#and I'm left wondering what she'll do next | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avatar-anna · 1 year ago

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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

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sinswithpleasure · 1 year ago

Text

Bucket List Interlude — Five.Six [Queen & Princess]

—-----------—

Proud to release my second (technically first, but our actual second released first) collab with @co-reborn set in the Bucket List universe.

Enjoy this (mostly unedited) little gift before NNN.

—-----------—

[Im Squirtle has sent a message:]

Oi, Pervert.

Let's try something new later on.

I know you’ll like it too

Head to the audi after your class ends

Come over quick :)

—-------

You keep your books in the locker once you’re done for the day. With these types of Nayeon texts, you know you're definitely not studying for the next few hours.

You shuffle past the crowd of students heading to their next class as you make your way to the auditorium. There shouldn’t be anyone using it at this hour, so why would she ask you…?

With the door to the auditorium right in front of you, you reach for the handle. The door swings open smoothly, and as expected, it is empty, lights off. You step in and place your bag onto one of the chairs, before grabbing your phone from your pocket.

[To: Im Squirtle]

I'm here, where ar |

In the middle of typing your message, the lights switch on. First, the room is dimly lit, but it begins to brighten slowly. You look around, and that's when you spot Nayeon at the bottom, on the stage. You scan her outfit—open blouse paired with a bright pink crop top, hearts and lines and other designs printed on the cloth, coupled with jeans, deliberately left open and rolled around her waist. Cute pigtails, by far your favourite style on her, steel rimmed glasses perched atop her nose, and a loose tie hanging around her neck.

She looks like a star. Maybe in another world…

"Yah, Pervert!" Nayeon waves enthusiastically, the brightest grin across her ethereal features. Even at the bottom of the auditorium, you're blown away by her beauty. Not that it's a surprise any more, but her beauty is definitely one of a kind.

"Say hi to our junior!"

Behind her, another girl steps out. You wonder how you haven't noticed her hiding behind Nayeon.

"Eh, Shin Yuna?"

Shin Yuna—the next Queen of Seoul U, currently nicknamed "Princess". You've seen her around a lot—it's quite hard not to notice the other beauty of Seoul U. Nayeon is easily #1, but Yuna's a damned close second, and she'll ascend the ranking once Nayeon graduates, you're sure of it.

"Hi, Oppa."

"Come down! Come say hi!"

You oblige, and take quick steps down. At the bottom, you awkwardly nod towards the younger girl, causing Nayeon to giggle. She steps closer to her "successor" and lightly grabs her shoulders.

Peeking from the side, she asks, “What do you think of her?”

You gulp. You can’t deny Yuna’s beauty. “Yeah… she’s pretty.”

Nayeon then steps behind Yuna before running her hands over her chest. The younger girl visibly tenses up, even more so when Nayeon begins to pop open the buttons on her blouse.

“I, for one, think she’s beautiful.”

The white top is pulled open, Yuna's bare breasts now exposed for your viewing pleasure. Nayeon lightly kneads the soft flesh of Yuna’s breasts, eliciting light gasps from her. Her hands continue to move down Yuna’s body down to her hips, halting at her tight abs to run circles atop the defined muscles.

"She's got such a perfect body, doesn't she?"

Nayeon gives Yuna a soft kiss on the cheek, before she licks a long stripe from the younger's shoulder up to her left ear. Reaching her skirt, Nayeon undoes the clasp and zipper at the back, a small push all it needs for the cloth to fall down her long legs, leaving the girl in white panties. You stare at the big damp spot right at the crotch of her underwear, and you gulp as your cock twitches beneath your pants.

"Go on, tell Oppa what we're doing today."

Nayeon's hands roam Yuna's body again. Her fingers ghost over the younger's smooth milky skin again, paying special attention to her nipples.

"Ngh…"

"Come on, Yuna-ya~"

Nayeon's fingers softly knead the soft flesh of Yuna's nubile body, her fingers expertly drawing the primal lust out of Yuna. You can't help but watch as Nayeon literally plays with the new toy in her hands, Yuna having all but submitted willingly to her senior.

"Oppa…"

Yuna's call dripped pure sex. You couldn't help the rush of primal lust at her moan, and as Nayeon slides her fingers underneath the waistband of Yuna's panties, you wish you were the one in Nayeon's place instead.

"Mmh, Daddy, she's so wet, oh my God."

Yuna's loud moan paired with the buck of her hips is all you need to know that Nayeon has penetrated her with her long fingers.

"Yuna-ya, go on, tell Oppa what you're here for."

"Oppa… mmgh—I…"

"I…?" Nayeon prompts.

"I'm—ohGod—I'm here to, fuck, I'm here to…"

Yuna shudders, her words temporarily halted by the waves of pleasure that wrecks her body with Nayeon's fingers deep in her.

"Oppa, I'm here to have sex, Oppa, I'm here to have sex with you and Nayeon-unnie, please… please take care of me, please…"

"That's right Daddy, Yuna's here to join us today."

Nayeon withdraws her fingers from Yuna, who moans at the loss of contact. Her fingers are drenched—not one inch of her middle and ring fingers, as well as the surrounding skin, is dry. Strands of slick cling to Nayeon's skin as she plays around with it, and she giggles.

"Ehe, Yuna-ya, you're so wet…"

She holds her fingers in front of the younger bunny's lips. Yuna takes it in without any hesitation, tasting her own pussy off her unnie's fingers.

"Good girl." Nayeon strokes the younger girl's hair. She melts under her unnie's touch and praise, and the smile across her face widens when Nayeon kisses her cheek.

"Sit back and relax Daddy, I'm going to show you how our good girl cums under my touch."

Nayeon smirks at you when you curse under your breath. You're so fucking hard—a tent has formed under the zipper of your jeans, and you've had to undo your pants so you could be more comfortable. Yuna's eyes are locked on to your bulge, and she stares with dripping lust.

"Daddy, Yuna wants to see that cock. Show her what you'll be fucking her with?"

Phrased like that, there's no way you'd say no. You undo the button and zipper, then reach beneath the waistband of your briefs to fish out your hard shaft, exposing yourself to the younger bunny. Yuna's gasp is all it takes to stoke your ego—you look up to see Yuna's eyes fixated on your hard cock, but what seals the ego boost is Nayeon's hand back to rubbing Yuna's clit, and you watch in slow-motion as Yuna's pussy drips, wetting the floor with her lust.

"Isn't it big, Yuna? That's the cock that fucks my pussy. Daddy always fills me up so well…"

"Hngh—!"

Yuna chokes back a moan as Nayeon penetrates her again. This time, her knees buckle when Nayeon's skilled fingers glide between her drenched walls, and you watch as Nayeon curls her fingers within Yuna as she thrusts in and out of the younger girl's pussy.

"Doesn't it feel good, Yuna? You're doing so well for me, so well for us. Look at your Oppa, look at how hard he's jerking his cock for you."

You're unable to resist the urge—the sight of Nayeon masturbating Yuna might be one of the hottest sights of your entire sex life so far in college. Yuna can't tear her eyes off your cock, and similarly, you can't tear your eyes off Nayeon's fingers plunging deeply into Yuna's cunt as well, her other hand firmly kneading the younger girl's right breast, fingers tweaking her nipple. The wet sounds of Nayeon fingerfucking Yuna echoes around the empty auditorium, and so do her moans. Yuna's lustful, sultry moans go straight down to your cock, and you take a bit of time to spread the beads of precum at your tip all over your cock.

"Oh, Yuna-ya, come on, moan louder. Let Oppa hear how much you want him.”

Yuna moans softly, her words muffled. Nayeon tuts disapprovingly.

“No, no, louder. Oppa wants to hear you. Let everyone hear you.”

"—ppa, Oppa, Oppa, Oppa~!"

Yuna’s broken moans go straight to your cock, and you have to pinch the head to resist the urge to cum. Her high-pitched whines for you have you nearly blowing your load, and you’re not about to cum before she does—you want to watch her come undone right in front of your very eyes. The wet sounds of Nayeon’s fingers thrusting deep into Yuna’s cunt get louder, and stray droplets of Yuna’s slick fly off Nayeon’s knuckles. The younger girl in question is breathless, her eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure wracks her body. Nayeon’s hot breath brushes against her ear, whispering pure filth to push her closer and closer.

“That’s right, you’re doing so well Yuna, Oppa’s so happy watching you. Look, look at how hard he’s jerking, look at how hard and wet his cock is…”

“Oppa~!”

“Imagine how good you’d feel with Oppa’s cock fucking this tight cunt of yours.”

“Yes, yes, YES!”

“Mm, go on, think about how big the stretch is, think about how good it’d feel when he empties his balls deep in your cunt.”

“Oh my God, Unnie, Nayeon-unnie, I’m—I’m gonna cum, I’m—!”

Everything seems to move in slow motion—Yuna’s loud cry of pleasure, her back arching, her body shuddering, her knees buckling. You gasp as a huge gush of squirt splashes all over the stage, and your eyes widen in shock as Yuna's gushes keeps on going. She doesn't orgasm in bursts like Nayeon does—with every buck of her hips, the stream only seems to get stronger as she cums in one continuous gush. Yuna thoroughly showers the stage with her cum, almost as if she is urinating. It overflows down over the fake plant boxes below, and that's when the stream tapers off, and Yuna collapses backwards against her Nayeon-unnie, sweaty, exhausted, but blissed out.

"You came so much, baby… such a good girl~."

Nayeon raises her fingers to her eyes, and she admires the glossy sheen of Yuna's slick and squirt covering her fingers and her palm. Her eyes glint in satisfaction, and she licks the stray droplets of cum that run down her arm, all while she stares deep into your eyes. Her next action is to wave her fingers in front of Yuna's lips.

"Have a taste, baby."

Yuna obliges, her lips wrapping around Nayeon's digits.

"Good girl."

The praise draws something out of Yuna, something more submissive, more eager. You watch as her eyes soften, and she becomes more pliant, more obedient. She sucks on her Nayeon-unnie's fingers, her hand holding her unnie's at the wrist to steady it as she licks it clean of her cum, all while Nayeon praises her with every swipe of her tongue. Yuna seems to beam under the praise, and you watch breathlessly as you take note of this new information.

"Did I do good, Nayeon-unnie?"

"I think you did a very good job, baby. How about you, Oppa?"

You rise to your feet and smirk.

"I think you've been a very good girl, Yuna."

The younger girl beams tiredly, the blush evident across her face. She squeezes her legs together unknowingly, a fact that doesn't escape Nayeon's and your notice.

"Do you want a break, baby?"

"Yes, please, unnie."

"Mm…

“Take your break, Yuna. Sit right here so you can get a good view of how Daddy fucks me.”

Your cock is desperately aching for action at this point, and you hastily respond to Nayeon’s words. You take off your pants before hopping onto stage and moving towards her. She kisses you harshly and pulls you closer into her. Both your hands work instinctively on undressing each other. You push the blouse off her shoulders while she works on the button on her jeans. You break the kiss momentarily to remove your shirt and her crop top, before immediately diving back into her mouth. You feel up each other’s body, your hands choosing to fondle her tits while she focuses on your abs. Heat builds up between both of you, and the kiss intensifies until she cannot take it anymore.

When Nayeon pulls away from you, you begin to plant a trail of kisses down her neck, shoulders and chest until you reach her waist. With the button undone already, you simply pull it down her legs. Nayeon is just left standing on stage in her ruined panties. A touch on her inner thighs is enough to make her shiver. You then pull down her panties and expose her dripping pussy for you and Yuna to see. The confident Nayeon from moments ago fades away, replaced by a quivering mess in need of you. You move behind her and push her closer towards the younger girl, fingers rubbing across her nether lips a few times before they dive into her pussy. She leans on your chest as her legs lose their strength. Her walls tighten around you and you feel more of her juices staining your fingers. You withdraw your fingers and hold them in front of Nayeon, and she licks it up without hesitation. Yuna looks in awe as the Nayeon she’s familiar with is stripped away, replaced with a Nayeon utterly overwhelmed with lust.

When she’s done cleaning your fingers, she looks over her shoulder to face you, whispering, “Fuck me hard, Daddy. Let’s give our good girl a show.”

You oblige, hurriedly bringing your shaft by her entrance. Slick immediately stains your tip as you make first contact with her pussy, and Nayeon’s body reacts to you immediately. She sinks herself backwards on your shaft and takes in the first few inches of your cock. With her snug flesh already clenching around you, you can’t help but to thrust your hips to insert the rest of your length into her.

The instant you’re hilt deep, three moans ring across the auditorium—yours, Nayeon’s and Yuna’s. Having watched the two girls indulge in sin earlier, it’s about time for you to have your own fun. Familiar with Nayeon’s body, you begin to pound and use her without hesitance. She’s quickly reduced to a mumbling and cursing mess, unable to form coherent words other than “Fuck!” and “Daddy!”.

You briefly look over Nayeon’s shoulder to see the younger girl’s reaction. Yuna’s eyes quiver, yet they remain laser-focused on your cock and Nayeon’s pussy. She’s biting down on her finger, saliva beginning to pool and seep out the corner of her mouth. Her other hand gently works between her legs, seeking out the pleasure she was bestowed by her unnie earlier.

You’re glad she’s enjoying the show, but what about the main actress?

Leaning over to her shoulder, you sigh, “You naughty slut. You want to be watched getting fucked so bad that you brought someone, mm?"

“Yes, Daddy, yes, I did—mmgh!”

Nayeon's admission amidst loud moans of pleasure has you fucking her harder.

"Fuck, yes, fuck, Daddy, you—hngh~!—feel so good inside me!"

While Nayeon takes your cock, you're more than aware of the younger girl paying her full attention to the erotic scene in front of her. An idea pops into your head, and you pause for a split second, to Nayeon’s disappointment, and wrap a hand underneath her thighs. Lifting it up, you give Yuna a clearer view of your cock spearing Nayeon’s pussy.

“Unnie, y-you’re so wet.” Yuna's voice is raspy with lust, and you field a glance at the Princess. She has her bottom lip between her teeth, a hand dangerously close to the dripping slit between her legs. You know it's only a matter of time before she breaks.

“Your cute little protege has her eyes glued on you, on your body, on your perfect pussy taking my cock. You like that, hmm?”

A deep moan is all that comes out of her mouth. She’s incapable of thinking, unable to process your words, fully concentrated on you and your cock and how good you’re making her feel. The thought of being watched whilst getting fucked hard all the times you teasingly whispered the possibilities of someone stumbling upon the dirty side of her have always been a turn on. Now, she has made her fantasy become reality—her featured guest sits by the side, having had her own fun, Yuna watches her, stares at her getting pounded hard, and Nayeon gets off from it, more than ever.

However, Nayeon isn’t the only one enjoying this precarious situation. You’re sure many would kill to be in your position—not only are you a part of Nayeon's closest circle, you're regularly fucking her as and when she wants it. You're even more aware of this now—Nayeon has introduced Yuna to the mix for today, and with her widely reputed to be Nayeon's "successor, she's not unpopular herself. Yet, here you are, with both of them naked, fucking one of them while the other watches. You love it when Nayeon is reduced into this crumbling mess, far from her prim and proper self. This side of her is yours to admire and enjoy, and enjoy it you definitely will.

You have the perfect view—Nayeon’s body rocks back and forth as you relentlessly pound her, cheeks flushed while she drowns in ecstasy, and from the corner of your eyes, you catch Yuna with her legs spread wide open, fingers driving in and out of herself. You’re immensely turned on, your balls aching and about to explode at any moment, but not yet, your job’s still not done.

Yuna has her eyes glued to your bodies the whole time, mouth gaped open in awe at how rough you’re being with Nayeon and how well she’s taking it. Heart beating in anticipation, she can’t help but to wonder how good it will be when it’s her turn to be fucked like that. Nayeon did promise her it’ll be mind blowing and she’s now getting a live preview. She subconsciously starts to thumb her clit as well for more pleasure, her gasps growing in volume. “Fuck unnie…”

You lean over and whisper into Nayeon’s ear. “Open your eyes, baby girl. Look at your precious junior.” She barely registers your words and struggles to do so with the immense rush of pleasure in her head. Through half lidded eyes, she sees what you see—Shin Yuna deeply engrossed in the show you’re putting out, her face red, fingers and thighs thoroughly stained with her slick.

“Look at her. She’s so wet and it’s all thanks to you.”

“M-Me?”

“Yes, you. Such a pretty slut taking cock so nicely. Maybe you should have invited more people to join. Maybe you should've called the entire school to gather here to watch you take this fucking cock like the slut you are.”

The thought of the auditorium filled to the brim with the school population, thousands of eyes watching her true self has Nayeon moaning louder. Maybe that’s what she wants all along. Such wild thoughts continue to fill her head, more ideas of how to push her fantasy further.

“Cum for me, Nayeon-ah. Let Yuna see how beautiful you can be when you cum.”

Nayeon doesn't last longer than your sentence. With a scream, her legs buckle under the pressure and you hold her up by her hips as you keep thrusting into her orgasming pussy. Bursts of squirt shoot out and make a mess of your bodies and the stage. You persist with your fucking and maintain your thrusts into the tight, sensitive pussy, eliciting moan after moan from Nayeon. The auditorium echoes with her cries—any passerby could easily hear them, check it out and catch the three of you in this illicit act, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment.

A few more pumps into Nayeon later, you tumble out of control and your orgasm hits you. You cum inside her, mindlessly thrusting and burying your load deeper into her pussy until you’re properly drained. Shot after shot of thick cum fills Nayeon's tight pussy, and you pull her close and tight, softly cursing at the pleasure you enjoy right into her ear.

When everything subsides, you hear Nayeon's soft "Thank you, Daddy", and you give her a soft peck on the cheek before pulling out of her. Thick white drops of semen drip out of Nayeon's pussy onto the floor, and Yuna gasps at the sight. Both of you turn to look at the younger girl, and you're both so turned on at the sight that greets your eyes: the Princess of Seoul U is a mess. Yuna is pent-up—she clearly hadn't orgasmed, probably saving herself for the inevitable fucking she knew she'd get. Her eyes burn with lust, chest heaving with every deep breath she takes, nipples taut with arousal. The blush on her face hasn't left, and a puddle of her juices pools between her legs. When she pulls out her fingers from within her, slick drips from her digits onto the stage.

"Oppa, Unnie… that was so hot…"

Both you and Nayeon admire the sight in front of you for a second more. You're still fully hard, already wanting to fuck Yuna for the first time. However, Nayeon has different plans.

"Come here, Yuna-ya~"

The younger girl almost lunges for her senior, the desperate look in her eyes akin to that of a feral puppy compared to the bunny she commonly is likened to. She crashes her lips against her senior's, and you swear your cock gets harder watching both women make out with each other. Yuna can't resist kneading Nayeon's breasts, and Nayeon has a palmful of Yuna's plump ass, her fingers kneading the soft flesh. The lustful moans from both girls echo around the empty auditorium, and you can't help but stroke your slick cock in anticipation of what happens next.

"Mm, Yuna, baby, you kiss so well."

The younger girl only blushes at the praise. She looks down at Nayeon's body shyly, a bright smile across her features.

"I have a little something for you to taste, baby girl~." Nayeon runs two fingers over her pussy, her voice shaking as the pleasure of her own touch creeps into her system. When she retrieves her digits, they're coated in a thick sheen of your semen, and with a push of Yuna's shoulders, the younger girl kneels almost immediately. She looks up, eyes wide in desire, lust, anticipation, and Nayeon gently lowers her cum-soaked fingers to Yuna's mouth. The younger bunny immediately takes them into her mouth, her tongue thoroughly cleaning her unnie's fingers of the mixture of her juices and yours. When the taste hits her, you watch as her eyes roll back and she moans, almost as if your cum was a delicacy.

"If you want more of Oppa's cum, baby, come eat it out of unnie's pussy."

You're more than happy to put aside your desire to fuck Yuna—the sight of her eating your cum out of Nayeon's cunt is a worthy substitute. The blonde girl looks up at her unnie as her lips get closer and closer to Nayeon's cunt, and Nayeon smiles down at her junior, stroking her hair ever so gently. When Yuna's tongue first touches Nayeon's pussy, the older girl lets out a sultry moan, her hands gripping Yuna's head and pushing her crotch against the younger girl's face. The younger bunny sticks her tongue out and begins to lick along her unnie's slit, and she herself moans when your excess cum drips all over her tongue. It is at that moment where she wraps her lips around her unnie's pussy, and Nayeon throws her head back, enjoying the pleasure of her junior eating her out. Yuna fervently eats your cum out of Nayeon's cunt—when she pulls herself back to catch her breath, your semen and Nayeon's juices stain her lips and chin.

"Oppa's cum tastes so nice, unnie." Yuna's tongue glides across her lips to collect the mixed fluids across her face, and you bite your bottom lip when she gives you a lustful stare, her eyes lingering especially on your hard cock. She even leans over to lick the precum off your tip, and you curse when she gives you a few strokes along the length with every swipe of her tongue.

"It does, doesn't it?" Nayeon strokes her junior's head, and when Yuna looks up at the both of you again, Nayeon gives her next instructions. "You'll get to taste it again later, baby. Oppa's been waiting so long for that pussy, your tight virgin pussy, and I don't think you should make him wait much longer~."

When Yuna rises from the floor, her eyes meet yours in a blazing gaze of lust. She bites down on her lip, her eyes travelling to your hard, twitching cock and back up, the desperation behind her eyes only further adding to your desire for her. You watch in burning anticipation as the lithe girl in front of you turns around. Your eyes follow her hourglass figure, from the soft curves of her neck to the sharp juts of her shoulders, down her thin waist. You drool at the sight of her hips swaying as she takes steps towards the podium, at the sight of her long legs, and best of all, at her supple ass as she bends over when she reaches her destination. Your eyes immediately lock onto her pussy, drenched and dripping, her thighs glistening with arousal, the floor beneath her wet as well. The killing blow Yuna delivers is through her next few actions—she turns back to you, her puppy eyes pleading with you to finally fuck her, and she spreads her pussy open with her right middle and ring fingers. Fresh slick drips and runs down her skin, along her hand.

"Oppa, I'm ready for my fucking."

Yuna doesn't expect how quick you can be.

In two steps, you cover the distance between you and her. You grab your cock and aim it right for Yuna's spread hole, and the younger girl squeals in surprise when your pussy breaches the opening of her cunt. Before she can even speak, your hands grip her hips tight, and you send one hard thrust right into her cunt as you pull her right onto your cock, your pelvis slapping right against her ass.

"OpPAAAA~!"

Yuna cries out when your thick cock stretches her virgin pussy out with your one stroke. You waste no moment—you're already pulling out until your tip is left in her before thrusting back in. As you begin to fuck the younger girl, you forcefully grab her by her face to watch her reaction, and you begin to pound her harder when you see her eyes roll back in pleasure, unintelligible moans echoing around the auditorium with each stroke.

Yuna's pussy is tight, so damn tight, tighter than Nayeon's. Her walls quiver around your cock, the first she's ever taken, and they squeeze you so perfectly you swear you're in heaven. A rush of slick runs along your cock—did she just have a mini-orgasm or something, you wonder—and her body shakes as she attempts to take deep breaths. You knock the air out of her with every thrust you send into her, each stroke ending with you hilted deep in her, just like how you'd fucked Nayeon earlier. Yuna takes it all—she wants it, needs it just as much as you do.

"Oppa, Oppa, Oppa!!!!" Yuna can't stop repeating the word like a mantra—she can't seem to remember anything else.

Next to both you and Yuna, Nayeon has her fingers in her pussy again, fucking herself at the sight of you railing Yuna. Your semen drips from her fingers as she plunges then into her cunt over and over, her free hand kneading her own breasts for pleasure. She moans just as unrestrainedly as Yuna does, and Nayeon swears you almost seem to rail Yuna harder knowing she's watching. As your cock appears and disappears into Yuna's tight body, Nayeon fixes her eyes on how Yuna looks—like a proper slut. Her junior's eyes are rolled back, jaw slack, tongue sticking out of her mouth. The ahegao fixed upon Yuna's face draws Nayeon towards her, and the older girl steps up to pull her close. You shift Yuna back to create space for Nayeon, and you watch as the older girl pulls Yuna into a torrid kiss. The hot sounds of both women kissing mixed with their moans leads you to groan as well, and you fuck Yuna harder to satiate your lust. Nayeon holds Yuna's head close to her chest with one hand, and you watch as the older girl reaches between her legs to masturbate again.

"Unnie, uhn—!" Yuna's eyes are glazed over from pleasure, her speech broken up by moans and loud claps of your flesh against hers. The girl can't seem to hold steady—she almost falls over a few times as her hips buck on every brush of your cock against her G-spot. "Oppa fucks me so well, Oppa's fucking my pussy so good!"

"That's right, he is, because you're such a good girl. Good, pretty girls like you deserve poundings like that." Nayeon bites her lip at the pleasure she brings herself. "In fact, a good girl like you should suck on Unnie's tits."

Almost instantly, Yuna has her lips on one of Nayeon's breasts. She is completely pliant to any instruction—the praise is all she craves. Nayeon moans out loud as her junior helps to pleasure her, and you hear another set of wet thrusts join with the sounds of your sex with Yuna as Nayeon resumes fucking herself.

"That's right, Yuna, keep sucking Unnie's tits like that, fuck, fuck!"

You can't believe how blessed you are. Just like that, you're balls deep in the Princess of Seoul U and thoroughly pounding her freshly deflowered cunt, fucking it hard and using it like you've used Nayeon's so many times before. Both girls are similarly wet and messy—your shaft glides against Yuna's walls just like how it would in Nayeon's, and Nayeon's thighs always glisten with slick during sex, just like Yuna's are right now as well. The entire situation right now is obscenely hot—many dream to fuck both Nayeon and Yuna, and here you are living it, with both women desiring your cock so much they're having sex with you together. Yuna's been fucked almost entirely silly, and Nayeon's enjoying it as she fucks herself with Yuna's help.

Nayeon is the first to crack—Yuna's tongue, teeth, and hands are her undoing. The younger girl pinches and tugs at the older girl's nipples, occasionally playing with them between her fingers while her tongue flicks the sensitive nubs, and Nayeon's moans only get louder, whinier, her fingers plunging and thrusting harder, deeper—

"Daddy, I'm going to cum!"

Nayeon barely makes it to the end of her sentence before squirt explodes out of her. You watch in pure lust as the older bunny throws her head back, her guttural moans, the hiss of her squirt gushing from her cunt, and the loud splatters of her cum forming puddles on the floor echoing around the empty auditorium. Jet after jet of girl cum drenches the floor, and you feel Yuna tighten around you when she watches Nayeon orgasm. The younger girl begins to whine seeing her senior's body buck and writhe as she orgasms, her legs unstable, breasts jiggling with every shift of her body.

"Oppa, Unnie, Yuna's gonna—"

Yuna's sentence ends in a scream as her hips buck, and squirt sprays out of her freshly-fucked pussy. Your cock is forcefully ejected from her cunt, and you have to hold the younger girl up as her legs buckle, the pleasure of her orgasm washing over her entire body. Both Nayeon's and Yuna's cum mix on the floor beneath them, the huge puddle of squirt evidence of how much pleasure they drew from this session. You enjoy the sight of both girls orgasming together in each other's embrace, but that doesn't last for long—you have yet to get your release yourself, and Yuna's pussy was the only hole you hadn't filled with your cum. With one hard thrust after lining yourself up, you draw another scream from Yuna as you plunge your hard shaft into her still-orgasming pussy, and you pound her right through it, chasing your own high and prolonging hers.

"Yuna, baby, I'm going to fill you."

"Yes, Oppa, yes~!"

When you begin to thrust hard into Yuna, Nayeon pulls her into a sloppy kiss. Both girls' bodies rock with your thrusts as they engage in a hot, sloppy makeout—tongues swirl, moans escape their kiss, and hands roam across bodies to further pleasure each other. Even as Nayeon's orgasm subsides, Yuna doesn't relent in rubbing her Unnie's clit and playing with her breasts, drawing more pleasure from her body. You feast on the sight in front of you, enjoying the show that your two partners are putting up for you, and you work towards your own sweet release with every thrust. The friction that Yuna's tight, heavenly walls provide pushes you closer and closer, until…

"Fuck, Yuna, fuck!"

Your cock twitches and pulsates before the first burst of semen is fired deep into Yuna's cunt. Yuna moans at the feeling of you firing shot after shot of semen into her at the tail end of her orgasm, and you squeeze your eyes shut as white-hot pleasure washes over you with each rush of cum that you leave in the younger girl. You never stop thrusting throughout your orgasm, every upstroke fucking your cum deeper and deeper into her.

When you pull out of Yuna, a thick stream of cum leaks from her pussy, down her thighs. Some of it drips to the floor, mixing with the puddle of cum beneath you and her, and you stagger back, your cock softening after the intense sex session you've just had. However, the glint in Nayeon's eye tells you that it isn't over—you're not done for the day yet.

"Yuna, baby, now that we both have your Oppa's cum in our pussies…" Nayeon begins, pulling Yuna against her, their sweaty bodies flushed together. "...we should thank Oppa, mm?"

You're just as confused as Yuna is, but you're also willing to play along. Nayeon leads Yuna to a dry spot on stage, and she directs you to step back. Nayeon leans to whisper a few words into Yuna's ear, and you know you're in for a world of trouble when Yuna's face turns red, and she bites her lip in arousal, her eyes locked onto you, lust burning once more. When both girls begin to lower themselves to the floor, Nayeon leaves you with her new instructions.

"Enjoy the show, Daddy~"

When each girl crosses a leg over the other's, and both of them shift closer to each other, it clicks. Your cock begins to stir once more as you watch Nayeon and Yuna meet each other in the middle, moaning out loud as they grind their pussies together.

"Oppa, look at us, Oppa!"

Yuna's desperate call for your attention has your cock twitching as it hardens to its full length. The younger girl has a wanton look of lust all over her features, and Nayeon's expressions mirror Yuna's as well. You watch as both women's pussies get messier—they "share" your creampies in them through sex, their skin coated in a mixture of their slick and your semen. Yuna is the more eager one—she actively grinds down on Nayeon's pussy as if this would be the last time she'd be having sex, and Nayeon reciprocates with the same effort, pleasuring herself and her junior well as they put on a show for you. You can't resist stroking your cock anymore with the live sex show right in front of you.

"Fuck, Daddy, it feels so good, I feel so good~!" Nayeon's loud moans for you have you jerking harder. "Look at us sharing your cum, look at us having sex!"

With how sensitive both women are—Nayeon having orgasmed a short while earlier, and Yuna only finishing recently, it doesn't take too long before they're both close, desperately grinding against each other as they chase their highs together.

"Unnie, unnie, I'm going to cum soon, unnie!"

"Me too, Yuna-ya, let's cum for Daddy, let's cum for him to watch!"

You feast your eyes on how the Queen and Princess bring each other to orgasm—Yuna and Nayeon both grind down on each other hard, and Yuna is the first to scream before a huge gush of squirt sprays from her pussy, showering both herself and Nayeon in her cum. Nayeon takes a short while longer—she rubs her clit with her hands before her hips buck, and her own spray of squirt jets out to cover Yuna. Both girls drench each other's bodies with their cum, and you watch while pinching the tip of your shaft, unwilling to cum just yet. A short jet of white spurts from your cock as you watch, your semen dripping to the floor as you enjoy the deliciously wanton sight in front of you. You're almost delirious with pleasure, partially physical, partially from the almost unreal situation you're in. You enjoy the sight of both Nayeon and Yuna making messes of each other as well as the stage, their cum pooling into a massive puddle beneath them.

When both girls finally come down from their highs, they move themselves towards you.

"Oppa, it's time for you to cum too."

Nayeon wastes no time in taking your shaft into her mouth, her hand reaching to jerk you off. Yuna's lips and tongue reach for your balls, and you rest a hand on both of their heads as they please you together as a team. Both women share your cock as if it were a delicacy—when Nayeon would release you from her warm, slick mouth, Yuna would take over with a gentle suction and her tongue gliding under your cock, leaving you twitching. It doesn't take long for the familiar feeling to bubble back up.

"Fuck, Nayeon, Yuna, I'm close."

Both girls immediately focus their efforts right at your tip. Their tongues glide up and down on your cock before they make out with each other at the head of your cock, pushing you closer and closer.

"Cum over our faces, Daddy. You've earned it for fucking us so well."

With a loud groan, a thick burst of cum erupts from your cock, and Yuna immediately aims your cock right at herself. You watch in ecstasy as your hot load paints Yuna's pretty features, a smile wide on her face as your hot white semen lands on her face and breasts. Immediately, Nayeon pulls your cock over to her, and it's her turn to receive bursts of your cum all over her pretty face and body. You swear you're cumming forever—burst after burst of semen showers over Nayeon and Yuna, and when you inevitably come down from your high, you're greeted with the hottest sight of the night—the Queen and Princess of Seoul U, covered in a mixture of semen and squirt, servicing you and cleaning your cock with their mouths after rounds of hot sex where you'd filled their pussies full of your hot cum.

There's nowhere else you'd rather be at this very moment.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #male reader #twice smut #itzy smut #nayeon smut #imnayeonbucketlist #im nayeon smut #shin yuna smut #yuna smut

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dickgraysonisnothereforthis · 1 month ago

Text

Outgoing Call

A Jason Todd x reader story. It's funny, until it's not. Then it's angsty.

MDNI, NSFW, not smut but mature language. Excessive swearing, sexual situations, you know the drill. use of a slur, but in jest. content warnings for addiction.

I have no idea how long this is.

---

Jason doesn't want to be here. The stupid fucking pageantry of the Batcave gets on his nerves and sets his teeth on edge, always has. A whole-ass cave is fucking unnecessary, Jason makes do with a handful of safe houses—apartments really—and a storage unit. Bruce, sitting stoic at the computer in his full Batman getup and looking right at home among the exposed rock and towering ceilings that end in darkness, never seemed to know when to stop. It irritates Jason to no end.

Dick and Tim's blind chirping chatters angrily in his ears, and Jason considers putting on the helmet to block them out before he remembers he left it at his place. Damn. He’s going to have to experience this stupid meeting unfiltered.

Jason only realizes they're trying to get his attention when Dick taps him on the shoulder.

"You okay there, Little Wing?” he asks, raising his eyebrows and nudging an elbow into his gut. It's enough to make a swell of vomit claw its way up his throat. Jason swallows down with a grimace. "Yes, dickface," he snaps. "Just wondering when we're going to get this fucking show on the road."

Dick shrugs, and Jason's secretly glad he's not offended. He probably wouldn't be acting so much of a shit if he didn't go and overdo it at some unknown dive bar last night. It's possible Jason is mixing up his eager disgust with Batman and Co. and alcohol poisoning.

Like he isn't part of Batman and Co. Bruce grunts, and Dick and Tim refocus, alert. Jason does the same, then forces himself to relax. He ildly imagines shooting himself in the face.

"You know why you’re here," Bruce starts. Actually, Jason doesn't. He didn't read the report Bruce sent him, but whatever. He can figure it out with context clues.

"Oracle has a new lead on the cyber-crime case. She managed to override the suspect's phone and took control, creating an essential bug. It goes live in one minute."

Right. The hits on Gotham National Bank, GCPD, and the mayor’s office. Plus an attempt on Oracle's highly protected Batman case files. Jason doesn't know why he's here, he doesn't give a shit about this case. If the hacker manages to get into Bruce's stuff, he'll take them out to dinner himself.

"Do we have a name?" Tim asks.

"No, and no location either. The security on the phone is too tight, Oracle could only get outgoing calls. She'll silently trigger a call to a secure line. Our side is muted. We only have until the suspect realizes the call is ongoing."

Jason sighs, tries to settle in for the next few hours. He reluctantly takes a seat in front of the computer, furthest away from Bruce. Tim, teacher’s pet that he is, pulls out a notebook and pen. Bored, Jason thinks about what he's going to do when Bruce finally lets him off the leash. His thoughts go to your apartment, your bedroom, before he remembers that after last night, he's definitely not welcome there.

He slumps down in his seat. Oh well. It's for the best.

"Call goes live in three, two, one."

The cave is silent. There are a few gentle beeps as the call connects. Quiet, then, a subtle clacking of computer keys.

He catches Tim shoot Dick a look. Well, they're in.

The clacking continues uninterrupted for a few minutes. "Location still unknown," Dick murmurs. Suddenly, there is the sound of shifting fabric. The phone is in the perp's pocket, Jason thinks.

"You done in there?" someone calls. "I just cleaned my shower, don't get it all gross. You'd better not be shaving in there."

Location known. Perp's apartment. Tim all but flies to the computer. "Searching for voice recognition," he explains. Bruce nods.

"What? I can't hear you." The audio crackles, and then there's the sound of footsteps, the rain of a shower.

"I said, relax, I'm not shaving my pubes in your apartment, you asshole."

What the fuck? Jason stiffens, then internally recoils, trying not to sit at obvious rapt attention. He quickly surveys the room to see if he got away with it. Dick seems like he's trying not to laugh, and Tim looks mortified. He feels rather than sees Bruce shift minutely in his direction. Fuck. Fuck. He may have been made.

“Unknown person. Accomplice?” Tim mutters under his breath. “Attempting voice recognition.” As if Jason needs Tim’s tricks to recognize who's on the other end of the line.

"Good, I don't what that shit clogging my drain."

"It's just pubes, moron." Jason knows that voice, knows that tone, even on the phone, where he's been a million times over the past four months. He can imagine you rolling your eyes to match. "You have them too, you know, it's not just women.”

What the fuck are you doing in their perp's shower?

"Girl pubes are gross. I'll stick to men's, thanks."

Bruce's fingers move over the keys, gently moving Tim to the side. He's definitely writing out "homosexual" in the perp's file. If Jason had anything left to spare, he'd laugh out loud. But he's too busy furiously trying to figure out what you're doing there (and if you're in danger, and if he should be jealous) while keeping his reactions to himself. He doesn't need anybody knowing about his girlfriend.

Well. Ex-girlfriend, or at least soon to be.

"Speaking of men's pubes," the perp, starts, "how's Jason?"

Oh. Fuck. Jason's tongue shoots to the roof of his mouth. He doesn't think anybody noticed. Except Bruce. Maybe. He still might be in the clear. There are a lot of Jasons, but if you keep talking about him eventually Gotham's greatest detective is going to put two and two together.

He can almost taste vomit again as the thought crosses his mind. That would actually be really, really bad. Bruce wouldn't hesitate to use Jason's connection to you as a way to move forward on the case, Jason’s feelings be damned.

"He's okay. I mean, I think. I haven't seen him in a few days."

"Really? Is that weird, does he do that often?"

"Nah. Well, nah, yeah, he does it often," you say with a laugh. "It's fine, he always resurfaces." The trust evident in your voice grates against his skin, then settles warmly in his heart, then drops to his stomach. That was one of the things he liked most about you, that you didn't question his weird schedule or habits. Though he never allowed himself to think about what that might mean, how that meant you felt about him. It hurts more than he expected to hear it now, to have you connect the dots so clearly in front of him.

"What does Jason even look like? You've never actually told me." Shit.

"I dunno," you muse. "He's tall. Blue eyes, black hair.”

Jason hears Tim shift in his seat, feels Dick's eyes on him. Shit. Shit.

"You're bad at descriptions," the perp sniffs. "Here, let me find him. What's his last name?"

Your sheepish chuckle echoes through the cave. "Uh, I actually don't know."

The perp snorts. "Well, you're a goddamn idiot."

"Thanks, dipshit. His profile said Jason T."

Jason swears, swears, he doesn't react, but it doesn't matter. They know him too well. They have him. "Holy shit," Tim whispers. Dick lets out a low chuckle. "Putting yourself out there, Little Wing?"

Bruce clears his throat. "Name?" he asks Jason. Of course that's the only thing on his mind right now.

Jason shakes his head. "No fucking way," he snarls.

"Good enough," the perp answers. The sound of the shower fades as he walks back to the computer in what must be another room.

Soon the clack of computer keys crackles across the line. Jason braces himself. Let's see how dangerous this hacker really is.

Another comm line buzzes to life. "This is Oracle," Barbara announces. "Someone's putting out a search for Jason T, dipping into some private data. I swept everything out with your face and name."

At almost the same time-- "What the fuck kind of website are you on now?" you call from the shower.

"CCTV footage. GCPD and private contracts."

"Oracle," Bruce barks. "Any CCTV footage?" Jason wishes he were anywhere else. Surely, surely, he doesn't need to be here for this nightmare.

"GCPD footage is protected," she answers quickly. "Checking now. Wait--"

"Got it!" the perp sings. "Data breach," Oracle reports. "They got you, Hood."

"Noted," Bruce grunts. "Any connection between Jason and Red Hood?"

"Negative. Shutting them out now." Barbara's fingers fly over the keys.

If anything, the perp's are even faster. "Fuck, he's so hot. Holy shit. You didn't mention he's ripped. " Dick bumps Jason's shoulder, then easily dodges Jason's punch. "Red Hood," Bruce intones.

"Don't start," Jason threatens.

"Someone's trying to kick me out," perp calls to you. "I've got, maybe, fifteen seconds. Just enough time to zoom in on his ass."

The sound of the shower stops, plastic rustling as you pull back the curtain. "Yeah, zoom in on his ass."

"Wow. I hope you're fucking that shit up," the perp says. This is officially too much for Jason. He feels himself start to turn red.

There's the sound of footsteps again. Maybe it's in his head, but Jason feels like he recognizes it, the pad of your bare feet across the floor. "Don't worry. I'm eating that shit out every day of the week and twice on Sundays." Jason almost shits his pants as Tim sputters and Dick cackles.

"Quiet," Bruce commands. Jason wants to punch him.

"--disgusting," the perp is saying. "I can't believe you do that."

"I can't believe you don't," you shoot back. "Aren't fags supposed to love that?"

"Watch it," the perp warns. For a flash of a moment, Jason wonders if he's going to get angry at you, if you're in any danger. If he should rush in and save the day, if he has an excuse to see you again.

"Do you have to specify that in your Grindr profile?" you press on, delighted.

"Everyone's different, you cunt." The perp's voice is fond, and Jason relaxes slightly. "Speaking of which--" the line muffles and shakes for a moment. "I got a message I need to look at."

Grindr profile, Jason mentally notes. The sound is clearer now, the perp must have taken the phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I think this man needs a dick pic," the perp says thoughtfully. There's the metallic sound of fingers fumbling with a belt buckle.

"Christ, are you taking one now?" For the first time, Jason stops to wonder what your relationship is with this guy. Are you friends? Did you used to hook up? He tries to ignore the jealousy rising in his blood.

"Yeah," the perp sounds unconcerned. "Hurry up and get dressed, I can't get it up with a naked woman in the room."

Jason winces. He looks over at the others. Tim looks almost green in the face, and Dick is grimacing. This is quickly turning into porn audio, not exactly something he wants to listen to with Dick and Tim, much less Bruce. There's the sound of the phone being set down. Jason prays it's far enough away that it doesn't pick up what the perp is doing now.

"Do you want help?" you say after a moment. Tim gasps and whips his head toward Jason. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason grits his teeth. He doesn't know what he did to deserve listening to you jerk someone off with his whole fucking family next to him.

Thankfully, thankfully, the perp snorts. "No!" he sneers as you cackle in the background. "I don't want your gross women hands anywhere near my dick." No past hook ups, then.

"You are so close to misogyny that if you're not careful it's going to smack you in the face."

"That's not what I want smacking me in the face," the perp sighs. "Hence, the dick pic."

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you,” you say. “You have the most hideous flaccid penis I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Shut up,” the perp snaps. “It’s normal!”

“Hit a nerve did I?” You’re clearly amused. It makes Jason miss you enough to shake his head. Ugh. Apparently the alcohol didn’t flush the sad out of him.

“C’mon, help me out here,” the perp says, ignoring you. “What do you think of when you want to flick your bean?”

“Jason,” you say instantly. It makes him grow warm, then sick.

“Wow, she’s got it bad for you,” Dick murmurs. Not for long. “Nice job, Little Wing.”

“I’m happy for you,” Tim pipes up. Jason scrubs a hand over his face. He can’t take much more of this.

“Yeah, I can see why. Can I think about him?”

“No!” you snap as the perp laughs. “Fine, I’ll just think about Nightwing’s sweet, sweet ass.”

Jason’s out of the hot seat. Finally. He looks at Dick, ready to give as good as he got. Unfortunately, Dick doesn’t look offended. He’s grinning, the arrogant ass.

“Okay, I’m good.” They hear the artificial sound of camera. “God, that took forever. Send.”

Dick’s phone pings, Grindr notification echoing through the cave.

“Holy shit,” Tim mutters. “This is the best and also worst day of my life. Can’t you two keep it in your pants?”

Dick shrugs, but he looks embarrassed. “Would you believe me if I told you it’s not for the case?”

Your voice on the line cuts across anyone who would answer. “An unsolicited dick pic?”

“Nah, he sent me one earlier. Wanna see?”

Tim sounds like he’s choking. Bruce’s jaw is working, but thank god he’s quiet. “Nah, dude. I’ll leave that for you,” you answer.

“Dick,” Bruce says lowly. Dick can’t meet his eyes. “You may have to cut off communication.”

“What? Why?” Dick protests. Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but you do it for him.

“Couldn’t you hack his phone from that? Have you ever done that before?” you wonder.

“No.” The perp is quick to answer. “That’s a line I won’t cross.”

“See? It’s fine!” Dick insists. Bruce grimaces, but doesn’t say anything. The sound of a phone going off saves Dick from further embarrassment. Jason wishes he could have caught their attention for longer. He needed a break.

“That’s you,” the perp says. “Can you see what it is?” you ask. “I’m still getting dressed.”

“Sure,” the perp says, floor creaking as he crosses the room. “It’s your mom. Want me to answer?”

“Yeah, what did she say?”

“She’s asking if she can call tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. You can let her know.”

Jason hears rustling, the sound of you pulling your clothes on. He connects it to the sound of him doing the opposite, of tugging your clothes off and tossing them to the floor.

Damn. This is harder than he thought.

“You also have a text from Jason,” the perp offers.

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’ll read it later.”

Wait? You haven’t read it yet? Jason feels rooted to the floor. No wonder you said so many nice things about him.

Shit. Shit. He shuts his eyes. He knows what’s coming next.

“Dude,” the perp says. “Dude. I think he broke up with you.”

The cave is dead silent.

“What.” Your voice is flat. “What.”

Jason rests his forearms on his hands, head hanging down between his knees. When he sent you the breakup text, he didn’t think he would have to hear you react to it.

Maybe it’s what he deserves.

“He broke up with me over text?”

“Yeah.” The perp’s voice is gentle. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks like it.” The perp pauses. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” At least you have a good friend, even if he is a wanted criminal. Not like Jason isn't, too.

“What the fuck. What the fuck.” Jason’s never heard your voice sound like that. He feels familiar bile rise in his throat. “What did he say?”

“You want me to read it to you?” Dick shoots Jason an alarmed glance. Whatever. It’s not like he has any privacy left anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, read it to me. Actually, wait. How long is it? How many lines?”

There’s silence as the perp counts. “Four.”

“Four?!” you shriek. “Four?! That dumb motherfucker ended a four month relationship in four lines of text?”

“Jesus, Jason.” Tim mutters. Jason can’t even blame him.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You’re seething. “Oh my god. I’m going to kill him.”

That’s fair.

“I’m going to kill him. I’m going to take the gun he thinks I don’t know he has taped under his mattress, and I’m going to shoot him in the penis!”

Dick bursts out laughing, but Jason has bigger problems. You found the gun?

“He’s got a gun taped under his mattress?” The perp asks, before Bruce adds “Jason, what does she know?”

“Nothing!” he yelps. “Nothing, I didn’t…” he trails off as your voice picks up again.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s some common criminal or something. His apartment’s definitely a safe house, there’s like, nothing in it and only non perishable foods. Whatever.”

“Dude, I think it’s more than whatever.” Jason agrees with the perp. You shouldn’t be with some common criminal. You shouldn’t even be with him.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now! Because he dumped me! Over text!” Your shout rings hard in Jason's ears. “Read the text to me. Read the fucking text.”

Ugh. This fucking rips. Jason would brace himself, if he had anything left to brace.

“‘I’m sorry babe. We have to end it here. It’s not you, it’s me. Hope you had fun.’” It sounded worse read aloud.

“Damn, Jay. That’s low,” Tim comments.

"'It's not you, it's me?'' Dick says incredulously. "Seriously, Little Wing?"

Shockingly, Bruce clears his throat. "Jason--"

"Nope. No. You shut the fuck up right now." Jason's anger is so quick, and blissfully distracting. "You don't get to lecture me about anything, especially this shit."

It seems like, on the line, you're matching his energy, bar for bar. “‘It’s not you, it’s me’? Is he fucking serious?”

“As a heart attack, apparently.”

You let out a small scream. Honestly, Jason didn’t know you had it in you. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking angry.”

“I can see that,” the perp says carefully. “Do you need anything?”

You seem to ignore him. “Oh my god, I am going to read this man for filth. This dumb motherfucker thinks he’s Holden Caulfield.”

Jason opens his mouth, slack-jawed, dumbfounded, as the perp lets out a sharp laugh and Dick sniggers. “Okay, yeah. Let it out, babe.”

“This dumb motherfucker watches Fight Club and thinks it doesn’t apply to him.” You’re on a roll. “This dumb motherfucker holds up any spherical object, says ‘alas, poor yorick,’ and creams his fucking pants.”

Dick and Tim are practically rolling on the floor. Jason swears he sees Bruce crack a small smile.

"This dumb motherfucker is one homoerotic experience away from a Richard Siken poem."

"I like Siken," the perp says defensively. "Come on," you sneer. "'You're in the car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you he loves you, but he loves you,'? What the fuck does that mean? He won't tell you he loves you but he does? Screw that!"

You pause, heavy breathing echoing across the line. "'He won't tell you he loves you. Why couldn't Ja--" you cut yourself off quickly. "Fuck. Fuck."

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, fingernails gripping his forearm with enough force to draw blood. He didn't realize this would upset you so much. He's done the in and out, three-month fling so many times it's hard to count. He gets close enough that the sex gets really good but not close enough that it gets messy. It's not supposed to be like this. Sure, he'd made an exception in your case, but he didn't think it would get so bad. He just couldn't help himself. You were too cute, and funny, and easy to be around. You had slid into his life like a hot knife through butter. The parts he was willing to show you, at least. Or maybe, the other parts too, he thinks, remembering your threat to shoot him with his own gun. You definitely don't have anything to do with the criminal underworld, and Jason would prefer to keep you on the surface of that. But maybe there was more than you could handle. You thought he was a common criminal, but you had stayed anyway.

And Jason's not a common criminal. Not that that's anything to take pride in, but still. He has finesse. And he's been playing by the rules enough lately that Bruce invited him back to his lair. That probably counts for something, somewhere.

And you clearly didn't mind criminals, if you were friendly enough with their perp to shower at his house and let him go through your phone. You definitely knew he was a hacker, you'd mentioned it enough times. Maybe--

"You okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck off, Jess," you snarl.

"Yes ma'am," the perp (Jess. Name acquired) says. "I'm sorry you're upset," he adds carefully.

Right. It doesn't matter what Jason learns about you now. He ended it, and the past is the past. It might take him a bit longer than usual, but he'll get over it. He hopes you do, too.

"Ahh!" You let out a shout, then go quiet. "I know. Thanks, Jess."

"You're welcome, sweetheart." The two of you stay quiet for several minutes. Jason wonders if he's going to have to endure hearing you cry over the phone.

"He doesn't seem like he was good for you," Jess offers.

"Fuck off." Beat. "I know. But why does everything have to be good for me? Why do I--ha." You let out an acidic laugh. "'You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting."

"'You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves,'" you and Jess recite together. "Point taken," Jess adds. Jason knows Mary Oliver's Wild Geese. He just didn't know you knew it, too.

A beat. "I don't think you get to make fun of him liking Shakespeare after that," Jess observes.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. I know. I'm acting like I'm not a fucking dork over here, too." Dick is looking at Jason very cautiously. So is Bruce.

"What are you going to do?" Jess asks after several beats of silence.

"I'm going to pick up a drug habit, that's what I'm going to do. Now seems like a great time to become an alcoholic."

"Don't," Jess says fiercely. "Don't even joke about that. You can't go back there."

"I know," you say softly. "I know."

Jesus. Jason didn't even know you'd had issues with addiction in the past. If he did, maybe he would have...done things a little differently. He can't even look at his family, can't meet their eyes. Not when he knows he may have inadvertently sent you over the edge. Holy shit. He feels sick with himself. How could he have missed that you were a little bit fucked up, just like he was?

Jason is suddenly grateful you didn't read his stupid text last night, when he had first sent it. Thank fuck you were with Jess right now.

As if to echo Jason's thoughts, Jess snarls "No. No way am I going to let this insensitive, fucking prick set you back. Not when you've come so far. You can't let him ruin you. He's not worth it."

Jason agrees.

"But what if..." you say quietly. "What if he could tell, and that's why he ended it. That there's something...awful inside of me."

"No!" Jess shouts. "No! How could you say that? There's nothing--"

You let out a choked sob, cutting Jess off. "Fuck, I'm sorry," you say desperately, voice cracking. "I just--" Shit. Shit. You sound so...broken, Jason wants to take you in his arms, tell you he didn't mean it, tell you he's got his own shit and then some, but you're perfect, and maybe you'd even understand some of it. Maybe you had more in common than he'd thought.

"It's okay, sweetheart." Jason hears footsteps, hopefully Jess was going to put you in his arms, like Jason wants to but can't.

"It just feels like...like I always have to try twice as hard. Like I have to keep myself under surveillance, like I have to be so careful. Because if I slip, it's...it's all over. And it makes me feel like I'm not good enough."

Jason knows what that one feels like.

"Listen to me. Listen," Jess implores you. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone slips. Recovery is not a straight line. It's okay."

"I know," you say, voice resigned. "I know."

"And you're doing so well. Two years without touching anything! Even when you lost your job, and your sister got sick. You're so strong, sweetheart."

"Thanks," you say quietly.

The two of you stay silent for several minutes. It gives Jason more than enough time to consider his next move. Should he text you an apology? Is it too late for that? Does he still want to be with you? Yeah, no shit. His hangover is proof enough that he won't be able to get you out of his mind. And it sounds like you're more alike than either of you realized.

Suddenly, Jess's computer dings with an alert, disrupting the silence. There's a shift as Jess walks over. "Oh, shit," he murmurs. "I got in."

The tension in the cave ticks up even higher. "Oracle," Bruce says evenly, "brace for an attack."

"What happened?" you ask, voice still raw.

"I got into the GCPD protected records." Jess breathes. "Fuck yes. I'm going to dox the shit out of those crooked cops and the politicians Black Mask has in his pocket."

"He's out for blood," you comment with a shaky laugh.

"That motherfucker has it coming, after what he did to my father. If I can't get at Sionis directly, I'll chip away at his stupid empire until he's left with nothing." The floorboards creak as Jess settles himself at the computer. "Are you okay?" he offers distractedly. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I need to tune out, I have to--" he trails off, as the clicks of a keyboard start coming through across the line.

"Don't worry about it," you say, but Jason thinks, worries, you might be putting on a brave face.

"Okay. Okay. I'm going to put in headphones. I'm sorry sweetheart," Jess says again, "but this is the chance I've been waiting for."

"Don't worry," you say. "I get it. Do your thing."

Jess must put in headphones with the music blasting, because they can hear it faintly through the call line. The cave is alive as Bruce barks orders at Oracle while Tim all but shoves him out of the way, flinging himself down at the keyboard and getting to work blocking Jess out.

Whatever. Jason doesn't care, if anything, he cares less than he did before. He's all for getting rid of crooked cops, any hit to Black Mask is a win in his book. He's only still here because you're still on the line.

The call is silent, save for Jess clacking away. Finally, Jess' phone picks up your voice again.

"Fuck. Fuck. I can't fucking do this. I need a drink. I need a fucking drink," you mutter.

Jason rises to his feet, just as Dick says "I think you gotta go, Jaybird."

He knows that. His feet are already leading him towards his motorcycle. But where--?

"I've got a location," Tim whispers. Jason turns to him eagerly, but he's not even looking at him. He's looking at Bruce.

Jason's seething. If that asshole thinks he's going to beg and plead for this--

"Go ahead, Jay," Bruce says gently, seemingly without thinking twice. "We can handle him from here."

Gratitude flooding through him, Jason turns on his heel and moves. He's on his bike in what feels like seconds, speeding towards the location Tim had sent into the bike's GPS.

He just hopes he makes it to you before you're too far gone.

#jason todd x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #bruce wayne #cw: addiction #tw: addiction #kira writes #batfam #batman #jason todd imagine

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babygirlwritessmut · 2 months ago

Text

♡︎ part3. first impression

・❥・pairing: vi (arcane) x fem!reader

・❥・ summary: first day university was almost a fail. the tension between you and Vi picked up the pace, for how long can you handle it?

・❥・ genre: smut + grumpy x sunshine

・❥・ word count: 2.3k

✎ warnings: 18+, masturbation, dom!vi, swearing, teasing, bullying

MINORS DNI!

RIDE ON ME masterlist

the next morning, you were getting ready to go to the university. you put on a beautiful black skirt and thin black tights, then chose your favorite white shirt, which beautifully accentuated your curves. you packed everything you needed into your bag and took one last look in the mirror. elegant but also refined. first impressions are always important, and you wanted to show off your knowledge and the fact that you’re not boring - "I hope my outfit hints at that."

all morning, you tried to distract yourself from thoughts of Vi, of her pink hair and strong physique. you weren't ready to face her after last night's... conversation, so you got up earlier than planned and hoped she would still be asleep when you left. and that's exactly how it turned out.

on your way to the university, you mentally reviewed everything you knew, thinking that even answering one question from the lecturer would make a mark on the first day. since you didn't get a chance to have breakfast at your place, you stopped by a café near the campus, where some students were already chatting about professors and schedules. after ordering a coffee and a chocolate croissant, you took a seat by the window. the pace of the new city amazed you, back in your quiet town, there were never so many people out and about, hurrying to work or stuck in traffic in the early hours. it was surprising and motivating. the quiet buzz of the café brought you back to thoughts about studying and the first day, but something unpleasant interrupted your enjoyable breakfast - a familiar, irritating voice.

“yeah, that was seriously hot, I think she's in love with me!” - it was Kate with her friends. "can I have one moment of peace?"

“yeah, she's so hot, this time she'll definitely ask me out on a date,” - you couldn't help but snort with laughter, watching her telling her friends these silly stories.

"wait, why is everyone suddenly quiet? and why is everyone looking at me?"

“do you have a problem, or is your croissant cracking jokes?” - Kate started walking towards you with her entourage. she was very elegantly dressed, - "I think her shoes were from a very expensive brand, just like her bag and a dress... she has a taste."

“um, no, no problem, it's just that the croissant is really funny,” — you tried to defuse the situation with a joke.

“are you slow or something, newbie?” - she rolled her eyes at you – “they let anyone into the public programs these days, and now I have to walk alongside them,” - Kate turned back to her friends to check if they were laughing at her "joke."

"anyone? did she just imply that I'm poor or what? no, I'm not letting this slide."

“yes, the public program. for your information, they accept not only the poor, 'with whom you have to walk alongside,' but also those who passes the exams successfully, bitch. if you spent less time thinking about whether certain someone would ask you out after they kick you out of their place without a hint of the phone call you so desperately wanted, and more time studying, maybe you'd get it,” - I think I'm saying too much.

Kate let out a nervous laugh - "what are you even talking about, newbie?" - she gave you a once-over, wondering if you had guessed about Vi’s reaction or if you knew something.

seeing the tension in Kate's eyes, you decided to add quietly but still loud enough for people around to hear - "calling a partner in bed 'daddy' is a bit weird, maybe you should consult a... specialist?" - everyone in the café gasped.

"looks like I crossed the line, I shouldn't have done that, why am I acting like a jealous bitch?"

you cringed slightly at your own words, "I have no right to comment on someone else's private life, especially after eavesdropping without having one of my own."

“look, I'm sorry, I…” - you tried to say, but Kate cut you off with her loud voice.

“so, you’re the new roommate of Vi? I was wondering when we'd meet. listen to me carefully, newbie, you don't know anything about me or my relationship with Vi. why don't you just shut up and go back to whatever cave you crawled out of,” - Kate was visibly upset, and you could feel the eyes of everyone in the café on you. it was so quiet that even the coffee machine seemed to have stopped.

Kate stepped closer to you and whispered so only you could hear – “do you think I won't get you kicked out of there too?”

with a smile, she left the café while everyone else was still staring at you. "not the first impression I planned."

after that total breakfast failure, you could only hope the rumors wouldn't make it to the campus. you worried that people might think you're some creep who eavesdrops on other people's private sex life. but in a way, it was true…

the first classes went by normally. yes, you caught a few glances, but that might just be curiosity about a new face. during the third and final class, you even managed to make some friends among your classmates. they were just as you imagined - smart, fun, and interesting. everything was going great, until one of your new acquaintances asked you a tricky question while saying goodbye.

“hey, were you the one who confronted Kate this morning?” - a tall guy from your group asked.

“I wouldn't say I confronted her, I just said a bit too much,” - you said, looking clearly embarrassed as you stared at the ground.

“look, she kind of had it coming. but keep in mind that she has this rich-girl complex, so don’t be surprised if she starts spreading nasty rumors about you tomorrow. Kate’s the type who still cares about class distinctions and other nonsense. her rich parents basically founded the biggest law firm in the city, and that's where she’s aiming. I think she’s just under a lot of pressure, and that’s why she acts like a total bitch," - shared your classmate.

hearing this, you felt even worse - "I had no right to judge or comment on anything, but she's no saint either. I guess I should apologize, even if it makes things worse."

“thanks for letting me know. happy first day, everyone! I’ll be heading home now," - you said with relief, exhausted by the day’s events, wanting nothing more than to lie down on your bed and close your eyes, even if just for five minutes. the thought that your roommate might be home made your heart race.

“yeah, but don’t forget about the party tonight to kick off the school year. we’re expecting you, no excuses! we’ll send you the details,” - your new friends called after you.

on your way home, you wondered whether you should go to the club, your fatigue was clouding your judgment, but it was a chance to escape the house for the evening and strengthen new friendships. maybe even make some real friends?

“I can’t say no, I have to go, it’s my celebration too. I deserve to have fun,” — you mumbled to yourself as you walked home.

half an hour later, after a slow walk, you finally made it home.

the thought of facing Vi after your flirtatious exchange yesterday was unbearable. you wanted to see her, but the way your body reacted whenever you thought about her words didn`t add confidence. there had always been little sexual tension in your life, to put it mildly. your past partners never made you feel enough emotions to sustain a long-term relationship. it was always the same: meeting, a few dates, sex, a communication that would fizzle out after a few months - that was pretty much the story of all your relationships. sad, but true.

when you got home, you saw Vi on the couch, and your body immediately tensed, but you calmed yourself to make sure she didn’t notice. "sweaty again, must have been working out," - you thought - "maybe if I pretend nothing happened, it’ll be better?"

“hi, Vi, I’m home,” - you said as calmly as possible, trying not to let your voice tremble.

she slowly turned to look at you, glanced at your outfit, and then turned back to the TV and her bag of chips. "I hope that’s not the only thing she’s eaten all day," - you thought.

“how was your day?” - you still tried to keep your tone steady.

“very interesting. I worked out, showered, and then got a message saying my roommate likes to share my sex life with strangers,” - she turned to look you straight in the eyes.

"fuck"

“sorry about that, Kate was just really rude, and I couldn’t hold back. I just really wanted to take a jab at her,” - you started to explain, not breaking eye contact with Vi.

“don’t do it again,” - "and that’s it? well, at least she’s not mad at me. I think."

you desperately wanted to change the subject, so after tossing your bag into your room, you started talking about the first thing that came to mind.

“how can you even eat that junk? I thought athletes were supposed to eat healthy,” - you said, pointing to the bag of chips with a slight smile.

“want me to eat you instead, cupcake?” - she said with a grin, seemingly teasing you on purpose.

your body reacted instantly to that, a light vibration running through your stomach, bringing vivid images to your mind: "you on your bed, your favorite shirt crumpled and unbuttoned so that your chest is completely exposed, your skirt lifted, and your tights torn between your legs. Vi’s face at the level of your most intimate place, her fingers gently trailing along your inner thigh as if she hadn’t just thrown you on the bed and literally ripped your clothes off. "cupcake, you are very attractive now." she pulls your black panties aside with her fingers and speaks so close to your wetness that you feel the vibration - "I guess now we'll see if you'll moan sweetly for me"

you suddenly felt yourself getting wet. unable to take her comments anymore, you turned and went to the room.

the only option to calm your nerves is to take a shower. you wanted her so badly that you hated the feeling - “why can't we just talk? no, I can. she is the one making comments that confuse people. now I'm definitely going to the party, I can't be here today."

throwing your clothes on the floor, you went into the shower, hot water and your favorite shower gel that you brought from home - perfect. when your hands started soaping your body, you felt that you were still tense. your nipples were hard and the bottom of your stomach was very sore. after a second's pause, you decided that it is better to relieve this tension.

after getting out of the shower, you headed towards your bed. slipping under the warm and soft blanket completely naked, your hands began to explore your body. for a long time you have satisfied your needs on your own, sometimes even after having sex with your partners. your body needed special attention, time, touches, words... unfortunately, you rarely got it.

your hand began to stimulate the nipple, squeezing it a little. a wave of pleasure immediately ran through your body. your eyes were closed, you concentrated on the sensations. after a minute, previous images started to return to your head. "want me to eat you instead, cupcake?"

“yes” - a soft moan escaped from you. your other hand went down to your wetness. you started running your fingers and feeling how much you were really turned on. the pad of your middle finger began massaging your clit and another moan escaped you. at this point you didn't care if Vi could hear you. "let her hear, she's not the only one who can tease" - with this thought you launched your middle finger inside of you. it was so pleasant that without waiting even a minute the second finger was inside you too. you fingered yourself as you picked up the pace. in your head you only heard the phrase "yes, baby, come for me". you felt that you were already getting close, after a few movements of your fingers, a wave of pleasure enveloped your body again, but already stronger and you came, letting out a moan from your lips.

a text with the address of the party appeared on your phone. you put on a dress and started looking at yourself in the mirror. a simple short black dress that highlighted your curves fits you perfectly. you styled your hair half-up, which exposed your neck. “not bad,” - you said to yourself.

as you left the room, you noticed that Vi was in the kitchen, seemingly preparing dinner. she looked at you very slowly, letting her gaze linger on the curves of your body. you chose not to show that you noticed it. putting on your shoes, you opened the door and stepped outside.

#vi arcane smut #vi #vi smut #vi fanfic #vi arcane x reader #vi arcane #vi arcane x reader smut #ride on me

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literaila · 9 months ago

Text

new pups

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru brings home a couple of additions

warnings: satoru is annoying, reader is fed up with him, tsumiki is doing something (???), megumi is tired he needs a nap

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year three

“ladies,” satoru calls, slamming the door instead of shutting it, even though you've scolded him about it for five weeks straight. “i’ve returned.”

there’s the distinct sound of someone kicking the wall—probably just satoru throwing a bag by the door.

you set down the pen you're holding, sighing at the sound.

you used to live in a peaceful house, always clean, always calm, no boys to disrupt your wonderful lifestyle.

and now you live with three kids. you probably haven't had a single moment alone since you moved in.

and yet tsumiki looks up from the table, her eyes wide and waiting, and you watch fondly--glad that they're home.

megumi rounds the corner, rubbing his eyes. his hair is a mess--complete with leaves and mud--and his face looks like it was stretched out by a car tire. but tsumiki smiles at him, not bothered by his appearance. “i’m here too," he says, walking up to the table where you're helping tsumiki with her homework, looking distastefully at the worksheets the two of you have lost track of.

you smile at him.

“hey, kid,” you say, pulling him to kiss his forehead. he tastes like sweat. “how was your class?”

he shrugs, as telling as ever, then goes to the kitchen.

satoru is next, as untouched as he was before he left, not a hair out of place, leaving a loud smacking kiss on tsumiki’s head—who loves it—and one on your cheek— which is promptly wiped away.

“did you miss us?” he asks you, leaning against your shoulder with his entire body before you push him away. his blindfold is slipping from his face, and you snap it against his skin.

so he huffs and sits at the chair next to you, blindfold off, moving it even closer. seriously, he has never learned the meaning of personal space.

“we didn’t have time,” you tell him, kicking his leg as he sits down. “we’ve been working.”

he gives tsumiki a look. “blink twice if you need help.”

she opens her eyes wide, making him laugh. her tiny fingers tap against the table, and you can tell that she's about to beg you for another break--just to go check on her room, she'll swear, or grab a glass of water.

you've only been sitting there with her for an hour, but even you're feeling a bit restless at the math and reading comprehension worksheets you'd like to never see again.

“shoo, satoru," you tell him before he can say anything else,

"we’re almost done.”

“but i just got here!”

"you're going to disturb tsumiki. she's working hard."

"i can watch," he grins at the little girl, "can't i, miki?"

tsumiki looks between the two of you, nodding her head. "he's okay," she whispers to you, sweetly, and you pretend not to notice as the two of them share a wink and a smile, plotting against you, probably.

"sit and be quiet," you point at him, turning away.

"actually... could we take a break?" you frown at her, raising your brows. "there's not much left, and i promise i'll finish it all soon!" she pleads, taking satoru's signature sweet talking, "i just want to check on something real quick."

you sigh, looking at what she's got left over, and, for how long you've been working, it's not that much (plus you could probably use a break too). "okay, but--" tsumiki is up from the table before the words are out of your mouth, her smile radiant, and she runs away before you can get another word out.

you snort as she leaves, then look to your best friend, frowning at him. "that's your fault."

"i sat down," satoru deadpans.

"i know you're teaching them to slack off when i'm not around," you tell him, moving your chair at least three feet away. just to get away from his crushing aura.

satoru does not take this hint--nor any other one--and he moves with you like it'll physically kill him to be any further apart.

"does avoiding homework and playing candy crush count as slacking off?" he asks you.

"yes."

he nods thoughtfully. "oh, then yeah."

you groan, stacking all of the papers on the table. your shoulders bump into his as you do so, his hands on your thighs, creeping as they try to scare you away.

then they're gone, and he grins mischievously.

"don't worry, megumi wanted to show you something anyway," he whispers, and then looks down the hallway, where the boy disappeared a couple of minutes ago. "megumi!" he sings.

about thirty seconds later a scrunched-up body marches into the room, wearing pajamas already, dark circles that shouldn't exist for a nine-year-old under his eyes.

seriously, what did satoru do?

you nod at the boy and he looks quizzically at satoru, entirely bored and exhausted.

"well?" satoru asks after they've been staring at each other for ten seconds straight. "aren't you going to show her?"

megumi blinks, and usually, he'd probably argue at any request satoru made, but he looks too tired. he merely gives a half-hearted eye-roll, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

and then he turns towards you, looking briefly at the light above the table, rests one of his hands upon an open one, making an indiscernible shape.

and almost before you can see them--you feel it, that unmistakable current of cursed energy, but satoru doesn't flinch, so neither do you.

then there are two puppies at megumi's feet, barking excitedly beneath him.

the two of them may be trying to give you a heart attack.

you stare for a moment--watching as megumi pats both of their heads, then looks at you, like he didn't just bring home two new pets without even asking you.

or like he's not just nine, creating creatures out of thin air.

you blink. the white one sniffs around megumi's feet, moving over to satoru to inspect him while the other black one sits by megumi, happy to remain there.

"see!" satoru exclaims after he's had enough of the silence. he looks ridiculous bending down to pet the dog sniffing at his feet, who tries to nip at him in response.

"you--" you frown, tilting your head, watching closely as they might disappear. "you made those?"

"they're shikigami," satoru tells you, "aren't they cute?"

"you just learned how to do that?"

megumi nods.

you gape for a moment more--so many curious thoughts running through your head, attempting to scare you away from your little boy and whoever he's supposed to be--but you shut them out. then smile. "wow, megumi. that--wow."

his nose ruffles at you.

"and you can summon them at will?"

megumi frowns, but satoru nods.

"and release them?"

"he figured it out pretty quick," satoru says. "honestly, i was impressed."

you stand up, ruffling his hair. "good job, buddy," you say, with obvious pride.

how many parents can say that their child created two puppies and brought them home to them?

"they can't really do much."

"i told you that they'll grow with you," satoru says, rolling his eyes. "maybe they have laser eyes."

megumi frowns at him.

"hmm," you watch them, the white one sniffing at you now. "they are cute. who could fight these little guys?" you say, cooing at the puppy, who basks in your attention. "they might shock curses into submission if nothing else."

satoru laughs, slinging an arm around your shoulder as you rise up again.

you give megumi a frown, watching his slow blinks. "you tired?"

he nods, not even bothering to deny it like he usually would.

"okay, go hang out. we'll get dinner ready."

megumi walks off, the two puppies following after him.

you brows furrow as you watch him go. "did you have to torture him to get him to summon them?"

satoru rolls his eyes. "i just talked to him until he figured it out."

"so, yes."

"actually, he didn't say much. just kind of sat by himself and thought for a bit."

"and you watched?"

satoru grins at you, nuzzling his nose into the side of your face.

"he looks like he's half dead."

he shrugs. "took a lot out of him. puppies are hard work."

he's recalling what you told him when he tried to get you all to go to the animal shelter a couple of weeks ago, you look at him pointedly. then away.

satoru grins at you, pulling his head back, then pauses. "what? you're not a dog person?"

"how much do you know about his technique?"

"not a lot," he answers, simply, "i know that he'll probably rival me for strength. when he's older."

"how are you going to teach him?"

satoru shrugs. he doesn't need to worry about any of this, you think. he doesn't need to fear a single thing.

and, really, he's always been a little too good for you. a little too strong for your soft demeanor, and easy heart.

you bite your lip, considering it. how fast will megumi grow now that he's figured out the basics of his shikigami? how much longer can you keep him here, tied down?

it only makes you wonder what satoru was like as a kid, who he might've been if he hadn't always been him.

"he's only nine," you whisper, soft, unbroken. it's not a confession or a worry. just the truth.

"you were nine."

"i was ten," you correct, appreciating satoru's strong arms against your body, his effortless hold on you.

he laughs, tilting his head at you. "i was born."

you roll your eyes, pushing him off. enough of his presence. "yeah, yeah, honored one, whatever."

he pulls you back, though, easy as ever. "it's normal," he reminds you. "he's got us. he'll be fine."

you sigh, hanging your head against his chest. "we don't know anything about his cursed technique."

satoru hums.

"we have to figure it out," you tell him like you haven't thought about it every day for the past year alone. like you'll be able to figure out anything.

"okay."

"do you think there are books on it at the library?" you ask him, thinking about yaga's lessons--which, in hindsight, you should've paid more attention to.

satoru frowns. "i'm not reading those."

"well, no one's going to tell you about it."

"you could. after you read the books," he grins, very pleased with this answer.

"you're helping because there's probably, like, twenty different ones all contradicting each other."

just the idea of the library is a tough one. who knows what information has been muddled over the years, or what you'll need to know for megumi, anyway?

no matter what, it's gonna take longer than a day to figure it out. probably a decade, at least.

"can't megumi just read them for himself?" satoru whines, shaking his head against yours at the same thought.

"satoru," you pinch his forearm.

he groans. "fine. fine. i'll talk to yaga next time i'm at the school."

"good boy."

"don't patronize me," he pouts.

"where did you learn that word?"

"i can read, you know."

"really? thought i was gonna have to teach you that too," you smile at him, pinching his rosy cheeks. he looks very pretty like this--always unchanging, unbothered.

"i was the best in my class, i'll have you know," he tells you like you weren't there to experience that same class.

"you mean laziest," you shake your head, stepping away, finally. "god knows why you turned out to be so strong."

he grins again, leaning towards you. close enough to breathe in. "it's part of my natural charm."

"great," your brows raise at him, "you and your charm can help me make dinner."

"do we have to?" he whines.

but satoru is very similar to your new puppies, in that as soon as you walk away, he follows, sniffing eagerly after you.

"so," satoru says, sitting too close to you on the couch. he yawns, body sprawled against the cushions.

you try to push his head away from your shoulder, but the effort is futile. he might as well glue it there. you wonder when he got the time to fill his brain with cement.

you sigh, and dog-ear your book, knowing that he's not going to shut up for at least ten minutes. "what?"

"i talked to yaga today."

"about the books?"

"among other things."

you flick his forehead. "did you get us in trouble again?" you ask, frowning. "i told you to stop spilling my secrets to anyone who asks--"

"it was an accident."

you shake your head, rolling your eyes at him. but your hand subconsciously wraps around his shoulders, squeezing where it can, and begins to trail through his hair.

after three years, you still haven't managed to get him to tell you anything about his conditioner. another reason why you hate him so much.

"what'd he say?" you ask, after satoru's eyes close at the feeling of your hands.

"he had an interesting idea."

"was it your idea?"

"no, not this time."

"okay..."

"well, you know how they're always running low on teachers at the school, especially now that yaga's principal?"

"uh-huh."

"and you know how we could use the help with training megumi, and that we're the best out there--"

"no, satoru."

"i didn't even say--"

"i'm not teaching."

"but you'd be so great at it," he smiles up at you, fluttering his eyelashes in an attempt to break you.

so you look away because you refuse to fall victim to his whims again.

"the missions are enough, i don't want to be responsible for anyone else but you and the kids."

"you know you do."

"i'm not doing it," you tell him, snatching your arm back to cross them across your chest.

"it's not even that big of a change," he argues, "just, like, a very extensive year-long training program for incoming teachers--"

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 3 months ago

Text

The Prince - Chapter Nine

A/N: Hello! I did not expect this chapter to be as long as it is, but there was just too much to squeeze into this one! Only one more chapter left! I want to thank you all again for your likes, comments, and reblogs! It means the world to me and I hope you stick around for more Jace fics after this one is over. Like before, please see tag list in the comments.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 5.2k Synopsis: Finally, all matters are put to bed as Jace meets with Baela, the reader meets with Rhaenyra, and Lord Blacktyde is dealt with.

Warnings: violence, blood, death

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Jace walks directly out of your chambers and heads for Baela’s. It is too early an hour to be visiting, but he cannot wait any longer. In this current situation, he needs to ensure your safety. Besides, he has put off this conversation with Baela for far too long.

He gathers his courage as he knocks on her door. To his surprise, Baela answers the door herself.

“Jace,” she says with a sigh, looking him up and down. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“I’m sorry it’s so early. I—” he pauses, taking a breath, slowing down, “Can I come in?”

She doesn't respond, but holds the door open. As he walks in, his thoughts are of you, your smile, your hand in his, and it gives him the strength to finally face her. To finally tell her the truth. When he does, she’s already looking at him with a sad smile.

“I know, you know,” she says softly.

“Baela, I'm sorry. I never meant for you to find out from anyone else but me. You're my closest friend, and--"

“I mean,” she says, walking into the room, sitting down on a couch, motioning for him to do the same. “I knew, I think even before I knew. Your feelings for her . . .” she sighs, “It’s the kind everyone wishes they’ll find.” She is still smiling, but there is a hurt behind her eyes, too. When she meets his gaze, she laughs.

“Don’t you dare pity me, Jacaerys. I’m glad that you’ve found love with Y/N. You deserve happiness.”

“So do you."

“I know,” she says with a laugh. “I see the way you look at her. I hear the way Rhaena talks about her budding relationship with Lord Corwyn. I want the same for myself.” She sighs. “I used to think I might find that with you.”

“I love you, Baela. It’s just—”

“I know,” she says, smiling gently at him. “I don't feel that way either. I love you, too, just . . ."

"Yeah," he says softly. She is quiet for a moment, studying her hands.

“If I break our betrothal, I don’t want Driftmark," she says. Jace's heart leaps once. He meets her eyes, seeing a determined glaze in them.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“King’s Landing is my home, I don’t want to leave it.”

“Baela,” he says with a smile, “I wouldn’t have you anywhere else. During the war, you were my confidant, my advisor, I need you here.”

“I know,” she says with a smirk, “I’d like to be Hand.” A grin spreads across Jace's face.

“Done.”

When Rhaenyra invites you to her quarters, a horrible dread fills your bones. You think of the only other time you were summoned by her, when Lord Blacktyde arrived. There is little doubt in your mind that this meeting has to do with him.

You think she'll probably have Barun and his ship waiting for her command, waiting to send you off to the Iron Islands, never to see this family you have grown to love again.

At your arrival, a guard leads you into the queen's chambers. The room is warm, like Jace's tends to be, a trait that must run in the family. Rhaenyra is standing over her desk, her brow furrowed as she reads the scroll in her hand.

"Your Grace," the guard says, drawing her eyes up.

"Y/N," Rhaenyra says.

"Your Grace," you say, curtseying.

"You may leave us," she says, dismissing the guard. Once the door closes behind him, she gives you a small smile.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you here."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Baela has agreed to end her betrothal to Jace," she says, making your heart leap. "I asked my son to hold off on telling you until I could speak with you myself.

"I have seen the way you look at Jace, and how he looks at you. I know there is love there," she says, a soft look on her face. "He deserves love."

"Yes," you say quietly, reflexively.

"But he also deserves a long life, an easier one than the one he has lived thus far. The arrival of Lord Blacktyde has made me reconsider my initial approval." She meets your eyes. "Tell me why you should marry my son."

"My Queen," you say, taking a deep breath to hopefully squash the growing panic within you. "I don't know why I should marry Jacaerys. I know there are more advantageous matches out there for him. I have no titles, no relationship to offer your family that you don't already possess.

"But I do know that I love your son, more than anything in this world. And I know he loves me," you say, your voice cracking with swelling emotion, "It is an honor I do not take lightly. For so long, I tried to fight my feelings, because I know I'm not good enough for him, because of my past. But your son has shown me that the love between us, the admiration and trust, it is not commonplace. It deserves to be treasured.

"I don't know why I should marry him. I probably shouldn't. But if you grant us leave, please know that I will do everything in my power to make sure he lives a long, happy life."

She studies you for a long moment. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve, waiting for some sign of her approval.

"What of Lord Blacktyde?" she asks. "If you are to reject him, he will turn his anger upon my family."

"I know," you say, dropping your head. "If it comes down to it, I would leave with him, if it meant keeping your family safe." She raises an eyebrow at you.

"That means a lot." She is quiet for another agonizing minute.

"I want to see more of Lord Blacktyde, to understand for myself the kind of man he is. Already, he has sullied his reputation after barging in here, making demands for you. Perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing to lose his allyship. He is already ostracized in the Islands." That spark of hope leaps up into your throat.

"Your Grace?"

"If you would give up your happiness, your life, for my son, if you could walk away from your feelings, I can think of no stronger quality in a wife, and queen."

Jeyne is pacing in your quarters when you arrive back. The moment she spots you, she gasps, moving to your side.

"What did the queen say?" she asks. The tears that were threatening to fall during your meeting finally spill over.

"She said yes," you say, "Baela agreed to end their betrothal."

"And Barun?" Jeyne asks, her face flushing with excitement.

"I think she'll try to make some kind of agreement with him, she's inviting him to supper tonight to feel him out. Although, its my understanding that she wouldn't care either if the relationship falls through."

"Oh, Y/N," she says, wrapping you into a bear hug. "I'm so happy for you."

"Me too," you say with a laugh, wiping at your tears.

"Have you seen Jace yet?" she asks.

"Not since last night. I'm sure he knows, but I want to see him. To celebrate with him."

"Well, you'll see him tonight."

"Barun will be there, too," you say, "I won't be able to get close to him, to even let him know."

"The prince is clever," Jeyne says, "I think he found a way around Barun."

When you slip on the dress Jace sent, you are in awe. Jeyne always made sure you had beautiful, elegant dresses, but this one was of its own caliber. The beading made it sparkle in the light. The fabric clung to you favorably, the slightly lower neckline surely Jace's idea.

You feel absolutely beautiful, and stronger somehow. Clad in your future family's color, you feel some of their bravado embracing in you.

"If your father could see you now," Jeyne says, walking back into the room, also dressed in her finest.

"What would he think?" you ask.

"That he was a damn fool," Jeyne says, wrapping her arms around you. "He wanted the Vale, wanted its legacy to pass to your husband and sons. Look at you now," she says with a smile, "You're going to be queen."

You take in a breath. In your excitement, your love for Jace had overshadowed the fear of becoming queen. It's years away, but already, you worry what the people will think of you. Jeyne seems to notice your attitude change.

"It won't happen for a long time. You'll have time to prepare," she says, "But you'll be perfect."

"Thank you," you say, "For everything."

On the walk down to the dining hall, Jeyne tells you of her morning meeting with Barun. His terms hadn't changed from five years ago. He promised aid to the Vale in exchange for your hand. Jeyne had politely told him she needed to consider, and went on her way.

"How did he appear?" you ask.

"He cannot hide his emotions. He said all the correct things, but his face and voice held only frustration."

"I will be relieved when he is long gone," you say with a sigh, stopping in front of the doors to the dining hall.

"That day is near," she says. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

The heavy oak doors open to reveal Jace and his family. He is joking with Aegon, but upon your arrival, he looks up. A smile immediately breaks across his face. He bids his brother goodbye and comes to your side. You can tell he wants to do more, but he only takes your hand and kisses it softly.

"You are beautiful," he says, warm eyes meeting yours.

"Thank you," you say. He transfers your hand to his arm and guides you into the room. "I had no idea you had such an eye for gowns."

"I don't," he says with a smile, "But this one was as easy find, once I pictured you in it." His eyes flick down to your chest. It dawns on you then, just how long it has been since you slept together. Was it really only a few days ago? It feels like longer now.

"I've missed you," you say lowly, "I--"

The heavy doors open again, this time revealing Lord Blacktyde. He stumbles almost instantly, and you realize he is already drunk. Jace must notice the way your body tenses, because he tightens his hold on your hand, just as you break away from him.

"Y/N," Jace says sternly, quiet enough for only you to hear. "He's going to find out eventually."

"Not here," you say, watching as Jeyne greets the lord. "Please," you say, glancing back to him. "For tonight, let's just pretend."

"Pretend that I'm not the happiest I've ever been?" he asks, making you smile.

"Yes. Just for this dinner. Tomorrow, we will figure out how to tell him."

"Very well," he says with a sigh. "Let me escort you to your seat, then." His mirth has vanished, and you hate that you can't celebrate this victory with him. For so long, you two have longed for this very moment.

As he guides you to your seat, you cross him and whisper, so only he hears, "I love you." He keeps his composure, but the look in his eyes conveys his response.

"Y/N," Joffrey says, sat to your right. "You look lovely tonight."

"Thank--"

"Evening, Your Highness," Barun says, startling you as he sits in the seat to your left, the one Jace was about to claim.

"Lord Blacktyde," Jace says through clenched teeth. You exchange a look, but Jace is too smart to start an argument now. Rhaenyra sits at the head of the table. Her eyes meets Jace's and she inclines her head to her left, the unoccupied chair there.

As everyone takes their seats, Jeyne, Rhaena, and Baela across from you, the younger boys further down the table, soft chatter breaks out. For the first time since you revealed yourself to her, Rhaena meets your eyes and gives you a soft smile.

"How is Morning?" you ask carefully, hoping a neutral topic might mend the gap.

"She's good," Rhaena says, "I should be able to fly with her soon, finally."

"Really?"

"Dragons grow quickly," she says with a shrug. "You should . . . come see her soon." A strange expression passes over her face.

"I'd like that," you say, with a smile. She cuts into her food, and you assume she's done speaking to you, until she looks back up once more.

"Red suits you," she says. It's as much acceptance as you'll get from her, but it means the world.

"Thank you."

"So," Joffrey says, pulling your attention to him. "Remember in the library, when you swore nothing had changed with you and my brother?"

"Yes," you say, glancing up the table to Jace. The prince meets your eyes with a smile.

"Care to make any amends to that statement?" he asks when you look back at him.

"No," you say, smirking.

"Even now, you won't trust me with your secrets?" Joffrey asks, a frown on his face.

"Today we are pretending," you say, "Ask me again tomorrow."

As the next course is served, you feel you must relieve Jeyne from entertaining Barun. Thus far, she has been one of the few to speak with him, save for a few remarks from Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"Are you eager to return to the Iron Islands, My Lord?" you ask.

"Yes," he says gruffly, his breath reeking of ale, "I can't stand the heat here."

"It's not so bad, one you get used to it," you say.

"I don't intend to. You shouldn't either."

"May I remind you, Lord Blacktyde, I have not agreed to any terms with you," Jeyne remind him.

"Yet."

"Excuse me?"

"You haven't agreed to any terms, yet," he says firmly. Jeyne doesn't break eye contact.

"Of course," she says. She glares him down as she reaches for her glass of wine. He looks away before she takes a sip.

"What is it you find so desirable about the Iron Islands?" Daemon asks, drawing your attention down the table again. For a quick moment, your eyes meet Jace. He isn't looking at you, though, because his sole focus is on Barun. His fist is clenched tightly atop the table.

"Is it the never ending damp? The sunless sky? Or are the stories true, that the Islanders fuck the creatures of the sea?" Daemon asks. The room is quiet. Barun's face grows redder by the second. But before the tension can break, one of the younger boys laughs. Whoever starts it gets the other one going, too, and soon everyone starts laughing, too. The only one who doesn't even try to fake one is Jace.

"Say what you will about our customs, your Targaryen ones are much stranger," Barun says. Your laughter dies in your throat.

"And which customs would those be?" Rhaenyra asks.

"You forget yourself," you say quietly, hoping only for Barun to hear it. He turns to glare at you, his eyes bloodshot.

"You'll do well to learn to hold your tongue," he says. "As I was saying," he continues loudly, "Such strange customs. You married your uncle after all, Your Grace." Jace's knuckles have gone white.

"That must be why you've had such trouble finding a husband," he says, turning his full, horrid attention to you.

"How is that?" you ask.

"Because you're not related to them!" he says, punching the last few words as if he's a jester.

"Lord Blacktyde."

"If only you had just been a little blonder," he chortles. "Although, that rules doesn't apply to these two." He motions to Joffrey, then to Jace. Your prince's face is white with rage.

"Need I remind you who you are dining with?" you ask. Barun rolls his eyes. He seems closer now, as he looks at you. You can smell the alcohol and see the beads of sweat at his brow. You move closer to Joffrey.

"When we get home to the Islands, this back talk will not be permitted."

"I believe my cousin already told you nothing has been decided." You reach for your win glass, casually, needing to pretend all is well.

"King's Landing," he says under his breath. "Leave it to them to teach a woman such disrespect." You exchange a glance with Jeyne, both of you knowing you learned that trait well before King's Landing.

"And what is it exactly that you find so lacking in King's Landing, My Lord?" you ask.

“People claim the Iron Islands are barbaric, but when brother argues with sister, we don’t put the burden on the whole of the realm.”

“Would you call usurping our queen’s throne ‘arguing?’” you ask, your eyes flitting to the end of the table where Jace, Rhaenyra, and Daemon all stare coolly at Barun.

“I just believe that if things had been handled more rationally, I wouldn’t have lost so many good men.”

“People were lost on all sides,” you say, your wine glass nearly shaking in your hand. Tension tightens along the table. All side conversations have ceased.

“That’s exactly what I mean,” he says to you. “You need to come to the Iron Islands. It’s not safe in King’s Landing.” He seems oblivious to the shifting mood of the dragon riders around him. Rhaenyra has a firm grip on Daemon’s arm, but the King Consort shares the same expression as Jacaerys. Barun leans in even closer, until your back is pressed into Joffrey’s arm, trying to put as much space between you as possible.

He continues, unbothered. “I mean, they couldn’t even protect their own children, how could—”

The glass in your hand shatters in your grip, jostling the rest of the table. Both Jace and Joffrey are on their feet with you, the latter of whom reaches for your hand. You pull it back, your focus solely on Barun. You aren’t alone in this, the entire family looks at him with cold-blooded anger.

“Apologize,” you say firmly. He laughs as he looks up at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Apologize,” you say. The glare he gives you is one that could kill. But before he can say anything more, he finally looks at the people around him.

“My apologies, I meant no insult,” he says with a forced smile.

“Of course,” Daemon replies, an equally vicious smile on his own lips.

You sit down, begging Jace to do so, too. His jaw is clenched so hard, you aren’t sure he’s actually breathing. You give him a look that says please, and finally he sits.

“Y/N,” Joffrey exclaims, reaching for your hand. Jutting from your palm is a large shard of glass. Blood drips between the two of you. “You need to see the maester.”

“I—”

“She’s fine,” Barun grunts, taking your hand from Joffrey. He drags the chunk of glass down your hand, lengthening the cut before pulling it out. You clench your other fist, and take in a quivering breath, but that is the only reaction you’ll give him.

“See? All better.”

“She’s bleeding,” Jace says plainly, looking at Barun in disgust.

“Haven’t you been told, boy? Girls always bleed.”

“I think I’ll escort Y/N to the maester," Jeyne says, standing quickly. You look nervously between Jace and Barun. You don't want to leave, fearful of where this anger might lead. “Y/N” Jeyne urges.

“Coming,” you say, standing up. Joffrey places his napkin in your bleeding hand softly. “Thank you.”

As you move out from between them, Barun looks as if he wants to stop you. His attention moves to the end of the table, and whatever he finds on Jace’s face stops him. As Jeyne leads you out of the room, you look back once, unsettled by what has happened, and usure of what is to come.

The maester has just finished stitching your hand when Jace walks into the room, Rhaenyra and Daemn following close behind. He doesn’t seem to care that Jeyne, his parents, and Maester Orwyle are there. The moment he is in front of you, he grabs your face and kisses you.

“I’m fine,” you say when he pulls away. He doesn’t respond, just takes your bandaged hand in his. He studies it for a moment, then kisses the back of your hand.

“Jace,” you say, looking up to meet his eyes. His hard exterior drops then, and he sits down next to you.

"How is your hand?" he asks.

"The maester says I'm lucky," you say, "I could have lost my grip if it had been deeper. He says it will only leave a scar." Jace looks livid.

“Did anything else happen after dinner?” you ask, hoping to change the subject as Jace’s hand holds your uninjured one.

“No, Barun shut up once you left," Daemon says.

“He’s revolting,” Jace says, giving your hand a squeeze.

“He is,” Jeyne says, joining your small group. “And I’m afraid he’ll only get worse, when Y/N rejects him.”

“He’s one man,” Jace say firmly. His thumb traces over your skin, both to soothe you and to remind himself that you’re there. “He is disgusting, but he is not invincible. We’ll arrange to tell him in a group and then send him back to the Iron Islands.”

“And if he threatens the Vale?” Rhaenyra asks. "Or dares to threaten us?"

“Then I will fly there myself and defend my future wife’s home,” he says proudly. "And ours." You meet his eyes and give him a gentle smile.

"We will meet with him tomorrow morning," Rhaenyra says. "Tell him firmly that Y/N rejects his suit, and that if he leaves willingly, the Iron Islands will be rewarded. Hopefully, that will be enough."

The plan is set. The next day, Barun will be informed by Jeyne, in front of Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Jacaerys, and a slew of Kingsguard, that she rejects his suit. It is Jeyne’s idea that you stay out of sight, and you don't fight her on it. Barun is possessive. If you were there, you aren’t sure what he would do.

But the waiting is agony. When the time comes for them to go down to the throne room, you are confined to your chambers. You can’t help but pace, worrying what might be happening.

It’s an hour before a knock comes from your door. Eagerly, you run towards it and whip it open, having dismissed your lady’s maid half an hour earlier, because her worrying was just as bad as yours.

Panic surges through you, though, as you open the door and find not Jace or Jeyne, but Barun. He stands outside your door, a menacing look on his face, his nostrils flared. On the ground next to him, is the guard assigned to your chambers.

“Lor-Lord Blacktyde,” you stutter, backing up as he presses into your room.

“Now you’ll see me,” he says. His face is red, his tread heavy. He radiates an anger so great you haven't seen before.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.

“Why not? Expecting whatever lousy lordling you’ve been seeing behind my back?” he asks, still stalking towards you. Step for step, you back up, too.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he yells as your back hits the post of your bed. Quickly, you jump aside, putting some more distance between you.

“You forget yourself, My Lord,” you say shakily.

“I forget myself?” he asks with a laugh. “You were betrothed to me, but coming here made you forget your oath.”

“You married another,” you say, “How was I to know you’d kill her and come crawling back for me?” Anger flares in his eyes as he moves towards you. His hands reach for your arms, but you step back just in time. Barun catches his knee on the edge of a sofa, growling at the pain.

“This behavior will not be acceptable when I bring you to the Islands. You will be my wife and you will obey me."

“I’m not leaving with you," you say icily.

“The hell you aren’t."

“Let me remind you, that Prince Jacaerys promised war upon your doorstep, should you put up any fuss at my refusal.”

“The prince,” he says with a scoff.

“Should you comply, he will see that the Iron Islands are rewarded,” you say. Barun is silent for a long moment, considering. You think his anger might have abated, but when he looks up again, there is no life behind his eyes. They are dark like you know him to be, and you truly fear for your life then.

“The prince,” he says again. “The prince.”

“My lord, I really think you should leave now,” you say, moving towards your door slowly. As you take a few steps, Barun lets out a huff, his eyes locked on your movements. You stay still, waiting for your opportunity to react, when a pounding comes from the door.

“Y/N!”

“Jace!” you call back, immediate relief seeping through you at his voice. There might be more commotion in the hallway, but you can’t decipher any of it but his voice.

“You whore,” Barun mutters, drawing your attention back to him. “You fucking whore!”

“Please, let’s just end this peacefully,” you say, again stepping towards the door.

“The prince is going to save you?” Barun asks with a laugh. “Not only are you a whore, you’re stupid, too. He’s not getting close to you. And if he does, I’ll rip—” While he was rambling, you positioned yourself enough that while he is distracted, you shove an end table at him, catching him in the stomach. He hunches over as you run for the door.

The lock won’t turn, your hands are shaking so badly. You hear Barun approaching, and as you finally throw open the door, Barun’s hands grab your arms, pulling you back.

“Not so fast,” he mutters. You fall to your knees, trying to break away from him, but his grip only tightens, this time in your hair, as he drags you across the room. Jace runs in with Joffrey in tow.

“Let her go, Blacktyde!” Joffrey yells, his face paling when he sees you. Barun stops moving and lets go of your hair when he sees them.

“Oh, Y/N, look who it is,” he says. In response, you kick his leg, knocking him to his knees. You make to move from him, but he grabs your ankle in the last second. Jace and Joffrey run at him, pulling him back, but not before you get a kick to his face.

Barun punches Joffrey hard, knocking him against the far wall. As Jace continues to hit him, taking his fair share of punches, you struggle to stand up. As you do, you see Barun reach for the knife at his side.

“No!” you scream, running towards them. You grab the back of Barun’s shirt, pulling him back as hard as you can, until the knife falls from his hand.

“Stupid bitch!” he bellows, turning around quickly, his hand outstretched. Pain erupts across your face as his back-handed slap hits. For a moment, you cannot see anything. But when your vision clears, you see Barun, his hands wrapped around Jace’s neck, and in that moment, you know it’s one or the other. He is never going to stop. There is no deal to be made where he will be happy enough to let you go.

As you get to your feet, the knife on the floor glitters in the light. You take it in your hand, trying not to hear the sounds of Jace’s struggle, Joffrey's grunts of pain as he tries to stand. All your focus is on the move Jace taught you, so many months back, on the sparring grounds. The knife is much shorter than the sword you had practiced on, but the movement is the same. Your aim is the same.

Centering yourself, you get a tight grip on the knife. It is Jace or Barun, you remind yourself. Jace or Barun.

You lunge.

For a moment, looking at the knife wedged into Barun’s lower back, you think you’ve must have missed, angled incorrectly. But then, red starts to seep across his back. You step back as Barun drops Jace, who gasps for breath on the floor. Barun looks back at you, shock and betrayal etched on his face.

“You cun—” he coughs, dropping to his knees. He reaches around for the knife, but he can’t reach. Blood begins to pool from his mouth and it’s clear his strength is fading rapidly. While you still have the sense to do so, you move to Jace’s side, helping him sit up. Red marks mar his neck, but he is alive. You wrap an arm around him, and he does the same, both of you watching as Barun takes his final breaths.

For a moment, you just sit there in silent horror, watching the life fade from his eyes. The blood quickly pools around him, at the same time that your breathing quickens. Your adrenaline has cooled quickly. Tears now fall from your face.

Jace notices immediately, tucking you into his arms. He shushes you quietly as Joffrey comes to your side. He quietly checks in with him, noticing the blood dripping from his nose.

“You had to, Y/N,” Joffrey says quietly. The fact only makes your tears come more violently.

"He's right," Jace says, "You had to. He would have killed all of us.”

That night, you stay in Jace’s room. Neither of you want to leave each other’s side. Besides, your room is covered in Barun’s blood.

Jace leaves you alone only long enough to speak with his mother, but even that time isn't long. He is back minutes later, and the look of relief when he sees you again is unmistakable.

Jace holds you tightly when the two of you get into bed. Your arms wrap around him the same, but sleep avails you. Every time you close your eyes, you see Barun’s black ones. Every shift of the castle sounds like his pounding fist. Too often, you look up at Jace, the bruising on his neck, making sure he’s real, that he’s still there. Each time you do, he is already looking at you, too.

“Y/N,” he says softly, brushing your hair back with a gentle hand. “We need to get some sleep.”

“I know,” you say, snuggling closer to his chest. For a while, you are both silent.

“You saved my life, you know,” he says, whisper soft.

“Jace.”

“You did,” he says, the intensity in his voice bringing your eyes to his. “I can never repay yo—”

“Oh shut up,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “I told you, you saved me first, when you promised I could come here. And every moment after. Don’t forget you came to my rescue.”

“Y/N,” he says, hand on your chin, “I’m trying to say thank you.”

“Oh,” you say, smiling gently. “I’d do it again if I had to, for you.”

“I pray you never do."

“I love you, Jace,” you say, He smiles as he brings your lips to his.

“I love you, Y/N.”

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