#i daydream about dancing with friends in a kitchen or whatever

[valleyyofthemoonnn]

you ever love people and humanity and the inherent Good of it so much it aches and hurts your heart , because you never see it. its never really been there for you to see it. you’ve only ever experienced the bad of it, but you’re so in love with the idea, you want to breathe and be alive just for the chance to see it ? you ever just do that?

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Halloween Party (Wade/Logan)

Description: Y/N, Wade and Logan have fun on the dance floor at their Halloween party.

Warning: Smut

Word Count:1,128

Request: nsfw mayhaps.. but Logan and Wade with a Younger!Witchy reader between like 19-21 ish? (witch practitioner not a blood witch) shes chubby, looks like a witch, acts like a witch? maybe she wears a costume witches hat for halloween and ride logan while wade makes out with her and just praises her 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Author’s note: I didn’t talk too much about the reader’s size in this but she is 22 and she is a witch for halloween but it’s implied she’s a real witch.

Logan watched her as she walked around in her Halloween costume getting ready for the party. He wasn’t one for Halloween but since he and Wade moved in with Y/N who they saved from the void, he was alright with it. Y/N was way younger than them. 22 to be exact and though Logan would usually feel creepy about something like that, he actually couldn’t due to her being flirty with him.

She was incredibly sexy right now? Oh he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was dressed like a witch and all he wanted to do was take her up against the counter in the costume. “Logan?” He snapped out of his daydream and looked at her as she gave him a confusing look. “What?” “Can you grab the cups from the cabinet?” She asked. He stood up and went to grab them for her. He was embarrassed to say the least. She called his name 3 times before she got an answer. Maybe he was distracted about the party?

He wasn’t one for that type of scene. “Anything else?” He asked and she shook her head and moved past him. His eyes never left her as she moved around the kitchen. Wade coming through the door was the only thing that made him come out of distraction. “Hello party bitches!” Wade said through the kitchen. Y/N greeted him and Logan raised an eyebrow at him, not impressed. “Here is your alcohol.” He handed Logan the bottle and handed Y/N her mixer for her drink that she was making.

Logan took a sip of his drink as he watched her make whatever she was making. He didn’t care for the fruity drink she was making. He liked the rough stuff like whiskey and she hated that. But he would watch her do anything. “You’re staring too hard.” Wade whispered to him, knocking him out of his daydream. He glared at him and Wade shrugged, “The plan won’t work if you make it so obvious.” 

Everyone was here for the party and though Wade was having the time of his life talking to all of his friends, Logan was hard as a rock watching Y/N dance in her costume. The dress was short and showed off her body perfectly. It was like she wore it to make him act up. She was teasing him.

But to Y/N she was doing no such thing and just having fun. Logan was going to stay and relax while Wade made his way over to their little witch. “Hey Wade.” Y/N yelled over the music. “Hey pretty girl, do you wanna dance?” He asked and she nodded. “As long as you can hide your boner.” She joked and he chuckled, “No promises. Especially if you’re grinding up against me.” He whispered in her ear.

She felt the heat pool between her legs at his words but ignored it as they began to dance. Logan watched as the two were all over each other and grinding in the living room. He bit his lip and his eyes moved to their bodies’ middle as her perfect ass moved against Wade’s crotch. It was so sexual and passionate but that’s just how they were when they danced. Logan’s pants were tighter than before and he couldn’t help but walk over to the pair. “Hey peanut!” Wade yelled to him over the music.

Y/N looked at him and gave him a sexy smile. He watched as she grinded harder against Wade and took his hands. She pulled Logan to her front and he looked down at her with a dark stare. “Dance with us.” She says to him and he chuckled, “You guys are basically fucking.” He tells her to which she can’t deny. She takes her hand and runs it up Logan’s hard on.

He nearly gasps and she chuckles, “You’re so hard Loggie, Join us.” She said and bit her lip. “Come on Wolvy, I’m close to cumming all over her ass.” Y/N heard that and pulled away from Wade and took Logan’s hands. He watched as she positioned herself so her ass was against his crotch now and started grinding. She started out slow at first building him up. Wade was a noisy fucker during sex, how was he silent during this if Logan was having a hard time not making noise?

He realized that the music was loud enough to cover up the noises. “Fuck.” He grunted feeling her ass hump his crotch. He wanted nothing more than to take her on the living room floor for everyone to see but he was better than that. Wade got in front of her as she grinded her hips against Logan and sighed, “Fuck this is hot.” He said and Logan agreed. “You’re a perfect piece of ass, sweetheart.” He told her as his hands gripped her hips.

Wade got closer to her and his hand traveled down to her short dress and went under it to her soaking wet panties. “Damn sweetheart, you and I both are soaked.” Wade said and she gasped as he began rubbing her clit. She was aching so bad and he could tell. He got close to her and began kissing her as Logan whispered dirty things in her ear. “I bet being between 2 older guys gets you going, doesn’t it?” He bit her ear as she moaned into the kiss that Wade was giving her.

His fingers rubbed faster against her gushy aching needy pussy and she was losing it. “Our perfect witch. I wouldn’t be surprised if you casted a spell on us. Haven’t even had a taste of your pussy but I miss it.” “Fuck.” She whined against Wade’s lips. She was close and it was taking everything in her not to cum right at the party. Everyone was dancing or doing their own thing but she felt filthy dancing and seducing 2 older guys, the guys that she lived with.

“Fuck sweetheart, you keep this up I’m gonna cum all over your ass.” He warns her and Wade sped his fingers up causing her to grab him and gasp as her high approached. Her hips stuttered making Logan grunt and cum in his pants. She wailed against Wade as she came in her panties.

Her breathing was hard as Wade worked his fingers to help her ride her climax. Logan rubbed her back to calm her down while Wade held her in his arms. “Fuck that was hot.” Wade growled and watched as she gave him a smile. Logan chuckled, “Huh we are the old ones but yet you’re tired.” He joked and she laughed and yawned. “Oh sweetheart and peanut. I have yet to cum so we aren’t finished just yet.”

[sugar-omi]

love when the ex tries to get back together with their former love until they see them happily together or married with kids. Love the angst.

Imagine 10-15 years later, MC still isn't satisfied and their marriage is slightly crumbling and becoming hollow. They check on Cove (maybe on facebook or something) and see pictures filled with his new love and family.

god, imagine that and MC acts kind of, very, bitter...

maybe you went on and tried to have the white picket fence with kids and/or fur babies. tried to have that storybook marriage. clung onto your fist of delusions and daydreams because they're truly all you have now, they're the only things that stood tall in the rubble of your life when you threw it into the fire.

because it has to work out. you love him, he loves you? why wouldnt it work? you built a life together, whatever it looks like.

so why do you feel so bitter, so empty.

why does the image of cove's happy family glare at you on the screen, why does your heart clench and throb, your stomach swirling with a pit of something nasty. something you can't dwell on for the sake of your marriage, or the shell of it anyway.

i wonder if consciousness has hit MC, the reality, the gravity of your situation. your actions. have fallen on your head and knocked you off your feet..

when, if, it hits you. do you look around your living room, comfortable but still hauntingly pristine compared to sand on the floor, suits and button ups where you used to find shorts and thin tanks, piles of clothes where a fish tank should be.

do you look around and miss the sound of running water from the fish tank, miss the sound of heavy feet followed by a heavy body draping across you, a soft voice, like a sweet lullaby sung by a tired dad, calling your name.

baby blues staring back at you, the sky in his eyes and all around. long hair in your hands. a hot body pressed against yours, warming up your cold hands easily for someone underdressed.

does that haunt you, the sound of love always heavy on his tongue, heavier in his eyes. the weight of it in his hands that pull you in.

only rewarded by your empty, yearning gaze. your heart is somewhere else, even if your body is in his hands. your lips move but you aren't talking back. you blink but that's just to wipe away your tears, brush away your visions.

your hands move across his skin, hold his hand, and you know the difference in their skin, their touch. your rub lotion into cove's rough palms and try not to think about the smell of baxter's shampoo in your nose when you hugged him goodbye.

do you recall your empty i love you's and your irritable responses, do you cringe and feel judgment lay across your back when you remember all the times you rejected him. rejected his confession the first time, rejected his date plans. rejected his touch and yelled at him for being so clingy.

do you realize your parents anger and disappointment, cliff and kyra's anger and disappointment, was hardly worth waking up to alluring amber hues and messy, short locks of gray.

do you drag your hands over your face and think your friends disappointment and distance was not worth this echoing house.

are your chat logs, texts short and far between worth many late night dances in your kitchen, in the ballroom at his work.

do you avoid baxter's eyes and give short answers when he tells you about the scene at a wedding when the bride's affair partner crashed the wedding.

do you stuff down the feeling rising from the dark pit of your stomach and choke on the bile in your throat.

do you look at the sky, stare at the far ocean and remember his sad expression. his pleads for your love. to look at him, love him, turn your affection at him. call his name in your sleep, reflect his face in your eyes, play songs about him.

do you turn off all the sad songs because you overplayed them up until now... do you try not to think about how a lot of, maybe all, of your actions were made out of sad, movie style longing for a summer love and that maybe you over-selled this too much.

when you celebrate your anniversary comes around, do you ignore the emptiness around you.

you built this life, this family, whatever it looks like.

and even if there's sound around you. when those missing pieces haunt you, who do you feel guilty for?

fuck, are these feelings you have genuine regret, or bitter anger that cove's world is brighter than yours. are the ghost haunting you born from a genuine regret, or bitter comparison. do you compare and quickly shove away anything that says this wasn't worth it. wasn't right.

do you let it haunt you because you want to prove you're right, you're happier. and that cove's tears were worth 5 minutes of baxter's hand in yours.

does this become your pit of bitter that you stew in simply because the ringing of it is forced to echo around you? does it only hit you like this, do these thoughts only come to your mind, trying to force guilt onto you because you know you're wrong but as always, you have to be right.

because this love was greater than anything cove can offer, and you're definitely not selfish enough to want it all when you see how happy he looks. or wish he was more miserable than you.

are you miserable? because this could be genuine love, your love with baxter floats around your home daily. but maybe it's just the bitter emptiness from having to give up the fork you stuck in cove.

after all, what kid wants to give up a cake when you can have both. a bite here, there, drool over the 2nd cake before you push the 1st away, deeming it inferior once the richness of the 2nd cake hits your tongue..

is this misery simple you wanting it all. wanting to be on top. not wanting to see someone else appreciate the flavor of the first cake you abandoned.

how cruel and selfish of you to yearn to drain more from a cup that isn't your own...

[theafterglow83]

Reclaiming the muse.

To the “museless” the swiftgrons the tilys or whatever fan fic character they try to push out as the muse( basically to try to erase Karlie) it’s absolutely clear who the REAL muse is….but you don’t have to believe me. Just listen to the story Taylor has been telling through her music for the last decade. No one except Karlie Kloss fits the storyline. Absolutely.No.One. Else. Fits.

It’s not your story and you do not have the right to change it.

Taylor (and Karlie’s) story officially starts in the 1989 era ( but actually I believe it started way back when Taylor was showing up at Karlie’s fashion shows in 2009 - 2010) …but by the 1989 era both were ready . As the story progresses it became about looking back and ending a relationship that was sour and falling madly in love with someone else - someone she wanted to bake cookies with -someone who was her best friend but she didn’t “want” her “like” a best friend- who is /was tall and gorgeous with shiny abs…fit like a daydream . A ray of sunshine, who danced in the kitchen and in a snow globe with her, who felt like home, her best friend - her twin- who she bought a dress so that she could take it off and wanted to wear her like a necklace -who she wished would have stayed with forever with her hands in her pockets - but she had a great fear the world would divide them and then she kissed her in a crowded room and her fears of losing her because loud because of their secret love- but they were dancing with their hands tied and tried to take it underground .

She loved that woman who’s name New York City screamed and she called her the West Village and a Dream Girl- and told the world she was in SECRET love - true love …and that she was her Daisy .And then almost in a self fulfilling prophecy she lost her.

Her champagne problem was a decision to chose ( or was forced into choosing) her career over her lover and she looked up and the sky was maroon. Taylor chose to closet for her career - beard after beard -time after time and I’m sure Karlie must have felt rejected , left out , after having been forced to take their relationship underground in 2016, the coming out they had planned taken off the table. The Vogue cover shoot . All the plans- gone. It probably reached the point where Karlie felt she was in the way - removed from the Miss Americana documentary-always hidden - promises broken - left in the shadows …maybe this wasn’t the life for her . She wanted children, stability and a normal life -maybe for her own sanity she chose to walk away or maybe she did to protect Taylor and her career Beth’s noise about them got very loud-but whatever happened They ended up breaking each others hearts and sent their destiny and all their plans into a spiral.

Taylor’s heart was never broken like that before in other relationships because she had never loved someone like that before and the pain of that breakup- it just hit different because it was her. She still called her lover and vowed to lover her endlessly

Her lover then suddenly “married” another leaving Taylor drowning in a sea of regret —-a second coming out failed and then the pandemic and as she wandered through those folklore woods were her lover had left her-she was trying to find a way out of darkness the only light she saw was when she was drowning and she swore she was there and she knew her pain wouldn’t be evermore because James would hopefully get Betty -the girl she betrayed, back..He would beg for forgiveness and make it up to her She acknowledged her mistakes, said she tried to make her a villain to make it hurt less but then realized she couldn’t. And They somehow survived the Great War .

She reflected on it through sleepless midnights and woke up with her memory hanging over her. “That’s some fucking legacy “ she screamed to the gods and allowed her anger ( to the industry/ her management / her record label - everyone who closeted her) to come to the surface and lash out as a tortured poet , locked in a prison ( the slammer) a glass closet she resents so much as she tries to do it with a broken heart . It was for them - the fans and everyone who contributed to controlling her - contributed to her losing the love of her life and she’s angry and unhinged and unhappy because she has it all now - she’s achieved the ultimate success- she’s at the top - but she lost the most important person on the climb up the ladder of success and realizes it’s empty and lonely up there without her and she still thinks about the loss of her life -the pretty baby she wants to return to when she’s finally free and says imgonnagetyouback.

How this ends is anybody’s guess…we don’t know if the rust has been removed from those telephone lines and frankly it’s none of our business. They will only ever tell us what they want us to know. I can respect that.

So will you please tell me how in the Hell that storyline fits Dianna, Lily, Matty, Joe, Harry, Blake, Zoe, Travis Britany Mahomes🤮 or whatever crazy substitute people try to insert? Did that storyline happen with anyone other than Karlie?

We all know the answer.

It simply doesn’t fit with anyone but Karlie SoPlease stop the madness.

You have no right to re tell Taylors (and Karlie’s) story. It’s not yours to alter to fit your needs. Take your muses and write fan fiction. There’s only one real muse

It’s Karlie Kloss and all roads have always led to her. If you don’t like her - too fucking bad. Taylor told her friends she hated her - but she loves her just the same.And Stop vilifying Karlie Kloss. She doesn’t deserve it.

If I was Taylor I’d be so annoyed at people trying to change her/ their story.

.

.

Update for the record- not denying Dianna happened or Liz or others pre Karlie. They are Taylor’s ex’s. We all have them and they were special during their time

Tilly is made up so I’m not even going there- and as someone stated there definitely could have been a fling with (cringe) Zoe. There ore probably others that she dated

( Karlie too has some ex’s floating around…don’t we all.? Some we’d rather forget 😉

But the main point of my post is that she wasn’t writing these songs about those other women this past decade. Always felt 1989 was actually split between ending things with Diana and starting new with Karlie and her emotions during that period.

I’m sure Wonderland was about Diana and I’m sure there are other early songs attached to other people but the Main Muse for the past decade +has been Karlie Kloss.

And please stop with that other nonsense claim that Karlie was PR to cover for Diana or Lily. Do you realize how ridiculous that claim is ? Karlie was a very much rumored lesbian at the time …you do not get a rumored lesbian to be the cover for the fact Taylor’s gay. The only PR has been the beards.

You don’t have to be a kaylor or a LSKaylor to get that. You don’t have to like Karlie Kloss because it’s cool not too and to buy into all that internet misinformation . All you have to do is be honest with yourself- set you feelings aside and read the lyrics. Karlie is / was the love of Taylor’s life and you don’t get to tell her how to feel.

[forbidden-forest-witch]

Destiné à Être: A Remus Lupin story

Chapter 8: Harry Potter and the Advanced Guard

Woo hoo! I’m back with a new chapter. This story is gaining momentum at a glacial speed on this app. If you like the story, please comment and reblog! It really helps with my motivation to keep posting. Is anyone out there?

(Warnings: Smoking, drinking, language, sexual themes. 18+ only)

Word count: 5.7K

...

"Thinking of you is a poison I drink often" -Atticus

"Goddamn I hate these, erm, muggles. How much longer?", Brigitte asks Tonks. They've been watching Harry's Aunt and Uncle's house for the last six hours. It's humid outside, and their backs are painfully stiff from the stationary position under a neighbor's hedge.

"Hmm, Podmore should be here any minute". Tonks says, trying to stifle a yawn. They watch as Harry crawls into a hydrangea bush to stay out of sight. 

"It's sad, watching this boy sulk around his neighborhood. I don't understand why he can't be at Grimmauld. He'd be even safer and I could make a dent in Sirius' case", Brigitte laments.

"It's one of those times where we have to blindly accept Dumbledore's orders. He says it's safest for Harry, so here he stays for two more weeks", Tonks sighs.

"How is Sirius' case coming along? Sorry I can't get the paperwork for ya".

"Kingsley told me last night after the meeting that his case is magically sealed. Probably because it'll show how poorly the Ministry handled it. Capturing Peter and getting personal testimonies from everyone who saw him transform from a rat is what's going to be Sirius' saving grace. How the hell is that going to happen?", Brigitte worries.

"He can't hide forever", Tonks says optimistically. "We just gotta be patient. You're working on the werewolf stuff in the meantime?".

"I'm starting to make some notes so I can refer to work I've done in France. It's repulsive, Dora, the Ministry's language talking about people with Lycanthropy. I cannot imagine how they will react when I go in to defend them". Brigitte doodles in a miniature sketchbook she had hidden in her pocket.  

"Who cares what they say? They're wrong! What you're doing is badass! I bet Remus is eternally grateful to the beautiful young woman helping him like no one else has".Tonks dramatically bats her lashes.

"Have you been in the sun too long?".

"Don't deny it. He stares at you when he thinks no one is looking".

"Oh stop, Dora, he does not!", Brigitte says trying to hide her blushing cheeks.

Tonks wiggles her eyebrow and smirks, "It's quite adorable, actually. Sirius told me Remus is painfully shy, but he's warmed up real quick to you".

"We're friends. He's easy to talk to", Brigitte insists. She definitely won't bring up their intimate moment dancing together and how he was openly staring at her then and not at all shy with his hands.

"Whatever you say", Tonks looks over at Brigitte, who's staring up at the sky as and daydreaming about those hazel eyes and 'deep pink scars I want to trace with my lips. Wait– what the hell are you thinking, woman?' ...

After taking a little window shopping and a long walk back to Headquarters, Brigitte finds Remus in the kitchen. Hermione has finally arrived, and she is telling him about her new club S.P.E.W, ignoring the protests from Ron.

"'Mione, stop! He doesn't want to hear this rubbish. What do you suggest? They free Kreacher so he can go and blab about what we're doing!?".

Remus glances up to Brigitte with a welcoming smile, and she pats his shoulder as she walks by. Their lingering touches have become more and more frequent.

They're all listening to Hermione's arguments in favor of House Elf rights, when suddenly Mndungus Fletcher frantically bolts into the room. He's sweaty and out of breath. His eyes are wide and bloodshot.

"Dung? What—"

"Dementors... attacked the boy...".

Sirius and Molly come in with arm loads of trash and arguing about Sirius' unruly hair, They've been getting under each other's skin the more time they spend in these close quarters;

" ... Can't it be shorter? It traps in that cigarette smell", Molly wrinkles her nose.

"Ugh, Molly I-- What's going on?", the raven- haired wizard asks when he sees the panic in everyone's eyes.

"Mundungus, what the hell are you talking about!?", Remus urges, approaching the dirty man with a frantic look in his eyes.

"Dementors ... Kingsley and Mad-Eye are there now".

"Wha-what?", Sirius roars and drops the rubbish in his hands.

"I... I had gone— for just a moment!", he slurs. Molly grips Sirius' sleeve so he doesn't charge the drunken man or try to leave the house.

"Sirius, you have to stay calm!", Brigitte puts her hand on his chest to still him,

"Dung, tell us what happened". He looks around hesitantly before divulging what Mrs. Figg told him.

" ... two of 'em. Attacked him and the cousin, parents took him to Muggle hospital. Harry's fine, he did a patronus on 'em". Molly gasps; Hermione and Ron look at one another horrified.

"Fine?! Merlin, Mundungus ... he better stay in that house", Sirius emphasizes. He, Hermione, and Ron each scribble notes to Harry before he leaves the Dursley's house and makes himself vulnerable to the dark, soul-hungry creatures.

"Dementors in Surrey?", Remus asks still in disbelief. Emmeline Vance rushes into the room, along with Sturgis Podmore.

"What happened?! Got word from Moody".

Broderick Bode and a few others trail in behind them. Brigitte quickly shares details of the attack. Some of them immediately turn back around to Apparate to the scene.

"We need to go get him!", Sirius howls.  

"As long as Harry stays in that house, he's safe". He looks at Brigitte out of the corner of his eye, where she stands with her hands on Hermoine's trembling shoulders.

⋆ ｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Harry stays put for three days. The Order checks the surrounding skies countless times and finds no trace of the dementors, and Moody forms a route for getting Harry to quickly and safely to Headquarters.

Though, not quickly enough for those waiting for his arrival. Brigitte is distracting herself and Molly in the kitchen. They've been told everything should go smoothly, but Bri can't help but worry about Remus— and Tonks and the others, of course. Hermione and Ginny have come downstairs, hoping to hear some news. Sadly, Arthur and Sirius are only talking about new Ministry restrictions with other Order members at the table.

"I don't know who's more excited about Harry's arrival: Sirius or Ginny?", Brigitte teases to keep the vibe light. Ginny scrunches her nose in denial.

"I hope Harry isn't too upset that we couldn't write more", Hermione nervously mutters.

"You can blame us", Brigitte assures her.

"Ginny, Hermione, I think you should head up", Molly says. "Harry will be here soon ... Please ask Gus to come down and join us".

The girls reluctantly shuffle out the room. Gus comes down from playing cards with Fred and George, and holds the door open for Snape. It becomes tense and quiet in the kitchen after that.

Minutes later there's a scuffle from the foyer. Molly rushes out to intercept Harry as the Advance Guard files in. Remus doesn't miss the chance at taking the empty seat next to Brigitte.

"Uneventful mission, I hope?", she asks.

He takes in a deep breath, her light florally scent invading his senses. "Aside from freezing our asses off— totally uneventful", he smiles down at her.

"And you're feeling alright?". The full moon was only two days ago and Remus insisted on helping with Harry's extraction tonight, regardless. He's not all scratched up and bloodied, but a keen eye can see the exhaustion in his features.

"I'm fine, Britt, honest. I had chocolate and the tea you made me. I'm good as new". Remus sits up straight and smiles with his chin up high.

"Okay, okay ... chocolate fiend", she teases and nudges his arm, making them both blush.

Kingsley clears his throat and the chatter fizzles out. He begins by taking Mundungus off all upcoming assignments. The lack of new information people have is discouraging. People are skeptical to speak, untrusting of those around them-- afraid their words will be used against them. Nothing out of the ordinary has occurred in the patrolled areas, and the general public is still weary about Voldemort's return.

"The Ministry is covering it up! And now the attacks? They control those things!", Sirius rants. "How do we know The Ministry isn't trying to take out Harry too?".

"Because Voldemort is still deliberating his best course of action when it comes to Minister Fudge", Snape dully explains. "I can confirm that the Dark Lord is after a prophecy, hidden in the Department of Mysteries".

"Ah, just as Dumbledore suspected", Kingsley scoffs mirthlessly.

“A prophecy about Harry?”, Brigitte asks.

“Correct”, Snape says, looking disgusted at having to respond.

"All the more reason for them to do something", Molly points out.

"The Ministry's official position is that the attack is all allegations", Tonks rolls her eyes. "Fitting into Dumbeldore's narrative".

"Harry will have to go to his hearing and explain what he saw. Then we may get to investigate. We have no other means to get to Azkaban and personally count the dementors". Kingsley sighs and rubs his tired eyes.

"Harry's not a liar", Sirius growls. "He shouldn't have to explain himself".

"We saw Cedric Diggory. Why wouldn't they believe him?", Brigitte asks.

"Politics", Tonks explains bluntly. "You didn't technically see how he died".

"It's easier to live in denial than fear. The last war wasn't long ago, too many people remember it. Fudge doesn't want public hysteria", Remus whispers to Brigitte. She is fortunate enough not to remember last time Voldemort was gaining power– she was about to start her first year of schooling far away in France.

"Who knows what this means going forward. Just keep your guards up. Everyone know their assignments?", Kingsley asks. There's a collective head nod. Brigitte's job is to be available when needed, not draw attention to herself, and do her legal work in her limited free time.

When the meeting comes to a close, the hoard of Order members leave for their new duties. Some will keep an eye on Diagon Alley, some are stuck at the Dursley's house, and the 'lucky ones' are stationed around the Ministry building with Alastair Moody.

Molly waves her wand, setting the table for dinner as the swarm of children return.  

"Harry!", Brigitte jumps from her seat and hugs the boy. "I'm so happy to see you! How are you?! I cannot believe what happened".

"Britt? Wh- what are you doing here!?".

"I never went back to France. Fleur is here too. Now, sit with Sirius, dinner will be ready soon!", she gently nudges him towards his godfather who's waiting with open arms.

"Mundungus, I've told you not to light that cigar in here! Especially at meal times!", Brigitte fumes and forces a gust of wind at him as she sits back down next to Remus, who's chuckling at her adorable, angry face.

"What's so funny?".

"Oh ... nothing", he coughs nervously. "Did you have a good day?".

Remus left early, so he missed the chaos that swarmed around Grimmauld Place. Brigitte animatedly tells him about distracting Molly most of the day, wiggling her fingers above the wooden tabletop to make fluffy dandelions sprout up. Talking to Remus and seeing him look so invested in what she's saying makes her feel like a silly schoolgirl, and it seems to make her magic giddy.

"Remus, you there?". Brigitte waves her hand, noticing his distant gaze. He can't help it. It's like his brain shuts off by her voice hypnotizing him. Remus clings onto Brigitte's melodious accent. He looks forward to her telling him about her day; she's quickly becoming the calming presence in his life— well, a calm that make him so nervous his heart violently thumps against his ribs. Honestly, the girl could explain the difference between goblin and leprechaun gold and he'd savor each word that spills from her lips.

"Huh? Yeah. Yes, of course I am-", he's cut off by Tonks shouting across the table.

"Need any help, Molly!?". She's sat in the corner, huddled up with Gus.

"No dear, really that's alright. Just getting the stew", she pleads to the clumsy girl.

"We got it!", Fred and George said in unison, pointing their wands.

"NO! JUST CARRY THEM!!". The stew, breadboard, and knife slam onto the table. Sirius and Harry jump away to avoid injury, and when they see no one's hurt the room erupts into laughter- everyone sans Molly who screams at her sons.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

When the last dessert fork is set down, Molly interrupts the scattered conversations and suggests the children go to bed. Sirius raises his hand in objection, pushing his chair back and turning his body to Harry.

"Y'know, I'm surprised. I thought you'd be asking more questions", Sirius says to his godson.

"I did! I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we're not allowed—"

"And they're right. You're too young", Molly inserts intensely.

"Since when do you have to be in the Order to ask questions? Harry's been trapped with muggles for months. He's got the right to know". Sirius insists.

"It's too risky, Sirius".

"I'm not going to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly, but he's been through more than most in the Order!", Sirius argues.

"But he's still—"

"He's not a child! He can even do a bloody patronus!".

"I only have Harry's best intentions at heart! He's not an adult... he's not James, Sirius!", Molly argues.

Sirius glares at her, cheeks turning red. It's escalating too quickly, and everyone is exhausted from cleaning the giant townhouse-- and consuming too many fire whiskeys.  

Brigitte looks to Remus, his jaw is clenched and gaze set on Sirius. Harry glances nervously between the two arguing while the other kids stare at their plates. Tonks and Arthur's eyes are like saucers. Gus lights a cigarette, relatively unphased.

"You think I'm an irresponsible godfather?", Sirius asks coldly, his voice continually rising.

"You've been known to act rashly, Sirius!".

"He's not your son, Molly", Sirius growls at her. He grasps his chair, ready to pounce.

Molly purses her lips bitterly. "He's as good as. Who else has he got?".

"ME! He's got me!".

"Yes", Molly smirks, "but it's been rather difficult to do be there for him while locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?".

Sirius throws his chair back. Brigitte gasps, moreso at Molly's words than Sirius' reaction.

"Sirius sit down!", Remus hisses, "Personally, I think it's better that Harry get the facts- not all the facts, Molly-- but we might as well tell him before he hears it from somewhere else", he affirms. Brigitte gives him a reassuring nod.

"Molly... we were there when Harry came back with Cedric", Brigitte sighs heavily, "He deserves to know what's going on".

Molly throws up her hands in defeat and kicks the other children out of the room. Sirius gives Harry a vague update: how Voldemort is after a weapon (the prophecy) that could help him win and the Order is doing everything they can to keep him from gaining momentum.

"But what is the weapon?", Harry asks.

"Well--", Sirius begins to delve into the Department of Mysteries, but Molly has had enough.

"Alright, I think he's heard plenty! Harry, I'm sure Ron and Hermione would like to spend time with you". Molly puts on a fake smile and gently nudges Harry out the room. She gives Sirius one last nostril flare, before giving her attention to the dirty dishes and left over food.

Tonks stealthily ventures across the room, afraid any sudden movement might set off Molly. She leans down to Brigitte's ear and whispers, "Hey Love, do you have a dress I can borrow? Gus is taking me to dinner".

"Of course! Let's go, Hermione and Ginny are already in my room... I'll see you later, uhh, Lunaire", Brigitte addresses Remus as she stands up.

"What's Lunaire?", he asks innocently.

"It's the closest translation to 'Moony' in French". She giggles, skipping out of sight with Tonks, leaving Remus a love-struck mess. They join Hermione and Ginny in Brigitte's bedroom, quickly turning the space into a fabric wasteland, with clothes covering the floor like a lumpy carpet.

"Okay so you're edgy and punk", Brigitte rummages through her dresses flung about. Hermione and Ginny hold some up to their bodies and twirl around.

"Gus likes dark blue. I have the perfect one but where is it?!", Brigitte starts throwing the dresses behind her, making a huge pile. "Here!", she tosses the dress to Tonks. It's navy chiffon with a tulle skirt and sheer long sleeves– subtly elegant and sexy.

"It's beautiful! I don't know if I could pull this off", Tonks hesitates.

"All you need to think about is Gus pulling it off", Brigitte laughs.

"That's your brother!".

"Yeah, and you're my friend, so try it on!".

Tonks reluctantly gives them a fashion show, and the dress fits her like a glove.

"Yeah that's definitely the one!", Ginny smiles. Hermione eagerly nods her head, her fluffy hair bouncing erratically.

"I'm thrilled you're going out with Auguste, Tonks! Taking someone to romantic dinner? Very unlike him, going out anywhere in public".

"He's falling in love!", Ginny sings, picking up a long formal gown and admiring herself in the mirror.  

"Hardly... Speaking of dates, when do we get to dress you up?", Tonks wiggles her eyebrows and the two young girls pipe up in agreement (Yeah! Yeah! When??).

"That'd be a little difficult with no one to go with", Brigitte grumbles.

"What about Remus?", Hermione asks innocently.

"I don't know 'what about Remus'... we're friends".

Tonks rolls her eyes as she packs the dress in her bag. "Oh, puh-lease! I told you I see the way he looks at you".

"And when you talk at dinner he gets this goofy smile", Ginny adds teasingly.

"And he likes being close to you", Hermione adds. Brigitte's face is glowing red at this point.

"Look, he's sweet and we have nice talks ... It's just not good timing. H-he probably thinks I'm some wacky girl, too young for him", she says somberly. Tonks rubs her arm sympathetically,

"I've seen the way you look at him, too. Don't say things like that! He doesn't think you're just some anything! You're a gifted, smart, and unearthly stunning witch, Brigitte Moreau and he'd be an absolute git to not see that".

"Personally, I think you two make a nice looking couple", Ginny declares. Downstairs in the drawing room, Remus, Sirius, Harry, and Ron are tucked around the fireplace.

"I can't believe we're going to have another new DADA teacher. They've all been bloody nightmares–except you, Lupin", Ron clarifies. Remus smiles appreciatively.

Harry makes an slack face, thinking about what the upcoming year could behold. "If I'm even allowed back at school ...".

"That's nothing to worry about, Harry. Fudge may not listen but he's just one person. You'll be fine. Kids do underage magic more than you think. Just picture all the amazing food you get to have at school ... the birds ya haven't seen all summer?", Sirius grins wickedly.

"You're ridiculous", Remus huffs.

"No, I'm Sirius", his grin widens, "though ... I have a feeling the only birds these two are interested in are right here in this house".

Ron looks at Harry suspiciously, who quickly changes subject, "Well, uh ... Lupin, what's going on with you and Brigitte? She seems really nice, the few times I spoke to her during the last school year".

The tips of Remus' ears heat up. Fred and George perk up from their card game to hear the answer, George with a sad yet hopeful glint in his eye. Sirius sits up and looks amusedly at his old friend.

"I think we're all curious about that!".

"Brigitte and I are friends", Remus responds desperately- hoping it'd be the end of it. Sirius dramatically rolls his eyes and throws his hands in the air. Harry smirks. "Sorry... I just thought maybe- you two were sitting close at dinner ...".

Sirius loves seeing him tease Remus like James would, making Moony squirm nervously.

"They're like that most meals", Ron whispers.

"Pfft. Anytime they're in a room together", Sirius scoffs. They laugh and go back to talking about Hogwarts and how awkward Remus used to be around girls.

He tries to push down the heat growing across his body. He didn't realize people noticed him always sitting next to her like some pathetic school boy. "Has SHE noticed?", Remus thinks; but what is he supposed to do? He can't help but gravitate to her. There's a strong pull, and the second he is near her a tranquil feeling envelopes him.

Remus battles himself internally. He tries to push away the sound of her laugh replaying in his mind and the image of her rosy lips. "Stop goddammit! She's young and ambitious, you'll ruin her... but she's so sweet. Her smile- no, quit it!", Molly comes into the room with a sour look.

"I think it's past time you two went to bed. Now". She's clearly in a sour mood from dinner. The younger boys say good night and head to their room. Brigitte and Tonks pass them at the doorway.

"I think it's time I head out too", Tonks announces. Auguste, who is sitting with Arthur on the opposite side of the room near the twins, stands up to escort her.

Brigitte hugs him, whispering a warning in his ear. "I'm so excited you two are going out and I know I'm your sister, but I like Tonks so don't you dare ruin it!".

"Yeah, yeah. Protective little bear ... I wouldn't dream of doing anything to mess this up".

Brigitte bids goodnight to the remaining party, pausing to give Remus a small wave– which Sirius catches, only helping his argument.

Once everyone else has gone to bed, Sirius and Remus sit in silence for a few minutes deep in thought. "Moony... I know you're going to shut this down, but it's pretty obvious that she likes you too ... fully aware of your furry problem. I don't think you should ignore that". Remus scoffs in response.

Sirius sighs and pats his friend's knee before standing up to retire for the evening,

"If James and Lily were here they'd tell you the same thing. I know you– you've never been like this with a woman. You already passed the hard part, she accepts who and what you are. Don't run away from happiness ...".

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

The following weeks are the antithesis of uneventful. Justice proves it can prevail, and Harry is acquitted of the outrageous 'underage magic charges'. The remaining days before the new school year are spent dusting heavy drapes, removing doxies from underneath furniture, dodging hiding boggarts, and organizing scattered family heirlooms.

"THROW IT ALL OUT FOR ALL I CARE!", Sirius bellows after Brigitte asks him where they should store his family's antiques. Going through his parent's belongings isn't his idea of a pleasant afternoon.

"We'll take care of it. Go take these rubbish bags down, yeah?", Molly gently directs Sirius, trying to keep the peace for the end of Harry's summer. They have not brought up their fight that occurred the night Harry arrived and are pretending it never happened. Brigitte flashes Sirius a crude hand gesture, earning a snicker from the Weasley kids.

"Does that mean we can keep them?", Fred asks, eyeing a very gaudy locket, his pupils turning into gold coins.

"No! Who knows what dark magical traces are still on it? C'mon girls, you can pick out a dress to wear tonight". Brigitte gets up from her station on the rug with Ginny and Hermione ...

To celebrate the end of the summer and possibly lift Sirius' spirit, they're having a farewell party. Brigitte and Molly make a delicious feast; Fleur and Bill make an appearance at dessert so she can formally meet his siblings before they leave.

The room is filled with chatter. Fleur boasts about how accommodating Bill has been at the bank, and Sirius tells Harry stories about his parents; Brigitte is sitting at the end of the table with Remus– big shocker– telling him about some of the work she's done for werewolves in her home country.

"One of the first revisions I was apart of was Employment Rights, so now it's illegal to fire someone because they have the condition. So far it's worked out really well. The public disdain in Paris is slowly dwindling as they see that people with lycanthropy aren't a threat", Brigitte tells Remus with a shy smile.

"That's... that's amazing, Britt! I can't even imagine how proud your family is". Remus' eyes glitter with astonishment. She is perfect. He can't even find it in him to argue with her, even though he still considers himself a threat.

"I had to do it. It's one of the reasons my Papa has his own store, he couldn't find a job elsewhere when he was young. Now I need to do the same thing here. Oh Remus, there's so many messed up—".

"Alright– 'nough chit chat! Let's go dance!", Sirius hollers. Tonight, he is a happy drunk.

Everyone except Molly and Arthur follow Sirius to the drawing room. Brigitte puts on the 80's dance music. She takes ahold of Ginny and Hermoine's hands to pull them to the middle of the room. They dance around wildly with Bill and Fleur to Blondie.

♫ ♪ ♫  Call me (call me) on the line! Call me, call me any, anytime Call me!  ♫ ♪ ♫

"Move it! Move it, ladies!", Sirius says hip bumping them out of the way. He, Fred, and George invade the space, doing some weird twist move.

Remus sits on the velvet couch with Harry and Ron, and he use the opportunity to instill into Harry the importance of him staying under the Ministry's radar.

"There's going to be some changes to Hogwarts this year... you've already made it through one hearing. It won't happen again, so keep your head down", Remus warns gravely.

Brigitte shimmies over, singing along with the music. "Alright, alright. Let the boy enjoy his last night here! Come, Harry! Dance with us!", and she yanks him and Ron up away towards the center of the room.

Sirius looks at him with a beaming smile, "My boy!", he cheers and takes Harry's hands, jumping around in the center of the group. Harry lets out a boisterous laugh.

Brigitte makes her way back to Remus, "You didn't think I'd forget you?", she teases him.  

"One can only hope", he says sarcastically but rolls his eyes and takes her outreached hands.

In the middle of the tiny dance floor, Brigitte keeps her fingers curled around Remus' rough hand, hoping it will make him feel more comfortable to show off his skills. If only she knew how the contact was making his whole body numb.

Remus smiles wantonly at her and they gaze into each other's eyes, letting the loud music and Sirius' aggressive dancing fade into the background. Remus spins Brigitte around a few times, eliciting the laugh that makes his knees weak. The chemistry is so obvious to everyone in the room but them.

"I learned English with this music. Papa and I would dance and sing for hours. Michael Jackson was best for dancing, but Pink Floyd is prettiest instrumentals". Brigitte eyes glimmer with nostalgia as she thinks about her childhood.

"Hence the vinyls?", Remus asks rhetorically, his hands resting on her waist. "All you touch and all you see is all your life will ever be". Brigitte swoons as he quotes her favorite band. Her whole body practically vibrates for the rest of the night, long after his hands leave her.

─── . ˚*☆ ☾ ☆*˚ . ───

The following morning, a thud and pitiful whimper outside Brigitte's bedroom door interrupts her untangling her messy waves.

"Mon Dieu! Ginny, you alright?!". She runs to the girl laying on the floor with a scraped forearm, her face crumpled from breaking her fall with her knees and elbows. It's been a restless morning, and Ginny flying down the staircase is another hindrance in their efforts to get out the door on time.

"We're so sorry, Gin!", George and Fred come running down the steps just as Molly comes running up.

"WHA- YOU TWO COULD HAVE DONE SERIOUS INJURY. IDIOTS-". Brigitte and Ginny slowly slip away from Molly's line of fire. Brigitte gently closes her bedroom door and kneels by her bed.

"I have a potions case under here, I'll fix that scrape up". She puts a clear cream on Ginny's elbow, and they watch the cut disappear.

After creating a pyramid of trunks, the household makes way to the front door so they can get to King's Cross Station. Brigitte stands around with Molly to say her goodbyes, for she has prior obligation.

A shadow in her side vision catches her attention. "Sirius Black? What the hell do you think you're doing?", Brigitte asks the black dog strolling past her. "No! No, absolutely not! Someone could see you idiot!".

He's cute, but not cute enough to get away with this. He looks over his shoulder once he reaches the doorway. Brigitte's glares at the canine. Remus and the children file down the stairs and look hesitantly between the two, nervous to speak a word. Sirius makes a small whimper that makes Brigitte's stoic face falter.

"Sirius, it's dangerous. Your animagus isn't a secret anymore". The dog just continues to whimper and nudges Harry's leg.

Remus gently place his hand on Brigitte's shoulder, "I'll watch him at King's Cross? Moody's there too. Nothing's going to happen to anyone, okay?", he looks down at her with pouty lips and trusting honey eyes.

"Fine. Please, be safe", Brigitte says timidly, briefly touching his hand that's still resting on her. She shoots a glaring look to Sirius. If he wasn't a dog, he'd be laughing at how easily she just folded to Remus' request.

"Oh honestly... it's YOUR head", she warns the dog as he prances out the door. She gives everyone a hug, with George and Fred somehow sneaking to the back of the line for seconds.

She reiterates to Harry the importance staying out of the spotlight and focusing on having a normal school year. She waves goodbye to everyone and watches them disappear down the street, praying that no one catches Sirius.

"Well, I think I'm going to enjoy a cup of coffee", Molly sighs, waltzing back inside.

"I wish I could join you, but I must pay a visit to St Mungos hospital".

"Oh, Dear..."

"Dumbledore connected me with a Healer there. It's the first time they've reached out, but there is a werewolf bite victim. I'm going to try to help him before the Ministry finds him", Brigitte explains as she laces up her boots.  

She must be discreet. Confidently walking into the hospital, Brigitte bypasses the front desk without being stopped. Molly told her where the ward for Serious Bites is, so she doesn't look lost or suspicious.

The ward is empty except for a man lying on the farthest bed. Now Brigitte hesitates. An older Healer with white hair approaches.

"Hello, how can I help you?".

"Are you by any chance Healer Le Fay?".

"That's right, Dear. Are you the witch I wrote to?". Brigitte nods her head, so Healer Le Fay leads her further into the room.

"The only thing he's told me is that his name is Darren. That's it-- here almost an entire month and he refuses to speak... I would have reached out sooner, my dear. But I was worried he would try to hurt you. It's honorable work you do".

"Thank you, Madame. He, I can handle. I won't be long". Brigitte marches over to the bed. Darren is curled up under the covers with his back to the door, but when Brigitte's footsteps stop at his bedside, he peers over the blanket.

"You're the first. My mum can even look at me", Darren groans.

"It's hard to see loved ones in pain ... how are you doing, Darren?". Brigitte fingers quickly through his paperwork, skimming over the incident report: location- Forest of Dean ... bite mark on arm ...

"How I am?! I fucking tell you how I am! My life is fucking ruined! I wish I died that night. I've been here for a month alone! Getting disgusted looks from people visiting their loved ones and now my body feels like shit, reminding me of what's going to happen in just a few days!", he starts sobbing into his pillow.

Brigitte looks down at Darren. She cannot imagine the fear he's feeling, counting down the days until the first full moon as a werewolf. Nothing she can say will help him, so she instead rubs his arm and makes a soothing shushing sound.

"Darren, I'm here to ensure your life isn't ruined. I know, believe me, I know it's hard right now. The worst thing that's ever happened to you... I want to say it'll get better", she offers once his cries quiet.

He scoffs but doesn't move from her comfort.   "Better? I've lost my job because I vanished, who will ever hire me? I'll be kicked out of my flat once the landlord finds out... Merlin, no woman will ever want to be with me". Darren turns away again, squeezing his eyes shut to make the world go away.

"The organization I work with will make sure you find a job as well as a place to live. We provide any kind of support you need, Darren. There are understanding people in this world. If you ever want to talk, please don't hesitate to write... I'll be back after the full moon". Brigitte puts her business card on the bedside table; and with that she leaves, sensing his desire to be alone.

On her walk home, she can't help but think about the pain that her father, brother, and Remus feel from being cursed with this disease. They hide it well, but there's no doubt they still have anxiety about each full moon and how others judge them. Remus was downright heartbreaking when he confessed his secret, and that was after he learned Brigitte protects them for a living.

She can help but never make the pain go away. The least she can do is entice Remus with one more dance (any excuse to touch him), before he retreats to a secret location for the full moon...

And for those three days he's gone, they both cherish that last dance...

Masterlist

Let me know if you want to be tagged ❤️

Taglist: @dontjudgemyobsessionpls

[toomanybandstocare]

{Look Good in Blue, Blondie}

Program: You've found a home in the arms of another. Sure they may not belong to who you originally imagined and daydreamed about, but they hold you safe and sound while pushing you back to your old self. Laughter and child like joy finally lights up the Harrington household, one rainy night.

Pairing: Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x Platonic(ish), GN! Reader

Genre: Fluff, Requested

Warnings: Couple of swears, thunderstorms

Length: 689w

Series Program | Camp Upside Down Masterlist

Counselor Notes: Did I just say I wouldn't write an epilogue about Eddie and Reader in this series? Yes. But my dear @hellfiresangel requested some Steve and Reader shenanigans post the confrontation, and I am a sucker for these two. And it finally rained for the first time since May! So I got hit with rainy day in coziness.

Rain droplets drizzle and splutter as distant rumbles of thunder churn. Flashes of small lightning bolts illuminate the water trails as they splay across the window. The dancing droplets leap into the air and fall back into place on the road outside. Tranquil trickles of peace invite you to join the thunderstorm in their symphony or enjoy its crescendo, cuddled in your blanket.

Freshly showered and refreshed after a slow day at work, you relax your achy muscles and sink into the comforter. Goosebumps tickle your skin from the soft caress of an oversized sleep shirt and pajama pants. Vanilla and tobacco entice you to fall further into the comfort of your best friend’s room. Though with the faint smell of your signature perfume and scattered belongings, the safety of Steve’s room easily welcomes you home as if it were your own. Lost in your sleepy daze and lulled to semi-consciousness, you don’t hear the ensuite’s shower fall silent. The soft echoes of rain cascading among the tree leaves distracts you from the door gently closing.

Bliss settles through your body and caresses your skin as Steve lightly trails his fingertips up your arm to your neck. Complete content hums in your heart as his fingers tap softly against your collarbone.

“You little thief. Suppose you took my comfy pants as well?” Steve laughs to himself. Adoration coats his quiet voice, just barely above a whisper. He’ll give you everything- you don’t even have to ask. His heart thrums and swells with joy knowing you do the same for him.

You two understand each other on an empathetic and genuine level. It’s just the two of you. That’s all you need. That’s all that matters.

“You said I could snag whatever- how was I supposed to know these are your favorite,” you slur and send a sleepy smirk his way. Even through your bleary gaze, you can see the remaining water drops trickle from the tips of his hair and down the expanse of his glistening neck. An alarming tap to your nose snaps your attention to a snickering Steve.

Reaching over and launching the other pillow at him, your cheeks flush. Steve jumps out of the way as chuckles cascade freely from his lips. “You’re so cute when you drool- whether it be in your sleep or over me,” he coos and teases you with his finger.

“Fuck you,” you screech and run after him into the hallway. Bumping into the banister and wall as the two of you fly down the stairs and into the living room.

Thundering booms and puttering footsteps fill the silent house. Your laughs and crude insults bring the lonely house to life. Filling the cold atmoshere with a long awaited homeliness.

Blazes of bright lightning outside illuminate the two of you moving in tandem. Steve’s smile shines as his eyes twinkle with a slight playful glint.

Sudden darkness sends you scrambling to find safety in Steve’s arms. “S’okay- I’ve got you. I’m sure there’s already people taking care of the lines,” he mumbles into your hair. “How about I heat some mac n’cheese, and we can listen to a cassette or something?”

You stop him from leading you into the kitchen with a snort of amusement. You don’t need to see in order to know he’s turned to face you with a quirked eyebrow. “How’re we supposed to heat something up with no power, genius?”

“Oh, fuck you. I’m trying to be nice here,” he jokes and slips his arms free of your grasp. But the all too familiar tingle of your touch quickly returns to his arm and sends his stomach into somersaults.

“Fine. Cold mac n’cheese, smarty pants. What album?” Steve tugs you into the kitchen and sets you into one of the breakfast bar chairs. While you ponder on tonight’s music selection, Steve moves to grab dinner from the fridge and the walkman he keeps on the counter.

“That Blondie one? The one with ‘Look Good in Blue’,” you gratefully hum as Steve places a cold bowl of mac n’cheese in front of you. And another by your side.

[hearts-hunger]

sunshine daydream — chapter two

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one 

Series Summary: Friends can go on platonic vacations to cosy lakeside cabins, right?

Chapter Summary: Any decent platonic vacation should include picnicking, fishing, picking flowers, getting high, dancing on the beach, and... skinny dipping?

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Reader | Genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining | Word Count: 5.7k | Chapter Warnings: smoking that wacky tobaccy

A/N: Sam and birdie are literally the world’s biggest simps in this chapter, bless ‘em. If you find yourself asking “would all this realistically happen?” the answer is no, absolutely not ♡ That’s what fanfiction’s for, babey — creating highly, highly unrealistic scenarios that no normal people would ever get tangled up in, but damn if they ain’t entertaining to daydream about. I hope you like it! ♡

When you woke the next morning, you had a headache but no Sam.

It was early, judging by the pinkish sunshine streaming through the windows, and you were surprised you were already up. You couldn't exactly remember what time you’d gone to bed last night, though, and figured it must have been earlier than your usual night-owl bedtime.

Come to think of it, you couldn't remember a lot about last night after you'd finished dinner. That would account for your headache and the fact that you hadn’t changed out of your dress, and you promised yourself you’d go a little easier on Grandma Kiszka's homemade wine in the future.

You padded downstairs after you got dressed, hoping to find Sam, but he was nowhere to be found; you saw a coffee mug set by the half-full coffee pot, a pink sticky note on the side of it.

Gone fishin’, the note said, written in Sam’s messy scrawl. You smiled as you made yourself coffee and ventured out to the porch.

Sunlight shimmered on the surface of the water in the places where the trees weren’t casting long, cool shadows; birds flitted back and forth between the branches, and you thought you caught the morning song of a whippoorwill. It called to mind the line from “Flower Power” that Sam had written on an early-morning hike, one you'd often daydreamed he'd written with your nickname in mind. In the cool of the quiet morning, you allowed yourself a moment to imagine that he had.

Sam was out on the skiff, casting his line into the nearly-still water. You stepped off the porch and waved, hoping to catch his attention, and you were pleased when he waved back. You sat on the steps and enjoyed your coffee while you watched him, amused when you heard a muttered curse here and there as his voice drifted back to you over the water.

You headed back inside to make breakfast when you finished your coffee, and Sam came in soon after.

“Morning, birdie,” he said, giving you a sweet smile.

You smiled back. “Good morning,” you said. “Have any luck?”

“Nah, but I didn't really expect to. I’m not that great at fishing.”

He fixed himself a cup of coffee as you cooked, and you enjoyed the comfort of sharing a kitchen with him. He settled at the table, and you wondered briefly if he was watching you the way you’d watched him yesterday.

“So,” he said, and the lone syllable was colored with excitement and cheerfulness. “You have anything you want to ask me, birdie?”

You frowned. You half-turned from the stove to look at him, and though his boyish smile nearly took your breath away, you couldn’t for the life of you imagine what he was talking about.

“Um...” You glanced between him and the stove. “Do you want an omelet?”

You’d been making one for him anyway, but it seemed like the only reasonable response to his question.

His expression faltered, and you felt bad even though you were completely bemused.

“No, that’s...” He shook his head and gave you a more subdued smile. “Yeah, an omelet would be great. Thank you.”

Wishing you knew how to fix whatever it was, or even knew what was broken, you put his plate in front of him and started on your own.

“Watch that for a second,” you said, gesturing to the pan as pain spiked at your temples. “I need to take something for this headache.”

“There’s medicine in my bag,” he offered. 

You hurried upstairs to take it, easily finding it among his things. 

“How much did I drink last night?” you asked when you came back down, happy to find your omelet hadn’t burned.

His smile was slightly rueful. “A lot, I guess.” He tossed you his water bottle. “Here. Hydrate before you die-drate.”

You laughed as you caught the water bottle in a fumbling grip. “I’m gonna start saying that.”

He chuckled as you brought your plate over and sat across from him.

“What’s on the agenda for today, Sammy?” you asked.

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Whatever you like, birdie. We could go out on the boat for a while before it gets too hot. There’s a couple places we could go and walk.”

“We should take a picnic,” you said.

He smiled. “Sure.”

He was quiet while you ate, and you tried to read his body language as you cleaned up the breakfast dishes. You had the sudden thought that you might have done something untoward last night, and dread snaked its way into your chest.

“Sam?”

He looked up from his phone. “Hm?”

You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. “I don’t really remember... I mean, if I said or did anything last night that...”

You trailed off, uncomfortable under his level gaze. He pocketed his phone and stood.

“We smoked a couple cigarettes out on the porch,” he said. He gave you a kind smile, and you felt a weight come off of you.

“You didn’t start singing Dolly Parton, if that’s what you're worried about.”

You smiled. “Well, that’s a relief.”

You started to pack up what you’d need for your picnic, and you knew he was feeling better when he started whistling while he helped. You put your bathing suits on under your clothes in case you wanted to swim while you were out on the boat, and soon you were following him back out to the dock.

“Oh, before I forget,” he said, taking something from his pocket. “A present for you, birdie.”

He let his tiger’s eye necklace dangle from his fingers, and you looked up at him in surprise.

“You’re giving it to me?”

He smiled. “You said you liked it.”

“I...” You shook your head. “I mean, I do, but... it’s your favorite.”

“Turn around and let me put it on you.”

You did as he said, still a little confused; the crystal was cool on your neck as he fastened the clasp, and you blushed when his fingers brushed the back of your neck.

“There,” he said. You turned back to him, and he gave you a head-to-toe sweep.

“Looks better on you anyways,” he said.

You hoped your smile wasn’t too besotted. “Thank you.”

He tweaked your cheek. “You’re welcome.”

You couldn't stop playing with it as you rode in the boat, the cool breeze no match for the warmth in your cheeks. While you loved the necklace and would cherish his generosity in giving it to you, you still couldn’t puzzle out why he’d given it to you, other than it just being a simple gesture of affection.

You sighed. Sam had always been one for little things like that, bringing you flowers when you were feeling down, sneaking funny notes into your lunchbox all through grade school, taking out the trash every time he came over to your apartment even though you’d never asked him to. And though you supposed that to anyone else, those little things over the years might have added up to an indication that he felt something more than friendship for you, you couldn’t let yourself think that way. He was just sweet-natured, and it was your good fortune to be his friend. 

He couldn’t feel the way you felt about him. You were too awkward and shy and plain for someone as charming and handsome as Sam. He’d always had his pick of girls, even since middle school, and there had never been any competition between you and them. Especially not now, when his confidence and talent drew beautiful girls by the dozens.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, and he gave you a smile that you thought might break your heart.

“We’re getting close to one of the places I told you about,” he said. “We’ll stop and see if you like it.”

You were sure you would, and it was no surprise when he eased the boat to a stop at one of the prettiest beaches on the lake.

“Look at those flowers!” you said. A wide swath of grass further up the shore was covered in wildflowers of every hue, and you went straight for them as soon as you and Sam got the skiff securely on the beach.

“I think these are Dame’s Rocket,” you said, kneeling to pick a small bunch of the delicate purple flowers. “You’re actually supposed to pick these, because they’re an invasive species.”

“Since when do you know so much about invasive flower species?”

You smiled. “It’s all about the late-night Wikipedia dives, Sammy.” You examined the flowers and counted their petals. “Though there’s a rule about how many petals they have, because blue phlox looks almost the same, and you’re not supposed to pick those because they’re endangered.”

You glanced up at Sam. “Can you look that up for me?”

He raised a brow. “You already picked them.”

“Yeah, but I want to know if I should feel bad about it.”

He chuckled and shook his head, but he pulled out his phone anyway.

“Blue phlox has five petals,” he said after a moment.

“Sweet!” You stood and showed him the flowers. “These are Dame’s Rocket for sure, then. Aren’t they pretty?”

He gave an appreciative hum.

“Hold still for a second,” you instructed.

He did as you asked, and you tucked the flowers into his hair, brushing back his breeze-mussed curls as you went. You tried to get one in exactly the right spot around his bun, and he gave a soft laugh.

“You’re concentrating pretty hard for just putting flowers in my hair, birdie.”

Your smile was triumphant as you placed the blossoms just right. “Aha! There.”

He reached a hand up to gently brush over the flowers, but you drew his hand back before he could.

“Don’t fuss with it,” you chided. “It’s perfect.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Far be it from me to mess up your handiwork.”

You fished around in your backpack for your phone. “Here. I’ll take a picture so you can see.”

He flashed you a charming smile as you took a picture, and you set it as his contact photo before you showed it to him.

“Aw, look how cute I am.”

You grinned. “You are cute. You should wear flowers in your hair more often.”

“Only if you fix them up all pretty for me,” he said adamantly.

You gave a dramatic sigh. “If you insist.”

He smiled as he slung his arm over your shoulder, drawing you close as you walked further up the shore. 

“We should do stuff like this more often,” he said. “Just you and me.”

You felt a nervous little fluttering in your chest. Usually, you and the guys all hung out together, and aside from just enjoying their company and friendship, you also leaned pretty heavily on Jake, Danny, and Josh to help keep yourself from devolving into infatuated schoolgirl antics around Sam.

But how could you say no to such an offer? You pressed closer to his side.

“Okay,” you agreed. “Just you and me. Sammy and birdie against the world.”

He laughed. “See? That’s got a pretty nice ring to it.”

You whiled away the morning walking through the woods, looking up flowers you didn’t recognize from your Wikipedia searches and trying to place the calls of different birds. Sam was a bit of an amateur ornithologist, and he had a talent for mimicking birdsong. He whistled different calls, and sooner or later he’d get a whistle back. He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning every time he did, and you couldn’t help but smile too.

You picnicked on the beach, and you headed back to the cabin before the heat of the day. You’d just put your things away and gone back out for a swim when both of you got an alert on your phones.

“Storm warning?” you read. You looked up at the bright blue sky and didn't see a single cloud.

“Not until tomorrow,” he said. “But we might have to cut our trip short to get back. Sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s ok,” you assured him. You smiled. “We’ll just cram everything in today.”

He tossed his phone with your towels. “Sounds good to me, birdie.”

—

True to his word, Sam tried to figure out a way for you to do everything you wanted before the sun went down. You swam for a while before he took you fishing, and even though you were worse at it than he was, you did manage to catch one tiny fish. You didn’t like the way it wiggled around on the hook, and Sam laughed and teased you with it for a second before he let it back into the water.

You stayed out on the porch after dinner, leaning back on the steps to let the evening sun warm your skin. You lifted your necklace to see how the crystal looked in the sunlight, running your thumb over the smooth surface.

“And... voilá,” he said, holding up the joint he’d been working on. 

“Very nice,” you said. 

He lit it and took a drag before he handed it to you, and you handled it with only a modicum of coughing.

“What do you want to listen to?” he asked, pulling up Spotify on his phone.

You lay back and closed your eyes. “You pick.”

He put his speaker between you as the strains of a Grateful Dead song started to play, and you passed the joint back and forth until it was spent. You kept up a steady stream of the world’s most predictable stoned conversation as the sun went down, and Sam’s stoner laugh became even more pronounced.

“You know Friday the 13th?” you asked.

“Uh, the movie?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded. “I know it. Hey, we should watch it.”

“Like I really want to watch a movie about getting killed at a lake house right now.”

“It’s good.”

You wrinkled your nose. “It’s scary.”

“Nah. I wouldn’t let a psycho killer get you anyway, birdie.”

You tried to remember what you were going to say, and you stared at each other for a second before you both started laughing.

“Oh yeah!” you said. “Did you know that when they were filming the sex scene, Kevin Bacon took her out to the woods and smoked a joint with her to help her mellow out?”

He gave you a dopey smile. “You watched a documentary about it but you won’t watch the actual movie?”

You shrugged. “I like to see how they make all the fake blood and stuff.”

He laughed. “You remember when Josh was obsessed with making all that fake blood for his movies? I think the fans got a hold of that picture he took where he looks like a murderer and he's smoking that cigar.”

He propped himself up on his arm and looked over at you.

“I’m glad we came out here,” he said. “Even if it is going to storm tomorrow. This is nice, isn’t it?”

Your smile was dreamy. “Yeah, it’s really nice.”

He reached over and tapped the tiger’s eye on your chest.

“It’s for self-confidence and courage, you know. Bringing all that light and love inside of you to the surface and helping you show it.”

You liked the thought of that. You could use a little courage every now and then.

“It’s associated with the sacral chakra, the solar plexus chakra, and the root chakra,” he continued.

“Which ones are those?”

He ran his fingers over your tummy, and you giggled.

“These ones right here,” he said with a smile. “And a little lower, but, you know.”

You grinned. “You gave me a sex crystal?”

He shrugged, cool as could be. “Maybe.”

You took a deep breath, enjoying the cool breeze that twilight brought with it. The stars were unbelievably bright, and you tried to pick out different constellations.

“Oh, this is a great song,” he said as the track switched. He stood and offered you a hand. “Dance with me.”

You took his hand, and he gave a dramatic groan as he pulled you up. When he led you closer to the water, you draped your arms over his shoulders and let him sway you gently to the music.

“She's got everything delightful,” he sang. The music was faint from the porch, and Sam’s lovely voice overtook it completely. “She's got everything I need. Takes the wheel when I'm seeing double, pays my ticket when I speed.”

You laughed. “I’m not paying your tickets, Sam.”

He chuckled and rested his forehead against yours. “Yeah, I know how you feel about traffic safety laws.”

“How I feel?” you said. “Everybody knows you shouldn’t speed. What if you got in a crash and died?”

“Who said I’m speeding?” He wrapped his arms snugly around you. “I won’t speed, birdie. I promise. I’m not gonna crash and die.”

You hugged him back, and like you did every time you were in Sam’s arms, you felt completely at home. His hair was coming loose from his bun, and you tugged the ponytail holder onto your wrist and ran your fingers through his hair.

“What’re you doing?” he said against your shoulder.

“Taking your hair down,” you said. The flowers you’d tucked into his curls earlier tumbled onto his shoulders and fell to the ground.

“Don’t step on your flowers,” you said.

He hummed, but he didn’t seem that concerned about it. You saved one before it fell, and you twirled it between your fingers as he held you.

“Keep singing to me,” you said.

He smiled and pulled back just enough to look at your face.

“Sunshine daydream,” he sang. “Walking through the tall trees, going where the wind goes.”

You were coming down from your high a little bit, but you were still pleasantly dreamy and unhindered by your usual shyness. You touched your fingers to his cheek.

“Sammy and birdie,” you said softly.

He turned his head and gave your thumb a gentle kiss. 

“That’s right,” he said. “Sammy and birdie.”

You felt a safe, comfortable warmth spread through you at his kiss, and when he looked at you from under those long lashes, your breath caught in your chest.

“Have you ever been skinny dipping?”

You couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that bubbled up at the question. Letting him hold you was one thing, but you weren’t sure even your tiger’s eye confidence could get you to swim naked with him.

“No,” you admitted, almost in spite of yourself. “Have you?”

“Nope,” he said. He gave you a crooked smile. “You want to?”

You blushed. “N-now?”

“Yeah, why not? I won’t look.”

“Oh, sure, you’re just gonna swim around with your eyes closed.”

He laughed. “No, but it’s not like I’ve got x-ray vision or anything. I won’t look while you get in the water, and unless you decide to do some fancy flip off the high-dive, I won’t see a thing.”

“Naked on the high-dive, huh?” you mused. “That’s an interesting mental image.”

He hummed. “That’s one word for it.”

You let him hold you while you considered his offer, and the longer you stayed in his arms, the easier it was to say yes.

“What about the fish?” you asked, trying to come up with a way to dissuade yourself from doing something so insane.

He shook his head. “I got rid of them.”

“Sam.”

He laughed. “What do you want me to say? Yes, there’s fish in the lake. We’ve been over this. You even caught one earlier.”

Your expression scrunched. “Yeah.”

He let you think for another minute, and then he asked you again.

“Will you come skinny dipping with me?”

You rolled your eyes, but you gave him a grudging smile.

“Okay,” you said, shrugging off the sensible part of your brain that never let you do anything risky. What was the harm in it? “I’ll go skinny dipping with you.”

He grinned. “Atta girl.”

You told him to go first, and you closed your eyes as he started to unbutton his shirt.

“You’ve seen me shirtless, birdie,” he said, amused.

You put your hands over your eyes. “Just hush and get in the water.”

His laugh was like music over the sound of the gentle surf. You felt fabric land on your feet, and you jumped.

“Sam!” you scolded, blushing vividly.

You could just imagine his devilish grin. “Oh, sorry.”

Your heart rate jumped as you heard him walk towards the water, your nerves finally catching up to the impulsive decision you’d made. You couldn’t do this. You were crazy to have ever considered it.

“Your turn, birdie,” he called.

You lowered your hands and slowly opened your eyes, and the sight of him in the dusky light was absolutely breathtaking.

He’d gone only as far into the water as decency demanded, facing you as the water lapped at his hips. Your blush was scorching as you just looked at him, taking in everything from the breezy waves in his hair to his lean torso to the maddening treasure trail that disappeared beneath the water.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, entirely too self-satisfied.

You put your hands on your hips. “Samuel Francis Kiszka, you’re — ”

“One handsome devil?”

Yes. You huffed. 

“Incorrigible,” you finished. He grinned.

“Come on, birdie,” he coaxed. “Come in with me.”

You bit your lip. You knew he’d let you call it off without a moment’s hesitation if you really wanted to, but you wanted more than anything to join him.

“Stupid tiger’s eye,” you muttered.

“What was that?” Sam asked innocently, though his smile gave him away.

“Hush,” you said. “Close your eyes.”

He did as you said, putting a hand over his eyes for good measure. He didn’t turn away from you, though, and you wondered if you could possibly blush any more than you already were.

“No peeking,” you said, even though you knew you didn’t need to.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Scout’s honor, birdie.”

You took a deep breath and shimmied out of your bathing suit, leaving it in a pile by Sam’s swim trunks. There was nothing on you but his necklace, and you were surprised at how... beautiful you felt.

He waited patiently as you waded in and reached a spot you were comfortable with, the water reaching just over the swell of your breasts. 

“You can open your eyes now,” you said, your voice soft and shy. Though you weren’t close enough to touch, there was an incredible intimacy in being naked with him in the cool water.

He turned to face you, and his gaze was so gentle and modest that you forgot all about your nerves.

“Look at you,” he praised. He smiled, and you felt a flurry of butterflies. “I’ll make a rebel out of you yet, birdie.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said. “I’ll probably still be too much of a goody-two-shoes for you, even after this.”

“I like that you’re a goody-two-shoes, actually,” he said sincerely. “You always have been, ever since we were kids. You wouldn’t be you without it.”

Your smile was bashful. He’d never said anything like that to you before. You’d always worried it annoyed him, even just a little, that you’d never been as invested in the good-natured troublemaking he’d always had a penchant for.

“Well, you need someone to try and keep you out of trouble,” you teased.

He grinned. “And you need someone to try and get you to live a little.”

He waded further in before he swam out towards the middle of the inlet with broad strokes, apparently comfortable with the chance of you seeing something you’d promised not to. Then you remembered that though he’d promised not to look at you, he hadn’t felt the need to get any such promise from you.

You felt so warm that you dipped underwater to cool off, and it helped only for a second as you nearly came up too high when you surfaced.

“Come out here,” he called. He could still stand where he was, but the water was up to his shoulders. 

“I can’t,” you said. “I can’t touch out there.”

He came back over to you. “Hold on to me, then.”

The thought of it alone made you dizzy with want.

“Here,” he said, holding out his hands. “I won’t get close enough to touch.”

You knew you shouldn’t. This meant so much more for you than it did for him. But you went to him anyway, and your forearms rested against his as you held onto him. His worn macrame bracelet brushed against your arm, and you melted at how he smiled at you.

He drew you out into deeper water, careful to keep distance between you like he’d promised. You wanted to be closer.

“So, is skinny dipping everything you hoped it would be?” you asked.

“It’s... interesting,” he said. “Technically not that different from just regular swimming, as far as sensation goes, but the vibes are...”

You laughed. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

The sun had fully set, leaving you both in the warm, heady darkness. Crickets and frogs chirped from the banks of the lake, surrounding you in the lush cacophony of the summer night. You wanted to kiss him more than you’d ever wanted to do anything in your life.

You tilted your head back to look at the night sky. 

“The stars are so bright out here,” you said. You’d thought it was your high, earlier, that was making them so dazzling to you, but you were sober now and they still sparkled like diamonds against the inky darkness.

“Lay back and look at them,” he said.

You snapped your gaze back to him, but there was no hint of teasing or smugness in his expression.

“What?” he asked you.

You blushed. “I can’t just...”

“Oh, right,” he said quickly, bashful. “Of course. Sorry, I didn’t — wasn’t trying to... you know.”

His stumbling apology was endearing, and you gave him a soft smile.

“It’s ok,” you said. “Don’t worry about it.”

But even as you told him not to worry, the ridiculousness of the whole thing seemed very apparent to you all of a sudden. You were hopelessly in love with him. There was nothing but water between you, and you loved him so much it was like a physical pain, and you couldn't do a thing about it.

You let go of him. How could you have allowed yourself to do something so incredibly stupid?

“Um, I should probably...”

Before you could go back to him and make it even worse, you swam back to where you could touch, trying to get your bearings.

“Birdie, wait,” he said, following after you. “I didn��t mean to make you upset. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” you said truthfully. “And I’m not upset, I just...”

You crossed your arms over your chest and rubbed your shoulders, trying to ease the self-consciousness that had set in quickly and mercilessly.

“I mean, it’s kind of weird, right?” you asked. “The two of us skinny dipping together?”

He studied your face, an increasingly apologetic expression on his own, but it wasn’t his fault you’d been so shameless and wanton with someone you knew didn’t have feelings for you. Embarrassment burned hot over your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for your behavior, for the way you’d let your desire run away with you. “I shouldn’t have said yes.”

The guilt in his face was like a knife straight to your heart.

“No, birdie,” he said. “Don’t apologize. If you shouldn’t have said yes, I never should have asked. This is my fault.”

He rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous.

“I’m sorry, birdie,” he said, and his sincerity tore at you. He met your eyes. “I didn’t mean to fuck up this bad. Please forgive me.”

You shook your head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Sam. We’re both adults, and we both made our own decisions.”

He didn’t say anything, and the silence between you was heavy with tension and awkwardness. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“Sam?” you asked cautiously. “I’m probably gonna go in now, so can you...”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. He turned away from you then, and you quickly made your way up to the beach to grab your suit. You covered yourself with one of the towels hanging over the railing of the porch stairs and glanced back at him before you went inside.

He was farther across the inlet than you’d ever ventured, his body casting ripples over the surface of the water. You wondered what it would be like to watch him without the sting of guilt and shame you felt.

No matter what he’d said, you’d allowed yourself to get caught up in something you knew you shouldn’t have done. What’s the harm in it? you’d thought. You shook your head. There was a reason you didn’t ever take risks. They ended up being messy more often than not.

You showered off and got into your pajamas, listening for the sound of the front door as you did. You didn’t dare look out the window, wanting to give him his privacy as he came up to the house, but he was gone long enough to make you worry. After doing every little task you could think of to keep yourself busy — folding up your clothes, plugging in the Christmas lights and rearranging them until they draped just so over the bed — you curled up under the covers and tried to settle. You thumbed through Sam’s dog-eared copy of Eric Clapton’s autobiography, but you were too keyed up to really concentrate.

Finally, you heard the door open. You busied yourself with reading the same page you’d been going over the whole time as he came upstairs.

He got a quick shower and dressed for bed in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. You waited for him to climb in next to you, but he stood at the foot of the bed and fussed with his bracelet, turning it around and around on his wrist.

“We should get an early start tomorrow,” he said. “Get ahead of the storm.”

You nodded. “Okay.” Whatever he thought was best.

He gestured back downstairs. “I’ll sleep on the couch.” 

You put the book down in your lap. He wouldn't look at you, and it broke your heart.

“You don’t have to,” you said, knowing he might not be making the decision for your comfort so much as his own. “I mean, you can if you want to, but please don’t feel like you have to.”

He did look over at you then.

“You’d be ok with me sleeping with you?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “After... all that?”

You softened. “Of course I would. I know you’ve got it in your head that I’m mad at you, but I promise I’m not.”

“You should be.”

“Why?”

He ran his hands through his hair. “Because I’m your best friend, and instead of taking good care of you, I’m making you do shit you’re not comfortable with.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Sam,” you reminded him.

Over the years of your friendship, you’d learned that Sam could be bossy and baiting when he wanted to be; one of his most annoying habits was his knack for pushing buttons you didn’t even know you had until he waltzed in looking to get a rise out of you. But even in all that, he’d never gone too far. You knew you could tell him to knock it off and he would. He’d never made you do something you didn’t want to do, and he’d never tried to guilt you about anything you wouldn’t do. 

And when he’d asked you to go swimming with him, he hadn’t been trying to tease you or push your buttons. He’d held you, sang to you, made you laugh. He’d asked only in tenderness and good fun, and you knew he knew that as well as you did. Sam was always good to you, and you hated that his guilt was making him doubt it.

“You asked, and I said yes,” you said, trying to ease his guilt. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have even asked. I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have...” He sighed. “It was a mistake. A big one.”

You bit your lip. You knew he was sorry to have made you uncomfortable, but now you knew he was also sorry he’d come up with the idea in the first place. There was a part of you that had hoped he'd done it because he wanted that kind of intimacy with you, and the sting of hurt you felt was foolish, childish. Just like your feelings for him.

“I’m really sorry, birdie,” he said.

You set aside your own hurt in favor of comforting him, patting the pillow next to you.

“Come here.”

He was hesitant and still tense, but he came and sat on the edge of the bed. You’d take it, for the moment.

“I forgive you, Sam,” you said. You gave him a soft smile. “You trust me?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I trust you.”

Satisfied, you opened the book you’d borrowed from him and found your page.

“Lay down and let me read to you,” you said.

He didn’t, but you started to read aloud anyways. A few minutes later, you hid your smile behind the book when he got under the covers with you.

You read the rest of the chapter, softening your voice when you looked over and saw him starting to doze. He stirred when you got up to unplug the lights, his hand reaching towards your side of the bed, and you twined your fingers with his when you lay next to him again.

“Sam?”

“Hm?”

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles.

“You do take good care of me,” you said softly.

He gave a sleepy sigh. “You take good care of me too, birdie.”

You smiled to yourself, settling down to sleep with your hand still safely in his.

Read chapter three!

p.s. — my taglist is screwed up for some reason. tumblr’s highlighting your urls when i try to tag you, but sometimes it doesn't show up in people's notifications. sorry about that, besties :(

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[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 13k  | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image. 

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair. 

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night. 

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him. 

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made. 

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. 

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply. 

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please." 

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement. 

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact. 

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you. 

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore. 

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours. 

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK.  He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you. 

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More. 

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours. 

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours. 

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue. 

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage. 

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw. 

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high. 

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies. 

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck. 

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered. 

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore. 

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing. 

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?" 

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?” 

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought. 

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble. 

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

 “Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world. 

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without. 

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that." 

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain. 

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession. 

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try. 

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings." 

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try." 

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you. 

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you. 

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death." 

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face. 

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you. 

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear. 

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for. 

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" 

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from." 

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.” 

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-" 

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go. 

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom. 

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name. 

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…" 

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself. 

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything. 

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you? 

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him. 

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream. 

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath. 

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door. 

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie. 

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room. 

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle. 

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all." 

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power. 

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in. 

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together? 

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again. 

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white. 

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits: 

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem​! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep​ and @narcolepticroses​! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

MR. REIGNS

Prompt: Requested by nonny

Word Count: Long-ish

Pairings: Roman Reigns x Reader

Warnings: +18, smut, degradation (name calling), flirting, daddy kink, sir kink, age gap

Editor: @thenightmareismyreality

Tag: @ziasaph , @theworldofotps , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @wickedsunfire , @akiko-tanaka , @aerynscrichton , @sassymox , @waywardwrestlewritingwaif , @reigns-5sos , @lustyromantic , @auawdo , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @nicolewoo , @writtingrose , @bayley-no-friends

Notes: Disclaimer - For respect purposes, I’ll be using a fictional name for Roman’s daughter on this fic. If you’d like to check out my other works, you can find them on my Masterlist

It’s finally Senior Year - and what a fucking relief that is! No more stressful and endless studying hours, no more busting our asses off for mediocre grades, no more shitty frat parties “and last - but certainly not least- no more breaking up with asshole boyfriends at said crappy parties!

I don’t like younger guys. They’re inexperienced, get flustered easily, and don’t care whatsoever about reciprocating pleasure towards their girlfriends or hookups! I like older men...there's something about them that’s just perfect. “When I first met Amber Reigns, I never imagined that I would be blessed with such an amazing best friend. That’s why I knew it was wrong to have the hots for her father, but c’mon! Have you seen the man? He’s delicious! And I’m made of flesh and blood, therefore I have my weaknesses too. And Mr. Reigns is one of my biggest weaknesses.

“Y/N” Amber peeked her head inside my dorm room “Are you ready? My dad’s waiting for us in the parking lot”

“Yeah, I got everything I need” I said while putting on my backpack

“Do you mind going to the car? I’ll be right behind you, I just need to leave some books at the library, because if I don’t they’ll fine me like twenty dollars” She rolled her eyes in annoyance

I giggled “Sure. But don’t take too long flirting with the library boy” I responded in a teasing tone

She stuck her tongue out and left.

I made my way towards the parking lot and saw him standing there, leaning sexily against his pickup truck. He was wearing an extremely tight black tank top, which did nothing but accentuate his rippling muscles and tanned skin that were on full display. The intricate patterns of his tattoo could be seen from afar, the way the black lines molded to his skin like a shield never failed to turn me on, and a pair of black joggers caressed his strong thighs beautifully. His long, black, silky hair was tied up in a tight knot at the back of his head....the man was a fucking sight for sore eyes!

“Hello, Y/N” He greeted with a smile

“Mr. Reigns” I said shyly

He grabbed my backpack and placed it in the trunk of his car “How are you?”

“I’m good, sir. How are you?”

“Better now” He winked and smirked. And I almost came in my pants

“Where’s Amber?”

“She went to the library to return some books, sir”

“Don’t I get a hug?” He smiled

I awkwardly hugged him as I felt the smell of his cologne filling up my lungs and this weird feeling of wholesomeness took over me

“Let’s get inside the car, it’s too hot out here” He laughed

Amber had invited me to spend this holiday weekend with her family, and since I wasn’t feeling much in the mood to go home, I said yes. The only thing I didn’t know was that she planned on going to Mr. Reigns’ house instead of her mom’s house. Before I could fantasize in my daydreams for too long, Amber had returned from the library and hopped into the vehicle.

“Who will be spending the weekend with us?” Amber asked as she fastened her seatbelt

“Your uncles will be coming tomorrow afternoon with your cousins. Your brother decided to go to his girlfriend’s parents, and your sister is coming over on Sunday” Mr. Reigns replied as he turned onto the highway leading to his home.

During the two hour long ride, Mr. Reigns and Amber spent most of the trip conversing animatedly, occasionally asking me a question or two to keep me from feeling too left out, but I let them mostly catch up amongst themselves.

When we got to his place it was the end of the afternoon, and Mr. Reigns went to the kitchen to cook us dinner. I took the opportunity to shower and change into some clean clothes, nothing fancy though, just a pair of yoga pants and a gray tank top. While Amber was taking one of her famously long baths, I got bored and decided to go downstairs to see what Mr. Reigns was cooking.

“Y/N, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He smirked

“Amber is taking a bath” I rolled my eyes in fake annoyance

“Oh great” He grunted, but a smile danced on his lips “That will be quick” He joked, and I laughed in response

“So when is your girlfriend coming?” I asked nonchalantly and leaned against the kitchen island as he chopped some carrots

“Girlfriend?” He chuckled “I know nothing about that”

“How is that possible?” I asked in disbelief

“I don’t need someone in my life in order to be happy, Y/N”

“I’m not saying you do, Mr. Reigns. I’m just saying I find it hard to believe that a man like you doesn’t have a girlfriend”

“And why aren’t YOU spending the holidays with your boyfriend?” He teased

“Boyfriend? I know nothing about that” I mocked

He cackled “And why not? Maybe a boy in college wants to be your boyfriend?”

“I don’t like young guys” I shrugged

“Oh really?” He scooted closer “What do you like then?”

“I like older men”

“How old?” He flirted

The vixen part of my brain woke up once I saw the fire in his eyes “Around your age”

“My age?”

I nodded

“And what does a twenty two year old little girl like you know about men my age?” He licked his lips

“Oh Mr. Reigns...I know a lot” I smirked

………………………………………………………………………………………..

We went to sleep late that night, so the next morning I didn’t even hear Amber calling for me so we could go to the grocery store. When I slowly opened the door of the guest bedroom, I heard Mr. Reigns saying:

“I’ll stay here with her and you go to the store, because God forbid if I forget to buy whatever is your addiction at the moment” He chuckled

“Dad, stop!” She giggled “You’re making me sound like a terrible person, AND it’s Twinkies, ok?”

“Again? I thought it was chocolate with nuts”

“Nope, it’s Twinkies now, and just for that, I’ll buy an extra box just to piss you off” She laughed deviously and left out the door.

When her car left towards the highway, I saw Mr. Reigns going up the stairs and coming towards my guest bedroom. I quickly went to the bathroom so I could brush my teeth.

Mr. Reigns slowly opened the door of my room as I was leaving the bathroom.

“So you’re awake?”

“I woke up when Amber was leaving”

“Why didn’t you go to the store with her?”

“Wasn’t feeling like it. Why are you in my room, Mr. Reigns?”

“I came to check on you”

“Why? Do I need someone watching over my sleep?” I laughed

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok, Y/N”

With a smirk on my lips, I said “So you had no other intentions AT ALL?”

“Would you like me to have other intentions?” He chuckled

“Who wouldn’t?”

“You know this is wrong, right?”

“If I heard it correctly, Mr. Reigns, you were the one who wanted to stay behind, and you are the one who came up here” I shrugged

“Touché” He pushed me down on the bed, and covered my body with his

“If it’s so wrong, why are you doing it, sir?”

“Because” He licked his lips “Everything that is forbidden tastes sweeter, don’t you think?”

I giggled while my hands dipped inside his white t-shirt “That’s your shitty excuse?” And chuckled “C’mon, I know you can do better than that”

He cackled “Maybe...or maybe it’s the truth” His hands pulled my satin shorts down “I’ve thought about this ever since I first saw you”

“So why did it take you so long to do something about it?”

“I wanted to make sure you felt the same” His lips brushed against mine

“We better hurry up before someone gets here”

“It takes two and a half hours to get to the store and back, baby. We’ve got plenty of time” He smirked and kissed my lips deeply.

His full lips tasted like caramel coffee, something he drank every morning without a fail. I undid his perfect bun and let his black, silky hair fall upon his shoulders as we kissed. Moaning into the kiss, I pulled his hair while I wiggled my hips, which made him groan.

“So eager” He slapped my ass “I like that. Makes me wanna fuck you even harder”

He took my wrists and locked them on top of my head while rubbing his bulge against my core.

“Please, daddy” I moaned “Please fuck my pussy”

He growled at my pleading and pulled his joggers down quickly. Roman teased my clit with his tip, sliding it up and down my folds, applying more pressure every time he hit my little nub.

“No more teasing, Mr. Reigns... Please...”

Roman smirked and slid in me with one soft thrust.

“Fuck” We moaned together

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he filled my core like nothing else. His size was beyond perfect to me and I couldn’t hold back my moans of pleasure any longer.

“That’s my good little slut, moan for the one who owns this pussy” He pulled all the way out, until just the tip was in, and then he went in again with a rough thrust

“Oh yes, Mr. Reigns. Keep going please” I moaned loudly

He gripped me by the neck and chuckled “Such a needy whore! I love seeing what I can do to you. The power I have over you...How you lose yourself while I fuck you” He slapped my ass vigorously “You’ve been waiting a long time to have me in you, haven’t you, my sweet whore?”

“Yes, sir” I panted

“Then tell me! Who’s my filthy little slut?”

“Me, daddy”

He snarled before fucking me faster “Say it!”

“I’m your filthy little slut, sir” Tears started to gather in my eyes, as I could feel overstimulation being so close

“Then cum for me, like a filthy, little, slut” He whispered in my ear, while pinching my clit.

It didn’t take him long to reach his high, and Roman quickly pulled out and spilled his seed on my mound.

He leaned down and captured my lips in a sweet kiss

“C’mon, let’s get cleaned up” Roman looked up at the clock and continued “And if we’re quick enough in the shower, we can have another round before someone gets here”

He picked me up in his arms, bridal style and whispered

“I still need to taste this pussy or else I’m gonna become a mad man” He smirked when I gasped

And ran towards the bathroom.

Please, if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated ❤️😘

[jo-harrington]

Even more Eddie Munson/Stranger Things Headcanons

Why not? And I'm going to jump around on topics because I have ADHD and cannot keep these these thoughts organized to save my life. Enjoy my constant stream of consciousness.

Check here and here for my other head canon posts that may be referenced here. Once again, minors please DNI.

Eddie will not refer to anyone by an offensive nickname, even if that’s the only thing they’re known by. He knows what it’s like to have people call you some shitty name and even if he doesn’t know your real name, if he needs to interact with you, he’ll go out of his way to learn what your real name is. BUT he also used to give little nicknames to everyone though. Think a less offensive Sawyer from LOST. Doc, Freckles, Boss, Cap. I think once his friends left him behind after his first senior year, those protective walls kind of built back up and he's much more hesitant to give little nicknames. Yes he has Jeff, Gareth, and David...but those weren't the guys he thought he'd be friends with for the rest of his life. Sure you probably have those nicknames happening off-screen (I think this nerd calls Gareth "the Great" in general conversation too, not just during Hellfire) but you see it come back out when he calls Max "Red" and I want to say he calls her that more than just that one instance. They're neighbors, and as I've said before, Wayne does take the time to know and chat with neighbors. (More elaborating in a little bit.)

Last time I talked about how Eddie starts dealing to earn some extra cash and help Uncle Wayne out. It’s good business…and yeah Corroded Coffin probably gets a little cash for their gigs (more on that later though). But Eddie getting a job after he fails Senior Year the first time to be able to contribute more. And I love Mechanic!Eddie as much as the next person but I think he gets a job at Starcourt. Think about it. You have this big mall creating all of these jobs and a flock of teenagers looking for summer jobs and whatever. Hawkins is a small town. Eddie also being 18 already is a big help for him, even if he is still in school, and he becomes the key holder at Tape World. Not Sam Goody, too flashy and mainstream. He probably applied but didn't fit the look. And honestly, the manager at Tape World probably lets him play his mixtapes, have Tuesday nights off for shows at the Hideout, and leave flyers for Corroded Coffin at the register.

And on a related note, Eddie has an appreciation for all sorts of music. He is of course a metal head first and foremost, but he’s also a musician and he knows what it’s like to put your heart into a song. Or a performance. Even if it’s not his cup of tea, or even if it isn’t very good in his opinion, he respects it. And if it’s something constantly being played on the local radio, he can just pop a tape in and call it a day. He also just a generally great music knowledge. Maybe not everything…every genre, every era, but he can make recommendations. If someone comes in looking for a tape that’s has a song they remember hearing on the radio, he can typically narrow down which artist it is. He starts chipping away at that freak/outcast perception people have of him while he's working at Tape World, because he's genuinely nice to the customers and always engages in conversation with the regulars. And then that all kind of gets swept away once Starcourt is gone.

Eddie's mom loved music too. She had all sorts of record, she would play them around the house, they'd be dancing in the kitchen together as she cooked or they did chores together. He still has her vinyl records and record player--at Rick's for safekeeping--and he'll listen to her favorites when he's especially missing her or feeling down. Did I make a playlist of all her faves? Maybe. Daydream Believer by the Monkees? That's her number one. Does he buy a tape of the Monkees Greatest Hits that he keeps in the glove box for those days where he just can't make it out to Rick's. (Or if, at that time, Rick's already in jail.) His friends give him a little shit for it at first, but then again...they know enough about him not to. He gets Corroded Coffin to do some metal covers of some of those songs she absolutely loved as a tribute to her.

Eddie making mixtapes at work. That’s it, that’s the headcanon. I’m just thinking of like…Empire Records when they’re opening and they pull straws to see who picks the music. (Dude honestly I didn’t work at a music store but for the entirety of me working retail, it was always about picking who got to play their music.) There are tapes at their disposal to play over the store sound system…he just makes them for everyone. A Rush mix for David with all of his favorites, these like…discovery mixes for Jeff and Gareth with whatever new and interesting stuff comes in. (Don’t tell me he wasn’t making mixes for Dustin, Mike, and Lucas once they meet Eddie, to teach them what good music is. He just…has to do it on his own time thanks to Starcourt being destroyed.) It's just during the majorly down times when there isn't a lot else to do, and his manager is super chill. As long as they get the tasks done, are helping customers, just go ham.

Eddie loving horror movies but more specifically enjoying your classic tv Horror Hosts with the commentary and jokes. I don't know if Elvira would have been a nationwide program at that point in the 80's..and I'm not from Indiana but I am from the midwest, so I'm thinking of Svengoolie. I'm thinking of Hammer Horror classics with his cheesy jokes, the rubber chickens, the musical numbers (honestly I'm not 100% sure if that was all going on back in the 80s I just know Svengoolie has been a thing for that long)...and Eddie just settled in on the couch on a Saturday night, smoking a joint if Wayne isn't home, laughing and just having the best time. Pizza, junk snacks, the whole deal. Sometimes he'll invite some of his friends over, sometimes no if he's having a long week and just can't deal with anymore social interaction. And if Wayne is home, they're watching together. They don't get much time to spend together, so even if it isn't entirely Wayne's ideal entertainment, he's gonna enjoy it because Eddie enjoys it.

And that's the thing right? Wayne doesn't entirely understand all of Eddie's likes or hobbies. But that's his nephew--pretty much his son--and he's going to go along with it to make sure Eddie is happy. He is going to be there for his nephew. Wayne can't be at all of the Corroded Coffin shows, but he was there for the first one. He was there at the talent show in 8th grade. He was there for the Battle of the Bands in 1983 (I know everyone's thinking about this since we're all rewatching Stranger Things...and so am I). WHEN EDDIE GRADUATES If Eddie had graduated in 1986, Wayne would have gotten there early, he would have had a front row seat. He is so proud of his nephew and maybe he isn't big on words, but he's big on actions.

I love the idea that Wayne and Eddie go 50/50 on the van, and that it's kind of a beater but they work on fixing it together. I said it I think in my last head canon dump, Wayne just teaching Eddie to be self sufficient. Eddie coming to live with Wayne and at first...that's Wayne's idea of bonding because that's how he and his brother spent time with their father. Fixing things around the house, yard work, etc. I see Wayne teaching Eddie some basic plumbing skills, patching up some hole in the roof caused by a storm, etc. And at first young Eddie thinks it's a punishment? Like...Wayne is a little rough around the edges and it's just calling back memories of his dad. Eddie's mom always tried to make chores feel fun. And Rick wasn't exactly the handiest guy (Rick secretly a numbers guy? Like very good at math. He has a whole system in place, all the books in order, for his "business".) So it's just an unfamiliar territory for him. And just as Eddie is trying to fix the sink in the kitchen with Wayne and he can't figure something out and Wayne isn't doing the best at explaining, poor little Eddie just bursting into tears like why is he being punished and why can't he just be good at this? Wayne just stepping back and rethinking his entire approach. It's a moment for both of them, learning how to trust each other and how the other one expresses their thoughts or feelings. Wayne explaining to Eddie from that moment on whenever there's something around the house to fix that it's so he doesn't have to rely on anyone else for these simple things. And then Eddie also seeing how Wayne doesn't just do these things for them, he does it for a few of the neighbors who can't do it themselves. And there are times where Eddie just isn't in the mood to learn or doesn't want to tag along, but that's ok. Wayne doesn't make him. Once they both see eye to eye, it really is a good bonding experience for the two of them. And does it not warm Wayne's heart when Max and her mom move in across the way and he hears through the grapevine that something's wrong with their stove and he doesn't even get the chance to offer to go over and help, because Eddie already did. That wholesome pat on the back when Eddie gets back home. ("I'm proud of you, kid.") That kind of got away from me sorry.

But the van.

Ok so yeah, Eddie and Wayne find this van--Wayne hearing about it through the grapevine from one of his coworkers at the plant--and it's in rough shape. Read somewhere (because I'm one of those people who does all the research when they write fics) it's a '71 Chevy van? It's not super old when they get it, but whoever owned it wasn't gentle with it. They're tempted to just trade it in just to get some cash for it, but the guy who owns the local car dealership is kind of a dick and honestly isn't even offering much for the trade in either. (I have this minor canon that Mr. Harrington owns a car dealership. Which is why Steve has a BMW.) Wayne works out some kind of deal with this coworker, and kind of presents the idea to Eddie that Wayne's got a little money saved up, they can get the van and work on it together, and then Eddie would get a job and pay Wayne back for his half or quarter or whatever portion. Maybe just pay Wayne back for the parts to fix it. My thought is that you have Wayne who has some money he's been saving for this day to come anyway, plus the money Eddie has been sneaking in with Wayne's stash thinking he's going to help Wayne out. PLUS there's that coffee can that Eddie's mom had hidden away with her little cash stash that honestly Eddie never knew what happened to that Wayne's been saving for Eddie this entire time.

Wayne framing it in the mindset of Eddie getting a job because he KNOWS Eddie went behind his back and is working somewhere...he doesn't know the entirety of it...but this is also a chance for Eddie to come clean. Which he does...sort of. He comes clean about having a job and some money, and then Wayne gets him to admit about the stash money. But there is no mention of the drug dealing or Rick's involvement. That is for Wayne to never know about. But anyway...it's this wholesome moment when they get the van and spend this time together on Wayne's days off doing all of the repairs. Maybe Eddie takes Auto Shop at school because of it? It isn't a huge program, maybe only a year-long elective...as opposed to some other schools who offer it for multiple years. I don't know. I don't see the kids of Hawkins High really chomping at the bit to take Auto Shop. But Eddie is handy and is actually good at it and he likes it when he's better than the other kids at something...what a nerd.

Anyway, that's it for now. I feel like for every one thought I get down, I have 10 more...so there's of course going to be a part 4...more music thoughts, more school thought, pop culture nerd thoughts. I am fucking trash and I need to just write some actual drabbles instead of headcanons ok?

[petruchio]

what if i’m turning 21? my birthday’s in a few days it feels so weird

to be honest i think the advice to just have a little snack and sit in the sun for a while is probably the best thing to remember at any age. but 21 is a weird year! my 21st year was characterized by the extreme uncertainty and confusion that was 2020, so it was hardly normal, but here’s some of my tips for your early early 20s (i say… as a 23 year old) (but hey. maybe my advice still has merit!)

you’re fine. literally it’s fine. whatever you’re worrying about probably either a) doesn’t matter or b) will work itself out in a way you can’t even begin to predict right now. i spent so much of age 21 in a state of absolute despair over not having an internship for the summer of 2020 and was completely convinced that i would never get a job and fail at life forever and ever the end. spoiler alert none of that happened, i have a job now, and i wasted a lot of time beating myself up over a future that wasn’t even real!! so really. it’s going to be fine. i promise.

if you’re in college, try to embrace the process of learning, not just the result. this is such a special time in your life and education, when you are (mostly) free to just *learn* and nothing else!! take advantage of it! but don’t let that take away from making meaningful friendships. skip your readings and drive to the beach at 2am sometimes because you can. try to find a good balance of studying and spending time with friends. inevitably fail to strike the right balance and fall behind in class. try again next week. work too hard and feel like your friends are forgetting you. try again next week. don’t get too down on yourself about it. remember that all your friends are trying too.

the person you are crushing on is probably not your soulmate. but honestly, it’s ok to let yourself think they might be. daydream your whole life with them. gossip about them to your friends. pin all your hopes and dreams on a fantasy version of this person you’ve talked to three times. go ahead. do it. you have my permission. it’s not hurting anyone.

move your body every day. go for a walk and listen to a comically upbeat playlist or call your friend who lives far away. have a dance party with just yourself and your reflection in the mirror. join a dance class or do yoga or find a gym that you like. sometimes the best way to get out of your head is to get into your body. try to get enough sleep and drink enough water. notice what makes you feel good and try to do it again. then do it again until it becomes a habit.

call your mom (or your grandma, your sibling, your best older friend. whoever is important to you). she probably misses you and hey, she actually has some pretty good advice sometimes. take some of it. don’t take the rest of it. learn from your mistakes and get annoyed thinking about how your mom was right. call her again and tell her she was right. remember that while you have youth and boundless energy and possibility on your side, sometimes it helps to talk it out with someone who’s been through it. intergenerational friendships will enrich your life and help you to build a solid network of people who love and support you in many different ways.

eat a vegetable. no seriously please eat vegetables. and fruit. if you have access to a kitchen, try to learn a few quick and healthy meals that you can throw together with whatever you have in the house. this will save you lots of time and money in the long run and you will also feel better

fall in love. fall out of love. get your heart broken. feel everything and write terrible poetry and decide you want to learn the guitar so you can write sad, sad songs about getting your heart broken. meet someone new and forget all about the guitar and the bad poems. read them back to yourself in a year and laugh. read that one line and say to yourself “no, that’s pretty good, actually.” embrace the messiness. have fun with it. take a look inside your brain and turn it into art. it’s all worthwhile.

go outside. watch the seasons change. take pictures of sunsets and clouds. wear good spf and dip your feet in a creek. buy a new coat for fall. on the coldest, darkest evenings, marvel at the fact that you can remember winter happening last year, and how it feels different than winter when you were five, ten, fifteen. when the flowers bloom again in the spring, relish in the fact that you’ve somehow become an entirely different person than you were at this time last year. smile, laugh, and bloom with them.

[splitontendo]

pairing: osamu miya x f!reader

synopsis: in honor of your friends birthday your friends and you all decided to get high. buying the drugs from no other than osamu miya. the most attractive dealer you’ve ever laid eyes on.

20 | a fucking daydream

warnings: drugs (weed) and alcohol, minor manga spoilers, violence, blood, use of the word druggie (once), and slut shaming. lmk if i missed anything.

masterlist | previous | next

as if on cue, ric flair drip began playing when you threw the bathroom door open. mumbling a quick apology to the person at the front of the line.

moving swiftly between the heated bodies that danced in the hot boxed and cramped living room—you made your way into the kitchen. the room was lit by blue led lights that were placed under the cupboard.

“y/n!” alisa spilled some of the liquor onto the table top waving over to you.

you waved back, and at yaku and akaashi who stood next to her.

“here,” she handed you one of the three red solo cups that were placed on the table—the other two for yaku and her.

“surprise seeing you here.” you teased akaashi as his eyes rather study the soda can in his hands than meet your own.

“it’s bokuto’s party,” he licked his lips before meeting your eyes. “i’m sorry, if i had been aware of your plans tonight i would’ve stopped-”

you placed your hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly, catching him off guard. “it’s fine.”

“let’s drink to y/n and her new boyfriend then!” alisa interrupted upon hearing you accept the apology.

you four raised your drinks cheering for the fun of it, throwing your heads back to chug your drinks.

wincing when you felt the familiar burn in your throat, you turned your head in shocked when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

suna couldn’t hold back a smile seeing the look on your face.

“you came!” you shouted wrapping your arms around him, and he hugged you back with an arm around your waist. it was crazy to think about the night you two first met and how close you two have gotten now.

pulling away you caught the very new but familiar smell. “you getting high without me?” you joked as he moved his arm around your shoulder now.

“your boyfriends got the rest on him.” he took the cup alisa was handing him, greeting all your friends. “he’s out back, let’s go.” he predicted your next words.

if the front of kuroo and kenma’s house was alluring then the back was captivating. in the center was a pool where the water glowed different shades of colors due to the underwater lights, and off the side was a one room guest house.

when you walked outside you stepped on a concrete patio with a gable roof. below the structure your friends stood on opposite sides of a table. taking your eyes from kuroo and bokuto on the left side to kenma and osamu on the right.

you paid close attention to how the latters muscles clenched under the black shirt he wore—moving his forearm back before extending it forward to throw the plastic white ball.

it made its way into the single red cup in front of the other pair. with a tsk kuroo picked the ball out of the cup, tossing it back to a smug kenma, then downing the liquid in the cup.

suna and you both cheered making your way to the winning team. osamu smiled at you two as kenma handed him the blunt and half the money the teams were betting.

“let me get some of that!” you heard someone call out, turning your head and seeing your boyfriends clone walking up to you two.

you did a double take. maybe you were drinking too much.

osamu groaned as he exhaled the smoke, “didn’t i tell you to wait in the car?”

“so rude osamu,” the blond reached you two resting his arm on osamu’s shoulder. “is that anyway to treat your older brother?” looking past his twins eye roll atsumu meet your eyes.

“you must be y/n,” he extended his hand, “i’m miya atsumu, but you can call me whatever you like, gorgeous.” smirking when you shook his hand.

“no.” was the only thing osamu said before moving his hand to your lower back and directing you to the patio furniture your friends had put in the corner of the gated yard.

the two of you sat on an outdoor couch. you couldn’t help but giggle at his pout and furrowed brows. which he glared at you for, reaching into his pocket to pull out a new blunt, handing you the lighter to light it for him.

as you did so, both your group of friends began walking over. filling up the empty seat around you two. you looked over and saw how they were all getting along—passing two blunts around.

“highschool volleyball huh?” kenma asked, voice husky due to the smoke in his mouth.

“yup,” osamu popped the p, taking the blunt kenma handed him.

kenma faintly smiled at you and you returned it. melting into osamu’s side, happy to finally have your final friends approval.

“don’t forget the most important part,” a very intoxicated atsumu spoke up, snatching the blunt from osamu as soon as it left his mouth, “i was captain!”

“that was two years ago!” suna whined, making the group laugh. his reaction made it clear that this wasn’t the blonds first time to emphasize that fact.

“hold up, you were captain?” kuroo shot up, his silver haired friend followed suit. your friends and you groaned knowing what’s next to come. atsumu just nodded passing the blunt.

“we were our teams captains too!” bokuto exclaimed.

the three all shook up with one another, their laughs blocking out the groups complains and scoffs.

finally receiving the blunt you brought it to your lips, allowing osamu light it for you. he examined your features, watching as your cheeks hallowed out when you took a drag, and how your long lashes fluttered when you looked up at him.

playfully rolling your eyes at him, you turned your head to exhale the smoke. it had nothing to do with how small you felt under his eyes. “you’re staring.”

“can you blame me?” he moved to whisper into your ear, “you look amazing tonight.” he said before placing an innocent kiss to your temple. you laughed as your friends faked gagged and teased you two.

“wasn’t aware the party was back here!” you froze at the voice. konoha coming into view shortly after.

the group fell dead silent—and either konoha played it off well, or was just really bad at reading a crowd.

“you little shit!”

the words came from ginjima, he moved alisa carefully off his lap before standing to his feet. he wasn’t even able to get close to konoha, suna grabbed him by the collar, mumbling something into his ear. the anger in his eyes simmered but was still evident.

alisa noticed your uneasy and was quick to walk over to you. “let’s go dance!” she pulled you from your seat.

“i’ll take that,” konoha took the blunt from your fingers as well as your seat next to osamu. throwing his arm on the couch behind osamu.

“go have fun pretty girl,” osamu reassured you when he saw your mouth opened to say something.

watching you nod your head alisa pulled you to the group of people who were dancing to the song that began playing—ayy ladies.

“sorry i just wanted to get out of there.” alisa spoke over the music, her hands placed gently on your hips.

“don’t apologize,” you smiled and shook your head agreeing, “i didn’t want to be there either.” not with konoha there anyways.

“remember have fun pretty girl.” she whispers into your ear. your blood running cold as she teases you with osamu’s words.

when the first beat hits she turns you around, bending you over. both her hands on your hips, moving you against herself, to the music.

it doesn’t take long for you to get use to the position. it was nothing new for the two of you. laughing you glance over at your friends, their faces either smug or shocked—but never the less delighted.

finding the gray eyes among the pairs that were on you two. you felt your face heat up, with osamu’s eyes roaming up your body. he didn’t even try to hide how much he was enjoying the sight of you.

you saw how his smirk dropped when konoha whispered something into his ear.

“she’s a fucking daydream huh?”

osamu’s eyes darted to the dirty blond next to him, he just wanted to sla—

“don’t be weird!” kenma overheard what the blond boy said, throwing the blunt at him.

konoha hissed watching the ash fall off onto his shirt, picking up the blunt and smoking what he could get out of it before it burned out.

the comment was left ignored by osamu, but before he could go back to enjoying the night the boy next to him spoke.

“oh here,” he pulled out a stack of hundreds, handing osamu the money he owed him. “and some words of advice, from an ex to a boyfriend.”

osamu already didn’t like where this was going.

“break up with her,” konoha smirked at the look on osamu’s face, “before she realizes what a mistake she’s doing with someone like you.”

everything was muffled for a minute, even as yaku shouted at konoha to stop hogging the blunt and pass it. osamu throat felt dry and his fits clenched on top of his legs, this didn’t go unnoticed by your ex.

not wanting to cause a scene he stood up, beginning to walk away. he overheard how the group began to scold konoha for making him uncomfortable.

“osamu!”

for fucks sake, leave me alone.

“i didn’t mean to offend you,” the blond caught up with him, “she’s just a tease,” there it went again, static.

“seriously…she leads you on…a slut to put it in simpler words.. leaving her now—“

we’re the last words konoha got out before osamu threw a punch. his fist hitting konoha right in the nose.

the large gasps from the crowd that was now forming covered the blonds wince.

“you fucking druggie!” konoha shouted, whiping the blood coming out his nose.

kuroo and bokuto were quick to hold him back from lunging at osamu—who suna and atsumu held back.

alisa and you ran towards the small mob that was forming around your friends. you began pushing your way to the front when you heard how stern kuroo’s voice was.

“i’m leaving,” you heard osamu tell his friends, not even sparing a glance at you when you asked what had happened.

“osamu you don’t need to leave.” kuroo called after him, but he continued walking away.

about to ask again you see konoha’s bloody nose and put the pieces together.

you turn on your heel about to walk off when you feel someone grab your wrist.

your breath catches in your throat at the sight of konoha. “y/n-“

“konoha if you don’t let go of her, i swear to fucking god.” with that kenma took a sip of the solo cup in his hands, his calm demeanor fading due to the sharp glare in his eyes.

as soon as his grip loosen you ran to the side of the house, hoping to catch up to osamu.

you smiled seeing him about to reach the houses driveway.

“‘samu!”

your heart dropped when you saw him keep walking. did he not hear you?

“i know you hear me!” you tried again. your words more breathy trying to catch up with him.

“can you slow dow-“

“leave me alone y/n.” his voice was rough and he didn’t even turn his head to tell you off.

“what?”

“i’m telling you to go back to your friends.” hearing no response from you he kept walking.

“so what,” you felt weird, and your hands were now shaking, “you’re gonna ghost me again?”

“w—we’re going in circles osamu,” you bit your tongue at how thick your voice came off.

he couldn’t face you, now more than ever. he refused to see the pain he was bringing you.

“osamu if you walk away right now,” you stopped hoping to calm your emotions from spilling, “we’re over.”

maybe because it felt as if you knew him for a longer time, but you were able to picture what his face looked like in that moment. the low and shaky breath that left him proved your imagination right.

“i won’t take you back after this,” you inhaled sharply, choosing your words carefully, “not this time.”

fun facts!🍃

there’s a lot to unpack here osamu and his friends always smoke before functions just in case they’re not allowed to do so when they get there.

kuroo always puts ayy ladies in the party playlist because he knows it’s your’s and alisa’s song, call him a perv he’ll gladly admit it’s only on there for that reason.

konoha thought his nose broke for a second so did everyone else tho.

osamu hates when people associate him with only drugs.

taglist <3 can’t tag bold :(

@kaleidoscopekai @shiraboobie @90s-belladonna @p0nponpurin @its-the-aerieljeane @liliesloves @tetsuswhore @tanakasimpcorner @lilith412426 @sunababiee @jewlmin @rinvtaro @kokogxddess @tsukkisboo @sammcaav222 @sunarinnies @bakugouswh0r3 @gosteponlegoo @nerdynstoned @dabidoki @neologyro @rinschuupet @m1lfluv3r @criesinpisces @sunahyejin @annoyingfestivalbuscuitnerd @eveyams @inusdoll @melancoliie @darlingkuroo @peachyaeger @mariachiii @teenydancer @aaniyahz @sugabeaniee @saltishima-rex @riceballsandanime @erinoikawa @vinjayeet @sirachano0dles @encrytpta

[wroteasongabouther]

can’t stand to see you lonely: part 4

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

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

word count: 16k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So why didn’t you?” Sammy asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why the hell not?”

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

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

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

“Okay,” Y/N nods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good,” Harry says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” She questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Harry echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[georgemackayhey]

Hotter Than Summer

a/n: Remember when I promised more NSFW stuff? Yeah so this is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Do Not interact with this is you're underaged. But if you're legal, have fun! 18+ only

w/c: 8k

───※ ·❆· ※───

Every year, you went on a trip with your family.

Your parents and siblings would cram into one car, and meet up with your neighbors in the countryside, under the same roof. A cabin that over looked a lake, that housed a forest, that wrapped all the way around to where you were.

You'd go in the dead of summer, when school let out. When the mosquitoes were rampant and the heat was crippling. You couldn't ever figure out what was so enjoyable about heading into the middle of no place to melt inside a rented home for a few weeks, but you went back each year. Of course, swimming in the lake was a blast and campefires at midnight were such fun. But that was mostly due to the fact that you got to spend such quality time with your favorite old neighbours.

Your fathers best university pal, and his wife only moved across the street when you were well into your high school career. But your dad was chuffed still to have his oldest friend one hop skip and jump away. Your mom was just as fond of the family, and soon you were sharing dinners and going to festivals and movies with them and their son, George.

When you met, you ignorantly assumed there was no way he wasn't a jock, or something equally as brain dead. No one with a face that pretty could possibly be smarter than a blade of grass.

But it wasn't long after they moved in, untill his parents asked you to show him around the school. And even though he was older and so vastly different from you, one morning, you found out George wasn't at all how you'd imagined. As you took him through the school halls, he went on and on about the theater program and marveled over your decently sized and poorly decorated library. He even thanked you for wasting your free break guiding him round to help him make sense of the schedule in his hands.

And after then, you had it bad. So that was precisely the reason you decided to steer clear. You gave small waves in the halls, and pretended not to scream internally when he sat next to you at lunch, every now and again. You went about your day pretending you were much more preoccupied with your other friends, and saved all your hopelessly romantic daydreams about George for your diary.

Until summer, of course. When you showed up to the cabin with your family and your siblings and some of their friends. George would be there, and you let yourself trail behind him like a puppy then. But he always asked for your company, really. He always dragged you to go swimming or to walk three miles to the nearest convenient shop for snacks. He'd sit next to you during rainy afternoon movie marathons and entertain all of your fireside ramblings.  

But it had been three years since you'd spent a summer in the cabin. Your last time was the summer after you graduated. George's last time was two years prior, and nothing had quite been the same since.

///

You knew he wouldn't be there, this year. You should have been off, just as well, drinking till dawn or whatever else college kids wasted evenings doing.

His parents were there, though, and spent at least a minute each hugging you hello. After then, you trekked through the familiar home, up to the room you always claimed as your own, and you pretended not to feel dramatically sad. And for the next week, you sat around the fireside with your siblings, and laughed at their dumb jokes. You swam in the lake all alone. And you listened to George's parents yammer on about how proud they were of all his latest and most admirable achievements.

The last day of your visit, you sat alone in the sun room with a book, but only used it as a fan while you reminisced of all the times you'd sat doing the same before.

"I don't know why we come here when it's this hot." You sighed across the table full of left over breakfast food. Your family had migrated toward the back garden to play volleyball, but you couldn't be bothered trudging through the heat.

"I've always wanted to come in the autumn, watch the leaves change, make better use of all this firewood." You never did, because that's when school started and holidays were left to plan in for insufferable days like now.

George's mother was setting a pitcher of spiked punch on the table, something she made every year you'd been old enough to enjoy in her company.

"You know, it's so funny you say that." She grinned, shooting you a bright glance as she moved to pour you a drink.

"Our Geogre will be home this fall and he was asking about heading up to the cabin." She began. You used your book fan with a little more vigour.

"We, unfortunately, won't be able to make that happen of course, with his father's job and my plans of travelling before snowfall." She rambled, the ice in her drink clinking as she raised it to her lips. Your family's laughter rang muffled from beyond the glass wall of windows that made up the breakfast nook. And the heat, like a blanket over you. Like a pool you stayed trapped drowning in.

"You know- you kids should come here on your own! You're plenty old enough now to handle that responsibility and you always were such good friends. I bet Georgie would just love that." His mother's smile was audible in her tone and beaming from her face. You tried not to gawk at her, not to scrabble to sit straight. You casually lowered your leg from the arm of the chair and looked to the woman with a turn of your head.

"Oh I don't know, do ya think-"

"Yes, yes!" She interrupted with a furrowed brow like this was very serious. "I'm meant to call him later. I'll pass the idea along for you, love."

With a soft grin, her mind was made up. You shrugged, hoping it would make her believe you wouldn't be let down either way. But you'd never wanted anything more.

///

She got through to George, and apparently, according to his mother, he very excitedly accepted the plans. You weren't too sure that was entirely true, but you couldn't help but do a little happy dance behind the closed doors of your cabin bedroom. It was always as you left it, green quilt, matching rug, and the few framed albums you hung to make up for the bland wallpaper.

You left it, thrilled by the thought of returning in two months, and stayed glued to your phone till then. Geogre was meant to text you when the time crept nearer for your roughly made plans to become a little more organized.

You weren't sure what you were so excited for. He'd probably bring a girl, or a least mention one. There was no way he didn't have his pick of dozens vying for his attention. Still, the idea of spending a weekend in the cabin in such close quarters with your old crush was thrilling.

///

He texted you a month before you ended up planning to stay, and your exchange was jarringly short. George shot you a date and time. You agreed. Then he asked if you minded if a couple of his friends tagged along. And of course, you didn't. And that was that.

The summer dragged on, and at the first sign of autumn in the air you practically had all your bags packed.

When the time came, you gave your family quick goodbyes and arrived to the cabin a couple of hours early. The air was crisp, and the lake looked cold from your safe distance away. You breezed through the thin fog and smiled to yourself when you stepped into the place.

Everything was just how you'd left it. There were even still a few notes tapped to the refrigerator. You moved through the wooden structure and noticed how high the ceilings were for the first time in a while. And after washing a few sheets, and sorting out some of the food you'd brought for dinner, your solitude was interrupted.

There was a rattle at the door, and when it opened your heart stopped. He was here. George was all grown up. You hadn't seen him since the last time he came out here with the lot of you, the summer after he graduated. Years had passed, and now his hair was a little longer. He was a little leaner, a little taller, maybe. His nose was reddened by the cold but his smile was familiar. You tried not to gape at him and the way he seemed like an actual supermodel while he rested his bag by the door and looked to you, his grin growing wider.

"Hello, stranger." You smiled.

"Y/n!" He called with outstretched arms. You abandoned your place at the stove to accept his embrace and prayed he wouldn't be able to feel your quickened heartbeat.

"George." You beamed. Because he was your friend. At least, he had been once. His smile remained as he wrapped a strong arm around your middle and mumbled a hello right in your ear.

"Where are all your friends, then?" You cleared your throat, trying everything to keep your cool. Did he really have to speak so low in your ear? This weekend might prove to be incredibly awkward...

"Ah, yeah, one cancelled and the other might just as well. He said he'd keep me updated." George winced, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Hope you don't mind boring old me?"

"Of course not." You produced a chuckle. "I'm just making dinner."

And just like that, it felt like old times. George took over the kitchen for a bit, while you bickered over spices and seasonings. And in between stirring up an evening meal, George tucked his bags away in the room he'd always stayed in, and came back to help you set the table.

Conversation never lost its steady pace. George asked you about your budding life after highschool. He asked what you were doing for money and what you dreamed of doing for good. He laughed at some of your best stories and started to trade some of his own.

You'd always felt a bit intimidated by George, but worse now than ever before. He was musing about Hollywood and rambling about his life on movie sets. You nodded along, and watched George's pretty structured face light up as he spoke of his dreams and how some of them had come true.

When you'd finished dinner, your nerves really started up. Here the two of you were, all alone for the first time, maybe ever. There was always someone else near by in your knowing each other. Whether it be here, back home, or at school. You weren't sure how to handle all the empty space, so to occupy your time, you started a fire in the den. It was a cozy little room where everyone usually spent movie nights curled up on the small sofa. You liked to come here to read, when the sun shone brightly through the picture windows.

But it was dark now, and the fire was small. So you stuck nearby to help make it grow and wondered why you and Geogre were here. You wondered if his friend would ever show. You wondered if he'd ever really invited anyone at all.

"I brought beer, but there was some rum stashed away," George spoke himself into the room, holding a bottle and a glass in hand. He held each out to you, offering you take your pick. You picked the rum and thanked him for thinking you might've wanted a choice.

"I think I know you pretty well after all this time." George grinned, sitting on the floor in front of the fire. You were stood there, watching the flames flicker higher, and it took an internal debate for you to sit at his side. Were you making things weird or had they been weird on their own? Just moments ago you were mulling over how normal everything felt. Yeah, must'a just been you.

"I dunno," You huffed as you crossed your legs. "I've changed a lot since the days we used to tolerate each others company."

"Tolerate?" George chuckled. "We both know half our stays in this cabin were made most enjoyable by all the times we band together. We always had such fun."

"We did. Do you think we're too old now to have fun, this time around?" You asked, taking a sip of the rum he offered you. George stalled for a beat, like he was really considering the answer to your question. And then he looked at you and shook his head.

"I hope not." His lithe grin made your throat go dry. So you finished off your rum and stood for a refill. When you settled back in the den, George was halfway through his beer, and you got to talking about life again. He told you the scariest stories of his time away, and you reminisced about some of the traumas of life you and Geogre had been caught up in together when he was only one house away. George went for another beer, and you stayed watching the fire steadily burn.

He returned in silence and the quiet lingered for a long while, with both of you fixated not the flames.

"Remember when you said you'd let me stow away in your luggage when you left, so I could skip out on my physics finale?" You laughed into your drink.  You felt George's eyes turn to search for your own, but you were still too deep in thought. "I failed that quiz, George. You were supposed to be my way out of this town."

"Hmm." George took a swig of his beer as you finished your second glass of rum. "Maybe that's why I've come back."

"That's rich." You chuckled and pointed a look to George. You couldn't hold back your nervous breaths of laughter now. Because he was watching you. His sea blue eyes seemed to search your face. You never recalled a time he looked at you with such undivided attention.

"What's so funny?" George rose a pale brow, taking another sip of beer. And as the answer formed on your lips, you blamed the rum entirely for your lack of critical thinking.

"I used to have the biggest crush on you." You admitted, turning a glance to George. His gaze had yet to break from your face, but you swore his smile grew ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and shot you a sidelong look, like he didn't believe what you were saying.

"I did!" You laughed, the voice in your head reprimanding you for being so bold, as the words kept pouring out of your mouth. "You were my older, smoking hot neighbour boy. It was all very cliche but true." You shrugged. A blush burnt your cheeks and your mind suddenly caught up with your actions and you'd started to regret everything that had just transpired.

You mumbled a weary curse as you ducked your head away, hoping George wouldn't go on embarrassing you too much about this. You really hadn't planned to out yourself on the first night of your staying here with him. You hadn't planned to ever tell him that.

But George wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at you, like he had been. Like he was trying to figure you out. His eyes travelled from your face to search the reset of you. You watched George's gaze roam across your build while you tried not to combust in a self conscious worry. But the strange tension was too much not to break.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" You feared, hiding your bashful grin by lifting the nearly empty glass of rum to your lips.

"Because you're beautiful." George grinned, laughing a little like this was some big obvious fact.

"You're just tipsy." You shook your head, pointing to his empty bottle of beer and its half full replacement.

"No, you're just beautiful. You always have been." His tone grew more serious. You dared to catch his eye. The flames from a foot away were reflected in his gaze, and something else too. His eyes flicked away from yours to land on your lips. And his parted ever so slightly. If you hadn't dared to glimpse at his mouth, you wouldn't have noticed the way his jaw slacked.

His eye caught yours again and you realized he was moving closer. George was leaning in and your heart was beating a mile a minute and the fire seemed hotter than the dozen summers you'd wasted away here before.

His lips brushed yours before anything, and neither of you moved for a moment. His warm breath ghosted across your face and all your dreams seemed to suddenly come true as his mouth closed against yours.

Slowly, your lips started moving together. But they moved in perfect time, like they were made for it and waiting for this day to come true. George kissed you with a little more intent, as you kissed him back like you'd never get the chance to again. Because you had never once believed anything like this would happen with George. Maybe he was just tipsy. Or lonely. Or bored. You didn't care. You started to believe he had at least a little bit of actual interest in you, with the way he leaned closer and pressed his grip into your side. His tongue brushed against yours as his fingers started creeping closer to your chest. You wondered if he could feel your heart beating like a drum, and if his hand would ever reach its destination. You kissed him hard as encouragement, and he let out the sweetest whimper that would have made your eyes roll if they were open.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Shit." You let out another nervous laugh, pulling away and catching your breath. You thought George's friends had all cancelled.

"I'm- I'm sorry." George shook his head, swiping hand at his lips and furrowing a brow at another knock on the door.

"Don't be?" You searched George's eyes for a moment and hoped he knew what you were asking. You hoped he watched as you hurried away. Had that really just happened? Had you just been bold enough to do the thing you'd wished of doing since sometime in high school? Was all the gentle passion in his kissing you back fueled by the drinks? Or had he really meant it?

The knocking kept on as you drifted closer. Geeze, for someone who wasn't sure about coming, they sure seemed excited to be here in the middle of the night. You adjusted yourself on the way to unlock the door, and tried not to blanch when you saw who was on the other side.

"Hi kids!" George's mother beamed, a bag in her arms. "My trip got cancelled and your folks weren't busy so we figured we'd come surprise you!"

The group of parents shuffled through the door. Your father toted a bottle of whiskey and your mother held a stack of films in her grasp. They each hugged you, and you scrambled to steady your tone.

"What a treat." You laughed through your teeth. The change in the pace of your evening could have given you whiplash.

"Oh, it's just like old times!" George's mother squealed, finding her son shuffling toward the kitchen to find what all the commotion was about.

"I suppose so." He grinned, accepting his mothers embrace and nodding as she explained that his father was too busy with work to crash the party. With all the tender sweetness you'd fallen for over the years, George said he understood but greeted his mother with kindness all the while. And as your parents rushed to pass hugs his way, George caught your eye. You wanted nothing more than to ask about the question in his gaze. But you feared your weekend with George wouldn't be as you'd once dreamed, like always.

///

You were glad to sit around the dying fire with your family. His mother's laugh was music to your ears. Your father's jokes had George doubled over with laughter. Your mother mused over and over about how glad she was for this surprise getaway.

And you couldn't be too upset, because you relished every moment you got to spend like this. Usually, this cabin was an escape, a place you could come without a care in the world. But now, there was a nagging little worry tumbling around your head, as everyone sat dragging the night on. Loose plans for the next day were made, talk of enjoying nature and making use of the big kitchen. You said something about sleeping in, because that was a rare occasion in your life these days. And here was a place where your wishes were supposed to be granted.

Your mother was the first to head to bed. The other adults decided to as well, but not before recruiting George to help clean up the kitchen neither of you had been very worried about taking total care of earlier in the evening.

You trudged up the stairs and took your turn in the shower, after wishing your mother a lovely night's sleep. She kept walking to the end of the hall, where she and your father enjoyed the best view just overtop of the forest of trees all around you.

While you washed up for the evening, your mind raced in every direction. What had just happened? And what was going to happen now? You'd been through all sorts of unexpected events with George, growing up. But never anything remotely close to... whatever this was. So far, this wasn't at all how you'd envisioned your long-awaited autumn visit in the countryside.

George's mother was soon making her way to bed too. She passed by as you opened the bathroom door and paused to give you a kiss on the cheek. You wished her goodnight and started your creep toward your own room. Before you could get there, George was walking with your father up the stairs, sharing chatter about a sports game from last year.

"Alright well, I'm off to clean up before bed." Your father noted, ruffling your hair on his way past. "Unless you need in here, George." Your father spun and pointed. There was another half bath downstairs, but the one on the second floor was the only one completed with a big shower and a separate tub.

"Ah, just holler when you're finished and I'll have a turn." George nodded as your father spun back toward the loo wishing you goodnight. You caught George's eye as you started back to your room, and prayed the creaking of the floorboard behind you were his footsteps and not just another one of your daydreams.

Sure, and strangely enough, a set of fingers curled around your wrist before you passed through your doorway.

"I believe we have some unfinished business." His voice muttered over your shoulder. Holy shit. How was this happening?

You didn't have time to waste questioning any longer. You only pulled George into the room you'd come to call your own, and shut the door with a gentle click that wouldn't cause any unwanted attention. No sooner than you had, George was on you.

His lips captured yours in a flash, like you'd been lost at sea and were only just being reunited. You threw your arms around his neck and barely held back a shocked giggle when George pulled you flush against him. You could have spent forever this way, in George's strong embrace, sharing the same breath.

He kissed you dizzy and spun you toward the wall. His hands found your chest at long last and he sighed against your mouth as you pulled him closer best you could. His hips pressed into yours and his hand trailed down your front, till his fingers stalled at the button of your sleep shorts.

"Can I?" He asked in a husky breath, looking right at you. You raised a brow, and gave him a nod, only just attempting to catch your breath. You could hardly believe it. But you'd never been more sure. George kept an eye on you for a beat, as you pressed your teeth to your lower lip. And when his hand started to move, you couldn't help but smile.

"Do you have any idea how badly I've always wanted to do this?" George asked, breathing in your ear as his hand disappeared below the fabric of your shorts. "For how long I've dreamed of having my way with you?" A shiver shot through you as he nipped at your neck. It was all very overwhelming. His word. His lips. His fingers, steadily starting to trace all the right places.

"Holy shit, George." You whined, gripping his shoulder for support from melting into a puddle on the floor.

"What? Am I doing alright?" He asked in a snide way, keeping his mouth pressed below your ear, and pressing his fingers against you with more vigour. Your breath caught at the feeling and George hummed happily against your throat.  His fingers travelled further, deeper, till there was no place left for them to go. And when he set his digits into motion, you couldn't help but let out a noise, a small broken cry that tore George's focus from your neck right to you. His fingers stopped moving and his free hand reached your jaw. He held your face in his grasp and seemed to stall a question on his lips. Then with a breath, George asked,

"You're not gonna keep quiet are you?" At the same moment he'd decided your reaction, his fingers started moving again, and his hand that held your jaw moved to cover your mouth.

"Still try, darling, this cabin isn't very big you know?" George grinned, putting his fingers to good use. Your eyes rolled back, and tried as you might, another cry escaped your throat when George picked up his pace. His one hand stayed firm over your mouth as he worked you up and whispered sinful encouragement in your ear. When you could barely feel the floor under your feet, a noise came from the hall. A knock on a distant door.

You groaned as George stalled, and chuckled at your disappointment. His free hand slid down to your throat and his fingers gently curled around there as his eyes watched yours. From behind your door and down the way you heard your father.

"George! Showers free. And don't forget to see your alarm. We're still hiking at dawn!"

You could have cried, really, when you realized your night of fun was halted till further notice. George slipped his fingers from your shorts as you sucked in a breath and let it out like a sigh.

"Don't worry love," George cooed. "I plan on taking good care of you... eventually." The fingers he'd been using found their way to your mouth. You watched his pretty blue eyes flutter as you wrapped your lips and swirled your tongue around his knuckles. You swore he almost reconsidered his leave. But then George straightened and backed away with a clenched jaw and a smile on his lips.

"Get some rest. We're hiking in the morning!" He announced with a wink as he reached for the handle of your door.

"Oh, fuck you." You grinned, feeling empty and full of fire all at once.

"With any luck." George said, before shutting the door behind him.

///

"It's too high!" You worried, searching for a broad rock to step down onto. You and your family had found yourselves at the top of the trail that wound through the forest. But had decided to take a different route back down, around the lake.

"Here look, step there." George spoke up, from the bottom of the path that was broken up. He pointed to a patch of dirt you envisioned crumbling the moment you relied on it. Your mother tutted, and moved past you to take George's advice. Your lovely neighbour extended his hand to your mother who managed her way to safety with his help. Your father followed, helping George's mother, until you were the last one left.

They all stared up at you as you bit your nails and mulled over your game plan.

"Right- we're walkin' on. Get her off, George." Your father waved and turned to follow your mother and George's, who were already ahead gossiping about some tv show. You struggled to hide your blush as Geogre shifted his weight and grinned up to you.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"Obviously." You pointed. George reached out, and you held your breath, and stepped where everyone else had. George's hand was strong, but your prediction came true. As you balanced your weight on the patch of dirt, it began to give way. But George was there. He swept you away with ease and balanced you on both feet on the same level of ground as him.

"Did you just want me to save you all along?" George mused, keeping his arms snug around you as you stood.

"Come on." You bit back a smile and pushed George to lead the way, noticing your folks posed for a self at the opening of a man-made bridge.

You all walked on, till you spotted a weather-worn gazebo near the opening of the lake. The sun was unusually bright for the seasons, though a chill balanced in the air. Your gang stalled to rest in the small enclosure and laughed about the adventure you'd been on, and how none of you had ever realized this little nook was out here in all the years you'd been staying right around the bend.

George's mother was the first to head in, saying something about a midday nap. You didn't blame her. You all really had risen with the sun to enjoy the trails before a late lunch. Your mother was next to leave, mentioning just that. Her plans to make a big ridiculous afternoon meal that would likely count as some kind of dinner,  too. Your father followed after her, paranoid about the trek from out of the woods alone.

George stayed and shot you a look as you watched everyone walk away, and turn around the lake. And for a moment, you just talked. Like how you always used too. About life and death and everything in between. All while each pause between topics grew long and heavy.  Soon, you rose from the bench, tired of sitting, but excited to find yourself lingering out here in the sole company of the man you'd been dreaming of keeping all to yourself.

"Do you prefer it here in the summer, or now?" You wondered aloud, because you really wanted to know. The area you'd come to know so well seemed like a different world in the cold.

George followed your ambling, back down the skinny trail from where you'd just come. He waited to respond until he stepped to face you and stalled your meander.

"Now." George smiled, searching your eyes and pushing his nose against yours. The action made your heart flutter and your fists curl in the pockets of your jacket. Then he kissed you so tenderly, like you'd kissed thousands of times before and he was used to the sensation. You, however, were still dazzled by it. Your hands flew up and clung to the jacket he'd left unzipped. You kissed him back like this was your last chance to prove how badly you'd always wanted too. At your fervour, George snaked his arms around you. One of his hands tangled in your hair as his other trailed to your backside.

You had no excuse to hold back your pleased sighs, as George pressed against you, digging his fingers into your thigh and pulling it nearer to his hip. Your own hands started to wander, right between his legs. George let out a groan as you pressed your palm against his tight jeans, and you thought of doing it again just to hear his reaction. But you had something better in mind.

You broke your kiss and grabbed both of George's hands. He watched as you dragged him a little deeper into the green, and fell against a wide tree when you pushed his toward it.

When you started to fiddle with his belt buckle and bend your knees, George flushed and gapped at you.

"Here?" He asked with a nervous grin, looking much more innocent and shy than he'd appeared last night. Maybe ever.

"Would you rather trade bakewell recipes, George?" You asked with a snicker, sitting back against your heels and peering up to him. "We really don't have to, though." You spoke again with a serious nod, making sure he knew you really didn't want to do anything he didn't want to. But damn, you really wanted this.

"I'd really like if we did." George swallowed, and your grin stretched back to life. "I was just surprised is all."

"Why? Don't you think I'd like to show you as good a time as you started to show me last night?" You unzipped his trousers and kept your gaze fixed to George.

"I promise to make it up to you." He breathed as you started to pull at his boxers.

"You already are." You assured, just before the time for talk had ceased. Your mouth had better things to do.

When George lost his fingers in your hair, and tugged, you were motivated to deepen your interaction. Then you got to hear the way George whined and hissed and cursed your name under his breath. Even if you could reach your free hand to his lips, you couldn't dream of keeping George quiet. His sounds were the sweetest encouragement you'd ever known.

You stayed on your knees until your efforts paid off. Then you helped George pull his trousers back in shape as you rose to meet him, and were pleasantly surprised when he grabbed your face and kissed you. But when his hand started to trail below your waste you broke your kiss and shook your head.

"We don't have time." You sighed, brushing back some of George's unkempt blonde waves.

"But-" His perfect pale brows furrowed and his thumb brushed your cheek.

"It's okay. We'd better get going." You nodded. George nodded too, but then stole another quick kiss. It made you wonder what this was about. It made you wonder what George thought of you, and what he thought of you with him. You didn't let yourself wonder long. The sky was starting to darken with clouds. So you brushed the dirt from your knees and let George lead the way back to the cabin, biting back your broad grin every time he turned to make sure you were close behind.

///

The next morning was spent lazing about the breakfast table as a drizzle locked you all in. Your parents were each still in the kitchen, arguing over cinnamon rolls and other breakfast treats.

"I always wanted to come here to watch the leaves change." You piped up, setting a steaming coffee mug to the side, with your gaze stuck out the rain covered window. George sat by your side, with his head in the crook of his elbow on the table.

"We must have come too early in the year." You sighed, searching for a glimpse of orange or yellow in the distance. All you saw was brown and green against a dull grey sky.

"Well," George spoke up, quietly so. You lowered your eyes to find his, and fixated on his small grin. "That just means we'll have to come back."

"Yeah?" You hesitated to ask. What had he meant? Why had he said so? George only rested his hand on your thigh below the table, tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You kept your gaze on him and realized you had fallen hard and fast.

You'd always had it bad for George, but with all this new and very exciting attention he'd been giving you, it was game over. You'd thought of nothing but George each night you fell asleep one room over. Your heart practically leapt out of your rib cage every time you caught his eye across the room, since the beginning of the weekend.

But you didn't understand it. Neither of you talked about what you'd done or mentioned doing anything quite like it again. You just waited up in empty halls and hoped he'd come around the corner in the least suspicious amount of time possible.

But today was hard. Today you couldn't sneak out in the woods, or around the corner. You were trapped in by rain, and if you and George snuck behind closed doors there wouldn't be a question as to why, and that would be utterly embarrassing.

So you sat across from George as your father rallied everyone around an old tattered board game. You caught George's eye as your parents bickered over game rule, and wondered what he was thinking as his pretty blue gaze locked on yours.

When you followed your mother's instructions to go and find a stack of movies in her room, George's mother shuffled off to go make snacks. So your favourite pretty blonde said something about taking a shower, and followed as you trekked up the stairs. But no sooner than you found the stack of movies, and George lingered outside of the bathroom did your father spin into the hall in search of his glasses.

You and George only got to share a look before he shut the bathroom door, and your father recruited you to help in his hunt.

As you all curled up for a movie marathon, Geogre helped you pour everyone a drink. While he reached for a set of glasses, he sneaked past you with one hand grazing your lower back for as long as he could get away with.

And when your parents took residence on the love seat and his mother kicked back in the chair, you and George were left to make the floor comfortable. You dumped all the extra blankets in front of the coffee table and sat a few inches away from George while some romcom played on. It was almost painful, how close he was without being able to reach out. What a strange turn of events.

His mother fell fast asleep by the second film, and your parent's dozed off by the third.

And as the last film played on, you felt George's hand creeping closer to yours. His fingers fit between your own, and his thumb brushed against your knuckles every now and again, as you sat holding hands.

You hadn't really seen that coming. You hadn't known what to expect of this whole thing with George, but an innocent lasting touch wasn't it. All the questions you'd always wondered were louder and scarier as the movie dragged on.

And when it was over, George walked you up the stairs. You kept quiet as not to wake your parents, and watched as he moved in the dark. When he stalled in the doorway of your room, you gazed up to him with a pushed in brow. Then he kissed you. Just a gentle, lingering peck. He left you in your doorway with that, and you stayed up staring at your ceiling wondering why.

///

Your parents left the next morning. They hadn't planned too. But your father got a call from work and since they'd all arrived as a group they decided to leave that way. You had awoken early and found yourself staring at the pages of a book when your mother bustled down the stairs to let you know.

"We'll see you kids at the start of the week!" George's mother waved on her way out of the door. She hoped you'd both enjoy the last day of the weekend in the cozy little place you'd always come back to.

Your parents scrambled to pack their things and followed her out of the door in a dazed rush, rambling about how they wished they didn't have to leave as they headed to the door.

Just like that the cabin was quiet, more so than you'd ever noticed, even when you'd been the only one creeping through the halls. You had no idea what to expect. You didn't want to get your hopes up. And you didn't want to make this already strange situation even weirder. So you took to doing the dishes at the sound of your parents peeling out of the gravel drive. You scrubbed every plate and focused on every soap bubble to stall time as you thought up what to say.

One of you had to say something, right?

When the staircase finally creaked, you'd finished the leftover dishes and were nearly done sorting the last of them away. George stretched into the room, looking around to realize the cabin was missing your surprise guests.

"Dad got called into work. You just missed telling everyone goodbye." You shrugged, meeting George's eye for a moment before you spun to put the last dish away. You listened as he softly floated toward the space you occupied yourself.

"So I finally get you all to myself then?" George seemed to really ask. He looked tired, still. But there was a gentle smile on his face, some kind of hopeful glaze painted over his features. George reached out to you, both of his hands softly holding your face. He peered at you, searching your features as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"You really wanna spend the rest of this weekend with me?" You wondered, ducking your head as a twinge of fear started to take hold. But Geogre straightened your gaze once more, he made you look at him as he chose his words.

"I'd like to spend much longer than just this weekend with you," He spoke gently like every word was precious. You couldn't possibly think of what to say. You could only smile. You grinned without holding back and watched as George shut his eyes and kissed you.

You kissed him back and decided the pouring rain was cause enough to start a fire. George trailed behind you on your mission to throw a few logs in the fireplace. When you turned from sparking a flame, you watched George settle onto the floor that was still a mess with blankets and pillows from last night's movie marathon. He reached up to you, fingers moving from their latch on your wrist to press into your sides as he pulled you right into his lap.

Just like that his arms were around you and his mouth opened against yours. The fire was nice, but the warmth coming from George was heavenly. You moved your kisses to his neck, relishing the way his pulse beat under your touch. You trailed your lips back across his jaw until you were kissing him again, and dissolving in his strong hold.

You held his face in your hands as your mouths moved together, and only released your grasp to raise your hands over your head as George lifted your sweater up and away. His kisses trailed across your exposed skin, to the swell of your breasts, while his fingers managed to unclasp your bra. With your knees on either side of his hips, you rocked against George, feeling more desperate for his touch than ever.

"Are you sad your friends ditch you?" You asked in a breath with a smile and George was busy pressing his tongue to your skin. You felt him smile, and the warmth of a chuckle escape him.

"Are you glad our parents came and ruined our chances of spending the whole weekend this way?" George shot back, as you pulled his shirt away. You rolled your eyes and pushed George back against a stack of pillows, reaching for his belt. You laughed as he kicked his trousers away and pulled you down for a kiss, like he couldn't fathom parting from you for a second.

You spent a while wrapped up in his tangled limbs- kissing him, trailing your fingers against his burning skin, rocking against each other while the last of your layers kept you from doing what you really wanted.

"You know, I always had a crush on you, too." George propped himself up on both elbows as you'd started to pull his boxers away. You paused your mission for a moment to look at him. His half-lidded gaze and the mess of his hair. The marks starting to darken on near his throat, from you. He was more beautiful each new time you caught a glimpse, it seemed.

"Sentiment not required, but appreciated." You grinned as George sat up, free of the last of his clothes, reaching to free you of your own with his sea blue eyes on yours all the while.

"I did." He rose a brow, and something about his confirming so made your heartache, as it already beat like a drum. You brushed back his tousled waves and searched George's face for approval. He blinked up at you, totally enraptured. You could have stayed in this paused state forever and you swore he might have been content, too. But you couldn't wait any longer. You'd waited long enough.

When you lowered yourself into George's lap, you watched his eyes close and his jaw slack. A sigh escaped his lips, like he was totally relieved. And not just by the pressure you'd both felt now, but by the build-up of this whole weekend. Like something from very deep within him was finally settled. You might have laughed a little at that state of him if you weren't feeling the same. You'd never felt so safe. A strange word for a time like now, but the only word that seemed to fit.

Neither of you moved for a while. At first, you'd focused on settling into the feeling. Then you became totally distracted, brushing back George's hair and peppering his face with kisses. His hands stayed loose around your sides and his nose nudged your own in a way that made your heart sing.

"As much as I love this, I really would like if you moved a little, dove." George cooed in your ear and kneaded his fingers into your hips hoping you'd get the hint.

So you did what he said, and rolled against him. George kept his grip firm as he let out one of those melodious groans of his. You picked up the pace then, not daring to hold back your own hums as George's eyes opened to find yours.

You shared another kiss as you found your rhythm, but couldn't keep it up for long. Your lips parted but lingered close to his when you couldn't hold back a broken cry.

George wrapped an arm around your middle and moved swiftly to lay you down. You watched as he loomed over you and searched your features like he did the first night here. You were in the same place as you had been when you confessed your stupid crush. And you were in the same spot you had been when he kissed you for the first time. And when he closed the distance between you once more, it felt better than ever.

You pressed your heels into his back and tried to tell him how fucking great he was at this, but incoherent mumbles were all you could manage.

"That good, huh?" George strained, barely getting the words out himself. But the little laugh that followed his statement seemed easy and sweet. As if you weren't feeling enough, your heart threatened to burst. Everything felt near bursting, actually.

"It's okay, baby." His saccharine voice rang in your ear as he somehow pushed you deeper into the mess of blankets. "It's just you and me now, and you feel so fucking good. You can let go now, love. I wanna feel you to let go."

He could have kept up talking that way and you'd fall to pieces in no time. But when his hand travelled below your stomach you nearly k.o'ed. Between the things he spoke just to you, the way he paused talking to curse a little, and the rhythm of his hips against yours, it didn't take long until you came undone. He kept you pinned in place until you nearly couldn't see straight until it seemed he couldn't either. When it was all said and done, neither of you moved for a moment. You were less irked by the fact you could have been doing that all weekend, and more moonstruck by the reality that it'd happened at all.

///

It wasn't long before you decided to get cleaned up, but it took awhile to get to the bathroom. George stopped you in the hallway to do everything over again, somehow better than the first time. He stopped you from finding clean clothes to pin you to the bed you'd called your own. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he made his way between your thighs, and made you forget all about doing anything else for the rest of the evening.

And when you finally made it to the bathroom, he followed you into the warm bath. But there, you only relaxed. The water soothed your aching muscles, and the whiskey your dad left behind was passed over the bubbles as you and George sat together till the water grew cold. You talked as you cleaned yourself up, about things you'd always talked about before. You watched as George changed into a pair of joggers you recognized from days gone by. You let him wrap you up in a towel and hold you close in the steam-filled bathroom, and you decided it was paradise.

Your night went on like normal. Like most nights had, in the cabin. You made dinner, and joked about the time your siblings nearly burnt the place down making cookies during a heatwave. And after you ate, you left the dishes for another day, like always. Then you followed George to the den, and watched as he turned the telly on to some slasher marathon. Your autumn dreams were alive and well, as you curled up on the sofa at his side.

You stayed happily tucked against him, one arm and leg across his frame. One of his strong arms nearly pulled you on top of him in an effort to cuddle close as possible. You nuzzled your face into his neck when something especially upsetting flashed across the screen. And eventually, the comfort of his secure hand splayed across your head, and his other arm holding you firmly in place, sent you into the most peaceful sleep you must have ever slipped into.

///

"Wake up, love."

Your eyes were heavy, and your limbs ached. The blankets felt so warm in the morning cold, and George's breath tickled your ear.

"My darling, wake up." He said again, tracing a finger along your jaw as your eyes fluttered open.

"M'up." You sighed, focusing on George's pretty face, his brilliant blue eyes and the easy smile on his full lips. You realized he wasn't curled close, but kneeling at your side like he'd been up for a while now.

"Come and see." His smile widened as he grabbed your hand and tugged you to stand. You pushed in your brows and only sat up so quickly because of George's unusual excitement. He kept your hand in his and dragged you across the room to the fog tinted windows. What time was it? George moved you to the clearest view, and snaked his arms around your middle from behind.

You rubbed your eyes and looked. And past the mist, you saw the trees. Among the usual green and grey, you saw spots of dark red and orange starting to appear. The further you looked the more colours you noticed, and then you realized George had noticed before you.

"Now we know." He mumbled in your ear, as you tore your gaze from the stunning view to look over your shoulder. George really did get prettier with every glance. And now you knew, indeed. You knew how he felt, and you knew you'd get to go home with him as more than neighbours. You knew the perfect time to come back to this cabin, too, when the colours were brightest and the fire's warmth would be most coveted. And you knew George would come back with you. The only thing you weren't sure of was which room you'd stay in together, in all the years to come.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[flyawaymind]

Daydreams!

Made a list of my favorite daydreams because I can’t find any daydream prompts online and apparently lots of people also like to get lost in a daydream to fall asleep, so maybe someone else could use the new material.

~Quest 1: You’ve been hired by an authority figure to deal with a dragon who has decided to live nearby. How you approach this problem is up to you, but you have to admit that it would be really cool to have a dragon as a friend.

~Quest 2: You’ve been approached about retrieving some ritual masks that are currently gathering dust in a museum’s storage room. You’re pretty sure the people who hired you were part of the indigenous people who the masks were stollen from originally… Weren’t they?

~Quest 3: Explore those underwater ruins! Who knows what you might discover.  Surely the glints of light and movements that you catch sight of out of the corner of your eye are just the reflection of the sun through the waves. Nothing is here but you and the fish. Probably.

~Slice of Life 1: You live in a little cottage with a beautiful and lush garden filled with wild birds and the bees you keep. There is a welcoming kitchen, a cozy sitting room, and enough space for any pets you may have. Maybe there is someone else there, someone who loves and cares for you, who you can share space with comfortably. Tend to the garden, make brownies and dance in the kitchen as they bake, or go sit by the stream in the back yard and watch the fireflies blink in the dusk.

~Slice of Life 2: You are snowed in at a cabin deep in the woods. The snow comes down steadily in large flakes that tickle when they land on your face, and the snow drifts are so large that they cause the surrounding pine branches to bow until their tips brush the ground, until it’s impossible to see where the snow on the ground meets the snow on the branch, the trees rising from the drifts like peaks in whipped cream. Inside there is a warm fire, hot drinks, a pile of handmade quilts, a small stack of good books, and a cat. You are dressed in you favorite cozy clothes, and you have no obligations or anything to stress about. Listen to the fire, watch the snow fall, and relax.

~Slice of Life 3: You are on a beach; you can hear the waves and smell the brine. A slight breeze brushes over whatever skin is not covered by your clothes. It is hot enough that the water looks appealing, but not so hot that you can’t comfortably walk along the land instead. The tide is low, and rocky outcropping further up the beach contains tide pools filled with sea glass, shells, and small ocean creatures. You think you see a cave a little ways away. Behind you is a lovely hammock strung between two pine trees, the perfect place to relax with a cold drink, if you so choose.

Add more please, I’m always looking for new daydream ideas!