#listen to the song The World we Knew (over and over) it will change your life

[dreamcubed]

...ready for it? | mattheo riddle x reader

song; ...ready for it? [taylor swift] pairing; mattheo riddle x fem!muggle-born!reader genre; fake dating, s2l, fluff, smut word count; 5,3k timeline; subsidiary 8th year warnings; swearing, references to alcohol/drugs/smoking, violence, blood and injury, piv sex, unprotected sex, fingering, discrimination (of muggle-borns) summary; following the war, mattheo is suffocated by the association with his father, and decides there is only one way to make people see that he is nothing like him. you, on the other hand, want to prove to people that, in the year you've been in hiding, you have changed from the naïve goody-two-shoes you once were

screaming crying throwing up at how good tortured poets department is

masterlist

"in the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do."

————————————————

The rumours followed Mattheo Riddle like hitmen— praying for his downfall, never leaving him alone, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. To many, it was obvious what he was before even meeting him. Evidently, the son of the Dark Lord was every bit as bad as his father, would fill his shoes now that he was dead, that there would be a Third Wizarding War with Mattheo at the very centre of it. Never mind that he hardly knew his father, that Voldemort had been gone for almost his entire childhood.

After the final demise of the Dark Lord, and Mattheo had elected to return to Hogwarts for the subsidiary eighth year, his reputation built on gossip and assumptions had only gotten worse. It hadn't helped that he now bore the dark mark on his left forearm, and he had tried to explain that his father had forced him to take it, that he would have hurt him in unthinkable ways if he didn't, but no one listened. No one cared. He still had his friends, but his association with them didn't help, as most of them were pure-blooded Slytherins whose families were death eaters.

But without them he would have nothing.

He didn't understand— no one was nearly as mad at Draco for walking over to the Dark Lord at the final battle as they were at him for simply possessing some of his DNA. It made him resent his cousin, but he knew he couldn't blame him. He had been every bit as coerced into the death eater cult as him: threatened with the deaths of them and their families.

Muggle-borns and the majority of the half-bloods avoided him like the plague; even some pure-bloods, who were far more politically correct, looked at him with distaste in their eyes. Mattheo wanted to scream to the whole world that he wasn't his father and didn't give a single fuck about blood purity. But who would listen? They would see that he was screaming and immediately associate his anger with the desire to start a war.

You, on the other hand, also couldn't escape your reputation. Prior to the war, you had been known as a goody-two-shoes, called uptight, boring, a smartass. While in hiding throughout seventh year, you had shed any resemblance you had to such an identity, but despite appearing and acting completely differently now you had returned for the subsidiary eighth year, your peers still treated you like a naïve and overly innocent child. Bullied you, even, in some more extreme cases. They viewed you as socially inept, sexually unaware, scared of alcohol, smoking and drugs.

They wouldn't listen when you told them that you had changed— so, there you found yourself, in a Saturday detention after doing something incredibly stupid to get people to stop seeing you that way. The stupid thing in question? You had let yourself get caught being outside of your house quarters after curfew. It was pathetic, and an admittedly idiotic thing to do just for the sake of changing your reputation, but there you were.

Worst thing was it hadn't even worked.

"I bet she had a panic attack," a Ravenclaw girl had giggled.

"She definitely got on her knees and started begging for the professor to show mercy," a Hufflepuff boy had laughed.

They still saw you as pathetic and helpless: a certified teacher's pet.

"Miss L/N, you'll be serving detention with Mr Riddle today," Professor McGonagall spoke, snapping you out of your self-pitying thoughts, "Your task will be to clean every cauldron here in the potions classroom— by hand, no magic— until they are gleaming."

You glanced over to your right to see that Mattheo Riddle was indeed sat there: he must have snuck in while you were deep in thought. It was just your luck, that your weak attempt would have the worst possible consequences— being stuck in detention with the Dark Lord's son as a muggle-born.

"I will check on you both periodically." The headmistress then departed, but not before saying to you, "I'm disappointed in you, Miss L/N."

Even your professors still saw you as naïve. It made you angry.

Mattheo watched you curiously as you stormed over to the big stack of cauldrons and roughly grabbed one, slamming it down on the floor and grabbing the muggle cleaning supplies left out. You started scrubbing in such an anger-fuelled rigorous manner that he almost forgot that he was supposed to be helping you.

"You gonna help or not?" you snapped.

His eyes widened, and he couldn't stop a smirk from gracing his lips, "Never thought I'd see the day where goody-two-shoes L/N is in detention and yells at me."

"Would people stop fucking saying that?" you said all too loud, "I hate it. I fucking hate it."

"Hate what?" Mattheo asked delicately, standing up and walking over to grab a cauldron from the pile.

"Being called a goody-two-shoes like I'm some kind of child," you scowled, "I'm sick of being treated like I've never even had a sip of alcohol."

This was the first time since before the war that a muggle-born had even entertained having a full conversation with Mattheo, even if you were filled with rage throughout it. Because of that, he decided that he needed to calm you down and make you actually like him— association with a muggle-born could completely transform his reputation.

"I'm sorry," he said delicately, the words foreign to him, "I didn't realise it hurt you so much."

You stopped scrubbing the cauldron to look up at him with shock evident on your face: had the son of Voldemort just apologised to you? He had to be mocking you, there was no way he wasn't. "You're making fun of me," you said cautiously.

"I'm not, I swear," he held his hands up in surrender, "I know all too well what it's like to not be able to escape a reputation."

"Aren't you in here for getting into a fight?" you raised an eyebrow curiously.

He nodded grimly, "Guy wouldn't stop saying I'm exactly like my father."

And that was when your opinion of Mattheo began to soften, and you started to feel bad for assuming he hated muggle-borns simply because of who his father was. But he did have the Dark Mark.

"If you're not like him, why did you get that?" you gestured towards his left arm, which was covered but everyone knew what sat there.

Mattheo drew back, "He was responsible for genocide, do you really think he was beyond threatening me if I didn't take it?" His words were cold, and angry.

"Sorry," you mumbled, regretting asking such a personal question when you hardly knew him.

Silence fell upon you both for a couple minutes as you polished away at the cauldrons.

"For the record, I didn't ever think you'd only had a sip of alcohol."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, "No?"

He shrugged, "Everyone gets drunk. I just thought you only did it outside of school."

A small smile crept on to your face, "Thank you, mind telling everyone else that?"

"Sure."

You had said it as a joke— you didn't expect him to be so agreeable. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Oh, God, now I feel so bad."

"Why?" Mattheo asked, finding your muggle-speaking mannerisms endearing.

"Because I believed your reputation."

"You don't anymore?"

You shook your head, "This is the first time someone's ever treated me my age."

He tilted his head curiously, "You know, I think we might be able to help each other's reputations."

"You do?"

"Think about it," he shifted closer to you, "People think I hate muggle-borns, you're a muggle-born. People think you're an innocent goody-two-shoes, I'm known for being quite the opposite."

"So...?"

"We date."

Your brain short circuited and you dropped your cloth into the cauldron, "We... date?"

"Not for real," he clarified, "Just until people's views of us are changed."

You thought it over. It was true: no one would think of Mattheo as like his father if he was willingly in a relationship with a muggle-born, and no real goody-two-shoes would date bad boy Mattheo Riddle.

"Okay," you said, holding out your hand, "Let's do it."

The boy smirked, taking your hand, "Perfect."

***

When you arrived at dinner that evening, after a long few hours of cleaning cauldrons until they glistened, it was hand in hand. He squeezed your palm softly as watchful eyes observed the two of you together, and he even tugged you over to the Slytherin table, making you give him a worried look.

"They'll be civil," he leaned down to whisper in your ear. You nodded nervously.

All of his friends were in silence as they watched you take a seat next to Mattheo, and their jaws almost dropped when he began dishing food on to your plate first. You felt embarrassed under their gaze, but you didn't let it show, thanking Mattheo once your plate was full. He gave you a soft smile that you had never seen grace his face before— not that you had ever been close enough to him to see it.

One of his friends, Blaise Zabini, cleared his throat and broke the silence, "So, uh, are you two a thing?"

"Yeah," your 'boyfriend' replied.

"I didn't even know you were courting," Blaise stated simply, clearly suspicious.

"There's a lot of things you don't know," Mattheo said vaguely, "Can't a man have some secrets?"

Silence fell once more.

"Do any of you have a problem?" he asked, the slightest hint of anger lacing his tone.

They all immediately shook their heads.

"Good."

Despite Mattheo's friends being remarkably docile towards you, you could still feel the stare of other people littered around the room. It was quite a shock, you supposed, as you two were probably the last couple anyone would have expected. Regardless, they should really learn to mind their business— if they did, you wouldn't have to be doing a whole fake dating scheme in the first place.

***

Mattheo walked you to class, held your hand in the corridors, and even carried your books for you wherever you went. Stares continued to follow, but people no longer called you a goody-two-shoes: no, instead when you overheard people ask about you, they said "she's Riddle's girl" instead. You would prefer to be thought of as your own person, but it was certainly a step up from the reputation that you were so sick of. That, and Mattheo had informed you that muggle-borns were no longer avoiding him like the plague, even occasionally nodding at him in the hallways. All around, the plan was working.

No one knew that your dating scheme was fake apart from the two of you, even his friends believed it— and, despite your blood status, they were beginning to warm up to you. Pansy especially, and you were grateful to finally have someone that you could consider a friend.

One chilly Tuesday morning, when Mattheo was walking you to your ancient runes lesson, there was another girl in your class being 'dropped off' by her boyfriend. You both watched as he leaned down to peck her lips before leaving, and you didn't think anything of it until you reached the door and Mattheo leaned down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Taken aback, your ears heated up, and you felt shy as he smirked at you.

"What was that for?" you whispered.

The man before you shrugged, "He did it. Can't have people knowing the truth about us."

"They have no reason to suspect it," you grumbled, but you couldn't deny the butterflies swarming around your stomach.

"Better safe than sorry," he grinned cheekily, "I'll see you later, doll, yeah?"

You nodded, caught off guard when he kissed you yet again.

You were in a daze when you entered the classroom, and you knew that everyone could guess why there was a smile plastered on your face. You felt like a lovesick fool, when you weren't even in love.

***

Mattheo had insisted that people would question the validity of your relationship if you didn't go on Hogsmeade dates together: every Hogwarts couple went on dates to Hogsmeade. You had reminded him that people had no reason to question whether or not your relationship was fake, but he had once again shrugged and said, "Better safe than sorry." Not that you minded, of course, you had always wanted to participate in the Hogsmeade dating tradition. Although, it did make you wonder how long this dating scheme would go on for, as Mattheo's reputation was essentially already completely transformed.

"Can we go in Honeydukes?" you asked as Mattheo, like the gentleman he apparently was, helped you down from the carriage.

"Of course," he smiled, not letting your hand go, "Wherever you want, doll."

Your stomach flipped, but there remained an itching notion in the back of your head. It was fake: it was all fake. He was only being so gentlemanly and caring to prove to the school that not only did he not share his father's views on muggle-borns, but that he could dote on one like it was his life's purpose. All he wanted was to no longer be seen as the devil's incarnate, so he presented himself as an angel. But, when he looked at you with that smirk and that glint in his eyes, it would feel real— just for the briefest moment. No one had ever been romantically interested in you before, maybe that's why you felt his actions deep in your core.

"Hello? Y/N?" his voice snapped you out of your drifting thoughts, and you realised that he was talking to you.

"Hm?"

"Thought I'd lost you there," he chuckled, "C'mon, doll— Honeydukes, remember?"

"Yeah, sorry," you looked down abashedly, and his grip on your hand tightened.

"Sometime this year, if that's okay with you."

***

Mattheo's ring-clad hands left a cool trail against your blazing skin, setting your insides alight as you felt wetness pool at your core. He had his signature smirk settled on his face, the smooth curve of his pink lips sending sparks throughout your body. The hazed look in his dark eyes likely mirrored the one in yours— you were getting desperate, revelling in the way he stared at your tits.

"Please, Matty," you murmured, begging for something, anything.

His sinister chuckle made your senses twitch and tingle. "Please what? What do you want, doll?"

"You," you said thoughtlessly, reaching your hands up to grasp on to his shirt.

"I'm all yours," he whispered, his hand trailing down to the inside of your shorts and panties. When he finally made contact with your slick entrance, your hips bucked up, grateful to have finally received some amount of stimulation. "You're so wet for me."

You hummed as he began tracing circles on your clit, forcing out a moaned, "Only for you."

He applied more pressure, making you grasp on to the bedsheets for dear life, unable to physically comprehend the magic feel of his calloused fingertips. The smirk on his face returned as he watched you writhe beneath him, and you felt your peak approaching faster than you had imagined was possible. Everything about it felt so right, so perfect, so erotic.

"You gonna come for me, angel?" he asked, his eyes locked on to yours.

You nodded.

"Then come."

And just as you felt your muscles begin to tighten and the pleasure begin to climax, the moment was cut short.

***

You were in bed, that much was still the same, but there was no sign of a Slytherin descendant anywhere in your vicinity, and your tits were not out in the open, being enclosed within your large pyjama shirt. You groaned, feeling the pool of wetness between your legs, but being unable to do anything about it due to your shared dormitory situation. Fuck, Mattheo wasn't even your real boyfriend, and you had just had a godly wet dream about him that lit a match in your soul.

How could you face him after picturing him in such an intimate situation? How could you pretend like you were okay with the surface-level falseness of your façade? He was your doom's day: you could feel it. You should never have agreed to a fake relationship, and remained begrudgingly within your outdated reputation.

Reluctantly, you peeled the covers off of your sweating body, and made your way to the showers.

***

Avoiding him was just as impossible as being around him. For one, you couldn't risk people questioning the stability or realness of your relationship. For two, the second you entered the Great Hall for breakfast, he was beckoning you over to where his friends were. And you couldn't very well ignore him when he had done absolutely nothing wrong.

"Hey, doll," he greeted you, pecking your cheek in the process. The very action made the flame burn brighter.

"Hi," you all but squeaked, focusing your attention on taking some waffles.

"We were just discussing the next quidditch game."

"It's a guaranteed win for Slytherin," Zabini smirked, knowing full well that the team that they would be playing against was your house's.

You scrunched up your nose, "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Are you not even gonna wear my jumper during the game?" Mattheo asked, sending yet another sparking bolt straight through your veins. You could feel your body heating up just by being in his presence.

"Against any other house I would, but I have to draw the line somewhere," you said, hoping your voice sounded completely normal and not at all like you craved his naked form. Unfortunately, the appeal of wearing a clothing item that would have his scent woven into its fabric was not helping your case.

"Pity," he grumbled.

Thankfully, Zabini challenging your opinion that Slytherin wasn't guaranteed to win led to a wonderfully distracting argument with the rest of the Slytherin boys. Not only was it a distraction, but it also made you feel as if they saw you as an equal, not just as a muggle-born, but in age and lack of innocence as well. It was a stupid notion, but it was the kind of treatment that you had desired for so long.

"I can't stand this quidditch talk any longer," Pansy finally said, having remained quiet for the majority of the conversation, "Y/N, wanna get away from the men?"

"Please," you murmured, grateful to escape the intoxicating presence of Mattheo.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

Pansy shook her head as she stood up, "Anywhere but here. The girls' toilets if it means getting away from you all."

You giggled, going to stand up. You felt Mattheo's hand grasp your wrist, giving way to tingly sensations reminiscent of last night's dream.

"I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Of course," you nearly stuttered, "We have defence against the dark arts."

He nodded, letting go of your wrist, before saying to Pansy, "Don't keep her too long."

"Calm down, lover boy," she retorted, linking arms with you as you began to walk off.

The last thing you heard from the Slytherin boys was Berkshire saying to Mattheo, "You're pussy-whipped, mate."

Oh, how you wished he was.

***

"I don't know how you managed to lock down prince of the fuckboys Mattheo," Pansy spoke as you both entered the girls' toilets, "And I do see the way he looks at you-"

"The way he looks at me?"

She nodded, "Like you're the only girl in the room— but, please be careful. I don't want you getting hurt."

You knew that it was too late for that, as you had caught feelings in a fake relationship, and it was killing you inside that you couldn't tell anyone about it. All you could do was agree with Pansy. "Thank you for your concern, I appreciate it."

"Of course, we're friends," Pansy smiled, "And I love Mattheo dearly as a friend, but I know his history when it comes to romance and sex."

"People change," you murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

"That they do," she agreed, "But just be sure of Mattheo's change before you fall madly in love with him."

Somehow you feared it was too late for that.

***

During defence against the dark arts— a theory lesson, unfortunately— you found your seat next to Mattheo as you let Pansy's words mull over you. The anxious pondering that you were in too deep caused you to start nervously bouncing your leg up and down. It was an action that did not go unnoticed by Mattheo, who furrowed his eyebrows at your behaviour. Gently, he placed his hand on your thigh and watched as you froze up at the contact.

Because, little did he know, the simple act of a touch so close to your core sent tingling flashbacks of your dream of him flooding through your veins. Your skin became ablaze with desire, and long gone was the obsessive overthinking about what Pansy had said to you. You sucked in a shallow breath, gripping your quill tightly as you glanced towards Mattheo who was now looking at you with thrice the concern than he was earlier.

"You okay?" he whispered.

You gulped and nodded, but it was clear that he didn't believe you. He squeezed your thigh gently, and you swore that your brain nearly short-circuited— yet you didn't want to push his hand off. This moment was so far removed from the fake external image of your relationship that you temporarily forgot all of your concerns. No one could see where his hand was: it served no purpose towards your reputation as a couple.

Merlin knows you would never be able to recall the content of that lesson.

***

One breezy autumnal afternoon and you were walking down the hallway, hand in hand with Mattheo and giggling about this and that. You had finally pushed Pansy's warning to the very back of your mind, and allowed yourself to almost fully immerse yourself in the moment with your so-called boyfriend. The interlocked nature of your hands felt natural as you paid no mind to bystanders.

That was, until, the unmistakable word of mudblood passed through your ears from the direction of a seventh year Slytherin, who evidently disapproved of your newfound association with the house. It was annoying, really, how your ears always tuned into that word no matter how distracted you were. You paused in your movements and stared at him: you were no longer timid, nor a push-over. Mattheo looked confusedly at you and where you were looking.

"What are you looking at, mudblood?" the seventh year sneered at you, and before you could even say anything, Mattheo's hand had let go of yours.

And he had barrelled right into the boy, throwing merciless punches as his face went stone cold. "Do you wanna say that again, hm?" he spat, landing another solid hit, "Don't ever fucking talk about my girlfriend like that."

You stared in shock at the brawl, feeling a whole wave of mixed emotions— Mattheo was defending you, and by God did he look fucking hot doing it. But, also, you really should break up the fight before he committed manslaughter.

"Mattheo," you said softly, but he didn't hear you, so you said louder and more sternly, "Mattheo."

His movements ceased and he resorted to staring down at the boy who now groaned in pain, covered in blood and already darkening bruises.

"This was a warning," he said carefully, "Next time I won't stop."

You shook your head, grabbing his bicep to pull him off the boy for good and dragging him away. It was lucky there hadn't been a professor around, but they would probably still find out one way or another and Mattheo would get punished. For now, however, he was yours to deal with.

"I can fight my own battles," you bit off, but there wasn't any real malice in your tone.

"I know," he said simply.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, "Thank you, though, for defending me."

"Of course. No one belittles my girl."

Your heart flipped— there was nobody around, there was no reason for him to say that. Deciding to focus your attention in order to ignore the thumping of your heart, you analysed his hands. "We need to get you cleaned up."

"It's just a little blood," he shrugged.

"A little is still too much. C'mon."

You dragged him to the abandoned girls' toilets, where Moaning Myrtle resided, and ran some toilet paper (which had probably been there for decades) under the tap. As you began delicately wiping down the injuries, Mattheo watched you with intrigue, admiring your attention to detail. Little did he know, you were simply trying to stop yourself from replaying the sexiest image you had ever scene in your life inside your head. You felt as if you were about to burst into flames.

Once you were finally done, you chucked the toilet paper into a toilet and re-emerged from the cubicle, making eye contact with the man leaning against the sinks. Moaning Myrtle seemed to be nowhere in sight.

Which was a good thing, because the tension in the air was thick— thicker than blood. You bit your lip as Mattheo's eyes raked down your body and drank you in. Under his gaze, you felt purely animalistic: beauty didn't matter, intelligence didn't matter... all that mattered was skin on skin and bodies becoming one. But, when it became clear no one was going to make a move, you said, "Pansy warned me about you."

"In what way?" he smirked.

"That I shouldn't get in too deep with the prince of fuckboys until I'm sure you've changed."

"And do you think I've changed?"

"What does it matter? We're not actually together."

A flash of hurt coursed through Mattheo at the reminder, but he remained stoic and said, "That's not what I asked, is it?"

You stared at him blankly.

"Do you think I've changed?" he repeated.

You said nothing.

"Because I think I've changed," he stepped closer to you, "So, I'll ask you one more time, do you think I've changed?"

"Yes," you replied feebly.

"My friends think I've changed," he continued, "They think I'm pussy-whipped."

You felt bold for the briefest moment, and asked, "Are you?"

He shrugged, leaning his face down until it was inches from yours, "I don't know yet. Guess we'll have to find out."

And then his lips were on yours in a passionate frenzy. None of those pecks he had given you in greeting and goodbye: no, this was a real kiss, one that had the fire in your heart dancing erratically. You pulled away, breathless, to see that Mattheo was looking at you with hazy dark eyes.

"Was that real?" you asked.

"Well, it happened, didn't it?"

You shook your head, "I mean, was it real?"

A smirk tugged on his lips, "No one was here to see, sweetheart."

And that was all the confirmation you needed to kiss him again, sliding your tongue along his lips as he grabbed your ass, squeezing and groaning. You felt electric, alive— transcendent. His mouth moved from your lips, to along your jaw, to your neck. He sucked and licked in a way that had you letting out a gasp, melting under his touch.

"You're my nicotine," he mumbled, slipping a hand under your skirt and pushing you back against the wall.

You moaned as his fingers glided over your clit.

"You like that, doll?"

Helplessly, you nodded, your legs buckling as he applied more pressure and more vigour.

"Mhm, that's my girl," he murmured, bringing you quicker to your release than you had ever been able to manage yourself.

"Fuck, Matty, I'm gonna come," you gasped out, hips bucking up as you leaned against the tiled wall.

He chuckled as you rode out your high, the slickness of your pussy creating a squelching sound throughout the acoustics of the massive vacant toilets.

"I hate it when my friends call me that," he muttered, pulling his fingers out from under your skirt.

Your ears heated up even more— if that was possible— and you quickly rushed out a, "Sorry."

"Don't be," he kissed your lips softly, "I like it when you say it."

Your lips curved into a shy smile.

"Do you mind if we deal with a certain problem?" he asked, gesturing to the tent in his trousers that had more slick leaking from you at the sight of.

"Of course," you said slyly, a new wave of confidence rushing over you. Slowly, you walked around him and sauntered over to the sinks, pulling your tights and panties down as you leaned forward and lifted up your skirt.

"Fuck," you heard him curse, "You really have changed."

And then he was behind you, as suggested by the sound of a zipper so close to you, and the fact you could see him in the mirror. You watched as he pulled out his dick, which was thick and long, making your mouth water as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, not sure if he could take any answer but 'yes'.

You bobbed your head, "Fuck me, Matty."

"As you wish, doll." And then he was inside you, filling you to the brim and making you feel as if you were finally whole.

"Fuck," you gasped, clutching the edge of the sink as he began thrusting, your eyes tightly shut.

"Look at me."

You opened your eyes, making eye contact with him in the looking glass. Sweat was gathered on his brow, and his hands were tightly on your hips— you felt so close to him, in such a real and authentic way that had your soul burning.

One of his hands moved, retreating out of your view, but you knew exactly where it went when you felt a jolt of pleasure shooting through you. He rubbed circles that had you seeing stars, your moans and curses pushing Mattheo close to the edge along with the pure ecstasy of how you felt around him. He didn't think he had ever been so vocal during sex before, but with you, everything felt brand new. Finally, Mattheo felt like he belonged somewhere, felt like he was nothing like his father— but he had no place in his thoughts at that moment. Instead, he focused on you and the clothed curves of your body, until he was about to explode.

"Can I come inside you?" he panted.

In a sex haze, you moaned, "Yes."

And then his release hit, the throbbing of his dick pushing you to your second orgasm as his movements became sloppy. Eventually, once your highs had been ridden through, he stopped moving, the only sounds remaining being the ones of heavy breathing. When he had pulled out, and you had both cleaned up and done up your clothes, you gave him a teasing smile.

"Are we real now?"

He chuckled, "This was never fake. Not to me."

"Well, then, boyfriend," you smirked, "Better scurry on and get me a Plan B potion."

He pressed a kiss to your lips, "Yes, ma'am."

And he took your hand in his.

———————————————

masterlist

written; 10/04/2024 —> 25/04/2024 published; 25/04/2024 edited; —/—/——

#harry potter #hp oneshot #hp #hp fanfic #harry potter oneshot #harry potter fanfic #mattheo riddle smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo smut #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle imagine #muggle born reader #fluff and smut #fake dating #8th year

[sunnywalnut]

I miss when autistic rep was on accident. I feel like every time a neurotypical/allistic person tries to write somebody with autism on purpose, it just comes off as "he's a total jerk, but he's REALLY GOOD at what he does" instead of "this guy's facial expression doesn't change very much, but I promise you he's absolutely happy to help. Also talk to him about birds. He fucking loves birds."

And I don't mean "he loves birds" as in "this guy wears bird shirts 24/7 and corrects you if you accidentally call a pigeon a dove." No. I mean "he loves birds" as in "he's able to name the sound of the bird just by it's song and point to it and it's just sitting on the rooftop next to you" and if you ask questions he gets this little smile to his face and answers them all and even tells you about some drama about two researchers who were unsure of they could call two birds different species since they were so similar and then gives you the answer of they can, because their beaks are different and that means their diet is different or whatever.

Not every autistic dude in media has to be "UwU save me from the world and take care of me bc I'm just a smol beannn✨"

Sometimes they're just Chad from maintenance who seems to love his job a bit more than he should, but it's all good bc everything that's fixed works even better than it was before it was broken. He's not creepy or anything. But he WILL call you over if he sees you walk past in order to show off his latest repair and talk to you about what he did. Everyone loves Chad. They're happy that he's as dedicated to his job as he is. Plus it makes the office a lot more bearable to have him around because he always seems to wear this gigantic grin and talk with his hands.

You're absolutely able to have "cute" autistic characters. I have cute autistic characters.

I have a little elf girl that counts each individual strand of her hair when she's nervous and climbs trees. She loves baking, so much so that she will make everything gluten free, kosher, dairy free, vegan, whatever you need in order to make sure you're included. As soon as she steps into a garden, she's completely covered in dirt. And yes, she's extremely friendly and doesn't understand social cues. And sure. She has her boyfriend take care of things for her, like keeping her safe from creeps when she's in public, and shutting down scammers before she can pay them, but it's not because she's dumb. It's because he elected himself into that space. And he knows full well that if she decides to scurry off to whatever wonderful thing that has caught her eye, that she'll wander back to him when she's ready. She knows how to defend herself. And he trusts her. And she does things for him as well. Which is something I don't see in autistic/allistic relationships in media at all.

Like do y'all really think our partners are just our glorified babysitters???

We're not just there to sit still and look pretty.

We're there to be your emotional rock. We tend to have high empathy. We can listen to your problems and validate your emotions. And sure, we might give you some advice that seems a bit wonky at best, but anyone can do that. Not just autistic people.

Sometimes we take over financial decisions, for one reason or another. I had a partner that would always come to me for financial advice despite living on their own and having more than enough money to do what they wanted with, but they knew that I could budget better. I'm good at math. And no, not a "math wiz" all A's kind of good. But a "I can do big number addition/subtraction and sometimes multiplication within seconds in my head" which was also really helpful in my culinary class when my teacher would put me in charge of making sure we were on target with how many servings of food we had. Not every autistic person has to be leagues above the rest academic to be autistic. My allistic brother had straight A's for YEARS. Much longer than I did. I had A's and B's.

You can come to us if you need a hug. Or to cuddle. Or to body double. Or just to hang out. Some autistic people like touch. We crave it. I can guarantee you that if we were friends and you climbed up on the couch next to me and laid your head in my lap, I would let you. No questions asked. I'd even pet your hair. And I'd ask you about your day. I can't count how many times high fives have turned to hand holding with my friends because they needed a loving talking to about how great they are. Or a back rub when they're crying. Not all of us are going to stand there, staring down at you while you're curled up on the floor and be like "STATISTICALLY SPEAKING-" yeah no. And the people who DO that likely are trying to relay information that they know that they think will help you feel better. We're odd, but we're not heartless. Let me get down on your level. Sit with you. And then I'll talk to you about how tears are actually really healthy and it's good that you're able to cry. And also I'm proud of you and let's get you some water, okay?

We can take care of you too!!

I give all my friends hair care advice bc I've spent too much time watching hair stylist videos. I tell them to make sure they lotion after every shower when they complain about dry skin or body acne. I tell them to drink water after they cry. Or wash their face. Or alternate ways they can get around invisible barriers and still get what they need done. You know how many times I've had to sit down problem solve with my loved ones for over an HOUR bc their ADHD decided not to let them brush their teeth or take a shower? I have a whole ARSENAL of advice to give you. And yeah. If you're close enough where I can head over to your place, I WILL do your dishes(bc somehow they're less gross than mine). I WILL wash your hair for you, or fold your clothes or clear the counters of trash. Not because I think you're lazy or nothing. But because I see something that needs to be done, and I do it. Because I love you, it's simple, and hey, I'm here anyways, right?

Like shit. Every night I have a sleepover with my best friend, I do the dishes that were in her sink before I even came over while she starts on dinner. Because I love her. And that's my way of paying her back for picking me up. I clear all our trash, and the scraps of tea bags that she missed in the mornings. Because I love her. And it's simple enough I can do it myself. I chop the garlic as we cook together because we're working as a team. And yeah. After it's all over. We sit on the couch like a bunch of lazy dogs and watch TV and chat and do whatever. And sometimes. We don't do anything but just enjoy each other's company. Because as adults, we don't get a lot of time to just relax.

We all have our own strengths and weaknesses. And sure. Being friends with an autistic person isn't always sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes our behaviors or our tenancies can be stressful. Like sensory meltdowns, or our bluntness(which is honestly usually just us saying exactly what is true without sugar coating it. Like if you said the sky was purple I'd be like "nah it's blue rn" and people find that blunt and rude. But to me, that's just a fact. I'm not saying you're dumb. I'm just saying it's blue right now.) or sometimes, even when we get super hyper about our interests. I would know. I'm autistic myself. And I irritate myself.

But it seems like in media, the irritation is all people can see. Even in "supportive" families that I see in shows and such, everyone's always stressed all the time.

You're telling me ONE LITTLE CHILD is tearing this entire family apart? (*COUGH COUGH Young Sheldon COUGH*) Not only is that stupid, that's just inaccurate.

If you wanna be accurate, maybe don't have every autistic person you write be a "high functioning" male in a doctor's coat who's transphobic as fuck and his excuse being he's autistic.

If you know the bitch is outwardly transphobic, don't fucking put him in the room with trans people.

And also?

Autistic people are allowed to learn the difference between sex and gender. We're ALLOWED to learn about queer identities. And we're ALLOWED to be queer ourselves without being labeled as idiots who don't know any better.

I've YET to see a show about an outwardly queer autistic girl who is able to make awesome friends and overcome her challenges WITHOUT succumbing to being an asshole on purpose.

Except for The Owl House. And Luz isn't even canonically autistic. It's just speculated.

THAT is good autistic representation.

Not whatever the fuck "The Good Doctor" is supposed to be.

My Personal List Of Good Autism Rep Recs(non canon, sadly):

-Good Omens(not explicitly canon, but multiple characters behave in a way that could be labeled as autistic. Plus Neil Geiman, the writer himself is autistic)

-The Owl House(again. Not explicitly canon. But great. The whole show is about accepting yourself as you are and is kinda along the lines of Gravity Falls. In fact, she was in a relationship with Alex Hirsh, creator of Gravity Falls. And also she's bisexual with a CANONICALLY BISEXUAL LEAD!! Also is lovely for mental health allegories too)

-Gravity Falls (the whole Pines family just REEKS autism to me. Noncannon.)

-How To Train Your Dragon(Hiccup is autistic as hell and you can't convince me otherwise. Non canon)

-Adventure Time (some of the humor is dated, but enjoyable. Also Princess Bubblegum. Need I say more?)

-We Bare Bears (slice of lifey. Sometimes childish. Sweet as hell though. Grizz feels very autistic to me, but that could also be because I enjoy how huggable and easily excitable he is. Everyone loves him. He's loud, he can absolutely be obnoxious, but he loves his bros and tries his best to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. He also does his best to fix any problems he makes. Which in my book, makes him a good guy. Some people also claim Ice Bear is autistic. But personally, I feel like he just doesn't talk much. What do you guys think?)

#actually autistic #autism #autistic #autism representation

[mrs-weasley-reid]

you're too sweet for me

(young) Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

Summary: Opposites attract, but Aaron reasons that it doesn't mean the magnets should connect. Just because he's in love with you doesn't mean he has to admit it.

Warning: Angst.

A/N: inspired by the song Too Sweet by Hozier

— ✦ — ✦ ✦ — ✦ ✦ ✦

From the moment Aaron Hotchner met you, he knew you'd be the death of him.

Your bright aura. Your friendly personality. Your witty jokes. Your everything. You.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't drawn to you like everybody else. In fact, he was probably one of the willing victims of your sweetness.

The two of you joined the academy at the same time. Compared to Aaron, you were the one he would call a magnet. You had everyone attracted to you like a moth to a flame, and all you had to do was smile.

Finding out that you both got a position at the Behavioral Analysis Unit gave him such a euphoric daze. Aaron thought he was just happy that he got the job he wanted. But if he had to admit, seeing you was one of the reasons that it felt right.

"Good morning, Hotch!" You came in like the morning sun, filled with energy and blinding light. You slumped on your swivel chair with a chuckle, "Y'know, smiling a little bit won't kill you. How are we supposed to recruit more people to the team if you're frowning all the time?" You coaxed with a playful grin, easing onto your desk that sat across from him.

You were the first person to ever call him Hotch, getting the idea on accident over a cup of coffee. You were in the middle of bringing his mug in the name of being a kind teammate when you rattled on a simple, "Be careful, it's hotch!" followed by bursting out of laughter after the innocent mistake.

And since then, you couldn't call him anything else. Aaron wasn't thinking of correcting you anytime soon. After all, you two have been working together for the past five years, contributing to the continuous development of the BAU.

One other thing...

Aaron Hotchner has been in love with you for years, and kept it buried in the deepest corner of his heart.

Why?

He thought of many things.

First, your coffee order. He took his coffee straight black. The bitterness kept him awake enough to function. You, however, had some step-by-step concoction that kept you insanely energized for the day.

Second, your bedtime. He stays up as late as he could. The silence brought him peace as he listened to his pen scribble on his action report. You, however, slept as early as eight in the evening or as soon as you were allowed.

Aaron wouldn't hesitate to say more, but it'd take him an eternity.

He knew so much about you that someone might render him a creep had he mentioned it to anyone else but himself.

Because one thing Aaron Hotchner knew well was you.

And he knew you'd change in an instant if someone asked you to.

Aaron couldn't possibly have you do such a horrible thing.

The world needed your brightness. Aaron convinced himself that the world needed you more than he could ever do.

You were too good for him, too sweet.

So, why ruin the incredible person you are?

His love for you could be treated with constant denial, but whatever damage he could do to your bright spark would be a crime.

Loving you was a crime.

"I got it!" You erupted in the bullpen, jumping like a three-year-old child. Your vision caught Aaron, who had just walked in. You snatched him into a tight hug as you continued to bounce on your feet.

Aaron couldn't stop his lips from curving, melting into a puddle as he felt your arms wrap around him. His body stood frozen, but his heart was beating so loud he was afraid you could hear it.

Jason Gideon came out of his office to see the commotion, David Rossi right behind him. The two founding fathers of the unit curiously wondered what may have made them stop in the middle of a chess game.

"What's the jumping for?" David had his eyebrows knitted but was enjoying the way you celebrated with joy.

Another reason why Aaron couldn't possibly admit his feelings for you. You were contagious. Your glee always affected everyone, influencing an individual with the tiniest sound of your giggles.

You retracted away from Aaron, facing David. "I got the position in Interpol!" You exclaimed with pride, gasping for air after your prior actions.

Jason and David raised their eyebrows, accordingly giving you a congratulatory embrace. You felt their happiness for you in every bone they had almost crushed. Still, you paid no mind. The news made you feel elated, fueling you with a sense of fulfillment.

"It'd be different to not have you here, but I'm proud of you. Interpol would be glad to have you." Jason remarked with a satisfying nod. "You ready to move to Washington?"

"Even better," You bit your lower lip from excitement, "I'm going to France!" You clasped your mouth with both your hands, containing your squeals behind it.

Aaron heard his entire heart shatter into pieces as your triumph echoed on the walls of the bullpen. Everything became a blur and muffled.

Years of keeping his feelings a secret was no easy task, but at least he got to see your sweet smile each day. He couldn't imagine his life without listening to your random fits of laughter.

How was he going to survive a day without your daily reminder that he was human and not some poker-faced mannequin?

Who would complain about his bitter taste for coffee?

Where would he look when he needed a source of hope in the form of a warm smile?

What would he do without you in his life..?

But you just looked so proud, so excited, so... happy.

So, Aaron Hotchner put up a brave face and soft smile, "Congratulations."

#aaron hotchner #ssa aaron hotchner #fem!reader #criminalminds #criminal minds #cm #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x you #hotch #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner criminal minds

[primehyuck]

MOVES

aka good things take time (the happy ending version)

word count: 11.3k

i first started writing this because i’ve been listening to the song Moves by Suki Waterhouse on repeat, but it became much more than that

contents: long time best friend!haechan, slice of life, pining and yearning, chronological time jumps (mostly college and young adulthood), other members mentioned (Mark and Jeno!roommates), kissing, fluff, wet dreams, a good example of two people who seriously need to communicate, face sitting, morning sex, lots of pet names

“Do you think we’ll be friends for a long time?” Haechan’s soft voice distracts your attempt to focus on a blade of the blurry ceiling fan, unable to keep you cool despite it spinning so fast you think it might fly away.

“How do you mean?” the bed squeaks when Haechan sits up to lean over you.

“Growing up, I feel like my parents didn’t have many friends aside from each other. My mom told me that it’s because when you get older your priorities change and you realize who adds value to your life, and that’s who you decide to keep.” His eyes are glowing with sincerity, body blocking the flow of air from touching you at all “so when we’re older, and married with kids and other priorities, and we maybe live in different cities, do you think we’ll still be friends?”

You stare at him for a moment before shoving his face out of the way of the fans air stream.

“Definitely,” your confidence soothes him enough that he lays back down “if I ever muster up the creativity to come up with a reason to stop being your friend, you have to swear you’ll tell me how stupid I’m being, swear to me.” you smack his chest before he can even answer.

“I swear!” He smiles to himself, staring up at the ceiling with you, rubbing his hand over the warm spot where your hand made contact, melting into the mattress.

———

Growing up people always joked that Haechan and you would fall in love, that it was inevitable, practical even. Because, if you fall in love with your best friend you’ve already conquered one of the highest mountains - finding someone that you like, and who likes you back.

You had both seen the other in a relationship, an inevitability when you’ve been friends with someone since puberty. He’d cheered you on when you had your first kiss during a game of spin the bottle in high school, forced you to come out on double dates with him and a friend of his you didn’t even like just so he could take someone else out, and freshman year of college he’d even introduced you to the person you'd lost your virginity to.

The only time he cockblocked you was when you tried to get to know any of his friends more than platonically, so eventually you gave up and settled for real friendship with all of them.

“Trust me, you don’t want to touch him with a six foot pole.” He’d said freshman year when you had mentioned your attraction to his roommate, Mark.

“He seems so nice, though.” you pouted

“He is nice, but that doesn’t mean you want to be with him.”

“How would you know what I want?” you scoffed, and he looked at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Has the wind beneath my wings ever led you into the wrong arms?” He was highly animated, offended that you would question his judgment.

By the start of sophomore year it was obvious to everyone else that you were strictly off limits. All of his friends had decided unanimously that even if you did attempt anything with them they had no choice but to shut you down. The cold stare Haechan unknowingly serves them from across the room whenever they got too close was enough to keep them away. None of the boys ever minded the boundaries with you, there always was an ease in your friendship since they all knew it could never go further, but that didn’t mean they never thought about the possibility.

One night, at the end of junior year, Haechan is nowhere to be found at his own party and you graciously accept Jeno’s invitation upstairs when you complain of a headache, “we can play Mario Kart, and it won’t be all competitive like when Haechan plays with us.”

It starts like normal, and you're having fun when you realize that your tipsy brain can’t focus on the screen and the conversation simultaneously, opting for the latter as you relax into Jeno’s pillows. You don’t even notice him inching closer to you until his nose touches yours, tugging at a strand of your hair. This is the first time any of Haechan’s friends have shown interest in you, you’d never even been on the receiving end of a flirtatious stare from across the beer pong table, so you take the reins.

Kissing Jeno feels a little bit like winning, like you’ve finally made it past the invisible forcefield Haechan had put up around his friends. The kiss is lazy and hot, Jeno props himself up on one elbow and presses your back into the mattress with his chest. Your eager fingers run beneath his shirt, his abs tightening when you trail them over his sides. Your spine tingles when he groans into your mouth, the hand on your cheek moving to grip your knee and hike your leg over his hip. His hand holds strong around your thigh, and you sigh when he grinds into you.

Jeno pulls away too soon, stopping your hands reaching for the hem of his shirt with a pained sigh as he drops your leg to roll onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes.

“Fuck, I should not be doing this with you.”

“Why, you don’t want to?” You want to curl into yourself, sitting up to stare down at his shaking head.

“No, definitely not that.” he pulls his arm away to meet your eyes, the alcohol in his veins making him brave enough to admit “Haechan would be pissed.”

“Haechan?” you question “did he say something to you?” Jeno groans, sitting up and hooking his elbows around his knees, staring at the mattress between his legs.

“No, no. He’s never actually said anything,” he knows he’s revealing too much, but he also knows he’s gone too far to stop “we just know he would never want us to cross that line with you.”

“We?” you can feel embarrassment bubbling in your chest at the idea of all of your friends talking about this.

“Yeah, you know, all the guys. We figured you were just off limits, I don’t know.” he grimaces, looking up at you with apologetic eyes when you don’t respond. You huff and climb off the bed, feeling rejected in more ways than one.

You’d crossed a boundary tonight, but Jeno was still a close friend, someone you’d spent a lot of time with since he met Haechan freshman year. He still knows you, so he grabs your wrist before you can leave, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed so he can stand you between his legs.

“I’m sorry, don’t be mad.” He envelops your hands in his and brings them to his chest.

“I’m not mad,” you mumble, avoiding his apologetic gaze “I’m embarrassed that all of my friends agreed not to touch me.”

“Did you really think not a single one of us was ever interested in you?” you shrug and he squeezes your hands tighter, heart tugging in his chest.

“When people don’t act interested, that’s usually a safe assumption.” you pout and Jeno’s laugh buzzes through your linked fingers "I gave up on all of you halfway through freshman year."

“Well, some of us are better actors than I remember.”

He has you laughing by the time you leave his room, sealing the night with one more self indulgent kiss and a pinky swear to never tell Haechan about what happened.

———

Halfway through the first semester of senior year Haechan bangs angrily on his roommates door before swinging it open and Jeno is genuinely shocked that it's taken this long for the gossip to hit his ears. The rest of the boys had clocked Jeno the next morning for being ‘too happy’ and he had to make them all swear not to tell, wanting to protect your pride and his own friendship with Haechan.

"You slut!" Haechan points an accusatory finger in Jeno's direction, dragging his feet slowly toward him until he's so close Jeno has to bat his hand out of his face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about." Haechan's voice is low and angry, something new and unpleasant sparking in his gut at the idea of Jeno kissing you, touching you.

"No, I don't." Jeno can’t help but antagonize. Pleased with the perfect opportunity to trick Haechan into saying out loud what everyone else seems to have known for years.

"You kissed my best friend!" He shrieks, tossing his hands up in the air dramatically.

"So what, she's not allowed to kiss people?" Haechan squints his eyes at Jeno’s response, scrunching his nose in annoyance “how did you even find out?”

"She can kiss whoever she wants, it's all of you that aren't allowed to kiss her." Haechan waves his hand wildly toward the bedroom door, alluding to the large group of boys living in the house “you know Mark can’t keep a secret, he’s been bursting at the seams for months. All I had to do was ask.”

"It happened forever ago dude, why are you so pissed? You've never even given us a chance to get close to her in that way, maybe one of us could really like her." Jeno reasons, tugging at Haechan's strings, watching the gears in his brain turn as he tries to come up with a real argument.

"She has a boyfriend," Haechan finally says with a frown at the thought of the guy he’d only recently met, he doesn’t like him at all. From his stupid hair to the shoes he wears, there’s not a thing about your new boyfriend that Haechan thinks is good enough for you. He collapses into the gaming chair across from where Jeno is relaxed on the couch, not having moved at all since Haechan stormed in "plus, I think any of you would know by now, you've all known her for four years."

"I think, that it can take a lot longer than four years to realize how much you like someone." Jeno bites, "how long have you known her?"

"Since middle school." He picks at the hole in the knee of his black jeans, realizing what Jeno is alluding to, defensive exterior quickly crumbling.

"Right, I think that if you're blind enough then it can take ten years to realize how much you like someone."

"Well, maybe ten years is too long and that person missed their chance." Haechan turns his head to stare out the window, anxiously spinning the chair side to side.

"You know I'm talking about you, right?"

"God, yes, I know you're talking about me." Haechan glares at his friend, fidgeting stopping abruptly "and I know I've been a complete idiot about it, but like I said, I’m out of time."

———

Haechan can’t stop his free hand from clenching and unclenching as you sob into your pillow, his less angry hand rubbing over your back.

“He told me he saw us moving in together after graduation,” your voice shakes “how do you look someone in the eyes and say shit like that and then sleep with someone else?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan replies earnestly, feeling as helpful as flip flops in the snow from where he sits on the edge of your mattress “I’m so sorry.”

He takes your silence as an invitation, lying on his stomach, face turned toward you, fingers still drawing soothing circles over your shoulder blades. He waits patiently for you to calm down, unease swarming his stomach knowing that even after years of friendship he can’t truly comfort you in this moment.

“I’m so embarrassed.” you sniffle, smearing your face over your pillow before turning to look at him. He holds his breath, waiting for you to collect yourself enough to explain.

“I’m so gullible, he even told me he’s cheated in the past and for whatever reason I believed that he’d treat me differently, that he’d love me enough.” Haechan has to count to five in his head to stay calm before he speaks.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed. The most natural thing you can do is believe someone when they say they love you.” He murmurs, turning onto his side so he can pull you into a hug. When you curl into his body to bury your face in his chest he can only pray you can’t hear his heart pound against his ribs.

“He’s an idiot, and he didn’t deserve any of the love you gave him. I promise, you’re so much better off.”

Haechan hates the piece of himself that’s relieved your relationship has ended. The same piece that hated your ex the minute he met him, that feels heavy in your absence whenever you’re busy with anyone who isn’t him. The piece that crosses it’s fingers whenever you get this close in hopes that you’ll be the first one to cross the line, to finally do what he’s thought about doing for the last few months since he realized exactly how he felt about you.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his tear dampened shirt, lifting your leg over his to cuddle in even closer “thanks for always being my friend, even when I do dumb shit, like let boys be mean to me.”

He nuzzles his nose into your scalp, eyes fluttering shut at the smell of your shampoo “Thanks for letting me. Besides, even Beyoncé got cheated on, so you clearly aren’t that dumb.” the crowd in his brain cheers when you giggle into his chest.

“You’re so annoying.” He holds you even tighter.

———

“I can’t believe it,” your jaw drops and Haechan whips his head up nervously to look at you from across the couch

“What happened?”

“I got it, I got the job!” you shove his feet off your lap to jump up excitedly, bouncing on your toes as you read the email out loud. Haechan’s ears are ringing so loud he barely catches the first half, trying to shake off the dazed look he’s sure appears on his face.

“We were extremely impressed with your resume and even more so with the impression you left on the board during your interview, blah blah blah, excited to offer you this position, blah blah blah, and a relocation bonus to join us in in our new office!” the pitch of your voice rises a few octaves as you finish reading.

Haechan stares at you from his spot on the couch, eyes wide with shock that you’re too excited to notice, skimming your screen as you re-read the details in your offer letter.

His entire body is buzzing, torn between feeling excited at your accomplishment and sorry for himself.

He had a plan, a really good one, he thought. After your breakup you’d made it painfully clear that you wanted to be single for a while, and he knew if he could just be patient, it would all be worth it. So Haechan decided to bottle his feelings up, sitting patiently by your side where he had been for so many years, waiting for you to heal and hoping that when you were finally ready to start dating again he’d have mustered up the courage to make the first move.

“Lee Donghyuck, are you even listening to me!?” you drop your phone to pull him up off the couch, bouncing up and down with your fingers intertwined “I’m moving to my dream city, to start my dream job.” you reiterate and he snaps out of it, sweeping the imaginary shards of glass that his plan had been made out of under the rug and pulling you into a hug.

“That’s amazing, I’m so proud of you.”

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” You deadpan, but squeeze him back just as tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to miss you is all.” He admits, "I'd follow you if my job didn't keep me here."

“I’ll make sure you don’t miss me too much, don’t worry.” you plant your cheek on his chest, surprised at the relief you feel in hearing him say it first.

———

This feeling was still a little unfamiliar, nerves. Haechan had never made you nervous growing up; excited, annoyed, passionate maybe, but never nervous.

The nerves began last summer, when he’d come out to visit you for the first time to celebrate his birthday. It was the longest you’d gone without seeing each other since you’d met, almost ten full months and the anticipation was palpable.

When he steps through the airport doors you think that it’s the relief of finally being near him again that knocks the wind out of you. Running into his open arms and being squeezed so tightly in them that you tap his shoulder to let you breathe. Ruffling his hair when he steps back and ignoring the fact that he had grown so much since you’d seen him last.

But as the night goes on, the slight changes to the person you have memorized become glaringly obvious. The way his cheeks have lost some of their cushion, revealing a sharp jaw and pointed cheekbones. The natural wave in his once unruly hair now falling perfectly over his brow bone, he had dyed it a little darker which made his tan skin glow even in dim lighting. Even his smell seemed to draw you into a trance, a much more expensive version of the Haechan you know.

“You know, that group of girls has been staring over at you since we walked in.” You raise your eyebrows playfully, pointing your glass toward the pretty gaggle that keeps walking past the booth you and Haechan occupy.

He doesn’t break eye contact with you before shrugging, “I didn’t come here to see them, I came to see you.” he smiles, punctuating his thought by reaching over the table and tapping your nose.

“I know, I know,” you laugh, batting him away “It never hurts to know when people are staring, though”

His face is unreadable as he rests his arm lazily up over the bench of the booth, body sinking into the seat while he lifts his glass to swirl his drink, biting the words that have been resting on the tip of his tongue the entire trip, and at the end of every phone call since you started your new job.

“How are you, seriously.” You push. In the time since you moved he’d started and ended a relationship with a girl that you’d never met. Your new job kept you so busy that you hadn’t even learned about the breakup until a week later, when you finally had the time to call him back. The guilt of your absence weighs you down, resenting your inability to be there for him the way he had been for you in the past.

“I’m over it, seriously.” You know he’s telling the truth, but it’s in your nature to pry.

“You never really talked about, why, you know.”

“Do I have to?”

“No, I’m sorry, I just feel so behind on your life.” You sigh and push your empty glass to the side, swirling your finger in the ring of cold water it leaves behind.

“It’s okay, really. You’ve been busy, I understand.” He reaches across the table to stop your anxious fingers “I didn’t love her the way I knew I should, that’s all. It’s a good thing that it ended, and I’m happy that it did.”

“That’s all that matters, then.” and he’s grateful that you drop the subject.

You eventually get back to your apartment, both giggly and flush from the alcohol still fogging your brain despite the long walk you'd hoped would lessen it. Haechan holds your hand the whole way back, even when he stops suddenly to pet a dog, dragging you down to the ground with him. He can’t help himself, grateful that at this point you'd touched one another in every way other than what he dreams about most, and you seem oblivious to his need to be so close to you.

As you get ready for bed he lets himself watch you undress facing the wall away from him, unaware of his gaze burning into your backside and the way his fingers tingle at the thought of pulling at the meat of your hips. He scolds his heart for thudding so loud when you squeeze your eyes into a smile at his reflection standing next to yours at the sink while you brush your teeth, the domestication of your friendship that he used to appreciate now suffocating him.

You put on a movie and invite him to rest his head on the pillow in your lap, wishing he could bury his nose into the skin of your thighs beneath it. Halfway through the movie he has to sit up to hide the way his cock is hardening at the feeling of your nails combing through his hair and down his shoulder, occasionally thrumming over his chest. He pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and tosses it over his legs as casually as possible, pulling you into his side by your shoulder, the other arm stretched across the back of the couch.

"Are you cold for the first time in your life?" Haechan never wants to use a blanket, but you’re grateful for the position giving you access to bury your face into his chest, gripping his shirt.

"No, just want to be warmer." he presses a blushing cheek onto the top of your head, trying to think of anything except the way your hair smells, or the feeling of the side of your breast brushing his wrist through your shirt. Haechan feels eighteen again and like he's discovering the connection between romantic and sexual feelings for the first time in his life. He tries to match his breathing to yours, holding his breath whenever you shift in his hold and reconnecting his stomach with your back as quickly as possible. The temptation to pour his heart out is overwhelming, but when he feels your body completely relax into his and your breathing slow down, the words become trapped in his throat, so he lets you sleep.

Haechan had never experienced a shorter 48 hours than that weekend he spent following you around the city you now call home.

You’re shining in your new space, and he happily trails behind you to all the places you’ve discovered in the almost year since you moved. His stomach does somersaults whenever you point something out that reminds you of him.

“I’ve been waiting to come here until you could come with me!” you're so excited to take him to the video game themed coffee shop that your co-workers had recommended “I thought about coming to see if it was even worth it, but I only want to play these kinds of games with you anyway.”

Sometimes he can forget about his feelings for you, when things are just as they always have been. You talk with and touch him the same, laugh at his jokes the same. He thinks that if he were to ever say out loud what he’s been feeling, that the two of you would still be the same but with a little More, ‘you guys’ but on steroids. So when everything is normal he can pretend like it‘a not. He can act like the More is there when you hold his hand to drag him around to the different machines, play games he wants to play even if you don’t want to, you even wipe ice cream off of his chin when his cone starts to melt because he’s talking too much to eat and he wonders why it took him so long to see it this way, and if you could too.

He keeps thinking the moment will come, when he’ll know spilling his guts to you is the right thing to do. But between you gushing over how much you love your new life and your willingness to point out every girl who has blinked at him this weekend, he completely loses the steam he’d gained during his flight, regardless of how his imagination runs wild with the More.

He curses himself the entire weekend for his lack of bravery, hoping that keeping his feelings in is the right decision. After his recent relationship crashed and burned because of his feelings for you he thought he had no choice but to come clean. But watching you, being with you in your new life makes him realize that his role in it hasn’t changed even if his feelings for you have.

The lump in his throat as he stands outside the departure doors is more than just sadness at the thought of leaving you, it’s the realization that he has to let the romantic idea of you go.

“How come you never cry when we have to leave each other,” you hiccup into his chest, and he coos your name lovingly.

“Don’t worry, you know I save my tears for the plane to make everyone in my row uncomfortable.” He knows that you hate that he’s making you laugh at a time like this, pulling away so you can swat his chest and he raises his hands in surrender.

“When will we be able to see each other again?”

“As soon as possible.” He nods reassuringly, wiping your tears with his thumb, heart pounding as he stares into your watering eyes “hey, you’re my best friend in the world, you annoy me every day, and I love you.”

“Whatever, I love you too.” you laugh, but his heart speeds up at the words that you’ve said to him thousands of times. You sweep your arms around him one last time before pushing him toward the airport doors “you better go, if you miss your flight I can’t guarantee I’ll let you leave at all.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He walks backwards slowly, staring at you with a ‘kicked puppy’ kind of face he mastered years ago and you wave enthusiastically, blowing loud kisses into the air that he catches and clutches to his heart.

“This is it,” he thinks, “this has to be it.”

———

Haechan is dreaming about you. He has been nightly ever since he got back from his birthday weekend. He’s grateful the dreams have variety, since some of them overwhelm him to the point of waking up and not being able to fall back asleep.

Sometimes, you’re young again and whenever anyone says “You know, it’s just a matter of time until one of you has a crush on the other.” you both theatrically gag, laughing at each other as if it were the most insane idea in the world. Or, you're sitting on his childhood couch watching your guys' favorite movie for the hundredth weekend in a row, vocalizing the parts of the two main characters and recreating all the best scenes.

Sometimes you’re at his apartment just hanging out together, which are dreams that feel so real he almost expects to see you in his kitchen when he wakes up. Most of these dreams spark a deja vu laced flame in his gut so deep he finds himself confusing them with memories. The ache of missing you wakes him up before his alarm some mornings, and he finds himself face timing you once he knows you're awake just to watch you make coffee and wash your face.

But sometimes, he has dreams that make him feel so ashamed he can barely text you back in the morning. Dreams where he reaches to touch you and you let him, where you tug at his hair and moan his name while he does all the things that he can only do to you in his sleep. He hates to say that these are his favorite, but it's the one dream he knows he'll never actually achieve and he goes to bed every night praying for them.

That’s the kind of dream he’s having when his phone buzzes him awake. He answers without looking because there are only a handful of people who can reach him when he’s on ‘do not disturb’, and you’re one of them. He hums a sleepy greeting into his phone, putting it on speaker next to his pillow and nearly drifting right back into the dream and between your thighs.

“Donghyuck” his eyes shoot open at the sound of your voice “did i wake you up?”

He can practically hear the pout in your voice, squinting at the time on his phone, “Yes, it’s three in the morning,” he stares down to where he’s half hard, running an embarrassed hand over his face even though there’s no possible way for you to know “are you okay?”

“No, well technically yes but I miss you which means things could be better.” you slur your words and Haechan smiles, somehow he's never annoyed that you call him pretty much every time you drink. He thinks it's because he's familiar with this version of you, though he definitely hasn't seen it often since college graduation. This version of you loves him hard, and is never afraid to say it.

"I miss you too," he takes a beat before adding "I was dreaming about you just now."

You gasp excitedly "Really! What were we doing." He smirks at the thought of telling you that you had been sitting on his face, hand reaching back for his cock while he guides your cunt over his tongue until you were shaking above him.

"Just, hanging out." he shrugs. It's his second time this week alone dreaming of your clit bumping his nose, and the thought makes his mouth water.

"I don't believe you." You say accusingly "that's way too boring for a mind like yours to dream up."

"What exactly is my mind like?" He yawns, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

"Oh, you know," you hum "your mind is a galaxy, with at least a billion planets and twice as many stars. I wish I could fly into your head and explore it, but NASA doesn't have the funds."

Haechan holds his breath at your compliment, the smile on his face so wide he can hear it in his own voice "That sounds like an episode of Magic School Bus."

"Your brain is definitely cooler than some cartoon, it's pretty much my favorite place on Earth."

"How would you know, you've never actually been inside?" He shakes his head, teasing you gently. Hearing words like these come out of your mouth breaks his heart and glues it back together at the same time.

"Are you saying you never think about me?" you ask him, not an ounce of sarcasm in your voice.

"I think about you all the time, I promise, all the planets in my brain are shaped like you." You hum, pleased with his response. He shuts his eyes and waits for your answer.

"Yeah, all the planets in mine are shaped like you, too." you pause for a second and add "plus all the stars, I win, I think about you more."

———

This time when Haechan comes to visit you, you know the nerves are more than just excitement at seeing your best friend. It’s a feeling that is nestled so deep in your stomach it makes you a little nauseous. You haven't seen him since you went home for the holidays and he only has one night in the city. You find yourself grueling over your reflection in the mirror, not used to being self conscious in front of him. You’re only going out for happy hour, but you put yourself together to last all night.

When Haechan finally arrives he whistles lowly, making you blush when he pulls out of your hug and requests a spin.

“I appreciate that you got so dressed up for me.” He teases, hoping you don’t catch his eyes sweeping over your legs, wanting to commit you in this dress to memory.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you roll your eyes as if you hadn’t spent the last two hours making sure you looked as perfect as possible. Hoping he doesn’t see the pile of clothes shoved into your closet from all the failed attempts.

“Never,” he grabs your purse off of the counter and opens the door, sweeping his arm out in front of him dramatically “after you. There are some strangers outside who are waiting to catch a glimpse of you, they just don’t know it yet.”

“You are so dramatic.” You lock the door behind you, using the moment facing away from him to collect yourself. Lately you catch yourself wondering if he'd always been so flirtatious, or if you're just forcing meaning behind his words because of how badly you want him to be.

“What, a guy can’t compliment his best friend?”

You smile widely at him and grab your bag out of his grasp, popping your key inside and walking toward the entrance of your building. Praying your fingers stop shaking when you finally get a drink in you. Haechan throws his arm around your shoulders while you walk down the street to your favorite cocktail bar and you're grateful for his usual chatter, talking to you about work and his slow climb up the ladder.

“They put me in a hotel this time, so you don’t have to worry about making me breakfast in the morning.” He smiles at you, sipping his drink gingerly.

“You know I never cook you breakfast.” He feels so far away across the table and you wish that you were sitting next to him instead, shoulders cold without the weight of his arm around them. It feels so good to have him touch you, to feel like you're his. There's a small part of you that feels guilty for using his knack for physical affection to your advantage, he has no idea what the heat of his skin on yours does.

“I know, but all the meetings are in the hotel anyway so it’s easier this time to just stay there.”

You try not to let yourself visibly deflate at the news, wanting to keep him for yourself the whole time he’s in town. His knee presses against yours under the table and you focus all your energy into acting the way you would have before, but you can’t focus on anything else and cross your legs to pull away from him as casually as possible. As badly as you want to touch him, sometimes you can’t.

“What time do you have to be up?”

He groans, leaning back enough that his knee now slides against your shin, “too early,” and glances down at his now empty glass, motioning to the bartender for another “which means you need to drink faster, so I can stop at a reasonable hour.”

You smile, downing the rest of your drink in one gulp, when his foot taps against yours you know it's going to be a long night.

The end of the night finds you together on your couch with a shared bottle of wine sitting empty on the coffee table, his early meetings temporarily forgotten. You and Haechan have been in this position plenty of times, drunk, slap happy and overly touchy in a way that you had always been comfortable being with one another. The difference now is you, this version of you who wants your best friend in an entirely different way.

Every time he pulls you closer you feel electricity shoot straight to your heart so intensely that you have to duck out of his grasp. You don’t know what to do with the feelings that have been growing gradually from your toes up, now practically sprouting out of your scalp with a neon sign blinking “I’m in love with you” over and over.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Haechan whines when you all but flinch away from his hand reaching for his phone near your arm. He’d been aware of it all night, the space you left between the two of you while you walked back from the bar, your sudden inability to maintain the eye contact that he craved. The complete lack of physical touch makes him feel dejected.

“Doing what?” You give him a panicked look, practically sober at the thought of being found out, of what it would feel like to be rejected by him.

“You’re not letting me touch you,” he frowns, and the alcohol buzzes through your veins again “not that you need to let me, but you only avoid it like this when you’re upset. Did I do something?” he pouts, tired eyes low when he flops his head onto his bicep resting on the back of the couch. You forget to breathe for a second when he looks up at you under dark lashes.

“I’m not upset. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.” you’re lying through your teeth, but scoot an inch closer to him to make your point. He doesn’t look convinced, and if you’d had less to drink you may have noticed the mischievous glint in his eye before he grabs you by your arm, knocking you off balance and into his chest.

“See,” he sighs happily, wrapping his arms around your body and you can feel his chest buzz when he hums, cheek pressed to the top of your head. You have no choice but to ungracefully shift your lower body closer to him, making yourself a sponge and soaking in his familiar touch “isn’t that better?”

You nod, “Yes, it is better.” and you really wish he didn’t know you so well, that even in his fifth hour of being drunk he can read your mind. He pulls your ear off his heart to grab your cheeks, smushing them together and whispering your name with a shake of his head.

“What is it?” he urges, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist to loosen his grip. You shut your eyes, take a deep breath and count to three in your head before you can talk yourself out of leaning forward and pressing your lips to his.

You feel him falter for a half second before he’s kissing you back, pulling your face closer and pushing his body toward yours. You can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears when his tongue touches yours, and then suddenly his mouth is gone. He moves so quick you have to put your arms out to stop yourself from face planting into the cushion he had just been sitting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” you gasp “i shouldn’t have done that, Haechan, I’m so sorry.”

It takes everything in you to look up to where he’s now standing with his arms crossed over his chest protectively. You have no idea what he’s thinking, staring down at you with wide eyes. Insecurity sweeps through you under his intense gaze, and you almost beg him to say something.

“I’m seeing someone,” the way the confession rings in your ears would have you believing that he screamed the words, but his voice was barely above a whisper “shit, I’m sorry.”

You aren’t sure if it’s your life that flashes before your eyes, or your years of friendship with him, at this point the two tend to blur together.

“That’s-” you sit back on your calves and inhale shakily, knowing it’s not even worth it to attempt to fake any sort of excitement for him “why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, swallowing thickly and pulling his eyes away from your face to stare at the ceiling “It’s new and I didn’t know how. It just never came up.”

“Well then, I’m sorry that it didn’t. I shouldn’t have done that, I don’t know what came over me.” grateful that he’s finally the one avoiding eye contact with you so he doesn’t see your legs wobble when you stand “probably best to pretend that never happened. I’m just drunk and I missed you-”

Your name sounds so pathetic when he says it this time and you think it’s the eighth wonder of the natural world that you haven’t started crying yet. You shake your head instead, wishing so desperately that you had changed out of the dress you were wearing as you pull the slinky material down your thighs.

“Honestly, Haechan,” You regret your next words before they even hit the air “you should probably go. You have an early morning.”

The shock on his face pains you, but you can’t stand to see what you can only assume is pity growing in his eyes for another second.

“I don’t want to go, I want to talk about this.”

“I’m sorry.” you say again and his shoulders slump in defeat, recognizing that you’d made up your mind.

“It’s okay.” He means it, shuffling forward and the look on your face is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. His breath catches when you shift away the inch he moved toward you, eyes locked on his and he can see the desperation in them before he hears it in your voice.

“Text me when you get to the hotel?” your voice cracks with a heavy mix of exhaustion and embarrassment that makes him nods once, grabbing his things and walking slowly toward your door. He turns to look at you, but his words catch in his throat when he sees your eyes begin to water, mustering up all his energy to offer what he prays is a reassuring smile before letting himself out.

You sink back into the couch when the door clicks shut, head hanging in your hands as the tears finally start to flow. You cry so hard you feel like you could throw up, replaying his rejection over and over in your mind, shame and regret coursing through your veins. Pure embarrassment heats your body at the look on his face when he told you he was seeing someone, and you’re not sure if it was disgust or pity in his eyes.

On top of the rejection, knowing that he didn’t feel like he could share something as big as meeting someone with you was a dagger to the heart, up until recently you had never kept a secret from him, and even this one you clearly couldn’t keep in for long.

You force yourself into the shower, scrubbing angrily at your skin under the scalding water. You get out once your fingers have pruned and your skin feels raw, avoiding the mirror on your way to your bedroom. You kick angrily at the dress you'd left on the floor, watching it land near the pile of outfits you had discarded while getting ready.

Haechan had texted you nearly thirty minutes earlier

“made it back”

you give it a thumbs up before turning your phone off, setting an alarm with the clock on your side table and letting the emotional exhaustion lull you to sleep.

------

Haechan is realizing that there is no way in hell that you need space more than he needs to talk to you. He tries to call you multiple times the first week after you kissed him but you never answered, and Haechan doesn’t want to push you to the point of no return. What he really wants is to go back in time and not leave you that night, but the pain in your eyes was so pronounced he couldn't bare to make it any worse. The only physical proof that you had kissed him at all being the stupid blue thumbs up on the text he had sent you that night. It's followed by a slew of reassuring texts, saying that he broke up with his girlfriend and if you would please just talk to him, that he's not mad.

This is the feeling he carries with him nearly two weeks later on the flight to you, when he’s sure that another minute of silence from you will kill him. By the time he gets to your apartment it’s almost midnight, so he knocks loud enough to wake you up.

When you open the door in a shirt he thinks might be his, Haechan knows he has no choice. He's speaking before you can say anything, before he can change his mind.

"I came here to tell you that I think you're being really stupid." He curses internally for the obvious nerves in his voice, your tired eyes widen with shock at his words.

"Excuse me?"

"Years ago you made me swear that I would tell you if you ever came up with a reason not to be my friend anymore. So I'm telling you now, I think you're being really fucking stupid."

"I'm not doing that" You defend yourself, tearing up at the sight of him. He pushes into your apartment, shutting the door behind him and standing close enough to touch. He’s staring you down with pleading eyes, and you bury your face in your hands so you don’t have to look at him.

“Then why are you ignoring me? Why won’t you let me fix this?”

“I don’t know I just,” you inhale shakily “I don't know how to do it right now, not like this."

"Like what?" He hopes he already knows the answer, but needs to hear you say it, to know that you’re as serious as he is. Your mouth feels full of cotton when he forces you to look at him by whispering your name, pulling your hands from your face and his heart pinches tightly at the tears welling in your eyes "please tell me, please. Like what?"

"You already know," your bottom lip betrays you, voice weak beneath heavy emotion when you speak "I love you, Haechan. I'm in love with you, and I don't know what to do about it. I feel like I fucked everything up, but I can’t undo it."

He feels his lungs fill with relief. Haechan steps forward to close the small gap between your bodies, grabbing your jaw to rest his forehead against yours. You falter, but his hand on the small of your back keeps you from going anywhere, he's practically panting and you can barely stand, dizzy with the feeling of him. You want to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming when he whispers "You didn't fuck anything up."

He ghosts his lips over yours for a moment until he's sure you're not going to stop him. When he finally kisses you it's with years of pent up adoration, directing your arms around his neck and pressing his thumb firmly into your jaw, long fingers wrapping around the side of your throat. He practically whines when your fingers tighten in his hair and your lips part for his warm tongue. His arm wraps around your waist so tightly you have to hinge backward to keep your mouths connected, gasping at the strength you didn't know he had.

He keeps your stomach flush to his own and kisses you until you're practically limp in his arms, pulling away to breathe. His eyes are shut as he rubs his nose over yours

"I love you, too. I've been meaning to tell you for a while." All the blood rushes into your ears at his words and you can't stop your biggest worry from spilling into the air.

“What if you change your mind?”

“I made up my mind a long time ago, there's nothing you could do to change it." He blinks his eyes open, pulling his face away from yours just enough to see you, the trepidation in your eyes makes him say your name quietly.

"It's only me, you know me," he assures you in a hushed tone "you have to know by now that you are my entire world."

You could laugh, only him, as if he hasn’t been one of the most important people in your life since the day you met. As if he isn’t someone who has seen you at every stage of it so far. It’s Haechan, who has always been funny, who has witnessed the worst sides of you and never made you feel bad, who has never left your side.

You kiss him again, fingers wrapping in tight fists around his shirt to keep yourself grounded. Haechan’s heart pounds happily in his chest and he hopes you can feel it this time, both hands nestling into your hair. He kisses you gently in an effort to slow down your urgent movements, moaning at the taste of your mouth. You fall into his rhythm easily, the way his tongue rolls gently over yours makes your body go up in flames. You move your hands to slide beneath his shirt, landing on the strong muscles in his back and teasing your fingers up his sides.

When you finally come up for air he stares at you for a minute before laughing, stomach tightening beneath your fingers when he does.

"What's funny?" you shut your eyes, leaning your forehead into his chest, letting the pretty sound ring in your ears.

"Nothing, I'm just-" he cuts himself off with a shrug, nuzzling his nose into the crown of your head "I love you, and you love me back. That's all, that's how easy it is."

"It hasn't been easy at all, in fact my life has been very very hard since your birthday last year.” He pulls away from your head to ogle at you.

"My birthday last year?" You nod, feeling your cheeks flush under his intense gaze, it had really been that long "God, I'm sorry I'm such a fucking idiot."

He's kissing you again before you can ask him to elaborate, grabbing hold of both wrists in one hand while he walks you backward and guides you up onto the counter as slowly as he has to in order to keep his lips on yours. His hips are the perfect height for you to wrap your legs around, gasping in surprise when he slides his hands around your ass and presses your core tightly against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You feel shy when you pull away to ask if he wants to go to your bedroom, feeling frozen in place when he stares at you with half lidded eyes, his plump lips swollen and red.

"Tonight, I'm just kissing you." Every cell in his body is screaming in protest at his own words. He can't express how badly he wants to do everything else, to recreate his dreams, to learn the parts of your body he'd never seen before. But he can't imagine doing anything but this tonight, just this; his lips on yours, your breath in his lungs and your body melting into his.

"Why?” your eyebrows pull together in confusion. You practically shiver with need, tucking your arms between your stomachs and burying your nose in his throat. His laugh buzzes against your face, rubbing his hands gently over your shoulders and trying to control his own breathing as your lips brush over his skin.

All he can say is, “Because I’ve been needing to for a long time.”

“How long?” You pull away from his chest, leaning back onto your hands and closing your eyes when he runs his own down your sternum and over your waist, groping at the flesh of your hips and trying not to regret his romantic side.

“Way too long.”

“Your birthday?” you ask, tugging gently at his shirt. He plants his hands outside of your legs to lean in close, one corner of his mouth pulling up.

“Much longer.” Your eyes widen in shock, and he interrupts you before you can question him “can we talk about it later? I have something really important to do tonight.”

———

He tells you that he's had feelings for you since senior year of college, when you kissed Jeno. He tells you about his plan to admit everything when he had seen you on his birthday, but that he was too scared. He assures you he ended his relationship the moment he got back home the previous week “because everyone has felt like a matter of 'when' it will end, not 'if',” He tells you that just two weeks of your silence hurt worse than any previous heartbreak, and you agree. And before you fell asleep next to him he tells you again, ‘I'm so in love with you.’ and shimmies excitedly when you say it back before kissing you until you can barely keep your eyes open. He holds your cheeks in his hands and practically lulls you to sleep with his tongue, plush lips pressing to yours so gently you can hardly feel them dotting around the rest of your face. He thinks he could do this forever before sleep finally catches up with him, his arm slung over your side to hold your face to his chest.

You wake up curled into a familiar side, your first emotion being giddy as the night floods back to you. Despite your obvious willingness to go further, Haechan had meant it when he said he'd only be kissing you. It made you crazy at first, but when the two of you were staring at each other in the mirror with shy eyes while moving through a nighttime routine you had gotten familiar with years before, you were happy he had the self control you clearly lack. The idea of him actually seeing and touching you in ways he never had before, of doing all the things you'd found yourself imagining him doing over the last year; it was overwhelming. Kissing until your jaw was sore and your lips were swollen felt easy.

You’re startled by Haechan’s hand reaching for yours, holding your palm and bringing your fingers to his lips to press a kiss to each one, “good morning.” his voice is deep and tired, mouth landing on the crown of your head.

"Good morning." You press your nose into his chest happily, gripping his hand in yours and resisting the urge to squeal with delight.

"What are you so excited about, me?" He teases, hand falling on your thigh to guide your leg up the front of his, stopping just below his crotch and you hope he's going to give you what you'd been wanting all night, for the last year.

"You, I just can't believe how happy I am." You admit, lifting your head off of his chest to smile at him. He pulls you right back down, kissing your lips once before rolling you both over so he's on top of you. He presses a hand over your collarbone and drags his lips down your chin and over your throat.

"You know, this means you're all mine now." he smirks against your neck when you nod, gasping when he sucks gently at the base. He has one forearm on the mattress, the other hand too gentle on your ribs. You can feel that he's hard and you immediately roll your hips up.

"Does this mean you're gonna do more than just kiss me now?" you intend to sound confident, but it comes out as a whimper. His nose brushes over your jaw before he presses lingering kisses to your chin and cheek.

"Yes, baby, if you'll let me." You nod eagerly, shifting your face so your lips are beneath his and sighing happily when he lowers his weight onto your torso, licking into your mouth. You shiver with anticipation when he pushes at your shirt, long fingers tickling up your side before landing on your breast. You gasp into his mouth when his thumb brushes over your already hard nipple.

Your impatience is overwhelming, grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging it up to his shoulders. He pulls away reluctantly, reaching one hand toward his back and pulling his shirt over his head. You gnaw at your lip, running your hands over his stomach and hooking your knees around his hips as much as you can while stretching your arms over your head.

“Cute.” he murmurs, pulling your shirt up and tossing it to the side. He gropes at your chest, tongue wetting his lips before he leans down to wrap them around one of your nipples. He’s trying to act without thinking, to let the dreams he’s had pave the path down your body because he knows the second he acknowledges his nerves he won’t be able to shake them off. His heart thrums when you gasp above him, arching your chest into his mouth. He’s greedy for your sounds, his hands squeezing your breasts together and licking between them to get to the other nipple. When your hips buck up into his he groans, pulling away from your chest and staring down at you with wondering eyes.

“Can I?” He feels unnaturally shy, leaning back on his calves and watching his fingers press dimples into the flesh of your hips above your underwear, tugging at the hem.

“You don’t need to ask.” He smiles, forcing you to sit by grabbing the back of your neck for a kiss. His fingers press into your clothed core and your hips roll into his hand. He sighs into your mouth at your desperation, torn between teasing you and touching you everywhere.

You can’t keep your legs from shutting around his arm when he pushes your panties to the side and slides his middle and ring finger up your wet center, circling over your clit.

You pull away from the kiss, blinking up at him and your mouth falls open when he presses firmly on your clit, rubbing in slow circles. His head hangs as he lets out a quiet “fuck” at your reaction, moving his hand off your neck to stroke over your stomach and without it behind your head you have to lie back, he presses your legs open. Haechan stares at your chest while he settles between your knees, pushing two fingers inside your dripping core. His jaw hangs open, watching his knuckles disappear inside of you.

“So soft,” he breathes, staring down to where his fingers glisten when he pulls them out to rub over your clit again, palming over his cock getting harder in his sweats “want to be everywhere at once.”

“Want you everywhere.” you whine when his fingers pull away to hook into your underwear, tugging them down your legs. Haechan stands to strip and you hold your breath and soak in the soft swell of his hip that leads to where his cock hangs heavy between his legs. It’s pretty like the rest of him, and thicker than you'd expected with a leaking tip that matches the color of his tongue, he strokes himself once and you don’t get the chance to reach for him before he lays back on the bed, rolling you to sit on top of him. You shudder when your pulsing clit rubs over his stomach, inner thigh squeezing into his ribs. He runs his hands up your waist, scooting you an inch higher and grabbing onto your tits.

“Do you remember a few months ago, when you called me drunk and I told you I was dreaming about hanging out with you?” He shivers when you grind down in response, wet pussy sliding easily over his skin “I lied.”

Your hands press into his chest, tilting your head “what were we doing?” you can barely speak above a whisper when he pinches gently at your nipple with one hand, the other rubbing over your ribs when he smirks up at you.

“You were about a foot higher than you are right now,” you gasp and reach out to grab the headboard when he jolts his hips to move you up his chest, staring down at him with wide eyes as he shifts to wrap his arms under your legs, fingers pressing into your thighs.

“You dreamt about this?” you let him bring your hips to hover over his face, hands falling into his hair when he brushes his nose over your clit as he nods.

“All the time,” he moans and drags you down onto his face, lips wrapping around your clit. You shudder above him, letting some of your weight collapse into your heels and he groans happily at the pressure of you on his chin, pressing you harder onto his mouth to fuck his tongue into you. He wants to devour you, every sound you make goes straight to his cock which is already rock hard at the taste and smell of you. Even just thinking about the fact that it's your hips grinding over his face right now is enough to make him moan into your pussy.

You slur out praise, one of your hands shooting up to grip the headboard. His hands wander gently up your sides, eyes opening to stare up to where he plays with your tits, hard cock pulsing at the sight of your head thrown back, hips moving in gentle circles over his face. Haechan’s hand tugs yours down to his hair, trying to restrain himself from thrusting into the empty air at the feeling of you all over him. He hums happily into your pussy when you start to grind over his mouth, flattening his tongue for you to ride until your legs are shaking.

He lets out a deep “mmhmm” when you warn him that you’re going to cum, suckling hard on your clit until you’re practically begging him to let you go, body crumpling forward with both hands tangled in his hair. He's grateful you didn't touch his cock, just the thought of your fingers wrapped around him is enough to make him cum and he has other plans.

You can’t speak when you collapse onto the mattress beside him, immediately warmed by the weight of his body on top of yours as he slots himself between your thighs, sucking a hickey onto the front of your throat.

“Taste too fucking good,” he hums, mouthing over your chin and cheek “been dreaming of eating your sweet pussy for so long.” you practically swoon when he kisses you, pre-cum wetting the inside of your thigh when he relaxes his stomach onto yours.

“Hyuck, want you in me, please” Your vision is blurry, whining into his swollen lips. He works them over your cheek before pulling away from you, bringing one of your legs up to his shoulder and you rest the other knee on his hip. He can feel himself pant when he taps the head of his cock on your swollen clit, practically drooling when he sticks barely the tip inside before pulling back and repeating the tantalizing motion.

“Been waiting for too long to be teased,” you pout, trying to encourage his hips toward yours with the ankle he’s not pressing his cheek into. He smirks and circles his leaking tip over you again, watching his cock spread your arousal around before he pushes into you a little further.

“I’m taking my time with you, feels so fucking good.” He can’t look away from between your thighs, messy hair hanging over his forehead while his fingers grip your ankle tightly. You whimper when he pulls all the way out again, one more hard tap against your pulsing clit before he pushes himself halfway into your leaking pussy. You rise onto your elbows, trying to reach one hand to grab for his hip but he releases the base of his cock to stop you by lacing your fingers together. When Haechan finally looks into your eyes he bottoms out, stretching your leg toward your chest so he can lean in. His hips stutter, a choked groan rumbling deep in his chest.

“Oh my god, Hyuck please.” you beg him to move with a gasp. His forehead presses to your chin, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Fuck, baby, been needing you," he thrusts into you slowly, lifting his head to look down at you glowing beneath him with your eyes shut. He pulls out all the way before thrusting back inside, quickening his hips when your eyes flutter open, the look on your face enough to make his balls tighten slightly, shutting his eyes to regain self control "knew you'd feel so fucking good."

"M’so full, Haechan." you moan at his words and the rapid slap of his hips on the back of your thighs, forcing your eyes to stay open so you can see his face. The way his nose scrunches with focus when he pulls away from your chest, both his hands wrapping firmly around your hips while he watches his cock sink into you. Brown, shaggy hair sticks to his damp forehead, full lower lip taken between his teeth. He’s pure, unadulterated boyish beauty, and he’s all yours.

You squeak when he lets your leg drop off his shoulder, pressing your thigh as far open as it will go with your heel digging into his backside. He fans his fingers over your lower stomach, thumb reaching down to push your clit side to side and your hips tuck up for more pressure, Haechan moans loudly when the movement causes you to clamp around his cock, "Perfect fucking pussy, can't believe it's mine now. Like my fingers on your pretty clit?”

You nod enthusiastically, letting go of your breasts to hold the backs of your thighs, Haechan's eyes move up your body to stare at your chest move beneath him, nipples looking sweet as candy. He’s dying to sink his fingers into the softest part of your stomach, the way you’re moving for him makes his mind turn to sand. You stare down to where his thumb is making circles over your clit, perfectly timed with the head of his cock bruising your g-spot. You feel a second orgasm build and the corner of his mouth pulls up proudly when your legs shake. Your head hangs back as you gasp for air, "yes, please, Haechan feels so fucking good."

"Make the prettiest noises for me, want you cumming all over my cock." he leans forward just enough to trap your throat beneath the weight of his palms, other hand still moving over your swollen clit. You smile at the pressure of his body on yours, eyes fluttering shut while you moan. You nod desperately when he asks if you can do that, "if you can let me make you feel that good, please, my pretty girl."

He takes his hand off your throat when you cum, wanting to hear every sound you could possibly make. You repeat his name like a blessing that has him cumming with you, moaning and breathless as his hips start to slow, milking you both through your orgasms.

You wrap your arms around him when he pulls out of you, reveling in the feeling of him when he lowers himself down, burrowing his face into your neck and warming your skin with his breath. You hold him there for a minute until he pulls his head up, dopey smile lighting up his eyes and making you laugh.

“What?” you scrunch your nose at him “better than your dreams?”

He nods, “so much better, best I ever had, my body belongs to you now.” he smirks at his own words, but his tone is so gentle he can’t even call it a joke.

“Just your body?” you tease, and he leans his nose onto your lips for a kiss that you carry onto the mole under his eye.

“Body, mind, heart, soul,” he sighs happily when you cup his cheeks in your hands, kissing him gently “all the planets in my head.”

"All the planets in my head too."

————

masterlist

authors note // this ended up being much longer than i anticipated, maybe the longest one shot i’ve ever actually written! i appreciate everyone who voted for happy ending because when i was originally thinking of a sad ending it was too hard lol. this feels forever unfinished because there is so much good to this version of haechan, i adore him.

#haechan #haechan fanfiction #haechan smut #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct dream fanfiction #nct dream smut #nct 127 fanfiction #nct 127 smut #nct fanfiction #nct smut

[eufezco]

HEART TO HEART — FINNICK ODAIR x FEM!READER

Synopsis — It's hard to get your life back on track when the Capitol has gotten inside your head but Finnick is there to help you. You were enjoying a party in District 13 when you discovered something that triggered you.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ And I break down, then he's pulling me in. In a world of boys, he's a gentleman ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Finnick looked at Katniss and considered himself a lucky man.

Although both of them had managed to get back the loves of their lives, their situations now were quite different from what they were used to. Finnick now looked at Peeta and realized how the Capitol had completely destroyed the friend he made in the games, making him incapable of telling the difference between what was real and what the Capitol put in his head. Finnick saw the sadness grow in Katniss' eyes as she and Peeta couldn't spend more than five minutes together without him wanting to jump on her neck.

You, on the other hand, had your moments of lucidity.

Finnick considered himself lucky for being able to enjoy the person you were before the Capitol took you, but the longer those moments lasted, the worse your breakdowns were.

Even though he considered himself luckier than Katniss, it wasn't being easy for him either. He hated to see you fighting the medical team from District 13 while they were trying to inject you with a sedative and the way he had to hold you so they could do it. He hated to see you with your hands and legs tied to the bed as you tried to free yourself from the straps that held you to the mattress. He hated to see your eyes red with rage, the way you flinched when someone made an unexpected move next to you, and how you could not help but be alert to everything that was going on around you.

But Finnick also appreciated when he saw you smile, or talking to someone who wasn't him, or seeing that you had changed your clothes that day or enjoying your meal in the dining room. The way your eyelashes fluttered when he spoke to you like he was the most magnificent thing you had ever seen, how you were always looking to have some sort of physical contact with him whether it was sitting too close at the table or something more subtle like seeking for his hand in the crowd as you listened to the words that Alma Coin pronounced.

The Capitol caused irreparable damage but they had not been able to take everything from you.

―Let's give a huge round of applause to Sarah and Mike from District 11!

The two siblings had been singing since dinner was over along with their band. The lights in the dining room were dimmer, not the cold white ones that gave you a headache every time you went inside. They had set up a small stage and some decorations on the ceiling. Alma Coin knew that Christmas was close and wanted to do something special to raise people's spirits, and it seemed to be working because after dinner, people had stayed to listen to the siblings sing, and some had even encouraged to go out and dance.

―We still have time for a couple more songs, any requests? ―The boy spoke into the microphone, looking at the audience.

It was your hand that rose.

Finnick and Katniss who were sitting at the table with you looked at each other. You got up from the table and walked to the stage, well, you didn't feel your feet moving on the floor, it was more like you were floating. You were enjoying the little concert so much that you had managed to remember all the lyrics of the songs that they had performed when just a few days ago you couldn't even remember your name, your feet moved under the table following the rhythm of the instruments and you even hummed some of the words.

Both siblings approached the edge of the stage and bent down to listen to the title of the song you were asking for. They looked at each other, satisfied, and more than approving your request. You went back to your seat at the table, happy, and before Katniss and Finnick could ask about the song, the little girl called your name through the microphone.

―Why don't you come and sing with us? ―She asked you in her sweet voice. All the people in the dining room were waiting for your answer, some you knew were encouraging you to come up like Haymitch and Effie, and others you knew were judging you just by the way their eyes were on you like Gale, but you didn't care because since your return you had never wanted anything so much as to get on that stage with those two kids.

Finnick held your hand, his eyebrows drawn together. ―Are you sure?

You nodded and showed him a little smile, reassuring him.

They welcomed you with smiles and sweet gestures to show you where to stand. They had placed a microphone in the middle of the two siblings for you.

―May I? ―You asked for the guitar the young girl was holding. She showed you a smile and gave it to you. The guitar felt out of place in your hands, as if it was a stranger and it was the first time you were meeting each other. That was not the truth, the truth was that you had been playing the guitar for as long as you could remember. You liked to play it for the children at District 4 while they sat around the campfire in the sand accompanied by Finnick and they sang with you. But now it all seemed so far away and the instrument felt odd in between your fingers.

You coughed to clear your throat without realizing that you did it right into the microphone. Finnick smiled at how innocent that had been and you smiled embarrassed. ―Sorry.

The two siblings from District 11 were looking at you with their big eyes and with smiles of comfort on their faces, waiting for you to start singing but all those people staring at you was all you could think about. You couldn't remember how the lyrics started.

Finnick nodded at you from the audience.

Can't take my past Can't take my history

The little girl sang for you. There was a friendly expression on her face. Her eyebrows were raised as she was singing the beginning of the song and she nodded as she looked at you, trusting that you knew the words and helping you with her kind gesture to find them.

You could take my pa But his name's a mystery

Her brother continued singing. A similar expression was on his face. Apart from your friends and Finnick, you had trouble finding people who trusted you in District 13. You didn't blame them because even you found it hard to trust yourself.

Nothing you can take from me Was ever worth keeping Nothing you can take Was ever worth keeping

Your voice didn't sound as you expected, it was still the same sweet voice as always. You expected to have completely destroyed it after all the screaming you did at the Capitol, but no, your voice was still there, just as Finnick remembered it. He was trying very hard not to burst into tears because he knew you were watching him.

The band played the song perfectly on their instruments while you tried to follow them on the guitar and more people listening to the lively rhythm of the song came out and danced in the center of the dining room.

Can't take my charm Can't take my humor You can't take my wealth 'Cause it's just a rumor Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping

Those lines you were singing meant so much, it was like pulling the middle finger to the Capitol. He had never seen you so happy since before the Quarter Quell. There was a smile on your lips while you sang, your body moved to the rhythm of the son, your hands moved skilfully on the guitar, and the boy and the girl from District 11 danced on the stage around you.

―Come on. ―Katniss stood and Finnick looked up at her with his green eyes glassy thanks to the tears.

―Come on where? ―Finnick asked.

―We're gonna dance.

Katniss took his hands and dragged him to the dance floor.

Thinking you're so fine, thinking you can have mine Thinking you're in control Thinking you'll change me, maybe rearrange me Think again, if that's your goal

You laughed into the microphone watching them and you handed the little girl her guitar back. You came down from the stage to join them. Katniss stepped back when she saw you coming and you followed Finnick's movements. He had always been a very good dancer so you let him lead you. You twirled around, laughing, until you were so dizzy that you had to wrap your arms around Finnick's neck, your fingers digging into his hair while his arms went around your waist.

―You were amazing. ―He told you, speaking a little louder so that you could hear him over the music. You hugged him again.

―I love you so much.

Finnick cupped both of your cheeks and kissed you. ―I love you too. ―He said before the group of little girls pulled you by the arm so you'd dance with them.

He kept dancing or something like that with Katniss but with his eyes fixed on you. The girls were being so nice; two of them held your hands while the other two were dancing on their own. Their hairs were tied up in braids and they even asked you if they could braid yours later.

But all of a sudden, you let go of their hands and took a few steps backward, bumping into the people dancing. The girls looked at you worried, had they done something wrong? ―No, no, no. ―You mumbled to yourself.

Finnick stopped and approached you quickly, pushing people out of his way when he saw the change in your mood. He took your face in between his hands, looking for your eyes but they were focused on something that wasn't him. You pushed him once his hands cupped your cheeks, only making eye contact with him for a few seconds and then going back to focus on something else.

When Finnick decided to follow your gaze, he felt a wave of heat form in his lower body and rise to his head. Cressida was behind Castor, directing how the shots of you dancing with the girls should look like. By that time you already left the room.

You tried to record a propo a few days after your arrival in District 13. Heavensbee, but especially Coin, were very insistent that you should do it. They said that your rescue and your dedication to the revolution would bring hope to the people resisting in the districts. You weren't too sure about it, much less Finnick and Katniss, who could see how bad was your state to be exposed to something like that.

You were still in a daze, confused with everything that was going on, and very weak physically when you stood in front of the camera in the ruins of District 13 covered with white roses. The smell of the flowers made you fall to your knees in the debris before Finnick could catch you and throw up everything you had eaten since you were taken out of the Capitol.

―I'm okay, I can do this. ―You said, wiping your mouth with the cuff of your uniform, but it was not true and you found out that when you got in front of the camera. Castor pointed the lens at you while Cressida repeated behind him what you were supposed to say. The spotlights were on you and also were the eyes of the president herself, who had come to the surface to see you film the propo, and suddenly you were back at the Capitol, sitting in front of Caesar Flickerman, drugged to the point where you could not remember your name just the words they'd been repeating for you to say during the interview. Your outfit was tight, your face was covered with powder and make-up so that the bruises would not be visible.

―Don't make me regret rescuing you. ―Alma Coin said to you with a smile on her face before the propo. Something similar to what he told you when the Capitol took you out of the arena.

―Don't make me regret not killing you.

After that day, only one type of images of you was broadcast for the rest of the districts to see and they were of you living your life in District 13, recording you when you didn't notice and taking advantage of the moments when you were doing well to show it to the rest of the nation and obviously, without your consent.

Finnick was not happy with that decision and he made sure to make it clear at the meeting at which it was discussed, shouting, running his hands over his face, offering himself to do all the propos they wanted. He was desperate to get them to let you recover in peace.

Katniss agreed with Finnick. She did not like the idea of turning you into a product to fool people into thinking that everything was fine, much less without having your approval. Haymitch and Effie were silent but neither did they agree with what Alma Coin wanted to do with you and Beetee suggested other options but nothing was as valuable to Alma as your image.

The only ones who openly agreed with Heavensbee and Coin were Cressida and Gale. She said that it would be good for the spirit of rebellion and that they would do it so discreetly that you would never know. On the other hand, it seemed like Gale had a lot to say even though he didn't know you at all, and because of that, he ended up in the infirmary that afternoon after he replied to Finnick's complaints by saying:

―There are times when we have to do things we don't want to do, you should know that better than anyone else.

And Finnick couldn't help himself and get up from his seat and before Gale could finish speaking Finnick's fist was already against his cheekbone. That same hand with which Finnick hit Katniss' friend was now smacking Castor's camera into the floor, a gasp could be heard from the people who had stopped dancing to see what was happening. Finnick pointed at Cressida with his index finger, threateningly.

―I warned you to keep that shit away from her.

Katniss was fast to intervene, stepping in between Finnick and the woman. She looked at Cressida with pure rage but knew she couldn't do anything with all those people watching ―Go find her.

Finnick approached the girls you had been dancing with. He knelt by their side. ―Did you see where she went? ―He asked kindly to them, perfectly hiding his nervousness. One of them pointed at one of the doors and he immediately knew where you were. He flashed a smiled to her as a thank you.

―Have we done something wrong? ―She played with her hands.

―No, she was having lots of fun with you. ―Finnick caressed the hair at the top of the little girl's head and stood on his feet.

―When you find her, please tell her we still want to braid her hair.

You were sitting on the floor, holding your legs close to your chest. You had already hidden in that place several times before. It was Katniss who found the first time because it was the same place where she would hide right after she was rescued.

You moved back and forth, mumbling words that Finnick could not decipher, and with your head down, your forehead resting on your arms. When you heard Finnick's footsteps getting closer, you tried to escape him, crawling backward and watching as he quickly approached so that you couldn't get too far away. He fell to his knees in front of you, grabbing your cheeks again to make you look at him.

―It's me. It's Finnick.

You analysed his face, your eyes moving fast across his face looking for any friendly features on that face but all you could see was the face of a traitor. Your lips trembled as they continued to mumble I don't think I can forgive him for what he's doing, Caesar. I didn't know Finnick Odair was like that, I didn't know he would join the rebellion. What you do in the games is one thing but what you do outside the arena is what defines you.

―You're safe. We're in District 13, you're not there anymore.

You're right, Caesar. He has tricked me into thinking he was someone he is not. I thank president Snow everyday for helping me realize.

―You're from District 4. We live together. Our house is near to the beach. You won the 72th Hunger Games. We went back to the arena for the Quarter Quell. The Capitol took you. I'm Finnick Odair. I was your mentor along with Max.

If he were watching this I would tell him to think for himself. It's not too late to start doing things right and stop this war, and if he is unrepentant and this has always been his true self, Caesar, I think I may have never lov...

―You're here with us and we will protect you. Katniss is here at District 13 and so are Johanna and Peeta.

...I think I may have never lo...

―You're okay, baby.

...I may have never...

You hugged Finnick tightly against you, your eyes wide open and your hands shaking from the strength you were putting into holding him to be able to feel he was real. ―I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's going on. I feel like I'm losing my mind. ―You cried.

Finnick shook his head while he held you almost as strongly as you held him. He kept whispering sweet words until he felt how your body began to relax. Finnick carefully pulled you away from him so he could use his thumbs to wipe away the tears running down your cheeks. ―It's fine, I'm here with you. It's not your fault, they've done horrible things to you but you're with me now, you're safe. They will have to go over my dead body to get their hands on you again.

He helped you to move so that you were sitting on his lap, with your head resting on his chest and his arms around your body. When some time passed and you calmed down, he could see it in the way your body had stopped shaking and also because you had stopped sobbing a while ago but you didn't want to separate from him, Finnick decided to try to cheer you up.

―Do you know who told me where you went?

You shook your head, really curious.

―Those new friends you made on the dance floor.

You pressed your lips into a smile, you were having so much fun with those little girls...―They were so cute, I must have scared them.

Finnick shook his head and kissed your temple. ―Not at all. They told me they'll wait for you. They said they wanted to braid your hair.

Now you really smiled, snuggling into his chest.

―Do you want me to take you to our room?

You shook your head, making yourself comfortable in Finnick's lap. It was not the most comfortable or welcoming place to be but he didn't want to rush you to leave. He was aware that they would be looking for you two, they would take you away from him and lock you in a room next to Peeta's, thinking that you were a menace and putting you in a place where the screams of the boy next door would drive you crazy.

―We can stay here for as long as you want then.

You hummed in response, closing your eyes and focusing on Finnick holding you in between his arms. Thanks to your head on his chest and the silence, you could hear Finnick's heart and you were relieved because it was the realest thing you had ever experienced. Its beats were peaceful but still managed to quiet all the noise in your head.

You were so immersed in Finnick's heartbeat you would swear yours was beating so hard against your chest because it wanted to escape your body so it could be closer to his.

#finnick odair #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair smut #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #the hunger games #the hunger games imagine #thg #thg finnick #thg imagine #tbosas #thg angst #thg fluff #finnick #sam claflin

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems, Part Two

IT"S FINISHED! whew, that only took forever. part of the reason this took so long to write is that i was obsessing over if it would be as good as part 1, so hopefully y'all like it (but please be nice if you don't). final word count is about 22-23k words...so buckle in, grab a snack, and enjoy!

Part One

*.*

Japan

Harry walked alone through the busy streets of Tokyo, his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. There was a cadence to his steps as he kept time with the song that played on a loop in his head. It wasn't one that anyone here but him would know. Well, him and one other person, but she was a world away.

Rounding the corner, Harry turned into the cafe he'd been frequenting since he'd arrived. He nodded to the shopkeeper before heading over to the counter, pulling an old, weathered vinyl from his bag.

"This is the one I was talking to you about," he said by way of greeting. "It truly is a phenomenal record."

Harry handed over the record, hesitating a little before letting go of it. He'd been listening to it nonstop since he'd left Los Angeles, and parting with it was more difficult than he originally thought it would be. When he first came to the cafe, he'd looked for it within the crammed shelves huddled in the corner. The shopkeeper had never even heard of it, and Harry could only imagine what Y/n would say if she knew. She'd been the one to introduce him to it, the memory of that conversation in her apartment seared into his brain.

"Wings?" Harry had asked, not quite suspiciously, but the glare Y/n sent over his shoulder made it seem like he'd already written it off. Her glare is so cute, he remembered thinking, admiring the adorable furrow of her brow as she rooted through a collection of vinyls that was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen.

"It'll change your life," she'd promised, before sliding the record out of its sleeve and putting it on the turntable. Her record player was littered with stickers, some too faded or covered by others to see them properly.

She'd grinned as the opening chords to the first track played, settling next to Harry as she picked up her wine glass, her lips puckering around it to take a sip. She hadn't noticed him staring until about a minute later, when her eyes met his. Her brows had furrowed once more, but this time it was more confused. She'd nudged Harry's leg with her foot, which was covered in a purple patterned fuzzy sock.

"It's your turn, isn't it?" she'd asked, eyes darting to the Scrabble board on the coffee table.

Harry remembered taking the wine glass from Y/n's hands and setting it on the table next to the board. He remembered taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He remembered her squeak of surprise but that she didn't pull away.

Their very first kiss.

The memory of her delicate hands sliding into his hair, of her crawling into his lap, the little noise she made as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip—it was all-consuming as Harry sat down at his usual table at the cafe a million miles from Y/n and Los Angeles.

"It'll changed your life," she'd promised him. Little did he know, she already had.

*.*

A week after Harry left, you received a text from your ex, a total surprise seeing as you hadn't spoken to him since you'd broken up.

Gavin: I heard about what happened with you and my sister. Can we meet somewhere and talk?

That message sat in your inbox without a response for hours as you tried to work up the courage to say yes. You knew you needed to, you knew you would feel better after the fact, that both of you deserved closure after the colossal end to your relationship, but every time your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you chickened out.

Until finally, you wrote, Okay.

Seeing Gavin again was a trip. He looked the same, yet so different at the same time. He had facial hair for one thing, and his hair was a couple inches longer than it had been when you were together. Deep down, you assumed a public shaming on his part, you feared he would just berate you for all the ways you'd hurt him and that he hated you for breaking his heart and humiliating him.

But that had never been who Gavin was. Your ex was kind and honorable, he tipped generously on dinner dates and warmed up socks for you in the dryer because he knew how cold you got after a long day at work. He was the definition of a sweetheart, and assuming the worst about him was just the fear and insecurity talking.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Gavin," you said, trying to hold all the excess of emotion brimming to the surface as you walked beside him. You'd agreed on a walk through the park as opposed to sitting down somewhere, both of you perhaps too nervous to sit still.

Gavin merely nodded, which was more than you could've asked for given the circumstances. "Thank you. So much time has passed, but...it feels nice to hear."

It was a while before either of you said anything. Los Angeles wasn't a frozen tundra by any means, but it was quite brisk by the ocean, and you crossed your arms across your chest to retain a bit of heat.

Then, Gavin said, "I...I just need to know why. Did I do something? I thought things were good between us. I mean I wanted to—"

Maybe it was the cold, but his cheeks were rosy as his voice tapered off. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gav," you said, wanting to take his hand but refraining. It didn't feel like something you could do anymore. Even if two years had come and gone, you couldn't make yourself cross that line. It didn't feel right.

You didn't know how to sugarcoat your words, but you hoped time would soften the blow. "I just...I realized that you were in love with me and I—I just wasn't. I wanted to be, I wanted to be in love with you, but—And then I panicked. I overheard your mom and sister talking about you wanting to propose, and I just couldn't lead you on. I couldn't let you do that knowing you deserved better than what I could give you.

"But it killed me, Gavin," you said, tearing up just thinking about it. "Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done, and I've—I've hated myself for putting you through that, and I couldn't face you after, which was unfair of me."

"I just wanted an explanation," Gavin said quietly, his head bent so you couldn't see his face. "All I ever wanted was to understand. I think that hurt more than you breaking up with me, that you couldn't offer me that decency."

You nodded with a sniffle, keeping your eye on the slate blue of the ocean and the clouds covering your favorite shade of sky blue. "It was selfish of me to ignore you, I know that. I just...couldn't. I was scared that you would convince me to come back when that wasn't really what I wanted, and with your family and friends constantly messaging me, I just thought staying away was for the best."

"Y/n, what—what messages? What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Gavin's family would never do or say anything to him that would make them look bad in his eyes. But so much time had passed that you thought it would've slipped. He'd heard about the coffee house incident, after all.

With shaking hands, you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. After scrolling through your messages, you passed it to Gavin, letting him look for himself. He was quiet as he looked over the messages from his sister. There were others, but Larissa's were the most vicious. A more mentally sound person would've deleted them ages ago, but you liked to punish yourself when you were feeling particularly low.

"I don't hold any of this against you," you said. "I know you're not your family, but I just...I don't know."

"I wish I'd known about all this before," Gavin mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry for them."

"Thank you."

You didn't know what to say after that, you weren't even sure you wanted to dwell on the past anymore. It had gone by so quickly in your eyes, but two years suddenly felt like ten. You felt older, more jaded as you walked next to the man you were almost engaged to.

"Are you happy?" you asked suddenly, stopping at a bench and sitting down.

Gavin sat down next to you. He handed your phone back before sighing. "I am. I wasn't for a while, but I am. You?"

You nodded. "Learning to be. I think I was...in a rough place before I started seeing you, and now I think I'm finally on the other side of it."

Gavin's grin was familiar. It felt good to see it, but it didn't give you the butterflies that it used to. Maybe just a little relief. You smiled back, nudging him with your shoulder. "You seeing anyone?"

The blush on Gavin's cheeks told you everything you needed to know, and knowing he moved on settled something in you. "Yeah. We've been together about a year now."

Sometimes you daydreamed about who Gavin would be with when he eventually moved on. Someone perky, but not in an obnoxious way. Maybe she liked to paint and drew pictures of his profile while they had picnics together, because picnics were the kind of dates they would go on. They would hold hands in the popcorn bowl at the movies and wear matching sweaters on Christmas. The girl who would truly steal Gavin's heart would be just as sweet and generous as he was and would make his lunches for work and wipe his mouth at dinner with a smile and love him with her entire being because he deserved it.

"That's wonderful, Gav," you said earnestly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed, hoping he knew you were telling the truth. The only thing you hoped was that he kept her far, far away from his family.

"Are you? Seeing anyone?"

A simple question, and yet you didn't know how to offer a simple answer. Eventually, you shook your head. "Uh...no."

"Brothers scaring the line of willing suitors?" he joked, knowing full well how your brothers could be.

Laughing, you shook your head. "No, nothing like that, I just—It's complicated, I guess."

You couldn't quite believe that you were having this conversation today, especially with Gavin. But talking to him had always come easy, it was one of the things you liked best about being with him.

"If you can believe it," you added, a little humor in your voice. "I was the one who was ready to take things further."

For a moment, you worried you'd taken things too far, but his brows just raised amusingly. "No shit. Really?"

"He wasn't ready. Just my luck. I finally get my shit together and he takes off to another continent."

You didn't resent Harry for leaving. He'd done what was best for him, but that didn't mean the timing didn't suck. You finally felt comfortable and confident enough to be open with someone, and they fled the country.

Okay, so Harry didn't flee the country, but you felt the blow to your ego no matter how rational you were about the situation.

"He'll come around," Gavin promised, which took you by surprise. "You're probably not aware, but you're very easy to fall in love with, Y/n."

Your cheeks flushed, feeling Gavin's words right down to your toes. It didn't feel romantic in any sort of way, but there was some reassurance. Gavin knew you well, and he had been a good friend.

And yet, the only thing you could think as you continued to catch up with your ex was, Then why is it so hard for me to fall in love?

*.*

Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd started to keep a list in his head, a mental tally of all the little things he learned about Y/n and that made her who she was.

The list had started with small trivial things like her coffee order and that she seemed to be particularly fond of wearing bandanas in her hair or that she always carried the same canvas tote on her shoulder, one that read, "You're Doing Great," in squiggly blue writing. From there, the list grew, and he suddenly began to collect bits of information from Y/n like valuable trading cards—what it was like growing up with three older brothers, how long she stayed in Nashville before moving out to Los Angeles, and what the perfect record was for when she was feeling sad. Harry wanted to know everything, every little piece she was willing to give him until he understood even the smallest gesture.

"Why don't you perform your songs?"

It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind for weeks now. Harry had heard Y/n sing on multiple occasions as they wrote together, and he couldn't help but think that she was the whole package. She could sing, had the kind of voice that was soft and low, a little raspy but easy to harmonize with. She wrote incredible songs that held so much depth and emotion and she could play multiple instruments. Harry could see her selling out stadiums and connecting to people through music that she wrote and performed. Yet she didn't.

"I never really had the desire to," Y/n said with a shrug. They were in his backyard, sitting around a bonfire with a bottle of wine between them. It was her turn to pick, and Chris Stapelton was crooning through her phone's speaker.

"Is it like a stage fright thing?"

"No, not at all," Y/n said. "I just don't think that life was made for me, you know? I don't know if I could handle being famous."

Harry supposed he understood what she meant. He loved his life, but it wasn't always a walk in the park. But it did make him wonder if she would ever be with someone like him, someone who did lead a life that she thought she couldn't handle. For the first time since he'd met her, Harry decided he didn't want to know.

"What about...singing backup or joining your favorite musician on tour once he releases the greatest album since...So?"

"I didn't peg you for a Peter Gabriel fan," she murmured, immediately recognizing the title, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the fact that she knew exactly what album he was referring to. "But, I guess so. If it was for a friend."

Harry tucked that little nugget of information away. Tour was worlds away at the moment, but it was always good to think ahead, especially when he knew he needed a keyboardist replacement.

Looking up, he admired Y/n in the glow of the bonfire, his heart beating rapidly even though she wasn't even doing anything. Ever since their first kiss a week ago, he just wanted more. His brain could hardly keep up with his heart and how badly it longed for her. And she didn't even realize the effect she had on him. She drove him crazy.

And that scared him. Harry had only recently broken up with his ex, and he didn't think it was possible to feel so strongly for someone after coming out of a pretty serious relationship with someone else. He knew he should untangle the strings, that if he let things get too far, they'd get messy, and he and Y/n would both end up hurt.

But that voice in his head that told him to be careful became a low buzz as Y/n stood up and shuffled over to him before placing herself in his lap. Her fingers came up to play with the hair that curled at the nape of Harry's neck, and he couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling, at her closeness, at the smell of her perfume that lingered on her clothes.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself and not to Harry. "And I don't have any expectations, but I'm okay with it if you are."

Yet. Y/n didn't have any expectations yet. He knew the familiar thudding of his heart, the excited flutter in his stomach as he leaned into her touch. Of course there would be expectations, but Harry found himself nodding anyway, unable to deny either of them the pleasure of her lips sliding lightly against his. Y/n had never initiated anything between them before, and her tentative kiss told Harry she was unsure of herself. At first glance, she came off as unsure when it came to most things, but Harry learned that she held within herself a quiet confidence that he admired.

Harry stood up with her in his arms as he led them back inside. He didn't know where this would lead, tonight or any night to follow. He didn't know if Y/n was ready to sleep with him, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was either. But he wanted her close and to feel those gentle hands a little firmer in his hair. That was all he knew, and he let himself not think about anything else.

The tangles of his feelings were positively knotted, and despite his long list of things he knew about Y/n, he still didn't know where her heart truly lay. But if she was willing to walk through the fire blind, then so was he.

*.*

Two weeks into Harry being gone, and you were starting to wonder when you'd become so pathetic.

In the time since Harry left for Japan, you hadn't written a single song, not even a lyric. It was ludicrous. You'd written by yourself your entire career, but after a couple months spent with a writing partner, you were rendered insipirationless.

Not to mention semi-friendless.

It wasn't that Harry's friends didn't want to hang out, you just weren't sure you could. Outside of Sylvia, you didn't hang out with Harry's team without him, and it just felt weird to start doing so now. You didn't shy away from them when you saw them in the hallways of the building you all worked in, but you never knew what to say past a casual greeting.

Funnily enough, though, you'd said everything you needed to say to Gavin. Meeting up with him eased a heaviness in your chest you'd been carrying around with you for the last two years. You both were able to get the closure that you'd been denying yourselves, and it felt good to get everything out in the open, to receive Gavin's forgiveness after punishing yourself for such a long time.

Seeing Gavin and talking to him left you feeling lighter, but it also left you a little hollow to. With no rain cloud hanging over your head anymore, you didn't know what to do with yourself. The concept of happiness was something you'd never thought you would get, and now that it was within reach you were hesitant.

"Maybe we need a sabbatical, pookie," you said to your dog, kissing his nose. "What do you think?"

Buddy Holly didn't have a response for you, he just tilted his head at the sound of your voice. Sighing, you scratched his head and pressed play on the movie you'd previously been watching before your dog unceremoniously climbed into your lap.

Now that Harry was gone on his journey of self-discovery, you'd gone back to spending your nights alone. In theory, it should've been easy. Before Harry, being alone was second nature, but your first night alone you were at a loss. You kept wanting to reach for your phone and call him, send him a text about the record you were listening to or the ridiculous thing Buddy had done that day. You didn't realize of much Harry had engrained himself into your life, and now he was half a world away.

Reaching out wasn't an option, either, no matter how much you wanted to. He didn't tell you much for his reasons for leaving, a "writing retreat," he claimed, but you knew it was more than that. There was shit he needed to figure out, shit regarding his past relationship, so you felt the ball was in his court.

The next day, you were on the elevator going up to work, arguing with your brother on the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Hayden," you insisted, rubbing a tired hand over your face.

"No, there definitely is. Evan, Andrew, and I all agree," Hayden said. "Something's definitely wrong with you. And when something's wrong with you, it's usually one of three things. Menstruation, a guy, or one of us, and seeing as we haven't done anything, and your period doesn't—"

"Oh my God, Hayden!" you groaned as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not...menstruating. Jesus! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Hayden kept jabbering in your ear, but you weren't listening anymore because the elevator doors had opened to reveal someone on the other side. Mitch, Harry's friend was standing there, eyes wide as he looked at you, clearly having heard your side of the conversation with your brother.

God, could this day get any worse? you thought. Shutting your eyes, you wondered if you stood there long enough with your eyes closed, the elevator doors would close and take you straight to hell or you would maybe just disappear on the spot. Either would be appreciated.

"Hayden, I have to call you back."

"You're still coming to my game this weekend right?" he asked.

"Wearing the other team's jersey," you muttered, hanging up as your brother began to protest.

Since the elevator doors stayed open and you didn't spontaneously combust, you opened your eyes. "Hey."

Mitch nodded. "Hey, Y/n."

The air was so incredibly awkward, and you wondered why you weren't sprinting toward your studio and locking yourself in permanently. But neither of you moved, and now you felt the need to explain yourself. "I...I wish I had an explanation other than my brothers still seem to ruin my life from hundreds of miles away, but I don't."

You finally stepped out of the elevator and moved around Mitch, who stepped inside. He still had that tense smile on his face, and you wondered if the two of you would ever be able to make eye contact again. Not that you ever did all that much before this God-awful incident. Just another reason to avoid Harry's friends.

"Right. H mentioned you had brothers," he said. "See you around, Y/n."

For my own sanity, I hope not, you prayed to whoever was listening.

*.*

"Do you ever think about what you would be doing if you weren't doing...this?" Y/n asked, gesturing vaguely around her.

Harry looked down to where she was spread out on the floor, her head rested in his lap while he leaned against his sofa. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up on the floor, but he didn't dare move, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. It was shiny, and smelled faintly of apples. He wondered if it was as soft as he imagined.

Blinking, he stumbled around in his brain for an answer, clearing his head of thoughts of silky hair passing through his fingers. "Honestly? No, not really."

"You don't?"

Harry shrugged even though Y/n's eyes were closed. She did that often if there was music playing, as if she was trying to absorb every note into her body while maintaining a conversation. Right now they were listening to one of Harry's current favorites: a Joni Mitchell album he'd grown up listening to with his mum. He remembered when he used to scramble for answers in interviews when he was asked about his favorite artist or album, trying to come up with an answer that the media would want to hear without appearing fake. He'd list classic rock bands like Fleetwood Mac and wear old band t-shirts from the seventies. He didn't not like those artists, he loved them. But when Y/n asked about his favorite record in his collection, he didn't hesitate to reach for Joni Mitchell, knowing she wouldn't judge him for his answer.

"No. I was so young when I auditioned for the X-Factor," Harry explained. "I don't even think I knew what I wanted to study in school then, so it's hard to know what I would be doing now if it weren't for all...this."

And I wouldn't have met you, he thought but kept that to himself. Neither of them was ready for those kinds of words if he was being honest. Y/n was skittish about feelings at the best of times, and he didn't know where his feelings for her started, and getting over his ex ended. It gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he didn't.

Y/n sat up, and Harry resisted the urge to pull her back to him. As they hung out more and more, he had this overwhelming desire to be near her as much as possible. A hollowness would form in his chest if he didn't seek her out at the studio, leaving him blushing like an idiot every time he left his friends behind as he walked down the familiar hallway to her door. None of them ever said anything outright, but he could practically hear their teasing thoughts, but he couldn't help it. Y/n had drawn him in from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Maybe you'd be a florist," she said with a small grin.

"A florist?"

"Yeah." Y/n's grin grew, and Harry swore his heart grew with it. When he initially started spending time with her, or bugging her, more like, she hardly smiled. He thought it was such a shame. Not only because Y/n had a beautiful smile, but because she felt like she couldn't. Harry never wanted her to feel like she couldn't be happy, least of all around him. "You could have this big truck and deliver flowers to baby showers and weddings and other big occasions."

"Oh yeah? And where are you in this scenario?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear the answer.

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as she looked at him. "In the passenger seat."

*.*

The third week Harry was gone, a stranger popped into your studio. A sense of deja vu had run through you as you looked up to find someone occupying the space in your doorframe, only Harry never knocked to make his presence known. You'd always just been aware of him when he entered the room.

"Can I help you?" you asked. You were working on a song that you actually quite liked. A new angle, a different approach to songs that you wanted to see through, and interruptions weren't going to help.

"Mitch said to come find you," he said. He looked a little nervous at having disrupted your work, so you eased up on your stare. "He said you could help us?"

Us? you thought. You supposed that it wasn't too far fetched that Harry's team would make themselves busy while he was off on sabbatical, or whatever it was he'd been doing in Japan. You hadn't heard from him much, and you tried not to let that hurt your feelings too much.

Brows furrowed, you said, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I would help—"

"He said you've written for country artists before?" the guy said. "We're sort of stuck and he said to come find you, so..."

Sighing, you stood up, but not before jotting a couple notes down in your journal. Perhaps it was kismet that the song you'd been playing around with today had been country in your mind. The prospect of writing with anyone other than Harry felt odd, uncomfortable. But Harry wasn't here, and you didn't know when he would be back and you couldn't just hide in your studio because he'd left.

You didn't know what to expect as you followed the man, Daniel, he'd finally introduced, led you to a studio a couple rooms away from yours. You'd met Harry's writing and production team a number of times, but Harry wasn't a country artist, so Mitch was clearly helping out with a different project, which meant introducing yourself to a whole new group.

Mitch was waiting with one other person, a young woman who was about your age or younger. She had blond curly hair and light blue eyes, a smile on her face at something Mitch said. When you entered the room, you couldn't help but think back to last week when you'd completely embarrassed yourself in front of Mitch. You hadn't seen him since, and even though it was probably unlikely, you'd hoped you'd never have to again.

Introductions were made quickly before a chair was pulled out for you. The young woman's name was Cam, and she was working on putting out her first ever single. "And album eventually, but we're starting out small," she said with a bashful grin. "I'm such a huge fan of your work, and when Mitch said you were just down the hall, I told him he had to introduce me. I swear I love every song you've ever written."

Nodding, you gripped the soft leather binding of your journal, wondering what Mitch was angling at here. From the short amount of time you'd spent with him, he seemed rather quiet. A chill person who mostly kept to himself. You weren't sure why you were being dragged into one of his projects.

"Yeah. That's where I started my career," you said. "I'm sorry—Did you want my help with a song?"

"The whole album too, hopefully," Cam said, and you could see it in her eyes how bad she wanted this. She was ambitious, but not in a way that made you want to run back to your room and have nothing to do with this project. You eyed her scuffed boots and the worn friendship bracelets on her wrists and the hope that lined her body as she waited for you to say something.

"I usually work alone," you said. "But, I—I did happen to be writing something a little country today if you wanted to take a look."

You handed your journal over to the young woman, trying to decide if you wanted to be part of this little team. On the one hand, you thought Harry would be the only person you'd feel comfortable writing with, but...if he had a team, why couldn't you? Perhaps Harry had opened you up to the possibility of branching out and trying things you'd closed yourself off to in the past.

At the very least, you decided, you would hear her out, see how you gelled with this small group. If not for any other reason than as a small favor to an acquaintance. You didn't know Mitch all that well, but you considered him someone you knew.

And to be honest, maybe you were getting tired of staying holed up in a studio by yourself all the time.

So now you were meeting with Cam, Mitch, and Daniel regularly. That first day, you stayed at the studio late at night workshopping ideas and getting a feel for the sound and vision Cam was going for. And it was easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, picking up the guitar and playing a potential riff and letting Mitch carry it somewhere else, working out harmonies and melodies with Cam. You'd left the studio later than you ever had that night, but energy coursed through your veins as you left the building.

You'd never been a part of something at the start with the means to see it through. You usually wrote songs and sold them to whoever wanted them, and with Harry, you'd joined in songwriting when he and his team were well underway, but this...this was new, and you didn't hate it. In fact, you were looking forward to meeting the next day, and the next, and the next...

Weeks flew by as you worked on this album, and you suddenly lived off takeout boxes and snacks as you spent many a late night as you worked on song after song, eager to see this project come to life. There wasn't necessarily a deadline, but you were all just eager to keep working on what you all knew was something special. And today Mitch was going to teach you how to play the drums while Cam met with her record label for an hour. It felt like there was finally light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, one that you'd been winding through the last two years. It felt good to feel this light again, even your brothers got off your back a little, though you knew that wouldn't last very long.

"I'm on my way right now, and I'm bringing Buddy because he's being extra clingy today," you said into the phone. "He's also my reason for going home at a reasonable hour—"

Time stopped as you opened the door to your apartment. Your heart was in your throat, partly because you were startled to find someone on the other side, and then because your eyes finally registered who was on the other side.

"Y/n?"

Blinking, you quickly told Cam you had to go before hanging up the phone, slipping it in your coat pocket before letting it drop to the floor. You ran a hand over your face, wondering if you'd magically conjured him to your door, or if you were so tired you were suddenly delirious, but when you uncovered your eyes, he was still there, hands tucked in his pockets and a suitcase resting by his feet, a cat carrier on top of it.

"Harry? What—What are you doing here? When did you—"

There was no time to think or speak or breathe as Harry surged forward, his hands suddenly out of his pockets and settling deep in your hair, and kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, making it hard to think straight, making it hard to think about anything but him. His cologne flooded your senses as if you'd never smelled it before, making you sigh against his mouth and giving him ample opportunity to slide his tongue against yours as he backed you against the doorframe with a soft thud.

Your hands flew of their own accord, reaching beneath Harry's coat and gripping the shirt he wore beneath it. You needed to feel him, to know he was really here in front of you, that he wasn't going to evaporate in your hands leaving you with only the memory of his kiss. You'd had that particular dream one too many times.

Harry's hands smoothed down your sides, rucking up your shirt and setting your skin on fire when his thumbs brushed your ribcage. Your breaths stuttered until you finally had to pull back to catch it Instinctively, Harry followed, his mouth searching for yours, then your neck, but you held him in place for a moment.

"Wait," you said, breaths shallow. Harry stopped immediately, eyes roving your face in a similar way to how you were doing so. When he finally met your gaze, a small, shy smile, spread across your lips. "H—Hi."

Harry's responding grin was radiant. "Hi."

*.*

"I don't understand, when—when did you get back?"

It was safe to say you weren't going into the studio. There were about ten seconds of protesting before you finally caved, and it had nothing to do with Harry's lips on your neck or his hands sneaking beneath your shirt. "Stay," Harry had mumbled. "Please? There's so much I want to say."

So you stayed, though you hadn't really spoken much. You and Harry had ended up on your couch huddled up together under a blanket, Buddy Holly dozing at your feet. You kept waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. It was nice for a while, but you began to itch with the need for answers. You didn't want to immediately fall back into old habits the second he came back, even if laying flush against his chest was the most peaceful you felt in weeks. You were nervous to talk to him, to hear him say that after staying away for two months, he still didn't want a relationship. But even so, it would be better to know the truth and start getting over it now than to hold out hope.

"Today," Harry said. "I came straight here from the airport."

"Why? Wouldn't you want to go home? Get settled. Sweet Pea probably misses home."

Harry raised his head from where he'd been resting it in the crook of your neck. His brows raised suspiciously to where his cat was dozing on top of Buddy, as if she'd never left. "I think she's rather comfortable."

"You're awfully comfortable too," you said under your breath. Then, even though you felt so warm in his embrace, you sat up, putting some distance between yourself and Harry.

You could tell he wanted to protest, his sleepy eyes and mussed brown curls covering his forehead in a messy tangle told you that all he wanted was to fall asleep next to you. You wanted that too, but your mind kept drifting back to that last conversation, to that last exchange of words, and you let them keep that small bubble of distance between you and him.

"I need to know why you're here, H," you said, raising your knees up to your chest.

Harry could hear the seriousness in your voice, his expression sobering a little. He sat up too, facing you as he took up his place at the corner of the couch. There were only a couple inches between you, but it felt like Harry was still in Japan with how distant you felt from him now. He was home, but was he really? You didn't know how your friendship was going to evolve from here. You supposed you could be okay with just being his friend. It would sting, but you would get over it.

Eventually.

You hoped.

"I...just knew that this was where I needed to be," he said, not meeting your eye. "I came home and the only person I wanted to see was you."

His words meant more than you cared to admit. They filled you with warmth, bringing a flush to your cheeks that you prayed Harry didn't see.

"I missed you too," was all you could think of to say.

"And I—I want more," Harry said. "I was halfway across the world, and I was writing and walking around the city, and all I wanted was to share those moments with you and write with you and wake up next to you. I just...I want you in my life, Y/n."

"As your friend?" you asked, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

"However you'll have me."

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stopped yourself from launching across the couch into his arms. It was all too good to be true. Harry wasn't ready for a relationship before he left, and you'd been gracious and understood where he was coming from. And now that a few weeks had passed, he suddenly wanted to be whatever you wanted him to be. In the back of your mind, the fact that he hadn't said "boyfriend" pricked a sensitive part of your brain. It was silly and minuscule, and it shouldn't have mattered, so you tried not to let it.

Still, you were unsure. You knew Harry would never be so cruel as to feed you words for the sake of placating you, but something left you hesitating. Maybe it was that the last time you saw Harry, he told you he couldn't give you what you wanted and now he was saying he could, or maybe your heart was still protecting you from potential pain, you weren't sure. But you couldn't give in.

Almost as if he could read the jumbled thoughts running around in your head, Harry inched toward you, his expression soft and open. "I can tell you're unsure, and I don't blame you," he said, taking a chance and reaching a hand across the couch to hold yours. "Let me prove it to you."

Brows furrowed, you tilted your head to the side. "Prove it?"

"We'll go slow," Harry said as he nodded and moved closer. Close enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. "We can do that, can't we? We don't have to rush things. We can just...go on a date and see what happens, right?"

Despite the hesitation, a smile twitched at the corner of your lips. "Harry Styles...are you asking me on a date?"

Harry's responding grin was wide and sweet as honey. "Only if you're saying yes."

Eight weeks ago, you'd stepped out of your comfort zone by asking Harry for more, and watching him walk away hurt more than you ever thought it would. Your instinct was to hide, to crawl back into your shell before you could get hurt again. But you knew Harry had been hurt before too, and now he was trying. Even though they'd both had their hearts broken for different reasons and had every reason not to give into their feelings and hide, preferring to be alone.

It took you two years to..."forgive yourself" didn't seem like the right words. To be ready to put yourself into the world again, to allow yourself the possibility of hurting and being hurt in that way again. Your scars had healed over into faint white lines after two whole years. Nearly imperceptible, but still there, a subtle but constant reminder of what you stood to lose if you ruined things again. But also a reminder that you could love and lose and still heal, and maybe even love again. Harry hadn't been there when he left, and at the time you hoped he would be. And maybe part of you knew he would be, because you'd gotten there too in your own way.

The hope that kindled in your chest made you nervous, but it made you excited too.

"I—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because—"

Harry's index finger was on your lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes nearly crossed as you looked down your nose at it, and you heard his chuckle at what was most likely a silly look on your face. "I know I don't have to do anything, Y/n. I needed some time to clear my thoughts and untangle all of my feelings. I want this. I want you."

Over your time spent with Harry, you'd come to realize he had expressive eyes. While he kept a lot to himself and didn't share much unless it was through songwriting, his eyes said everything. This close to his face, you could see the honesty, the earnestness. You decided to believe him, to believe in whatever had been forming between you since the first time you'd met.

Not holding back, you did lunge for him this time, but gently, seeing as he was so close. Harry seemed surprised by your sudden movements but didn't stop you as you took his face in your hands and kissed him for all he was worth. You felt his face slowly split into a grin as his hands roved up and down your back, as if he was finally reacquainting himself with your body. Or maybe it was that this kiss was different from all the others, with different expectations and intentions and promises for more.

"What happened to slow?" he asked, teasing as you nipped at his ear.

"Tell me to stop," you said, feeling out of breath.

He didn't, you knew he wouldn't, but that only made him grin even more. "I still want to do things properly," he told you, leaning back against the couch and taking you with so that you were on top of him, your body flush against his. "I want to take you out, I want to hold your hand and pull your chair out for you at dinner."

Resting on your elbows, you lightly traced the delicate planes of his face with your finger. Harry's eyes tracked your movements while he waited for you to answer, kissing the pad of your index finger when it passed over his lips. You smiled a little, unsure of where all this giddiness was coming from but hoping it wouldn't go away.

"I want that too," you murmured before kissing the tip of his nose. "But maybe that can start tomorrow."

Harry's hand came up to cradle the side of your face, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. Everything already felt different. New and fragile and breakable. So, so breakable.

"Your heart was glass, I dropped it," you'd written way back. You had the potential to break Harry's heart. But the notion that you wouldn't was so intrinsic in that moment, you felt like the only way you would crack the glass this time was by squeezing too hard, by liking him too much.

You didn't know what you would do if Harry would drop yours.

It was a terrifying thought, one that was too dreadful for the peaceful bliss taking over your apartment. Harry was looking at you like your hair was made of stars or pure sunlight, and it warmed every inch of you down to your bones as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

"I can get behind that," he said quietly.

After that, you finally relaxed. Your head found purchase on his chest, comfortable against the soft material of his sweatshirt despite the firmness of his body beneath you. You breathed in deep, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it all out in one soft exhale. With that breath, you felt the last of your doubts flutter away—for now, at least—allowing you to believe in the promise Harry offered you.

*.*

"Come on. If you're not going to let me go to work, you're gonna help me here."

You managed to untangle yourself from Harry, who pouted at you as he remained sprawled out on your bed. Leaving him there, you went to the front door to where you'd left your guitar case when you found him on your doorstep yesterday. Slipping your well-loved guitar from the case, you walked back over to Harry, who was now sitting up on the couch. His eyes tracked your every move as you made your way back over to him. His stare felt heated, causing a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it as you settled on one end of the couch, resting the guitar in your lap.

"Looks like you already have something in mind," Harry said. He still sounded playful, but you knew he wasn't going to try and dissuade you from this. He was just as eager to write as a team as you were.

Writing without Harry while he was gone was strange. At first you thought you'd be fine, seeing as you'd preferred working in solitude most of your professional career. Yet when he left, you were unable to write. You found yourself looking for him, raising your head to ask what he thought of a melody when he wasn't there, thinking out loud as if he was still in the room to bounce ideas off of.

You'd missed him in more ways than one, that was certain. This new dynamic with Mitch had been good, fun even. You attributed your openness to teamwork to Harry, and now you were nearly finished with an album, a project you'd been part of from start to finish, something you'd never really been able to say before. You'd enjoyed going into the studio to work with Mitch, to share song ideas with Cam and see where she took them. If given the option, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

But something in you settled as you began to idly pluck at the strings of your guitar, Harry sifting through his duffle bag until he produced his leatherbound journal from it. You felt comfortable, complete, not an atom out of place as you began to sing the lyrics of a partial song you were going to work on with your team today.

"There is a town, somewhere down a country road," you sang softly. "I see it now, take it everywhere I go. The river sways, I can almost here it now. As if to say, 'You're not the only one who wants a way out.'"

"That's nice," Harry said, his thumb tapping against his knee in time with the music coming from your guitar. "Something new?"

"I've had the idea for a song about a small town for a while," you said, fingers still plucking at the guitar strings, though not with much intent while you spoke to Harry. "My hometown."

Nodding, Harry said, "You don't talk about your home much."

"Not much to say," you shrugged. "At least I thought so. Now I just keep thinking how so much has changed since I moved away. How much I've changed,"

"Good changes, I hope," he said.

You shrugged again, trying not to let the topic make you squirm. You normally didn't around Harry, but perhaps being away from him for so long had you shying away just a little. "Good and...neutral, I guess. Sometimes I feel like I've changed so much I can't even reconcile who I was then and the person I am now. Not really sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. To be determined, I suppose."

Harry processed the information quietly, letting the conversation end there. You fell into a comfortable silence as both of you played around with lyrics and melodies in your own heads. You eventually grabbed your own journal to jot notes down in, and at one point Harry took your guitar into his own lap to play around, humming quietly to himself.

His plucking of the strings slowly became something less abstract and more concrete, and it eventually became the backdrop to your thinking process. You liked the tune he played better than what you'd originally come up with, and you let it guide your pen as you jotted down words and phrases until you eventually had something that might've been a pre-chorus or a bridge. Shifting closer to Harry on the couch, you showed him what you had so far, hoping he'd be able to fill in the gaps like he normally could.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he took your journal and pen from your offering hands. For a minute, the only sound was the tapping of the pen in his hand in time with the melody he'd been playing moments ago. You watched with slow blinking eyes as he eventually began to scribble his own little notes beside yours, sometimes writing lyrics of his own and occasionally circling a word you'd written and putting a suggestion above it.

The scratching of pen on paper was an unusual lullaby, but sure enough, the warmth emanating from Harry's body and the familiarity of this moment, yet something precious and new blooming between you, was enough for your breaths to deepen, your blinks to become fewer and far between. Even after being on a plane all the way from Japan, the scent of Harry's cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used lingered on his clothes. It was so familiar, as much of a welcome home as him actually being here beside you.

Breathing in deep, you huddled closer to Harry. Feeling your movements at his side, Harry shifted so that you were leaning against him more comfortably, his body solid yet soft beneath your cheek. "I missed this," you murmured, the words clinging together as you inched closer and closer toward sleep. "I missed you."

There was no stiffening of his posture at the words, no hesitation or uncertainty as he said, "I missed you too."

*.*

"Don't leave again," Y/n said.

Harry was pretty sure she was already half asleep, was sure she wouldn't even remember this conversation when she woke up in a couple of hours. But even so, the words made him pause, the pen in his hand jerking almost imperceptibly.

Y/n hadn't brought up his departure since he'd come back yesterday. Even now, she didn't sound resentful, though that could've been the fact that she was seconds away from falling asleep, but Harry didn't think so. Yet in her current limbo between states of consciousness, she revealed something that she probably wouldn't have if she'd been fully awake.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by going," he said, and he knew he was a bastard for saying it when she was seconds from falling asleep.

A deep breath, then another, then another.

"Don't leave me again," was all she said in reply, perhaps all she could muster just before unconsciousness finally settled over her like a blanket.

Harry's heart clenched. Don't leave me again, she told him. He'd learned rather quickly that despite all that she'd been through, Y/n hid a gentle heart behind all those walls she put up. A heart that had been battered and bruised and hidden away after so much unhappiness. Harry realized early on in their semi-friendship that he never wanted to be the reason for another wall between Y/n and the rest of the world; he wanted to be someone she could entrust to protect her gentle soul, to be someone who helped her realize she was much more fierce than she knew.

Knowing he'd caused her pain by leaving dug at him, even if leaving was in some ways very necessary. Harry needed that distance, that time away to clean up the mess his ex had left in him. Nothing about his previous relationship's demise was simple, and the things he'd begun to feel for Y/n while still trying to untangle himself from his ex only complicated things. Harry knew it would be a disservice to both himself and Y/n if he jumped into something he wasn't ready for. He felt horrible that night she'd laid all her cards on the table before him. He knew that it had taken a lot to state what she wanted from him so plainly, to realize that she was still deserving of more after what she'd been through. And Harry had to offer the same honesty, even if it was something even he didn't want to hear.

But it had been the right thing. For both of them. Of that he was sure. Harry had done a lot of introspecting, had allowed himself to simply be alone in a way he hadn't been for a long time. His last relationship was perhaps the most significant, but it was one in a rather long list of failed attempts to find love. His friends often teased him for not knowing how to not be in a relationship, and after this last breakup, he realized how right they were.

Harry liked Y/n. He was fascinated by her talent as a songwriter and enamoured by the person she was outside the studio. He liked her chunky patterned sweaters and the array of rings on her fingers that changed from day to day. He liked that she wasn't perfect, that she was shy to an almost stubborn degree, that he had to work hard to piece together who she was bit by bit until a beautiful mosaic was laid out in front of him.

But he needed to know that he knew how to be alone before giving himself over to her entirely. Who was he outside of a romantic relationship? Harry honestly had no idea, and while that had never even so much as itched his brain before, it terrified him after things ended with his ex. He owed it to himself to try to stand on his own two feet, to live on his own and know that he could be content to do so. He didn't need a relationship to be happy, that was what he set out to discover.

And once he did. Once he lived and wrote songs and got coffee and ate by himself, and didn't feel like an utter disaster, he knew he'd be okay.

Harry enjoyed himself in Japan. He'd committed himself to this soul-searching endeavor and actually came out on the other side of it pleased with himself. And at the end of it all, when he knew a relationship with Y/n wasn't something he needed but something he wanted, he knew he was ready to go home. He wanted her a lot, to be fair, so much so that he often wrote about her, and talked about her to the few friends he made in Japan. But being alone didn't kill him, and he was able to see that for himself the two months he was gone.

He left his feelings for his ex in Japan, letting every last bit of baggage he'd been quietly carrying around with him slide off his shoulders, holding onto those precious little blossoms of feeling for Y/n and bringing them home, right to her doorstep.

The plan hadn't been to go straight to her apartment, but that was where he told his driver to go when he slid into the backseat of the sleek black car his manager had sent to pick him up. Harry was actually supposed to go home and rest so he could meet with his label and discuss the progress of his album, but he stayed at Y/n's place anyway. He knew these next few months as the album went into recording and production mode wouldn't leave much time to spend alone with Y/n, and he needed these fleeting moments. He needed to hear all about the new album she was helping to write and what she and Buddy Holly had gotten up to while he was gone. He needed to kiss her, to touch her, to let her fall asleep against him while they wrote a song about a small town.

"I won't, I promise," Harry murmured, even though he knew Y/n was already asleep.

It was perhaps a promise to himself. He knew Y/n would never be that vulnerable, wouldn't reveal just how much she cared for him if she'd been entirely conscious. She'd been forgiving, if not a little hesitant when he showed up on her doorstep, but she'd never resented him for leaving. At least he thought she didn't. She'd been understanding when he left, but in her sleepy state, he saw a little bit of the hurt he'd inflicted by leaving, by rejecting her desire for something more with him.

Harry knew he'd done it for the right reasons, but guilt curled in his chest at the thought of hurting Y/n. He would commit himself to not doing it again, to be someone worthy of her vulnerability. Harry was aware of how precious it was for Y/n to open herself up to him like this. He wouldn't take that gift for granted.

Shifting around a bit, Harry took Y/n into his arms and stood up. He padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where a large, four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and one stuffed animal lay on. He set her down on white sheets with little red polka dots, pulling up the covers over both of them. Y/n curled into Harry immediately, and he didn't even bother trying to shove away the warmth that spread through him.

With Y/n's cheek squished adorably against his chest, Harry rested his arm behind his head as his eyes flitted about her bedroom.

He'd been inside it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him, because for someone so convinced they were undeserving of love, they sure loved heart decorations. Retro Valentine hearts were mounted on one wall, twinkly lights dangling between them; pink and red heart-shaped candles remained unlit on her vanity, a heart-shaped guitar on a stand next to it. Everything centered around something pink or red—the sheets, the pillows, the jewelry dishes and mirrors, even the stuffed bunny under her pillow that Harry knew Y/n slept with, even if she wouldn't admit it.

It was a mystery he'd yet to solve, but he imagined that would come in time.

Soon enough, Harry's own eyes began to droop. He nestled deeper into the bed, trying not to completely drape himself over Y/n. They'd never actually spent the night in the same bed before last night. Sometimes they'd fall asleep together on the couch, but this was different. Last night, they'd collapsed into bed after staying up late talking, nearly well into the morning. There had been no tangled limbs or breaths keeping time because they slept so close together, just two people in dire need of sleep.

In some ways, Harry wondered if it was too much as they were only just beginning to explore this thing between them, but he couldn't make himself leave. He turned over so his back was to her, trying to provide a modicum of space should Y/n want it, but not even a minute later, an arm snaked around his waist, a cheek pressed against his back as one of her legs slotted between his.

It was safe to say Harry fell asleep with a small grin and a full heart.

*.*

The following weeks flew by, and you saw Harry every single moment that you could.

Now that his album was in the later stages of production, he was constantly in meetings for promotion—release dates, interviews, live performances, and concept art for the album. You stayed out of those conversations, as you had your own projects to complete and deadlines to meet. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious. You'd never been part of those conversations before, as you merely wrote your songs and sold the demos to artists or bands. Seeing an album from start to finish was intriguing, though perhaps part of the reason was the hand you played in it and how important Harry was to you.

But even with all of that going on, Harry stayed true to his word.

He made every moment count. Suddenly there were flowers on top of the grand piano when you entered your studio, and he stopped by whenever he could. Each petal, each little note attached to the bouquets, filled your stomach with butterflies. And after you were both done for the day, Harry invited you over to cook dinner and listen to records. The atmosphere was different than before Harry left, a more romantic feel in the air as you sat across from each other, the warm glow of candles the only lighting in the room.

With the public attention Harry tended to get, you both agreed to keep things quiet for now. You'd always preferred anonymity, and although you knew your relationship would eventually become public, you wanted it to stay between you and Harry and your friends and family. Hopefully in the future, when this precious thing between the two of you wasn't so new, you would feel more comfortable. Until then, it would be secret dates and romantic dinners from home, but that didn't make it feel any less special or real.

It didn't take long for your friends to notice, though.

You and Harry didn't have much to hide in front of Sylvia and the rest of the people who made up your little group, but neither you nor Harry really went out of your way to tell anyone about the slight change since he had come back from Japan.

One night, Sylvia decided to switch up the usual gatherings from game night to a night at a karaoke bar. You didn't mind. In fact, you loved watching everyone drink and take up a mic in the private room that had been rented out. Harry stayed by your side most of the night, an arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb subtly sneaking beneath the hem of your patchwork top to graze your skin and leave goosebumps in its wake, and a neat tequila in his other hand, your leather jacket draped over his arm after he insisted on carrying it for you. You opted for a margarita, sipping on it idly while you went between talking to Harry and watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

"What do you say, are we up next?"

"We?" you asked incredulously. "You go. I've actually been wanting to see you perform."

Harry chuckled, his nose brushing against your temple. "Come on, love. For me?"

You both knew you had a soft spot when Harry pleaded with you. Just one more hour at his place, just one more kiss, getting his favorite takeout, all of it just required a slight widening of his eyes and him saying, "Pleeeease," or, "For me?" as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, and he had you. It was mostly harmless, but just like all the other times, it was working now.

"I don't know..." you said anyway, a small grin creeping its way onto your face. Harry only doubled down, which was exactly your goal.

"Please? I'll make it worth your while."

So that was how you ended up in front of the rest of your group of friends, a mic in your hand as you waited for Harry to pick the song. When the opening chords sounded through the speakers, you beamed, looking over at him with raised brows. Harry just sauntered over to you with a small grin, dancing over to you in that silly way of his that you learned was a unique trait he possessed.

"Islands in the Stream" was one of the songs the two of you had bonded over the last few months. You'd played it for him on the drive to Buddy Holly's favorite dog park, and the two of you sang it most car rides ever since.

Harry started the song, and you joined in, keeping your eyes on him for most of it. He definitely had more stage presence than you did, which you were fine with, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy yourself. Harry's eyes were on you the whole time too, his hip bumping against yours and spinning you around occasionally.

By the time it was over, there were cheers all around, and not just because Harry kissed you at the end. You'd made it all of two steps off the makeshift stage in the private room before you were tugged into a corner away from everyone else.

"What the hell was that?"

Sylvia was looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, though a grin stretched her cheeks. You couldn't hide your blush, opting to take the drink that Harry handed you once he found you again. "What?"

"You—You two are unbelievable," she laughed. "So this is real now? You two aren't acting like children anymore and pretending you aren't in love with each other?"

Trust Sylvia to make things between you and Harry awkward. Both of you laughed, though yours was more nervous because she'd revealed a truth you weren't quite ready to accept. Harry merely draped a hand over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

*.*

"You look nervous," you said, taking Harry's hand that rested on the gear shift.

"Me? Never," Harry insisted, though he gripped your hand a little too tightly for you to believe it.

"It's just one brother," you said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

You wouldn't lie to him and say meeting all three of your brothers at once would've been a walk in the park. But this was just Andrew, who was only in town for a night. You were pretty sure Hayden and Evan sent Andrew to investigate your relationship with Harry. For that exact reason, you hadn't divulged much to any of your brothers. After the whole, "Are you sure you're not menstruating" incident, you'd been giving Hayden the cold shoulder, so you knew for a fact that he'd enlisted Andrew's help to, at the very least, get back in your good graces, and hopefully get a little intel on your budding relationship.

"Andrew's harmless, I promise," you said. "He's about as threatening as a puppy."

Harry chuckled as he pulled into the trendy bar you had agreed to meet your brother at. "See, I want to believe you, but I've seen your brother play hockey, so...I don't."

Leaning across the center console, you kissed his cheek, quickly wiping away the lip gloss you'd left behind. Even in the dim lighting of the car, you saw Harry blush, which made you nudge him with your nose playfully. "I'll keep him in line, I promise."

You led Harry inside the bar, entering through a side door to remain relatively unnoticed, neck craning for your brother. Andrew wasn't hard to spot, his long arms waving back and forth from a tall table tucked in the corner of the bar. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you walked over to where your brother stood by waiting with open arms.

"How's my little sister?" Andrew asked as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to remind him you were older. Instead, you stepped back and introduced him to Harry. For all his nerves, Harry didn't show it as he shook Andrew's hand and asked how he was doing. Even when you knew your brother squeezed his hand too hard, Harry just smiled and sat down on the barstool.

Things went surprisingly well. Despite your earlier reassurances, you'd been a little nervous about the questions Andrew might ask, ones not necessarily thought up by him, but by the brothers who were absent tonight.

"So, Harry, where do you see this relationship with my sister going? I noticed she didn't introduce you as her boyfriend."

Perhaps you'd spoken too soon.

"Andrew, seriously?" you said, kicking him under the table. "Tell Evan to butt out."

"Evan's not—"

"Oh please," you said. That question had your oldest brother written all over it. "Andrew, you leave our brothers out of this or I'll tell Harry what they used to call you in high school."

Blushing, Andrew backed down immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. You didn't like stooping to your brothers' level, usually the silent treatment got your brothers to grovel after pissing you off, but they really couldn't be surprised when you did from time to time. You learned from the best after all.

Clearing his throat, Harry broke up the stare down you and Andrew had been locked in. "Um, to answer your question, I think we both—not to speak for you, Y/n—but I think we both see this evolving into something more, we just haven't had that conversation yet."

His words filled you with warmth. You'd been thinking the same—you wanted more from Harry when he came back, and things had progressed from there. You didn't think boyfriend and girlfriend titles were far off, but now that you knew where you and Harry both stood, you were okay with taking things slow.

Not that Andrew, or your other brothers, for that matter, needed to know that.

The rest of the night went much better. Andrew eased up and was finally able to ask questions that had nothing to do with the intimate details of your relationship with Harry, and when Harry began asking Andrew about playoffs, it was all your brother could do to not talk about hockey.

Your brother left you and Harry in the parking lot with a final farewell of, "You're alright, Harry Styles, and you," he said facing you with a pointed stare. "Stop ignoring Hayden, please. You know how he gets when you don't give him attention."

Huffing, you said, "I'll think about it."

Andrew grinned. Your brothers were a lot of things, but from the moment you became a part of the family, you were a little princess to all of them. Evan, Hayden, and Andrew had their moments, but they never liked to make you too mad. Most of the time. Still, you knew Andrew, and you knew he liked to be the unspoken, "favorite brother."

Harry took you home, his hand in yours the whole way back. Neither of you said anything, unwinding from the interesting night. It honestly could've gone a lot worse, in your opinion. Andrew really was the least of your worries.

Like a gentleman, Harry walked you to the door when you got home. You held back from unlocking your apartment and stepping inside despite the cold, taking his hand in yours. "I'm sorry if things were a little tense tonight."

Harry shook his head. "You really have them wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

"They have good intentions. They just...they were all I had for a long time. They're protective. Especially Evan."

Growing up, your brothers were pretty much your whole family. You were all bonded by the same shitty father, growing up raising and protecting each other. You knew the questions and the protective attitudes came from a good place, especially after the way things broke down with Gavin and his family. Evan saw how much it affected you, and probably just didn't want to see you get hurt again.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if they do slightly terrify me."

"They're big pushovers," you said with a laugh. "And like you said, they're wrapped around my finger. You'll be fine, I promise."

Harry smiled, tipping your chin up. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Mhmm," was all you could manage as he began to kiss your neck, a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk weather licking down your spine. The excitement that surged through you almost had you leaping into his arms. You settled for wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know we've been taking things slow, but I—I wouldn't mind it."

"You wouldn't mind what?" Harry teased, pulling away slightly when you tried to kiss him. "Might need to do a little better than that if you want me to be your boyfriend."

Everything was so easy with Harry. The playful teasing, the serious conversations, getting drinks with your overprotective brother, all of it. You hadn't wanted someone this much since—well, since forever. Harry just made you so happy, and you wanted to chase that feeling, not hide from it. You spent way too much time hiding from life, from love.

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your fingers curling around the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Harry backed you against the door to your apartment, the hum coming from his chest once your tongues brushed together reverberating through you. His cheeks were cold as you held them in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to haul him inside and never let him leave. But he had to be up early tomorrow and had to go back to his cat. You would make sure he'd regret leaving, though.

Eventually, you let go of him, your hands smoothing down the knit sweater he wore. You'd spent ages on the phone with him as he freaked out over what to wear. One coat was too flashy, but that t-shirt said he wasn't putting in any effort and didn't care about meeting a member of your family. On and on until you eventually made him turn the camera around to face his closet and pick something out for him. Black jeans and a black sweater with colorful depictions of the solar system eventually convinced him to finally leave the house. It was a little silly, but you appreciated how much effort he wanted to put into meeting Andrew, who absolutely would have reported back to Hayden and Evan what Harry wore, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"I don't want to be scared of feeling good anymore," you whispered. "I don't want to feel guilty for chasing something that feels right. Please tell me you feel the same."

"I do," Harry murmured. His forehead rested against yours as his hands found the perfect place on your waist, finding the sliver of skin revealed between your halter top and your jeans, and the look in his eyes was something so comforting, a safe assurance you hadn't felt in a long time.

Harry made you feel safe. He made you smile and knew things about you no one else did, not even your brothers, and he didn't seem put off by it. He understood your creative process, gave you space when you needed it, and was there for you when needed someone but didn't know how to ask.

You were still perhaps too scared to even think about the word love, but looking up at Harry then, you thought there might be a day where you felt brave enough to tell him how you really felt.

*.*

The club was packed tonight, bodies surrounding you on all sides. As someone bumped into you from behind, you gripped Mitch's arm on instinct, determined not to fall over or get swept up in the sea of people waiting for the band to start their set.

"Remind me why we're here again?" you asked, shouting over the crowd and thumping bass.

For a moment, you worried Mitch hadn't heard you, but then he shouted back, leaning in close so you could hear him. "Because they asked us to be here. We heard their demos, and you said they had potential. And—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I just didn't think there'd be this many people."

"Kind of a good thing though, isn't it?" a voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you couldn't help the wide grin that took over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mitch give you a pointed look, but you ignored it, throwing your arms around Harry. "You found us!"

"Course. I could spot my two best friends from a mile away."

Being regarded as Harry's friend made your stomach tighten despite knowing he didn't mean it that way, especially since you were around so many people. And yet, it had you overthinking.

Don't be stupid, you thought, blinking those thoughts away. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you let go. "Did you get into the venue okay?"

You, Harry, and Mitch talked to—talked at, more like—each other before the show, huddled together and trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Because of the packed venue, you and Harry were able to stand relatively close to one another, your hands brushing occasionally. With Harry so close to you like this and unable to kiss his cheek at the very least, and you could tell he was having the same struggle. He was pressed up against your back, at one point, then his arm was draped over your shoulders, and when the lights finally dimmed as the set began, he was as close as he could be, his arm wrapped around your waist as you watched the band perform.

The band played music that was loud, full of heavy base lines and guitar riffs and drum solos that had the crowd jumping and jostling around. Harry was a steady force at your back until you eventually joined in with the audience, dancing along to the music beside Mitch.

In the few weeks you and Mitch worked on writing Cam's album together, you'd ended up spending more time outside of the studio as well. It was almost always music related, the two of you going out to see live performances in some form or another—local bands, shows at the Troubador and the Whiskey, performers just starting out in dive bars. It was something you typically did on your own, a good way to discover new artists and experience different sounds, and Mitch was more than happy to join you, showing you a couple of his favorite haunts, ones that he played in from time to time.

It was nice to get out of your apartment, to hang out with someone who appreciated discovering new music as much as you did. Mitch had helped you expand your horizons and had even taught you a thing or two about playing drums after you were particularly enthralled by a grunge band. It had become part of your routine as much as writing in the studio had—going out once or twice a week to find new talent and sometimes meeting up with the artist or band afterward to see if they were interested in collaborating. That wasn't always the goal, but there were moments when you couldn't help yourself.

"You were right. They do have potential," Mitch said. Both of you were buzzing after the performance, talking animatedly about the band and their set.

"I know! And I really liked their sound. There was something so nostalgic about it, but not in a gimmicky way, you know?"

Harry walked a couple paces behind you and Mitch as you ambled down the sidewalk toward where you'd parked. He'd been quiet coming out of the show, but you didn't think anything of it.

You kept talking to Mitch, promising to stop by the studio for another drum lesson when you had the chance, or when he had the chance, more like. Now that Harry's album was less an idea and more a fully realized project with a release date, Harry and Co. had been pretty busy lately. And once the album finally came out...well, you'd cross that bridge eventually.

When Mitch was gone, headed home in his car, you walked a little further to your side-by-side with Harry. You leaned in close, not really caring if anyone saw. Even through the layers of his heavy coat, you could feel the warmth that he emanated naturally. You loved being tucked into his side or curled around him, or just being as close to him as possible, an alarming amount. The word "love" fluttered through your mind every now and again, but you swatted it away every time. It was much too soon, and while you'd made many strides, there were still parts of you that remained afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if you got too attached and things ended, afraid of the distance rapidly approaching once Harry's album came out, afraid of your inner saboteur. It was all there, lingering, waiting to strike at any moment.

"Good show, right?" you said to Harry, eager to shake off the dark turn your thoughts had taken. "Mitch and I have been wanting to see them for ages."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes remaining on the street ahead. Then, "I...I didn't realize you spent so much time with him while I was gone."

"I honestly didn't expect to, but he was still working in the studio. We made quite the team."

Because you were so close, you felt Harry's whole body stiffen. A split second too late, you realized your poor choice of words.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Y/n," Harry said, and he didn't sound mad at all. Maybe just a little hurt, but you had a feeling he was trying his best not to make you feel bad. "I can't be upset that you kept working when I left. That's silly of me."

"It's not," you assured. "I—You're kind of the reason I pushed myself to work with him, and others," you admitted.

"Really?"

Nodding, you said, "I've always worked on my own. Always. But then we started writing together and things just clicked, and when you left, I—I didn't want to deny myself the opportunity to make great music. I mean, you and your team were doing incredible stuff even before I came along. I guess I just wanted to be a part of something great in that way too. Mitch helped introduce me to a new artist and we collaborated on a project of our own. I didn't...I didn't want to go back to being alone again.

"But it isn't the same," you said, stopping Harry in his tracks. Looking up at him, you smiled, for no other reason than he was there and he was yours. "We...We work differently together. You have to know that."

Harry's responding grin was small. "It is quite magical, isn't it?"

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. The kiss was slow, gentle, a reassurance for the both of you. When you leaned back, yours and Harry's cheeks were flushed as you grinned brightly at each other.

As you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car, you said, "I can't believe you'd be jealous of Mitch."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "Oh hush. I was not."

"He's your best friend, H," you giggled. "Not to mention very, very taken."

"I believe I mentioned it was silly, didn't I?"

Taking his hand, you kissed the top of it. "You did."

Harry peeled out of his parking space, promising to make it up to you as he handed his phone over to choose the playlist for the ride home.

When you unlocked his phone, the home screen wasn't what popped up. Instead, the messages app was open, a string of messages that hadn't been replied to yet, going back a few weeks.

Can we talk?

I miss you. I miss us.

The silent treatment is childish, H.

Please call me.

Your hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, and Harry's phone nearly slipped out of them and onto the floor.

"Everything okay?"

Harry's voice dragged you out of whatever headspace you'd been launched into. Looking up, you mustered a smile, hoping the car's darkness would mask how flimsy it truly was.

"Yeah. Fine," you said, your voice not sounding like your own.

Quickly exiting out of the app, you pulled up his music, choosing a playlist at random before setting his phone down in the cup holder.

You felt like you were on one of those theme park rides, the ones that reach the heights of tall buildings just to fall straight down. You felt weightless, but not in a good way. It was as if you were falling and there was nowhere safe to land. That feeling in your stomach only grew until you were sure you were going to be sick.

Harry continued on none the wiser, chatting about this and that. You weren't exactly sure what he said, his voice was suddenly white noise. But you must've given him coherent responses because he didn't question your behavior. The only time he did was when you didn't invite him up to your apartment.

"I'm just really tired," you managed to say. "One too many margaritas, I guess."

Not putting up too much of a fight, Harry grinned and gave you a kiss. Despite the dread you felt, it still filled you with butterflies. You cared for him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself sometimes. And now there was...this.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, a sweet smile on his face.

He acted as if nothing was wrong, and it was convincing too. Almost to the point that you wanted to believe it too. Those messages were days old, save the most recent one, and Harry hadn't replied to any of them. That had to mean something.

Right?

*.*

After mentioning what you found to Sylvia, she demanded that what you needed was retail therapy. Shopping wasn't your favorite pastime, but you desperately needed a friend.

You met with her at an outdoor shopping mall, bundled up in your softest sweatshirt and puffy coat for comfort more than because of the weather. You hadn't wanted to go out at all today, or the last couple days since you saw Harry's messages. There had been an attempt to have Sylvia just come over so you could day drink together, but she wasn't having it.

So now you were wading through store after store, internally freaking out about where your relationship was headed. It was just getting off the ground, and now it was crumbling before your eyes. Harry was none the wiser, of course, but that was only because he was busy this week and you pretended to be busy because you weren't sure if you could keep it together in front of him. You needed a third-party perspective, a voice of reason before you sat down and talked to him about all this.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Sylvia asked gently.

One thing you liked about Sylvia was that she was bold and brash and didn't try to mince her words, but you appreciated her tone now. Friend of Harry's first or not, she was here for you, and seeing as there weren't many people you could turn to, you needed her now more than ever. You could talk to your brothers, but you didn't want them to come out and hurt him. You would go to them if there was something serious going on.

"I...I thought we were finally on the same page," you said, and then it all came spilling out of you. You replayed that night in Harry's car as you combed through a rack of dresses. Sylvia was quiet through all of it, not saying anything until you were finished. "I don't know what to do. Is he—I never asked because it wasn't really my business, but he was clearly torn up over their break up. Do you think it's possible that he's not over her?"

Because that was what kept you up at night. Before he left, Harry hadn't been ready for a relationship. You knew there wasn't an exact timeline for healing a broken heart, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and now all you could think about was him leaving you for his ex. The thought terrified you. It made you want to run before you learned the truth, spare yourself the trouble of looking like an idiot.

But you called Sylvia instead, knowing running was not the best option, even if it was the most familiar.

"Oh, babe," she sighed. "I'm not going to lie, Harry was in love with her. They were...there's no other way to put it. They loved each other."

The whimper that escaped your lips was an accident, and when Sylvia heard it, she pulled you in for a hug. "He was in love with her," she repeated as she ran a soothing hand up and down your back. "I truly believe he's moved on Y/n. Harry wouldn't do that to you."

"But what about her?" you said. "She wants him back, and he—he didn't tell me that she's been reaching out, and I just can't help but feel like their history will win out."

"I don't think you realize how happy you make him," Sylvia said. "Yes, Harry loved her, but they broke up for a reason. I don't see him giving things a second go, especially now that he's with you. He's happy, Y/n. He's happy because you make him happy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this. You just have to sit down and hear him out."

"You really think so?"

"He lights up at the mere mention of your name. You—You're like the sun to him," Sylvia promised. "So don't run from this, okay? Talk to him. Hear him out. Make him sweat a little for keeping this from you, but you owe it to yourself to hear his side of things."

You nodded, feeling a little reassured by what she'd said. You wouldn't feel a hundred percent until you talked things out with Harry, but this is a good start. At the very least, it kept you from wanting to run and hide from all this.

Laughing a little, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. "You know, when you said you were Harry's life coach, I didn't imagine you'd end up being mine too."

"It's what I'm good for," she said. "Now, let's see about doing a little shopping, hm? Ooh! And maybe we get our nails done."

Looping her arm through yours, she dragged you into the next aisle, feeling lighter with every step you took.

*.*

"Where is he? I'll kill him!"

This was the third time you'd heard that in the last couple of hours.

"Stand down, Hayden," you said from beneath your mountain of blankets. "He's not here."

Your brother's eyes widened as he looked in your direction, as if he didn't expect the pile of blankets to speak. He stalked over to where Andrew and Evan were standing in front of you, taking on a perplexed disposition. None of your brothers had ever really seen you this way. All the pranks, all the times they royally pissed you off when you were younger, you never really let it get to you. You could tell that although they wanted to be here for you, they weren't entirely sure how.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just let me know where he is, Y/n."

They were doing their best to help, and you knew you owed them answers. You did call them after all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. You called Evan, who proceeded to call Andrew because your younger brother was closest in proximity to you. And Andrew called Hayden because of course he did. It was sweet that they all dropped everything to come see you, but now you felt put on the spot.

And you knew Hayden would make good on his word, and your other two brothers would have no trouble helping him, and that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"I ended things with Harry," you said quietly.

"You said as much in your text, Y/n," Evan said. "But what happened? It seemed like you guys were really happy."

The thought of last night's events replayed in your mind, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. Taking a shuddering breath, you said, "I thought we were too."

It all started last night at this party Harry invited you too. Something about fundraising and live music and dancing, and he said it was the perfect opportunity to get dressed up and go out and not worry about being photographed. You agreed, wanting to put the text messages from his ex that had yet to be discussed far from your mind. You knew you should've said something, but you wanted to give Harry the opportunity to come clean himself. The fact that he hadn't kept you up at night, but you promised yourself—and Sylvia—that you would bring it up after the party.

"Just one more night of normalcy before we have this conversation," you assured her. It was all you wanted. Just one night where this cloud wasn't hanging over your head.

So you went. Harry picked you up in a sports car that usually sat in his garage, practically mauling you when he saw you in your dress. It was simple, but you felt great in it—a short black number with white ruffles at the top and bottom. With your hair blown out and curled to perfection, little pearl droplets hanging from your ears, you felt like a dream, and every time Harry's gaze fell on you to track your figure up and down, your entire body was filled with butterflies.

And the night carried on perfectly. You and Harry sipped on champagne and kept to yourselves most of the night. You didn't really know anyone, and he was perfectly happy to keep you all to himself, kissing your cheeks and neck whenever he could, his hand never leaving your waist for a moment. It was exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything that had been swirling around in your head the last few days. When Harry was dancing and spinning you around in and out of his arms in a corner of the event space, it felt like you were the only two people to exist. There was no way he had any lingering feelings for his ex when he was smiling so brightly and laughing as you spun him out and back into your arms.

And then...it all just fell apart.

"Harry?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Harry dropped your hand, coming to an abrupt halt beside you. You looked up, confused by the tension that suddenly lined his shoulders, but when you looked at the women who'd come up to your little corner, you just knew.

"H—Hi." Harry sounded breathless, his eyes never leaving hers once. All you could do was watch it all unfold in slow motion, all you could feel was the loss of his touch now that his hand was no longer in yours.

You cleared your throat when Harry didn't say anything. It was as if you had to pull him from whatever trance he'd fallen into at the mere sight of her. Dread filled your belly as he seemed to remember where he was, as he remembered you were there, blinking as he embraced his ex and introduced her to you.

"This is my friend Y/n."

His words felt like a sucker punch, all the air stolen from your lungs. You knew you and Harry hadn't put a label on your relationship, but to hear him refer to you as his friend right in front of his ex was devastating.

Your heart was glass, I dropped it.

Was this what it felt like? You never imagined you would be in this position, you never thought you would love someone enough to feel like you were coming undone at the seams at this kind of rejection. But perhaps that was just the universe coming to collect after thoroughly breaking someone else's heart yourself.

"I—I need some air," you heard yourself saying, not even looking to see if Harry noticed you leave or if he was too caught up in seeing his ex.

You didn't just get air, you Ubered home, unable to handle everything rushing through you. That was when you texted Evan, who merely responded with, I'm on my way, and twenty-four hours later, he was there, along with Hayden and Andrew.

You explained to your brothers what happened briefly, doing your best to not go into detail so you wouldn't start crying uncontrollably, though you'd be surprised if you had any tears left. You mostly just felt defeated, almost as if deep down you knew the happiness wasn't meant to last.

"He's an idiot, Y/n," Andrew said, resting a hand on Buddy's head to scratch him behind the ears. Your dog had been resting by your side since you came back last night, somehow sensing your despair. "Don't let him steal your happiness."

You nodded, but only because you had nothing else to say. You knew your brother meant well, but you just didn't believe him. This was par for the course in your eyes. Of course, when you fell for someone, they chose someone else. Maybe you were destined to be on your own, maybe love was overrated.

"Do you need anything?" Evan asked you, Hayden standing next to you. You could tell that they didn't really know what to do in this situation but that they wanted to be there for you. It was sweet, but there really wasn't anything to do.

"I'm okay," you said, convincing no one. "I think I might just take a nap."

"We can take Buddy for a walk. Maybe grab some food while we're out," Evan said. "Andrew, why don't you stay here and make sure she doesn't text him."

You rolled your eyes. "I literally just said I was going to sleep—"

"On it," Andrew said, hopping up to take your phone from where it was resting on your kitchen counter and slipping it into his pocket.

It was utterly ridiculous, but you were sure that was what your brothers were going for. The four of you weren't the touchy-feely type, you never had been. But one thing your brothers could count on was their ability to make you smile, make you laugh. And that was maybe exactly what you needed.

Making good on your word, you retired to your room, but you didn't sleep a wink despite how exhausted you were. Instead, you stayed up listening to records, shared favorites of yours and Harry's, the ones you bonded over together. It was hard to imagine that after such deep connections, the number of stories shared and late nights talking over bottles of red wine. Harry meant so much to you, and it killed you to think you didn't mean as much to him.

At some point, you must've dozed off—your eyes fluttering shut to the sound of Joni Mitchell—because suddenly you were jolting awake with a start. Muffled shouts could be heard through your closed door, which could only mean one thing.

Taking a couple minutes to wake up a little more and bolster yourself for unwanted confrontation, you finally stepped out of your room. The voices grew louder as you walked down the hall—Andrew kept telling Harry to leave while Harry claimed he just wanted to talk to you. You weren't sure if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was here whether you liked it or not, and it would probably be for the best before Evan and Hayden came back or the argument happening at your front door drew unwanted attention.

"You can let him in."

Your voice was quiet, but not unsteady, which came as a surprise to you. It surprised your brother and the person who would've been your boyfriend too, their argument ceasing immediately as they looked over at you.

"Y/n," Harry breathed.

For better or for worse, he looked about as awful as you felt. There were bags under his eyes, and he was in the clothes he wore to the party last night. His tan trousers were rumpled, belt missing; his satin shirt was heavily wrinkled, the buttons mismatched in the wrong holes. His hair was a mess too, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

You didn't like seeing him like this, hated it, in fact. This wasn't supposed to be yours and Harry's story. You thought both of you had experienced the heartbreak and had found each other on the other side of it. Now you felt like you were right back where you started, and you hated it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrew said, glancing warily between you and Harry. "Hayden and Evan will be back soon—"

"It's fine, Andrew. I promise," you told him, stepping closer to the front door cautiously, worrying that getting too close would ensnare you in Harry's magnetic pull. One whiff of his cologne might send you right into his arms, where your heart still thought it was safe. "Keep them occupied for me?"

It was clear that Andrew didn't agree with you on this decision. He stood there by the door for a long while, trying to assess your mental state. But he finally relented, taking a few steps toward you to hug you tightly. "Don't be afraid to give him hell," he murmured in your ear. Then, after passing back your phone, he left, but not before glaring murderously in Harry's direction.

When you and Harry were finally alone, your apartment was silent for the first time in hours. Almost too silent. Harry just stared at you with this broken look in his eyes, and you...you couldn't dredge up the energy to start this conversation. It was clear Harry didn't either. You watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but you had no desire to help him out.

"Can we sit?" he finally asked, his voice sounding tired and raw.

Unable to handle the look in his those devastated green eyes, you looked down at where your sweatshirt engulfed your hands. "I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Sitting meant forced proximity, and you were already pushing yourself to have this conversation. This distance between you and Harry would be where you drew the line.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Okay. I—I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n."

"For what exactly?" you asked, not expecting the bitterness in your tone.

"For making it seem like we were just friends in front of her, for freezing last night. I—She'd been texting me the last few days and I've ignored her, but I didn't expect to see her."

"I know about the texts," you found yourself saying.

It was clear Harry hadn't expected that. A look of confusion passed over his face as he asked, "Wh—Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" you said, unable to hide the hurt, the betrayal.

"It was nothing, and I didn't want to bring any attention to it. I thought if I just ignored her enough, she would stop, and she did eventually stop, but then I saw her last night, and I didn't want to make her feel worse by showing her I'd moved on—"

"But you haven't," you said. "You're...protecting her. Sparing her feelings while fucking me over. I—I could've gotten over the texts. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because you hadn't responded to her. But watching you call me your friend was such a slap in the face."

"I'm sorry, I fucked up. I know I did," Harry said, tears pooling in his eyes.

You could tell he meant it. You knew he realized what he'd done was shitty, but could you move on from it?

"I believe that you're sorry," you said. At that, something like hope flickered in his face, but you snuffed it out just as quickly as it came. "But I also think you still have unresolved feelings for her. And I—I don't want to be second to you. Not in that way."

"So that's it?"

You knew Harry like the back of your hand. You knew what the little quiver of his lip meant, understood the tight clench of his fists around the hem of his shirt. You could read every line of emotion on his face, and you wondered if he could pick you apart the same way.

"You know, all this time we've bonded over our respective heartbreak as if our pain was the same," you said, more to yourself than to him. "But what I'm realizing now, what I started to realize last night, was that mine stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, of never being enough for someone. I broke up with someone because I wasn't in love with them, and that devastated me. But you...no matter how the relationship fell apart or who ended it, you loved her, and she loved you. That feeling doesn't just wash away with the evening tide."

"Y/n—"

"And that's...that's okay, you know?" you continued. "You loved her. Love her. That's not a bad thing. But—But I'm in love with you too, and I can't—I'm not going to compete with someone who already has your heart. I won't."

Tears kissed your cheeks as you blinked. Your hands shook, but your voice was clear. Harry could deny it all he wanted, but you saw the truth laid bare before you. You weren't the only person occupying space in his heart, and after everything you'd been through, you didn't want to settle for anything less than what you deserved.

"That's not true, Y/n," Harry implored. He looked a little frantic now that he knew your mind was practically made up. "I fucked up, I know that. I saw her, and I froze. It was just—"

An instinct, a gut reaction, that was what he didn't want to say. "I don't want someone's initial reaction to be to let go of my hand," you said softly, wiping away a tear with a sleeve-covered hand. "I want—"

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet. That song you'd written all those months ago, the one that held your deepest regrets and insecurities, all the little things you'd run from. You didn't want to run from it anymore. You thought you found someone to run toward, but you were wrong.

"I don't want what we have to be over, Y/n," Harry pleaded.

I don't believe you, you thought, and you couldn't be with him if you didn't trust his sincerity. "I think you need more time," you said instead of voicing what you felt.

"There's no convincing how much I feel for you, is there?" he said, sounding resigned to the fate that had come to pass.

You shook your head, your heart begging you to hold onto him and not let go, to drag him to bed and sleep until you both forgot. But you didn't do any of those things. "No. Not right now."

Harry finally bridged the gap between you and him. He kept a sliver of distance, the only contact he made being gentle fingers tilting your chin so you'd meet his eye. There was so much emotion swirling there, and you longed to kiss away all the anguish and pain until only love was left, but that wasn't in the cards. Not today, or in the days that would follow.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave again," Harry said, his gaze unrelenting. Your brow furrowed, not recalling when he made that promise, but he continued before you could ask. "Not in the ways that count anyway, but I intend to keep that promise, Y/n. If you want space, I'll give it to you, but don't think for one second that I won't spend every single moment we're apart wishing we were together. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."

It was a surprise your body didn't turn to jello on the spot, that Harry couldn't hear the steady thump of your heart as it beat wildly in your chest. He said all the right things, every perfect word, but right now, that was all they were. And you didn't have it in you to believe him.

"I'm sorry that I did this to us, to you," he said. "I'll never not be sorry. "

Harry stood there, his fingers gingerly holding your chin, for a few moments longer. It was as if he was imploring you to read the message in his eyes, to understand everything he wasn't saying, but you just didn't have the energy.

When he finally left, one last promise that wasn't giving up on you and him yet on his lips before the door clicked shut, all the warmth in your body went with him. You briefly thought of all the times you clung to him to warm up, slipping his hands beneath his shirts and sweaters and nuzzling your face in his neck.

That last touch of Harry's fingers to your chin wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and now he was gone. The person you fell in love with, who knew you better than anyone else in the world, walked out the door, head held high as if this wouldn't be the last time you'd be standing so close.

You weren't convinced. Not when all your mind wanted to replay was his hand dropping yours, his dismissal of your relationship, and his disregard for your feelings to protect those of his ex.

*.*

You didn't see Harry in the weeks that followed, but you weren't sure if that had more to do with him working on his album. Sylvia kept you semi-updated, even though you insisted you were fine with not knowing what he was up to. It was a lie, of course, and she saw right through it, letting you know when Harry was gone for music video shoots, recording and producing music, album cover shoots, and meetings with his label.

Part of you was grateful he wasn't around because it made keeping your distance easier. After everything that happened, you convinced yourself Harry didn't know what he wanted, even if he claimed he was. The proof had been right in front of you, though, clear as day. There were unresolved feelings lingering in the corners of Harry's heart and mind, and he needed to deal with them or get back together with his ex, but you wanted no part of it.

That wasn't to say Harry wasn't on your mind. He was there constantly, taking up space and making you lose focus while writing or walking your dog. You'd never been in love before, and now that everything had imploded, you didn't know how to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

Blinking, you looked up to where Mitch stared at you, an acoustic guitar in his lap. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet with him for a writing session. You hadn't written much since everything fell apart, save the occasional depressing poem, but when Mitch reached out, you figured it was as good a time as any to get back to work and start writing again.

In theory, it was a good idea, but your heart just wasn't in it. It was thousands of miles away shooting a music video.

"Sorry, I thought this would be a good idea, but my head is just all over the place," you said, closing your notebook that only had a few disconnected lines written down.

"I'm sorry about everything," Mitch said. "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but he really does care about you. Like a lot."

"I know," you said dejectedly. "But he...he still loves her, I think. Or cares for her more than he lets on. Maybe even more than he realizes."

That night, you realized you had a losing hand. You didn't want to run like you'd done with Gavin, but you didn't want to fight either. You just felt...defeated, as if the fickle promise of love had bested you again.

"I can promise you he doesn't, but I know that's between you and him," Mitch said. Nodding to the journal in your lap, he asked, "Can I see?"

Shrugging, you handed it over. At this point, Mitch had learned a lot about you by being your writing partner, so you didn't mind him flipping through it. And honestly, there wasn't much to show anyway. A couple of measly lines did not a song make.

Mitch was quiet as he looked over the few things you'd written down, his expression gloriously passive as always. Since you started writing together, you'd struggled to read his expressions, not knowing what he thought until he voiced his opinion.

"Well, shit, kid," Mitch murmured on an exhale.

"What?"

Mitch looked up, one brow raised. Then, he began to read lines from your journal. "You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes...My hand's a risk I fold...Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never—"

"Hey wait a minute, that's not from today," you said, reaching for your journal. Mitch managed to land on one of your poems from a few days ago. That definitely wasn't meant to be part of today's writing session. "Give that back."

"This is good, Y/n. There's a song in here," Mitch insisted.

"Oh please. That's a terribly depressing poem fueled by a bottle of wine."

He pinned you with a stare, but you ignored it, and he eventually let it go. You didn't stay in the studio much longer after that, realizing that not much was going to come out of this session. And Mitch had to leave too, having to catch a redeye to London. "We're finishing up the album there," he explained.

It dawned on you then that you would be alone again. After becoming so used to having a partner of some kind while writing, too. It shouldn't have affected you so much, but it did. Somehow you'd grown to appreciate company while you were writing, and now your two favorite writing partners were leaving. They were the only two you'd ever had, but as history had shown, you weren't a huge fan of change.

You'd grown comfortable, but now the ground was shaking and crumbling beneath you. Though perhaps that should've been the familiar feeling.

"Can I keep the song?" Mitch asked on your way out of the studio. "I have an idea."

This time, you could read what was on your friend's face. And you could sense it, somehow. He wanted to show it to Harry. For the album, or because Mitch felt Harry needed to read the words. At this point, you were emotionally drained, and you weren't going to be there when Harry read your little poem, anyway. What did it matter?

"That's fine," you said, tearing the page out of your journal. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We can still collaborate over the phone or voice notes or whatever."

You thought that was where you and Mitch would leave things, but then he asked, "Do you think you'll ever write with him again?"

Harry was so much more than the person you were in love with. He was your friend, your first ever writing partner, someone you'd confided in. But he was also the person who made you feel betrayal and heartache. You didn't know how to reconcile those two people.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I hope so."

*.*

There wasn't a single moment where Harry didn't think of Y/n while they were apart. He'd done what she'd asked of him, gave them the space to heal and settle. Harry understood where she was coming from, and he knew that he'd hurt her more than he ever imagined he would.

Everything fell apart so completely, too quickly for him to even pick up the pieces.

He knew he should've told her about the texts the minute he received them, and he couldn't really pinpoint why he didn't. It was in no way to hurt Y/n, or to protect his ex; honestly, he should've just deleted them as they came, but he didn't, and things only went downhill from there.

Harry didn't want space, he knew what he wanted, who he wanted. But he also knew that what he'd done, how he behaved, gave Y/n every right to push him away and not trust him. All he knew was that he'd never regretted anything more than seeing the devastated look on her face when they ran into his ex.

He couldn't take back what he'd done, all he could do was try to make things right the second Y/n gave him the opportunity. Thankfully, recording and producing his second album kept him busy enough to give her the space she'd asked for. Had he liked being so far away from her, both physically and emotionally? No. Hell no, but he just put everything he was feeling into his music, let it fuel him as he and his team found the sound he was going for with this project.

It wasn't until weeks after they'd ended things that he heard from Y/n. Really, Mitch had passed a folded up piece of paper with song lyrics on it and said it was Y/n's, but Harry was so desperate to get something from her that he'd counted it. "I have an idea for it. I just need you to finish it," Mitch had said.

"Finish it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the paper.

To him it looked like a poem, but Mitch seemed to be convinced it was a song. He read over it briefly, then again, and again and again until he was standing in front of his friend for an awkward amount of time.

"She's speaking to you in this," Mitch explained. "It could be a kind of conversation."

The idea had perplexed him, and at first, Harry had said no. It wasn't until the next evening when he was alone in his flat that he considered the folded piece of paper. He thought about all the songs he'd written with Y/n, the thoughts and feelings they'd shared with each and every lyric and melody. This wasn't the same, not even close. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted to relive the moments where Y/n would sit with her guitar, her journal and his in his lap as they compared notes and ideas.

But this would have to do for now.

He didn't try to get in Y/n's head, to try to understand what she might've been feeling at the time she wrote the poem, though he had a pretty good idea. Harry merely did what Mitch suggested and responded to the lines already written down, adding them in where he saw fit.

"Put a price on...emotion, I'm looking for...something to buy," he murmured, quickly scribbling the words down before he forgot them. "I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

Writing this song gave Harry the opportunity to finally let go. Through it he was able to admit that he had been clinging to a crisp trepidation, a fear of giving all of himself over to Y/n with abandon. For a number of reasons—that things with Y/n would end up in flames like all his other relationships (check), that he didn't even know what love looked like anymore after so many failed attempts at finding it, that he wasn't good enough to be someone Y/n deserved, , that he was going to lose her forever if he didn't pull himself together enough for her.

By the time Harry was done, he felt dejected. The finished song was sad, too sad. It was about heartache and fear, it sounded finite. And that wasn't what he wanted his story with Y/n to be.

We'll be fine, he wrote before quickly crossing it our. Fine. Fine. Finefinefinefinefine—

"We'll be a fine line," Harry finally murmured.

He spent the rest of the night figuring out arrangements and melodies, all of it coming together in his head almost faster than he could write it all down. The album was pretty much in the final stretch. At this point, he and his team were finishing up recordings and working on the promotional aspects of the release, but he knew it down to every atom of his being that this song had to be on the album. It was the culmination of everything he'd experienced and felt, every emotion he'd embraced and shied away from. All of it crashed into each other in a blaze of horns and strings.

And maybe when he finally finished working through the main melody on his guitar, something soft and melancholic, yet soothing and hopeful, he should've gone right to sleep. He honestly should've been exhausted after the emotional whirlwind he'd been wrapped up in. Yet he somehow had his phone in his hands, his thumb hovering over a contact before he eventually hit the call button.

"Harry? What—Isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

Harry couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he heard Y/n's voice. He'd missed her so much it physically hurt sometimes. Part of him thought she wouldn't answer his call, but when she did, his entire body sagged with relief.

"I miss you," he said, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you, and you probably were just being nice by suggesting the whole space thing when you really want nothing to do with me ever again—"

"Harry," Y/n said, her voice gently but firm. "Slow down, love."

Harry could've cried at the softness in her tone let alone the term of endearment. All he'd wanted for the last few weeks was to just hear her voice, her his name on her lips in a way that didn't sound hurt or disappointed.

"You were right," he told her. "I—I was holding back from you, and that wasn't fair to either of us, but especially to you. Y/n, I—I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered. "I think...I think I just wanted you to want me as much as I did."

"I do," Harry promised. "I know I haven't given you much to believe me, but Y/n the way I feel about you is so different than I've ever felt about anyone, and I think part of me was scared of that too after such a tremendous breakup."

For a moment, Y/n was silent over the phone, her breaths filling up his ear and making him long for the moments they spent huddled up in bed together.

"I know...I know we've been here before, but do you think we could try things again?" he asked. He almost didn't want to know, believing that perhaps ignorance really was bliss. But Y/n had put herself out there so many times, had taken so many risks despite everything she'd experienced. He could be brave too.

"What if—What if we started over?" she said.

"Start over?"

"I think we need a clean slate. If you're really and truly over your ex—"

"I am. I swear, Y/n," Harry said, not wanting hope to spark to life in him just yet.

"Then we need to put all of this mess behind us and start fresh."

"I—I'd like that." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. When he called Y/n, he worried he'd come off a little crazy due to lack of sleep, but now he worried he might've fallen asleep in a songwriting craze and was now dreaming.

"I, um, I know you offered a few months ago, but if you were still looking for someone to join your band...maybe I could fill that spot?"

"You want to work for me?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but I guess technically yes," Y/n said. "I feel like you would pay a fair wage."

Harry chuckled, a satisfied sort of exhaustion taking over him now that he felt like his life was getting back on track. "I'll give you whatever you want if it means you'll join."

He just wanted her close, and if this was what a clean slate looked like to her, then he would oblige. Having her close, playing music together, being surrounded by their friends, it would be exactly what they needed to find their way back to each other.

"You should probably go to bed," Y/n said, breaking the content silence that had settled over them.

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, running a tired hand over his face. "So what have you been listening to recently?"

For a moment, he thought she would insist he get some rest. He supposed he'd be okay with it, finding peace in the fact things were finally looking up for them. But then she answered, and Harry was sure he'd never be able to wipe the smile from his face as he listened to his girl.

*.*

Months later

"Are you in love with Harry?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but you felt your cheeks redden immediately.

Sarah, who was much more quick on the draw than you would've been, smiled and said, "We all are, yeah."

You forced a soft laugh, unsure of where to direct your gaze. This whole interview had been one huge vat of chaos—and blatant misogyny—from the start, but Harry had conducted himself well so far, not balking or raising his voice once at the invasive and downright rude questions that were thrown at him. Perhaps you should've expected a question like this today, but you still struggled to keep your face neutral.

"So there's nothing going on romantically with Harry and the ladies?"

You suddenly found the keyboard in front of you incredibly interesting. What you really needed in this moment was a reassuring glance from Harry, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping your budding relationship a secret.

Attention from the public was still something you were getting used to. You'd gotten into songwriting because it was out of the public eye, but being with Harry would eventually lead you right into it. Not that you minded, you'd do whatever it took to be with him. But interviews like this one still left you feeling flustered.

"And who's back there on keys?"

Even though they were all your friends, you still felt your face flush as red as the leather skirt you wore for the interview.

"Y/n."

"That's Y/n."

"How are you doing back there, Y/n?"

"Fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a squeak.

Risking a glance at Harry, you met his gaze. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it bolstered your confidence the slightest bit. Just enough to get you through this brief conversation.

"Just fine? Does Harry make you nervous?"

"Maybe Y/n's the one who's in love with him."

"Or maybe she just wants to fuck him!"

An awkward silence fell over the room after the interviewers' comments and questions. You didn't even know what to say, or how you were expected to respond. Feeling the sympathetic stares from the rest of the band, you took a deep breath and tried not to cry, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Harry's jaw ticked, and you were pretty sure you were the only one who noticed. It was the first time he'd reacted to any of the questions asked today. And you could see it in his face that he was beyond pissed off.

This wasn't what you expected, and clearly Harry hadn't expected it either. But you also didn't want him to storm off and make a big scene. You just wanted to get through today and go home and rest with Buddy and Sweet Pea while you and Harry watched a movie together in bed. That thought kept you grounded, and you tried your hardest to convey to Harry that you were okay without saying anything.

"I, um, I met Harry in the studio in LA," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Y/n's a songwriter, but she's generously lent her fabulous keyboarding skills to us this year," Harry said.

"A songwriter?" You felt the interviewer's gaze sweep over you, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Another tick of Harry's jaw.

"Yeah. But I've enjoyed doing this too. Traveling and performing with Sarah's band," you said, a meek attempt at a joke.

"You must be getting laid a lot on the road as a proper rockstar now. You could probably get whoever you wanted. Well, maybe not Harry, but close to anyone. Are you taking advantage of being on the road with Harry? A new man every night?"

You swallowed thickly, the will not to cry hanging on by a thread. "I—I don't think my brothers be cool with—"

"Shut the fuck up, mate."

Shocked silence filled the room. Clearly, the interviewers didn't expect someone as laid back as Harry to speak up that way. A mix of relief and unease washed over you, unsure of how the rest of the interview was going to pan out now. But you couldn't say you didn't feel relieved that he'd spoken up.

"Harry, we're only—"

"You're being fucking disrespectful to the members of my band, and I'm not fucking putting up with it. Either ask me your fucking questions or let me go. My band and I aren't putting up with your bullshit."

Harry hadn't wanted to come here. He knew the reputation of the interviewer, but it had still somehow made it onto the list of interviews and appearances to promote the album. You'd watched as he grew more and more irritated with each question, but he seemed to take them in stride. But the minute they were directed at you, he'd snapped.

A brief break in the interview ensued, producers suggesting that a couple minutes to regroup would do everyone some good. When everyone was ready to record again, a stilted topic change led Harry to introduce and talk about the Peter Gabriel song they were about to play. The rest of the interview teetered between overly professional and awkward. You could tell by the tense line of Harry's shoulders that he wanted to be anywhere else.

At some point while Harry was talking, Sarah looked over at you. "You okay?" she mouthed, and you nodded subtly, giving her a tiny thumbs up from behind your keyboard setup. Everyone in the band knew about you and Harry. It was hard to hide your relationship when he was by your side whenever you weren't rehearsing a song, and like Mitch and Sarah, he was almost always facing you during rehearsals. It was sweet how he was always pulling you aside during lunch breaks and sitting beside you on the piano bench. One time, when Harry had a film crew film a performance of each song on the album, he asked if the recording of "Fine Line" could just be you and him. Both of you sat on stools with your respective guitars as you performed a stripped-back version of the song, your voice supporting Harry's with a soft harmony occasionally. It was a special moment for the two of you, especially because the song meant so much.

After that, there were no questions about what you meant to each other.

At the end of the interview, Harry was quick to leave, hardly sparing anyone a glance as he stalked out. You stayed back to break down your equipment like you normally did, your hands shaking a little as the desire to comfort Harry took over.

"Go, I got this," Mitch said, coming over to help.

"Really?"

Mitch nodded before bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You nodded. "Might have to be at my apartment, though. I don't think he'll be up for going out."

You left soon after that, walking out of the recording room where the interview had taken place. The green room was down the hall, and you entered despite the closed door. "It's me," you said quietly before entering, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry was already out of his blue sweater and green trousers, a pair of brown corduroys on as he shrugged into a yellow t-shirt. He looked up briefly, then looked back down again as he slipped a pair of Vans on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mad, upset, guilty," he said with a shrug.

"Why on earth do you feel guilty, love?"

"That never should've fucking happened," he seethed, but in Harry fashion, it just meant his voice was clipped and low as he tried to get a handle on his anger. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stood up for you."

"I...You did, H." You didn't want to say that it was okay, because obviously the whole situation wasn't, but you knew he wasn't to blame. The topic of him sticking up for you was a touchy one. "You were put in a tough position, yet you still put those assholes in their place. Let's just go home and forget about all this shit, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he still wouldn't meet your eye, which wasn't going to work for you one bit.

"Hey," you said, tilting his chin up with your fingertips. "Don't beat yourself up. Please? For me?"

For the first time since the midpoint of the interview, Harry grinned. He threaded his fingers through yours before giving you a kiss, his lips soft and familiar against yours. You felt some of the tension leave his body until he eventually pulled away and draped an arm over your shoulders, your hands still connected.

"Never fucking coming to this place again," Harry murmured on the way out, keeping you tucked closely to his side.

"Amen to that."

Harry looked down at you, the anger and frustration finally clearing from his eyes. When it came to you, to your feelings, he was very protective. And you were too, in your own way. You leaned on each other, supported each other, and spent time together without ever being sick of one another. There was no doubt in your mind that he loved you, and even though it might put him in hot water with his management or the interviewer, it meant a lot to you that he stood up for you the way he did. You didn't need him to throw punches or push people up against walls—honestly, that was what your brothers were for—but when it all boiled down, he put you and your feelings first, always and without question.

"I love you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of your hand.

"Even with my crazy brothers?"

"Even with your crazy brothers."

"Hm. Even when Buddy steals your spot on the bed?"

"Even then."

"Even in the mornings when my feet are cold and they brush up against your legs?"

When Harry didn't answer right away, you playfully pinched his side until he laughed and kissed the top of your head. "Babe, I'm gonna love you on your worst day, you know that."

And even though you did, your cheeks became rosy, your whole body tingling with warmth. "Good. Because I love you too. So much."

So much pain had been felt, so much devastation had been endured before you and Harry fell into a perfect rhythm. It wasn't easy, and if you were to look back at the girl who believed she was fucked in the head and incapable and undeserving of love and being loved, you would still think it was all worth it. You would endure it all again if it led you to this moment, if it ended up with Harry cradling your heart of glass in his hands and protecting it as if it was his own.

Hand in hand, you went home and didn't look back at the shattered glass you'd long since left behind.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles oneshot #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #fine line

[myysaints]

saw your requests are open so i’d like to request something! something angsty because this came to me after listening to ‘cherry’ by harry styles :p reader is danny’s ex but they broke up, few months later he’s dating someone else and reader is now in a (new/fresh) relationship with another driver, max/charles i couldn’t decide so i’ll let you do that! ♡ just something angsty like him realizing how much he misses her but she’s moved on and happy 🫶🏼 hope this makes sense? ah, love your stuff btw!!!

thank u anon you're so sweet! and ughhhh this request was IMMACULATE cherry is one of my favourite harry styles songs. wasn't sure if you wanted a socmed fic, if u did lmk and i'd be happy to adapt it into one! but i hope you enjoy nevertheless :)

I, I just miss I just miss your accent and your friends

Daniel stares down at his phone.

What a cruel twist of fate it is that the moment he opened his Instagram, he sees you.

You’re laughing in the picture, your hand looped around none other than Max’s neck. You’re sprawled on the Red Bull driver’s lap, and there’s a giddy grin on both of your faces, Max’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. It feels bittersweet, seeing that familiar sweet smile of yours, only now it’s pointed at another man.

It’s only one photo in a carousel of others posted by your best friend. Why Daniel still follows her, he has no idea. But he stares at the photograph of you for longer than he’d like to admit.

There’s a shuffling noise from the kitchen, and Daniel’s new girlfriend pokes her head into the room. “Danny, we still going out for dinner?”

Daniel can only stare at her for a moment, too caught up in the memories of you and him to reply.

He knows what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t be leading this poor girl along. He knows that all this relationship is to him is a way to distract himself from what’s really eating at him. He knows that she’s just a replacement for you.

But the quizzical smile his girlfriend sends has his heart aching in guilt, so he manages a feeble nod in response, quickly shutting his phone off and throwing it onto the bed, before making his way to her smiling face.

The guilt eats him alive as he makes small talk with her over dinner. He would never admit it, but sometimes he can’t stand to look at her; to roll over in bed and see someone other than you laying beside him.

Did you know I still talk to them?

Everything changed after Zandvoort.

Daniel was partially to blame, he knew that. The crash in free practice had taken a toll on him, not just physically but mentally. The season in AlphaTauri was his one shot at proving that he still had it in him to be a class Formula 1 driver - to the world, to Red Bull, and to himself.

You were supportive of him all the way. From the moment he entered talks with Red Bull and AlphaTauri to get back into F1, to when he first got in that white and blue car at Hungary, you were always there, by his side.

But Zandvoort changed things. Zandvoort changed him.

He started to push you away. The comments from the media, from fans, from people everywhere, all around him, were starting to get to him. Did nobody believe in him anymore? Was he really not cut out for Formula 1?

Was his time really up?

The weeks of recovery were dark for the both of you. For him, most of it was spent in bed, his mind fuzzy from the painkillers and medicine, too tired and too beaten to do anything. For you, it was utter torture. To see the man you loved, the man whose laughter and mere presence brought so many smiles to those in the paddock, the man who never knew when to give up, look so futile and disappointed? It hurt.

But he hurt you more.

Does he take you walking round his parents' gallery?

It’s funny. Fate, he means. How it has a way of testing him, how it has a way of bringing his mind and him back to you. Always you.

“Has anyone seen Max and Y/N? They were supposed to arrive a while ago, are they late? ”  

Instinctively, Daniel turns. It’s almost pathetic really. How just the sound of your name catches his attention and has him whipping around, his eyes searching for you. How you unwittingly made him into your own lapdog.

You aren’t there, though, so he keeps his head down and ignores the questioning look his girlfriend sends him.

In the final few weeks, and perhaps even months, of your relationship, Daniel hadn’t been kind on you. He became bitter, spiteful, even jealous. To him, you just didn’t understand the weight on his shoulder, the pressures he had to face. But how could you? Despite all your protests and pleading, he was shutting you out of his life, bit by bit.

Every time you came over, it ended with screaming matches and you leaving with tears in your eyes. Daily visits from you turned into weekly check-ins. He started to turn his head away from you when you tried to kiss his cheek. Those turned into brusque hand squeezes. His texts, too, became sparse and dry. He recoiled from you when you were around.

He could still remember the heartbreak on your face when he told you he wanted to break up. "It's for both of our own good," he mumbled. "I need to focus on racing. You should have a life outside of me."

It was a bitter end, and to this day, Daniel still regrets not putting up enough of a fight. How stupid he had been, to think that without you, he could give his 100% to racing. How stupid he had been, to think of you as a distraction.

He can’t imagine how stupid he must appear to you now, showing up on Sunday with a new girlfriend on his arm.

Don't you call him baby

“You sure you’re okay?”

You smooth down your dress for the umpteenth time, breathing out a nervous sigh as you smile back at Max, who glances at you in slight concern. His press officer is fussing over the both of you, the paddock entrance looming both terrifyingly and excitingly ahead.

It’s about to be your first public appearance with Max, and your first public appearance at a Formula 1 grand prix since… Well, since your relationship with Daniel ended.

It’s been a rough few months. It took time, getting used to Daniel’s absence. You hadn’t realised just how much of your life had revolved around his being; it became painful to even step foot in the paddock, to even switch on the television to catch up on the latest grand prix.

Even worse was the public scrutiny. You and Daniel had always been open about your relationship, frequently sharing bits and pieces of your life together on each of your social medias. So it was no wonder than when you both stopped posting each other, and when you took down all your posts with him, that fans knew something was up.

Things hadn’t been easy. But Max had made it better. What started as a friendly reaching out turned into a heartachingly romantic and sweet courting, and now, he was your boyfriend.

You smile at Max, reaching up to press a gentle kiss on his cheek. You can hear a flurry of cameras snapping away, and you resist glancing at them, choosing instead to focus on your boyfriend. At your peck, Max ducks his head, as if suddenly shy despite the two of you having dated for going on 3 months now. Still, the small grin on his face tells you all you need to know.

“I’ll be fine,” you say as you slip your hand into his, and give a nod to his press officer. Max’s thumb smooths over your knuckles, and you finally feel yourself relax. You look into his eyes, and in this moment, you know: You’re happy.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, baby.”

We're not talking lately

Everyone notices when you enter the paddock.

Not only because it’s the first time in months that you’ve appeared at a Grand Prix, but because you have Max Verstappen beside you. With his arm around your waist.

“What’s happening?” his girlfriend asks, craning her neck to peer at the paddock entrance. “Did someone just arrive?”

“It’s Max,” a passing journalist calls, as he hastens towards the paddock entrance himself. “With Y/N!”

Daniel can’t help himself. Really, he can’t.

It happens before he can stop himself. He’s getting up and pulling his hand from his girlfriend and his feet are taking himself over to you as if they have a mind of their own. As if they still remember that it's where he’s meant to be. By your side.

The crowd doesn’t part for him. Not anymore. He finds himself standing on the outskirts of the gathering group, watching from afar as you bashfully smile for the many snapping cameras, and cling onto Max a little tighter, as the Red Bull driver nods politely at the journalists swarming you.

“Alright, alright, let us through, please,” he hears Max say, “Let my girl have some space, yeah?”

Something akin to jealousy rears its ugly head.

Then the horde of people are moving, and some are finally beginning to notice Daniel.

“Danny!” “Daniel, over here, please!” “How’re you feeling today, Daniel?” “Daniel, how does it feel that Max is dating your ex-girlfriend?”

The question has him reeling, and he can only stare at the waiting journalist incredulously. What a ridiculous fucking question. He has half a mind to charge at the dickhead and throw a punch that will send the cunt into a coma for weeks-

“Look, mate, leave us alone, yeah? Daniel, how’re you doin’?”

Max claps a good-natured hand on Daniel’s back, steering him away from the throng of journalists and photographers, who groan before turning their attention to Fernando, who’s just gotten out of his car.

Max’s friendliness momentarily stuns him, and all he can manage out is a half-convincing “Good, good” in return. This seems to satisfy Max enough, though, because then he’s smiling and nodding and rubbing Daniel’s shoulders.

It’s at this moment Daniel realises you’re still here.

He glances back at you, trailing behind him and Max.

You’re just as pretty as ever, he thinks to himself. It’s almost as if nothing had changed. Like you’re still the one he walked into the paddock with, like you’re waiting for him to finish a conversation with Max, not the other way around.

You don’t even look his way.

“…so then I told Charles, ‘No way, there’s no way you’re convincing Carlos that!’, and then, you know what he said? Really, it’s hilarious, he-”

Max stops his rambling midway, leaning down to listen to something you whisper in his ear.

“I’m gonna head to the garage first, okay?” Daniel hears you mumble, “I’ll see you later, baby.”

Then Max tilts your head up and presses a kiss on your mouth.

It’s at this moment that Daniel can’t help but feel a little foolish. Actually, more than a little. He feels stupid, downright idiotic standing here with his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend. Trying to pretend like everything was alright.

The worst part of it all, is that you don’t seem fazed at all. To you, it’s like he’s just another driver you bump into ever-so-often. You don’t seem to care about him. It’s like he and the weight of your shared history don’t even exist. Like it never did.

The sight of you walking away from him – again – pains him more than he thought it would. He can’t bear to lose you again, not when he’s still so fucking in love with you.

Soo he darts his hand out and grabs your wrist, and you whip around, eyes wide and stunned, and Daniel feels Max halt beside him, watching him intently.

And you’re looking at him now. Finally, you’re looking at him.

His eyes roam yours, trying to find a hint of familiarity, hoping desperately that he’ll find the same yearning and aching he feels for you reflected in your eyes.

“Don't you call him what you used to call me,” he whispers. Pleading with you.

Something in you seems to soften, and there’s a flash of pain in your eyes, but it's one that is quickly replaced with anger.

You wrench your hand from his grip and shove him away, storming off as Max follows you, casting an indecipherable look at Daniel in the process. Daniel watches as Max catches up to you, and he watches as you let him cradle you in his arms.

But it’s not your anger that hurts the most.

It’s the fact that you never once looked back at him.

#daniel ricciardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo imagine #f1 #red bull racing #max verstappen fanfic #˖⁺‧₊˚ 📂 ── my writing #꒰ ⁺‧₊˚ [🏁] formula 1

[ajortga]

home

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

summary: nothing feels more than home to jenna than you.

word count: 800+ (drabble)

a/n: wanted to get this out there as a thank you, we reached 400 followers! words actually cannot describe how grateful i am that people appreciate the stories i write. i really hope they can make your day<3.

hey alexa, play home by edith whiskers.

You yearn to feel the sense of hope and comfort.

Home.

Not the home that shields Jenna as she sleeps, a roof over her head.

But at the same time, it is that.

Not the home that she wakes up in everyday when she wakes up for breakfast, the aroma of her mom’s cooking fills the air,

The TV turned on, her older and younger siblings playing in the living room. 

Not the home that holds her, her yorkie terrier and her family.

Or the home that shakes as Aliyah and her jump on the bed with Cash.

No, not that.

Home.

As much as she loved her family, nothing could compare to you, no one.

Jenna could remember her words as she strummed her guitar, a gentle hum filling her room.

“Alabama Arkansas, I do love my ma and pa, not the way that I do love you.’

The only home she’ll be the first to run to when she has news.

“We laugh until we think we'll die, barefoot on a summer night”

As Jenna strums to her whistling, she remembers running across the sandy coast with the palette of the sunset around you. Shades of orange, yellow, pink, and baby blue hues. Holding hands with you as you two laugh and run with each other barefoot during the summer. The sweetest memory she’s ever experienced. A moment that she never felt could be better. If she could go back to one memory before she died, she’d choose that one. With you, cupping your cheeks as you two kiss as dawn was welcomed, during her favorite season of the year.

Giggling as you both collapse on the sunlit meadow on a warm summer night, bodies wrapped around each other.

“Nothing is sweeter than with you.”

Oh you were everything to her, her best friend, girlfriend, soulmate, universe.

-

When Jenna’s boyfriend broke up with her, she sobbed on her pillow, she never told you when you came over that she pretended that it was you.

She didn’t know why it might’ve helped, it’s warmth reminding her of you, it made her hug it tighter.

“La-la-la-la-la take me home”

That day Jenna’s heart was shattered, you were the one to bring it back together, her sobbing in your warm arms as you comforted her, your hands scratching her scalp in the perfect way.

You told her she could stay over, she sobbed in your arms, fell asleep as soon as her body reached your arms, melting in your presence.

The next day you made her her favorite heart shaped nutella pancakes that she always asked for when she sleeps over at your house, she knew that whenever you made her it, it was always sweeter when you made it. 

She closes her eyes and remembers it, all too vividly. A smile comes across Jenna's face as she changes the chords, her fingers strumming again.

"Girl I never loved one like you."

Even if someone were to take every single step of your recipe and memorize the grains of salt and sugar you used, it was never the same, she knows your baking by heart. 

Drives in your jeep as you two interlock hands. Travels all over the world, shares of gelato ice cream and sweet moments. 

Deep gazes into eyes as a blanket wraps around the both of you. A soft kiss planted on your forehead as you fall asleep on her chest with the campfire crackling in front of you. 

She remembered when she first realized she loved you.

To have you first in her mind when she wanted to spend time with someone. Craving your cookies, your time spent together, those soft lips she always looked at as you talked.

To have someone listen to her strumming the guitar, to have them admire her voice and closed off side. Her little Y/N on her shoulder. To be so in love that she wrote this song for you.

You loved her.

Her freckles you counted as you’re curled up by her side, her soft hands. Her.

Your first encounter, meeting her on set and immediately feeling you two click.

Your first date together, when she accidentally spilled a coffee on your white shirt and you busted out laughing.

Your first kiss.

When she asked you to be your girlfriend, officially. You wanted to be with her forever. 

Jenna was the first person in your life to calm your storm down. You were the person who struggled falling asleep, it didn’t happen easily, but in her arms, it did. You were always gone as soon as she pressed your nose into her neck.

You were each others homes, you wanted to stay with her, to always be assured by her.

As the song comes to a close, she looks up at the polaroid picture of you two. The orange hue from the salt lamp the only source of light. Polaroids hung of you and her all across her string of fairy lights. Her walls were filled with her girlfriend. And as her fingers pluck the strings, Jenna smiles faintly. The song nears the end as she sings the last of the lyrics.

"Oh, home, let me come home Home is wherever I'm with you"

-

i love this song sm it's crazy.

#jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x fem!reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #jenna marie ortega #wednesday addams x female reader #Spotify

[lightsoutletsgo]

gotta go my own way — ln.4

pairing: lando norris x reader

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst to absolute crack and stupidity that makes no sense

request: Hi, can you do an angsty fic inspired by “I gotta go my own way” from HSM2. If can either be Charles or Lando or Charlando and they fuck up or something and reader leaves them? Maybe hurt/no comfort? It’s okay if you don’t want to

I fully thank @norrizzandpia for the hot mess that is the end of this fic. we couldn't stop cry laughing once we pictured the rest of the grid watching them sing the song and thus the end of the fic was born. (also credits to them bc I stole some of the dialogue lines they sent to my dm's!) happy reading! mimi 🤍 (I'm so so sorry if this isn't the request fill you were hoping for 😭)

taglist (all works): @arieslost - babe I'm so sorry I'm tagging you in this mess

“Y/N wait!!” You heard Lando call your name from the opposite side of the hotel courtyard and you turned to see him sprinting after you. You stopped and rested your suitcase next to you as he reached you, “Where are you going? Baby we can talk about this!” His hand reached for your arm and you stepped back with a sigh, “Lando… Listen…” He looked at you, pleading as he searched your face, “I guess I just need to say it straight right?” Your heart clenched, god knows this wasn’t easy, “Something about us just… doesn’t seem right these days…” You tried to speak as gently as possible, wanting Lando to understand you weren’t mad at him. “Neither one of us can help it, I know that, but it feels like whatever we try and do somehow the plan is always rearranged…” You trailed off, stepping back towards him and taking his hand gently. You didn’t look up at him, instead choosing to look at where his hand was now gently squeezing yours, his thumb rubbing back and forth in a soothing motion. Whether it was to soothe you or himself you weren’t sure but you took a deep breath to calm yourself. 

He didn’t say a thing, just gave you the space to continue talking, “I knew what I signed up for when I started dating you and if I went back and did it all over again I wouldn’t change my mind. I guess I just didn’t expect that it would affect my life so much? My job, my friends, my family?” Your eyes flitted up to his and you noticed how there were tears now pricking the corner of his eyes. “So what are you saying?” Your bottom lip trembled as you shrugged apologetically, “I’ve got to move on and be who I am…” It was so silent that you hardly dared to breathe. “Lando I’ve tried, I really really have but… Losing my privacy? Losing my time with the other people I love? Sacrificing my job? I just-” Lando scoffed and took his hand away from you “But what about us? What about everything we’ve been through?” “Well what about trust and everything that I’ve given up for you?!” You couldn’t help the way you raised your voice, Lando flinched at your words, seeming to realise how blind he’d been about your struggles, 

“You know I never wanted to hurt you…” You nodded and almost shrunk in on yourself, “I know…” Lando approached you slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured or smothered, “I just need to know… Do you not love me anymore?” You let out a forced laugh as your eyes welled up with tears, “Do I not love you anymore? Lando I still love you so much that it’s killing me to do this but I know I have to-” “Why? If you still love me then why?!” “Because if I don’t leave you now then I’ll continue to give up everything else for you because I love you that damn much but maybe for a while I need to love myself!” You ranted, panting when you finished. 

He inhaled sharply and you couldn’t help but let the tears fall as you spoke quietly, “I’m sorry- “Don’t apologise. You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was firm,  “I have to go, my flight is in a couple of hours.” “I’ll miss you.” His voice was even softer, barely audible even though you were so close to him. “Who knows… maybe we’ll find our place in the world someday?” Lando gave a weak smile, “Yeah, maybe we will… Can I hug you? Just once more and then I swear, I’ll let you leave.” You nodded, unable to speak as you started crying harder.

Lando pulled you into his arms, as he too felt the tears start to fall, “I know you need to do this but it still really fucking hurts…” “I know Lando,” You pulled back to gently cup his face, “I gotta go my own way…” You smiled with a shrug. He pulled you closer to him and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing as you inhaled deeply. “I’ll see you round?” “Yeah,” You grabbed the handle of your suitcase and started to walk towards the door, “I’ll see you around.” ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Alex sat on the balcony of his hotel room that overlooked the courtyard, enjoying the cool night air. The door opened and out stumbled Oscar and Logan, their eyes glassy from the alcohol they’d been drinking at the afterparty. Alex chuckled, “Steady on guys.” Logan gave him a hazy half-lidded smile, “I’m okay!” Alex snorted, “Sure you are.” He turned his attention back to his laptop where his movie was paused. “Oh look! There’s Lando and Y/N!” Alex followed where Oscar was pointing to see you dragging your suitcase and Lando running after you. “Oooo I missed them! Should I call them over? HEY LA- MMPH!” Logan’s shout was muffled by Alex darting to cover his mouth, “I think they’re fighting?” Oscar looked sad as Logan tapped Alex’s arm to release him, “Surely not? They’re the perfect couple?” Alex leaned over the balcony, thankful that it was quiet enough that they could hear some of the conversation.

“What’s up guys?” The door on the balcony of the room next door slid open and out stepped George and Charles, “Lando and Y/N are fighting?” “Lando and Y/N? There’s no way! They’ll work it out.” Charles said confidently shrugging. Oscar’s brows furrowed suddenly, “Are you guys hearing that music too?” George frowned and craned his ears, “Why does that sound like High School Musical?” “Alex, is your film playing?” Logan asked innocently, “You were watching High School Musical?” Oscar snickered, “NO!” “I don’t know if I should be more concerned that we’re hearing music coming from nowhere or that George knew what it was straight away…” George scoffed at Charles, “Excuse me but the second movie has the best songs.” 

“Is no one else concerned that it’s coming from where Lando and Y/N are?” Oscar pointed out. “Oh God they’re singing.” Alex’s jaw dropped open, “Shut up they’re not?” “I promise you they are.” George and Charles paused for a moment to look at each other before scrambling out of George’s room and down the hallway to Alex’s. They burst into the room and pushed their way onto the balcony, squishing in between Oscar and Alex to lean over the railing. Charles slapped a hand over his mouth as he heard Lando sing the next line very loudly and out of tune, “Are they high?” George pondered out loud, “What exactly is going on?” “Well it can’t be a fight, there’s no way that’s a fight.” Logan spoke matter of factly, “Do you think they’re aware of what they’re doing?” Their expressions varied as you warbled out a somewhat high note, 

“More than that, do you think they know we can hear them?” Logan’s hand came up to cover his ear, “Should we stop them?” Charles asked, “Nope!” “Absolutely not.” George and Alex spoke across each other as Oscar’s phone appeared out of nowhere in his hand and he held it up to start filming. “Are they okay?” Nobody answered Logan, instead just watching you and Lando, until they heard a cough from above them. Leaning back against the balcony and tipping their heads to look up they saw Carlos looking down at them, “That, my friends, is debatable. But it is entertaining, no?” Everyone’s attention turned back to the two of you as the song came to an end and you walked away from Lando, “Oh my god guys, I think that was actually them breaking up.” Logan stated as everyone stood there in shock. Nobody spoke for a moment until Carlos’ voice filtered down from the balcony above, “Also I’ve been out here the entire time and would like to let you know that Alex was actually watching Camp Rock.” 

#mimi.writes #mimi.requests #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 angst #f1 crack #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris one shot #lando norris angst #f1 oneshot

[multi-fxndom446]

Lullaby

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Warning: literally just so much fluff, you’re welcome. He is already unmasked here.

Summary: Simon loves when you sing to him.

Word count: 1.1K

This was requested by @offbrandmeowmix I hope I did you request justice🫶🏻

To say Simon was tired was an understatement. He was exhausted, sore and overall just felt like collapsing where he stood.

All he had on his mind as he unlocked the door to his apartment was his bed. All he wanted to do was fall onto it and go to sleep and he was certain there was nothing in the world that could deter him from doing exactly that.

He was so confident in that up until the moment he closed the door behind him. He rested against it for another moment trying to gain courage to move forward but then stopped all together when he heard it.

Your sweet voice drifting through the usually quiet apartment. His mind that was once made up on his bed was now set on seeing you.

From the sounds of it you were practicing a song on the piano he had. A piano he had bought solely so you would sing more in his apartment, so you could fill the silence that used to consume him.

Not that he would ever admit it.

He walked up behind you as quietly as possible to not startle you, lest you stop playing. He underestimated every time how lost you got while singing and you didn’t hear a thing.

He watched you as you played through the song, eyes closed as you swayed in your seat softly. His eyes glanced over the little piano that wasn’t at all what you deserved.

One day, he’d buy you a grand piano. He’d put it in the living room of the house the both of you would live in. He could imagine it now, your voice floating through the house while your future kids watched in astonishment.

He watched you in utter adoration, any pain or soreness he had been feeling was long gone the longer he gazed at you.

Now it was his turn to get so lost in your singing that he didn’t notice when you turned to him. He only realized when he heard you gasp and bring a hand to your heart.

“Simon!” You let out a deep breathe. “When did you get home I wasn’t expecting you-?”

The moment your eyes connected with his he dropped his bag and kneeled to the ground. His arms wrapped around your waist as his head fell to your lap and his body immediately relaxed into you.

Your hands quickly came up to run through his hair and he let out a sigh of content. “Rough day?” You asked him softly but he only hummed in response.

His eyes closed while he listened to you hum softly. Something you did often. He learned very quickly that there was hardly ever a moment that you were quiet, you were always singing or humming in some way.

At first he thought it was a bit much. He’d come home and depending on your mood you could either be singing softly to yourself or sometimes he’d be greeted by you singing to him while you ran to him to wrap your arms around him.

He used to think he’d grow sick of it and at first looked forward to the days you’d go home but it immediately changed when he’d come home to cold dark silence.

He thrived on the days when he’d come home and you’d surprise him by being there, the lights on as you continued on with whatever you had been doing. It always lifted a weight off him when he heard you.

“Why don’t we go lay down?” You asked him softly, nails still scratching his head just right. He grunted in disapproval. “Come on, I know this isn’t comfortable for you.”

“I’m comfortable wherever you are.” He muttered against you and you laughed. The sound alone enough to lull him to sleep. He would spend the rest of his days making you laugh, just to hear the sweet sound everyday.

When you noticed the way his breathe started to grow shallower as he fell asleep you nudged him. As much as you hated waking him up, you knew he wouldn’t appreciate the crick in his neck when he woke up next.

“Alright, c’mon big guy.” You tried with all your strength to pull him to his feet but he was very good at dragging you down with him. “Simon.” You laughed and he let out a reluctant sigh before standing to his feet and letting you drag him to the bedroom.

“Long mission.” He grumbled to you while you pulled off his shirt and let him crawl into bed. You joined him quickly and pulled the blanket closer while he maneuvered so he was laying between your legs, his head on your stomach while his arms wrapped themselves back around your waist. “Sing to me?”

You smiled, fingers carding through his hair again. He never asked for you to sing to him so you knew he must be tired.

The comforting silence was drowned out by your soft voice singing a lullaby. Instantly he felt the tendrils of sleep wrapping around him like a warm hug.

As silly as it was, the lullaby you were singing to him was ‘you are my sunshine.’ Something he may have felt embarrassed about had it not soothed him to sleep so easily.

He was sure if any of his friends saw the display, he’d never hear the end of it but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Not when your hands were still playing with his hair softly and your voice filled his chest with a warmth he had never felt until he met you.

When you finished he took in a deep breathe and asked a question that had been on his mind the moment he realized he hated coming home to an empty apartment.

“Move in with me?” Your fingers stopped and he tightened his hold just a little in anticipation. He wondered if he should take it back say he was kidding, tell you to forget about it. He almost did but then your fingers started up again.

“Okay.” You whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

Simon never thought he’d like to be greeted by someone singing to him but he could not picture the rest of his life any other way.

More specifically, he could not picture his life without you singing to him.

~~

Short and sweet I hope yall enjoyed:)

#call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #cod x reader #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader

[delinquentfiction]

A Day in With Alastor

Content: x reader, no use of y/n, fluff, indoor picnic, platonic romance, short read, cozy

No TW

Less than 1,000 words

~~~~~~

Rain pattered softly against your window as you curled up with a good book, enjoying a cozy afternoon indoors. You had just reached an exciting climax in the plot, your position changing from a lazy shrimp-like position to sitting up, slightly wide eyed and taking a closer look at the page as if the words would run away if you didn’t. As the grand exposition came at an all high, a crinkle of static interrupted your focus and a sigh escaped your lips.

“Good afternoon, my dear!” Greeted Alastor’s filtered voice cheerfully. You gave a small smile, bookmarking your page as the Radio Demon manifested in your room.

“Hello Al,” you said fondly with only slight irritation. You patted the couch cushion beside you as an invitation. Alastor took a seat, draping one arm casually along the back of the sofa.

“And how are we enjoying this dreary day?” He inquired, taking your book to peer at the cover curiously.

“It was going well until you interrupted my reading,” you teased. “Now I’ll have to start the chapter all over again!”

Alastors’ smile widened impishly. “Forgive me, darling, but I came with a proposition to make your afternoon much more diverting than literature.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Alright, I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”

Had it been a few months ago, you would have been much more wary of this offer of his. Always intimidating and ominous, he had managed to have a natural repelling aura that kept you away for the longest time since you moved in all that time ago. It all changed one night when you couldn’t sleep. You had been listening to old records you kept in your room and hardly ever used them as you didn’t want to disturb the other people living here. The music was kept low and you hummed along, but it wasn’t low enough, it seemed, as Alastor had recognized the songs and invited himself in. Ever since that small instance you and him had grown quite close.

Setting the book aside, Alastor snapped his fingers. A picnic basket appeared on the coffee table before you, tied with a tartan ribbon. “A picnic in the parlor, my dear! I packed all your favorites.”

Your smile widened as you were touched by his thoughtful gesture, irritation from earlier suddenly evaporated. Alastor didn’t show affection often, so these little acts of care always meant the world. “What a lovely idea! I suppose I can forgive the interruption just this once.”

Together you unpacked delicate finger sandwiches, pastries, fruits, and various small dishes made by the man himself. Human flesh excluded, most likely. Making yourself comfortable on the rug, you sipped some cider and occasionally fed each other bites between chatting amiably. Alastor stayed away from the pastries and sweeter fruits as he only really packed them since he knew you were fond of them. The various dishes stayed on the savory side, a few that had a bit of kick to them, a lot of it probably being foods he made for his mother when he was alive. Every new scent from every plate that was brought out made your mouth water all over again even when you already felt full.

The rain picked up tempo against the windows as you whiled away the afternoon enjoying each others’ company. Eventually the food was finished, yet you lingered close. Even closer when you got back on the couch and basked in the warmth and rare intimacy of the moment.

Alastors’ arm found its way around your waist as you leaned against his side, head resting on his shoulder. His clawed hand came up and idly toyed with strands of your hair, sending shivers of delight down your spine.

You felt contentment here, in the warmth of the fire and of your friend with a full stomach. The woody yet metallic smell coming off of him could keep you here forever if it’d be allowed. You pull back a little to check on him, searching his face for any signs of discomfort as you know he’s not entirely fond of having this much contact with others, You eyes met his crimson, slightly glowy ones that only looked back at you fondly and half-lidded. It seemed genuine as is but him lightly brushing your hair behind your ear sold it further. He felt just about as ok with this as you felt.

“You surprise me, my dear.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I never thought I’d find myself in the company of another in this way, Yet here we are. In each others’ arms and quite content.” He leaned in, forehead against yours.

You brought a hand up to cradle his sharp cheek, overjoyed by this development. “Alastor, you know I care for you deeply. I am always here if you’re ever feeling touch starved.”

His ever-present smile simmered into a smirk before so painfully tenderly placing a peck on your forehead. “Thank you very much. If you would like, I could repay you for these small moments in grandeur if we strike a deal.”

#radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #Alastor x reader #cozy #fluff #fun #short story #platonic romance #admin bear

[togrowoldinv]

Your Song

Rockstars!WandaNat x Female Reader

The best selling duo, The Scarlet Widow, goes on tour. You’re the manager who watches on and cheers for your women

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, fingering (W and N receiving) oral (W and N receiving), thigh riding, slight mommy and daddy kink, backstage sex

Note: The rockstars are backkk. The Scarlet Widow is another edition of these ladies. Enjoy this one!

WandaNat Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Tonight is opening night. The Scarlet Widow is finally touring again. The two women had taken a few months off to write new music and formulate the perfect set list.

And during that time, the three of you have become quite acquainted with each other. You spend a lot of your evenings with the women.

It’s suffice to say that the three of you are in love. You never imagined it could or would happen this way, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Before the show, Wanda and Natasha took some time alone to mentally prepare for their set. They may fight a lot backstage, but they take their show seriously.

And it sells. The arena is sold out tonight.

The two women electrify the stage as you watch them from the side. When it comes time for the acoustic part of the show, you prepare yourself for the inevitable argument of whose song got to be sung tonight.

They still hadn’t decided as of this morning. Together or nothing, they had said, but no conclusion had been made.

Natasha sits on a stool, her guitar in hand, and smiles out at the crowd. Wanda makes her way to the seat next to her.

“So, this is part of the show where we wanted to slow things down a bit,” Natasha begins. The crowd cheers. “We had a really hard time deciding what to sing for you all tonight.”

“Yes,” Wanda agrees. “There were many fights and late nights.”

She throws you a wink from on stage and you feel yourself heat up.

“Exactly, baby. But we did end up making a decision,” Natasha says. “We wrote a new song.”

At her words, the crowd erupts. You knew they had new music written, but it wasn’t in the plan to sing it tonight. Or so you thought.

“This one is dedicated to a very special woman in our lives. Someone who came in and changed everything,” Wanda explains. “This is called Forever Loving You.”

Both women glance over at you as they begin to play the song. They had written it about you. Tears form in your eyes as you listen to the words.

By the end of the song, the crowd loves the new music and it’s trending on Twitter. The women sing their final three songs before saying goodbye to the crowd.

Wanda comes up to you first, smiling so wide.

“What did you think?” She asks. Not giving you time to answer, she pulls you in for a long kiss.

Nat appears when Wanda’s pulled away. She kisses you too.

“That was the sweetest song,” you tell them.

“Well, you are our sweet girl,” Nat says.

You hug them both at once. They grin at your affection as they pull you backstage with them.

Back in their dressing room, Wanda takes off her shirt. Her sweat is glistening over her braless chest.

“How did it feel?” You ask.

“Like we’re back,” Wanda answers. “We’re back, baby!”

“We are indeed back!” Natasha says, scooping her wife up into a hug.

“I missed this energy after a show,” Wanda says.

“Me too,” Nat agrees.

The two women kiss each other deeply. You watch on as they celebrate this accomplishment together.

Nat’s hands wander over Wanda’s body, landing on her exposed breasts. She moves her hands over the breasts as her fingers flick over her nipples.

Wanda gasps into the kiss. She puts one hand in Nat’s waistband and the other beckons you to join them.

“Great idea, Wands. Come here, sweetheart,” Natasha says.

You approach the tangle of limbs. Wanting to see more of her, you slip your hands under Natasha’s shirt and pull it over her head.

Her lacy bra is quick to join the shirt on the ground. Wanda takes one nipple in her mouth as you take the other. Natasha loves when the two of you do this.

“Fuck,” she groans. “My good girls.”

Wanda’s hand in Nat’s pants moves over her folds. You unbutton her pants and pull them down her legs. Already kneeling, you remain there and take off Wanda’s pants as well.

“Oh,” Wanda moans softly as she feels her wetness exposed in the cold air. “Fuck me.”

“You both did so well tonight I think I’ll fuck you both,” you say.

You’ve gotten more confident in taking charge around the women.

“I like that plan,” Natasha says. Wanda’s fingers continue to move over her.

You use your mouth to work in tandem with her. Natasha lets out the most wonderful sounds as you move your tongue over her.

Your hand goes in the opposite direction and rubs over Wanda. You find her already wet and ready for you.

“I can take it,” Wanda mumbles between kisses with Nat. “Natty here stretched me out before the show.”

Her words make your own core ache. Of course that’s their pre show ritual.

“It’s a fact you sing better when you’re relaxed and the best way for you to relax is to take my cock, isn’t it?” Natasha asks her wife. Her tone is a bit condescending, only turning you both on more.

“Yes daddy,” Wanda answers. You slip your fingers inside of her. “Fuck.”

“Good job, baby. You take her so well,” Natasha encourages her.

You pick up your pace of your mouth on Natasha. Wanda does the same with her fingers. Soon, the woman is having to lean against her wife to remain standing.

“Come for us, Nat,” Wanda instructs her.

The woman shakes before her movements halt and pure pleasure takes over. She breathes heavily into Wanda’s neck.

You clean her up and she watches as you go directly from her pussy to Wanda’s. The taste of both women at once drives you crazy.

It drives them both crazy too. Wanda’s knees buckle as she approaches her high. Nat keeps her upright with her hands around her waist.

“Come for her, Wanda. Show me how you can come for her,” Natasha says.

Wanda’s moans become even more breathy as she comes against you. You do your best to clean her up before you stand up.

The two women take turns kissing you until your head is spinning.

“I think we owe our manager a good time too. Don’t you think, Nat? Anything she wants?” Wanda asks.

“I- um,” you stumble.

“Yeah, of course. She’s the reason we got this far after all,” Natasha says. “What would you like, y/n?”

“Oh.” They’ve never asked you before. They always just do something and it feels so good.

“Do you need some options, baby?” Wanda asks. She rubs your cheek with her fingers. The same ones that were inside Natasha just minutes ago.

“No, I- um-”

“Don’t be shy now, pretty girl. Tell us what you want,” Natasha says. She moves a hand over your arm.

“Can I- is it okay if I ride your thigh?” You ask. You’re looking at Natasha, so she correctly assumes you mean her.

“Come here,” she says, a grin on her face. She pulls you by the hand to the couch. Nat sits down all spread out for you, but Wanda keeps you standing up.

“We have to get you out of all these clothes,” Wanda says. You let her undress you while Natasha watches on with wide eyes. She loves to see her wife do this to you.

“Now, come join me,” Natasha says once you’re properly naked. She pulls you by your hips onto her lap. Your wetness is already evident as she slots her thigh between your legs.

“Were you thinking about this during the show?” Wanda asks you. “About riding my wife’s thigh?”

“Yes,” you moan out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl,” Wanda appeases.

Natasha’s hands move your hips against her as your movements slow. She always wants you to come hard against her.

“So good, y/n. Wanda look how she moves against me,” Natasha says.

“I know. Such a perfect girl.”

Wanda grabs Natasha’s face and she kisses her lips fervently. Tongues mingle in front of you and you’re tipping over the edge in no time.

“Fuck Natasha,” you mumble.

“Yeah baby. Ride that high,” she says. Her hands don’t stop their movements, making you feel sensitive against her.

When she relents, you fall against her. The woman kisses your forehead and holds you close.

“What a night,” Wanda remarks, joining your snuggling with Natasha. She leans over and kisses your lips softly.

“We should probably write a song about it,” Natasha says, a smirk on her lips.

“I approve,” you say.

All of you share a smile as Natasha continues to hold you and Wanda close. Tonight was the first of many tour dates.

You can’t wait to see what’s next for The Scarlet Widow.

#wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wandanat smut #wanda maximoff smut #natasha romanoff smut #rockstars!wandanat

[emeritusemeritus]

No Good Deeds [George Weasley x Reader]

Part 4

Part 1 2 3 4

Pairing: {George Weasley x Reader} mentions of previous Fred Weasley x Reader.

Timeline: Set a few years after DH, loosely following Canon.

Summary: A few years after Fred’s death, the investors of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes demand changes to the name. All it would take is two years of a fake marriage to fix the issues, but no good deed goes unpunished.

Warnings: Fake marriage trope because we love the cliché. Mentions of death (Fred). Friends to lovers. Slow burn but mentions of kissing and eventual smut. Swearing. George calls us Angel. Drinking. Angst, sadness, grief. Smut. Tags will be updated with each chapter.

This one got a little spicy 🌹

You took a deep breath as you looked up at the clock on the wall, seeing that it was nearly 6pm, already feeling a little drained by your busy and productive day.

You'd woken early and had noticed that George had already left for work by the time you'd gotten up and so you got ready and walked to the cafe on the corner, grabbed a quick coffee and a pastry to go before walking towards the Friday market in the centre of town, shopping bag and grocery list in hand. You walked around the little market and picked up some fresh vegetables and a handmade apple pie that looked delicious, deciding to buy that rather than make your own from scratch. You'd decided on cooking a Sunday roast lamb dinner, though it was Friday, and had chosen to present it using a giant Yorkshire pudding, something you'd seen creeping up in popularity within the muggle world that you were certain Arthur would greatly enjoy.

You bought fresh carrots, parsnips and a fresh mint plant that you needed to make your own mint sauce and some flowers for the table before walking to the supermarket and purchasing a lamb joint from the butcher section and a few more essentials, including wine, before walking home with your purchases. You'd listened to muggle radio stations as you washed and prepped the veg, bouncing around as you sang along to the songs that you knew, intermittently stopping to grab a sip of your tea in between tasks. Around 12 you stopped what you were doing, happy with the progress you'd made and fixed your hair and clothes briefly before apparating to the shop to take George some lunch. The shop was busy but not unmanageable and you could see that Ron had stepped in to help him, working the till. George noticed you immediately and gave you a wide smile, finishing up with the customer he was helping before walking over to you, gesturing for you both to go to the office.

"I didn't know if you had any lunch," you said, handing him a little bag of stuff you'd picked up from the shop, "thought I could take some of your stuff back with me, give you a bit more time tonight."

"You're too good to me," George says with a wink, enthusiastically pulling out the food from the bag, looking as if he was almost salivating at the sight.

You'd spent his lunch break together, preparing yourselves for tonight as he ate and then you'd apparated back with a bundle of his things that he had pulled earlier that morning, stuff that he knew would make it seem that he was living with you completely.

You checked the lamb and made the mint sauce quickly, peeled some more potatoes just in case and then set to cleaning. Once everywhere was clean, you went into George's room and brought out all of his things and moved them into your bedroom. His books went on the side of your bed, a pair of pyjamas were laid out on the dresser and you'd moved some of your girlier accessories into the spare bedroom so make it seem like you'd decorated up a guest bedroom. You stripped George's bed, throwing the bedding in the wash and replaced the sheet with a set of your own spare sets, so it again looked like a guest bedroom. You set up a little decorative area in your bedroom with some of George's things, adding them into the shelves and then had placed more of his things into the bathroom, along with placing his aftershave next to your perfume on the dresser.

Once you were happy with the flat, you took a minute to sit with a drink before finishing up the meal prep. You then took a shower, did your hair and makeup and got dressed, ready for the actual cooking, seeing that it was late afternoon already.

At 6:17pm, George apparated into the living room and his eyebrows immediately shot up, looking around.

"Wow Angel, looks like I've moved in," he says, reaching out for your hand as he pulls you close.

"I'd say so," you laughed, allowing him to pull you in. When his thumb caught on the stones of your engagement ring, he smiled and focused his gaze on the ring, seeing it on your finger.

"Looks great," he says, gesturing around you, "as do you."

"Oh Mr Weasley, you charm me," you joked, pulling away from him with a laugh as you smoothed out your skirt.

"Well future Mrs Weasley, that is my job," he smirks, twirling your around in his arms, making a quiet squeal fall from your lips at the unexpected motion.

"I thought you owned a joke shop?" You retorted, causing him to snort.

"I do, yet it appears you are the one with all the jokes tonight."

"Then perhaps you should make me a business partner," you jest, seeing George's smile growing.

"I intend to my love," he says smoothly, with a wiggle of his eyebrows as he stops spinning you, both of you looking at each other with a smile.

"You should get ready, they'll be here soon," you saw quietly, unable to look away from George's smiling face.

Fifteen minutes later and George is showered, dried and dressed, both of you waiting in the kitchen for his parents to arrive. Molly preferred not to apparate, having mentioned before that it left her feeling horribly nauseous no matter how many times she'd tried and so Arthur had offered to drive them in the car, muggle style.

"I'll go," George says, placing a hand onto your shoulder to calm you as he walks past you to open the door, having heard the telltale knock moments earlier.

"Oh y/n dear, how wonderful to see you!" She says, bounding over to you with a wide smile on her face, pulling you in for a hug as soon as she could reach you.

"Hello Mrs Weasley," you say warmly, holding on to her tightly. She looked very pretty with a flower beret in her hair, clearly having made an effort tonight in her beautifully crafted green crochet shawl and dress.

"Oh please, I've told you to call me Molly for years!" She laughs, stepping aside and looking around, "what a lovely place you have!"

"We have," George corrects her, stepping through into the lounge with you, Arthur following behind. You embrace and greet each other warmly as George explains to Molly that you two are living together.

"Oh well that is wonderful news!" She says, clapping her hands together, "you didn't tell me you were an item!" She says, smacking George on the arm as she looks between your both. He doesn't even flinch and simply laughs, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh well done son!" Arthur says, clapping George on the shoulder warmly before sending you a special smile.

"Would anyone like a drink?" You offer, listing off a few things you have on hand. You go and fetch them both a drink and quickly check on the food before diving into conversation, listening to Molly's explanation of what her oldest children were up to.

"Well I have to say, that was absolutely delicious," Arthur says, placing down his cutlery and sitting back in his chair, rubbing his hand over his full stomach, "amazing what these muggles come up with isn't it, a giant Yorkshire pudding!"

You can't help but smile at his reaction, pleased that the novelty had gone down a treat. You catch George's eye as Molly compliments your cooking and he looks proud, a gentle, honest smile tugging at his lips.

"So how long have you been together, very sneaky of you both!" Molly says with a warm smile, pointing a playful accusatory finger between you and George.

"About six months," George says effortlessly, sticking to the little story you'd both created. He clears his throat and looks at you with a determined glance before turning back to his parents.

"We were going to wait until after dinner but now seems as good'a time as any," George says smoothly before reaching for your left hand, which you place in his, ring side up.

The sparkle immediately catches Molly's eye and she gasps loudly, causing Arthur to jump up in his seat.

"I've asked her to marry me," he says, looking into your eyes with a smile that you reciprocate.

"And I said yes," you replied, smiling warmly at him.

Molly let's out an animated squeal and rushes from her chair to envelope you both into a hug, her body bouncing in elation as Arthur beams with pride, his hands raising into the air in celebration.

"Oh how wonderful!"

"We must celebrate, now, everyone raise your glasses!" Arthur says proudly, raising his own glass of daisyroot. Molly scrambles to reach for her glass and you and George take hold of your own, raising and clinking them together in a round of cheers. The moment feels real and you don't even question it, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment with your smile beaming across your face.

Molly immediately bursts out into wedding planning, mentioning that her own dress was put aside for Ginny but she had a beautiful hair beret that you could use as your something borrowed and she could always try and convince Muriel to let you borrow her tiara even though she'd been rude about it with Fleur. You laughed and nodded the whole way through the conversation as George and Arthur had broken off into their own as Arthur proudly tapped George on the back, telling him outright how proud he was of him.

You cleared away with plates with a flick of your wand and then brought out the warm apple pie with a selection of custard and icecream, depending on everyone's preference. More drinks were had and by the end of the pudding you were beginning to feel a little tipsy, especially when George pulled out a bottle of fire whiskey to celebrate with.

You all congregated back into the lounge after the meal had finishes, laughing and drinking as Molly told stories of the kids when they were younger. Fred was mentioned a few times and initially it had felt like a kick to your gut but you pushed through and as the drinks flowed, so did the conversation.

"Goodness gracious look at the time! Arthur, we'd better get home," Molly says, tapping Arthur on the chest. He nods dutifully, sinking the last of his fire whiskey and begins to stand, immediately wobbling until he falls back onto the sofa. George turns to cast a look at you and you immediately understand what he's trying to communicate; there's no possibility he'd be able to drive home having drank so much and apparating would be incredibly dangerous for him due to his intoxication, which meant they would have to stay with you for the foreseeable.

George had managed to convince his parents to stay after their lengthy protests and you'd gladly offered them the 'guest bedroom' to sleep in.

George apparated back to the Burrow to collect a few things they might need after a lengthy list that Molly had reeled off with clear instructions on where everything way and exactly what he'd be looking for.

Whilst George was gone you made a cup of tea for everyone and began prepping their room for the night, ensuring that everything was neat and clean, with no hint of George's things being crammed into the room. George arrived back not too long after with their things and helped to get his parents settled into their room, mainly helping Molly get Arthur into something comfier and then into bed.

You'd had a fabulous night and it had gone so much better than you'd hoped, feeling firmly included and welcomed into the family even more than you already had been, even if it wasn't technically real. George came out of their room a few minutes later and you both couldn't help but giggle at the turn of events, never having seen Arthur so inebriated before. He was a joyful drunk, telling stories and little quips that we're actually rather interesting and the new side you'd seen of him only greatened your fondness for him. George came and sat next to you on the sofa now that it was just you and him and he immediately placed his arm around your back, pulling you into him.

"Well, complete success I'd say," he says quietly, keeping hold of you as you melt into his side, keeping his voice low just incase his parents were still awake. He reached for the television remote and flicked it on to a random channel, not really paying attention though it was nice to have a little background noise.

"Such a good night," you said fondly with a small smile, trying to suppress a yawn as you cuddled into him, watching the screen.

"That meal was delicious," he says, beginning to stroke your shoulder where his hand rests, "I'd marry you tomorrow now I know what your roast dinners taste like."

"Well lucky you," you say with a cheeky smile, "maybe not tomorrow though, I'm rather busy."

"Oh really?" He says with a playful tone, playing along.

"Yes, you see I'm head potioneer for this little joke shop in Diagon Alley, you've probably never heard of it," you say, "well their stores of potion products are low and it's my wonderful job to brew more, all day tomorrow. So I'm very sorry but I can't marry you tomorrow, much too busy."

"Well isn't that a shame," he says quickly, "perhaps I should have a word with this boss of yours, he sounds tyrannical, working you as he is."

"Oh absolutely, he's a menace, Mussolini in brown tweed."

George immediately lunges for you with your last comment and you can't help but laugh, trying your hardest to keep quiet as he grabs you and rolls you about on the sofa. Only when you pull apart does he pause and smile at you widely, his face lighting up with his smile.

"Want to go to bed?"

The very words make your stomach roll a little in nervous excitement, though you try desperately not to show it on your face. You simply nod and offer a warm but mildly fake smile before you stand and ensure everything is locked and switched off.

Though you and George had shared a bed only a few nights ago, this was entirely different and a nervous anticipation consumed you, knowing you'd both be heading to bed at the same time, both of you aware that this was happening.

"Need the toilet? I'm going to get undressed," he says, gesturing with a nod towards the en-suite in your bedroom.

"No, you go on," you said with a smile, walking over to the dresser to grab some pyjamas. You heard the door close and as you pulled open the drawer, an immediate dilemma faced you. What would you wear to bed?

You looked down at the various pyjamas in your drawer and felt frozen with choice, not knowing how to proceed as the different materials stared back at you, each of them seeming to convey something. There were a few pairs of oversized, frumpy sets that you mainly wore in winter or when you were needing comfort but they weren't exactly 'nice' nor would they look very attractive on, most of them having some sort of embarrassing pattern or cheesy slogan printed on the front. You didn't want George to see you in something so frumpy and shapeless, looking like you'd made absolutely no effort on yourself but the alternative seemed much too drastic too. There were a few nicer sets of lace and silk in sensual colours that you used to wear for Fred but wearing one of those would send a clear message to George that you didn't feel was appropriate, or it would look like you were trying too hard. You dig through the drawer, thankfully still hearing the water running in the bathroom and tried to find a compromise. Should you wear a bra? Everything felt so confusing.

You realised that you could no longer hear the water running and reached for a cotton set at the bottom, trying to make it seem like you hadn't spent his entire shower agonising over this simple choice. It was a simple camisole top with long bottoms, dark red and black check with just a little lace on the neckline, comfy but attractive.

You passed him on his way out of the shower, seeing the tips of his hair still damp and his pyjamas clinging to his slightly moist skin, hugging the wider parts of his chest and shoulders deliciously.

You washed off your makeup, splashing cold water on your face for good measure as you tried to calm your racing thoughts, knowing that you were being ridiculous. He probably wouldn't even see you if it was dark. You put on your pyjamas, throwing your dress in the hamper and took one look at yourself before turning off the light and stepping out into the bedroom. The lamp was on, dimly illuminating the room and you could see George reading in bed, covers pushed up to his hips as he concentrates on the page he's reading. He looks up at you though you don't look back at him as you take off your jewellery, leaving your engagement ring on, feeling his gaze burning into your side.

It feels more than awkward, peeling back the covers and slipping into your own bed now that George was already settled on one side.

"Is this okay?" George asks and it takes you a moment to realise he means the lamp.

"Yeah of course," you reply absently but politely as you sink down in bed, pulling the covers up to your waist. There's a few moments of silence that feels in between awkward and comfortable, knowing that your awkwardness stemmed from your own anxiety whereas George probably found the silence comforting as he read his book.

"Okay sorry," George says with a bit of a huff, marking his page with whatever he was using as a bookmark, a chocolate frog card by the looks of it, and placed the book into his lap, turning to you. You gazed up at him, leaning forward a little in concern at his sudden outburst. "How do you look so good in pyjamas?"

Your mind is completely empty, astounded by his words. His face had softened significantly as he looked upon your shocked face, a gentle chuckle passing his lips. "Sorry, it's just, no ones going to believe you're married to me when you're so hot."

You were hallucinating, you were almost certain of it. Those words had never come from George Weasley before and your mind started to spiral whilst your face remained blank, heart racing in excitement. You knew that the only way to reply was to fight it with humour, not able to believe that he was being serious.

"Shove off, I'm comfy," you replied, though your words felt hollow, almost like they weren't actually coming out of your own mouth.

"I'm being serious," he says chuckling with a shake of his head. "Only you could make pyjamas look yule ball worthy."

"How much have you had to drink?" You laugh, playfully nudging him, still trying to deflect his words.

He simply smiles at you in return, "very little actually, dad drank most of it." You both giggle a little at the thought of Arthur snoring away in the spare room, George's room.

"Well you're not so bad yourself Weasley," you tease, your gaze flicking to his bulging arms for just a second, seeing that the T-shirt was just slightly too tight around his biceps.

There's a brief moment when everything seems to pause and as if in slow motion, George leans over and presses his lips to yours, only hesitating for a moment as he looks as your face, searching for any hesitation, in which he finds none. Your lips meet his and its like an electric current is passing between you both, igniting something inside you that has you pressing into him and fuelling the kiss. The clattering of the book is a distant noise to you as the kiss deepens, George's hand wrapping around your jaw line as he pulls you in, his tongue slipping out and caressing your own. You feel weightless, breathless, like you're floating, hardly even aware of your hands as they reach out for him, feeling the soft material of his T-shirt under your fingertips as you seek purchase on his shoulders, a fire burning between you.

Clothes are shed with desperation, either of you able to fight the blistering urge to feel the other completely. His lips are all over you, his touch only fuelling the desire that consumes you, leaving you unable to think clearly as you seek out his touch. It's raw and primal, no time for thinking or hesitation as you melt into each other, passion and arousal overwhelming everyone of your senses. He's hot to the touch and in the back of your mind you can feel your own heat coursing through your body, feeling more out of control than you ever hand but at the same time, feeling completely safe and right. When he slips inside you for the first time, it's all you can do not to cry out, the pleasant stretch and overwhelming relief of the sensation is the only thing you can think of. Your glad that he'd been quick to cast a silencing charm around the room as you mom out, unable to hold back any longer as your hips meet his, desperate to keep him inside of you. He groans out again, moaning with abandon as his hips only increase in pace, seeing your own body contorting in pleasure, working with his movements to create the most sensual scene and feeling he could fathom. When his hand slips to your exposed breasts, fingers plucking as your hardened nipples, you cry out his name ecstasy and are blessed with an almost whimpering moan from him as his thrusts get harder, watching as your breasts bounce in time with his thrusts, your body working to double your efforts chasing after the fullness he provides. Your walls begin to clench as the pleasure rises, white hot heat of bliss overtaking you, feeling his long and skilful fingers toying with your breasts, your pussy stretched around his perfect cock that hits every pleasure filled spot inside you and your throbbing clit rubbing sinfully against his happy trail with every deep thrust. It's too much and not enough all at the same time and you cry out his name over and over as your orgasm washes over you, hardly noticing his own climax until you slowly come down from your high, no longer feeling the force of his thrusts as he lazily slips in and out of you slowly in the come down. There's a warmth from deep inside you that is both intoxicating and comforting, knowing that the evidence of his pleasure had coated your insides, as if he'd claimed you as his own.

You're both breathless, panting against each other as your sweat covered bodies meld together, George's arms barely holding him up anymore as he slowly sinks down, putting more of his weight on to you that you welcome. You're still connected in every sense, your arms clutched around his shoulders, legs linked over hip hips and his now softened cock still inside of you. You reach up just enough to kiss his forehead where it is nestled into your neck, trying to prevent any awkwardness from slipping in to the blissful moment. His head turns downwards and he presses fluttering kisses over your chest, kissing each breast and trailing upwards until he kisses you on the lips with a sweetness that is a stark contrast to the burning passion of before. When he looks up at you, you feel breathless all over again. His eyes are so filled with emotion that it truly makes your heart flutter, seeing yourself reflected in his eyes, a look that you'd never seen crossing his gorgeous features.

With one last kiss, he slowly pulls away as your limbs disconnect from him and though you feel truly satisfied, you can't help but feel a little empty as his soft cock slowly slips out of you, no longer bringing you warmth or fullness. There's nothing said, no words needed as he pulls you into his still sweaty chest, unfazed at his nudity as his arms wrap around you, a kiss pressed to your hair as you lie there in utter contentment.

You realise George had fallen asleep a little while later and you attempt to slip out of his arms undetected as you make your way to the en-suite, careful not to wake him. You pee for good measure and consider showering but don't quite feel up to it right now. When you look in the mirror, you see a beaming smile greeting you in your reflection, not having noticed that you were doing so. You realised then how utterly happy you were, feeling more content than you had in so long.

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#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley x you #george weasley masterlist #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley smut #George Weasley fluff #No good deeds

[bestedoesmeow]

what about us?

daniel ricciardo & ex!gf reader

request :Heyyyy, could you maybe do a Daniel Ricciardo x Ex-GF!reader where they run into each other at a vacation(they’re both alone), and as they spend time together, they realise they’re not over each other. It could be a mix of one shot and smau

song to listen while reading: pink - what about us

You see him standing there, his gorgeous smile on his lips, holding his beer. His body moves lazily with the rhythm, his lips syncing with the lyrics, "Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive." He talks to the person next to him, effortlessly beautiful, just as you remember him. Suddenly, his eyes catch yours after years. It's the first time in years; you had avoided watching him race, laugh, or be interviewed to avoid eye contact, even from the screen. To forget him: his smile, his touch, his laughter.

Your blood rushes through your veins, your hands slightly shake with the contact, your cosmopolitan leaves stains on your white dress as he makes his way towards you. His steps drawing closer, your heart beats louder, heavier, faster.

"Enchanté," he says, as if trying to remind you that after years, you're in Paris again. Together, but not like before.

"Enchanté," you manage to say, hiding your shaky hands by placing your drink on the nearest table. His eyes are even brighter, more beautiful than you remember.

"It's been years. What are you doing here?" he asks, a big smile on his lips.

"Here for a holiday with a few friends. What about you?"

"We're on summer break; came here with some of the guys from the grid," he points to three guys dancing and drinking next to the cocktail table.

"You look fantastic," he adds, probably unaware of its effect on you.

"Thank you. Yeah, you too," you stutter, trying to smile and avoid flashbacks of your last night together upon hearing his voice.

8 YEARS AGO

"I know, I understand you have to move there, and I fully support you, but what about us?" you say, tears filling your eyes. His hands cup your cheeks, and he gets closer on the couch. Tears well up in his eyes as he watches you cry, perhaps for the last hour.

"We're going to be okay. We can try long distance, FaceTime every night. You can visit me, and during breaks, I'll come here, huh?"

"Promise you won't let me go? Won't get tired of me, the FaceTimes, the long hours of traveling."

He presses his nose to yours, breathing slowly to hold back tears. "I'd never, ever get tired of you, Y/N. If there's something more important to me than my career in F1, it's you. Nothing in this world can take me away from you," he says, leaving a peck on your lips.

"I promise too. I'll try my best to make this work, what we have."

He left home three days after your conversation, and you decided to break up in the second month of the long distance. He was aggressive, stressed, busy. You decided to give him the break he seemed to want. He didn't say anything, but he cried for hours in the motorhome, had the worst qualifying sessions. Meanwhile, you left your house, moved back in with your family, and changed schools.

It wasn't truly over, of course. No one came into your life during those years, not even in Daniel's case. All you could think of was him: the late-night talks, the way he touched you, the way you loved each other.

He was a beautiful trauma.

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

"How's everything going? Are you done with school?" he asks, while you're lost in memories.

"Oh yes, I'm teaching at an elementary school in Boston now," you say, catching him looking you up and down.

"I'm so proud of you, Y/N. I always knew you'd be a great teacher. Look at you."

"I'm proud of you too. You look great in the Red Bull suit," you say, mostly confessing. "I knew all of this would bear fruit."

"You've always been so supportive. I can never thank you enough," he says.

"So supportive that I couldn't bear anyone with any less supportiveness. I am- was addicted to you," he panics, swiftly changing the word.

"Is there anyone? Has there been anyone?" you ask, the words coming out unexpectedly.

"No, it was never after you, and I don't think it ever will be after you."

"I missed you, Daniel. I missed you for days, weeks, months, and years. I learned how to cope with it, but I never learned enough to forget you. You'll always be my favorite person," you say, tears welling up in your eyes. Your hands cup his cheek, and your body shivers with the touch, contact after years. His eyes well up, and his lips curl into a painful smile.

"Thank you, baby. Thank you for everything you sacrificed for me. I love you, I love you forever," he says, kissing the palm of your hand.

"Thank you for showing me what love is, Danny. I'm so thankful. Maybe we're meant to be in another universe?" you say, bursting into tears with your last words. His arms pull you into a tight hug, his lips moving on your hair, leaving peck kisses.

"I don't think I'll be leaving you now that I've found you."

#carlos sainz imagine #f1 x you #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #daniel ricciardo edit #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo one shot #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fanfic

[thefallennightmare]

Just Pretend-nine

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: PLEASE, we are begging you guys. Take your time with this one, so many different emotions throughout. Its a big fucking deal and read it slow, immerse yourself in this world while listening to the playlist. Enjoy my lovelies. 😉

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond

NOAH

"I'm so fucking glad we're staying in a hotel the next few days," Folio groaned as we walked down the long hallway of the hotel.

I nodded in agreement. "I can't believe the tour is almost over; our last show is tomorrow night."

With our last show tomorrow night, we were spending the next few nights in a hotel and we all planned to take flights back home so we could get there faster. Hollow Souls were also staying in this hotel but they were a floor beneath us but it seemed the farther I went from Y/N, those imaginary pull strings inside of my heart tightened. If it hurt this bad when she was a floor underneath, how bad would it hurt when she was a state away?

As far as I knew, she still had plans to go back to Vegas because that's where her home was, granted it was with Trey. There wasn't a part of me that was worried she would go back to him; I knew she wouldn't. Ever since they fired him, Hollow Souls has been thriving. They posted on their social media pages that Trey was kicked out of the band due to personal reasons and while most of their fans complained about them kicking out their main vocalist, there was a select few that were excited to see what the future of Hollow Souls looked like.

Y/N was upset at first that so many of their fans were boycotting them now because they decided to kick Trey out.

"Seems like they only care about Trey's vocals when I'm the one that actually wrote our songs."

It took a while of Malcolm and Chase talking to her to realize that their future together as a band was looking bright. They could reinvent themselves.

I filled in for the last two shows but after playing my set for thirty minutes before their hour-and-a-half set, my voice was getting raw and sore so Matt thought it be best if I didn't fill in for the last show. I was going to argue, not wanting to let them down, but Chase reassured me they'd figure out what to do for the last show.

Y/N has been glowing since Trey left, slowly becoming a better woman in front of all of us; to me, she'd always been perfect. But we could all see her confidence growing. With her face in the dirt far too many times with Trey, she finally said enough; it doesn't hurt anymore. As all of his lies crumbled down, Y/N found a new life.

To say all of us were proud of her was a fucking understatement.

"Hey," Jolly bumped shoulders with mine, pulling me from my thoughts as we stopped in front of the door to his room. "Bryan wants us ready to go in twenty minutes."

Oh, right.

We were currently in Oregon and Bryan planned some time today on our off day to visit one of the national parks here to take some promo photos of us.

"Yeah, I'll be ready to go. I need to change quickly and I'll meet you guys down in the lobby," I said as I walked down a few more doors until I stopped in front of my room; the one I was sharing with Nick.

He patted my shoulder as he walked past me into the room. "You should ask if Y/N wants to come with."

I shrugged off his words, trying not to make it seem that I'd been tossing around the idea for the last hour when Bryan first told us about his plan.

"She might have plans with Chase and Malcolm," I said while tossing my suitcase onto the bed, quickly rifling through the clothes to find something to change into.

"She doesn't. Last I heard, Chase and Malcolm are going out tonight so Y/N will be alone," Nick raised a suggestive brow.

With a long sigh, I turned to face him. "You already planned this, didn't you?"

"It was Chase's idea," he answered.

Rolling my eyes, I pulled out my phone to send a text to Y/N.

Get dressed, I'll be by your room in fifteen minutes.

She responded quickly before I had the chance to set my phone down.

Care to tell me where we're going?

All you need to know is to dress warm, angel.

You're full of surprises. See you soon, mochi. Room 245.

"Mochi?" I chuckled to myself while pocking my phone.

With a smile playing at my lips and my heart pounding loudly in my heart at the nickname, I tossed on a fresh hoodie and my tan jacket, opting to leave my hair down. Nick finished getting dressed when I did and once we stepped out in the hallway, Jolly and Folio were already waiting for us right outside our door.

"Fuck," I cursed while clutching my chest. "You scared the shit out of me, Folio."

"Too busy thinking about Y/N, huh?" He gave a playful smile.

Shoving him on the shoulder, I mentioned we needed to stop by her room before heading down to the lobby.

Jolly adjusted the guitar bag on his back. "She's coming with?"

I hesitantly nodded. "Is that alright? Nick said she was alone, and I felt bad if we left her while we did something."

They all smirked at my rambling as we took the stairs down one floor, our footsteps echoing in the small confined space.

"Of course it is, we don't mind when she tags along," Jolly said.

Coming to a stop in front of door 245, I gently rapped my knuckles against it and waited for her petite voice to carry through the wood. It was silent for a few moments, nerves ate away at my stomach as I wondered why she wasn't answering yet.

I knocked once again, this time with a bit more force, and breathed a little when a loud curse sounded from the other side.

"Hang on, someone's at the door."

I looked over to Nick with a raised brow, and he merely shrugged. "Chase and Malcolm are gone so I don't know who she's talking to."

The door opened with a quick brush of air, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight in front of me. Y/N was dressed in a pair of black tights, and a deep orange sweater that rested to the middle of her thighs, and her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. I had to resist the urge to wrap my fingers through it to pull her back to me as she turned back into the room.

"Give me two minutes, I have to get my shoes," She said while clutching her phone to her ear. "No, Dad. Not you. I've got plenty of time to talk."

While the rest of the guys hung out in the hallway, I leaned against the wall right next to her bed and watched her as she slipped on her typical Doc Martin, nodding every so often to something her dad was saying on the other end of the phone.

"Dad, you seem to forget that you're seventeen hours ahead of me right now," she laughed causing my heart to flutter. "It's only noon here. Wait, why are you calling me so early? Isn't it your day off?"

She paced around the room looking for something and realizing what it was; I grabbed her bag and slung it over my shoulder. "I got it."

Y/N smiled her thanks before the conversation with her dad took her attention again. "No, I haven't talked to Mom in a while…. well, the last time she tried to guilt trip me into staying with her when the tour was over…I'm not staying at Trey's place anymore. We broke up.…..yea, long time coming, tell me about it….I'm sure I'll figure it out but I'm not staying in Vegas anymore…..hell yes I'm keeping Salem; asshole doesn't do shit for my cat."

I couldn't ignore the way my stomach flipped hearing that she didn't plan on staying in the same state as Trey.

"I can't move in with Malcolm or Chase because they're actually finding their own place together…Dad, they're dating; have been for the last six months…Yeah, that will explain exactly why Chase and I never got together."

I chuckled as I thought of her dad trying to set up her and Chase.

"You saw videos from the show last night?" There was a clear shock in her voice as she continued to talk with her dad as she rushed around the room getting ready.

"I'm surprised because you don't even know how to work face time," she giggled. "Oh, he's a friend of ours. We've been touring with his band for the last few weeks. Yeah, he filled in the last couple of shows….you think so? That's what everyone is saying online."

Her gaze flicked up to mine as her lips parted slightly, whatever her dad said made her give a long pause.

"Just a friend, dad." Then she turned swiftly on her heels away from me to whisper something low into the phone.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed to me with a pulled expression as she looked over her shoulder..

I waved her off. "Take your time."

"Dad, you know I miss you but I can't move to Japan; not now. But yes, I promise to visit you as soon as I can."

Eventually, after another minute, she said goodbye before hanging up with an audible groan. "Don't get me wrong, I love my dad but sometimes he forgets we talk almost every other day. He wants a play-by-play of my life every time."

"He wants you to visit?" I questioned.

She nodded while slipping into a jacket. "Yeah but its hard to find time. You need more than a weekend to visit Japan; there's so much to do."

"Yeah," I pushed her hand away when she went to reach for her bag. "I've got it."

"Noah, you don't have to carry my bag," she chuckled.

I shrugged. "I don't mind. Ready?"

"Yep," she smiled that heart-stopping smile.

When she walked past me towards the open door, my fingers grazed the inside of her wrist to stop her.

"Mochi?" I asked.

"Yes," she responded immediately. "Because you're the sweetest and your tummy is soft."

She poked her finger into my stomach before letting out a loud shriek of laughter as I wrapped an arm around her shoulders to bring her into my embrace, the both of us walking to the doorway where the guys were waiting.

"Malcolm and Chase are going to meet us once they're finished with their date," Y/N said.

"I'll text them the address," Nick said while pulling out his phone.

"Where are we headed?"

"The mountains," Folio answered with a smile.

"Ooh," she slipped out of my embrace, much to my dismay, to rummage around her suitcase for a book before she came back to me, lifting my arm and throwing it over her shoulder once again. "Now I'm ready."

Resisting the urge to press a kiss to her forehead, I set my sunglasses over my eyes and pulled her along with me as she let the door close behind us and ignored the smug look Nick threw my way as we walked past him; Y/N wrapping an arm around my back.

NOAH

"Can you believe how many people are calling for us to collaborate? It's all over Twitter," Nick said while browsing on his phone.

"Shit, really?" Y/N peered over from the back seat so she could gaze down at Nick's phone, who sat in front of her.

I was driving the van to the location that Bryan chose for our photo shoot but Folio called shotgun before she could which earned a cute little pout on her lips; lips that I wanted so bad to taste once again. So she sat in the far back with Jolly while Nick and Bryan sat in the middle. It was weird not having Chase or Malcolm with us since we did everything together on our off days.

"What are they saying?" I wondered while keeping my eyes on the road.

"Fans want you to feature on Hollow Souls next album," Y/N grinned as our eyes locked in the rearview mirror for a few seconds.

I hummed while pulling the van to a stop at the park's entrance. "I'm around whenever you need me, angel."

Once we all piled out, I met Jolly and Bryan at the back of the van to help them unload the equipment while Y/N chatted quietly with both of the Nicks, and out of the corner of my eye; I marveled at how goddess-like she looked with the afternoon sun casting her with her own aura glow. Jolly caught me staring because he smacked my chest before handing me the guitar he brought.

"You could ask her out, ya know," Bryan smirked.

I snapped my gaze over to him. "I can't."

"Why not? It's clear she feels the same since she's here right now," he said.

A long sigh fell from my lips as I ran a hand over my face. "It's not that easy, guys."

Bryan rolled his eyes and then hung his camera from his neck. "I mean you've already kissed, how much easier could things be between you two?"

"You told him?" I seethed at Jolly, who held up his hands.

"I didn't say anything. You two give it away with all the romantic googly-eye shit," he chuckled while he and Bryan began walking up the long trail toward the top of the mountain where we planned on taking the pictures.

"Hey," Y/N smiled as she bounded up next to me. "Little photo shoot?"

Immediately the scowl that followed Byran and Jolly turned into a warm smile, matching Y/N's, and I nodded. We began walking step in step, hands brushing against each other every so often, and I nearly linked fingers with her more than once. However, when we reached some rocky terrain while walking up a hill, Y/N cursed herself for not wearing smarter shoes.

"Here," I bent low in front of her and patted to my back.

"No, you're not carrying me," she tried to laugh it off, but I knew she was nervous about me carrying her weight on my back.

"Angel."

I peered over my shoulder in time to see her place her hands low on her hips.

"Mochi," she teased back with a small smirk.

My heart skipped a long beat at hearing the nickname again. It sounded so fucking sweet falling from her lips; almost as much as my actual name sounded.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," I said, still bent low at my knees.

Y/N pulled at the bottom of her sweater dress. "I don't want to give these bozos a show."

She threw a thumb over her shoulder towards both Nick's who walked a few paces behind her. I rose to my knees and gave her a suggestive smirk while closing the distance between us.

"What color are they?"

"Uh," Y/N stammered but quickly recovered. "A cute olive green. Looks great against my skin tone."

A low noise vibrated in the back of my throat and I stood straighter as Folio walked passed just in time to feel the growing sexual tension.

"Either you hop on his back or I will," he joked as he and Nick walked passed us.

She stared up at me and slowly licked her lips, an action I watched carefully through my sunglasses. "Noah?"

"Yes, angel?"

"You have a cute nose," her voice was quiet, and I thought I misheard her.

I titled my head to the side. "My nose?"

"Yeah. It's just the perfect size for your facial structure," she finished with a boop to my nose.

I scrunched up my face. "Did-did you just boop my nose?"

"See!" She pointed to my face. "You look so fucking cute; it's insane."

"Angel, literally," I breathed a low chuckle.

"Mochi, literally," she mocked while sticking her tongue out.

My fingers itched to grab it but Bryan's loud voice echoed through the trees from far ahead. "Let's go you losers! You're holding us up."

I swear to-.

"What will it be, angel?" I asked.

Y/N dramatically sighed before motioning for me to spin around, which I did with a quick wink.

"If you drop me, I swear to Hades," She grumbled while adjusting her dress.

The warmth radiated from her in giant waves as her legs wrapped around my sides and I hooked my arms underneath her thighs to hoist her up.

"I swear to Hades that I will not drop you," I promised while walking up the steep hill towards the rest of the guys. "Do you actually pray to the Greek Gods?"

She flicked my ear. "No, silly. I just like to joke around with them. They're my favorite mythology."

"Will you teach me about them?

"I'm honored you asked; I'd love to," she ran her fingers through my long hair and I briefly let my eyes flutter shut at the calming feeling.

"Only if you let me braid your hair."

My eyes snapped open. "Uh, we'll see about that."

She flicked my ear again. "You're no fun."

Hooking her tighter against me, I closed the distance between us and the guys in a few long strides. Nick gave the two of us a look as I set Y/N down gently on her feet, she quickly pulling down her dress.

"You didn't see shit," she pointed a firm finger to all of us.

"Nope."

"Nothing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Bryan held up his camera and snapped a few pictures of Y/N; who in return, flipped him the finger.

I watched with a racing heart as she messed around with the guys, almost as if she'd been part of our little group for years.

"Alright," Y/N pulled the book out of her bag. "I'll let you guys do your thing. If you need me, I'll be reading over there."

She pointed to the edge of the mountain that looked over the small lake we drove past to get here.

"Be careful, angel," I warned.

"I'll be fine," Y/N rolled her eyes but as she turned, she tripped over a rock and stumbled a bit before standing straight.

I raised a teasing brow at her while crossing my arms over my chest. "What was that?"

"Fuck you," she taunted with her middle finger.

Don't tempt me, angel.

The next hour passed in a blur as we took countless pictures, just having a fun, relaxing time. Every so often, my gaze would fall onto Y/N as she leaned up against a large willow tree, book perched in her lap. The wind blew through her ponytail every so often and I marveled at how fucking breathtaking she looked when her face would scrunch in surprise with whatever she was reading.

I knew from the moment I stepped off our bus the first day of the tour when I saw her standing amongst the group; when we first met. It wasn't the typical love at first sight bullshit Folio talks about that happens in the movies. It was more like a familiarity, almost like 'oh, hello. It's you. It's always going to be you.'

"Noah, could you take a little step forward," Bryan directed.

Snapping my gaze away from Y/N reluctantly, I followed Bryan's orders for another long few minutes until he decided we got enough pictures. I motioned towards Y/N, who still had her nose perched in her book, and Bryan knew what I silently was saying because he snapped a few pictures of her.

Malcolm and Chase walked up just as we finished our photoshoot so a quick idea came to my mind.

"Angel," I called.

She looked up. "Hm?"

Not saying anything, I waved her, Malcolm, and Chase over to our position which they did hesitantly.

"If Bryan is cool with it," I pointed to him. "What do you guys say for a Hollow Souls photoshoot? New and reimagined?"

Bryan immediately agreed. "Let me change out some things and we can get started.

Chase and Malcolm also agreed with a nod. "I think it'll be good for us."

"You guys don't have to do this for us," Y/N stated. "You've already done so much for us, Noah by filling in."

I shrugged while stuffing my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans. "I take care of the people I care about."

She pondered my words for a long moment and eventually let out a long breath. "Alright fine."

Once Bryan returned, the rest of stepped back to give them space to work. Nick was the only one who watched me as Jolly, Folio, and I kept our eyes on Hollow Souls. We grabbed a few beers from the cooler Jolly packed and was nursing them slowly.

"You know, this would be a perfect opportunity to maybe slip away just the two of you," Nick whispered.

I peered over to him and rolled my eyes, shoving him in the shoulder. "Whatever."

"I'm just saying," he held up his hands in defense. "A night under the stars in the mountains. Anybody would kill for a date like that."

Nick's words weighed heavily on my brain and when she began walking towards me, I made the haste decision by grabbing the guitar that was leaning against the tree.

"Hi," Y/N smiled as I met her halfway.

My heart warmed at the sight.

"Do you want to go somewhere more secluded, just the two of us?" I suggested with a hopeful smile.

I didn't want to think how I would feel if she rejected me and walked away from me.

"Sure," she answered quickly with a glimmer shining in her eyes.

Ultimately, after walking for a few minutes, we decided on an area far from the rest of the group down the water's edge. We sat down in the sand, our knees brushing against each other, and held the guitar in my lap as I watched her stare out into the vast distance of the water. There was a faraway look in the depths of her eyes as she messed with something on her wrist, fiddling it between her fingers.

A hair tie; the one I gave her the last time we were on the beach together. I wondered where it went but decided that I never wanted it back. It's hers to keep; along with everything else I gave her.

"How are you doing, angel?" I asked, breaking the growing silence.

She didn't look at me, kept her eyes straight ahead.

"I'm-." A hesitant breath. "I'm not sure. I want to believe I'm doing okay with the breakup of not only my relationship but also the band. For the longest time, Hollow Souls was the four of us and we released three records together. The future scares the shit out of me. Can the three of us reinvent a new Hollow Souls or do we need to find someone to replace Trey completely?"

I strummed a few random notes on the guitar; the melody echoing into the sounds of the waves.

"I think a fresh start in all aspects is good for you," I answered slowly, trying to get my thoughts and words right. "I've said it from the start, you're the heart and soul of this band, Y/N. The screams were a bonus. It didn't make or break you guys."

She finally looked towards me and her eyes darted over every inch of my face, wondering if my words were the truth. With her, they always were.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, mochi. Truly."

I scrunched up my face to show that the nickname wasn't my favorite but deep down, my insides were floating in pure bliss having her call me something so disgustingly cute. If any of the guys heard it, though, they would give me shit until the end of my days.

"Ditto, angel, ditto."

I tried to play it cool, sauvé, and chill. My typical demeanor was chipping like ice though, the fear of what would happen if it broke completely had its vise grip on me. No one has ever considered a fuckin a nickname for me, not one without a punchline. Not one without a groan or a cursed tantrum that followed. I wasn’t sure if the pure bliss I was feeling was normal, but who the hell wants normal? Hearing it come from her lips meant everything to me.

"Let's play something," I motioned to the guitar.

"Ooh, what do you have in mind?" She asked while turning her body to face me completely head-on and letting her hair flow as she took it out of the ponytail.

The view of her sitting in front of me with the waves crashing behind her, the setting sun's rays breaking over the horizon stole the breath from my chest.

"Only Love," I answered without an ounce of hesitation.

Y/N's nose scrunched up with confusion and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't the cutest fucking thing ever.

"Noah, that was a demo song from three years ago."

I shrugged and played the first few notes of the song. "Might be silly to some but to me, it means a lot."

It was true. I listened to that song on repeat when it first came out. It was the first song I heard by Hollow Souls and Y/N's voice captivated my heart with its claws. I remember laying on the pullout couch next to Nick in his bedroom as I stayed there yet again. My mind was racing with only one thought.

I have to fucking make it. I needed to buy my own couch that brought a sense of comfort and security I yearned for.

That's when her soft voice came through my headphones and it shocked me to hear a feminine voice after Of Mice and Men. I brushed the hair away from my eyes as I settled deeper into the couch and let Y/N's angelic voice lull me to sleep that night and far too long after.

Cut to three years later and the girl who wrote that song is here in front of me. Some may call it a ‘rockstar crush. Would she be considered that? Who the hell knows? All I know is that I had pent-up memories, and needed to hear that sweet voice sing it, just for me all these years later.

Y/N's real, right there in front of me.

"I'm shocked you remember that song."

"Why wouldn't I? You talked about it being on the cloud during that one livestream," I answered.

Her eyes doubled. "You watched the livestream?"

"Twice."

A red hue brushed across the soft skin of her face as she tilted her head down towards the sand, long hair covering her face.

"No," I brushed away the hair behind her ear. "Don't hide your beautiful face, angel. I want to see all of you if you'd let me."

"Sorry," she muttered under her breath. "I don't even realize I do it."

"Don't apologize. Never apologize to me. Just understand that this is how I see you. Now, enough sadness. Sing for me, angel."

She looked up at me through lashes with a small smile. "Do you know how to play it?"

I snorted, a little hurt that she would doubt me, but proved her wrong as I played the opening part of the song.

"I told you I watched the stream twice."

"Okay," she nodded. "Where did you want me to start?"

"Sing the whole song for me. Please?" I begged.

"You want me to sing the whole song?"

"I do," I rushed out.

Y/N gave a curt nod. “Okay, I’ll play the whole thing- but only because you asked me too, no one else gets the privilege.”

I playfully narrowed my eyes at her. “They better not.”

She took a deep breath while shutting her eyes as I played the tune on the guitar.

"I’m hoping you weren’t heaven sent cause only hell knows where you’ve been. Your built composure’s wearing thin and all your walls are caving in. Before you shut this down, I just wanna lift you up. I’ll take all this love I found and I hope that it’s enough."

We both could hear the ache in our hearts as it bled out, the lyrics mean so fucking much right now.

"Now don’t you shut this down. Ooh no don’t you give this up. I took all this love I found and I hope that it’s enough. Is it enough? If we don’t bend, then this might break. Please don’t give into this pain. Just keep on counting down the days and dream of me to keep you safe."

Y/n opened her eyes to meet mine, a blaze of passion that cut deep into my bones.

"Before you came around I was lost and out of place. You’re the only love I found and I’m hoping that you’ll stay. Please stay."

As we played on together in perfect harmony, there was one thing bright in clear in my mind: I'd stay for as long as she let me.

"Fuck," she breathed. "I forgot how much I loved singing this song."

I nodded in agreement while setting the guitar down next to me. "It's one of my favorites. It's actually what got me into Hollow Souls. I'd been hooked on your voice since that first night on Nick's couch all those years ago when I first heard it."

Y/N beamed when an idea struck her with such force, she stumbled to her feet. "I have to talk with Chase and Malcolm about something."

She took off a few steps in front of me, clearly excited about this idea she had. As we reached the rest of the guys, Y/N made a beeline toward Chase to tell him about her idea while I walked up to Nick and Folio, the former giving me a look.

"So my date idea was good, huh?" He playfully jabbed my side.

I pushed him away with a groan of embarrassment. "Fuck off, Nicholas."

"Oh, he pulled out the full name," Folio teased.

Jolly and Bryan joined us as we finished packing up the van and when I glanced over to Y/N, I noticed Malcolm pinching her cheeks playfully and she smacked his hands away, her cheeks flushed with her own embarrassment and large smile.

NOAH

"Oh wow, look at all of these beautiful people tonight!" Y/N's voice carried through the sold-out arena.

It was the last show of tour and Hollow Souls just took the stage for their set. We could feel the nerves radiate off of all three of them all the way where we stood on the stage to watch them. This was new what they planned on doing tonight but the three of them spent the rest of last night after we parted ways at the hotel and all morning and afternoon today practicing nonstop a new setlist. They wanted to show everyone tonight the first step towards the new Hollow Souls.

"Where's Noah?!" a voice yelled from the crowd.

Jolly chuckled from beside me. "Think they'll be upset you don't show up tonight?"

I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. "I hope not. This is something that they need to prove they can do. The fans need to have faith in Hollow Souls."

"Well, about that," Malcolm spoke into his microphone while adjusting his bass strap.

"Now before you all start booing us off the stage," Chase spoke next from his spot above on his makeshift drum stage. "Noah has been fucking killing it not only with Bad Omens this tour but also helping us out a lot. But tonight, we wanted to do something a little different. We still have our guitar tech filling in for us!"

The crowd cheered for their guitar tech, which made him give an awkward wave.

"I know this may take getting used to, but we appreciate your support in doing what’s right for us and our band," Y/N said. "It means so fucking much to all of us you still showed up tonight even knowing Trey is no longer with us. For that, we're going to give you a kick ass show you deserved. Don't give up on Hollow Souls. We cut out the disease and are ready to fucking blossom."

Y/N peered over to me and with a small wave and wink, she sang the first few lyrics of Only Love.

NOAH

Darkness cascaded over my sleeping form, a brush of moonlight breaking through the curtains pulled tight in our hotel room, and I buried myself deeper into the cocoon of blankets. Sleep was within my grasp and after the last few weeks, the thought of finally being able to sleep in my own bed back at home made it that much easier to grasp it.

Until my phone buzzed from its place on the nightstand and my hand smacked around until it grabbed it. Through hazy vision, I blinked a few times for the words to clear.

Hey, are you awake?-Angel.

I sat up in bed and rubbed away the rest of the sleep from my eyes. It only meant one thing when someone texted you the typical you up text.

Yeah, couldn't sleep.

Bullshit, you were seconds away from waking up Nick with your snoring.

I stared at the bubbles that appeared on my screen and then disappeared, only to reappear right before her next text came through.

Would it be alright if I came by to hang out? Or is it too late?

The clock at the top of my screen showed it was just before midnight.

Not at all. I've got snacks, and we can finally finish watching Spirited Away. Room 392

Be there in five minutes. I'll bring some goodies too! :)

I chucked a pillow at Nick, who was fast asleep in his bed, but when he remained sleeping, I threw another. Eventually, he groaned, slowly waking up.

"You need to leave." I scrambled out of bed and pulled away the blankets from Nick. "Y/N's coming by to hang out."

Nick smoothed down his bedhead, a sly smirk on his lips. "You're kicking me out right now?"

"Fuck yes I am. Go bunk with Bryan or Matt," I said while changing out of my old gray sweats for a pair of black joggers, opting to put on a shirt.

He yawned before grabbing the things he would need and dragged his feet to the door, sending a text to whoever he bunked with.

"Be safe!" Nick called out before the door shut behind him.

With seconds to spare, I quickly tidied up the room then set up a variety of snacks and pulled up the movie on my laptop, setting it on the bed just in time for a soft knock to sound on the door. I let out a few deep calming breaths and did a quick once over of myself in the mirror.

"Hi," I smiled once I opened the door.

Y/N's eyes grazed over every inch of me as she shifted on her feet in the doorway, clutching a bag close to her chest. She was dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized shirt.

"Do you always sleep shirtless?" she asked with a raised brow.

I stepped to the side, allowing her to step inside the room. "Every hotel room I sleep in can't get any colder than seventy degrees. I need it to be at least sixty-eight. I run hot when I sleep and the guys know not to mess with the thermostat back home."

"Wow, good to know. I'll keep my hands to myself when I come over," she wiggled her fingers after setting her bag down on the couch.

Please don't.

I peeked a brow. "When you come over?"

"Oh, if you thought you saw the last of me because the tour is over, you're wrong," she fell onto the couch with a huff of breath. "I'm moving to Los Angeles."

My heart thumped loudly in my chest but I did my best to hide my excitement when I sat next to her.

"You are?" I questioned.

She nodded with that room-brightening smile. "I had a long talk with Chase and Malcolm tonight and we thought it is best. With us trying to reinvent Hollow Souls it'd be good if we were together for the writing process. Malcolm already found a place big enough for us and while he's going there to get things ready, Chase is flying back with me to Vegas to help me pack my things."

I shifted in my seat, resting my arm against the back of the couch, behind Y/N. "Do you think Trey will be there?"

"Probably but that's why Chase is coming with me; in case things go south."

"I could come too if you'd like," I stumbled over my words only slightly.

Y/N rested a hand on my knee and squeezed it. "You need to stop worrying so much about me, Noah. I can't ask you to change your plans for something I should do on my own."

"You're worth it, angel," I vowed while running a finger through the soft waves of her hair.

We stayed in that position for a minute longer, simply staring into each other's eyes, and when I ran my tongue over my bottom lip, Y/N let out a soft whine. The thick tension that always seemed to be around us intensified now, and it was almost hard to breathe, let alone keep my thoughts off the way her hand grazed a few inches higher on my thigh.

I cleared my throat while nodding to the bag next to her. "What did you bring?"

"Oh," she snapped out of her trance and set it on her lap. "Last tour, I started this tradition on the final night I celebrate by doing self-care."

She pulled out an array of masks and different colors of nail polish and then set them on the small coffee table in front of us.

"Sweet, hand me one," I nodded towards the masks.

"You do masks?" Y/N giggled.

"What, you think I get this perfect skin with just water?" I jeered with a smile.

For the next while, we sat with our face masks on and watched the movie on the small screen of my laptop. It took almost no convincing from her to paint my nails black; her choosing a burgundy color for her nails. But now, what she was trying to convince of me gave me a slight pause.

"I don't know, angel. I don't let just anyone touch my hair," I said while putting away my laptop, us finishing the movie.

Y/N moved to the chair that sat in the room's corner and had her legs spread wide. "It's a good thing I'm not anyone. Now, get your ass over here and let me braid your hair."

For added effect, she pouted her bottom lip out and gave me those big doe eyes.

"Fine," I sighed before sitting on the floor between her legs, my back to her.

I shivered under her touch as she raked her fingers through my hair to break apart the small knots that gathered while I slept earlier.

"So, which Greek God is your favorite?" I asked.

She hummed. "Without a doubt, Medusa. Her story is tragic and sometimes often told wrong but that's the thing with mythology; there are so many different versions, you just have to choose which one you believe more."

"Medusa is the one with the snake hair, right?"

"Yeah," she turned my head to the left as she began braiding that side. "Some stories said she was an original gorgon sister but recent tellings from Ovid say she was a beautiful maiden who worked in Athena's temple. Poseidon saw her from afar and just like Zeus always did, Poseidon decided he wanted Medusa. He had sex with her on the temple steps and Athena punished her by turning her into the gorgon with snake hair and cursed any man to turn to stone when they looked at her."

I whistled low. "Shit, Greek gods were assholes."

Y/N snorted. "You don't even know the half of it."

Once she finished the left side, she turned my head to the right so she could start on that side.

"How'd her story end?"

"In tragedy, like every other myth. Perseus was sent to behead her by King Polydectes of Seriphus because Polydectes wanted to marry Perseus's mother. The gods were well aware of this, and Perseus got help. He received a mirrored shield from Athena, sandals with gold wings from Hermes, a sword from Hephaestus, and Hades's helm of invisibility."

"Wait," I turned to look up at her, which made her chastise me because I messed up the braid. "Athena, who turned her into this monster, helped the guy who was sent to kill her?"

"Fucked up, I know."

With stern hands, she turned my head to the right again. "Since Medusa was the only one of the three Gorgons who was mortal, Perseus could slay her; he did so while looking at the reflection from the mirrored shield he received from Athena. During that time, Medusa was pregnant by Poseidon so when Perseus beheaded her, Pegasus, the winged horse, and Chrysaor, a giant wielding a golden sword, sprang from her body."

"Oh Pegasus, from the Disney Hercules," I noted.

"That movie is so wrong but what do you expect for a kids' movie," Y/N chuckled then slapped her thighs. "All finished."

She showed me my reflection through her camera on her phone and I couldn't stop the smirk that pulled at my lips.

"I'll have to admit, angel. I look good with braids," I admitted while snatching her phone from her.

"Hey, what are you doing?!" She asked while reaching for it.

I leaned far back from her and posed for a few selfies. "I thought you'd like an updated selfie of me. I know you have the other two I sent you a few weeks ago."

With a red face, she snatched her phone back and held it close to her chest. "I do not."

Bullshit.

"Right, then let me see your pictures," I teased while kneeling in front of her, hands resting on her thighs, her skin ablaze with heat.

She swallowed thickly. "Fuck you, Sebastian."

READER

I swallowed thickly while clutching my phone to my chest, knowing that he was correct about saving those two selfies he sent me before.

"Are you going to look at the selfie I took?" Noah taunted.

With a breath, I peered down at the phone only to suck in a large breath, body shivering underneath his warm touch on my thighs.

"That's your new contact picture, mochi," I smirked while setting it and leaned deeper in the couch, not realizing that I pressed my core closer to Noah's face.

His eyes burned as his gaze darted from between my legs up to my face and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, almost imagining the taste.

"Angel," his voice was deep, it rumbling in his chest.

All the heat shot straight to my pussy as it clenched with desire, something that always happened when around Noah. Before, I took care of myself with this exact image in my mind but now that it was about to happen made me buzz with excitement.

"Can I?" He asked while breathing over my lap.

I raised my hips towards his face, all morals or thoughts if this was the best idea flew out of the window. We waited long enough for this moment ever since we shared that kiss so long ago. I wasn't a religious person at all but fuck, did I pray to Aphrodite about this moment countless times.

"Please," the word choked out on my lips.

With a low growl, Noah pulled me off of the chair and tossed me onto the bed before he crawled between my spread legs. His long fingers hooked the waistband of shorts and panties pulling them off in almost a quick snap and when blazed eyes stared down at my bare pussy, I tried to close my legs.

"Don't," Noah demanded while gripping my thighs tight to spread my legs again. "Don't hide a fucking thing from me, angel."

Shit.

"I've never actually-," The words died on my lips when I felt embarrassed about what I was about to say.

Noah leaned over me. "Wait, are you going to say what I think you're going to say?"

I turned my head away from him. "He never wanted to go down on me."

Noah cursed while cupping my chin so I could meet his gaze. "Don't think about him, angel. Just lay back and enjoy this."

I did my best to nod in his grasp. "Okay."

He suddenly crashed his lips to mine in a fiery, passionate kiss, as he forced his tongue past my lips to taste every inch of my mouth and I moaned into it, nails scratching against the bare skin of his chest. Noah's teeth dragged over my bottom lip as his hand dragged down my side to slide up underneath my shirt, fingers pinching at my nipples.

"Noah," I breathed while breaking apart from the kiss.

He buried his face into the crook of my neck to breathe me in. "Say it again."

I did, over and over like a mantra, as he left a mark on the skin of my neck while his hand switched to the other breast, mimicking his actions from before. The wetness that pooled between my legs was almost a new feeling, never being this turned one, and for a moment I wondered if it would be alright; no pain.

Noah helped me sit up so he could pull my shirt over my head and soon was laying bare in front of him, hair sprawled around my head.

"Fuck, angel. You're fucking beautiful."

For the longest time, I was told something different from how I looked. So hearing the truth and sincerity from Noah made me almost close my legs in front of him. But with his tight grip on my hips to keep me locked against the bed, I knew he could read my thoughts.

"Don't go there. Stay here with me," he said before his lips pressed over every inch of skin from my lips to my chest, down my stomach, and stopped right about my pussy.

I whined the smallest of sobs when Noah took his time, lips ghosting over me. By now I was almost begging and when I finally felt the wet flick of his tongue against my clit, I breathed out a shaky curse. Noah pressed the fullness of his tongue against my lips, licking me up from the bottom to the top, spreading my legs wider apart. I bit my hand to keep the noises at bay.

"I want to hear you," he left a gentle bit on the inside of my thigh.

"Fuck," I moaned when his tongue speared inside of me for a few strokes.

My hands now grasped at the blanket beneath me as I raised my hips farther into his mouth, his lips wrapping around my clit to bite and suck at the bundle of nerves. I always thought my Gspot was in my clit because it was hard to have an orgasm any other way than rubbing myself. Without even telling Noah this, it was as if he knew exactly what my body needed.

It happened so fast, before I knew it he was devouring me like a dying man. I’ve never felt euphoria until now; this must be how it feels to see the moon, the moon that changes its orbit. He had me spinning.

"I love the way you taste, angel." Noah broke away from my clit for a second before diving back it.

The familiar feeling of an orgasm built in my stomach, the tension pulling so fucking tight it was seconds away from snapping. My spine tingled with anticipation as my body tensed, knees shaking underneath Noah as he rubbed his tongue in faster but shorter circles, moaning with the taste that lingered on his lips.

"N-noah. 'M so close," I let my head fall back deeper into the mattress.

"Let go, I've got you."

With a strangled breath, I let the orgasm crash through me like a tsunami, a bright white light edging at the corners of my eyes while Noah licked me through the last few aftershocks. As my breathing calmed, I lifted my head in time to see him stand to his feet, stepping out of his joggers only to stand in front of me in his black briefs.

I licked my lips when I saw his cock straining against the confines of the material until he palmed himself in a few strokes.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked.

I shook my head with desperation clear in my voice. "No, please. I need this-I need you, Noah."

He cursed before sliding off his briefs with desperation and urgency, his hard cock springing against his thigh, and I nearly died at that sight alone. All of my imagination did nothing compared to the real thing, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared for a few different reasons. Sex with Trey was uncomfortable but with Noah's size, I feared it would only hurt. The only saving grace was that he worked me open and the added wetness would make up for the slight pain.

"Are you on anything?" Noah asked while kneeling between my legs.

A lot of different shit.

"No," I said.

He leaned over to a bag that lay at the foot of the bed and rummaged around for a few seconds before retrieving a condom. I watched with anticipation as pre-cum seeped out of the slit when he ripped it open and slid it over his length then perched himself between my legs again, the head of his cock pressing gently against me. He wrapped one of my legs around his hip then slowly, sunk deep inside of me, and I bit my tongue hard to keep my strangled cry quiet. I knew there was going to be some pain; it was inevitable, but I didn't expect it to feel so good either.

"Fuck," Noah rested his forehead against my collarbone. "So tight."

He didn't move at first, relishing in the way I felt gripping his cock, and I couldn't take it anymore; I needed him to move.

"Noah," I begged while grinding against him.

One hand gripping my thigh, the other was placed next to my head to keep himself supported as he finally moved his hips in slow, deep strokes.

"Faster," I panted, almost pleading.

Slow was good but right now I needed fast.

Noah accepted my pleas and began slamming into me with such force, I cried out in name with a mixture of pleasure and pain. My hand slipped between our bodies to rub at my clit, hoping that the sensation would ease the pain a bit, but it could only do so much.

He noticed something was wrong with the way my face contorted in pain. "Angel, do you want to get on top?"

"Fuck yes, please."

Still buried deep inside of me, Noah rolled our bodies so now I was straddling him and almost immediately, the pain subsided; it was still there but not as strong. My hands sprawled over the tattoos that covered his chest as I leaned down to lick my way across the snake and apple on his neck. The noise he made, and his moans were so soft as my hot tongue went up and down his neck, I grazed over his Adam's apple with my teeth and bit down. Noah shook underneath me as he wrapped an arm around my back to hold me closer, burying his thick, aching cock, deeper inside of me.

We felt the rush, the aching, burning blush. We surrendered to the touch. I gave him a show. This is heaven in hiding.

"Angel," he begged as my teeth worked on leaving a mark against the hand on his neck. "I need-."

"What do you need?" I ground my hips against his pelvis and the sensation sent sparks to my clit and I clenched around him.

"Fuck," he cursed. "Don't stop what you're doing. It feels so good."

"Oh," I bit down on a new patch of skin on his throat. "This?"

"Yes," he dragged out the S for a few seconds.

My hands went to run through his hair but I almost forgot in our haste that I braided it a few minutes before this.

"Angel," Noah's voice was raw. "You have no idea how much I've wanted you."

I sat up slowly to stare down at him in awe as his words made me feel unspeakable things.

In one quick action, his hand snaked behind my head to pull my lips back down to him to kiss me feverishly.

"Noah," I tugged on his braids.

"Shit, give me a minute. I can take them out."

I didn't stop moving my hips against him. "Noah. I-."

"Just second, angel."

His hands left their vice grip on my hips to take out his hair but I quickly slapped his hands while sinking deeper on his cock. "Leave them."

The same sensation of a cresting orgasm filled every inch of me, ecstasy shooting through my veins like a drug, and when Noah's thumb pressed fast circles against my clit, I leaned my head up towards the ceiling, lips parting as my hands wrapped around his braids, pulling with such force he choked on my name. I rode Noah faster, needing that last little bit of friction to tip me over the edge and when I finally let the bliss plow through me in droves, I held my breath.

"Angel," Noah cupped my cheek so I could look down at him. "Breathe through it with me."

I did as he said, both of us breathing out my orgasm as our eyes locked intently with each other. I writhed against him, my arousal soaking the condom and parts of his hips. It was such a simple action but the way it set my body on fire intensified the aftershocks to something I'd never experienced. Noah stared down to the place where we met and with a noisy moan, he wrapped an arm tighter around me to pull me flush against his chest as his hips stilled for a second before he emptied himself inside the condom.

NOAH

I pressed light kisses all along Y/N's shoulder blades, in shock and almost slight jealousy as I took in every inch of the large tattoo that covered her back. It was of a large snake that wrapped along every groove of her spine with an array of different Japanese flowers.

Afterward, I let her fall onto the mattress with a happy sigh, immediately grasping the pillow closer to her chest and that's when I noticed the tattoo.

"I can't believe I've never noticed this before," I mused while running a finger over the ink.

"It's taken like two years to complete. It's my second favorite after the one on my leg of the Gods," she rested her chin on her palm. "You know what I just realized? We have similar tattoo themes; copy cat."

Her finger grazed over the snake and apple along my neck.

"Yeah," I chuckled. "All you need is an apple right here."

I smacked right above her ass and she shrieked while falling into the pillow once again, a long but content sigh falling from her lips. I kissed from between her shoulder blades down her back, my nails grazing beyond the wake of my lips.

"Are you okay?" I wondered while gently squeezing her hips.

“Yeah, I think so. I feel content, just basking in it. You?”

I nodded and kissed the side of her head as I lay next to her. "I feel great."

"Do you know what you want in 10 years?" Y/N blurted out.

“That’s a random question” I chuckled while kissing her lips.

She sighed and looked up at me through her lashes. “I know but think about it, like really think about it?”

I thought deeply about her question, fingers still grazing her spine. “Alright I’ll bite, I don’t know, I’ve always been trying to make it with whatever bullshit has been going on in my fucking life- just wanting to mean something to somebody, make music- for anybody out there to listen. To be the fucking king you know?”

She laughs. "And?"

"Way down the road maybe one day in the future- to live in the middle of nowhere with a dog, cats, and a family of my own. In my wooden home that I built."

Y/N's body went rigid with my words.

"But right now, no dog, no family just…just Bad Omens," I finished with a hopeful breath.

She hummed in response but turned her head to face the wall opposite of us, something bothering her. Not wanting to push it, I left another kiss on her spine before I slipped out of bed to discard of the condom in the bathroom trash, a light red color catching my attention.

Once back in the room, I slipped back underneath the covers.

"Angel?"

Another hum vibrated from her throat, sleep weighing heavy on her shoulders.

"Did you get your period?"

I swore I saw all the breath leave her body with my question and my mind panicked, thinking she was embarrassed.

"It's fine," I rubbed her back soothingly. "I just saw some blood on the condom, that's all."

When she still said nothing, I nudged her face with my nose. "Are you alright?"

"Yep," she said quietly.

"Stay till morning?" I asked, hopefully.

Finally, she turned to face me and left a kiss on my nose. "I have to go."

My heart fell into the dark pits of my stomach as I watched her slip out from underneath the sheet to gather her clothes. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing, Noah." She slipped back into her clothes rather quickly. "I just have an early flight to catch and I know you have one too."

I shook my head and stood to my feet while slipping my briefs and joggers back on. "I don't buy that. We were great, where did you go just now?"

She doesn't want to leave, I can see that in the way her movements slowed once she was dressed, almost as if she was buying time for me to say something that would change her mind. But she refused to meet my gaze.

"Angel, look at me. What's the matter?" I asked again.

"Nothing-," she began with a sigh.

"Then why won't you stay?"

The fear of her slipping between my fingers was debilitating.

"Noah, you know I can’t; we can’t," Y/N stumbled over her words.

I stretched my arms out wide at my sides. "Why? Why can’t you?"

With her gaze still cast down to her feet, she shook her head. "You don’t want me Noah, trust me, you don’t want any part of this."

"Bullshit," I spat as my anger got the best of me.

Y/N's head snapped up towards me, finally looking me in my eyes and all I saw in hers were the wetness of tears. "I have this condition that already makes my life harder every fucking month. I don't need to bring you into it and ruin our future, alright?"

My heart stopped for a few seconds. "Condition? What the fuck, are you dying or something? I don't know what the hell this means."

"No," she rushed out. "I'm not dying. I-I don't want to get into this right now. All I know is that I would need you a lot more than you'd need me. And you deserve better than me, anyway."

"Don't-" I started while pointing a finger at her.

She ran a distressed hand through her hair. "You know it’s true Noah, please. This is hard enough as it is. Walking out right now."

The bed stood between us and I hated feeling so far from her even though we were still in the same room so I walked around it, standing a few inches in front of her now.

"I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life too, Y/N. Don’t sit there and tell me what I can and can’t handle. Don’t sit there and tell me what I want or don’t want. You’re just so afraid of us," I pointed between us.

She grasped her elbows to hug herself and I could see the way her mind was running, gears turning hastily. Y/N was shutting down in front of me and I fucking hated it.

"Don’t fucking do that. I’m not him," I assured her with a gentler tone.

All of this was a trauma response, something so embedded deep into her brain that it was the only way she knew how to act. I know she felt the same way that I did; it was clear with what happened not even an hour ago. If she didn't feel the way I did, she wouldn't have shown up tonight. Y/N wants to stay, I can see it in the way her eyes keep darting to the bed but the pain and trauma were too deep.

"I’m sorry angel, I just- you’re wrong. I know how I feel about you, and I know what you feel about me."

I went to reach for her hands but she took a step back, a few tears falling to the ground below.

"I know what I feel. It’s not you, it’s me, Noah."

Not that fucking line.

"No. Fuck, angel! Stop! The future hasn't even happened yet. Please, don't-what do you need to happen?"

Her bottom lip trembled as a broken sob clawed its wait through her throat. "I-I think we need to remain friends right now. I can't-I can't get lost in you, Noah. It's so fucking easy to. I think we need space."

"I-I don't fucking want that, Y/N. I just want you."

"Noah, please understand where I'm coming from," she begged.

I paced the room, hands shaking in anger. Defeat? I wasn't sure.

"Angel-I. Please, just-," I eventually sighed in defeat.

"I'm going to head out."

Y/N nodded towards the door after gathering her things and stepped past me to leave.

The fear of losing her completely is what made me give in to her wishes. As much as I wanted to fight her choice, I needed her as a friend more than something more. I'll take what I can get for right now until she realizes she feels the same; I know she does.

As she opened the door, my feet closed the distance between us in two large steps and I grasped her chin, forcing her to look at me. The tears burned with the need to fall but she held fast and strong, refusing to show me how badly walking away was affecting her.

I brushed my lips across hers in a soft kiss. "I can wait for you."

She tried to disagree but my grip was too strong. "Noah- I can’t ask you to do that. That’s not fair. You deserve-"

“Don’t tell me what you think I deserve." I let out a shaky breath. "Look, heaven knows I’m not getting over you, I can wait”

“Besides. I’m known for having a lot of fuckin patience. I will wait." I finished with a shrug.

If I wasn't already staring intently at her, I almost would have missed the small nod she gave me; but I didn't. I saw it.

“Goodnight Noah.”

With one final kiss, not enough to remember the way she tastes, Y/N let the door shut behind her as I burned my hateful gaze through it. She left? How the fuck could she just leave after the night we had together?

No, fuck that.

I barreled through the door in time to notice she was only two doors down, frozen in her spot.

"Angel," I called after her.

Slowly, she turned, and I sucked in a breath when I saw the redness in her eyes, puffy with teh tears she let out as soon as the door closed. Mine mirrored hers.

"Please," I begged. "Just come back to me. I'll wait for you."

Y/N hesitated but within that hesitation, something stood out clear as day; she took a small step towards me until that doubt filled the back of her mind yet again. I stayed in the hallway watching as she turned the corner, disappearing from my vision and life; my words not being enough to make her stay.

Back inside the room, I let the door slam shut and made a beeline toward the minibar. I screwed off the cap of the Hennessy, downing half of it in one go.

"Bitter ends to the night. I'm along for the ride," I raised the bottle in the air before taking another long, slow gulp with my eyes screwed shut.

Suddenly, they snapped open, and I rummaged around the mess of my room for my phone, quickly typing out a text to Jolly.

I need to write a song, now.

Only a few minutes passed before he responded, just enough time for me to pop open another bottle.

Now? It's three in the morning and we have nothing here.

Doesn't fucking matter. I'll figure it out. Come to my room.

Letting the bottle slip from my fingers, I stalked over to the wall and slid down until my ass hit the floor with a thud; the image of Y/N crying and walking away burned into my brain. I was out of breath, out of time trying to stop her but, in the end, everything has a price. And I was paying for it. 

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

[jackiepackiee]

“May I have this dance?”

Chuuya x reader

(ft. The Flags)

Warnings - none

Type - Fluff

Word Count - 798

A song for you by Donny Hathaway. The slow jazz filled every inch of the old world pool hall, seducing the ears of every resident that found themselves inside. There were only seven, but that's how it always was. Every other night, when no missions were to be had. Albatross, drinking some fruit-based cocktail while teasing Chuuya. The latter gritting his teeth at his friend, although any passersby would think he hates him. Iceman enjoyed the music, as well as Doc as he both sipped on some heavy whisky. Pianoman and Lippmann were in a very intense game of pool, tied the entire run. Then, you. Changing the record to some more up beat jazz.

“We should dance! Doesn’t that sound fun?” You had always been rather energetic with a bit of alcohol in your system. It’s not like this place had a limit or carded anyone.

Lippmann looked up at you, a bit surprised. “Dance? Since when did you dance?”

“Since forever! Come on~ I love dancing, it’s only natural.” She explained.

On the other end of the hall Albatross teased Chuuya’s hair, before whispering into his ear.

“Go dance with her, you know you wanna~”

You didn’t realize this teasing, thinking Chuuya’s red cheeks were only from some overly expensive wine. Little did you know he hadn’t had a sip all night.

“No way! Anyways she’s talking to Lippmann, I don’t wanna bother her.” Chuuya said, pushing away Albatross. Not enough to hurt him of course.

Lippmann was having the same idea, no way he’d pass the opportunity up to play matchmaker.

“Very well then. Hmm, I’m not sure… you shouldn’t dance with Doc, wouldn’t wanna knock over his IV.”

Pianoman joined in, putting his pool stick down.

“And not Iceman, he’s a whole lot bigger than you with all that muscle.”

Pianoman said, easily concealing his playfulness.

Doc leaned into the trio of you, Lippmann, and Pianoman.

“And not Albatross, I’d bet he has two left feet.”

You.. you were not understanding what this was leading to. But still giggled at Doc’s little joke. Luckily Albatross couldn’t hear.

“Well, then who? You, Lippmann?”

Did she have to be so dense?

“No! I mean uh- I’m not very good at dancing, and neither is Pianoman!” Lippmann tried to turn it on Chuuya.

“But Pianoman, I’ve seen you dance on a mission before?” She spoke, curious as to why it was said he couldn’t dance. He shook his head, lying for a good cause.

Albatross walked over before she could ask any more questions, Chuuya in tow.

“You know, Chuuya could dance with you! Isn’t that right?”

She perked up, happy someone would dance with her. She smiled, and he melted. How could he ever say no to her?

“Sure… will you dance with me?”

He asked, gentlemanly as he always was with her.

Iceman, quiet as he always was, was still listening. He picked a record, it was from New Orleans. Jazzy and fast pace, probably from the 1930’s. He knew she loved this style. Swing dancing… Chuuya was in for an absolute treat, as well as the rest of the flags. Since they knew damn well he’d be faking it till he made it.

“Of course I’ll dance with you! Let’s go!”

She took his gloved hand in hers. It was surprisingly soft leather, though the real hand would be much nicer to hold and feel. Even if neither would admit it.

“You ready, Chuu?” God, his heart would give out if she called him that nickname ever again. But, he wouldn’t complain. What a lovely way to die that would be. Damn it, he got distracted.

“Chuuya? Ready?”

She was so patient.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Umm.. what do I do?”

She laughed, not in a mean way. It was cute, that’s what he thought anyway.

“Sorry sorry.. we can start with the basics. Okay, hands in mine.”

He took her hands. Unbeknownst to her, the flags gave him grins and thumbs up. “Your nails… They are painted red. That’s my favorite color, they’re lovely.”

“It is? Well isn’t that perfect, and thank you.”

She started to sway to the music. He followed suit, thanking his past self for learning how to keep rhythm.

“Can I spin you?”

She agreed, spinning while holding his hand. She was smiling, eyes beaming while looking into his. Was she?… she had her doubts before, but she definitely loved him.

Iceman, with his knowledge of records, changed the music to play a slower song. Meaning Chuuya could hold her close. He did not need five wingmen.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

“The music slowed down, so we should too.”

“Since when did you know about dance?~”

He made a faux annoyed expression.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Part two?

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