#that’s the power of the press ; verse

[soldwrecked]

@loudnclearspot liked for a starter!

[sms -> shortstack]: you up for a date tonight?

[sms -> shortstack]: we can sneak into medda’s if ya want

[sms -> shortstack]: or do something else. i ain’t picky

#loudnclearspot #char : jack kelly #that’s the power of the press ; verse

[skathmarked]

hard-to-find hurt/comfort sentence starters.

@merveiilles sent: “just go. you can still make it. don’t worry about me.” (from Garth. Man would 100% sacrifice himself for others)

   The battle had been raging on for what felt like hours. She could feel that she was growing weary, her strength starting to fail her. Garth knew that they couldn’t go on like this. One of them must distract the others so one of them can flee. “No, I refuse to leave you here,” she defied him. Determined that there must be another way for them to win this battle together.

   A snowball was hurled in their direction, landing between them, narrowly missing. It was clear that somebody was trying to separate them. Averting her gaze upon their attacker, she spotted Richard with a knowing smile on his lips, looking almost too pleased with himself.

   He knew that at one point, Garth and Raven would eventually have to betray each other; for there could only be one winner.

#merveiilles #( i'm so sorry for this ) #( i thought i was funny and couldn't resist ) #( this also doesn't need to have anything to do with the group thread I was testing waters lmao ) #( also raven vc: stop sacrificing yourself for me afsjfhs ) #verse 001. / the menace is growing. one which only your powers can hope to overcome. ( main ) #answered. / i don't talk to the press.

[liroyalty]

Aesthetic Tags

fashion aesthetic 【a diamond ring and tiara to match my ballgown】

foodie aesthetic 【oh my! it's time for tea!】

quote aesthetic 【words are just as powerful as the sword】

setting aesthetic 【castles that were so high they touched the horizons】

royalty aesthetic 【in the lap of luxury】

divine aesthetic 【light and dark in a balance】

musical aesthetic 【the voice of an angel with the lure of a siren】

video aesthetic 【pressing the play button until it breaks】

verses and aus aesthetic 【in the reflection of the mirror; is what we see truly ourselves?】

naughty aesthetic(nsfw warning) 【body imprints onto silken sheets】

ship aesthetic 【ah; true love. a rarity for royalty indeed】

ann aesthetic 【in sunlight blooms the peony】

suzanne aesthetic(varies trigger warnings) 【in darkness blooms the spider lily】

john aesthetic 【war makes a king; but love makes a man】

rosa aesthetic 【the comforts of the mother we adored】

#fashion aesthetic 【a diamond ring and tiara to match my ballgown】 #foodie aesthetic 【oh my! it's time for tea!】 #quote aesthetic 【words are just as powerful as the sword】 #setting aesthetic 【castles that were so high they touched the horizons】 #royalty aesthetic 【in the lap of luxury】 #divine aesthetic 【light and dark in a balance】 #musical aesthetic 【the voice of an angel with the lure of a siren】 #video aesthetic 【pressing the play button until it breaks】 #verses and aus aesthetic 【in the reflection of the mirror; is what we see truly ourselves?】 #naughty aesthetic(nsfw warning) 【body imprints onto silken sheets】 #ship aesthetic 【ah; true love. a rarity for royalty indeed】 #ann aesthetic 【in sunlight blooms the peony】 #suzanne aesthetic(varies trigger warnings) 【in darkness blooms the spider lily】 #john aesthetic 【war makes a king; but love makes a man】 #rosa aesthetic 【the comforts of the mother we adored】

[soldwreckedmoved]

@loudnclearspot said 024, a hotel room with only one bed.

“SHIT.” JACK HASN’T EVEN SHUT THE DOOR YET. HE’S TOO BUSY STARING AT THE SINGLE BED IN THE middle of the room. He’s almost 100% sure when he called to book the room, he’d asked for two beds. But apparently the hotel people had fucked up, because there’s just one. He glances over at Spot helplessly. “I’ll take the couch?” It comes out as a question and he cringes. “Or we can go down and tell ‘em we wanna switch rooms.” He doesn’t really know how hotels work, but he’s pretty sure that’s something you can do. Right? He hopes so. He doesn’t want to make this trip any more awkward than it needs to be.

#loudnclearspot #char: jack kelly #that’s the power of the press//verse #queue gotta get over that #do i know what this is? no #but have some very flustered and very confused jack

[gutsby]

Diehard

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Erectile dysfunction. Daddy kink. Praise kink if you squint. Overstimulation. Cumplay. She/her pussy pronouns. Pushing physical limits with a pre-negotiated safe word in place for it.

Note: No more limp dick erasure. We die like [old] men.

Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse | Word count: 986

Joel just wanted to prove he could fuck like he used to.

He didn’t think he’d almost kill you in the process.

“JOEL!” you screeched, heels digging deep in the mattress as your climax came in seismic waves.

The stimulation was insane. Normally the much-older man would have been down for the count after two—and usually one—big O, but now his chest was heaving, hips relentlessly beating a punishing pace against your own.

Your walls were slick with not only your cum but his, milky ropes of his arousal making for an obscene set of sounds every time his dick slid in and out of your cunt. You could feel his balls tighten and twitch with every forthcoming spurt of him, practically reeling with the pulse of each new sticky gift inside you. His groans rumbled low, but the power and pleasure and outright primal fervor they conveyed were unmistakeable. You had to look down, feebly, to believe it yourself—Joel never fucked his way through your orgasm and his.

Then you felt a palm slide up the back of your head, and Joel held it up to make sure you watched him fuck you.

“J-Joel,” you whimpered, watching his girth disappear and reappear at least a half-dozen times as you did.

“Just a little more, honey,” he murmured against your forehead. The smack of each thrust was dizzying, “Want my pretty girl nice and full’a me before she leaves, okay?”

Joel never could let you head back to college without a few of his loads and a head full of filthy memories—something to hold you over until your next visit home. You would’ve liked to mumble back, ‘Okay,’ but then your pussy clenched around him, and his thrusts grew faster.

“My sweet girl,” he grinned, “She likes that, huh?”

You could scarcely manage a nod. The weight of your head was held fully by him, and if that wasn’t indicative enough of your fucked-out state, your face surely said the rest. When Joel leaned back to adjust the angle of his thrusts, he caught sight of your hooded, glossy stare and almost came all over again. He slowed his pace for once.

Then he dipped a finger between your body and his, just long enough to douse the tip of his digit with cum. He bottomed out inside you, watched you part your lips in a gentle gasp, and pressed his touch to that open space.

It was almost like you didn’t have the strength to suck. You just let him smear the sticky stuff along your lower lip, gaze plastered to his. Then Joel’s cock sank deeper.

“O-ow!” you whined, partly reanimated by the stretch.

“You can take it,” Joel grunted.

The double entendre wasn’t lost on you. You could, and would, take his finger and his cock inside. You suckled dumbly on the cum-drenched fingertip in assent.

But when Joel’s finger popped out of your mouth and his thrusts picked back up, you weren’t entirely convinced you would be able to hold up the second half of that deal.

It wasn’t fair. He took one magic pill, and poof, his dick stayed hard for half the fucking day. You had nothing but your youth and two shaking legs to ensure your survival. When Joel worked his cock back and forth a couple more times and it seemed your body was about ready to scream, you took hold of his biceps and squeezed tight.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

The tip of his cock nicked a soft ridge inside you, and you jolted back. Joel’s palm was still pressed to your head, holding you to him, and his hips had you pinned as well.

Instead of answering, you whimpered.

You didn’t want him to stop, but you also weren’t sure if you could handle any more. Your eyes met his, pleading.

“Can’t what?” Joel pressed, a little more sternly.

Another whimper. Inside, Joel’s cock was rubbing that pleasure point raw, and you felt another climax coming.

“Use your words.”

“Too— too—”

Each new thrust was sending stars before your eyes. Joel was one sick man if he tried to make you talk while he fucked you past the point of all intelligible speech.

“Too what? Tell me, baby.”

You’d get that fucker back someday. Joel just grinned.

“Too much,” you hissed when his hips delivered another mind-numbing push. Then, feeling pleasure threaten to peak at almost a painful degree, “Toomuchtoomucht—”

Joel continued thrusting, knowing damn well you knew what to say if you really wanted him to stop. As if to underscore this point, he tipped your head back and made you hold his gaze, features creased with a frown.

“That sure don’t sound like the safe word to me.”

It wasn’t. You knew it wasn’t. He didn’t need to tell you twice, or even breathe a second word besides. With one more brush of Joel’s thick, throbbing, implausibly hard cock, he sent you over the edge and into your fourth orgasm of the morning, hitting that spot again and again.

And again.

And again.

Just like before, Joel fucked you through each wave, catching your lips this time to stifle your cries. You might’ve gone blind for a second or two, but that was alright; the pleasure, proximity, and then the sweet, erratic pulse of his cock sending rope after rope of his cum deep inside made the overstimulation worthwhile.

Your body went limp against the bed, held tight in Joel’s grasp, when you felt that sickly sweet dichotomy of soft, tender touches and a cock lodged between your walls that was as hard as it had ever been. Still trying to console you with kisses, still trying to warm you up for another round, perhaps, Joel almost laughed out loud in your mouth when you groaned into his and whispered:

“Please don’t ever take that fucking pill again.”

#SOMETIMES I WRITE THIS MIDDLE-AGED MAN LIKE HE’S 25 AND JUST NEED TO SHUT THE F*CK UP #*brittany broski voice* BE REALISTIC!!!!!!! #BE F*CKING FOR REAL #FOR A SECOND BE FOR REAL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel

[luxaofhesperides]

Danny accidentally appearing out of Duke's shadow. And doing it purposely every time after that. ; requested by @kyrianclawraith! (deviated from your original prompt a bit, sorry! the ghostlights brainworms got away from me)

Traveling through shadows has become second nature for Duke after using them so extensively over the years. He even uses them as a civilian, hopping between shadows when he’s running late to class so he doesn’t have to stress out over traffic. 

Not even Batman’s scoldings can stop him from making it on time to his classes. Risks need to be taken for the sake of his education!

The shadows are comforting. They hide him from sight, get him to where he needs to go, and gives him the alone time he needs when he’s been around people for too long and desperately needs some quiet to recharge. Duke would say that he’s well versed in the shadows at this point, no longer stumbling out into the light.

Even with all his practice and confidence, he still can’t prepare himself for tripping over someone in the shadows while he’s trying to escape some of The Riddler’s goons. 

They both go tumbling out of the shadows, landing in a corner hidden by storage shelves. The poor tripping hazard of a person is under him, groaning lightly as he reaches up to press a hand to the back of his head, where he hit the concrete floor. 

“Oh, shit,” Duke whispers, “I’m so sorry. What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“I was hiding,” the guy hisses back at him. “I wanted to get out of the rain and dozed off and when I woke up, guns were being shot! I was up in the rafters, so excuse me for thinking no one would find me up there!”

Another gunshot rings out, alarmingly close to where they are.

Duke curses under his breath, then picks up the guy and hauls him over his shoulder. “Time to go!” And then he’s disappearing into the shadows again, following the line of them outside the warehouse and down the street. 

As soon as they’re safely away from the goons, Duke steps out of the shadows and carefully sets the civilian back onto his feet.

“So sorry about that,” he says, “But I need to get back and deal with them. Stay safe!”

He’s gone before the civilian can say anything else, and though it’s embarrassing that he tripped over someone while shadow hopping, at least it ended relatively well. It’s not like it’ll happen again.

Duke, sweet, naive Duke, doesn’t think much of the civilian again. He’s a busy guy with a busy life! Lots of things to do! Lots of embarrassing moments to keep secret from the other Bats! No one has mentioned it at all, so he thinks he’s safe from being teased about it.

That is, up until he’s training with Dick and a hand pops up out of his shadow.

“Um,” Dick says, backflipping away from Duke’s punch. He lowers his escrima sticks and squints at the space behind Duke. “Are you… trying something new with your powers?”

“...No? I’m not using my powers right now.”

Dick looks more and more alarmed. He won’t look away from the space behind Duke, and it’s making him nervous. He doesn't want to look, but he knows he has to. 

Steeling himself, Duke takes a deep breath, then turns slightly to see what’s behind him.

Nothing. 

His gaze goes down, and he sees a pale hand sticking out of his shadow, moving back and forth. It then comes out some more, up to the elbow, and the hand pats the ground Duke’s shadow lays on, a stiff mat perfect for sparring.

Behind him, Dick turns on his escrima sticks, the electricity crackling through the air.

The hand disappears for a moment. 

Then two hands appear and grab the ground, hauling up a body from Duke’s shadow.

Duke is very well versed in shadows. He travels through them almost daily. He thinks he would know if there was some strange netherworld hidden in the shadows where other beings could pop out of shadows like portals. This is alarming, to say the least.

“Don’t move, Duke,” Dick warns, creeping closer, ready to attack.

A head pops out of his shadow. Whatever it is glows and their white hair moves softly as if underwater. They’re facing away from him, so he can’t see their face, but he can see the black, skin-tight suit their wearing as they float up from his shadow, no longer needing their hands to pull themself out. 

“Huh,” they say, looking up at the ceiling.

Dick grabs Duke’s arm and pulls him back, shielding him with his body. “Who are you?” he demands, voice cold. 

The creature/person startles and whips around to stare at them with wide green eyes. His gaze darts down to the electrified escrima sticks, then back up again, visibly nervous.

“Um, hi! Sorry, I didn’t know anyone would be here. Wherever this is.”

“How did you get here?”

“I was practicing a new portalling method. I found a ghost to teach me how to move through shadows, since my usual portals are very bright and noticeable. Not great when you’re trying to be stealthy! I did not mean to end up here.”

Duke stares at him. “You came out of my shadow.”

“Sorry,” the guy repeats. Then he squints at Duke. “Hey, didn’t you save me the other day? From the warehouse?”

It’s been a while since Duke’s saved anyone from a warehouse. Criminals and goons have moved on to condemned apartment complexes and the back rooms of bars. The only person he’s saved is the tripping hazard…

“Man, what is up with you and getting caught in my shadows?”

“This is your fault!” the guy insists. “I associate shadows too strongly with you! That’s why I’m here! Probably. I don’t actually know how this works.”

“You don’t know how it works but you did it anyways.”

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.” The guy floats down to the ground and offers Duke a hand. “I’m Phantom, by the way! Figured I should introduce myself because this will happen again.”

Duke considers introducing himself as the Signal, but Danny is looking directly at his bare face, so it’s lost cause. Talk about an unexpected security breach. “Duke. You looked a little different when we first met.”

“Yeah, that was my human form. This is my ghost form.” A watch on his wrist, some clunky looking thing that looks like it came from the early 2000s, beeps and Phantom frowns at it. “Shoot, I need to go. I’ll see you later!” And he dives right back into Duke’s shadow, disappearing.

Duke blinks at the empty space where Phantom used to be, still reeling from the shock of it. He’s so busy processing the last few minutes that he doesn’t hear the escrima sticks turn off until Dick is dropping a heavy arm around his shoulders, holding him in place. There’s a smile on his face, but it’s not happy; it’s a warning that he’s at his limit and is barely hanging on to niceties.

“So,” he says as Duke cringes, “Looks like we need to have a talk about the things you’ve been hiding from us, Duke.”

He can’t do anything but resign himself to his fate.

After that conversation, he’s instructed to let them know when Phantom pops up. Which is fine until he realizes that Phantom really did mean it when he said that it’ll happen again. 

Phantom pops up constantly. Most of the time, Duke is lucky enough to be at home, or in the Manor, or in the Batcave away from the public where no one will freak out about a glowing boy popping out of his shadow. Sometimes, he’s in the middle of the street as a civilian and has to sprint away, ducking into the first empty alley he can find in order to climb up onto the rooftop where no one will see him.

It’s stressful and confusing and he wishes he could be more upset about it, but Phantom is fun. He’s funny and charming and tells the craziest stories about ghost fights that Duke can’t help but hang onto every word.

He dutifully updates his Phantom Log, noting each time he’s portaled through Duke’s shadow, any information he’s revealed, and an injury count after Duke noticed a concerning pattern of Phantom often showing up after he’s been in a fight.

Duke begins to get a feel for when Phantom is about to show up. A shiver runs down his spine and his awareness of the shadows around him grows. Sometimes, he could swear he could feel something tear apart in his shadow. He feels it then, a tear that stitches itself up almost instantly, a ripple in the shadow, before that familiar hand pops up again and Duke grabs hold of it to haul Phantom out into his bedroom. 

He is, once again injured. There’s a large gash running down the length of his other arm, bleeding a toxic, glowing green. 

“Dude,” Duke says, unable to keep the judgment out of his voice.

“You should see the other guy,” Phantom snorts. “I slammed him through five streets, then ripped his limbs off.

“Dude…”

“Just to be clear, they weren’t his real limbs. He has a robot suit he uses like a body because he’s like a tiny little bean.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to take that. Anyways, have you still not figured out how to open portals that aren’t connected to my shadow?”

Phantom shrugs. “Nope. And I’m not really trying to figure it out. I like hanging out with you. Plus, it’s nice to see a friendly face after a fight.”

“Can’t you like, go home and have your family take care of you first.”

“Uh, better not,” Phantom laughs nervously. “They’d probably kill me for real if they saw me like this.”

Duke quietly notes to himself to add that statement to the Alarming Things Phantom Says list. 

“Does it… bother you? Me always coming to you?” There’s a smallness to his voice, a fragility that makes Duke want to beat himself up for making Phantom feel like that.

“No! No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you from anyone else.”

Phantom brightens. “Oh! Well, no need to worry about that. No one’s worried, back home. They know I disappear sometimes.”

…Another concerning thing. Duke is considering bribing Phantom into staying in Gotham forever, living in his shadow, just so he can take care of him. Just to be sure Phantom’s safe. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, eyes flickering down to Phantom’s bleeding wound.

Phantom futilely tries to hide the wound with a hand. The green blood leaks out from between his fingers, and he applies more pressure to the wound with a faint wince. “Nope! All good here. I’ll heal in no time, honest.”

“Then, do you want to just hang out? I really don’t know why you’d chose to keep coming to me.”

“You’re good company, dude. Very chill. Very fun. And you’re a hero! That’s so cool. Why wouldn’t I keep coming back?”

Duke shrugs, not sure how to put his insecurities into words. He’s already starting to get the Bat-specific inability to communicate emotions, which is definitely a problem. He’ll need to spend time with other people to be normal again. 

As if sensing that Duke’s mood is falling, Phantom launches into another tale, complaining about people who bother him, teachers who are terrible at teaching, having snark-fights with the embodiment of Time itself, and so on. He always has the craziest stories, and he tells them so casually that Duke has to second guess himself, wondering if he’s overreacting when he’s shocked by what Phantom tells him. 

He starts telling his own stories as well, mostly fun civilian interactions he’s had since they last spoke, villain fights, the ever changing theories on the ‘Who is Batman Sleeping With Now?’ shared document all the other Bats have. By the time an hour passes, Phantom’s arm is fully healed and he’s flying in lazy circles above Duke.

His watch beeps again in the middle of him recounting the insane drama happening at his school. Phantom sighs and sinks back to the floor, hovering just above Duke’s shadow.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” he says, voice warm.

Duke shrugs. “You’re good company. I like when you visit.”

A slow, soft smile spreads across Phantom’s cheeks, making him glow even brighter. “Sweet talker,” he accuses fondly, then flies in for a quick, tight hug. He pulls back before Duke can reciprocate, and salutes him with a cheeky, “See you soon!” and is gone, flying into Duke’s shadow before he can respond.

Shaking his head fondly, Duke falls back against his bed.

Despite how unconventional their friendship is, he is glad Phantom keeps coming back. He hopes he’ll get to see Phantom’s human form again.

…And get more used to the horror movie scene that is Phantom clawing his way out of his shadow. No matter how many times he sees it, the sight still makes him jump.

Not that he’s ever going to admit that.

If Phantom thinks he’s cool, he’s going to do whatever he can to keep that impression from changing. It’s only reasonable, really.

(“Shut up, Dick,” he says later when he recounts this encounter with Phantom. Dick just keeps laughing, endlessly amused that Duke got ‘jumpscared into a crush’ as he phrased it. That’s definitely not what happened.

Next time, he’s definitely convincing Phantom to scare Dick with him. 

Revenge will be his.) . . .

[send me ghostlights prompts! one day left before they close on 11/17]

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #dp x dc fanfic #prompt fill #my writing #100% after danny gets a hang of traveling thru shadow portals more hes going to help duke in fights #meaning duke is going to throw a ball of shadows like a pokeball and dannys going to pop out of it to deliver a spectacular flying tackle #theyre the dream team (trouble makers) :) #thanks for the prompt!!

[k4vehrtz]

⸻ YOU'RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — porn with some plot, sacrilege, a copious amount of religious themes, priest! reader, virgin reader ergo loss of virginity, allusion to homophobia / internalised homophobia, unprotected sex, blowjob (r receiving), deepthroating, fingering, riding, creampie, toji lowkey has a corruption kink, use of the nickname 'angel', toji refers to the reader as father once but that is entirely in a religious sense . ✦ . wc — 2.1k . ✦ . notes — we'll all pretend that didn't just happen!! anyway!! i'm so so normal about toji...and !! i don't know what exactly falls under dark content but seeing as this contains sacrilege you've been warned nevertheless. not proof read bc t**blr stressed me out

“what does —” he stops himself mid-sentence to motion upwards, “the big man upstairs think about homosexuality?”

you swallow hard, your adam’s apple bobbing. you hadn’t expected the question, naturally. especially from the likes of toji fushiguro of all people. but you answer anyway. “well,” you murmur, averting your gaze so that you’d stare out the window as the first signs of winter begin to settle in for its extended stay instead of being forced to meet toji’s pointed gaze. “we all are subject to desires that may or may not reflect god’s light, but these desires aren’t sinful unless you act or encourage others to act on them.”

he nods almost absentmindedly in response before following up with: “…even you, i imagine, as a man of god, could fall victim to such desires?”

and you pause for a beat, your jaw tightening as an image escapes the dark recesses of your mind; the neat box you’ve forced what you deemed unpleasant thoughts into.

the man in your mind didn’t look quite like anyone you knew at first. he was just a man without a name or a face — similarly to the world before god’s divine intervention, he too was without form. but then, by chance, you met toji fushiguro and his teenage son. then the man who’d haunt your thoughts began to change.

he was older, weathered by life experiences and parenting, and taller, maybe 6’2, with messy black hair that fell over his brows. his hair reminded you of the cloudless, starless night sky. then there was that scar on the corner of his right lip. you’d imagined yourself on more than one occasion leaning toward him, pressing your lips against it before he’d open his mouth and let you explore the wet cavern.

though you shake your head as if that would dismiss your thoughts, fingers curling defensively around the window’s ledge. “everyone encounters temptation in their day-to-day, but, like god’s son, we must resist.” you counter eventually. “you’re not one for idle chatter.”

“i’m not,” he agrees, his voice smooth, something akin to the feeling of silk against your skin. it gives you goosebumps and makes the hairs stand up. he puts his hands up in mock surrender, his gaze intent. you can feel him burning holes into the back of your head. “you know, i think i’m long overdue for a confession.”

“as you wish.”

“our heavenly father has declared the following in the book of james, chapter five, verse sixteen: ‘therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. the prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective’. now, in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit, amen.”

silence — and then toji sucks in a breath, his voice thick with an emotion you can’t quite grasp but has you shifting in your seat on the other side of the confessional booth anyway. you’re, on some level, disgusted by your behaviour. it’s unprofessional at best, or perhaps the beginning of your unravelling at worst. you fear it’s the latter.

“bless me, father, for i have sinned,” the words slide off his tongue with ease, “it has been two months since my last confession.” and your eyes flutter closed, or maybe you forced them closed because you feel no better than a pervert by the way you ache at every sound that comes out of his mouth.

either way, you don’t notice the way the door creaks as toji lets himself out of his side of the confessional booth and opens the door to yours until he’s kneeling in front of you, the pads of his fingers digging into your sides. the skin of his fingers is rough, worn out from the different tasks he takes on to keep himself and megumi afloat, you think. he’s become something of a handyman around town.

“to be honest, father,” he says, now directly addressing you. “i came here fer’ your guidance…you see, i’ve been havin’ thoughts lately that i don’t think align with what god wants.” and you find yourself at a loss, your eyes still closed, though your adam’s apple bobs again as you swallow your suppressed thoughts. “my guidance?” you repeat quietly, “confess your…thoughts…then, and seek forgiveness. it’s not a sin unless you act on those thoughts.”

he lets out a pleased hum at that, leaning forward so that his face is practically buried in your clothed crotch. “so,” he counters, “if my understanding is correct, would it be a sin if i told you to spread your legs f’me?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak right now — not when your thoughts are all muddled. so, you simply nod and toji clicks his tongue. “but sin or not, you’re going to anyway because you and i both know how we feel about each other, right? c’mon, use your big boy words and tell me.”

the smart thing—no, the right thing to do here would be to say no. adamantly deny the lingering touches and glances that the two of you had come to share. affection between two men could only go so far. but then again, you’ve gone so much farther in the safety of your bedroom long after the sun has set. how much longer could you shamelessly show your face to the other members of the church and listen to them confess their deepest secrets to you? you’re parading as a righteous man when you’re anything but.

if it turns out to be as bad of a sin as they say, god will strike you down.

turns out it’s not as bad of a sin as they say — or maybe it is and you’ve yet to receive divine punishment.

“god works in mysterious ways,” you say under your breath but toji hears it anyway. how could he not when you’re in such proximity to each other? you hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it doesn’t matter. and toji (ever the charmer) takes it upon himself to respond, “maybe he brought us together for a reason…or maybe i’m one of lucifer’s lackeys sent to seduce you.”

you make the conscious decision to ignore that which seems to entertain toji even more. he’s ridiculous in ways you can’t fathom. like…the way he’s got your legs spread, back pressed firmly against the wood of the confessional, your thighs trembling as he clicks his tongue, “spread yer’ legs a little wider f’me angel, s’not enough f’me to suck that pretty cock.”

he… he knows what he’s doing. whereas you were clumsy and inexperienced. but, to be fair, you had taken a vow of celibacy when you were twelve.

now, though, you’re experiencing true pleasure for the first time — and with a man, no less. you tilt your head back in what little space the confessional affords you as toji gives your balls tentative touches, maybe light squeezes, as he aligns the head of your leaking cock with his mouth. you’re embarrassed, warmth flooding your cheeks, but you can’t look away. not when this is all you’ve ever wanted.

there’s pre-cum on his lips; your pre-cum. it’s there, as clear as day, and he’s entirely unbothered. all of his attention is on your cock. your cock that’s throbbing as he sucks on it. pre-cum and saliva mixing. it’s all so new to you.

as for him…well isn’t this cute? you’re trying your hardest to stifle those needy moans of yours, he can tell. but no matter how much you bite down on your lower lip or how you press your hands against your mouth those pretty sounds you make always find a way of escaping. part of him, somewhere deep down, feels guilty for corrupting you like this. but perhaps he doesn’t feel guilty enough.

he continues to work on your cock, sucking on it whilst simultaneously fondling with your balls. you’re quivering, rutting your hips forward now and then. occasionally you go too far and it scares you at first — you didn’t mean to push your cock all the way to the back of his throat! ever the unbothered, though, he welcomes it until you’re spurting your load down his throat. and he swallows, utterly content.

then he coos at you, bringing a thumb up to your face, and tracing the outline of your jaw. “don’t worry about me, angel, you’re not going to hurt me. what you’re going to do f’me is let me reposition us so i can see your pretty boy hole, m’kay? my boy can do that f’me, right?”

my boy. the idea of being his. after so long…it only feels right. so, you allow him to readjust your position so that you’re straddling his lap and somewhere in the process you both disregard your clothes.

“you’ve been thinking about my cock? that’s why yer’ hole is winking f’me? all ready to take my cock like a big boy?” he asks and you nod your head eagerly. every word that comes out of his mouth is dirty but your reactions are the icing on the cake. you’re not the quiet, unassuming priest he met by chance all those months back. and to think that he’s the reason why.

well, he doesn’t linger on the thought. you’re impatient, squirming on his thighs in search of friction. but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t get him going and he may be many things but he would not force himself into you without properly preparing you to take him.

so as much as you whine about it, he ultimately takes his time with you. the nearest lubricant happened to be some sort of oil, but he made sure that it was safe to use before coating his fingers in a generous amount. then he oh so carefully drags his finger across your hole. it makes you shudder, but after a few minutes of this, you find yourself unprepared for the stretch of fitting a singular digit in. it hurts and the moment you so much as whimper toji’s pressing his lips against yours. the same lips that were around your cock only moments ago. his lips are gentle, soothing, even.

and he keeps it like that — his lips against yours as he slowly introduces more fingers into your ass. it takes a while but your pained whimpers soon morph into more desperate, filthy little noises as he drags his fingers in and out of your hole before curling them, tips grazing your prostate.

you want it, you decide. his cock, that is. you want his cock in your ass beyond a reasonable doubt. it’s all you need. bouncing on his fingers feels good but you just know that his cock would feel so much better.

“this is a sin, we’re both sinning,” you announce, your words strong but your delivery coming in between laboured gasps as his fingers continue to graze your prostate. “so i expect you to fuck me like you mean it.”

and he doesn’t need to be told twice. with a scoff — one that sounds more amused than annoyed — he pulls his fingers out of you. shaking his head as you whimper at the loss. but it’s soon replaced by something bigger and much thicker. it’s his cock, covered in the same oil, and you almost can’t believe it when he’s aligning it with your entrance, pushing past the tight ring of muscle.

you have to take a few breaks before you fully sink on him with a low groan. he makes you feel so full and he hasn’t even moved yet. and when you take it upon yourself to ride him you revert to the softheaded boy he makes you out to be.

your movements are clumsy — mediocre, you’re sure of it. but toji doesn’t intervene. he simply leans back, big, warm hands on your hips, while you figure out your rhythm. and after a few failed attempts you find one that works for both of you. it feels good, it feels great even. his hard cock filling you to the brim while you all but mindlessly bounce on his cock, your walls clenching around his throbbing length.

you’re going to cum soon, you’re sure of it. and when you do eventually watch through teary eyes as your cock spurts ropes of cum onto his stomach you’re not surprised whatsoever. toji, however, takes a lot longer to cum. you’ve probably cum at least two more times by the time toji takes control, his grip on your hips tightening as he angles you just the right way to hit your prostate with each thrust of his hips upwards. your toes curl, eyes half-lidded, and you just barely acknowledge the warmth of his semen in your ass.

all you can think of, and just barely manage to stutter out is: “you’ve fucked me,” and he stares up at you with a smug smile, chest heaving as he copes with his orgasm that has been a long time coming, “yeah, i’ve fucked yer’ pretty boy hole.”

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #toji x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #x sub male reader #jjk x male reader #toji fushiguro #toji smut

[thef1diary]

Hii would you be open to writing a piece for Lewis based on his verse in “Pipe”? It’s been stuck in my head lately 😫

Pipe Down | L. Hamilton

Summary: it’s just smut 🤭

masterlist taglist form

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work.

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral, fingering, reader says ‘sir’ like once, pussy obsessed lewis tbh, allusions to riding

Pairing: lewis x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

a/n: it’s been stuck in my head too!! honestly if it wasn’t requested, I would’ve ended up writing it anyways 🫣

You were straddling Lewis, stripped down to nothing but your panties. Your legs framing his had you feeling slightly vulnerable since your pussy was only covered by a flimsy piece of cloth that he could easily take off if he wanted to. He laid his calloused palms on the side of your legs, trailing his fingers up and down the hem to playfully tease you through the lace.

Your arms rested on his shoulders, your hand weaving between his braids and pulling them with a tiny whine leaving your lips as his thumb skimmed over your folds hidden by a piece of fabric, slightly dampening the sensations.

You know I got a wild imagination

"Lew," you muttered breathlessly. He hummed, tilting his head up to lock his gaze with you, "what do you want, sweetheart?"

Instead of replying with words, you brought your hand to grasp his chin and led his lips closer to claim yours. He didn't hesitate to deepen the kiss, easily able to take your breath away as if he had the power to give it to you in the first place.

You gasped against his mouth when his fingers snuck underneath the lace that was covering your pussy. He spread your folds, teasing your hole by tracing around it but never inserting his finger.

I like to play the doctor, operation

You couldn't keep your lips on his anymore, instead tilting your head back with a curse leaving your mouth. "Please," you muttered, looking at the way a corner of his lip turned down in a slight frown, his movements stopping completely.

"Please what?" He asked with a raised eyebrow. As you opened your mouth to respond, his thumb pressed against your clit causing a louder moan to leave your mouth at the sudden sensation.

"Please, sir, I need your fingers," you groaned out, and his frown was replaced by a smirk, pleased by your choice of words.

Spread it on the bed like a patient

Without a warning, he resumed his movements. Sliding two fingers between your folds to wet his fingers before slipping them inside you. "Good girl."

"Mmm fuck," you gritted out once he picked up the pace, introducing his thumb to create circles on your clit.

He urged you to start moving by pressing his free hand on your hip. "C'mon baby, fuck yourself on my fingers," he said, stopping his fingers once again and making you cry out in frustration. You obliged, grinding down on his fingers, gasping when he thrusted up a few time to catch you by surprise.

I'm about to show you domination

Looking down, you furrowed your brows briefly before moving your panties to the side, allowing both of you to see his tatted fingers enveloped by you over and over again.

He lifted your chin to face him, looking at you intensely while your jaw drops open in a silent moan. "Yeah, that's it," he praises after curling his finger slightly, feeling you clench around them.

Watching his name pass your lips breathlessly, he needed to claim them with his. Your eyes fluttered closed and you blindly rested your hand at the base of his neck, returning the kiss with just as much passion and need for your lover.

Got that nana dripping like a waterfall

Lost in the pleasure, you let out a sharp gasp when Lewis flipped you over, laying you down on the bed. He slid his fingers out, and both your gazes were attracted to it. You watched with an unwavering gaze as he licked your wetness from his fingers, his eyes closing and humming at the taste.

He leaned over you and began trailing kisses down your throat, lingering a few extra moments on your chest and enveloping your nipple in his mouth.

You pressed your palms on his cheeks, looking at him with hooded eyes. "Lewis, I need you, please baby," you almost pouted, and he couldn't help but chuckle and peck your lips quickly. "You already have me."

Oh na na na good, I could eat it all

Lying next to you, his hands made quick movements. Fingers hooking in the hem of your panties, he stretched the flimsy lace beyond its limit and ripped it off your body. You gasped, "Lewis!"

He simply shrugged, "you don't need them anyways." Then, he patted your thigh, "spread your legs for me, sweetheart."

Settling between your legs, he couldn't help but admire you as if he was looking at you for the first time, but he was very familiar with every inch of your body.

I'mma dive in, touch the ocean floor

Lewis grabbed onto your thighs to keep them apart essentially since he knew that you squirm when the initial kiss is pressed to your cunt. Lowering his face towards your pussy, he licked his lips seeing your slick running down and staining the bedsheets from your previous activities.

His warm mouth enveloped your clit, sucking on it while making little flicking motions with his tongue. Your hips bucked up on instinct that only caused him to let his tongue wander to the spots that he knew you loved.

You saw his eyes rolling back for a moment before they closed, groaning against your pussy when he licked from your hole to your clit, causing a burst of vibrations firing up every vein in your body.

You already know what you came here for

He knew the right touches that would bring you closer to the edge faster than anyone else could've—even you couldn't reach the same spots with your own fingers. That only made you want him more. If it were up to you, you'd have him between your legs at least once a day.

You could feel your orgasm bubbling up like champagne in every part of your body, ready to burst and Lewis was the one controlling the cork containing it all.

"Are you gonna make a mess for me?" With a hint of sarcasm in his tone, he inquired, knowing full well that you would botch the question, but he was only interested in hearing you try to formulate an answer. You nodded with a plethora of pleads and his name leaving your mouth.

You know that I'm grown and I'm 'bout it

While your pussy gushing and clenching was a sight he'd never want to miss, Lewis looked at your face, noting all the little expressions that took over.

Spreading your legs further as much as you could, you propped one up with your foot resting flat on the mattress, pushing your cunt closer to Lewis until his nose nudged your clit.

Feeling the perfect pressure of the bridge of his nose brushing against your clit, you couldn't help but grind against it. While you were busy chasing the pleasure, wanting to reach over the edge, Lewis re-entered two of his fingers in your warm, inviting cunt.

And I know what to do witcha body

When you heard him say, "cum for me," the bubbling energy bursted, sending a reliving coarse heat throughout your body while your moans echoed in the room. Your pussy clenched around his fingers as your cum seeped out of your hole.

Lewis was desperate to taste it, greedy for it even, so he pulled away his fingers and pushed his tongue deep so he could taste every bit of your sweet release.

Revelling in the post orgasmic bliss, you sighed, still feeling Lewis' tongue gently running through your folds as your heartbeat returns to a normal rhythm.

Every single time that you drop it

He pressed a kiss on your clit that caused you to buck up your hips, but he quickly soothed it with another kiss to your inner thigh. He could've stayed between your legs for hours, just soaking up your distinctive taste, but his own throbbing cock needed attention.

Specifically, attention that was either provided by your tight pussy, or your warm and talented mouth. He couldn't decide just yet, so he inched up your body and ignored his own release to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

His arms wrapped around your waist and rolled over, finding that he preferred you on top of him. "We're not done yet, baby, come ride me." His words elicited a smirk from you, shuffling to prepare yourself to sink down on his cock, knowing it would be a long, pleasurable night.

Trust me I know what to do with it

Taglist (based on the form): @lochnoch @llando4norris @monsieurbacteria6 @namgification @lilymurphy03 @sargeantdumbass @hiireadstuff @racingheartsposts @d3kstar @namjoonswaifu @isabellewinchester @llando4norris @thedecalcomania-blog @casperlikej @khaylin27 @jointhehunt67 @sya-skies

#di celebrates #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #thef1diary fic #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #smut

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey um if it's cool could I request, Welt, Dan Heng, Jing Yuan, Gallager and Aventurine reacting to reader to questioning their interest in them?

An example: The confession

Them: I have feelings for you Reader: ... Um *shocked*.. I feel the same but.. *trails off* Them: but? Reader: *squints* you sure? About me? Please reconsider your choice. Them: ...

thank you if you decide to do this! No pressure though!

Jing yuan would raise a brow before vaguely asking you to come with him somewhere he had been meaning to show you for a while and thought that now was the perfect time.

The place where he takes you was just like any other flower garden you’ve been to before but from the way the light glinted off of the waters surface, to the way the flowers blossomed in a variety of unique colours, and other small things like that made the flower garden look ethereal.

Jing yuan chuckled at your expression.

‘You see why I brought you here?’ He asks.

‘…no, not really, why?’ You replied, looking at him in confusion.

‘I’m trying to show you that while you may not think yourself as anything special, much like this flower garden, there are a multitude of unique things tailored to you that make you shine in the eyes of the ones who views you highly.’ He responded as he lends his hand out for a bird to perch on and softly smiled as it moved up to his shoulder where it sat comfortably, trying its hardest not to fall asleep.

‘For every flower is a beauty to behold regardless of their shapes, their size or their colour that even a daffodil can be considered of equal beauty of a roses in someone’s eyes.’ Jing Yuan continues, looking at you from the corner of his eye to see whether his words were sinking in. ‘And my flower believes themself to be a withering daffodil but to me, they’re a rose unlike any other. Stubborn, strong willed, but.’

‘But?’ You echoed, nervousness creeping through your veins as Jing Yuan moved in front of you and leant forward so that he was right next to your ear.

‘But they refuse to accept words of their worth and beauty from someone who cares about them very much, but I hope to change that soon enough, if they let me.’ He whispers as he presses a kiss to your cheek and pulling away to plant a kiss to your forehead.

Dan heng

While he’s happy that you felt the same way towards him, but felt his heart sink when you told him to reconsider his feelings for you.

‘If you are not ready for a relationship, then I understand, but I wish that you wouldn’t look down upon yourself when you’re anything but what your mind is telling you that you are.’ He says as he holds your face, thumbs caressing your cheeks as his eyes shone with concern. ‘Just know that I’ll always be by your side to resolve any issue you may have, for I do not wish for you to be burdened by this alone when I can help lessen it’s impact on you.’ He adds.

Dan Heng would do anything and everything in his power to make you see just how much you meant to him, even if it meant asking March to pull up pictures where his infatuation with you was glaringly obvious.

He would bring you poetry books and read out verses that perfectly describe his innermost thoughts and feelings towards you and how he views you on a daily basis. Dan Heng feels as though he could never convey just how truly unique and magnificent you were on his own. He’s tried but compared to the works of acclaimed poets, it just lacked fluidity in terms of the flow of words.

Everything else fades away when you entered his peripheral vision, almost as though he was made to notice your presence no matter where you were, only to just stare at you with a look that could only be akin to someone who had just found their other half after so long.

Welt would sit you down somewhere and want to talk about it because he truly didn’t think that these were your own words coming from your mouth.

He believes they were someone else’s and he hated that you had started believing this person’s words as reality, when they were the furthest thing from the truth in his eyes.

He wants to help you unlearn what everybody else has thought of you in the past because it doesn’t matter, their words hold no weight until you allow it to. No one’s perception of you was in any way shape or form a reflection of the real you, for every person you’ve ever had a positive effect on posses a different perceptions of you.

The only person who knew the real you was you but it was obvious to Welt that you might’ve forgotten who that version of you was by worrying yourself to death about the thoughts and opinions of everyone else. So Welt was more then happy to help you see that you were so much more then what you think.

He doesn’t know who wronged you in the past but they’ve left everlasting damage on your tender soul, but he was going to do everything he could in his power to show you the you that he sees every time upon seeing you.

Gallagher

‘I’ve got nothing to reconsider when it comes to you sweetheart.’ Gallagher was quick to tell you as he grabbed one of your hands, squeezing it. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘But-‘ you started.

‘No ifs, ands or buts.’ He interrupts you. ‘You’re prefect the way you are and I won’t hear otherwise because I’ll always go out of my way to remind you as to why i care about you, okay?’ He says as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. ‘Just let me take care of you and get rid of those pesky thoughts residing in your head by telling them to fuck off.’

You couldn’t help but chuckle at this as you allowed yourself to find comfort in Gallagher’s side as you were greeted by his bodily warmth that made you into melting further against him. ‘I just don’t want to be a bother to you that’s all.’ You murmured, insecurity making your throat tightened, rendering it hard to swallow.

Gallagher felt his heart break for you as he brought his arms to your waist to rub soothing patterns into your side as he presses his face to the side of your head, pressed reassuring kisses there as he whispered sweet nothings as to why you were perfect, beautiful, sweet and caring of all whom you come across, whether they were deserving of it or not.

Aventurine

He understands more then you knew because the moment you admitted to liking him in the same breath as berating yourself, he was about to ask what was it about him that you liked exactly.

You were both in the same boat that was about to capsize from your shared self hatred for yourselves, but Aventurine would be damned if he let you think of yourself in any negative light when you’ve been nothing but a beacon of pure, genuine light for him since first introductions.

He’d much rather be the one drowning in self doubt than you.

He’d have you stand in front of a mirror and asks what you see.

‘Someone who’s lost themselves along the way,’ you answered solemnly, ‘someone who’s lost sight of who they once were because they were too caught up in the opinions of others and waiting on them hand and foot, only to revive nothing but scraps.’ You added and Aventurine couldn’t help but feel himself becoming infuriated, not at you but at the people who have made you feel as though you were lesser than, who made you feel as though you should be outcasted because you didn’t fit into their narrative.

However the sound of your sniffling brought him out of his need to get back at these people for you and saw that you were beginning to tear up and was quick to wipe them away before they fell. ‘Don’t weep for people who don’t have a heart, for they’ll always think themselves superior by materialistic means that they will inevitably loose to time and bad decisions.’ He tells you as he rests his head on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirrors reflective surface. ‘You on the other hand have something that they could never hope to obtain via money.’ He adds.

‘And what’s that?’ You asked, looking into his eyes and noting that despite their dullness, they were still the most beautiful and expressive pair of eyes you have ever seen.

‘Empathy, humility, compassion, kindness and an appreciation for the simple things that many overlook and possess the ability to see the beauty in broken things.’ Aventurine replies, his voice becoming soft towards the end, clearly referring to himself, as he held onto you tighter as though you’d slip from his grasp much like everyone else had. ‘So don’t compare yourself to others who should be looking towards you as an example instead.’

You moved your head to properly look at him, not use to seeing this side of him, so serious and determined to make you see reason. ‘You really mean that?’

Aventurine smiles as he kisses you on the nose, chuckling. ‘Of course! You’re my good luck charm, I’d be hopeless and in a whole lot of trouble without you.’ He says as he presses another kiss to your nose, adoring your expression as you scrunched up your face, muttering under his breath. ‘Cute.’

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #Honkai star rail imagine #Honkai star rail imagines #aventurine x reader #aventurine imagine #aventurine imagines #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan imagines #welt x reader #welt yang x reader #welt Yang imagine #welt Yang imagines #dan heng x reader #Dan heng imagine #Dan heng imagines #gallagher x reader #gallagher imagine #gallagher imagines #gallagher x you #jing yuan x you #aventurine x you #dan heng x you #welt yang x you #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr gallagher x reader

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

Part Two

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles album #fine line era #fine line album

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | kinkmas 2023

prompt | knotting

pairing | alpha!steve rogers x omega!reader

warnings | omegaverse elements: knotting, mating press, breeding (and me not knowing like anything about the omegaverse.) unprotected p in v. clit rubbing. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. crying kink. breeding kink (like fr he wants her pregnant lol.) he comes in her. some brief aftercare. alpha!steve is so hot and powerful it's ruining my life.

word count | 859

an | i've wanted to write something substantial for an omegaverse au for sooo long but i've just been so hesitant to bc i don't feel super well-versed in the genre. shoutout to @starksbabie, ao3, and my google images search for teaching me everything i know about knotting LOL. and @brandycranby for teaching me about the mating press lol. if i got anything wrong, please let me know!!

imagine being alpha!steve's prized omega and mate, being fucked and bred by him during your heat 🤤 (nomad!steve is what comes to mind first, but i've also had a soft spot for endgame look for the longest time, so i'll let you take your pick 😉)

steve's the kind of alpha that doesn't let you lift a single finger (in or out of heat); everything's always done for you because duh!! you're his baby!! this is especially true when it comes to sex during your heat. your only job is to be pleasured and bred. your alpha will do everything for you, no need to worry your pretty little head 💕

thinking about him spreading you out on your back, bringing your bottom up to the edge of the bed so he can stand over you and pound into you as you lay there and take it. he gets you nice and comfy, laying a blanket down beneath you and positioning a pillow under your head to make it easier for you to look up and keep eye contact. of course, he knows you'll spend much of the ordeal with your eyes closed or rolled back in bliss 😏

the number one thing you crave during your heat is the feeling of being filled up, and by now steve's fucked you enough to make you crave being filled by him specifically. he's massive, even for an alpha. long, thick, and unbelievably powerful. because of his overwhelming size and strength, he has to maintain a good balance of fucking you hard enough to satisfy you both, but not too hard to prevent injury

the look on his face as he's ramming into you is a mixture of such pure love and authority. he absolutely talks you through it 😔🙏 you're so overcome with pleasure, he understands it's hard for you to do much talking back

sliding in and out of you at a steady speed, watching as your face is washed over with relief as you finally get what you need. "there you go, honey," smiling as he sees your tummy trembling as it's filled up, "gonna keep fucking this pretty little pussy, just keep being my good girl and taking it. let me give you what you need, doll"

bringing his thumb up to swipe over your quivering clit, always a little eager and impatient with how much he loves to see you come. crooning as you whine and wriggle at the burning feeling he's creating, "i know, baby. i know- so sensitive there, aren't you? look at this pretty little clit. so needy for me"

"nng... n-nnn," he loves the soft, weak little noises you're making. and he loves it even more as they gradually grow louder and more desperate, signaling your building climax

he's working his thumb quicker over your slick button to help keep the pressure rising, "c'mon baby, almost there. you gonna come for me? let's see if we rub a little faster-... oh-" he gasps almost mockingly with a smug smile, praising you heavily as you clench down on his swollen length

and god he could never get tired of seeing you coming. watching as your little face scrunches, your toes curling up in delight, your tummy spasming helplessly as you stammer through a string of angelic, breathy whimpers

"goood, so good for me, baby. keep coming for me, that's it," he draws out his words as you're coming down from your first high. your big, watery eyes and soft little squeaks, paired with having just seen you come, and knowing how sensitive and overstimulated you feel now?? it all makes steve's eyes burn as the heat and primal urges within him rise

it doesn't take long for him to near the edge himself. his large hands come down to manhandle you into position, grabbing under your thighs to force them up, your feet splaying out in the air as he leans himself down over you, his speed and forcefulness bringing tears to your eyes

"gonna come, sweetheart. you want me to fill you up? wanna carry my pups in that pretty little tummy of yours? come on, baby-... shit, that's it-.. f-fuck-"

the feeling of his base rounding out inside you has you crying out weakly, your entire body bracing as you feel the pressure in your core reaching its limit. as the heavy band snaps, your poor, helpless form seizes and spasms beneath your alpha. steve's heavy load shoots into you, the tight mass bulging just inside your entrance locking him inside, forcing you to take what you're given

seconds feel like hours. eventually everything fades to soft tingles as the silence is filled by your and steve's heavy breathing. as soon as he's able, he's shifting so delicately hold you against him, his thick knot still pulsing inside you hard enough to let you feel his heartbeat. "shhh, shhh," he's wiping away the tears that escaped down your cheeks, letting you rest your face in the crook of his neck to breathe in his familiar scent. "i got you, doll. just rest now. close your eyes, i'll take care of you"

#eun's writing #kinkmas 2023 #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #alpha!steve rogers #steve rogers x omega!reader #steve rogers au #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers drabble #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america smut #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #marvel #mcu #avengers

[soldwrecked]

FRANCIS “JACK KELLY” SULLIVAN II

headlines don’t sell sell papes. newsies sell papes.

NAME: francis robert sullivan ii. goes by jack kelly or cowboy.

AGE: 17

D.O.B: november 12, 1882

SEX: male

ORIENTATION: closeted bisexual

OCCUPATION: leader of the manhattan newsies

FAMILY: born to francis robert sullivan i (alive) and martha sullivan (deceased). only sibling is a younger brother, thomas francis sullivan (deceased). partners and children are verse dependent.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: tall and lanky. brown hair and blue eyes. typically wearing a brown vest over a blue and white shirt with a pair of pants and a pair of good work shoes. also tends to wear a cowboy hat and a red bandana around his neck.

EDUCATION: can read, write and do some advanced math. doesn’t really know much about science or history except what he gets from the papers he sells.

RELIGION: raised catholic, doesn’t practice

ALIGNMENT: chaotic good

ZODIAC: scorpio

PERSONALITY:

i don’t just sell ya papes, joe. sometimes i read ‘em.

loyal. energetic. impulsive. cocky. good with kids. determined.

HISTORY:

Jack Kelly was born to Francis and Martha Sullivan on November 12, 1882. He wasn’t expected, nor was he really wanted. But the parents tried to make the best of having a son. They named him after Francis, figuring it was the best name they could give him. They raised him as best they could, but it wasn’t until Francis II was three that things started to look up.

When Francis II was three, his younger brother was born. His name was Thomas Francis Sullivan and he was the light of everyone’s life. He was the perfect baby and the perfect child. Somehow, Francis II wasn’t jealous. He was just happy to have a brother. But tragedy struck when Thomas was four; he was crushed under the wheels of a runaway carriage and killed.

The Sullivans never recovered from the loss. Francis I turned to drink and drugs and wound up in a state penitentiary for life. Martha didn’t fare much better. She left her son one day and never came home. Francis II renamed himself as Jack Kelly and found a home with the Manhattan newsboys. He eventually became their leader and was known around New York as someone you could go to if you were in trouble. Cowboy can help you out, people always said, and so Jack always made sure he did.

tags

verses

so that’s what they call a family ; verse - pre canon. francis lives with his parents and younger brother. it’s not a good life, but it’s not a bad one. most of the attention is on thomas, so francis is free to do what he likes. he usually explores the city and is out until dark. when thomas dies, everything gets worse. his dad gets arrested and his mom leaves. so francis leaves, too. he finds a home with the manhattan newsies and stays there.

they jacked up the price ; verse - canon. the newsboy strike of 1899. jack and his friends are outraged at the price raise and decide to do something about it. they organize a city-wide strike for all young workers in new york, not just the newsies. they have some trouble with the police and the warden, but that’s to be expected. in the end, pulitzer puts the price back where it was and life goes on as normal.

i still got some livin’ to do ; verse - post canon. the strike is over and the price of papers has been returned to normal. life is good and jack spends his days selling and teaching the new kids everything there is to know about being a newsie.

he rode out on the back of roosevelt’s carriage ; verse - pre canon, jack’s time in the refuge. he’s arrested for stealing food and blankets for some of the younger newsies and his sentence is supposed to be six months. he breaks out after two and spends the rest of his life ensuring that no one else is sent there.

think of that train as she rolls into old santa fe ; verse - post canon au verse. jack chooses to go to santa fe when the strike ends. he doesn’t see the point in staying in manhattan and so he takes the first train down to new mexico. he finds work on a farm and still sells papers on the weekends. he misses manhattan, but he’s content. he’s where he’s always wanted to be, after all.

that’s the power of the press ; verse - modern. jack is more of a handyman than a newsie. he picks up odd jobs here and there around the city, but he sells newspapers more than anything else. he loves the boys he sells with and considers them family.

ellis island in flames! big conflagration! ; verse - any and all interactions with muses that do not exist in the newsies (1992)/livesies universe. this includes fandomless ocs. it does not include newsies (1992)/livesies ocs.

ships

and dave can keep us company ; otp: jack/david

what makes a headline good? ; otp: jack/sarah

well he don’t make me nervous ; otp: jack/spot

dynamics

i ain’t got a cute little brother to front for me ; dyn: jack/les

look at me i’m tremblin’ ; dyn: jack/denton

you wouldn’t kick me out without a kiss goodbye would ya? ; dyn: jack/medda

his father’s in a state penitentiary ; dyn: jack/francis i

will ya spot me two bits? ; dyn: jack/racetrack

when i walk does it look like i’m fakin’ it? ; dyn: jack/crutchy

i’ll speak for this boy ; dyn: jack/snyder

it’s a fine life carrying the banner ; dyn: jack/the newsies

miscellaneous

that’s what’s so great about new york ; aesthetic

jack ya done thinkin’ yet? ; headcanon

will ya get your fingers off my face? ; faceclaim

#char : jack kelly #so that’s what they call a family ; verse #they jacked up the price ; verse #i still got some livin’ left to do ; verse #he rode out on the back of roosevelt’s carriage ; verse #think of that train as she rolls into old santa fe ; verse #that’s the power of the press ; verse #ellis island in flames! big conflagration! ; verse #and dave can keep us company ; otp: jack/david #what makes a headline good? ; otp: jack/sarah #well he don’t make me nervous ; otp: jack/spot #i ain’t got a cute little brother to front for me ; dyn: jack/les #look at me i’m tremblin’ ; dyn: jack/denton #you wouldn’t kiss me out without a kiss goodbye would ya? ; dyn: jack/medda #his father’s in a state penitentiary ; dyn: jack/francis i #will ya spot me two bits? ; dyn: jack/racetrack #when i walk does it look like i’m fakin’ it? ; dyn: jack/crutchy #i’ll speak for this boy ; dyn: jack/snyder #it’s a fine life carrying the banner ; dyn: jack/the newsies #that’s what’s so great about new york ; aesthetic #jack ya done thinkin’ yet? ; headcanon #will ya get my fingers off my face? ; faceclaim

[skathmarked]

phoebe bridgers lyrics.

@emmatriarchy sent: i’m hungry for blood. (Mary :) ) 

     Well, that’s not something you heard every day. Despite her own heritage, Raven actually had little experience with haematomania, especially when it came to people or vampires, she believed. “If I provide you with my blood, will you refrain from feeding on anyone else?” It sounded like a decent deal; her blood in exchange for some innocent human’s.

#emmatriarchy #verse 001. / the menace is growing. one which only your powers can hope to overcome. ( main ) #answered. / i don't talk to the press. #( hope this is okay! )

[illyrian-dreamer]

Dance with the devil – Part 1

Rhysand x fem!reader series

Summary: You attempt to rob the High Lord of the Night Court.

Words: 3.3k

TW: Violence, death

Notes: Morally grey Rhysand below the cuff 😈😈😈

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

Tick, tick, tick.

That stern voice nagged in your mind, laced with forewarning and impatience that only frustrated you further. 

You had just minutes to find the scroll and get out. 

With gritted teeth, you leaned closer, drowning out that voice - likely your mothers - as well as the drumming of your heart, waiting for that final click. 

You were versed in charming locks, picking them when you had to, just as you did now. And what waited on the other side of this door was worth every swallow of bile, every rise and swell of panic that begged you to think of the consequence - of what would happen if you were caught. 

It was only a half-moon prior that you had snuck into the infamous libraries of the Day Court while the city slept, hunting concealed maps and etchings of Helion’s castle. You studied the corridors and winding staircases of the impressive home, squinting through the flickering glow of the small fae light you had allowed yourself to cast, anxious eyes lifting reluctantly every so often, humouring the phantom furl of a page or shiver down your spine. 

So you pressed those routes to memory – sewers, plumbing, hidden passageways marked in some maps and not others. They were your only true salvage if things went wrong.  

Weapons were now strapped to every part of your leathers that would allow, layers of magic shielding your scent and sound so strong it made your joints ache, as if buckling under their weight.

Easy in, easy out, quick on your feet and don't look back.

That mantra was your only comfort as you silently slipped into the lavish guest suite, a breath of relief that its layout matched your efforts of breaking into the libraries. Because although night never found this court, there was only a small window in which the High Lords were away from their suites, and time was a persistent foe. 

It was incredibly risky to break into the guest quarters of the High Lord of the Night Court, especially after Hellion had declared his home a neutral grounds for the High Lord’s meeting. But what Rhysand possessed was invaluable – that scroll of ancient tongue, the only one of it’s kind. It was worth the risk of your own life, of certain death if you were caught.

Careful, gloved fingers sifted through the papers on the desk, making sure not to leave anything out of place. 

The details you had gained on the High Lord were valuable – he was neat, more than neat, really – his room immaculate and organised. A paper left rippled, a chair at a slight angle, even a stray hair on the sprawling marble floor – all were things he would surely notice. 

But you could tread lightly, could play to that game of fine detail. Nimble as a mouse – that’s how your father had always described you, affection warming his face as he compared you to your boisterous brother. 

With a clench of your heart, you forced the memory out. Once you had that scroll – soon. You would be together again soon.

As you crouched low to sift through the chestnut draws, mahogany carved with the kind of finery that made you sick, a hint of gold gleamed from the corner of the room, the light catching your eye. 

Padding with quiet creaks from your boots, you allowed yourself only a moment to admire the array of scrolls that lay in the wooden chest – it’s lid tipped open, beckoning to be explored. In the centre perched the most exotic of the artefacts. Boring rings of gold, it winked at you, a true diamond in the rough. 

With gentle inspection, you traced the characters etched in it’s casing, a cryptic ode of ancient tongue. 

A whisper of magic kissed your face, stray hairs dancing as goosebumps prickling beneath your leathers. It was waft of excitement, danger, magic aged by civilisations – this was a powerful scroll indeed.

With a hand on each end of the casing, you gently lifted the scroll into your satchel, careful not to knock it or disturb the casing. You would return it after all, once traced.

There was a shift in the air then, and a sinking feeling rippled through your abdomen, like a stone dropped into still water.

Get out – that voice urged. 

You had spent too long here already. 

Swallowing the fastening hammer of your heart, you raised from your knees, eyeing the unsuspecting cupboard  – behind it a hidden door, and behind that a winding pathway would lead you clear to the gardens.

You almost scoffed – this was easier than you had thought.

How could the High Lord be so reckless to leave something of this value lying about? 

The pit of your stomach deepened. 

Too easy – much, much too easy. 

An open, gaping well. 

Oh gods, this was a–

And then darkness – everywhere. 

You gasped, catching glimpses of red and blue as you staggered back. Your back hit something solid – no, someone. Strong arms gripped yours wrists, pinning them behind you. You tried to yell, but your breath hitched as violet eyes glowered amongst the tendrils of midnight smog, choking any sound that whined in your throat. 

“Well well, what do we have here?” a sultry voice purred, a refined silhouette emerging from the darkness, tall and broad. 

A gleam of teeth pulled with a feline smile, the figure prowling closer. Dangerous, lethal, ever knowing with a hint of cockiness.

And as tendrils of night magic cleared around their master, the High Lord of the Night Court was revealed.

Rhysand’s eyes danced with amusement as he watched realisation set in – your own features taut with horror. 

“Hello, Y/N darling.”

You were dead meat.

A heavy, intrusive sensation caused a shiver to rack through you as phantom claws tore through your useless shields, and you were suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of your own fear. 

Rhysand’s pretty grin only grew.

In a hopeless attempt to flee, you barely moved an inch as you tugged against the impossible grip on your arms.

He was closing in, coldness seeping from him as his magic curling in on itself, devouring any hints of warmth from the room, from your own veins. 

And then he stopped, just one agonising pace shy from your heaving chest. 

Here he was – High Lord of the Night Court. Wickedly cruel, arrogant and unnervingly calm, a cat who toyed with its food. The legendary villain of whispered rumours and horror stories exchanged amongst children of your village in the court of Dawn, parents so tired from their youngens loss of sleep that he was a banished name from many households.

Your eyes danced with a panic as instincts forced you to look for any chance of survival. Dressed with finery, but not a weapon on him – that was good. 

But as the shadows began to clear, another male was revealed perching patiently against the wall behind, blue siphons flickering as he stood with wide legs, arms crossed and face stoic. Azriel, the Shadowsinger and Spymaster, waited patiently for your attempt of escape, his own shadows at the ready. 

Fuck.

That meant the male that bound you was Cassian – Warlord and Chief General of the Illyrian armies. 

You were as good as dead.

Your breathing stuttered as you swallowed the plea for mercy begging at your lips. They were going to kill you, that was certain. You could only hope they would do it quickly.

“My my, Y/N,” Rhysand drawled, his voice playful and sensual. “We weren't certain if you were going to take the bait.” 

Placing hands on knees, he lowered himself to your level, those violet eyes captivating you, their depth incomprehensible. You tried to break Rhys’s gaze, but you rendered helpless, realising the cruel use of his magic. 

“But I’m so glad this is how we get to meet.”

He was expecting you? 

You glared back, your breaths quickening at the dangerous proximity.

If not at his mercy, you would have spat at his condescending manner. But instead you fought aimlessly against Cassian’s hold, the male pulling you back against his chest with a jarring tug, his grip tightening until you felt your pulse in your wrists. 

Your mind was scattering with each second, frantic eyes dancing at the High Lord before you. You hadn't expected him to be so… handsome. 

“Why, thank you,” Rhys cocked an eyebrow at you, that cat like grin exchanged for a lob-sided one. 

Had he just–? You scowled, cursing him silently. His abilities as a deamanti also deeming true.

Rhysand chuckled at your foul words, his laugh unexpectedly soft. “Such a feisty thing you are,” he commented, raking his purple eyes down your body. You suddenly felt incredibly exposed, despite the layers of leathers and weaponry you wore. 

“Let me go,” you spat hoarsely, heaving against the General once more. 

“You’re not in any position to make that request,” Cassian huffed, pulling back on the little distance you had gained. His voice was gruff as it hummed through your back.

You turned your head to look at the Warlord for the first time. He too, like the other males in the room, was noticeably handsome. His long hair fell into his face as he looked down at you, his eyes almost as amused as his High Lord. 

Were you just a joke to them?

“Oh, sweet Y/N, you’re not a joke at all. We’re actually quiet impressed by you,” Rhysand toyed, his eyebrows raised with a mocking tone. “We know you’ve been trailing us for months, Azriel here picked up on your movements in our court a whole quarter year ago.”

You flicked your eyes to the Spymaster, his position and face unmoving at his mention. You couldn't help your scowl at the male who was responsible to securing your death. 

“What we didn't expect, was for you to make it this far,” Rhysand continued with a chuckle, his head shaking in playful dismay.

Great – now on top of everything else, you were completely insulted.

“That’s why we set this trap for you. So we could finally meet.”

You frowned at Rhysand. You had been so careful, so stealthy about all your work in spying on the High Lord, slaving over maps and reports until you could no longer keep your eyes open, using the little money you had to buy off secrecy, and always covering your tracks. But it still hadn't been enough.

“Don’t look so disheartened, little mouse,” Rhysand purred, before he picked a piece of lint off his fitted black jacket. “The fact that you were able to break into my quarters alone is incredibly impressive.”

It had in fact, taken a lot of work. To sneak into Hellion’s home had taken three disenchantment spells, and compromised a suite of his guards who were yet to rise from their enchanted slumber. The locks and spells on Rhysand’s chamber were another thing in itself. 

“What will you do with me?” you gritted, glaring between the males in front of you, desperate to know your fate.

Rhysand dipped his head back and laughed, his posture too calm, too casual. 

“What will we do with you, hmm?” he repeated, and a shrinking instinct finding you, one that you hadn't felt since you were a child.

“Perhaps the question is, what would you like us to do with you?” It was a lovers voice, sensual and suggestive. 

You couldn't help the thunder of your heart as his scent filled your nose, crudely laced with arousal as it found you with a phantom wind.

Rhysand was on you then, his face inches from your own as swirls of night filled your vision, his violet eyes the only light you could see. 

You gasped at the sight before you – it was beautiful, but so, so deadly. 

“I don’t like having my things taken from me, Y/N.” Rhysand growled, his voice now cold, unforgiving. Those same claws that tore your shields now traced the outskirts if your mind, talons sinking slightly in warning. 

Despite the little pain, it was instinct to scream.

You tried to make quick peace at the thought of his violet eyes being the last thing you would ever see.

Open your eyes, he commanded mind to mind. 

Without realising you had closed them, you found yourself unable to disobey.

Rhysand withdrew as quickly as he had pounced, his darkness disappearing with him as he slid his hands into his pockets, rocking on fine shoes. His behaviour was erratic, such a contrast to the moment before. 

“Of course, it would be such a waste of good talent.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t toyed with your very consciousness just moments before. 

You watched him pace, your eyes flicking to the spymaster once more, before noting the exits of the room you knew well. 

“You don't stand a chance,” Azriel spoke plainly, his hand fingering one of many blades strapped to his strong frame. A warning, from one spy to another.

Rhysand grinned between you two, running a smooth hand through his black-blue hair. 

Was he entertained by the idea that you were willing to give a fight? 

You felt a low rumble from Cassian’s chest, all three males daring you to challenge them in their own way. 

Azriel was right – it was suicide to try. 

Rhysand hummed with pleasure, reading your submission as your body sagged every so slightly. 

“I’ll tell you what, Y/N. I’ll make you a deal.” 

A bargain, a promise, and perhaps a riddle from Prythian’s deadliest High Lord. 

“I’d rather you kill me,” you said tightly. 

Rhysand laughed again, and you felt the movements of Cassian’s chuckle from behind. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Surely there’s a tad more fight in you than that?” 

You scowled in return. 

Rhysand approached you again, now holding the scroll of ancient tongue. 

“What do you know of this scroll?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Try again.”

You winced. “I don't know anything.”

Rhysand tutted. “Little liar,” he grinned at you, his violet eyes sparkling with challenge. “I’ll ask one more time,” he sang.

You felt them again, and it took all you had to not crumble at Cassian’s boots at the flooding pain as Rhysand dragged a singular, scraping talon across your mind and back. 

“Resurrection!” you yelped – a half breath, half scream escaping you as your legs gave out. Cassian held you up, your body rigid as Rhysand’s talon pierced your mind further. The pain was blinding, eliciting a howl from you as your vision flashed with white. 

Yet Rhysand’s icy threat cut through. “I have a lot of enemies, Y/N. I don't suppose you are hoping to fetch a pretty penny for anyone who might seek to bring back the rightfully dead?”

“No, n-no!” you gasped, your body spasming and contorting as he continued to toy with you. “Please, it’s for m-my family!”

Rhysand left your mind as quickly as he had entered it. You sagged in relief, Cassian gently setting you down as your crumpled to the floor, your body shaking and twitching. 

You had just enough energy to raise your eyes and meet the High Lord’s stare. Gone was his expression of cruel amusement, it was now replaced with a frown of serious, deep thought. 

He had seen them – your family, their smiles and laughter as your memory flashed at their mention. That meant he had also seen their deaths, their limp bodies piled for you to find in your own home. 

“You wish to resurrect them?” Rhys asked softly. 

All you could do was nod. You were sure you weren't noting a sense of sympathy from the male.

Rhys shook his head, his eyes closing. “If it were that easy Y/N, I’d have the missing kin to my own family here today.”

You looked up at the High Lord through heavy lids, exhaustion overcoming your body with an occasional twitch. 

“I have to try,” was all you could offer, your voice small and unsure. 

Rhysand stared down at you with furrowed brows, serious yet unreadable. After a few moments, he blinked, a few stars returning to his eyes as he raised them to Cassian with a quick nod. 

Strong hands unfurled from your arms, and Cassian stepped back, providing you some space on the marbled tiles as you shook.

Death then, at last. May the Mother have mercy, let it be quick, you prayed silently.

A gentle pull of your hand from your face, and your fingers were forced to close around a ovoidal object. 

Rhysand was crouched in front of you, his face unreadable as his cold hand kept your fingers pressed to the scroll

“I’ll tell you what Y/N. You find a way to decipher this scroll and bring back your family. And when you do, you share that information with me, so that I may do the same.”

You pulled your hand back, eyes darting between his violet ones as if you read the trick that undoubtedly hid beneath his offer. 

“And why in Mother’s name would I trust you?”

He smirked humourlessly. “Unless you prefer the alternative –“ Rhysand’s eyes blackened instantly, and your heart skipped a beat at the promise of death that beheld them. “– I don’t believe you have a choice.”

Make a bargain with the High Lord, or die. Not in a thousand lifetimes could you have predicted an ultimatum so soulless.

“Do we have a deal?” Rhysand offered his large hand as he still crouched before you, his eyebrows raising with a hint of impatience.

You flicked your gaze between Azriel and Cassian. Both of them watched patiently, their stances neutral, obedient of their High Lord’s business. It bothered you – how were both of them so complicit to his evil? 

Looking back at Rhysand – you ignored the voice inside you that screamed at you not to trust him. 

Letting out a short breath, you lifted yourself to your knees and clasped your hand in his. “It’s a deal.”

A gasp escaped you as a stinging heat spread across the hand held in his, and etched it’s way up your forearm. With wide eyes, you watched the burn and itch of a ink-like pattern forming on your skin. Swirls now covered your once naked arm, the picture of one hand shaking another stark on the inside of your palm. It was your hand in Rhysand’s – a symbol of the bargain you had just agreed to. For eternity, or until you deciphered this scroll you realised, with no lack of nausea.  

Rhysand grinned, marvelling the matching tattoo that now tainted his skin. “I’ll be checking in on your progress frequently, Y/N darling.” 

Unable to find the right words for you distaste, you snatched your hand away and pressed against your stomach, willing your self not to be sick.

You were now indebted to this hellish, sinister being.

Rhysand appeared as unfazed. “Perhaps you would consider a job in my court with Azriel?” he mused, flexing his fingers as he continued to take in the impressive detail of your bargain. “Again, we were quite impressed with your work.” 

He was teasing of course, and Azriel’s hazel eyes winced with humour as all three males watched for your reaction. 

You scowled at Rhysand, glaring up at him again. “I prefer my freedom, actually,” you snarled. 

Rhysand laughed in his sensual way, before grinning a wicked smile down at you. “Or what’s left of it. 

He straightened then, his wig men moving to his sides with grace – a practiced dance for all three. 

“I suggest you excuse yourself from my quarters the moment we’re gone Y/N, I’ll know otherwise.”

With a clasp to his shoulders from Azriel and Cassian, the three males were gone in a ripple of odourless night. 

Until then, little spy, Rhysand’s voice echoed in your mind.

»»——-　★　——-«« ★ »»——-　★　——-««

AN: Ok new series let's gooooo!! Welcome to DWTD! Hello morally grey mosthandsomehighlordofthenightcourt 💞😈 I am so so excited to explore this series with y'all. Pleeeeease let me know what you think of part 1, I wrote this over so many months lol I hope it tied together. General tag list is tagged, but if you'd like to join a tag list for this series (DWTD), comment below! La la love you guys, hope you're all safe and doing ok 💞

#rhysand x reader #rhysand series #morally grey rhysand #rhys series #rhys x reader #rhys x oc #azriel #cassian #rhys fanfic #acotar fandom #acotar angst #acotar series #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #sarah j maas #rhys x fem!reader #acotarfanfic #dwtd series #the bat boys #a court of thorns and roses #dream big with nic

[soldwreckedmoved]

FRANCIS “JACK KELLY” SULLIVAN

headlines don’t sell papes. newsies sell papes.

NAME: francis robert sullivan ii. goes by jack kelly or cowboy.

AGE: 17

D.O.B: november 12, 1882

SEX: male

ORIENTATION: closeted bisexual

OCCUPATION: leader of the manhattan newsies

FAMILY: born to francis robert sullivan i (alive) and martha sullivan (deceased). only sibling is a younger brother, thomas francis sullivan (deceased). partners and children are verse dependent.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE: tall and lanky. brown hair and blue eyes. typically wearing a brown vest over a blue and white shirt with a pair of pants and a pair of good work shoes. also tends to wear a cowboy hat and a red bandana around his neck.

EDUCATION: can read, write and do some advanced math. doesn’t really know much about science or history except what he gets from the papers he sells.

RELIGION: raised catholic, doesn’t practice

ALIGNMENT: chaotic good

ZODIAC: scorpio

PERSONALITY:

i don’t just sell ya papes, joe. sometimes i read ‘em.

loyal. energetic. impulsive. cocky. good with kids. determined.

HISTORY:

Jack Kelly was born to Francis and Martha Sullivan on November 6, 1882. He wasn’t expected, nor was he really wanted. But the parents tried to make the best of having a son. They named him after Francis, figuring it was the best name they could give him. They raised him as best they could, but it wasn’t until Francis II was three that things started to look up.

When Francis II was three, his younger brother was born. His name was Thomas Francis Sullivan and he was the light of everyone’s life. He was the perfect baby and the perfect child. Somehow, Francis II wasn’t jealous. He was just happy to have a brother. But tragedy struck when Thomas was four; he was crushed under the wheels of a runaway carriage and killed.

The Sullivans never recovered from the loss. Francis I turned to drink and drugs and wound up in a state penitentiary for life. Martha didn’t fare much better. She left her son one day and never came home. Francis II renamed himself as Jack Kelly and found a home with the Manhattan newsboys. He eventually became their leader and was known around New York as someone you could go to if you were in trouble. Cowboy can help you out, people always said, and so Jack always made sure he did.

tags

verses

so that’s what they call a family//verse - pre canon. francis lives with his parents and younger brother. it’s not a good life, but it’s not a bad one. most of the attention is on thomas, so francis is free to do what he likes. he usually explores the city and is out until dark. when thomas dies, everything gets worse. his dad gets arrested and his mom leaves. so francis leaves, too. he finds a home with the manhattan newsies and stays there.

they jacked up the price//verse - canon. the newsboy strike of 1899. jack and his friends are outraged at the price raise and decide to do something about it. they organize a city-wide strike for all young workers in new york, not just the newsies. they have some trouble with the police and the warden, but that’s to be expected. in the end, pulitzer puts the price back where it was and life goes on as normal.

i still got some livin’ to do//verse - post canon. the strike is over and the price of papers has been returned to normal. life is good and jack spends his days selling and teaching the new kids everything there is to know about being a newsie.

he rode out on the back of roosevelt’s carriage//verse - pre canon, jack’s time in the refuge. he’s arrested for stealing food and blankets for some of the younger newsies and his sentence is supposed to be six months. he breaks out after two and spends the rest of his life ensuring that no one else is sent there.

think of that train as she rolls into old santa fe//verse - post canon au verse. jack chooses to go to santa fe when the strike ends. he doesn’t see the point in staying in manhattan and so he takes the first train down to new mexico. he finds work on a farm and still sells papers on the weekends. he misses manhattan, but he’s content. he’s where he’s always wanted to be, after all.

that’s the power of the press//verse - modern. jack is more of a handyman than a newsie. he picks up odd jobs here and there around the city, but he sells newspapers more than anything else. he loves the boys he sells with and considers them family.

ellis island in flames! big conflagration!//verse - any and all interactions with muses that do not exist in the newsies (1992)/livesies universe. this includes fandomless ocs. it does not include newsies (1992)/livesies ocs.

ships

and dave can keep us company//otp: jack/david

what makes a headline good?//otp: jack/sarah

well he don’t make me nervous//otp: jack/spot

dynamics

i ain’t got a cute little brother to front for me//dyn: jack/les

look at me i’m tremblin’//dyn: jack/denton

you wouldn’t kick me out without a kiss goodbye would ya?//dyn: jack/medda

his father’s in a state penitentiary//dyn: jack/francis i

will ya spot me two bits?//dyn: jack/racetrack

when i walk does it look like i’m fakin’ it?//dyn: jack/crutchy

i’ll speak for this boy//dyn: jack/snyder

it’s a fine life carrying the banner//dyn: jack/the newsies

miscellaneous

that’s what’s so great about new york//aesthetic

jack ya done thinkin’ yet?//headcanon

will ya get ya fingers off my face//faceclaim

#char: jack kelly #so that’s what they call a family//verse #they jacked up the price//verse #i still got some livin’ to do//verse #he rode out on the back of roosevelt’s carriage//verse #think of that train as she rolls into old santa fe//verse #that’s the power of the press//verse #ellis island in flames! big conflagration!//verse #and dave can keep us company//otp: jack/david #what makes a headline good?//otp: jack/sarah #well he don’t make me nervous//otp: jack/spot #i ain’t got a cute little brother to front for me//dyn: jack/les #look at me i’m tremblin’//dyn: jack/denton #you wouldn’t kick me out without a kiss goodbye would ya?//dyn: jack/medda #his father’s in a state penitentiary//dyn: jack/francis i #will ya spot me two bits?//dyn: jack/racetrack #when i walk does it look like i’m fakin’ it?//dyn: jack/crutchy #i’ll speak for this boy//dyn: jack/snyder #it’s a fine life carrying the banner//dyn: jack/the newsies #that’s what’s so great about new york//aesthetic #jack ya done thinkin’ yet?//headcanon #will ya getcha fingers off my face//faceclaim

[queenimmadolla]

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

(dad!eddie munson and mom!reader as young parents)

more of the penny verse here • eddie edit © @fefemunson!

Summary. . . You admire your new baby girl. warnings: none, just fluff a/n: eddie and reader are about 20 and 21 (i also feel the need to express eddie exhibits Sagittarius traits so i'm thinking he had to have been born in december, kinda close to capricorn cause he looks evil but he's not) and some cuteness before I give you angst with 'Wayne's World'. enjoy! let me know what you think? ◡̈

“So…how you liking it out here?” You asked, propped on your stomach and resting on your forearms.

  Your daughter, only six days old, stared back up at you, small plump lips parted. She still looked so new and a little wrinkly.

  “There’s not a single thought in your adorable little head, is there?” You stroked over her soft hair—she’d come out with a full head of it—mindful of her delicate head and softspot. Penny blinked once, hard, at the gentle caress, but continued to marvel at you, the big brown eyes she’d inherited from her father were so wide that her forehead was squishing up towards her adorable hairline.

  The television was on, more so for background noise as the volume was very low. Eddie was asleep in the bedroom, he’d taken it upon himself to let you get as much rest as possible—always insisting on getting up in the middle of the night to gather Penny when she became fussy. She didn’t do too much, wasn’t all that active yet. If she wasn’t fussing, she was attached to one of your nipples or sleeping. In the four days since you’d brought her home, she hadn’t done a whole lot of sleeping during the convenient times for her new parents. No, she slept during the day and was up all night.  

  Eddie was so good with her, though. Took the screaming like a champ, it was so fascinating to you that she couldn’t produce actual tears yet but it still hurt your heart to hear her cry. He’d just take off his shirt and hold her to his chest, skin to skin seemed to calm Penny down, and you’d pumped enough to have overnight supplies of milk for her when your nipples were too sore to handle Penny’s nursing, though you didn’t mind when he stirred you from sleep to settle Penny against your breast so she could eat.

  That was about the only time Eddie did wake you. Giving birth had drained you, you knew it was gonna be uncomfortable and take a lot out of you but you hadn’t anticipated the lack of energy you’d have in the days following as well, and you hadn’t voiced it but Eddie knew you. Sometimes, you thought he knew you better than you knew yourself.

  It was surprising when you woke before him, feeling well rested instead of drained. You’d quietly gotten out of bed, careful not to wake him, to check on Penny, and for once, she was up at a normal time, too. 

  Eddie looked exhausted, breathing deep as he slept so you decided it was time to start bonding with your baby more. A little mommy-daughter time.

  After changing her diaper and feeding her, you got yourself dressed and ready, put her in a cute little onesie and folded a blanket on the carpet in the living room to lay her down. 

  You hadn’t realized there wasn’t a whole lot to do with a newborn until half an hour had passed with you two staring at each other, really taking each other in. You studied her and while you didn’t think she had a whole lot of brain processing power, you had a feeling she was trying to figure you out, too. As more than just her food source, anyways. Sometimes her stare would go soft, eyelids looking heavy before they were wide open again as if you’d done something to startle her out, it was kind of funny. 

  “You know, you’re pretty cute but you’re kind of boring,” You teased, fingers trailing down her little side until you reached her onesie covered foot and your ovaries cried at how small it was. You pressed your thumb gently just below her teeny tiny toes and like the little alien she was, they curled in on it in a way she probably wouldn’t be able to do in a few months, newborn flexible-ness.

  “All you heard was cute, huh?”

  Seemingly in response, because of course your daughter knew her cues, she was Eddie Munson’s baby after all, she began to suckle on nothing, lips miming the motion. You grabbed her pacifier and held it to her lips, giggling when she mouthed at it until it was settled and she looked content. 

  You beamed down at her, thumb stroking over the pad of her foot before pressing a kiss to it. And since you were kissing her foot you just had to show those chunky (god you wanted to bite them) cheeks some love, pressing your lips noisily and repeatedly against her face.

  Penny let you have your fun, the eye of her cheek you were focused on forced to squint as the chubb of it spread with the pressure of your kisses.

  You’d been expecting her to smell good, a baby survival mechanism to entice people to want to take care of her, but you had no idea how obsessed with it you’d become. You just wanted to bottle the newborn smell up so you could have it forever. Once you were done kissing her face, your nose trailed up her head to sniff at her hair where the scent was the strongest. You inhaled deeply, very much so exaggerated and let out an even more dramatic sigh before you pulled away to look down at her.

  “I’ve never done it, but you’re better than crack,” You swore.

  “Neither have I and I agree.” A raspy voice responded from behind you.

  You rolled onto your side, glancing over your shoulder to see Eddie leaning against the doorway of the bedroom, lips curled into a smile and sleep still lingering in his eyes.

  “You know, it’s really hot when you linger in doorways like that, but it’s also kind of creepy, Eddie.”

  The sleepy look quickly morphed into a mischievous one, “You think I’m hot?”

  “So, that’s what you’re gonna take from that? You already know I think you’re hot. Exhibit A,” You gestured down to his baby you’d popped out less than a week ago. 

  Eddie laughed and joined you on the floor, lips pursed in exaggeration once he was settled. You were all too happy to lean in, pressing your lips firmly against his. It was clear he’d just been expecting a quick peck when he let out a sound of surprise before you felt the curve of his smile which in turn made you smile.

  You felt so doped up on love; you had Eddie, who you thought would be the greatest love of your life, and now you had the baby you two made, proof of your love (an accidental one but still) and also proof that you could be wrong, since she turned out to be the other great love of your life. Despite the late nights, sore nipples and how peeing was somewhat of a chore while your stitches healed, life was bliss.

  “Mmm,” Eddie hummed when you pulled away, eyes still closed and that smile still plastered on his face. Then he groaned, head dropping. “These are going to be the longest six weeks of my life, I just know it.”

  You laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you sat up and carefully lifted Penny. She was so doll-like, ugh, you loved her so much. You turned her in your grasp, a hand cradling the back of her head and neck while your other supported her bottom as you pressed her cheek against yours, the both of you facing Eddie.

  “But isn’t this worth it?” 

  There wasn’t any humor behind the reply he rasped out, his features morphing into the tender expression that always made you feel breathless, like you were important to him, “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

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