back like this, I don’t even get an apology?! You have so much explaining to do it’s actually laughable, Jennie. But instead, you haul me up here on the pretense of a fashion emergency, just to tell me to play along to your bullshit better!?” You reached for a seam at the bottom of Jennie’s dress with both hands and ripped the fabric wide open, revealing her legs underneath. She gasped in response and stared at her exposed lower body with a gaping mouth.

“Y/N, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?” She stood up from the bed and pushed you in a huff. You stumbled back, matching the wild look in her eyes with your own. “You should really go. You’re acting crazy right now.” Jennie fiddled with the bottom of her dress. You walked up close to her towering over her.

“Oh? But I thought you wanted me to stay.” You questioned her innocently. If she thought you were being crazy now, then she was in for a treat.

“Not if you’re going to act like this I don’t.” Jennie jutted out her chin, refusing to back down.

“What am I doing that’s so crazy huh?” You yanked the single strap of her dress down her shoulder. She immediately brought her arms up to her chest, holding up the remainder of the fabric. Jennie’s nostril’s flared with rage. “Considering what you’re doing to me, this is pretty fuckin tame sweetheart!” You pushed her back and she fell on the bed with a bounce. She sat up on her forearms and blew her hair out of her face.

“I mean, what the fuck do you want me to act like!?” You parted her legs with your knee and then rested it on the bed between them so she couldn’t close them. Your hair slipped over your shoulder as you leaned over her, placing your palm over her underwear and firmly cupping. She gasped as her legs twitched. “Is this what you fucking want? Is this what you were expecting from me?” You began rubbing circles furiously over her underwear once you saw the lustful gaze that clouded her vision. She started mewling and panting. You didn’t care whether anyone heard her, in fact, you wanted her to scream so loud that it’d be impossible to keep secrets around here anymore. You also wanted to get back at Jungkook for betraying you so badly, and what better way to do that than to fool around with the person that made him so insecure.

You climbed onto the bed and sat on Jennie’s leg as your hand continued its relentless movement against Jennie’s middle. You could feel her underwear dampening rapidly, a light sheen of sweat already forming on the exposed part of Jennie’s chest. Her chest heaved irregularly, no doubt a result of the sharp pleasures wracking her body. She threw her head back and exposed her neck as she tried to keep her moaning quiet. You leaned forward and ran the flat wetness of your tongue from her collar bone to her ear, earning a shiver from her entire body. She was wearing her bottom lip out with her teeth, so you pulled it out from their grasp with your thumb and held her chin to keep her eyes trained on you. Her arms and legs broke out in goosebumps.

You observed Jennie getting closer to her climax, but it didn’t feel like enough. You were trying not to think through what you were actually doing. You wanted to convey your frustration so badly. You felt used and angry. You weren’t sure why your emotions were manifesting themselves sexually, but you couldn’t stop now. It was all so intoxicating and taboo. Everyone must be wondering why it’s taking you two forever to come down. You were holding the hostess hostage, after all. These simple facts thrilled you. To hell with everyone.

You climbed down from the bed and onto the floor so that your head was level with Jennie’s mid-section. You yanked her underwear down her legs so roughly you swore they tore a little and then parted her legs with the same vehemence. She was glistening and blushing. You hooked your arms around her thighs and pulled her closer to you. You licked a stripe up her pussy and latched your lips onto her clit, sucking on it with no remorse. Jennie began moaning and groaning incessantly. Her lower stomach twitched and her legs ached to close at the buildup of sensation. You held them wide open with both of your hands and continue sucking on her mound, taking brief pauses to swipe at the accumulating wetness. It still wasn’t enough.

Your right hand released her thigh so your fingers could work their magic. One of your digits entered her with slick ease. Jennie’s eyes burst open and looked down at you, her face portraying an incredulous expression. You eased a second finger into her, earning a loud moan. She was tight, but wet enough to take it. “That’s it baby, lemme hear you.” You cooed up at her but her eyes were glazed over and looking past you in absolute pleasure.

Your fingers pressed against the sensitive spot inside her and began moving in and out, slowly at first but gradually picking up speed until you were pumping relentlessly. Her entire body was overtaken with stimulation. She no longer had the strength to hold herself up, instead laying splayed out on the bed and bucking her hips into your hand. You leaned your face in and flicked her clit with your tongue to get more of a reaction out of her. She hissed and clench around your fingers, so you latched onto her clit again and settled the tips of your fingers on her g spot to draw her orgasm out from hiding.

“Ah…fuck…Y/N…Y/N” Jennie moaned your name over and over, so you made sure not to lose your pace. You could feel the signs of her climax approaching. Her walls clenched around you rhythmically and her hips waved around rapidly in your face. She was so shamelessly full of lust that, chasing her high without abandon. It was contagious, but you hadn’t come to please her. When her voice became high pitched, you pulled away instantly. Jennie opened her eyes, blinking a few times as if needing to remember where she was. She spoke to you while panting, “What the hell Y/N, why’d you stop?”

Bending down to pick up Jennie’s underwear, you wiped her juices off of your finger with them then chucked the pair at her. The thin fabric landed on her chest in a crumpled sag, then toppled to the bed as the girl sat up in confusion.

“Just giving you what you wanted.” You smoothed out your dress and checked your hair in Jennie’s vanity mirror. You sighed and turned to her for the last time. Tears were pricking at the edges of her eyes, though you weren’t sure if that was because of the sex or because she was sad. Her lip quivered and it seemed as if she was thinking about what to say, but you just didn’t want to hear anymore. “Good luck on the marriage Jennie, he’s a real catch.”

You exited the room without a glance backward. She didn’t stop you this time, and for that you were grateful. You weren’t sure if you’d have the strength to stay away if she had. You leaned on the door to catch your breath and steady your nerves before appearing in front of everyone downstairs. You stopped breathing long enough to hear Jennie sniffling from behind the door. You debated on going back in there. You knew you were being petty, but you just couldn’t take the high road, not with this. You hated everything about this and you hated both of them for creeping behind your back. And you resented the fact that neither of them considered you before making such a decision. Just thinking about everything had you realizing how hurt you were deep down. You’d never been hurt like this before, and you couldn’t believe the crushing blows came from two people you didn’t want to let in in the first place. This all served as a good reminder as to why you were so closed off like you were, because people end up doing things like this.

Footsteps coming up the stairs snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met Jungkook’s just as his head came into view from the bottom of the stairs. You were caught off guard by his presence that all you could do was stare wordlessly. He looked amazing, even when his expression was so serious and guarded. The last few steps he took to reach the last stair were slow and hesitant. Soon you were eye to eye, both of you refusing to speak. He kept his hands in his pockets as his tongue rolled on the inside of his cheek.

He cleared his throat, interrupting the loaded silence in the air. “I came up to see what was taking you two so long. Everyone’s waiting downstairs.” He looked everywhere but at your eyes when he spoke. You didn’t doubt that he probably felt guilty about the situation, but you didn’t care about that, not when there was so much unsaid.

“Your finace’s in there crying, you should probably go comfort her.” You kicked off from the door to walk past him, but he caught your arm before you could get away. He kept his grip strong so you couldn’t move, but it’s not like you wanted to anyway, not when you craved his touch and attention. You wanted him to say something, anything that would make your hurting subside.

Jungkook sighed deeply, “Y/N, stop. Please don’t be like this. I know I have a lot of explaining and apologizing to do, but this isn’t the time or place. Please don’t let this change things between us.” He looked into your eyes, searching them for understanding.

“How can this not change anything? You’re getting engaged to my best friend, and you tried to keep it a secret. It’s so fucked up I can’t even begin to try to understand.”

Jungkook sighed again, releasing your arm and turning towards you. He tugged on his locks in frustration. “Do you think I’m happy about this? Do you think this is what I actually want? Y/N… just because I have obligations to fulfill doesn’t make what we have any less real.” Jungkook leans in so close you could smell his intoxicating cologne. You backed up until you hit the wall, but he followed you to it, leaving no space in between your bodies. His firm body pressed up against yours and you placed your hands on his chest in a week attempt to stop him. You held your breath as his cheek brushed against your temple. He breathed in lightly, taking your perfume in as well. His finger reached up and moved your curls out of your face, tipping your chin forward to get a better look at you. You allowed yourself to take his face in and all its features. His lips were parted and so close to yours, your head was swimming. As if reading your mind, Jungkook placed his other hand on the wall for support and went in for a passionate kiss.

His lips ate yours up in unrelenting motion that left you breathless. For a second, you didn’t care about breathing or not, you just wanted more of him. His lips sucked at yours, leaving them wet and swollen. You gasped for air as your tongues immediately found each other and began dancing in between your mouths. The sweet nostalgia of your sunny afternoons spent together, and sweaty lovemaking came flooding back, but instead of joy, they brought a pang of sadness with them. You couldn’t smother the sob that escaped you. Jungkook was too caught up in the passion to notice, so you bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to elicit pain. He backed off and brought his hand to his mouth, staring at you in wonder.

“What we had, Jungkook. I can’t do this with you anymore.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you were sure you’d start crying, so you bounded down the steps and escaped through the front door. You didn’t stop to say goodbye to everyone, nor check to see if they had noticed you running out. You couldn’t care less if you made a bad impression, you just needed to put as much space as possible in between you and this situation.

On the ride home you wondered if you should stop at Yoongi’s but decided against it. He’d seen enough of you crying for an entire lifetime. As lights and buildings and cars passed you by in the window, you scrolled through Instagram on your phone. It was probably a terrible idea to be on Jungkook’s page, but you were too worn out to fight your urges anymore. After everything that happened tonight, you wondered if it was worth reopening last night’s wound. Did you even get any closure?

You hit the unfollow button and then headed to Jennie’s page and did the same. If they were going through with this, you didn’t want a front-row seat to it. A montage of marriage pictures and future babies played in your head, and you surrendered to the sadness that came with it. You hated them, at least you wanted to believe you did, but the truth was that you were so hurt because you didn’t, not in the least. You exited the Uber and headed into your apartment. You began shedding your clothing on the way to your room. Once you reached your bed you were in nothing but your underwear and your fancy updo. You slid in between the blankets, pulling them up to your chin and staring at the wall in darkness. You must’ve left a window open because the chill in the apartment gave you goosebumps all over, but you couldn’t care about that right now. You were giving in to your feelings, yet the tears didn’t come. All dried out, I guess.

Just as the heaviness of the evening weighed you down, holding you stationary against the mattress, your eyelids began to close. Your breathing evened out and you welcomed the sweet release of sleep. But just before you drifted off, you became vaguely aware of your front door opening and closing, and then your bedroom door doing the same. In the grogginess and surrealism of sleep, you felt two bodies laying on either side of you, warming you up and comforting you for the night.

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