#and just blissfully unaware been alone in my little bubble

[g0thsoojin]

🖤

[sinsirellaxx]

The Sallow-Cupid

Ominis x Reader

Requested on AO3 :

i absolutely have this idea that i cannot write due to how busy med school is! Pining Ominis Gaunt and pining HARD, Ominis POV

Became friends with MC bc of the twins

Slytherin!MC

standard slice of life

Anne isnt cursed and in hogwarts, Seb is best wingman

F!MC or GN!MC thinks Ominis is "pretty" but is too busy with ancient magic stuff

None of MC's friends know about the Ancient Magic

MC's blissfully unaware of Ominis' feelings, twins have sworn secrecy or they have a suspicion

Preferably spicy, but I'm already asking for a lot, fluff or nsfw, ill be happy

MC's a pureblood (i just want a happy fic, that's all 🥺, so many fics ive consumed have too much angst, it makes my heart hurt for them)

MC ACTUALLY goes to classes 🙄

tall order, but please? 🥺

-

Ominis leaned back against the tree he was sitting under, closing his eyes as he closely listened to his surroundings. His shoulders relaxed as the sound of the birds and the rustling of the leaves tuned out the voices in his head – life could be so serene. Moving his fingers, they played with the little box with containing the necklace that he had picked out for y/n’s birthday – well, Anne had helped him pick it out. His pointer finger carefully traced the curve of the bow decorating the neatly packaged box – again, thanks to Anne – as he tried to imagine what he would say while giving her his gift. Y/N’s birthday had long passed but he did not have the time to give her his present as he wanted the whole process to be more intimate, which was impossible nowadays, seeing as the twins never left the duo alone – and to add to that, Y/N was rarely around. She had always been secretive, disappearing from time to time, for hours on end – sometimes even for a few days. They never asked, he never asked. He wanted to – but he could not bring himself to do so, in fear of being rejected. Although Ominis couldn’t imagine Y/N reacting in any way rude or distant – she was just too sweet for that.

Anyways, Ominis still had the beautiful bracelet in the pocket of his robe, the bow probably already deformed from all the times he had played with it nervously. Just like he was doing now. The calm look on his face had been replaced with a small frown, as he thought back to breakfast. Y/N had not been there –again. The blonde boy worried about his friend – she had started skipping more and more meals and he could hear Anne and Sebastian whispering about the dark circles under Y/N’s beautiful eyes. (He’s convinced that everything about her is beautiful – even if he’d never physically see.) The peaceful bubble that the blonde boy was in quickly dissipated as the loud twins approached him.

“Yo, Ominis!” Sebastian shouted, as he walked closer with his sister in tow. “What are you doing here all by yourself?”

Ominis sighed as he was forcefully ripped out of his thoughts, trying to prepare himself for the sometimes-overbearing energy of his favorite twins.

“What are you frowning at, Gaunt.” The brunette male teased as he kicked the blonde’s foot slightly, before letting himself fall on the spot right next to his best friend.

“You.” Ominis grunted, his hand giving the little box in his pocket one last touch before pushing Sebastian away with said hand. Sebastian snickered at his easily provoked friend, earning a glare from his sister.

“Leave him alone, Seb. Ominis is probably worried about Y/N, you know that.”

The blind boy wanted to object but decided against it – the Sallows are his closest friends, they obviously knew of his crush, which definitely wasn’t just a crush anymore.

Sebastian rolled his eyes as he bumped shoulders with his friend. “I’m sure she is alright. She always is.” The brunette tried to reassure him, knowing that it was more than just worry that the blonde felt – he missed her. Sebastian’s shoulders slumped as he noticed the way Ominis sighed – however, his frown immediately morphed into a mischievous smirk as he thought of what he heard yesterday at breakfast.

“You know what I heard?”

“What is it, Sebastian?” Ominis grit out, not having the energy to deal with the less pleasant twin.

“Well, I heard Y/N say something very interesting – but you seem a bit annoyed, so I’ll just shut up.” Sebastian sighed as he moved to lay down on the grass, his arms behind his head serving as a makeshift pillow. At this the blonde’s ears perked up, straightening his back as he turned his head towards Sebastian’s voice, “What did you hear?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my dear friend.” Sebastian snickered as he enjoyed seeing his friend flustered. “I don’t know Ominis … you hurt my feelings with the frown and all you know –“ Sebastian yelped as his sister suddenly threw her heavy bag on his stomach. “Stop teasing and start spilling, Seb! Merlin, you are insufferable!”

Ominis thanked Anne silently as he bit back a grin – he could always count on her.

“What the heck, Anne – that hurt!” The brunette whined as he scrambled to sit upright, swallowing thickly at the glare his twin threw his way. “Alright, alright!” He raised his hands in defeat. “I heard Y/N talking to Poppy during breakfast yesterday and she dreamily talked about a specific Slytherin dude – she said he was beautiful.” Sebastian wiggled his eyebrows at his sister as he finished, expecting his pale friend’s face to turn red – however, he was met with a crestfallen look and a silent ‘oh’.

“W-What’s with that face?!”

Ominis was lost in thought, he had always feared that the girl he loved would fall for his best friend – it made sense: Sebastian had known her first. Before Ominis could lose himself completely in his dark thoughts a snipping sound got him out of it. “No, no, no, mate. She meant you! Honestly – for someone this smart, you sure are dumb sometimes.” The brunette groaned baffled by his friend’s naivety.

“How do you know she meant me – how can you be this sure?”

Before Sebastian could retort Anne interrupted, rolling her eyes at the annoying situation. She has had to watch two of her closest friends pine after each other for months now, both doubting themselves and it was getting annoying. “Ominis – well to hell with it – trust me, she likes you. I told her – no, I promised her I wouldn’t tell anyone, but I honestly cannot watch this anymore. She told me that you are the most beautiful person she has ever met – inside and out.” The brunette girl finished with a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the secret leaving her at once. “Gosh, this feels great.” She closed her eyes as she leaned back on her arms.

“Oh.” Omini whispered, his fingers twitching in excitement – his right hand immediately flying to the small box in his robe.

“W-What’s that Ominis? Is that – is that the necklace?!” Anne shrieked. “You still haven’t given it to her?! Oh, for merlin’s sake – I swear you boys are so helpless.”

“What necklace?” Sebastian questioned as he raised his brow at his sister. Anne, however, ignored her twin completely as she stood up to stand in front of her blonde friend, her eyebrows set in a deep frown. “You’ve got to talk to her Ominis and give her that bloody necklace!”

“Guys, what necklace?” Sebastian tried again, whining as he got ignored once again.

“You’re right, Anne. I should talk to her – thank you. I needed this.” Ominis smiled slightly at his friend, slowly standing up from his spot on the grass.

“I need to find her.” Whipping out his wand, Ominis started walking towards the building – he had a few spots in mind. As he walked, he felt the eyes of his friends glued to his back, hearing Anne sighing softly.

After an hour of looking for Y/N, Ominis gave up and slumped against the wall in the undercroft – it had been the last place on his list and yet again: no Y/N. Sliding down the wall he combed through his hair with his pale long fingers. The more time passed, the more insecure he got.

“Ominis, what are you doing here all by yourself?”

Said boy tensed up at the sound of her voice and if not for the footsteps he would have thought that his mind played tricks on him. He could hear the soft smile as she uttered those words – how he wished he could see the way the corners of her lips curved upwards. With a sudden sense of confidence, he quickly replied with a, “I’ve been looking for you.” Standing up, he slowly walked towards the girl he felt so strongly for, easily towering over her smaller frame.

“O-Oh, is something wrong? I’m sorry I haven’t been around a lot.” Y/N stammered quickly, Ominis noticed a slight tremble in her voice. He smiled softly, hoping that it would ease her nerves. “Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry. I just wished to speak to you.” He reached out his left hand waiting for her to put her smaller one in his palm. A second later, he felt her warm hand in his and squeezed it slightly with gratitude. He’d feel much more comfortable confessing while holding her hand – that way he could read her reactions better.

“There is something I’ve been wanting to give you.” His right hand reached into his pocket as he slowly pulled it out. “I got this for your birthday, but I wanted to give it to you in private.” He trailed off, needing a small break to gather every ounce of confidence that hid in his body. Now it was Y/N’s turn to squeeze his hand softly, telling him that it was fine to continue.

“I wanted to give it you in private, because I wanted to tell you that I like you. No, I think I love you, Y/N. I have for a while now, actually.“

He heard a soft gasp, his chest tightening at the silence that followed. He had never been so desperate to see – to analyze even the tiniest of movements on someone’s face. His heartbeat quickened as he waited, the only thing keeping him sane was the feeling of her now clammy hand in his.

“Ominis, I – I think I love you too.” Y/N finally spoke, sounding relieved as she immediately rushed to hug the tall male. Ominis immediately relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her, the smell of her shampoo calming his poor heart.

“I never would have thought you’d feel this way about me – I’m so happy.” The girl squealed into his chest; her voice slightly muffled from the way her face was pressed into his chest.

The Slytherin boy chuckled at the girl’s words, feeling ridiculous as he thought back to how close he had been to give up on confessing.

“Me too, my love.” He whispered as he pressed a kiss to her head, nuzzling her hair right after.

Suddenly, Y/N moved slightly back, her hands moving to his shoulders. “Now, can I have a look at my present?” She laughed giddily.

The smile never left his face as he gave her the small box, his cheeks a slight pink as he listened to her open the box.

“Ominis, it’s beautiful! Thank you so much!” She breathed as she immediately took the necklace into her hands, moving her hair to the side before putting it on. “I love it.” Y/N whispered, her hand on her necklace as she lifted her head to look at the blonde. Before Ominis could reply he felt her moist lips press against his carefully – still seemingly unsure whether it was alright for her to kiss him. Her hesitance was met with passion as Ominis wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, swallowing the soft gasp as he used the opportunity to explore her mouth with his tongue. Y/N’s hands moved to his neck as her fingers combed through the short hair there. Her soft touch causing the male to shudder, the feeling immediately shooting to his groin. Ominis pulled back – although it pained him to do so – breathing heavily as he peppered kisses onto her cheeks, her forehead, her nose and then trailing towards her neck. His kisses growing more urgent as her smell overwhelmed his senses – he could drown in her.

“Ominis …” Y/N moaned softly; her eyes closed in bliss as her hands gripped onto him for dear life. Said male briefly wondered if he should stop – if that was what she wanted – but that thought was quickly erased as the girl in his arms begged him for more, her hot breath fanning over his ear. His member throbbed at the silent plea but before he could do anything else the sound of the door to the undercroft opening cut through the air like a knife through butter.

Y/N quickly took a few steps back, her hands immediately flying to adjust her clothes before moving to brush through Ominis’ hair, tucking a few loose strands into their respective place.

“Oh, there you are!” Came Sebastian’s voice as he waltzed into the room, completely oblivious to the flustered couple. “It’s getting increasingly difficult to find you nowadays, Y/N.” He chuckled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Ominis cleared his throat as Y/N just laughed nervously, avoiding looking at anyone.

“Good grief, read the fucking room Sebastian.” Anne groaned as she grabbed her brother’s arm, dragging him out of the undercroft. “See you later, guys. Have fun.” She sang the last part as she forcefully pulled her confused twin out.

Ominis’ shoulders relaxed, his chest heaving slightly as he chuckled. Y/N burst out laughing as well, her eyes shining as she watched the tall male in awe. “You’re so beautiful when you laugh, Ominis.”

_

A/N:

Anyways, please leave comments – they are appreciated and make me happy! 😌 ❤️

[ur-local-demon1]

Teru and Hanako

Fun fact, I don't care for Teru (Not saying I hate/dislike him), this is an attempt on my part to like him a little more, even if it's just a bit.

I'm waiting for one of them to realise that they are two halves of the same coin.

They both have the same objective: protecting the students.

.

Teru is an exorcist, his job, his purpose is to eradicate any and all threats to humanity, and he has reasons to believe that includes Hanako. It's been shown that Teru doesn't actually care about the people he swore to protect. He, and he alone, can decide who is worth going above and beyond for, and that depends on two things: if they matter to him (his family + Aoi), or if they're useful to him/don't pose a threat (Akane, Tsuchigomori, Yashiro, etc). The reason he doesn't truly care about the students is because this position has been forced on him since he was a child. He doesn't want to be an exorcist, he wants a normal life amongst the students who are blissfully unaware of the monsters who have indirectly ruined his life. But he doesn't get to choose, or desire things, so he keeps doing his job.

This apathy, this cold, calculating and selfish behavior is a shield. Not only does he not care about the students he's protecting, he needs to not care about the supernaturals he's exorcising. Being like Kou and taking a moment to get to know supernaturals, having compassion for them, all of that would only make his job harder than it already is. He thinks that Kou is weak because he cares; his younger brother is everything he could never be. Kou's goal is also to protect the students, but because he wants to. He interacts with them, makes connections with both the living and the supernaturals, something Teru could never do.

.

Now, the job of school mystery number 7 is to be the protector of the school. He is the leader of the school mysteries and makes sure no one is going around murdering students. Much like Teru, Hanako doesn't care about the students. When he was alive, there already was a rift between Amane and the other students. He was an outcast who was being bullied, and only had his twin brother for a friend. As a ghost there is a literal rift between him and the people he is supposed to protect. He is dead, and no one can see him unless they summon him, and even then not a lot of people do that since he is one of the most famous and scariest ghost in Japanese urban legends. Even when he does manage to make a connection with two living people, he still keeps his walls up and tries his hardest not to care about them; especially since he knew Yashiro would die within a year.

Still, he starts caring about both of them despite his own beliefs and stubborn need to keep himself away from everyone. Once again, much like Teru, Hanako only cares about those who matter to him, and will go to great lengths to protect them; in his love for his friends, there is also selfishness because of this. What he doesn't care about is who he has to hurt in the process of saving his friends. He happily sent Aoi to her death knowing Yashiro might end up despising him, but it didn't matter so long as the girl he loves so much got to live a long and happy life. He willingly jeopardized his one chance at redemption by going against the rules he has been given, and his job as school protector; he did that because he ended up caring for someone.

.

Teru's visceral hate and disgust towards Hanako is very much personal. It would take a lot for someone like Teru to care so much about a supernatural, yet Hanako's behavior got under his skin. That's because, whether he knows/acknowledges that or not, Hanako reminds Teru of himself. Neither of them care about anyone but themselves and a handful of people they could count on their fingers. Despite caring about those people, they'd be damned before letting anyone get too close and pop their bubble of self loathing and misery they're constantly wallowing in. They both keep everyone at a distance, firmly believing caring makes people weak, and their solution to saving their loved ones somehow always leads to them distancing themselves even further.

Hanako physically struggled to admit he doesn't want Yashiro to die or that he likes her. He is the textbook definition of emotionally constipated, and is forever terrified of being himself near his friends because the last time he "stopped holding back", he killed his brother and himself. However, both Yashiro and Kou saw the dark, ugly, and unstable side of Hanako and decided to stick by him nonetheless.

Teru is shocked by this, because that would mean he also has a chance of having supportive friends if he just opened up, and all the years he spent isolating himself was for nothing. ("that means all the damage I got wasn't good damage, it's just damage. I have gotten nothing out of it, and all those years I was miserable was for nothing. I could've been happy this whole time [...]")

(This post is not hate to any of the characters mentioned, I'm just being blunt)

;

[divinebastet]

05

“Oh, Talebriin. Has your little raven proposed yet?”

Talebriin turned her head to stare blankly at her mother, trying to wrap her head around the sudden question.

“My raven?” She asked finally, politely confused.

“Oh, yes. Did you think I didn’t know?” Her mother gave her a smirk. “He’s a Gravenshard, he’s sure to propose. That’s what he’s here for.”

Arcturos. She had to be talking about him.

The Gravenshards were known to be striking above their station, trying to reclaim the family’s former glory. Marrying for wealth or status was not below them, not by a long shot.

“-He has.” Talebriin said, her throat tight. “At least, he expressed his intent.”

Arcturos had quietly confessed that he wanted to marry her. It wasn’t a legitimate proposal.

“Well. Take it if you like. I don’t think you’ll find anyone better.”

Talebriin heard her blood rushing in her ears, drowning out the sound of her mother’s slight against her. She took a breath, trying to shake her shock as anger bubbled up in her chest.

“I think I could find someone better, actually.”

—

Alone in her room, Talebriin waited. Toying with a knife, watching what little light there was play off the blade. Arcturos would be here any minute now, as was their usual routine.

He’d been lying from the start, no doubt about it. He probably was a laborer like he’d told her- His scarred and calloused body betrayed it anyway- But that was just incentive. Surely he wanted to get out of that miserable life, and she was the perfect ticket.

It was one thing to use her. It was another to play the part. She loved him, she couldn’t deny it.

And Talebriin had thought he loved her too.

But he always seemed so distant…

He had to just be using her. Pretending to love her for the sex, and to make damn sure she said yes when he did propose. That was all.

She tucked the knife away on a belt on her thigh, and waited.

Soon, a shadow filled her window, and Arcturos slipped into her room. Talebriin forced a smile and got to her feet, sidling up to drape her arms over his shoulders. He put a hand on her waist to draw her closer, and kissed her with a gentle smile.

Always so gentle, like he was afraid to touch her. Or maybe he hated to.

She didn’t want to draw this out. Talebriin purred wordlessly and drew him by his ragged collar over to the bed, pushing him down onto his back. He complied, seeming pleased at where this was going…

…Of course he was.

She straddled his hips, grinding slowly and kissing him deeper. She wanted to distract him. Keep him from noticing while she fumbled with the knife, she wasn’t exactly the best with weapons.

He seemed entirely unaware that she was, at best, neutral to every moment of this. Drawing her in blissfully, rough hands sidling under her shirt to run along bare skin. She wished it took more effort to keep her skin from crawling; The motion was too familiar, she had taken it as evidence of his love for too long.

Talebriin found a moment to slip the knife from its sheath. Quickly, before she had time to hesitate or he had time to realize what she was doing, she jammed the knife into his eye.

Too high. It ran through his brow instead and she dragged it down, through his eye and down his cheek. Trying to gouge deep. She aimed to stab him again but hesitated- And Arcturos had enough time to throw her off.

Both of them scrambled to their feet. Arcturos backed away, clutching his bleeding eye, one arm crossed defensively against his chest as though she might come at him again. Talebriin couldn’t bring herself to.

He looked afraid. Confused. Hurt.

“Talebriin- What-” He choked, staring at her in search of answers.

“You lied to me.” Talebriin spat. “You- You were using me. For your own fucking family’s status.”

The confusion melted from his eyes, replaced with pained understanding. He stared at her, shoulders sagging slightly- He knew damn well what he did.

He didn’t speak a word in his own defense. Just gave her a look of deep grief- No- Regret that he’d been caught. He was faking it, hoping she’d forgive him.

“Get out.” She hissed. “And if I see you again, I’ll slit your throat.”

Bowing his head, still clutching his eye, he slid past her back to the window, and disappeared.

Talebriin pressed her lips together and swallowed hard, taking a deep breath in her failing efforts to fight back her tears.

—

Arcturos muted his sobs as he stumbled down the street, trying to find a healer who would tend to him.

Of course, he’d never mentioned his family to Talebriin. Not once. He didn’t like to talk about it, and maybe deep down he knew she’d be upset about it, too. She had every right to be.

He’d hoped…Oh, he’d foolishly hoped that none of it mattered, that their love would prevail…

What a damn idiot he was.

He half-wished he’d at least managed to choke out an apology. Something, anything…Anything to spare her the anger and grief of his betrayal.

He couldn’t think of anything he could have said or done.

He had nothing but empty, half-hearted regrets.

[tchallasbabymama]

The Wedding Guest

Heyyyy, sugar babies! Things turned out a little differently than I planned, but here’s the sugar daddy Erik fic request. Just a reminder, my requests are closed right now while I work through my list of existing requests, my ongoing series, and a couple of spooky szn fics. Check out my masterlist to read my other stories, and let me know if you want to be tagged in anything.

As always, let me know what you think! Enjoy😘

Word count: 6,402

Stevie sat alone at the table and sipped champagne while she halfway paid attention to the other guests grooving to the music on the dance floor. She hated weddings. Well, she tolerated weddings, but she hated this one. Or, at least, she hated that she had to come alone. Two days earlier, she had a plus one, but then she found that plus one balls deep in his neighbor and broke up with him on the spot. Now she was single and bitter and alone as she watched her cousin marry the love of his life. Stevie was genuinely happy for Marcus and her new cousin-in-law Kelvin, but seeing them so blissfully in love was like salting an open wound. At least there was an open bar…complete with cocktails named after the grooms.

All of Stevie’s family looked like they were having the time of her life. Her parents were in their own little bubble, dancing on clouds while her little cousins tried to teach some of the older folks dances from a popular social media platform. She chuckled to herself and continued to sip champagne as she watched the adults struggle to keep up with the youngins. Every now and then, someone would stop by and engage her in conversation, but for the most part, Stevie just sat back and observed. When they’d ask why she wasn’t joining the fun, she told them she just wasn’t feeling well, and that was the truth. She felt like shit.

As much as she hated to admit it, Stevie was heartbroken. And not because she truly missed her ex’s presence or anything, but because it had happened again. She had found yet another asshole who couldn’t wait on her, and she was getting tired of repeating the same old story.

Stevie pushed those thoughts from her mind before they could bring tears to her eyes, and she focused back on the happy faces around her. Her eyes fell on her grandma dancing with a handsome stranger she had never seen before. He was tall and light on his feet despite all the bulging muscles Stevie could see from afar. His locs were braided back from his face, and he had dimples as deep as the ocean that sunk into his cheeks when he flashed his pearly whites. He seemed to be enjoying his company because that smile never left his face as he twirled Earnestine around the dancefloor. Stevie couldn’t help but grin. She hadn’t seen her grandma look that happy since her granddaddy passed two years ago.

“Where’s your date?”

Stevie sighed and turned to face her Aunt Carol. She was constantly meddling in somebody’s business.

“We broke up,” Stevie responded flatly before downing the rest of her champagne.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry to hear that,” Carol cooed. “How you holding up?”

“Well, I’m freshly single and at a wedding, so…peachy.”

“Good, good. You just keep your head up, you hear?” Carol patted her shoulder and sent her a sympathetic smile before walking away to bother someone else, completely unaware that Stevie’s response was sarcastic.

Stevie let out a sigh before checking the time on her phone. She determined she had been there long enough, but just as she got ready to push her chair back, Earnestine and the handsome stranger appeared next to her.

“Why ain’t you out there dancing, girl?” Earnestine asked while her dance partner helped her into her seat.

“You know I’m not really feeling it today, grandma.”

“Don’t let that boy spoil your fun. You should dance with Erik! Erik, meet my beautiful and single granddaughter, Stevie.”

Earnestine sent Stevie a wink, but that did absolutely nothing to quell the temporary embarrassment she felt. Stevie couldn’t believe her grandma was trying to hook her up with a stranger, but at least she had good taste.

Erik stifled a chuckle at Earnestine’s not-so-subtle matchmaking, and he turned to introduce himself to the gorgeous woman he had been staring at all night. He saw Stevie sitting by herself and had wanted to say something, but then he ran into Earnestine, and he just couldn’t pass up making her smile. He had no idea she was the lonely beauty’s grandma, but Bast must have been looking out for him that day.

“Nice to meet you, Stevie,” he crooned and threw her a smile, making Stevie’s heart nearly drop into her stomach.

He sounded like a warm summer day.

“You, too.”

“Y’all go dance!” Earnestine shooed them away. Although Stevie was reluctant, she didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to be in such a good-looking man’s arms. She took the hand he had held out for her and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, where his other arm respectfully found its way around her waist. Even though he held her gently, Stevie could feel his strength. She could also feel pronounced bumps all over his shoulder, which sparked her curiosity.

“So, uh, Miss Earnestine said something about a boy ruining today?”

Stevie sighed.

“My ex was supposed to be my plus one.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Stevie grumbled.

“Then you gotta stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Girl, I could see that lip poking out earlier all the way from over here.”

Stevie couldn’t help but chuckle, and Erik noticed an adorable little crinkle appear on her nose.

“I’m sorry, is that a smile?” he teased.

“Maybe.”

“Sounded like a laugh, too.”

Stevie’s smile spread a little wider as she rolled her eyes. He was breaking through the walls she had built up to get through the day, and she was surprised at how willing she was to let them crumble.

Aside from one last dance with Earnestine before she left, Erik didn’t leave Stevie’s side for the rest of the night. They drank champagne and danced, and eventually, Stevie forgot all about her woes. There was just something about Erik that made her feel like she was the luckiest girl on the planet. The smiles never left their faces, and as the bubbly flowed, their lips loosened, and their eyes began to wander over each other.

Erik tried his damndest to control himself, but Stevie was driving him up the walls. Even as they sat back down at her table to rest, every little thing about her struck a chord. The way her hazel eyes popped against her mahogany skin had him hypnotized, and the dress she wore, while family event appropriate, left very little to the imagination. Her hips jutted out like speedbumps, and she had an ass and thick legs to match. Her soft belly made him want to lay his head down on her, and when he got a look at her pretty pink toes, he nearly drooled.

He tore his eyes away from Stevie for just a moment and noticed that most of the wedding guests were gone, minus a few stragglers heading for the door, and the DJ seemed to be packing up. They had been lost in their own world and didn’t realize the party had ended.

“Yo, y’all gotta take this upstairs or something. Time to go!” Marcus’ brother and best man appeared, and Stevie was surprised that, for once, he actually had a good idea. She had a room in the hotel, a handsome and seemingly nice stranger, a little alcohol dampening her nerves…maybe it was time to finally give it a try.

“Shut up, Terrell!” Stevie rolled her eyes at her cousin, making Erik chuckle. Terrell flipped her off as he left to go kick out the other stragglers. As soon as he was out of earshot, Stevie turned to Erik to ask him to come to her room, but he beat her to it.

“He’s right. We could take this upstairs if you want to.”

Stevie’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. It was now or never.

“I’d love to.”

--------

Stevie looked out over San Francisco in awe. Had they gone to her measly little hotel room, they would’ve just gotten a view of the building next door, but Erik had a penthouse suite that looked out over the city.

“This view is amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful from up here,” Erik responded from the other side of the room as he browsed the bar cart. “Want something stronger than champagne?”

“No thanks. I need to keep a clear head.”

“Water?”

“Oh, no. I need to keep a little liquid courage in my system,” she chuckled nervously while Erik poured himself some Hennessy.

“I mean, if you need some courage to do this, maybe we should just-”

“No!” Stevie rushed out but quickly reeled herself back in. “I mean…no, I want to.”

“Want to what?”

“You know…”

“Nah, you gotta say it,” he corrected her and sipped from his glass as he made his way over to her by the window.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I-want-to-have-sex-with-you.”

Erik chuckled as he reached out to take her hand.

“First time with a stranger, huh?”

“Something like that,” Stevie mumbled, looking down at their intertwined fingers.

Erik cocked his head to the side and studied her body language. She had lost the ability to hold eye contact with him, and her free hand played with the hem of her dress. Stevie seemed more than nervous…she seemed inexperienced.

“You’re a virgin,” he alleged, and she responded with a nod. “Damn, for real?”

“Look, it’s not something I’m proud of, ok?” She let go of his hand and crossed her arms over her chest in embarrassment.

“It’s not something to be ashamed of, Stevie. It is what it is,” he reassured her with a shrug. Despite his nonchalant attitude, Erik was cheering on the inside. He sort of had a thing for virgins, but not in a creepy, ‘deflowering’ kind of way. He knew what he brought to the table, and he also knew that most women have horrible memories of their first time. Maybe it was a fetish, but Erik liked starting them off right. Not with bleeding and mediocrity, but with orgasms beyond their wildest dreams. He felt they deserved a better sexual debut than most women were afforded, so he loved when he came across a virgin. Most men would be worried that they’d become attached, but Erik knew how to discern between the ones looking for commitment and the ones just itching to get started. Stevie was the latter.

Stevie was surprised by his response. He seemed unbothered, which is a far cry from reactions she had received in the past.

“You’re not freaked out?”

“By you being a virgin?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah. Should I be?” He raised an eyebrow and sipped his liquor.

“No, it’s just that I’m used to guys either panicking because they think I’m gonna fall in love or making it weird and wanting to be ‘first.’”

Stevie shuddered at the thought. She really had met some trash ass niggas…

“Is that what happened with ‘that boy’?”

“He got tired of waiting,” she explained, her voice full of melancholy as she turned back to look out over the twinkling city lights.

“And what makes you think you’re ready now?”

Erik moved in closer and unraveled her arms.

“I’ve been ready for a while, but I just never felt comfortable enough to actually go through with it.”

“And you feel comfortable here?”

Stevie nodded, and Erik grinned at her, flashing his gold canines.

“So, what do you want?”

Erik grabbed Stevie’s hand again and led her over to the large sectional couch.

“I-I don’t really know.”

“Then let’s talk about it.”

Erik sat down and pulled Stevie into his lap, making her giggle.

“What have you tried before?”

“Um, I’ve been fingered once before, and my ex used to eat me out all the time.”

“Did you like it?” he asked as his thumb grazed over her hip.

“It was ok.”

Erik smirked. Granted, she may be just one of those people who doesn’t like receiving head, but he’d bet money on the fact that her ex just wasn’t too skilled in the oral department.

“Do you ever play with yourself?”

Stevie fidgeted in his lap, and her eyes blew wide at what she felt beneath her.

“Y-yes.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Sometimes I stick my fingers in, but I usually just play with my clit.” Her voice softened as she spoke, and just thinking about it made her pussy thump.

“Mm. So is there anything you want to try?” His right hand trailed up and down her exposed thigh as he licked his lips.

“I guess, um…doggy looks fun.”

“It is,” he chuckled knowingly, and Stevie suddenly felt out of her league.

“How many-”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Ok…”

“Let me ask you something, Stevie.”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

“You’re a stranger, so I shouldn’t…but yes.”

Erik smiled and grabbed her waist, pulling her in closer.

“Erik Stevens, 35, non-profit manager, born and raised in Oakland, only child, retired navy seal, MIT grad-”

“You went to MIT but run a non-profit? How can you even afford all this?”

Erik laughed and shrugged her off.

“Savings and investments. What about you?”

“Stevie Jackson, 24, born and raised in Durham, North Carolina, also an only child, I’ll have my Master’s degree in African Studies from Howard in May, and I’m a proud plant mom.”

“Nice to properly meet you, Stevie Jackson.”

“And you, Erik Stevens.”

“See? Now we’re not strangers.”

“I guess not,” Stevie giggled as he poked her in her squishy waist. “So…what now?”

“Now, I’d like to kiss you.” He caressed the side of her face, his thumb coming down to graze against her juicy red bottom lip.

Stevie nodded with a smile as he pulled her face over to him, their plush lips meeting in a tender embrace. Those sweet, shy kisses soon gave way to their passion and grew sloppy and wet. Erik’s hands ran up and down her thighs as he kissed her deeply, nearly losing himself to her intoxicating taste.

“Do you want to stay in here or move to the bedroom?”

“Bedroom.”

Without warning, Erik picked Stevie up and carried her down the hall while she giggled in his ear the whole way. He carefully dropped her on the edge of the bed and knelt on the ground, his eyes traveling down her smooth brown legs to her feet. Stevie’s breath caught in her throat when he grabbed her ankle and started unbuckling her heels. When both her feet were free from their strappy prisons, he began kneading her tired soles.

“You look…stunning. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you downstairs.”

“R-really?” she stuttered as his thumbs massaged a spot on her heel that made her body tingle.

“Mhm. And I bet you gon look even better when you come up out that dress.”

Stevie smiled and bit her bottom lip.

“I do.”

Erik kissed her ankle before trailing up to her knee. Her breath quickened the higher up he got, but he switched legs and kissed back down to her other ankle.

“Can I take it off?”

She pretended to stop and think about it.

“You first.”

Erik smirked and stood to his full height. Stevie was glued to her seat watching the strip show as he kicked off his shoes and unbuttoned his shirt. His chest came into view, and she saw the small scars she felt on his skin. They covered his torso, and the more skin he bared, the wider her eyes grew. Yes, his scars were a sight to see, but his body was simply out of this world…and he hadn’t even unbuckled his belt yet.

When his pants hit the floor, Stevie’s mouth started to water at the dick print pushing through his boxer briefs. The man was huge…and she began to regret her decision.

“Don’t let it scare you. I got you, babygirl. I promise,” Erik reassured her. He could see the apprehension written all over her face, but his words seemed to calm her anxieties.

Stevie nodded, but her eyes stayed glued to his package as he peeled down his underwear and sprung forth.

“That’s…a lot.”

Erik chuckled darkly.

“You’ll get used to it. Now…” he gestured for her to stand, and she did so on wobbly legs. His hand tipped her chin up towards him, and he kissed her again. They quickly fell into a rhythm while Erik’s hands explored Stevie’s curves, and she moaned into the kiss when he gripped her ass. He groaned at the feeling of her soft flesh and pressed his body closer to hers. She gasped when she felt his dick poke at her stomach, and she broke the kiss to look at it. Beads of precum gathered on his tip, and the pronounced veins made Stevie want to reach out and touch…so she did. She tested his weight in her hands as she felt his velvety shaft from the trimmed hairs around his base all the way to the ridge under his round mushroom head. When he felt her reaching for the head, Erik grabbed her hand in his.

“Chill, Stevie,” he warned.

“Is it sensitive there?”

“Very.”

“So when I do this-”

Erik jerked his hips back.

“Mmm, you play too much. Turn around.”

She did as she was told, and soon after, she felt the cool air tickle her back as he unzipped her dress. It fell to the floor, and Stevie heard Erik take in a sharp inhale.

“Damn, girl.”

His hands found their way back to her ass, and he played with her bouncy cheeks for a moment before reaching for her nude-colored thong and slowly unwrapping his present.

“Lean forward a little- good girl. Now, poke it out and spread them cheeks. Let me see that pussy.”

Stevie bit her lip as she felt his warm breath dusting over her dripping center.

“Fuck, ma. I was gonna get you on the bed, but this shit looks so good…you gonna let me eat this fat pussy just like this?”

“Yes,” she shuddered, and he wasted no time before he planted a kiss on her lower lips.

Erik’s large tongue came out and swiped from her clit to her taint before going back for more.

“You taste good as hell,” he grumbled with a face full of pussy.

“T-thank you.”

Stevie’s legs shook as he ate her soul right out of her body. Every flick of his tongue, every nibble, every suck drove her wild, and shortly after he began, Stevie exploded all over his face with a yell.

“I thought you didn’t like having your pussy ate,” Erik said smugly as he led Stevie to the bed and laid her down in the center.

“I didn’t think I did,” she laughed. “Guess I was wrong.”

“Nah, that other nigga was wrong for not taking care of you.”

Stevie looked away shyly. She knew he was right and kicked herself internally for accepting his mediocrity. Erik saw the sadness pass over her face and pulled her back to the present with his lips on hers.

“I’m not done eating,” he whispered, his lips barely dusting hers.

Erik kissed Stevie like he wanted to devour her as his fingers trailed down to between her legs. She moaned into his mouth as he slowly circled her clit, and let out a desperate whimper when his middle finger weaseled its way inside her. Erik kissed down her body as he worked her insides, sliding in one and eventually two more fingers before he made it all the way down.

“How does that feel?”

“Good! It feels good!” she keened.

Erik kept his eyes trained on hers, and he was pleasantly surprised that she didn’t try to look away. It was like he had trapped her in his gaze, and she had nowhere to run. While he held her hostage, he brought her to orgasm three more times before he came up for air again.

“Y-you’re really good at that,” Stevie stuttered.

“You want some more, or you wanna try something else?”

Stevie eyed his dick timidly, but took a deep breath and decided then and there that she wouldn’t let his size intimidate her.

“Something else.”

“Tell me,” Erik ordered as he kissed back up her body, dragging his scars over her sensitive skin.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“You sure?”

Stevie nodded enthusiastically, and Erik smirked at her sudden confidence. That’s what he liked to see. He got up from the bed and rummaged through his suitcase for a moment before pulling out a roll of condoms and a bottle of lube.

“Someone came prepared,” Stevie chuckled.

“Can’t be caught slippin.”

Stevie watched his every movement as he opened the condom and rolled it on. Her eyes stayed glued to his dick as he walked back over to the bed and placed the lube on the nightstand before climbing on top of her.

“Don’t focus on the size; focus on how it feels,” he mumbled as he kissed just below her ear.

“I can’t help it…it looks like it’s gonna hurt.”

Erik pulled back to look her in her piercing eyes and reassure her that everything would be fine.

“I’ve heard the stretch might be uncomfortable, but I’m gonna go slow. Plus, you’re wet as hell, and we got all this lube, so ain’t no excuse for you to be in pain.”

Stevie nodded as his fingers made their way inside her again, spreading her walls and preparing her body for him.

“Just relax, and breathe.”

Erik lined himself up with her entrance and hovered over her. He rubbed the head of his dick around her vulva and pressed it in ever so slightly. Stevie jumped when she felt the first twinge of discomfort.

“You ok?” Erik stopped.

“Y-yeah, sorry.”

“If you tense up, your body won’t be willing to let me in.”

Stevie nodded.

“Ok, try again.”

Erik pushed into Stevie as she gripped onto his shoulders.

“Fuck, this shit is tight.”

He pulled out slowly and pushed back in a little further until, eventually, her body opened up for him. He continued to press in carefully, but when he got halfway, Stevie clenched around him.

“You ok?”

“Yeah, it’s just…a lot.”

He reached for the lube and pulled out, squirting some on his dick before trying again.

“T-that’s better,” Stevie stuttered as he continued to enter her.

“Almost there, babygirl.”

Erik continued to whisper words of encouragement as she eventually took all of him to the hilt, and he stilled inside her so she could get used to his size.

“How do you feel?”

“Full.”

They laughed.

“Good. I’m gonna start moving now, ok?”

Stevie nodded and let out a moan from the pits of her stomach as Erik drew back his hips and entered her again. He did it again, and she couldn’t believe how good it felt to have him inside her. Her fingers were absolutely nothing compared to this.

Erik made love to her body that night. That whole weekend, really. After their first round, Erik asked Stevie to stay with him until she had to go back to D.C., and she happily agreed. Not only was Erik extremely skilled in the bedroom, but despite his job, the man was somehow rich. He treated Stevie to the fancy hotel spa, they ate only the finest room service, and on their last day together, he presented her with a 24k gold butterfly anklet.

“Since you said they’re your favorite,” he said as he clasped the jewelry to her right ankle, making her smile as bright as the sun.

--------

Erik Stevens…

Stevie would never forget that name. Sometimes it weaseled its way into her mind while she slept and flowed from her lips without her control. That was the one time she couldn’t distract herself enough to ignore the aching between her legs. Even a year later, she still felt phantom touches. The occasional nibble, a hand across her backside, a swipe of a thick tongue between her legs…

Sometimes his name came with a price. Like when she relived their weekend together in her dream, and her body responded in the waking world. Had she been sleeping alone, that would’ve been fine, but the man she was seeing at the time felt differently. It was all the same to her; he was a subpar replacement anyway.

Erik Stevens…

He crossed her mind every time she wore the anklet he gave her, but when she first moved to Oakland a month ago, she couldn’t get him out of her head. She knew it was his hometown, but in all those hours they spent together, she never asked him where he lived currently. They had exchanged numbers, but neither of their schedules allowed them to keep in contact. It was a disappointing end to their weekend fling, but at least they’d always have San Francisco.

When she started her new job as the volunteer coordinator at the Wakandan International Outreach Center, she was hopeful that maybe they’d run into each other. He never told her what kind of non-profit he ran, but if he still lived in Oakland, they could possibly run in similar circles or bump into each other at a conference or something.

Stevie sighed as she sat at her already messy desk and pushed those thoughts from her mind. She hated feeling like a stereotype, but damnit, she had to admit she was a little stuck on Erik Stevens- her first.

Stevie’s lamenting was cut short by chatter outside her door. The Outreach Center had been buzzing all day with the news that the prince would be coming back to town after being in Wakanda for the past two months doing who knows what. Stevie was excited to meet her boss for the first time, and she wondered what he’d be like. As a prince, she had to assume he’d be sort of stuck-up, but she hoped that since he worked with children, he’d be approachable and warm.

The hallway chatter grew louder as more people congregated near the front doors, and Stevie just had to know what all the fuss was about.

“What’s going on?” she asked as she poked her head out into the hallway.

“He’s here!” Nova, one of her volunteers, said excitedly.

“The prince?”

“Yes, and girl, let me tell you, he is so fine! It’s not easy to keep it professional with that one,” Lacy, another volunteer, added.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Stevie said. She had met King T’Challa and Princess Shuri when she started, but the prince remained a mystery. She could only imagine how handsome he had to be if he came from the same bloodline as the other Udakus. They were all drop-dead gorgeous.

“Here’s your chance!”

They looked towards the entrance, and Stevie almost shit herself. There, standing in a sea of excited children, was Erik Stevens.

Stevie couldn’t move. It was as if everything around her froze except for him. She watched him smile and high-five the kids before dapping up some of the volunteers.

“Prince N’Jadaka!” Nova called out excitedly, and he looked up towards her, sending her a wave and flashing that award-winning smile.

“Prince N’Jadaka…” Stevie repeated to herself, completely in shock.

His eyes trailed slightly to Nova’s left, and when they fell on Stevie, he felt the world stop. He took a step forward, and the crowd seemed to part just for him as he made his way over to her.

“Stevie…”

Nova and Lacy’s eyes widened.

“Y’all know each other?!” Lacy gasped, but they didn’t hear a word she said.

“Can we talk?”

“Step into my office.” Stevie gestured inside, and Erik smiled at her nameplate on the door. He shook his head in disbelief…Stevie Jackson, of all people, was their new volunteer coordinator.

When Stevie closed the door behind them, she crossed her arms and turned to face the secret prince with an eyebrow raised.

“Savings and investments, huh?”

Erik laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, about that…my bad for not telling you.”

“Is Erik even your real name?”

“My American name, yes.”

Stevie sat down at her desk and thought over what she knew about the prince. He was from Oakland, his father was a prince of Wakanda, his uncle killed his father…then that’s pretty much where the story ends.

“Look, I wouldn’t have lied-”

“I get it. You can’t just go around telling everybody who you are. I’m not mad, just…shocked.”

Erik rounded the desk and leaned up against it, tipping her chin up to him.

“I think about you all the time.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. That was one hell of a weekend.”

“And now I work for you.”

Erik sighed.

“Yeah, that does make things tricky.”

“How so?”

“I’m not supposed to do this.”

Erik bent down and left a soft kiss on Stevie’s lips.

When her eyes fluttered open, the grin on his face made her thankful that her melanin hid the blush creeping up her cheeks.

“What you smiling at?” she asked shyly.

“You. I been thinking about those lips damn near a whole year. I don’t know what you did to me, girl. Voodoo pussy having ass….”

Stevie stifled a laugh.

“Do you think about me?” he asked as he caressed the side of her face.

“All the time.”

“Busy tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Why don’t you come over to my place? I’ll cook you some Wakandan food, we can catch up…” he trailed off, but she understood where he was going with it.

“I’d like that.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

“You should probably go before people start to talk.”

Erik shrugged and planted another kiss on her willing lips.

“Let em talk.”

--------

Standing on the balcony of Erik’s luxury condo reminded Stevie of the first time they met. The view of the bay was breathtaking from up high, and she was so engrossed in it that she didn’t even hear Erik join her outside.

“Here you go,” he said as he offered her a glass of wine.

Stevie thanked him and took a sip, her face brightening in surprise.

“This is good. What is it?”

“Honey wine, a Wakandan delicacy.”

“I could drink that whole bottle if you’re not careful.”

“Girl, this shit would knock you on your ass before you even got halfway through.”

Stevie laughed and inhaled the delicious aroma of whatever Erik had simmering on the stove.

“Come on. Dinner’s ready.”

He reached his hand out and intertwined their fingers as he led her inside to the dining room table. It turned out that not only was Erik a sex god, but he had the skills of a Michelin-rated chef, too.

“How are you so good at everything?” Stevie asked as she placed her napkin down next to her empty plate.

Erik shrugged.

“Just talented, I guess.”

Stevie laughed as he got up to grab their final dish, homemade mango ice cream, for dessert. When she tasted it, she could’ve slapped him it was so good, and the moans that escaped her traveled straight to his dick.

“You keep doing all that and see what happens,” Erik warned, giving Stevie an idea.

She continued to moan around her spoon, and when she scooped up some more, she made sure to flick her tongue out and clean off her spoon seductively.

Erik didn’t even finish his ice cream. He didn’t give a fuck in that moment. All he cared about was the woman across from him driving him wild. In a flash, he threw Stevie over his shoulder, and her giggles filled the air as he carried her down the hallway. He tossed her on the bed and pulled his shirt over his head.

“You think you’re funny.”

He unbuckled his pants and let gravity do its thing.

“I know I’m funny,” Stevie teased, biting her lip as her eyes took in his naked form.

“Keep it up, and I’ll give you something to laugh about,” he warned, and Stevie’s eyes flashed with something that definitely wasn’t there the last time he saw her.

“You gonna put me in my place?”

Erik stopped and looked at her, shocked by what he was hearing.

“Damn, little Stevie done went and got all kinky and shit.”

She sat up on her knees and nodded innocently, but he could see the fire in her eyes.

“Show me what you can do, then.”

Stevie crawled towards him and immediately engulfed him in her mouth.

“Shit, girl!”

The first time she tried sucking his dick, it didn’t go so well. She was a newbie and he had a lot to work with. But this time, she gobbled that thang like it was her lifeline.

Erik’s toes curled, and his knees nearly buckled when she swallowed around him and fondled his heavy balls, but when she pulled back and swirled her tongue around the tip while sucking only on his head and stroking his shaft, he nearly lost it.

“Fuck, you about to make me nut!”

Stevie stuck her tongue out as far as it could go, and his semen hit the intended target. She swallowed his essence, and he tongued her down, searching for remnants of his saltiness with his tongue.

“Turn the fuck around,” he ordered.

The smile stayed plastered on Stevie’s face as she arched her back and wiggled her ass for him. Just as she suspected, moments later, his face was buried between her cheeks, and he brought her to the edge four times before he finally came up for air.

“Why do you keep stopping?” she whined.

Without answering, Erik sheathed himself inside her, and Stevie cried out to the heavens. Her body adjusted to his size and girth quickly, and pretty soon, he was giving her all the business.

His balls bounced against her sticky, wet clit with each thrust, and the way he reached down deep inside her made Stevie start to convulse.

“You gon cum on my fucking dick?”

“Yes!”

“Do it, then!”

He thrust harder, and tears brimmed Stevie’s eyes as she released a deluge onto Erik’s expensive bedspread. He didn’t care one bit. In fact, he wanted more.

Erik pulled out and flipped over on his back.

“Ride this dick.”

Stevie wasted no time hopping on her saddle. Over the past several months, she had found that riding was her forte…mostly because it was the only way her partners could make her cum. Thankfully, that wasn’t the case with Erik, so she could just let loose and have fun with it.

He pushed her braids out of her face as she leaned over him, hips pounding down into his. She could see the strain on his face and found it amusing, so, naturally, she went harder. She sat up on her tiptoes and allowed her breasts to bounce in his face as she rode him like a stallion.

“Stevie, fuck!”

“You like that shit?”

Erik was shocked. Was Stevie talking shit?

“Hell yeah, I do!”

“Then take this pussy.”

“Mm, fuck!” Erik slapped Stevie’s ass, and she yelped. “Oooh, you like that shit, don’t you?”

“Harder,” Stevie gritted through her teeth as she nodded vigorously, and Erik started to rain down blow after blow on her cheeks. She eventually fell to her knees and wound her hips on him. He gripped her ass tight, sure to leave a bruise, and guided her hips up and down his shaft. Just as she was about to lose herself, Erik wrapped his big strong arms around Stevie’s waist and held her close as he spread his legs. He thrust up into her with such power that her short nails dug into his shoulders and her eyes rolled back in her head.

“Erik!”

“Say it again.”

“Eriiiik!”

“Just like that, babygirl. Let me take this pussy.”

Stevie held on for dear life as he flipped them over and dropped his dick into her stomach. He’d pull all the way out before diving back in, pushing her legs back further and lifting her hips so that he could hit every angle.

“Right there! Right there, baby! Mmmm, fuck!” Stevie yelled as stars filled her eyes. He was giving her his all and sending her right into la-la land. He didn’t want to lose her completely, so he lowered to his knees and kissed her deeply, stroking her slowly. Tears sprung from Stevie’s eyes with each thrust, and the tension in her body rose to an all-time high. She could barely take it anymore.

“Erik, I-”

“I know, babygirl,” he whispered between kisses. “You gonna let it out for me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” His thumb found its way to her clit. “Now, cum for daddy.”

Stevie gasped as her orgasm rippled through her at his words. He chuckled in her ear while she spasmed below him, and when she started to come down, he nibbled on her neck, those gold slugs shining like the sun as they left their mark on her delicate skin.

Erik’s hips began to cyclone and stir her insides, pulling another deep moan out of Stevie as she climbed towards another climax.

“Fuck, girl. This pussy feels so good…you on birth control?”

Stevie nodded enthusiastically.

“IUD.”

A sinister smile spread across Erik’s face, and he licked his lips.

“Pussy bout to make me bust. Shit! You ain’t going nowhere, babygirl. I swear, you doing something to me. Fuck, I’m bout to bust!”

Stevie wrapped her legs around Erik’s waist and pulled him in close as he thrust deep, emptying himself into her warmth. Aftershocks wracked through both of their bodies as they came down from their shared high. When Erik’s breathing steadied, he kissed her again and pulled out slowly, their combined fluids oozing out after him.

“What you doing this weekend?”

“Nothing. Why?” Stevie asked with a smile.

“Ever been shopping on Rodeo Drive?”

“The Rodeo Drive? Like in Beverly Hills?”

Erik laughed.

“Yeah, that one.”

“No, I’m just now getting a job that pays well.”

“Well, I’m fixing that. We leave after work on Friday.”

The smile on Stevie’s face stretched so wide it ran out of room, and Erik’s heart fluttered. He vowed then and there that he’d do whatever it took to make Stevie happy. Trips, gifts, whatever she wanted. Hell, he’d put a ring on it if she asked him to.

Anything to see his babygirl smile.

Taglist: @maddeningmayhem, @theblulife, @motheroffae, @love-mesome-me, @toni9, @bribrisback, @impremenior, @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

[eclipsetickles]

"Lucifer's Game" -(Lucifer x Diavolo)

Hey there @ticklish-v-93! I was the one writing your Squealing Santa fic this year!! I've been playing OM since it came out, but somehow have never written a fic for it (until now lol). I really enjoyed writing this and I really hope you like it! Merry Christmas! ✨

Word count: 1863

"Come on, Lucifer, everyone else is playing! It'll be fun!"

Deep wine colored eyes twitched in annoyance staring at the demon prince that was attached to his arm. Damn… If Diavolo was asking him, he had to give in. Lucifer was convinced this man was going to make him sprout grey hairs.

The mood was decently lighthearted in the house of lamentation today and the residents ended up starting a huge game of hide and seek. Hearing of the activity through Asmo, Diavolo enthusiastically visited the dorm just to participate. That, of course, led to Lucifer's current predicament.

"Fine… I'll join in this little game, childish as it is. Under one condition." Diavolo stared expectantly but undeniably excitedly at the prideful demon, focusing on his words.

"I will be the one seeking." Lucifer stated matter of factly, giving up on trying to remove Diavolo from his arm. The aforementioned prince seemed to bubble over with excitement.

"Haha! Of course you of all people would say that. I accept your terms!" The redhead smiled brightly, in an almost angelic way. You would think Dia was originally from the celestial realm rather than Lucifer.

"Well then. I suppose you should find a place to hide. All of you." Turning to his brothers, Lucifer gave a worryingly smug look resulting in simultaneous nervous glances. Wondering why nobody was moving, Lucifer then remembered he was to turn his back to them and start counting. With a shake of his head, he leaned against the wall and began counting down from 30.

"C'mon Beel. Let's go find a spot!" Belphegor addressed his twin and turned to leave, Beelzebub following behind. Satan calmly walked out, in no particular hurry to hide. He was confident he could best his brother anyways. Levi gulped in anticipation and speedwalked away trying to appear as confident as Satan but failing miserably. Mammon didn't waste a second bolting away, with no real idea of where he would even hide. Asmo seemed to have an idea and practically leaped out of the room. Finally, Diavolo let out an excited titter and began his descent into the hallway, taking a second to look back and admire his boyfriend as he did.

Either the pressure was getting to him, or he was less familiar with the house of lamentation than he thought. He seemed to wander aimlessly looking for a decent place to hide away, coming up with nothing. He opened up a coat closet, only to come face to face with Mammon.

"EEYAH-! Oh geez. Thought you were Lucifer for a minute." Mammon breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Diavolo, grateful that he hadn't yet been caught by the looming threat that was Lucifer.

"Any chance I could join you here?" Diavolo smiled sheepishly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

"No way! This spot is reserved for the great Mammon and the great Mammon alone! Can't have anyone ruin my chances of winning. There may be a cash prize!" The avatar of greed said as he made a shooing motion with his hand, blissfully unaware that he wouldn't be paid a penny if he somehow won.

"After all, you came out of the closet. No need to go back in~!" A disembodied voice came from behind the long, draping curtains. The voice was unmistakably Asmodeus.

"Hah? How the hell do I have a better hiding spot than you? And what do you mean out of the closet? He was never in it! I've been in here the whole time!" It was clear the joke flew straight over Mammon's head. Then again, he wasn't known for being the avatar of intelligence.

"Shh! Enough chit-chat! If we keep talking like this, Lucifer will find us immediately!" Asmo stuck his head out from behind the thick curtain, giving Diavolo a "What are you standing around for?" look. Diavolo nodded and went on his way further down the corridor.

Entering the dining hall, Diavolo was greeted to the sound of faint battle music. Following the sound out of curiosity, it led him to the table. Taking a peek underneath the tablecloth, he was greeted by the sight of Levi playing on his Helltendo DS.

"Levi… What are you doing?" Diavolo questioned the violet haired man, cocking his head owlishly.

"What do you mean? Hiding, obviously! Hide and seek is a game and I intend to win." Levi gave the brief response, eyes glued to the device.

"But Levi… You do realize the volume for your game is on, right?" Diavolo raised an eyebrow, and Levi froze when he realized, causing his character to drive off the track.

Just as he was about to respond, there was a loud scream in the distance. Mammon! He must have been found.

"Levi, can I hide with you here? He's going to find me if I don't hide soon!" The demon lord begged, but Levi shook his head vigorously.

"Of course not! This is my spot! Go look in the common room" With that, Levi tugged the tablecloth from Diavolo's hand and pulled it back down. Heeding Levi's advice, Diavolo rushed to the common room.

That was likely a bad decision considering the entire room was filled with few things other than couches and chairs. Ah! Behind the couch! That has to be the perfec- Oh damn it!

Satan looked up at Diavolo in slight shock, not expecting to have him nearly slide into the rather small space.

"Lord Diavolo… Shouldn't you be hiding?" Satan asked with wide, confused eyes.

"Satan! Let me hide with you please! All the spots I've tried so far have been taken!" He whined childishly. Satan frowned deeply, offering an apologetic look.

"I would absolutely let you hide with me, but look-" he gestured to the space around him, or lack thereof. "I alone barely fit in here."

Diavolo sighed with a disappointed look.

"You're right. I understand. Thank you anyways." Turning so that Satan didn't see the increased worry in his face, Diavolo set off toward the basement to see if he had any luck there, attempting to ignore the shriek piercing the air that could belong only to Asmodeus.

Descending the creaky stairs, whispering could be heard. This had to be Beel and Belphie.

"I'm not Lucifer." Dia reassured in a hushed voice to try and locate the twins. Beel's head could be seen peeking out from underneath the stairs.

"Ah… Diavolo." Beel half greeted half informed Belphie. Said demon followed Beel's lead and looked out from behind the stairs.

"In case you were going to ask, you can't hide here. We got here first." Belphegor stated flatly, retreating back into the darkness underneath the stairs. Diavolo looked to Beelzebub who was focused on consuming an entire box of reaperfruit and yogurt protein bars he had found in the pantry. Sensing he would get nowhere, Diavolo quietly retreated back up the stairs. As expected, Levi's voice was the next to be heard. How unsettling...

There was only one more place he could think of that would be a decent hiding spot. It was an intimidating one however. It was like walking straight into the den of a hungry lion, but at this point it was his only choice. Lucifer's office.

Opening the door very slowly, Diavolo looked through the crack between the door and the wall. Empty, it seemed. With a relieved sigh, he walked in, only to flinch at the sound of Satan not too far away. Quickly he shut the door behind him.

Now where is a suitable place? Ah! The desk! He thought as he rushed under the rather large desk. Perfect size for him really. Best of all, that hiding place was all his.

A few minutes passed and there was still no sign of Lucifer. Fantastic! At this rate he was totally going to win!

At least that was what he thought before the sound of footsteps slowly making their way down the hardwood hallways could be heard. Diavolo's heart jumped into his throat as he tried his best to be as quiet as humanly possible.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door and all the air left Diavolo's body when he heard the door slooooooowly creak open. An entertained chuckle passed Lucifer's lips as he entered.

"Oh my… It seems my dear heart is hidden away from me." He began walking again, pacing agonizingly slowly.

"You keep hiding dear one, and hope I don't find you." The footsteps stopped again and were replaced with the sound of Lucifer's hand meeting the desk. Leisurely, he drummed his fingers against the top of the desk. The demon lord squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation.

"Because when I do…" Diavolo opened one eye and was startled by the sight of Lucifer's smirking face before him.

"L-Lucifer! Luci! Wait, it's not fair! I command you to- aAAAAGH!" Diavolo's words were cut off by an undignified noise when Lucifer reached under the desk and squeezed Diavolo's side.

"I found you." Lucifer said simply, voice simply dripping with smug satisfaction. He had bested the demon lord.

Diavolo had no clue what to do. Should he try to fight Lucifer off? No, no that makes no sense. He did agree to be a part of this game after all. Practically begged. Sure, he didn't know there would be a penalty, but fair is fair right?

He was brought back to reality by the near-maddening sensation of slim fingers on his ribs. Okay, maybe he did have to try to get away.

"Oh? Trying to get away?" Lucifer raised a brow with a growing smirk as the demon lord pathetically pushed at Lucifer's chest, strength drained by Lucifer's touch. Through giggles, Diavolo stared up at Lucifer with pleading puppy eyes.

"Luhuhucifer! Pleahehease!" Diavolo pleaded through a sea of giggles and a sweet smile. Every time Lucifer moved his hands, Diavolo tried to grab them, failing each time due to Lucifer's swift and agile movements.

When Lucifer's fingers reached Diavolo's knees, he instinctively tried to kick at Lucifer, gaining a surprised reaction from Lucifer.

"My, my! Resorting to violence, are we..?" Lucifer leaned in towards Dia's ear before continuing. "Shall I make it more difficult for you?"

Diavolo's eyes widened as Lucifer reached his ribs, and Diavolo's bubbly giggles became louder and filled with the occasional shriek. Not knowing what else to do, he curled into a ball to protect himself from Lucifer's playful wrath.

"Had enough?" Lucifer asked in a teasing voice, though it was clear the question was genuine. Diavolo nodded vigorously, considering that every time he tried to speak, laughter flooded out instead.

Taking notice of his response, Lucifer eased up and stopped the attack, glancing fondly down at Dia. There he was on the floor still letting little giggles escape his lips, a huge smile plastered onto his face. Oh my… Lucifer thought, feeling as if a heart shaped arrow had been shot through his chest over and over. How adorable…

Leaning down in front of him, Lucifer placed a gentle kiss on Diavolo's forehead, shaking his head softly with a content smile. Who knew a demon lord could be so… cute?

[teenwolffanclub-me]

How Drunk Are You? (Stiles Stilinski x Reader)

Summary: You and your best friend, Stiles, can’t decide who’s more drunk after a night out with the pack. It doesn’t take long for your little competition to get out of hand.

Word count: 4,752

Warnings: drunk (but consensual) sexy times

Notes: I got this idea while drunk and may have gotten a little carried away but this one really just spoke to me so here ya go 😅

———————————————————————

You tumble out of the Uber, nearly falling flat on your face before a firm hand juts out of the car to steady you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” Stiles chuckles from behind you as he steps out onto the sidewalk. “You’re way more fucked up than I thought.”

You twirl around to face him, nearly losing your balance for the second time. You furrow your brows and poke a finger into his chest harshly.

“You, sir, are wrong. I’m completely sober.” You wobble a bit in your heels, and he just rolls his eyes before slamming the car door shut and waving off your driver.

He takes only one step forward before his knees buckle, almost sending him crumpling to the ground beside you. He puts a hand on your shoulder to steady himself, breaking into a fit of giggles at his own intoxicated state. He’s trying to be the responsible one but honestly, he may be more gone than you.

You can’t help but laugh along with him as you help each other to your front door. Once there, you try turning the knob before realizing with a huff that you have to unlock it first. You let go of Stiles, who nearly loses his balance again, to rummage through your purse for the keys.

The bag suddenly seems endless as you shove receipts, sticks of gum, lip gloss, and other random shit out of the way to find your keychain. Finally, after what feels like several minutes to your drunk brain, you find them.

“Ah ha!” You call triumphantly and hold them up against your dim porch light.

“Hey. I’ll prove I’m more sober.” Stiles perks up with an idea, his caramel eyes dancing with amusement. “I bet I can unlock the door without looking.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest at the image of him doing that, and you instantly hand him the keys. You don’t think he’s actually coherent enough to succeed, but you know it’ll be entertaining to watch him try.

He waggles his eyebrows at you as he takes the keys and turns so that his back is to the door. He fumbles around blindly, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. Your breathing slows as your eyes track the movement. You swallow thickly, feeling the familiar attraction you have for your best friend—that you usually keep tightly packed away—rise to the surface.

Admittedly, you’re a horny drunk. You can’t help but flirt with everyone and anyone you encounter while out partying, including your best friends that you’d never consider sleeping with, not even while intoxicated. But Stiles was a different story.

You’d been attracted to the spaz since you met him freshman year, although it was clear nothing was going to happen due to his obsession with a certain raven haired beauty. That was a couple years ago at this point, and he’d moved on, but the two of you were much too close to act on any lingering feelings now.

You laugh again as he continually fails to unlock the door, and decide to help him out. You lean forward, your chest only an inch away from his, and wrap your fingers around his hand. He stiffens against you, but you don’t notice through your drunk haze.

You peer over his shoulder and guide the key to where it needs to be, easily unlocking the door within seconds.

“You lose.” You quip, standing up straight to smirk at him before popping the door open and skipping inside.

What you don’t see is the way Stiles stands there for several moments collecting himself. You hadn’t even done anything, he thought. You’d barely touched him and here he was, clutching his chest in an effort to slow his racing heart. He was so screwed, being alone with you right now, but he was also way too drunk to do anything about it.

He clears his throat and finally walks inside, closing and locking the door behind him. Even while completely plastered, he knows a random supernatural creature could attack at any moment. Not that a wooden door would do much to keep them out, but the action was just muscle memory at this point.

He finds you lounging on the couch, your legs dangling over the armrest. He scratches at the side of his head as his eyes trail over you, trying his best not to make his simmering lust obvious. You were easily the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and that was when you were wearing sweats.

Right now, with you laying there, your skirt riding up and your breasts peaking out from the low neckline of your crop top, he was finding it hard to control his attraction.

“It’s my turn.” You push yourself up onto your elbows and let your eyes sweep around your living room and kitchen. “I bet I can make the fries I have in my freezer without burning the whole place down.”

Stiles groans excitedly at the idea. Anything greasy sounds like the absolute best thing he could put into his stomach right now. He nods encouragingly and you sway to your feet, giggling as you almost fall once again. You take a detour and slide your heels off at the front door, sighing with content as your feet finally relax.

He follows close behind you as you prance your way into the kitchen, telling himself it’s to keep you safe but knowing it’s actually because it gives him an amazing view of your ass. You preheat the oven and pop the freezer open before crouching down to rummage through your cabinets for a pan.

Stiles wants to avert his eyes. He wants to be a respectable young man and not openly gawk at his best friend, but he can see the edge of your red lacy panties with you bending over like that. He chews on his bottom lip and watches as you search for whatever it is you’re looking for. He can’t even remember what you’re supposed to be doing with your body on display like that.

You finally find the right pan for the job and pull it out with a triumphant smile before standing upright, much to Stiles’ dismay. You place the baking sheet on the stovetop and pour out a heaping pile of fries before resealing the bag and putting them away.

You turn on your heel to face your best friend, who was still somewhat in a daze, giving him jazz hands with a big grin.

“Ta-da!” You bounce your way over to the large island in the middle of your kitchen, proud of yourself for completing the first step of your bet.

Stiles’ hooded eyes follow you, his heart racing in his chest. He honestly can’t believe how lucky he is to call you his best friend. The two of you—along with the pack of course—had gone through so much the last few years. It was a miracle any of you were still alive, although not all of you were.

It was with the realization, that life is short and that he loves the shit out of you, that he decides to throw caution to the wind. You jump up onto the island, blissfully unaware of the breakthrough he just made. He gulps, the sight of you level with him now, your mini skirt all hiked up around your thighs and your tight crop top giving him a peak of midriff almost too much to handle.

He isn’t sure if he’ll regret this in the morning, but he’s also too drunk to care. Right now, he wants you more than he’s ever wanted anything. He walks toward you slowly, his eyes trailing up and down your form as if it’s the first time he’s seeing it.

Your brows furrow at his sudden change in demeanor, the darkness swirling in his caramel eyes too hard to decipher from this distance. You watch closely as he moves forward until he’s only a foot away. He leans down, still taller than you even while you’re sitting on the counter, each of his hands bracing against the marble beside your hips.

“Stiles...?” Your voice trials off in question as you search his face.

“I bet,” He swallows down the last bit of hesitation bubbling in his throat and lets his eyes flutter down to your lips. “You won’t kiss me right now.”

Your breath catches at his words. Your eyes widen and you aren’t even sure you heard him correctly. Your mind instantly starts racing with questions. Is he just saying this because he’s drunk? Or could he possibly return the feelings you’ve been harboring for years?

To be completely honest, you don’t really care. You’ve wanted him for so long, and he looks ridiculously enticing in his red flannel and black bomber jacket. It was the alcohol that made you do it, sure, but it was more so the fact that you’ve wanted to kiss this man since you met him.

You cup the sides of his face and jerk him down to you, closing those last few inches. Your lips wrestle with his and he stiffens against you as if surprised, despite being the one to initiate this. The kiss isn’t pretty. It’s messy and heated. A battle of tongues and teeth as both of you fight for dominance.

One of his hands moves to your exposed knee, the other gripping your waist firmly. He lets out a broken moan against you, his head tilting to give him more room to devour you. Your hands tangle in his hair and you arch into him as his long fingers tentatively slide beneath the edge of your crop top.

Internally, he’s freaking the fuck out. He didn’t think you’d actually do it. He fully expected you to laugh the bet off and move on, but here you are. Kissing the shit out of him. He knows that he will never be able to come back from this moment. No matter what happens after this, he has to have you.

You pull away first, breathless, not from the kiss itself but because it’s him. It’s Stiles. Your best friend. You’re honestly a little surprised that he’s such a good kisser. Sure, he’s had girlfriends over the years, but damn.

The two of you sit painfully still for several moments. Stiles is afraid that if he moves even an inch, he’ll break whatever spell had come over you. He leans forward minutely, desperately wanting to kiss you again, but you press a hand to his chest and practically shove him away.

His eyes widen as he stumbles back, nearly falling to the floor, panic tightening in his chest. Did he fuck up? You regret it already? Is everything ruined forever?

You chew on your bottom lip as you look at him. His hair is all wild, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are plump and glistening. He’s sex on legs, and you’ve barely even gotten a taste. That one kiss is all it took to ignite the lust that’d been simmering within you all night.

You pull in a shaky breath, knowing that if you’re ever going to make a move, it has to be right now.

“I bet,” You say slowly, your voice low and sultry as you watch his eyes flicker over your face. “I can make you hard without even touching you.”

Stiles sputters silently, brain short circuiting at your words. He’s frozen in place. He wants to pump a fist into the air because this is actually happening but his muscles won’t move. He just nods, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

You giggle at his dumbstruck expression as you jump down from the island, the food on the stove completely forgotten. The edge of your lips twitch up into a smirk when you take a small step toward him and he stiffens. A surge of confidence moves through you at the sight of unmistakable desire in his eyes.

You hold his gaze as you grip the edge of your top and peel it over your head slowly. You’re suddenly very grateful that past you chose to wear your favorite matching red lacy set. Stiles’ eyes instantly trail down your exposed torso, although they keep flickering back to your breasts as if unable to look away.

You run your hands slowly along your shoulders, over your chest, and down your stomach. Stiles watches every one of your movements like they’re supplying the air he needs to breathe. You push your thumbs into the waistband of your mini skirt and pull it down a fraction of an inch before letting it go with a snap against your skin.

Stiles jumps at the sound, his glazed eyes locked onto the place your hands had just been. You take a few steps toward him, swaying slightly, and can’t help but giggle. This situation really is pretty ridiculous. You’re in your kitchen, preforming a strip tease for your best friend. It’s not something you ever thought you’d do.

You don’t stop until you’re only inches away from his heaving chest. You bat your eyelashes up at him and turn around so your back is just a hairs length from him. You bend over slowly, flicking your hair over your shoulder to look up at him as you wiggle your hips sensually.

You hear his shaky intake of breath and can’t help but smirk. If you’d known the effect you had on him, you would’ve done this years ago. He’s absolutely itching to touch you. His fingers are twitching at his sides in anticipation, but he doesn’t want to overstep your boundaries.

He wants to take you. To claim you as his. Pull you back against him and ravish you like the goddess you are. But he holds himself back. The ball is in your court, and he’s going to let you have your fun until he’s sure you’re ready for him.

You stand up straight and turn to face him, eyes skimming down to the obvious bulge at the front of his jeans. A slow smile pulls at your lips.

“You lose again.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. You’re afraid that if you speak any louder, it’ll break this tension, this electricity between you.

It’s at this moment that he snaps, his earlier thoughts instantly forgotten. He just can’t take it anymore. He’s been restraining himself for years and right now, after the show you just gave him, he can’t wait even a second longer to have you.

At once, you’re in his arms. He leans forward and captures your lips with his, sliding his palms down the backs of your legs before hiking them up around his waist. You squeal against him and tighten your thighs to hold yourself up.

His hands are on your ass, kneading the soft flesh as he blindly walks both of you toward the stairs. He doesn’t need to look. He has the entire layout of your house memorized after being here almost daily for years. He clambers up to the second floor, staggering and pausing a few times to deepen your kisses.

You feel feverish. His skin on yours is causing some sort of reaction. You’re burning up, hot crackling desire twisting in your stomach. You don’t even realize that he shoves his way through your bedroom door until he tosses you onto your bed. You bounce a few times, bracing your hands on the soft mattress to keep yourself upright.

Your eyes widen at the sight of him at the foot of your bed. He’s looking at you with this heat, this need. It makes you want to give him anything he asks for. You’re his, whether he knows it yet or not. You’re completely gone for your spaz of a best friend.

He suddenly takes a step forward and grips your ankles in each of his hands. He jerks you toward him until your legs are dangling off the edge of the bed. He pulls them apart and stands between them before dropping to his knees. Your eyes widen knowingly, a spark of excitement igniting in your chest.

“I bet I can make you cum in less than five minutes.” He smirks at the awestruck expression overtaking your face.

You nod your head enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than for him to ease the throbbing need between your legs. He runs his fingers up your shins, torturously slow, before stopping to squeeze your thighs gently. His eyes never leave yours as he moves higher and higher, dangerously close to exactly where you want him.

Stiles leans up and connects your lips again, this time a languid kiss as he lightly guides you down to the bed. You prop yourself up onto your elbows as he peppers gentle kisses down the column of your throat. A shudder moves through you at the feeling of his hair brushing against your heated skin as he moves across your collarbone.

He traces a path down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lap at your hardened nipples. You moan loudly, the feeling of his warm breath against you, along with the course material of your lacy bra enough to make you cum on its own.

He moves lower and lower until his fingers slide beneath the waistband of your skirt. His lips never leave you as he tugs it down over your hips before discarding it somewhere on the floor behind him. Your panties quickly join the pile as you shiver on your bed, dripping core now exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.

Stiles’ darkened eyes flicker up toward yours as he parts your thighs and dives between them. You cry out when his tongue expertly brushes your clit, throwing your head back against the mattress. One of his hands glides up to squeeze your hip, while the other teases your entrance.

A pitiful whimper escapes you when he inserts a finger. It’s so long and thick and wow you’re really doing this with your best friend. He groans against you, sending delicious vibrations through your body. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling harshly when he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud again.

You steal a glance down toward him and feel your heart swell at the look he’s giving you. His eyes are shining with adoration as he laps at your core like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your eyes roll back when he pushes another finger inside you and starts pumping them quickly. You feel your stomach tightening already as his free hand snakes up to pinch your nipples delicately.

“Stiles...” You murmur breathlessly, back arching as another wave of pleasure crashes down onto you.

He nearly explodes in his jeans at the sound of his name on your lips like that. His eyes pinch shut as he tries to reel in his own desire so he can fully focus on you. He groans against you at the feeling of your core clenching around his fingers. He pulls them almost completely free before slamming them back inside, smirking at the way it makes you whine.

All it takes is one more lick against your clit, and you’re coming. You cry out, your body trembling from head to toe as intense waves of pleasure move through you. Stiles can’t help but moan at the sound as his free hand slides across your stomach to push you down against the bed.

He doesn’t stop until you sag against the mattress, completely spent. He finally pulls away, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand as a big grin overtakes his face. He’s been wanting to do that for way too long, and honestly can’t believe it just happened for real. He’s imagined it enough times to know it would be amazing, but that had exceeded his expectations.

You’re the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen. All sweaty, flushed chest heaving, pupils blown wide from pleasure that he gave you. A sense of pride swells in his chest at the fact that he was able to make you feel so good.

Once you snap out of your blissful haze, you sit upright and jerk him toward you. You hungrily devour his lips, not feeling the least bit satiated by that mind blowing orgasm. You want—no, need—him. Right now.

He clambers up onto the bed, one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head as he climbs on top of you. You slide your hands along his shoulders beneath his flannel and practically rip it from his body. Next comes his undershirt, followed by the belt around his waist.

Your shaky hands fumble with the button of his jeans for a few seconds before he bats them away to undo it himself. Within seconds they’re gone too, joining the pile of clothes on your carpeted floor. You drag your fingers down his broad chest, pausing over the small patch of hair between his pecks.

He shudders against you, lips leaving yours to suck and lick his way down your neck. You palm him through his boxers and he grunts lowly, stiffening at the feeling. A trembling sigh falls past your lips as you explore his hard length through the thin fabric.

Suddenly impatient, you use both hands to pull the barrier down, eyes widening as his cock springs free. It’s so much bigger than you imagined. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about your best friend’s dick, but it still hadn’t prepared you for the real thing.

You wrap your fingers around him and he freezes against you. He presses his forehead to your shoulder as you pump him slowly. A moan rumbles through your chest at the feeling of him so exposed, so primal on top of you.

All he can do is huff out a few quick gasps as just your fingers set his body ablaze. He honestly feels like he might combust with the way his heart is sputtering in his chest. It takes every ounce of his willpower to peel your fingers away from him. He knows he won’t last long and he desperately wants to be inside you.

“Can I...is it okay if...” He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. He’s so tightly wound, so high off your presence that he can barely string his thoughts together.

“I have condoms.” You breathe, trying to convey with your eyes how much you want this. How much you want him.

He swallows thickly, hesitating for only a moment before sliding onto the floor to rummage through the bedside table you’d gestured toward. He pulls out a single foil packet and moves to sit next to you on the bed. He glances between his shaky hand and your eyes, suddenly needing reassurance.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He breathes, heart clenching in his chest at the possibility of you saying no.

Even if you do, he has to give you this moment to decide. He’s painfully aware that both of you are very intoxicated and may regret this in the morning. But he also knows that he’s wanted you for years and it might just kill him to stop now.

You trail your fingers along the side of his face, eyes rounding at the respect he has for you. You really love the idiot sitting in front of you, a realization that makes you lean forward and close the distance between you.

“Stiles,” You mumble against his lips. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to lose my mind.”

His eyes widen in shock at your urgency and he chuckles, tearing the small package open and rolling the condom on quickly. He reconnects your lips and pushes you down onto the bed gently. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the base of his skull.

Your head tilts back, a long moan escaping you as he enters you in one swift motion. His eyes pinch shut tightly as he braces a hand against your headboard to steady himself. All he can do is grunt and gasp for air as your heat clenches around him. After only a few trusts, he knows he’s going to explode any minute.

He slides an arm under your arched back and turns you both so that he’s now laying on the mattress. Your knees settle on either side of his thighs and his brows furrow as he grips your hips tightly.

“Please...” Stiles groans, not even sure what he’s asking for. You’re everywhere. Around him, on top of him, your delicious smell is enveloping his every sense with his head on your pillow. It’s all too much.

You press your palms onto his chest and swirl your hips, pulling a broken moan from him. You lift yourself up before gliding back down slowly, wanting to see how long you can tease him before he’ll snap. The memory of the way he’d lost control earlier has your core clenching around him. You want to see that again.

“Y/N, I c-can’t...”

You lean down to steal a quick kiss, almost instantly reading his mind. He flips you over again, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as he starts pounding into you, hard. Your head knocks into the headboard with each of his jerky movements, but you don’t care.

Your stomach tightens and you whimper, not expecting to cum again so quickly. None of your other partners had ever gotten you off more than once in a session. Stiles brings a hand down blindly to rub quick circles over your clit and you cry out against his lips.

Within seconds, you’re both tumbling over the edge, a chorus of moans and shaky breathing the only sound in your otherwise quiet bedroom.

He collapses onto the bed beside you, chest heaving as he tries to make sense of what the fuck just happened. The lustful haze is clearing from his mind as his orgasm fades away. He’s left laying there, his best friend—who he just fucked—only inches away.

He lets his eyes trail over to you slowly, honestly terrified of what he’ll find. He needs to know what you’re thinking. His eyes search yours, but they’re guarded. Unreadable. He instantly starts panicking, heart sputtering in his chest as he bolts upright and quickly discards the condom in your trash can.

Your brows furrow from your position beside him, surprised by his sudden movement. A wave of exhaustion comes over you. It’s a mixture of the alcohol and the mind blowing sex you just had, and all you want to do is sleep it off.

You reach forward to clasp a hand around Stiles’ wrist, stopping him just before he stands from the bed. “Where are you going?”

Your heart falls into your stomach at the thought of him trying to run away from what you’d just done. There wasn’t a single part of you that regretted it. You wanted to do that since you met the idiot, so there was no way you’d be going back on it now.

You honestly didn’t even care if the two of you ever slept together again. You just needed him in your life. You weren’t going to let him disappear on you just because you gave into a night of passion.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know if you...you know, would want...” He stammers, eyes widening at the frown on your face. Maybe he misread the situation.

“Of course I want you to stay, you big dork.” You chuckle, tugging on his arm again.

His lips twitch into a grin, relief washing over him. He crawls back into the bed, peeling your comforter away so that you can join him beneath the warmth. You instantly curl into his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar gesture. You’d cuddled many times before, but never like this. Never naked.

Stiles tries thinking of anything else to fight off his growing erection. Now was not the time for round two. You were basically asleep against him, your breath slowing to an even rhythm. He pulls you in tighter and lets his eyes flutter closed, knowing there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The last thought that flickers through his mind before he drifts off is that he could definitely get used to this new aspect of your relationship. He only hoped, come morning, that you’d feel the same.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

C5: Sisyphus happy. Yan Zhongli x Reader

#genshin x reader

Warning: Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationships

< Sisyphus happy chapters >

Once, from a time long before records and memories were written on ink and paper, Morax walked upon vast lands rich in history, watered by tears of tragedy and love lost. He turns to an old woman who stood before her destroyed village, eyes downcast and hollow on bodies drowned by the war of an unrelenting sea and the mountain that does not bow. 

Morax did not understand, maybe once when he had held a goddess’ body to his own, but to him that was one thing and this is another. This is love of a mortal that does not even know who the child that cried next door nor the man that walked past their door, this is to love a complete stranger and the love that Guizhong once had when she was still by his side.

“What must I do to learn the love of mortals?” He asks, voice devoid of emotion; genuine curiosity and the hope to understand beneath.  

The old woman smiled, warm and full of wisdom as if her short years were thousands compared to the god. “To love mortals, one must sacrifice eternity and learn of the passing time. Of death and partings. The gods have forgotten that they may live long but even you have an end, it is the same thing that pains us yet we find delight in.”

He didn’t understand then, those words ring true and wise as Cloud Retainer’s advice to his ears on leading the people that he had now to care for. Even so, he still finds himself wondering, “What would Guizhong have done?”

In his heart, he knows that she would’ve understood and took a moment to explain; unlike the way time leaves nothing but confusion in its wake, only pondering and no straight answers?

Even as hundreds of years pass, when all that remains of that old woman is nothing but ashes on the soil and the land had been turned to marsh, the people traveling and settling in a mountain, and the war marching on to its bloody conclusion; Morax found that answer to be much like the dumbbell that he may never come to solve. 

But once more, reminiscent of his unexamined love with the goddess had bloomed too late, fate had played him right into its hands. 

Because the answer had come in the form of you- still a child, a bud in the nursery of glaze lilies under the morning sun. You and your small hands that gripped the end of his robes, with teary eyes that looked at the dying people and held these strangers hand in their last breath with as much intensity for a small comfort to let them know they did not die alone.

“Will the war end soon?” Your small voice asked him, even Mountain Shaper had not the stomach to look at a child’s plea for peace and spout lies.

“I am trying to end it, as fast as I can.” 

“Then this is for you.” You reached into your pocket and gave him a dried glazed lily contained in glass, “thank you for trying though we cannot give much back.” You bow, as courtesy knowing that you had just talked to the very god that protected the lands you step on and ran back to the shack that housed the sick and injured, your parents much too busy to notice you had snuck out. 

Blissfully unaware that the god of geo, gripping the gift in between his hands, amber eyes following your form and telling himself that humans have much to learn and yet they surprise him nonetheless, just like as his love used to tell him.

But even answers are confusing, much like a child who asks why is 1+1=2 and the process of it, he didn’t understand till he saw you once more. Not yet a lady but not quite the child that you used to be. Now you are the girl who provides healing, growing up to be a herbalist like your mother and no longer simply holding a basket of them for your father. Carefully, with your mortal hands you comfort the injured beyond salvation as the calamities of gods that hold much power rages on. 

Surrounded by dying men of the war, miasma, curses and death lurking in the air, in his eyes you remained untouched. Unblemished, as if the air in your little bubble had been purified by innocence and unconditional love for the crowd of strangers, neither pitying them for death nor numb to their tragedy. Then for a second he thought he saw her - the glaze lilies and the goddess that he loved so much and he begins to wonder if she’s come back to him through you.

“I should thank you for treating the wounded.” He tells the man before him, the bags of herbs laying behind his form and a sigil in hand, “use this in times of need, when the people are crying and I am away, surely the adeptis are quick to answer and would not turn you away.” 

“My lord, Rex Lapis, there is no need to thank us. Knowing that you protect the people is enough, we are just a family of healers who help the ones in need.” Your father was a grateful man, and he can see where you get your eyes, especially your kind heart who reaches out to those in need, not because he seeks power or his blessings.

“Even so, Liyue will remember your kindness but none more so than I, Rex Lapis.” 

He does not know if you remember him nor what you did, only that when he dons a mortal face to take a walk in the calms before the storm, he finds himself wandering to your garden, mostly on cold nights where you would just sing to the lilies and watch them, with unfading enchantment, bloom. 

In a distant memory of an old lover, he hears the same voice but now there stood you. Now a lady, barely a woman with your innocence and mischief.

And he knows that this is wrong, mortals are fleeting as the dust, that he can never grasp with his two hands. Wherever his heart is on anything, other than Liyue, it only ends in tragedy. And oh, how ironic of it all that if you really were his goddess that had found her way back to him, why this form? Why a mortal who is a flower that will wither compared to a mountain that does not crumble?

“It’s a beautiful song, pardon me for interrupting but may I know where you have learned it?”

“Only if you tell me what the god of earth is doing in a place like this, barely even concealed?” Playful, you smile at him playfully as if you knew all the time that he had spent staring from afar and he was not an immortal that could smite the very life out of those pretty eyes.

“The breeze carried your voice and I wondered where you had learned to entice it to your will.” He couldn’t really put a finger when it began, when your singing had lured him like a siren to the depth of the sea.

“You befriend the wind, unlike the earth, you do not command rather ask of it like a companion,” was your simple answer and he smiles like he has found something long lost. You drown him in your presence, but he is not breathless; rather he sighs filled with curiosity like a child who has more to learn from the world that he had been in for thousands of years. 

You who had rekindled a reason for his actions, much like Guizhong. This love does not ruffle his heart out of his rib cage, the dust settles and it is as calm as you talking about herbs in this small patch of garden late at night and as calm as the things settle falling into place in his beloved city by the gentle waves of the sea.

“What happened to them after?” You ask your husband, the snow falls outside and you are oh so exhausted to the bone as if the cold had taken all your warmth. He smiles and brushes your cheeks that lost their flush and your skin cold as a corpse, his arms glows gold in the intricate cracks, and you know that this is a bedtime story - though not quite for the night but for the long winter.  

The memory scratches at the back of your mind to be remembered, but a part of you warns that you wouldn’t like how it ends. 

“According to the books, the lord of geo took his love to the heavens.” He finishes with a chuckle of the irony in it all, a kiss to your temple as your eyes drop, heavy and slumber dragging you to its clutches.

Then finally, Zhongli smiles to bid you goodnight.

He watches you sleep soundly. Sleep if humans can even call it that with the lack of breathing, as still as a corpse that had died peacefully in bed while he is left to wonder of a future that had things ended the way his winter story did.

War ensures losts. Victories demand sacrifices. And the price to pay was always his love.

Zhongli would like to believe that had you died of a natural cause: sickness, accident or of old age where he would have held your aging body, he could’ve had the strength to let you pass on.

Rex Lapis would have had your funeral handled by the esteemed WangSheng, and took your passing as another promise to meet on the other side.

But Morax knows, he could never really.

Never let you go, even after thousands of years and all that you know had returned to the soil. Even when the truths of history had been forgotten by the people and you are nothing but a distant whisper to this land, a footnote to his folklore.

Not even now, when every winter is a reminder of the way he held your cold body against his chest, “I worry about you.” You told him with a supposed to be parting smile, how pitiful must he be for a dying mortal that had not even lived half their life to worry about him. 

“Why are you saying goodbye, my love? You aren’t supposed to say goodbye, not yet. It’s much too early,” He tells you with a broken laugh, the war is over like you had asked of him the first time. He is an archcon, the land is his to rule and care, and you are supposed to live many many peaceful years with him, but here you are the embers of war digs its claws in your frail body and had robbed you of life.

 Why does the war take and take and take and he who fights only lose things that he keeps to heart? 

He doesn’t relent, even if it means breaking the laws of nature itself.

Even when you wake in spring, and you look at him with those empty eyes and ask who he is. At Least you’re here, still there somewhere and it might take thousands of years and more, when the mountain has crumbled against time, one day he believes that you will wake again with love in your lips and warmth in your hands.

[kuroopaisen]

tiny love || 12

➵ as tooru’s younger sister, falling in love with iwaizumi hajime is easy. your feelings aren’t ignored, either. this time, you both decided to tell your brother the truth. 

warnings: f!reader

wc: 1k

m.list | ch. 11 ↞ ch. 12 ↠ ch. 13

Last time…

“Hey, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi swallowed, his face a tad paler than usual. “We have something to tell you.”

✧ ✧ ✧

“We?” Tooru chuckled, a familiar playful lilt to his voice.

“Hello,” you piped up before he had time to tease Iwaizumi about who ‘we’ might be.

“Ah!” The phone burst with joy, a pleasant tinkle to the way Oikawa called your name.

Your stomach plummeted.

“So, what’s up?” Tooru sighed. “You’re not about to tell me that you need to borrow some money, are you?”

“When have I ever asked you for money?” You grumbled, your free hand teasing the fabric of your pyjama shorts between your fingers. God, it’s too normal; a typical back-and-forth between siblings.

It was a strange contrast to the dread settling in your gut.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Tooru chirped. Blissfully unaware. You were almost envious.

You braved a glance at Iwaizumi. His jaw was taut, his lips pressed thin.

You tightened your grip around his hand, as if you were trying to instil a modicum of strength into him.

“Yeah, well…” Iwaizumi cleared his throat, blinking a little faster than usual.

“You sound so grim,” Tooru chuckles. “Come on then, out with it.”

Iwaizumi’s face turned a shade paler, his jaw taut.

This was hard for him. That much was obvious.

But he was trying.

And it was as hard for him as it was for you.

Everything within you stung, a tempest of nettles and thorns that refused to give you any respite. You’d been doing this – whatever this was, whatever Iwaizumi was ready to call this fondness between you – behind Tooru’s back for so long now.

High school. Years of bitterness. Downplaying just how much you hurt in order to maintain peace. A peace which you’d shattered with your own hands, on your own volition, when you had every opportunity not to.

But what’s done is done. You weren’t about to make the same mistakes you had in high school.

You had to tell him. You had to assert yourself, to show him that you matter too. That Iwaizumi meant something to you. That you meant something to him.

“We’re dating.”

It blurted out of your mouth with all the clumsiness and inelegance of a newborn foal. You just wanted to get it out, to shift the horrible tightness in your chest, to breathe out the burning in your gut.

Deathly silence followed.

It was worse than you’d feared.

Tooru was never silent. Whenever he was, it meant something bad had happened. Stagnation. Rejection. Fury.

Those were the only things that could render Tooru silent.

You wondered if you should fill the space with something else. But, there was nothing to say.

All this tension, all this discontent, stripped naked in two words.

“Is this a joke?” Tooru’s voice was a razor, thin and sharp and cold. “Because it’s not very funny.”

Your brother had never spoken to you like this. You’ve heard him talk about other people in this voice – a certain Kageyama Tobio comes to mind – but the ire had never been directed at you before.

You bit the inside of your cheek.

God, you just wished you wouldn’t take it all so seriously – why did this matter so much? Why was it causing you so much stress? What was wrong with y—

“It’s not,” Iwaizumi said. “She’s telling you the truth.”

He no longer had a ghostly pallor. A familiar crease lined his brow. You realised, not without a hint of irony, that it’s the look he always had in the middle of one of his high school games. That was when his tenacity always shone through the most.

“I asked you to keep an eye on her, not fuck her,” Tooru hissed.

It was like everything you knew gave way beneath you, like the thin ground above a pit in one of those adventure movies.

You weren’t you anymore. You were her. Not a person on your own accord, but something to be coddled, ‘protected’, prevented from making their own decisions.

A grievance.

“That’s out of line!” Iwaizumi’s voice boomed, speckled with rage. “Don’t talk about your sister like that!”

“Don’t tell me how I can or can’t talk about her!” Tooru’s voice was just as sharp, just as blue-hot. “She’s my sister, you, you—”

“I’m right here, Tooru,” you hissed, the corners of your eyes beginning to sting. What were you, a doll? A pet? A cup of fine china that had to be handled with care?

You were an adult, a woman, and Tooru needed to—

“You stay out of this,” he barked.

“No!”

The word scratched against your throat like gravel. You sounded like a petulant child – something you’d told yourself to avoid in this call.

But that was all Tooru saw you as – a child who couldn’t make her own choices. A child that needed to be protected.

The horrible realisation comes to you with an underwhelming mundanity.

Tooru didn’t see you as an individual. Not in the way you wanted him to. You were just his baby sister, silly and stupid and easily misled.

“Don’t talk about me like that!” Everything you wanted to say was gone, no matter how desperately you tried to wrangle them. Any well-thought out defence, or explanation, or appeal to his reason… all of it, gone.

A pressure was building in your head, angry and persistent. You felt like you were going to explode, spluttering out of your seams. It was all slipping away from you too fast, running like water through your hands.

“I don’t want to hear anything out of you!” Tooru yelled. “You should know better than to fuck around with my friends!”

“My feelings matter too!” You shouted back. “You don’t own Hajime—”

“Oh, Hajime?” Tooru scoffed. “Jesus Christ…”

Your pulse pounded in your ears, every inch of your skin burning. This was the worst possible outcome. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this. Nothing at all.

“You don’t get to control who I do and don’t date,” you said, a waver running through your words.

“You know what? I’m not having this conversation.”

“Tooru—”

The end tone blared out its steady march.

He was gone.

It was over before it’d even begun.

The silence enveloped you like a shroud, dank and oppressive and suffocating.

Tooru hadn’t even given you a chance to explain yourself. Not properly. He’d just shouted.

He’d never shouted at you before – not properly. Sure, there were petty fights over meaningless things neither of you could remember, but there’d never been a true falling out.

But there you sat, an ache in your chest that felt wholly unfamiliar. A new kind of aloneness, an isolation wholly different from anything you’d felt before. It wasn’t like getting your heart broken by the boy you had a ridiculously big crush on. It wasn’t like moving to a whole new country, throwing yourself into a perilous unknown.

No, this was a new pain, one you didn’t know how to name. The insurmountable rift had grown even wider. Now there was no chance of reaching him.

Your chest ached with how tight it was, your eyes stung with a startling ferociousness, your head pounded to the rhythm of your racing thoughts—

“Hajime—”

His arms encircled you as you croaked out his name. He pulled you towards him and pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. You let yourself fall against his chest, your cheek coming to rest against the soft cotton of his shirt. He was warm, like he always was. Firm, warm, steady.

He was safe. You were safe.

You let the tears bubble out. You needed it. All that fretting, all that waiting, only for it to turn out like this? Maybe you were just the punching bag in some great cosmic joke. Something so trivial, so human, causing this much strife…

For the first time in your life, you envied all those people out there with distant relationships with their siblings – even the ones who regarded their blood relatives with contempt. At least, then, it wouldn’t feel so much like you were the one holding the knife. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be tearing yourself apart from the inside out over something you shouldn’t even feel guilty about in the first place.

God, this was so stupid. And Hajime… poor Hajime…

Iwaizumi didn’t say anything. But you knew. You knew he would hold good on his promise. He wouldn’t run away this time.

He hadn’t.

Your heart was breaking all over again.

But this time, you weren’t alone.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 4

Tristan had slapped his menu shut before you could even sit down. He’d been begging you to try a new place in Encino with him, you figured it was a good excuse to get Zoey out of the house and to let Maeve and CeCe duke it out in Shelli and Irv’s backyard instead of yours.

It was all work talk at first, he offered an update on a meeting you missed to drop off Maeve at a friend’s and Zoey sucked down a glass of wine promising to pump and dump before the night ended.

But now your plates were in front of you and you twirled spaghetti around your fork when she asked: “How’s your pool boy?” You stared up at her, unimpressed.

“He’s not my pool boy, and he’s fine.”

Tristan raised his eyebrows across the table. “Would you let Harry Styles be your pool boy?”

“Can we not talk about him like this, please?”

“Oh come on,” Tristan pulled a face. “If you’re not going to sleep with him at least let us fantasize.”

You must have twitched, a quick glance in Zoey’s direction or a quiver of your lip. Zoey leaned in and her voice was serious. “What was that?”

“What? Nothing.”

“What do you mean what was that?” Tristan asked.

“She made a weird face when you said that.”

“No I didn’t,” you defended. “I just don’t like talking about him in public, especially like this.”

“Bullshit,” Zoey laughed, leaned back in her chair. “What are you not telling us? Did you see him shirtless again?”

You let out a breath, wiped at your mouth and wondered if telling them would be the biggest mistake of your life. You couldn’t even get the words out before Zoey leaned in.

“You had sex with him?!” her eyes nearly bugged out of her head, Tristan’s fork clanked against his plate when his jaw dropped open.

You’d made it a whole week, almost. You pushed the thoughts down and brushed them under the metaphorical work rug. The body wash prototypes were in, you were booking models to do a photoshoot, video shoot, everything was getting lined up for the rollout in another few weeks. You didn’t have time to tell them about something silly and stupid and maybe a part of you didn’t want to fill them in because you were afraid they’d burst your bubble. It’ll never work out, what happens when his house is ready, he has a tour to go on.

“Be quiet,” you looked around and worried if anyone had overheard Tristan’s not-so-subtle name drop. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It’s not like it’s gonna be a regular thing.”

Tristan pulled his head back, offended by your words. “You had sex with him and you’re not going to make that a regular thing? Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” you made a face at Tristan. “I have seen him.”

“You are going to hit and quit Harry Styles?” Zoey leaned in and said his name much more quietly now.

“Well,” you dropped their gaze for a second, reluctant to be honest with them in fear of their reaction. “It’s happened once, and then we kissed once but CeCe came down, but she didn’t see anything. I’m just too old to be hooking up with a twenty-four year old.”

“Wait, okay, slow down. When did this happen?” Zoey asked.

“After my birthday dinner,” you shrugged. “We came home, had wine, the girls were out.”

“And when did you make out with him aside from that night?”

“The next night. And we didn’t make out, it was barely even open-mouthed.”

“Ew,” Tristan grimaced.

Zoey snapped to get your attention. “So twenty-four hours after you had sex, you kissed him?”

You made a face at her, unsure where she was going with it. You hadn’t been clocking or documenting your sexual encounters. “I don’t know, probably.”

“This is straight out of a trashy romance book written for middle aged women,” Tristan leaned back in his seat and took a pull from his glass of rosé. “I mean that in, like, a nice way.”

“Okay,” Zoey leaned forward. “So, nothing has happened since a week ago, then?”

“No,” you shook your head quickly. “Just those times. And I don’t think anything should happen again.”

They both groaned at the same time, Zoey’s shoulders sunk and she rolled her eyes. “You deserve to have sex with a hot guy.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

“Even if he’s younger than you.”

“I don’t want to traumatize my children.”

“Well you don’t have to have sex in front of them,” Tristan made a goofy face and you waved him off.

Zoey snorted out a laugh but you ignored their immaturity.

“I mean that having Harry here is already probably confusing for them, right? Their dad leaves, their grandpa dies, now we have some stranger in our house and he’s playing with them in the backyard and--”

“Being more of a dad to them than Luke ever was?”

Zoey’s words brought a sigh out from between your lips. “Exactly.”

“Having a positive male role model is good for them,” Tristan said.

“Sure,” you nodded. “But what about when Harry moves out? He’ll just be another man that will leave them. They’ll be super fucked up.”

Tristan reached forward and took your hand in his. “Hey--it’s more about the fact that they have you and they have other people who love them. Who cares if their idea of a family isn’t the stereotypic, heterosexual norm?”

“I know,” you relented. “I just don’t want them to be poorly adjusted.”

“Okay, that sounds like something an obnoxious prep school guidance counselor would say to you,” Zoey eyed you with skepticism.

You shrugged your shoulders. “It was Maeve’s teacher.”

“Okay, fuck that teacher!” Tristan nodded. “Your kids are adjusting, and that’s because of how good of a mom you are to them. And mommy deserves a pool boy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even if his words were worthy of an eye-roll. Zoey tried not to let wine drip from her nose after a snort escaped between sips.

“Not my pool boy!” You giggled.

“Which is good,” Tristan nodded, his tone completely serious. “That would be so cliché even Nora Roberts wouldn’t write it.”

**

Slumber parties always made you anxious. They were one of those things that made you question how on earth people trusted you to watch a group of children when sometimes, you still felt like one yourself.

Maeve’s 11th birthday party was no exception. Five other girls danced around your living room and CeCe sat at the counter while you iced cupcakes. Her little face was scrunched into a pout so intensely that it almost made you giggle.

“You alright?” You asked her, dish towel over your shoulder when she let out another sigh.

“Just wish I could play with them,” she held her palms towards the sky in exasperation, reaching for a container of sprinkles when you let out a laugh.

“You get to go for ice cream with Uncle Jeff, remember? You’re gonna go to the beach, too, I think.”

You’d been trying to bribe her all week: a new tutu, a new doll, anything she wanted just to make her give up and accept the fact that her older sister didn’t want her at her slumber party.

And you couldn’t blame either of them. Of course Maeve didn’t want her younger (and very loud, dramatic, and demanding) younger sister trailing behind all night. But, on the other hand, of course CeCe felt left out when she saw all of the older girls arrive with their sleeping bags and birthday gifts.

She sighed again, your conversation interrupted by a ringing from your cell phone on the counter beside her.

“Uncle Jeff?”

She was right, you reached for the phone and held it up with your shoulder, hoping the laughter from the living room wouldn’t travel it’s way into the speaker.

“Hi--are you here?”

“Y/N, I am so sorry to do this--”

“Oh god, Jeff, no!”

“I just got called into the office because one of my artists apparently just posted some stupid shit on the internet--isn’t there someone else who can hang out with CeCe? Where’s Tristan?”

“I don’t know where he is, but I doubt he’d be thrilled to play dress up or skip through a park.”

“Zoey?”

You could hear traffic through his line, his karma for backing out at the last minute was having to sit on the 405. “She has a ten-week-old infant, Jeffrey.”

“Well where’s Harry? Can’t he pitch in?”

You let out a groan, CeCe had taken to pouring sprinkles into her hand and lapping them up with her tongue.

Harry was upstairs, hiding away from the girl gang currently singing karaoke and sipping on juice boxes. He had the day off and had dipped out in the afternoon to meet a friend for lunch. You tried to mind your own business--he could come and go as he pleased and just because you had slept with him once didn’t give you the right to suddenly start asking questions about his plans.

But the universe pitied you, apparently, because right when you told Jeff you’d figure it out and hung up on him aggressively, Harry pranced down the stairs and headed for the fridge.

“How’s it going down here?” He reached for a juice box, crisp apple, and fumbled with the straw when he turned to face you.

“Everyone is alive and nothing is broken,” you scanned the counter, another batch of cupcakes still in the oven with 10 minutes to go.

With the straw now between his lips, he raised his eyebrows. “Bar’s that low, huh?”

“Well, your friend Jeffrey just bailed on watching CeCe and going for ice cream.”

She was blissfully unaware of the change of plans, still licking sprinkles out of her palm, but now swiveled around on the stool to watch the girls jump around in the other room.

“I can take her,” he shrugged nonchalantly, ran a hand through his hair when you stared at him for a second.

If traffic was Jeff’s karma, Harry must have been yours.

“Are you serious? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” he smiled. “CeCe? What do you say we do ice cream and pizza?”

She turned around at the sound of her name, her eyes lit up. “Pepperoni?” She asked.

“Of course,” Harry replied to her like it was a crazy question.

“Is Uncle Jeff coming?”

“He’s not,” You informed her, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re alright to go with Harry?”

You didn’t mean to make it awkward, but mom mode kicked in and you realized CeCe had never spent time alone with Harry except maybe in the backyard.

“Yeah!” She hopped down from the stool and grinned up at him. “Can I get a milkshake?”

Harry looked over to you and when you nodded, he held out his hand. “As many as you want.”

“That’s not what I said,” you called after him, watching as he led her over to the back door. He plucked his keys off the hook on the wall and smiled at you over his shoulder. “Please don’t be out late, text me when you get where you’re going!”

CeCe shouted a bye mommy!!!! before they disappeared into the driveway. A sudden raise in your pulse had you questioning what type of mother lets their 6-year-old get in the car with a pop star who’s probably hounded by paparazzi and maybe even doing cocaine on the weekends.

You picked up your phone and it rang four times before Zoey answered. “I need you to talk me off the ledge.”

“What ledge?”

The timer beeped and you gloved up to retrieve the rest of the cupcakes. “I’m apparently a psychopath because I just let Harry take CeCe for pizza and ice cream.”

You could tell she held back a laugh. “Why does that make you a psychopath?”

“Because he’s a stranger! What if he never comes back with her? What if he gets chased by paparazzi and CeCe is the next Princess Diana?!” The thought shuttered through your bones, a shiver down your spine when Zoey cleared her throat.

“Okay, so, as a mom, I totally get that. But I also think you’re freaking out too much.”

The cupcake tin rattled onto the granite. “How?!”

“He’s not a stranger, he’s been living with you guys for like, over a month now.”

You thought about it for a second. Two weeks turned into a few more, four weeks slipped by easily. What felt like it was going to be a blip on the radar now felt like a totally normal thing: dinners with him as the fourth seat and texts to him in the middle of the day asking if there was anything he was in the mood for.

“I just can’t believe I trust him enough to do that, I guess.”

“Y/N, he’s a good guy,” she laughed. “He likes your kids and he definitely likes you.”

“We’re not going there,” you said. “I have a house full of ten-year-olds and cupcakes to frost.”

“Okay, well, you’re not a psychopath. And there’s nothing wrong with having feelings for him.”

“Zoey! You are starting to sound like the psychopath!”

“I’m alright with that,” laughter through the phone when you told her you had to go. Love you, see you later, pinch Benny’s cheeks for me.

You were swept up in the excitement of the night. Your own pizza was delivered before 8pm, a movie turned on by 9pm. They decorated cupcakes at the dining room table and proceeded to eat more than they could fit in their tummies.

Maeve was in heaven, opened presents when you snapped pictures on your phone. Harry had texted to let you know they’d stop at Shelli and Irv’s before heading home. If CeCe came home in the middle of presents, she’d probably break down right there.

So when you heard the alarm signal a new entry, you hoped CeCe was too tired to argue with you about sleeping in her own room and not in Maeve’s with the rest of them. Your legs were folded beneath you on the couch, noise in the kitchen when Harry rounded the corner with CeCe asleep on his shoulder.

You stood up, eyebrows high when he smirked in your direction. “She’s out cold,” he laughed. “Fell right asleep on the way home.”

“It’s like a ten minute drive from their house,” you said, opening your arms to take her. “Sorry, here.”

“I can bring her up...just lead the way,” he motioned with his head for you to go first up the stairs. He followed you down the hall and to CeCe’s room, pink walls and a plush carpet underneath her twin-sized bed that still seemed too big for her.

He put her down when you flipped on a nightlight, watched when you tugged the duvet over her and kissed her on the forehead. You sighed when you stood up straight beside him, voice quiet. “I’m not waking her up to brush her teeth cause she’ll freak out and want to be included in the party. Am I a bad mom?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, smirked down at you quickly before looking back to her. “You’re a great mom.”

You elbowed him in the ribs playfully. “You have to say that.”

“I do?”

“I’m your landlord,” you laughed, leading him back into the hallway.

“I thought you were my friend?”

A sigh, the darkness a cover for your confusion and your fluttering heart beat. “Yeah, that too.”

He was quiet for a second, if it weren’t for the bedroom of kids down the hall you’d pull him into you despite better judgment. He stared down at you with a dimpled smile, but you took a step back.

“Thanks for taking her, and hanging out with her. You really didn’t have to.”

“I had fun,” he reassured you. “We got a pizza and ate in a park near Westwood Hills, then got ice cream, visited with Shelli and Irv,” he listed it off like it brought him as much joy as it did her.

“Hey, not to be weird or anything, but--how’s your house coming?”

He sensed the shift in the air too, but he didn’t know that it came from a place of fear. A question you had to ask: this was temporary, this wasn’t real, this was just a convenient set up and you couldn’t lose sight of that.

“Oh, yeah--I’m going over on Sunday to see it. Apparently there are still issues with the plumbing that have to be updated. They said it might be a few more weeks.”

“Okay, I just didn’t know.”

“Yeah, is that okay? I can try to find somewhere to stay if you need me out?”

“No,” you said it quickly. “I don’t need you to leave.”

“Okay,” he said, his eyes still on yours. He reached forward to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “I like staying here with you guys.”

“...I like it too.”

“Mom?” Maeve’s head poked out of her bedroom. “Hayley spilled soda on the carpet!”

He stepped back from you quickly, like his reflexes were getting better each time. You laughed at his sudden movement, “coming!”

He smiled down at you and let out an exaggerated sigh once Maeve’s door was slammed shut and the music was back on, a magnetic pull between your chests that maybe he felt too. “Hayley, Hayley, Hayley.”

But again, a rush of uncertainty and self-doubt made you grateful for the interruption, your stomach weaving itself in knots when you stared at your ceiling fan and hoped that sleep would come.

Work picked up in the next week, Tristan was in your office most days with spreadsheets and graphs and to-do lists that made you feel like you needed a margarita at 2pm. On Wednesday Harry made dinner and CeCe had a meltdown when you forced her to take a bath.

Friday night entailed dinner at Shelli and Irv’s, the girls and Harry and Jeff too. You stood in the kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, Shelli watched as their chef sautéed something through steam. When Jeff pulled Harry away to show him a new guitar Irv had been gifted, you ignored the smile on Shelli’s face.

“How are things going?”

“Fine,” you said, casually and calm and cool. “How are you?”

“Y/N,” she smiled. “Does Jeffrey know?”

“Know what?”

“About you and Harry?”

“No,” you told her quickly. “There’s nothing to know, alright? We were drunk, it was not a big deal.”

“Alright,” she held up a hand, effectively resigning when she sipped her Pinot Grigio, a disappointed sigh before she asked: “How are the girls holding up?”

You sighed, unsure if she’d really drop it. You told her about Maeve’s birthday party and caught her up on the body wash debut. Deadlines were quickly approaching, the launch party was being scheduled and production was full steam ahead.

You almost thought you’d make it through the rest of the night without any drama--no more mention of Harry or the happenings between you. But eventually he and Jeff found their way back to the kitchen and you hoped that no one noticed how close Harry stood to you.

Jeff was in the middle of filling you and Shelli in on Harry’s album plans: they were wrapping up production and soon they’d announce the release date, his excitement cut off by a shout from the backyard.

“Mommy!” CeCe’s voice was shrill and desperate as it rang through the house. She let out a loud sob and when you looked up, you saw her clutching her elbow with a new grass stain on her shirt. She was fine, it was one of those moments where she thought the world was ending but everyone else knew getting knocked over by her sister wouldn’t kill her.

“She’s fine,” Maeve rolled her eyes, a quick look down to CeCe who’s eyes were already filled with tears.

“No I’m not!” she screamed back at her sister.

You looked to Shelli with an exasperated look, set your glass of wine down on the counter. Before you could make any movement, though, Harry’s hand hovered on the small of your back. “I’ll go, enjoy the wine. She’s fine.”

He was right, there was no question that CeCe would survive her scraped elbow and bruised ego. He moved towards the backyard and you were frozen in place when Jeff’s forehead wrinkled.

“What was that?” he asked, eyebrows strung together like tea lights once Harry was out of earshot.

“I don’t know--what do you mean?”

You looked over at Harry, now on the ground in front of CeCe who’s wails were much quieter. She wiped at her wet eyes, a little laugh escaped her lips when Harry brushed the grass off of her elbow and cracked a joke.

“Well, he seems pretty good with them,” Jeff leaned against the counter, the sliding door providing a perfect view as CeCe stood up and raced back towards Maeve.

“Yeah, I mean, he is.”

“He also touched your back in a funny way.”

Shelli raised her eyebrows and sipped at her wine again.

“And now my mom is making a weird face,” Jeff’s eyes narrowed when he looked at you. “Are you--is there, like, something going--”

“No,” you said quickly, a finger pointed at Shelli and another pointed at Jeff. “Do not say anything in front of the girls.”

Shelli stifled a laugh but managed to look incredibly innocent at the same time.

“Oh my god!” Jeff said this with a noise of shock, eyes wide when he looked between you and Shelli, then back out to the yard where Harry laughed with Irv. “Oh my god, and you knew?”

Shelli shrugged her shoulders, a don’t blame me look crossed her face when you took a swig of wine to calm the pounding of your heart.

Jeff had always been protective and caring and like a brother. Not in a weird way, not in the you can’t date my friends way. Just in the sense that he wanted to know who you were hooking up with and he’d been encouraging you relentlessly to stop picking assholes ever since you filed for divorce.

But this was different, this was a friend of his and a client of his. It was someone that his entire family knew and this was probably the worst choice of rebound.

“Please relax,” you said this with a look of warning in his direction. “I will explain to you what your lunatic mother is smirking about but you have about fifteen seconds to wipe the look of shock off your face before he comes back in here.”

“She’s fine,” Harry waved a hand once he was back in the kitchen. “And what look of shock are we wiping off of our faces?” The dimple was there again, the corner of his mouth pulled up and he scanned all three of you for any sort of information.

“Just that you are so good with the girls,” Jeff covered for you, a confident nod when he hoped Harry would believe him.

“That’s surprising to you?” Harry pulled his head back, an obvious look of mock offense. “I’m great with children. They love me.”

Maeve came in from the fading light, out of breath from running around with whatever ball they’d gotten their hands on. “Who loves you?”

“Kids,” Jeff replied for him.

“Oh,” Maeve said. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You looked down at her, unsure if she was agreeing or just voicing that she understood.

She shrugged, plucked a chicken skewer from a dish in front of Shelli. “I mean, I like having him around.”

Harry was practically tickled pink. “Thank you, Maeve.” He turned to rub this in Jeff’s face. “See?”

“He cooks well, plays outside with us, definitely funnier than mom,” Maeve kept listing things off, pulling laughter from the rest of the crew.

“Maeve!” You whined. “I’m funny!”

“You’re like, sometimes funny.”

“Sometimes funny is better than never funny,” Harry nodded in your direction, an attempt to soften the blow.

CeCe had wandered in behind her sister, she picked at the scrape on her elbow until you called her attention. “CeCe--do you think mommy’s funny?”

“Mmmm,” the thought on it for a second, put her finger to her chin and scrunched up her nose. “Sort of.”

Jeff let out a big laugh at that, Harry tried to stifle one and you dismissed the jabs. “Okay, well, it’s not like anyone here is a comedian.”

“Harry’s funny,” CeCe said with a smile. “He reads books in silly voices.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shot up at that again, amused and surprised by the fact that Harry was in on the bedtime routine. But it was infrequent, sometimes CeCe would beg for more time outside or another thirty minutes of TV.

If the tears got aggressive or the tantrum became too much, she perked up pretty quickly if Harry offered to read with her. It was way more exciting than reading with you, Maeve had explained.

After showering Harry with compliments, the girls were excited to sit on Shelli and Irv’s patio. Pink lemonade and a delicious dinner, though neither of them would even so much as take a bit of your salad.

They ran around some more while you sipped wine, Jeff and Harry had been talked into a two versus two soccer match and Irv laughed his head off when Maeve actually scored on Jeff. Darkness came and CeCe crawled into your lap, eyelids getting heavy until you buckled her into the backseat.

You’d taken one car, CeCe’s booster seat was too clunky to move over to Harry’s so you drove and felt slightly embarrassed about the crayons and coloring books scattered on the floor of the backseat.

“Mom, can I have another sleepover this weekend?”

“With who?”

“All of the girls from last weekend.”

“Honey, no, that was a big party for your birthday.”

“I’m aware,” she shot back quickly. “But we all had so much fun and we wouldn’t be as loud as we were last time.”

“I said no, Maeve. You can do something with your friends if you want but we’re not doing another sleepover right now.”

You’d been hesitant about it in the first place. A group of ten and eleven-year-olds? With Harry in the house? It felt like a recipe for disaster and aside from a few excited stares when they were first dropped off, you all escaped relatively unscathed.

You worried at first about the whispers from other moms--she’s letting a twenty-four year-old live with her children?--but you soon realized that they were almost more excited about sneaking a glimpse of Harry than their daughters were.

“You’re so annoying,” she quipped from the back. “You never let me do anything fun.”

Harry’s lips twitched up in a tiny smirk, a sideways glance in your direction. You’d already told him how awkward it felt to discipline them with him right there, a glass of wine in the kitchen one night and he teased you about your frustrated mom voice.

“Maeve--don’t be rude. You just had a birthday party and now you want another, basically.”

“No, I want to have the same girls over. It’s not my birthday so it’s not a birthday party.”

A left turn into the driveway. “But you want me to order pizza and make cupcakes and you want to drink a bunch of soda again?”

“Yes.”

You pulled into the garage and cut the engine, turning to look at her. “Maeve, sweetie, I love you. But no.”

She let out a huff and shoved the door open, she typed in the entry code and slammed the door to the house before the rest of you could even climb out.

“The drama,” CeCe shook her head, tired steps towards the house.

“The drama is right,” you told her with a laugh. “Go wash up and I’ll come up in a few, okay?”

She scampered up the steps, you dropped your keys on the counter inside and then turned to look at him. “Do you have a second?”

He nodded, leaned on the counter. “What’s up?”

You didn't know if it was a good idea, but you'd spent enough morning drives to school lecturing about how honest is the best policy, so you figured you'd give it a shot.

“Uh, well--Jeff may or may not be suspicious about you and...me.”

Using the phrase made you nervous, like he’d laugh and think it was stupid. You and me.

“Oh,” he said, eyebrows arched. “Did you--why did that come up?”

“Well you went to handle my crying child, which is--you know--”

He laughed a little, “too boyfriendy of me?”

Your heartbeat picked up in pace, your face felt hot and it suddenly felt like he was watching you too closely.

“No--I don’t know--you touched my back and he just asked what was happening.”

He deflated at that, hung his head low for a second and then looked up. “Oh, I--uh--I’m really sorry, I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You felt bad, that wasn’t the message you were trying to convey. If anything, you wanted to give him the out and the okay that he didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to step into your family like some hero for you or your daughters. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, I just--I don’t know where you are at, I guess.”

“And now Jeff is asking questions,” he laughed, a nod like he knew where you were going with it.

There was no label necessary. It wasn’t that type of thing, you knew that. “That’s what you walked in on after CeCe got hurt.”

Another nod, like the puzzle pieces were fitting into place. “Right. Got it. Was he--how did he seem? Did you tell him that we--”

“He put it together,” you cut him off, again careful of the words used around the girls even though they were upstairs and--by the sound of it--bickering in the bathroom. “But he was fine with it. I just think we need to be careful, you know. The girls...and this is temporary, and--”

“Absolutely.”

“So, you know, just--”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence. “I should go tuck them in.” You turned on your feet and headed for the stairs before he could reply, desperate to get out of the situation out of fear of having to find more words to string together in a messy jumble of emotions.

Another slammed door from Maeve when you reached the top of the stairs. You knocked twice. “Can I come in, please?”

“No!”

“Maeve,” you leaned against the doorframe. Harry came up and offered an awkward smile. “Please let me talk to you.”

“I’m not talking to you!” She shouted.

Harry came over and knocked. “Maeve? It’s Harry--can I come in?”

Silence for a second, her footsteps were audible on the wood floor. The door opened a crack, she peered out with narrowed eyes. “Fine--but not her.”

You looked over at Harry, unsure of his game plan but also fed up with the theatrics and the overreaction. He shrugged his shoulders half-apologetically, a smirk in your direction before he slipped into the room.

Did you stay and listen? Was it weird? What would he even say to her?

You decided against it, headed for your own bedroom and tugged on pajamas after you flicked on CeCe’s night light and kissed her goodnight. At least only one of them was being dramatic today.

Five minutes passed, then ten. You tried not to look at the clock and focused instead on a book Zoey had told you was a must read.

Eventually there was a knock on your door, Harry pushed it open and smiled. “Do you want some intel?”

“Duh,” you said. “Come in.”

He walked forward and sat on your bed, a sigh when he brought his eyes to yours again. “Well, she said you’re annoying again.”

“Of course.”

“She’s just grumpy. Said Hayley wanted to have a sleepover this weekend because it would be better at her house.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “Some 5th grade rivalry.”

“Classic, really.”

You laughed. “Was she okay talking to you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, eyebrows low on his forehead. “Opened right up.”

“Well, we do know she likes you more.”

He rolled his eyes. “She just likes that I’m not you.”

“Feels like that’s the same thing.”

Quiet for a moment when he angled towards you, scanned your face with his eyes.

“I guess I’ll go say goodnight.”

“Oh, I tucked her in.”

Your mouth tugged into a smirk. “You what?”

“She said she didn’t want you to come in.”

“So you tucked her in?”

He let out a laugh, explained the process like it should have been obvious. “Yeah--pulled up the blanket. Patted her on the head. She said she brushed her teeth.”

You leaned back against the headboard, the same buzzing feeling in your chest took flight when he asked: “why is it so shocking to everyone that I’m good with them?”

It slipped out before you could think of the possible consequences. “Because you’re young.”

“I’m not that young.”

“And Luke was just--not like that. He was pretty disinterested after CeCe was born.” You hoped this was enough of a redirection.

“You’re really caught up on my age, aren’t you?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows and offered a look that said: bullshit. When he didn’t speak, you cracked a joke.

“Or...you are not hung up enough on how old I am.”

“Why should I care how old you are?”

“Cause you’ve had sex with me and you’re living in my house.”

“Both of those things I am aware of. And feel really good about both of them.”

You let out a laugh at his nonchalance, folded your arms over your chest when he stood up. “You’re something else.”

“I’m not,” you disagreed.

“I think you are,” he nodded, leaned closer to you and offered a challenging glare. His hair was messy, he’d been running around in the backyard with them at Shelli and Irv’s, a few glasses of wine in him seemed to loosen him right up to the point that he was ready to slide tackle your six-year-old.

He watched you for a second, almost like he was waiting for you to stop him. You didn’t, though, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as it looked like he wanted to close to the distance between your chests.

Instead of telling him you shouldn’t, instead of telling him that the girls were down the hall and this was risky, you pulled him on top of you, tugged him by the t-shirt until he flopped down on your bed with a laugh against your lips.

He lifted himself up after a clumsy moment, looked down at you and smirked.

“What?” You asked playfully.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been so turned on by someone in my whole life.”

His words circled around you, pulled your body up to melt into his when his hand cupped your face. He laced his fingers through the hair along your neck, the warmth from his body made your pulse rise with each second.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this when they’re home?”

If the dimples on his cheeks weren’t enough, if the way his tattoos littered his skin wasn’t enough, if the look in his eyes right now on top of you was not enough to create a full-on mom fantasy in your head, the way he talked about your daughters was.

“Yeah,” you tugged him back against your mouth, felt the way your hips tilted against his without any thought. His hands moved to your wrists, holding them in place when he trailed his lips down your jaw, down your neck, pressing kisses in a line along your collarbone.

His hands were warm when they grazed your hips, connecting with skin beneath the fabric of your shirt. You grasped for the hem of his and tugged it over his head in a quick motion, eager to reconnect and feel his skin against yours.

He tasted like wine and smelled like summer, yanked your panties down to your ankles and used his fingers to pull quiet gasps from you like no one had ever before. He held onto your headboard and thrusted into you after you begged: please, please fuck me.

S’probably my favorite thing to do, he said.

The lights were long off and when your heart beats settled and you wiped sweat from your forehead, he laced his fingers between yours.

“Does Jeff want to kill me?”

“No,” you giggled, turned on your side to get a better look at him. The moon through the window illuminated his nose, his eyebrows, the specks of light green in his eyes as they devoured you. “But I’m sure you’ll get a talking to.”

“Should I not talk to him about it?”

You knew what he was asking, you knew he really meant what am I supposed to tell him? What does this mean?

You didn’t have an answer. You didn’t know what he should say or how you should address any of this, because at the end of the day you were a mom and a business owner and he was eight years your junior. He had an album to finish and tour and you knew how that worked.

You watched your dad’s busy lifestyle pull his marriage apart at the seams. Late nights, dinner parties, too much coke in the 80s before you were born and all of those signs pointed in one direction: this would never last.

It couldn’t last, nothing about the equation made sense. Harry + you = fling, rebound, a hook up or friends with benefits type situation that would eventually fade into a memory when he went on tour or when he got the call: your house is finished!

You didn’t have to answer him, though, the pattering of feet in the hallway as a little voice shouted mommy! had you shoving Harry out of bed and onto the floor with a thud before CeCe could push the double doors open.

“Mommy! I had a bad dream!”

“Hi, honey, oh, it’s okay,” you were upright in bed and welcoming her into your arms when Harry grimaced in the dark.

He mouthed a few swear words as you held CeCe, squishing her face into your shoulder to keep her eyes from landing on Harry. You gestured at him wildly with your free hand, ordering him to duck down and remain unseen.

“It was just a dream,” you told her, “you’re okay. Do you want me to walk you back to bed?”

“No,” she cried out quickly. “Can I sleep here?”

You hesitated, then nodded and looked at Harry in the dark. “Of course, yes, you can fall asleep here and then I’ll bring you back to your room.”

“Okay,” she said, the steadiness of her voice returning when she crawled out of your lap and to the spot where Harry had just been. She tugged at the comforters, pushed the pillow in different directions before she let her head rest atop it.

She let out a sigh, her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks and soon enough Harry poked his head up to look at you with wide eyes as you rubbed CeCe’s back.

You held up a finger to your mouth, gave him a threatening glare when he bit back a laugh. You rolled your eyes--it wasn’t funny. She almost walked in on the two of you and while she’d already endured some traumatic things this year, seeing her mom hooking up with the pop star from down the hall would be sure to take the cake.

When Harry caught your gaze again, you smirked, he giggled, clamped a hand over his mouth and watched you for a second.

“Be quiet!”

“You’re the one talking,” he laughed.

“Well she’s asleep now, but we can’t bring her back yet or she’ll wake up.”

“How long do we have to sit like this?”

“A while,” you told him with certainty. “This is called parenting.”

But he did, he sat on the floor on the side of the bed, watched you watch her and eventually, he picked her up from the mattress and followed you down the hall to her room. She softened into him, head on his shoulder and arms around his neck. The sight of it made you want to replay the earlier scene in your head over and over.

She didn’t stir, a few heavy sighs when you pulled the comforter back up to her shoulders, and once the door was shut behind you both, you smirked up at him.

“I think you should go back to your room.”

“Really? After all of that?”

“After almost getting caught by my six-year-old? Yes.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes playfully, crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, but maybe we can do that again at some point and have it end differently.”

You nodded. “I think that sounds doable.”

He leaned forward, kissed you quickly, and then turned to head for his own room. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

**

Harry came home from his house tour with good and bad news. The plumbing was fixed, which sped up their timeline, and yet the painters and interior decorator had gotten behind because of it, pushing the timeline out a few weeks.

You weren’t sure which part was good and which part was bad, because by now you were having trouble imagining what your house would feel like without him in it.

You got the news when he strolled in, athletic shorts and a baseball hat on his head when Jeff clapped him on the back. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Harry eyed him suspiciously, reached into the fridge for a juice box. “I live here…”

“Oh, I know you live here.”

“Hello, hi,” you waved at Jeff. “Please do not be weird.”

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Harry offered you a fake-apologetic look.

“That’s all he knows how to be,” Jeff mocked him. “Actually, I know how to be cool and not weird about the fact that my childhood best friend and my adult best friend-slash-artist are now, you know, involved.”

Your stomach did a somersault at his wording, a quick look in Harry’s direction, sure that he would deny the accusation or play it all down.

You found it hard to believe that Harry would be in support of labeling this as anything. Why on earth would a guy like him want to be tied to you with any sort of label or phrasing or word?

“Moving on,” Harry said with a nod. “Are we down to meet up with Tom and Sam tomorrow?”

“Yeah, and we have to do that phone call on Tuesday to go over tour dates.”

Maeve ran in then, a smile on her face when she looked up at Harry. “I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

“I learned a new chord on the guitar. By myself.”

“You did?” He acted way more excited about it than he likely was.

Jeff smiled and then told Maeve: “If you learn enough chords maybe you can be his guitarist.”

“Really?!” She beamed.

“No,” you shook your head.

“Of course you would say that.”

“Maeve--you’re a kid, you can’t go on tour.”

“She’s right,” Harry said with a sweet smile, “You’re a bit too young for life on the road.”

“I’m eleven now, though!”

“I know! And very mature for eleven,” he complimented. “I’ll tell you what. You can for sure come visit and come back stage and maybe even bring a friend if your mother lets you.”

She looked to you quickly, excitement in her eyes when they all waited for your response. “Yeah--we can go at some point...see a show or something.”

“Hayley is going to die, oh my god!” She squealed with delight and then moved to sit at a stool beside Jeff.

He had half a sandwich on a plate, one he picked up on his way over for a boring Sunday afternoon of lounging by the pool. Maeve reached for a chip from the bag in front of him.

“By the way, mom, she invited me over Wednesday after school to work on a project, so can you bring me?”

“I have to bring CeCe to dance, sweetie.”

“Well I need you to bring me to the store to get supplies for this stupid poster-board thing we have to make! And Hayley’s mom said she had a question about Luna--something about a moisturizer or something.”

“I can take CeCe to dance,” Harry shrugged, almost like an onlooker in the room. “S’not a big a deal.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeff and Maeve crunched on chips between you, watching the exchange.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll just need to put her booster seat in my car.”

“And bring her a snack for after--she’s always cranky and hungry.”

He laughed, “I can manage that.”

“What would we do without you, Harry?” Maeve asked, a smile on her face.

Jeff put his chin in his hands, teasing. “Yeah, what would we do without you?”

“No one would get anywhere, people would seriously be missing out on my chicken tacos, and this house would be a lot less fun to live in.”

Maeve nodded in agreement, another chip stolen from Jeff. “True, true, and true.”

A few nights later it dawned on you that Maeve and Harry were as close as ever, spending evenings in your dad’s old office while Maeve tried to wrap her arms around a guitar long enough to strum a few chords.

CeCe didn’t seem to feel too left out, she was more than happy to be an audience for Maeve when she’d come running into the living room: Harry taught me a G chord!

On Tuesday night after school it was CeCe’s idea to go for pizza, she chirped about it in the backseat the entire way home, and after learning that the body wash production was behind schedule, you weren’t in the mood to cook.

You took Harry’s car--showed him how to strap the booster seat in and make sure it wouldn’t budge. He wore a hat and sunglasses which both girls found hilarious, but to you it was almost disheartening. What did it mean for him to be seen out with your family?

He sat beside CeCe and cut her pizza into tiny bites so it would cool off, Maeve sipped Mountain Dew from a straw and filled you in on the latest with Hayley. This week was going well, though Hayley said something annoying in the cafeteria.

It felt normal, not weird for him to be sitting across from you, his feet against yours beneath the table and a smirk in your direction every once in a while.

Both Tristan and Zoey had been dying to hear more details. It slipped out one day in the office that okay...maybe it wasn’t just a one time thing, and now the group chat you had with them was blowing up every day.

They were excited for you, rooting for your comeback and rebound and eager for you to just admit that there was something there. But you weren’t able to do that, especially not when everything in your heart wanted to.

By the time you’d all finished eating, he dipped out the back to pull the car around front. You pointed at Maeve and told her to watch CeCe while you went up to the counter to pay for the pizza.

The woman behind the register smiled when you approached. Long acrylic nails, wrinkles at the corner of her eyes made it obvious that she could have been your mother.

“We had one large plain and one small with pepperoni,” you told her.

“Oh, you’re all set, sweetie, your boyfriend paid on his way out.”

Your head pulled back in surprise. “Oh--he’s--we’re not,”

She let out a laugh at your hesitance. “He was just as taken back when I told him he had a beautiful family--said they're not his, though."

You forced a laugh, if only to match the humor in her voice when you turned on your heels to head back to your booth. The thoughts started spinning when Maeve and CeCe climbed into the back of Harry’s car.

He smiled at you when you slid in, patted you on the thigh before he turned around to make sure both girls were settled--Maeve clicked CeCe’s buckle into place and then he put the car into gear.

Sleeping with Harry was mostly meaningless, right? He was attractive and living in your house and clearly you both got something out of it. Convenient, easy, fun. Most of your brain had you convinced that there’d never be any more to it. There was no way that Harry would be interested in sticking around: two kids, a business to run. You didn’t exactly come with no strings attached.

And he corrected the woman too--not my kids, not my family, not my wife, not my anything. Had she settled on the next step down when she called him your boyfriend, or had he offered the label to avoid an awkward encounter?

It felt immature, your heart beating with urgency as you thought about it the whole way home, beads of sweat along your hairline and not from the warm weather. He sensed it, eyed you from behind his sunglasses when he parked in the driveway. Maeve and CeCe raced to the backyard, leaving the two of you alone.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” you offered a small smile, the same response you gave to one of the girls if they caught you on a bad day.

He followed you inside, kept his eyes trained on you when you dropped your purse on the counter. “What?”

“You seem off.”

“I’m fine,” you lied again. What were you supposed to say? The woman behind the register at the pizza place is making me question the relationship we have and what it means?

You weren’t 17. You were 32. He was 24. All of these numbers swirled in your head when he took a few steps closer to you, eyes out the window quickly to make sure neither of the girls were watching you through the sliding doors.

He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear, lips turned down when he looked over your face. “You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know,” you caught his wrist and held on for a second, like if you let go he’d disappear and take everything between the two of you with him. You closed your eyes, knew better but still said: “the woman behind the counter called you my boyfriend.”

He let out a laugh, unaware that your words were actually a confession. “She called you my wife, said the girls were cute. I told her I couldn’t take credit.”

“Yeah,” you forced another smile.

“Is that--are you, did that bother you?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes still on you like he wasn’t quite sure where your head was at. He pressed a confusing kiss to your forehead but then said something about calling his sister. You checked work emails and night faded into morning like it always did, no matter how uncertain life was, you always had that.

The next afternoon you brought Maeve to Hayley’s, dropped her off with glue sticks and markers and a plethora of project supplies. A yoga class after that, had her home and with dinner on the stove by 6pm.

Eventually, CeCe burst through the door with a smile on her face. Her pink tutu was around her waist, her legs clad in light pink tights and her hair in a messy ponytail on top of her head. “I had the greatest time at ballet!”

You turned around in the kitchen, eager to hear about her day. “You did?”

“I did,” she nodded confidently. Harry came in the front door behind her, sunglasses on his face and CeCe’s unicorn backpack in hand. Maeve was sat at the counter with a pencil, growing angrier with fractions by the minute.

“Why’s that?”

“We danced to a fun song, and we played a fun game, and everyone loved Harry!”

Your eyebrows rose at that, eyes caught his when he lifted the sunglasses. “They did?”

“Moms, not the six-year-olds.”

This caught Maeve’s attention--she sounded almost disgusted. “Moms?”

“I guess ballet pick-up is typically a mom thing?”

You shrugged. “I mean--I don’t see a lot of dads there, so yeah.”

CeCe shimmied out of her tutu and then climbed up to a stool beside Maeve. Harry walked to hang her backpack on a hook by the backdoor, you questioned if it was even worth asking.

“Were they, like, hitting on you?”

“I mean, not really.”

“Not really?”

He walked over to the island and leaned on it, the dimple in his left cheek let you know he liked the hint of jealousy in your voice. “Maybe a little.”

Dinner simmered on the stove, evening sun brought a glow to the kitchen that made his eyes even more green than usual. When you didn’t reply he broke your gaze, let out a sigh and said: “I’m going to shower before dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you nodded quickly, embarrassed by the silliness of your question. Of course the moms were hitting on him, of course they were intrigued by his presence and of course they couldn’t help but say hi or even ask for a photo. It shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.

He was up the stairs and out of sight quickly, CeCe picked up an extra pencil of Maeve’s and started doodling on her agenda book. You pushed sautéed veggies around in a frying pan and pretended that all of this was normal.

“Hey mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you like Harry?”

You turned around quickly, Maeve’s eyes were inquisitive but not judgmental.

“Do I like Harry? Of course--he’s nice.”

“No, I mean do you like like Harry?”

CeCe didn’t seem too interested in your answer, she hummed to herself and kicked her feet back and forth. Maeve, though, waited patiently while you tried to piece together words that wouldn’t make the roof blow off of your house.

“Harry and I are friends, sweetie.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

You let out a forced laugh. “What is making you ask this?”

“You seemed jealous about the other moms.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you defended. Were you really about to get into it with your eleven-year-old? Would you really defend yourself and make this the hill on which you'd die?

She watched you for a second, looked back down at the worksheet in front of her. “You seemed jealous.”

You were thankful for the fact that she wasn’t making any eye contact now. You let out a sigh and decided that not responding was your best option. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, had it been that obvious? Was she old enough to pick up on the undertones of your relationship?

You turned back to the stove, watched the vegetables sizzle in the pan as your mind started to cave in on itself. All of this was getting out of control, right? First the woman yesterday and the dizziness that overtook you when she said the word boyfriend. Now Maeve sitting at the counter with a curiosity in her that you couldn’t really blame her for.

The doorbell rang, CeCe’s head popped up in excitement. “Who is that?!”

“I don’t know,” you said. She hopped off her stool and took off the door as you followed behind her. You hadn’t planned on a visit from Jeff, maybe Tristan needed last minute approval on a product.

But when CeCe yanked the door open with both hands and an excited smile on her face, you didn’t expect to see Luke, hands in his pockets and eyebrows raised high.

“Daddy!”

“Hi sweetie,” he knelt down on one knee, wrapped his arms around her when Maeve made a noise of excitement before rushing over. She crashed into him, pushing her way into their hug.

“What are you doing here?” she asked excitedly.

“I wanted to visit, I was in the neighborhood,” he said with a shrug, eyes glancing up to you.

It was bullshit, he’d always been good at talking his way out of things or coming up with an explanation, smile sweet and words even sweeter. He backed away from them when they let go, stood back up and smiled at you, a quick nod in greeting.

“How’ve you been?”

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[arvinsescape]

A lover to a stranger

A/N: This one is pure angst! It’s based on a request i recieved!! I won’t be writing a part two because i don’t think that would work! I enjoyed writing this because it’s quite different from what i would normally write and i hope you enjoy!!

Request:  So Tom and the reader have broken up, but the world still thinks they are a couple. Tom have a radio interview, and he gets asked a question about y/n. But he doesn't say anything about them having broken up, only that she is amazing and that he misses her really much. Then after the interview, he goes out of the building like in the video, but when he gets in the car, he starts balling his eyes out, and the pap gets it on video. And the reader both sees the interview and the pap video, and she gets really sad. You choose how it should end

Warnings: Swearing, cheating.

W/C: 3K.

You’d been unaware for months, blissfully unaware, but unaware all the same. It was Harrisons girlfriend that had taken pity on you and decided that enough was enough, someone was going to have to burst your bubble and make you painfully aware.

“Y/N, we need to talk.” She said as she watched you furrow your brows.

“About?” You were so blissfully unaware that Bonnie almost wasn’t sure she could do it.

“Tom.” Bonnie sighed and watched as your brows furrowed deeper in worry.

“What about him?” You bit your lip, you were worried about him. He’d done the worst possible thing to you and you were worried about him. Bonnie’s heart was aching.

“Listen, I’m so sorry I have to be the one to tell you this, I wish I didn’t.” She sighed. “Tom’s been cheating on you, with Georgia.” She whispered out and she hoped maybe you wouldn’t have heard, maybe she could forget she ever came here and was the one to break your heart. No such luck, you’d heard.

“What? I don’t… I don’t understand.” You stuttered out and Bonnie felt her heart break as she watched you swallow back tears and keep yourself composed.

“I’m so sorry. It started a couple of months ago.” Bonnie felt her own tears.

“Did everyone know?” You asked and it was so quiet and the heartbreak was so evident that Bonnie felt her tears fall, she didn’t want to answer this question.

“I’m so sorry, we found out last month. Y/N I wanted to tell you, I did but he said he was going to and I thought he had but he hadn’t.” Bonnie rambled as she watched you slowly nod as tears made their way down your cheeks. Georgia had been your best friend, Bonnie couldn’t think of anything worse.

You had this look about you that was enough to break anyone’s heart, you realised in this moment that the two people you would rely on the most, run to for any problem were the cause of your pain. You sniffled as you looked at Bonnie and sighed.

“Thank you for telling me, I think. Well thank you for growing a conscience after a month. I think you should go.” You weren’t angry, you were hurt. You had no one left you could seek comfort in. Bonnie nodded.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I wanted to tell you, I really did but I couldn’t, you were so happy and no one wanted to hurt you. I will still be here if you need anything.” Bonnie said with a sad smile as she left and heard as you slammed the door shut.

You broke down, you cried for hours. The pain in your heart was unbearable, your best friend and your boyfriend. How do you come back from that? You knew he’d been staying out a little later or taking longer to do things than he normally would. It was almost like Bonnie’s words had made you realise how blind you’d been. Everyone knew, except you and it hurt that everyone kept that from you. You didn’t think Tom or Georgia would do this to you, they both knew about your past relationships, hell Georgia had comforted you through them.

You felt like you’d been stabbed in the back by every single person you’d put your trust into. You knew this was it, when Tom eventually came home that it was the last time you’d see him before you left the house for good. You’d told him earlier on in the relationship that you were a forgiving person but cheating was something you could never forgive, no matter how hard you tried and you’d tried with past boyfriends, you had but you couldn’t ever see past the betrayal.

You cried and screamed into your pillow as you wrapped yourself in your duvet, you were so heartbroken that you didn’t have it in you to fight tonight and you hoped sleep would take over before Tom came home and you could deal with this tomorrow. But of course the real world was cruel and tended to step on those who were already down. You heard the front door shut and you cried harder, you were going to have to face him and you didn’t want to.

You didn’t want to face him right now, you wanted to sleep and you wanted to deal with the further heartbreak tomorrow, your heart couldn’t take anymore pain right now. Of course he heard you, heard your cries of heartbreak and you wondered for a moment if he knew why but he had no idea, he’d gotten away with it for so long he stopped worrying, probably stopped caring.

You heard as his feet rapidly made their way up the stairs and you wanted to hide, you wanted to curl up into a ball underneath the bed and just hide from the world. You’d given him so much, you’d done everything for him, been as supportive as you could and it wasn’t enough. You weren’t enough and you tried so hard to be.

You heard the bedroom door open and you curled further into yourself, you would allow yourself to show him how much he’d ripped your heart out, you wanted him to see how open and vulnerable this had left you so that tomorrow morning when you confronted him maybe he’d care. Maybe he’d do the one thing he hasn’t for months, maybe he’d care.

“Fuck, sweetheart are you okay?” He sounded worried. He was a good actor though, he’d pretended to love you for months. He made his way around to your side of the bed and crouched down next to you, you stuffed your face further into your pillow as he smoothed out your hair. “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?” He sounded like he cared but he didn’t, he can’t have cared otherwise he wouldn’t have done this to you.

You couldn’t answer, you just cried harder and you cried because it wasn’t the first time this had happened to you, someone better always came along and no one cared how that left you. How it took a part of you every single time it’d happened. You’d thought Tom was different, of course you did because you were naïve and stupid and too trusting with your heart. Sometimes you wondered if it was your own fault, you willingly handed your heart to these people.

“Baby are you gonna tell me what’s happened?” He asked as he moved so he was behind you on the bed and you shook your head. You hated the fact that he couldn’t put this level of heartbreak down to his actions, did he really pretend to love you and to care for so long. He pulled your back against his chest and tried to soothe you. Every sweet nothing he whispered felt it was killing you in the slowest way possible, it had the opposite effect it usually would.

At some point you fell asleep, he’d asked countless times what had happened and you’d cried until there were no tears left, until exhaustion had completely consumed you and you allowed yourself one last night in his embrace. Of course the little sleep you’d had was horrendous, you still felt tired when you woke the next morning.

You pulled yourself from Tom’s grasp and made your way downstairs as you looked at your phone.

Bonnie: I’m so sorry Y/N. Please let me know you’re okay.

Harrison: Bonnie told me she told you. I’m sorry, I’m here if you need anything.

Georgia: Hey girlie!! Wanna do something today?

The text message from Georgia made your blood boil, she knew what this would do to you and she couldn’t give a fuck. Had she done this before? The thought of her betrayal was the worst one, she was your childhood best friend, she’d been there through everything and now she’d left you alone. You almost screamed in anger as you slammed your phone onto the kitchen counter. You’d deal with her later but right now you needed to think about what to say to Tom.

You were aware you looked like shit, aware that it wasn’t over yet, you’d cried your heart out until it was dry and now you were about to take the final step and rip it in half. The world really was a cruel place, you wanted to think about how you were going to approach Tom but you were robbed of that as well as everything else as he entered the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

“Can we talk about last night baby? Are you okay?” Tom said as he eyed you carefully and you felt the anger rise for the second time that morning. How dare he.

“Do not ‘baby’ me. I don’t want to hear another single fucking pet name out of your lying mouth.” You gritted out at him and he looked taken aback, truly taken aback at your anger.

“What’s wrong?” He asked cautiously, you could see the gears turning in his head as the panic rose, he knew you knew. He gulped.

“How’s Georgia? It would appear you’ve been spending far more time with her than I have.” You seethed and he swallowed hard as he looked at you. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone look more heartbroken and angry at the same time.

“Y/N, I love you, okay. It was a mistake.” He tried calmy and you flared your nostrils as you felt your anger boil over. It was easier to focus on the anger, the heartache had been too much.

“Bullshit, you don’t fucking love me, let’s get that straight. A mistake? No Tom, a mistake is forgetting to pick up milk not sleep with my best friend.” You shouted and he hung his head.

“Y/N, please. She came onto me and I don’t know it just happened. I don’t love her, I love you.” He suddenly looked at you frantically.

“I don’t really want to hear it Tom. This has happened to me before remember. I’ve heard all of this before. It’s cliché at this point.” You snapped and he felt his tears leave his eyes. The truth was he didn’t love her, he really did love you and she had come onto him. He has no real excuses for what happened, the sneaking around was fun he supposed, maybe he’d not fully thought about what this would do to you. But he could see it now, he saw it last night as his own heart broke watching you break down in a way he’d never witnessed before and he caused it.

“I’m sorry. Please can we talk this through?” He asked as he tried to step closer as you took a step back.

“Talk? There’s nothing to talk about. You cheated on me and I don’t forgive that, there’s nothing to save between us.” You said and you felt the anger wash away as you said the words, this was it. A two and a half year relationship gone with the click of some fingers, the man you loved was now a stranger with the click of some fucking fingers. You felt the tears again and when you looked at Tom he was already crying.

“I’m sorry, I love you though, I really do. She means nothing to me.” Tom said desperately as he watched you make your way towards the door. “Please don’t leave, stay and we can talk this out.” He pleaded and you sniffled as you turned around to look at him.

“Tom. Hearing that she means nothing to you is worse. It confirms the fact that I wasn’t enough, I made you bored, or I didn’t love you with enough of me to make you feel complete and that hurts worse. At least if you were in love with her I’d understand better why you carried on betraying me, but I don’t. You’ve brought all of my insecurities back to life and I can never forgive you for that.” She smiled sadly as you opened the door to leave. “Do what you want with my stuff, I don’t want any of it.”

That was two months ago, you’d not spoken to Georgia, you’d just completely cut her from your life because you couldn’t bring yourself to face her. Tom had rung you non stop and you’d blocked his number, as for the boys and Bonnie, you’d not spoken to them either, they texted you occasionally but you didn’t read them. You’d felt betrayed by everyone and you couldn’t bring yourself to be around them. You were slowly healing yourself, reminding yourself it wasn’t your fault it was his and you were trying not to keep up with Tom at all. The world still thought you were a couple though.

He’d not told everyone about the breakup and you’d removed yourself from social media almost instantly in fear of the hate that would be targeted at you when they found out. It was your brother that had told you the world still thought you were together. You’d been on YouTube when you saw it, it was a video regarding one of Tom’s recent interviews and curiosity got the better of you as you clicked it.

He was doing a radio interview and he’d been asked a question about you, you could hear the waver in his voice as he spoke.

“Y/N is amazing, I miss her so much. Being away from her is something I find incredibly hard, I love her so much you know. It’s hard not being able to see the person you love.” He didn’t say anything about you having broken up. The video then cuts to Tom walking out of the interview, hood pulled up as he tried to avoid the media and as he got into the back of the car he cried, someone had caught it on camera and you could clearly see the tears.

Your heart sank because of course you still loved him and maybe he did still love you but that wasn’t enough, you’d never be able to look at him the same. You’d never be able to forget what he did, your phone buzzed in your hand and you looked at the contact Harry.

Harry hadn’t tried to contact you in the last couple of months and maybe that’s what possessed you to answer the phone when you did.

“Hi Harry, what’s up?” You tried to sound as normal as possible.

“I know it’s a lot to ask and I’m sorry but can you please talk to him? I can’t get him to calm down, I think he needs closure.” Harry said sadly and you sighed but agreed. You heard as Harry approached Tom and you heard a small conversation take place before Tom’s voice filled your ears.

“Y/N?” Tom sniffled and he sounded so heartbroken that your heart ached.

“Hey, Tom.” You whispered and he sobbed.

“Y/N, please can we talk? Please can we work it out? Baby I miss you and I love you. I haven’t seen her, she meant nothing to me. I want you, I love you.” He stuttered out through his tears and you sighed as your own heart broke all over again.

“Tom, I explained to you why her meaning nothing to you hurt more. I love and miss you to, more than you can ever understand but I can’t forgive you for this and that’s why we’ll never work it out. I’ll never be able to look at you the same no matter how hard I try. I won’t be able to trust you and you’ll suffer for that. We both need to move on. Tom you need to move on, this isn’t healthy, the world still thinks we’re together and we’re not. Tom, we are over and there’s no going back.” You were crying now as you sniffled and continued.

“I need you to do something for me Tom.”

“Anything, it’s yours, anything.” He rambled out and your heart shattered.

“I need you to move on. I need you to tell the world the truth so that you can move forward.” You said and you heard him sob louder.

“Can we at least still be friends? Can we at least see each other?” He asked and you sighed again.

“Tom, that’s not a good idea and you know it. I can’t be your friend Tom and I think deep down you understand that. Nothing is going to change what happened and what that did to me okay. You’ll always have a piece of my heart but I’m running out of pieces to give. You need to move on, I need to move on. Tom, this is the last time you’ll ever hear from me, okay. Just promise me you’ll move on.” You said and you heard him quieten his sobs to sniffles.

“I promise.” He sniffled.

“Goodbye Tom.” You said sadly.

“Goodbye Y/N.” He sobbed and you put the phone down. Your heart was aching thinking about the pain he was in but you couldn’t stop the thoughts consuming you as you remembered that he’d done the same to you months ago and that was the problem. You could never forgive him because you would always treat him as if you didn’t trust him and didn’t trust his motives and that wasn’t healthy for either of you. Tom Holland had gone from being your lover to a stranger with the snap of some fucking fingers.

[the-l-spacer]

Ooo fic requests,,, how abouttt madeleine convincing espresso to take a day off to relax?

ao3

He really should have seen them sooner. The signs, pointing to the fact that something is amiss with Espresso. But as Madeleine sweeps up the stairs to the mage’s laboratory, situated two floors above Sparkling’s juice bar, he remains blissfully unaware of the uncharacteristic quiet of the stairwell, devoid of the usual distant crackling of electricity. He doesn’t notice that the hum of equipment, the bubbling and hissing of wildly coloured chemicals in little vials, the telltale scratch-scratch-scratch of Espresso’s quill on parchment, are absent as well.

Instead, he hums the chorus line of an old Republic cantata that had snuck into his head that morning. He balances the freshly-made scones, jam and cream in the crook of his right arm, the flasks of tea (for him) and coffee (for his boyfriend) in his left. And as he clears the last flight of steps, he certainly doesn’t register the musty smell of the room he stands outside, the scent of dust and stale coffee souring the air, as he bursts through the door, announcing heartily,

“Espresso! The hero of the hour has come to relieve you of your workaholism… with breakfast!” He brandishes the gifts — procured from the market that very morning — like they’re his sword and shield, flashes his trademark grin, and…

….and then he goes quiet.

Espresso sits (or rather, slumps) at his messy desk, head resting in both his hands. His carefully gelled up hair now falling in disheveled locks across his face. Slowly, thin fingers shift slightly to reveal a single, bloodshot eye, that regards the knight with disdain.

“Of course,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “As if things couldn’t get any worse, you show up.”

Madeleine blinks at the unexpected hurt the comment brings him. Yes, their early relationship was full of such... quips from Espresso, but more than half the time, Madeleine had deserved them. Now, after time spent trying to improve himself, stepping back to let others take the spotlight once in a while, not tying his worth to the adoration of the public (that was still a work in progress), he thought he’d gotten better. To hear his boyfriend say those same, biting words that characterised their interactions months prior, when all he’d done was say hello?

Something isn’t right.

“Well, that is to say, your work ethic is something I admire, of course, but you do tend to neglect yourself because of it.” Madeleine pads towards the desk, tries to find an uncluttered spot to set their breakfast down. “Hence, scones! Tear yourself away for a bit and eat them with me?”

Espresso’s finger twitches, and quite suddenly, Madeleine is sent stumbling back, a crackling magical barrier shooting up around the mage. “Leave, Knight-Commander,” Espresso says, “I’m in no mood to entertain your bumbling.”

Carefully, Madeleine sets down the packages on the floor. “Espresso. Are you well? Something about you seems… off, today.”

The Coffee mage, still unmoving at his desk, scoffs lightly. “Off? I’m fine. I was perfectly fine before you came along to distract me.”

Madeleine chances a glance around the room, at the crumpled up papers scattered across the floor, the dustbins filled with strange, foul-smelling goop, cups of half-drunk coffee set across every available surface.

“I do not think so,” he responds, gently as he can. “Something is troubling you, that much is clear. Let me help, Espresso.”

Espresso’s fists slam on the table, and the mage’s head snaps up, anger flashing in his eyes. “You’re not some white knight in shining armour, and you’re not a savior,” he snarls, “so stop trying to be one and leave. Me. Alone!” The barrier around him turns into a wave of Coffee Magic that sweeps across the lab, engulfing Madeleine in momentary pain.

Then, the room is silent once again.

Madeleine regards Espresso, head back in his hands. “Are you done?”

“Leave.”

He takes a breath, composes his next words, and speaks. “It’s true that I am none of those things, you’ve made that abundantly clear in the time we’ve known each other.” No response from Espresso, but for a slight exhalation of breath he chooses to interpret as amusement. He continues. “But I am your boyfriend. And while I may not be a saviour, I’m not foolish enough to let that stop me from caring about you. If caring means leaving you alone, then so be it. But I’ve left you alone for weeks now, and seeing you this way…”

He trails off, looking Espresso up and down. His robe had been long discarded, in favour of rumpled shirtsleeves, stained and singed, and the mage looks more exhausted than usual, if that is even possible.

“… So let me care about you. Please.”

As if a switch had been flipped, Espresso deflates, curling in, head falling from his hands to rest on the desk’s edge with a dull thud. His next words come slightly muffled from beneath the table.

“I’m sorry, it-”, They both wince at the rough, sarcastic tone. Espresso takes a shuddering breath, and Madeleine’s chest aches when he sees Espresso’s slight frame shake with the effort. He tries again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. It’s just. It's been-” his voice hitches. “It’s been a long day.”

And Madeleine is crouched at his side in an instant, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Espresso sighs, and leans against him.

“It’s the research grant for the Parfaedia Institute,” the words tumble out of him, “I have to develop a new spell, submit successful results as proof. Next year’s funding hinges on it but. But I-”

Madeleine leans on his shoulder. “It’s alright. You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.

“No, it’s… it’s nothing. Just that none of my experiments have worked so far. I thought that if I simply buckled down and focused, everything would fall into place, like it had in the past. But the deadline is a week away and I’m no closer to a completed paper than I was a month ago. I.” Espresso shuts his eyes, fighting against the rising tears. ‘I don’t know what to do.”

Wordlessly, Madeleine straightens up, opens his arms.

Espresso gets out of his seat, wincing as blood rushes to his legs, and stumbles into his boyfriend’s embrace, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away.

“Madeleine, I need a day off, don’t I?” Espresso mutters, defeated, into his chest.”

The paladin chuckles. “I think you just might.”

“Had coffee an hour ago though. Probably wouldn’t be able to sleep, even if I tried.”

Madeleine breaks away gently. “How about some breakfast, to start? These scones aren’t going to eat themselves.”

For the first time in weeks, Espresso cracks a small smile. “Let me get cleaned up first?”

“Of course.”

“And Madeleine?” Espresso looks up at the knight.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry about earlier, truly. And… thank you.”

Madeleine smiles, too, and presses a soft kiss to Espresso’s forehead.

“Already forgiven, and thank you. For letting me take care of you.”

-

Later, they take breakfast together (slightly cold, but neither of them mind). Then, Madeleine takes Espresso’s hand, and pulls him out of his dark laboratory, to the sunlit Kingdom beyond.

If he was someone different, perhaps Madeleine would have pointed out the metaphor. But he’s far too busy trying to win a stuffed jelly horse for his boyfriend (currently riding a carousel bemusedly) to notice. Probably for the best, anyways.

[j-amespotter]

★ exile - s. b.

“you’re not my homeland anymore.”

Pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Reader x Male!OC

x. x. x.

Summary: Sirius is caught in the middle of a quarrel between two lovers; AU where Harry is raised by his godmother.

Genre/Warnings: angst, language, mentions of death & war, dumbledore-bashing 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone, but i plan on writing a part 2 based on the song ivy (for those who would like a semi-happier ending). let me know if you want to be on my general/a character-specific taglist. 

masterlist

Sirius probably should not have stayed behind. All context clues pointed to the fact that he probably should leave the dining room. However, it was his dining room. It wasn’t his fault you were having a full-fledged argument with someone that was a complete stranger to him in his house. 

To be fair, he was still processing. Twelve years in Azkaban had him always prepared for the worst, but with Remus’s forgiveness and Harry’s acceptance of him, he was on a high. A high that, unfortunately, came crashing down the minute he discovered his girlfriend (Ex-girlfriend? There wasn’t ever actually a break-up, but Sirius got the hint pretty fast) had married in the fourteen years they spent apart. 

He supposed he should be thankful. Thanks to you and your husband, Harry grew up in a loving household. Harry had a family. 

John. His name was John. The name itself disgusted him. As he got to know John, it comforted him to find out that he was every bit a square as his name suggested. He was nice, though. Sirius couldn’t deny that. Stable. Perfect. Blonde. 

It was thrilling, actually. Watching his perfection deteriorate right there, in Sirius’s dining room. And besides the personal delight it brought to see you frown at John, Sirius had a right to be there. You were fighting about matters that concerned his godson, and he had already failed Harry for twelve years. 

“I’m telling you, (Y/N). We need to trust Dumbledore,” John argued with his wife. He sounded tired. Sirius hoped he wasn’t smirking, but at the same time, he didn’t really care. As perfect as this man seemed to be, he very obviously lacked the stamina to keep up with you. This fact satisfied him immensely. 

Sirius watched as you scoffed. “Dumbledore has got nothing to do with this. He’s my godson. I’m the one that raised him. Dumbledore stepped in when it was convenient for him – now when Harry’s grown up and useful.” 

John looked at you with an odd, doubtful expression on his face. “You weren’t the only one that raised him,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that…” you trailed off nervously. Sirius found it strange to see you back down so easily. He dared to hope that there was some trouble in paradise but was too well-acquainted with disappointment to let it flourish.

The three of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Sirius, having remained uncharacteristically quiet in the encounter thus far, wondered if he should intervene. Before he could form a coherent thought, John broke the silence. “I don’t see why we should tell Harry the prophecy if you haven’t even told me yet.” 

For the first time all night, and quite involuntarily, you met Sirius’s eye. Out of the five people who knew of the prophecy’s full contents, only three survived. Fortunately for you, your husband did not notice the interaction – Sirius gathered that John remained blissfully unaware of your romantic history. “Nobody in the Order knows,” you said, “and nobody is supposed to know. I don’t want to tell Harry the prophecy. I just want him to know what to expect. There is danger in the Department of Mysteries, and if Dumbledore thinks Voldemort will try to lure him there, he should know it. You know how Harry is, John. If we don’t give him answers, he’ll go looking for them himself.” 

John winced at the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name. “But Dumbledore…”

“I agree with (Y/N),” interrupted Sirius finally. “It is not Dumbledore’s decision; it is ours. (Y/N)’s and mine. We are his godparents.”

John, who had no reason to dislike Sirius, stared at him in irritation. “Fine, if that’s what you think. You reap what you sow, I suppose.” With a firm glance, he turned to you. “I have sacrificed so much for you and Harry, yet you always keep me at arm’s length. Let me know when you’re ready to be a family.” With that, he got up and left the dining room. 

You flushed. Sirius felt a wave of fury at the man. How dare he throw that in your face? Selfish bastard. He waited for John’s footsteps to fade away. “Some guy you’ve got there,” he remarked sarcastically. 

Your eyes snapped in his direction. “He’s not ‘some guy.’ He’s my husband. And what business did you have, stepping in like that? I can handle myself.” 

“You didn’t ask me to leave,” Sirius pointed out without missing a beat. 

“I let you stay out of courtesy, Black. You are Harry’s godfather. I can’t change that.” 

“Good. Merlin knows you tried,” he said, glancing in the general direction of the door John just walked out. “See, we even argue better.”  

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t love him,” said Sirius matter-of-factly.

Anger flared in your eyes. “Yes, I do.” 

“Bullshit,” said Sirius, invigorated by your blazing look. “You're forgetting that I’ve seen it when you’re in love. Was on the receiving end, in fact. If you love him, you absolutely worshipped me.”

You looked at him, scandalized by the insinuation. “You’re an arse.” 

“Maybe, but one that speaks cold, hard facts.” He watched you, his pale eyes attempting to memorize your features. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped. 

“Can’t help it, love,” he said casually. It felt like fitting into an old rhythm. Sirius refused to believe you couldn’t feel the same way. 

You sat in silence for a while, but not like the awkward silence that enveloped the room when John occupied the space. You stared at your glass, lost in thought. “At least he didn’t leave.” 

Sirius swallowed heavily. “You didn’t stop me.” 

You looked indignant. “You must be joking.” 

“You’re freaking me out, Sirius. What the hell happened?” You clutched his arm, shaking him for answers. 

Sirius was inconsolable. “J-James and Lily… d-dead.” His voice cracked. 

Tears spilled out of your eyes. “N-No, that’s not possible. You said they were safe, that everything was fine!” 

He was trembling. You could barely make out his words. “The little rat…” 

“W-Who?” You were crying. Lily… your best friend… She couldn’t be dead. Bright, bubbly, perfect Lily Potter could not be dead. 

Suddenly, Sirius was standing up, wiping his eyes. “I have to go.” 

Your eyes widened. “What? Where? Where’s Harry?” 

“With Dumbledore. I have to go.” 

“Wait, don’t leave me here–” But with a crack, he was gone. 

Sirius sighed, rubbing his unkempt beard. “You didn’t come after me. You didn’t stop them from taking me. You didn’t get me out.” 

“How the hell was I supposed to do that? You didn’t tell me about switching the Secret-Keepers. You didn’t have an orphaned baby in your lap. And I saw your picture in the paper. Do you even know how deranged you looked? What was I supposed to do?”

“Goddamnit, I don’t know! Everything went wrong…” Sirius said, raising his voice slightly. “I lost my best friend.” 

“So did I,” you whispered. “Harry lost his parents. We both needed you.” 

“But I wasn’t there…” 

You shook your head. “No, you weren’t.” 

“And John was?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m here now,” said Sirius in a resigned voice. 

“I can see that,” you joked with a sad smile. “I’m glad. We both are – Harry and me.” 

“You raised him well,” said Sirius sincerely. “James and Lily would’ve been proud of him.” 

You smiled at him like never before. His heart thudded against his chest. “I hope so. Thank you.” 

“Does he make you happy?” 

You stared at a spot over his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s none of your concern, Sirius.” 

“It always will be, you know that.” You deserve better, he wanted to say. Better than him and me. 

You deserved someone who completed you, not just someone who fits the mold. As you bid him goodnight, Sirius couldn’t help the twinge of envy brewing in his chest. Beyond his jealousy and hatred of John, he felt sad. Sirius recognized the unhappiness in your eyes, and he felt helpless. There was nothing he could do for you anymore. 

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly​ @lunalovecroft​

[harryhandstan]

This is my contribution to @meetmeinfleetwood​‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I chose the trope roommates to lovers and the prompt “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” This was fun to write thank you for allowing me to participate!

Thank you to my beta readers @tbslenthusiast​, @witch-harry​, and @sunflowers-styles​! Y’all are the best!!

no warnings that I can think of other than alcohol tw // bc of the wine they share!

word count: 2.3k

writing tag | masterlist

It’s 5:45 p.m. when you finally leave work for the day. You should’ve just said to hell with it and went home at 5:30 like you were supposed to, but you were nice enough not to. Too nice you’d been told in the past, but it’s a flaw you’re willing to accept if it gets you a promotion to the position you ultimately dreamed of working when you started there 3 years ago.

After a quick stop to grab a bottle of wine (or two), your car can’t get you home fast enough. It’s Friday and you’re looking forward to spending time doing absolutely nothing for the next two days but curling up in a blanket and watching Christmas movies in the apartment you will essentially be alone in. Your roommate Harry shared the space with you, but kept to himself for the most part. Aside from dinners and movie nights on rare occasions when your schedule lined up, allowing you to spend the evening together.

As if your thoughts summoned him, your phone dinged, indicating a new message. Your eyes dart down to where it sits in the passenger seat, careful to keep your eyes on the car in front of you, waiting patiently for the light to turn red so you can grab your phone to respond.

It’s one simple word, “Home?” so you know he’s either still working or on his own drive home. 

Your reply is just as direct, “Not yet. On my way! Movie night?” 

The light’s green again so you tuck your phone back into your purse, ignoring the next ding until you arrive home. You’re through the door of your apartment and down the hall before you read his message, “Sure. Chinese or pizza?” 

“Chinese! I’ll pick the movie and you pay for dinner?”

“That doesn’t sound fair :(”

“Alright fine, you get home before I’m out of the shower and in my pajamas you can pick the movie..deal?”

“Deal!”

The race is on then, both of you competitive and determined to win. You have a movie in mind that you’ve been dying to watch all day and you don’t want to have to rock-paper-scissors to break the tie like you usually do when the two of you don’t agree on who wins  these little games. 

You’d already shed most of your layers of clothing easily as you moved through the apartment; your boots kicked off by the door, jacket gone and thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs, cardigan pulled from your body and tossed on the bed by the time you made it to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long to strip the rest away and to gather a set of pajamas from your well organized drawer before darting across the hall to the shared bathroom.

You know you have at minimum 45 minutes to be done, an hour if he goes to the better Chinese place a little further across town, which he most likely would. You’d been dreaming of ending your week with a bubble bath, but you don’t take the chance now, just hop under the hot spray of the shower, hoping it will have the same relaxing effect. Your eyes are closed as you tilt your head back to wet your hair while one hand fumbles over the bottles to find your shampoo. 

Eyes still closed, you tip the bottle to add a bit to your hand, but you freeze when you open your eyes temporarily to close the bottle and put it back on the shelf. It’s Harry’s shampoo you’ve grabbed instead and for a moment you don’t know what to do. You don’t know how many times you’ve teased him about how expensive his products are. But he would never let you hear the end of it if he came home and you smelled like him. Ultimately you would’ve felt too guilty to waste it, so you work it through and hope he never finds out. Pray that the act washes away just like the suds do when you rinse them from your hair. 

By your hopeful calculations, you still have about 10 minutes left before he arrives by the time you're done in the shower. You decide to give him a fair advantage, venturing into the kitchen to decide which bottle of wine would pair best with dinner. When you make your selection, you pour yourself a glass, settling into a comfy spot on the couch. The black remote taunts you from the small wooden coffee, and you grab it. No harm in getting the movie ready while you wait, right?

You’re 2 glasses deep and 20 minutes into the movie when he arrives, a smirk on his face at the sight of you. Your eyes go wide when you see him. You’re not sure why, there had been many nights he’d found you in the same position, but tonight feels different. You gulp down the sip of wine, too tipsy and unaware that you’re staring. Had his dimples always been that prominent when he smiled? Even without your glasses you could spot that grin that stretched a mile wide across his face.

“Haroldddd..you’re home!”

He hated that nickname, had always despised when other people called him that, but falling from your lips it sounds like a prayer and he would gladly change his name to that if he thought it would make you the least bit happy.

“S’pose I lost, huh? Got the food pretty quickly but stopped to get this,” He holds up a bottle of wine, ironically the very same kind that you’re drinking now, “Shoulda known y’would already have some!”

“Oh good, you got some for yourself..this one’s almost empty..”

“M’not that late, am I?” He chuckles as he makes his way to the counter, looking between you and the bottle.

“Hey..it’s a small bottle! This is only my third glass and I’ve barely even touched it.”

“Rough day?” He’s pulling plates down now and retrieving a glass for himself from the cabinet.

“Rough week. Rough few weeks, really.” You take a few more sips as you watch him prepare a plate of food. You figure he’s just making his own, and you wait patiently for him to finish so you won’t be in the way. But when he makes his way around the counter, he’s holding two plates in his hand and wow you want to jump from your spot and kiss him. You restrain yourself, as hard as it may be, and try to focus on the question he’s asking you.

He holds the plates towards the table and then towards where you sit on the couch, silently wanting to know where you’d prefer to enjoy your meal. You pat the spot next to you, inviting him to move closer, knowing how much effort it would take to lift yourself from your warm, comfy spot to go eat at the table.

“Emily still on vacation?” 

“Yes! And she expects us to do double the work while she’s gone! It’s her 3rd vacation this year. I know she’s the boss but..”

“Doesn’t mean she has to be a bitch to you.” He finishes your sentence for you, brow furrowed, upset at even the idea of someone mistreating you in the slightest. 

“Right! Thank you!” 

You hold your hand out to accept the plate he’s made for you, “Got our usual, hope that’s alright.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I was just joking earlier about you paying for all of it. I’ll pay you back for my half.”

He’s already shaking his head no, stuffing a bite of food in his mouth, “It was my turn anyway, r‘member? You paid for those tacos we had last week.”

“Right, I did. Forgot about that.”

You watch him devour a few more bites, your eyes darting from your plate to his, “Yours looks better.”

“Huh?”

Maybe it’s the wine making you more bold, you’d normally never complain, “Your plate it just..looks better than mine. Switch with me.”

“It’s literally the same thing..and I’ve already eaten half the noodles off mine.” He looks mildly annoyed at even the suggestion.

“Don’t care..it looks better. Switch.” You realized just how bratty you sound, so you add a quick, “Please?”

He huffs dramatically, switching the plates and giving you a sarcastic smile, “Happy?”

You return his smile, blissfully unaware of his annoyance in your tipsy state, “Very, thank you.”

You both turn your attention to the tv you realize now you had forgotten to pause, so the movie had progressed further, about 30 minutes in now.

His irritation has already faded when he asks, “What are y’making me watch?”

You start to explain the plot but stop mid-bite of your food, “Wait..have you never seen this movie?”

He shrugs, “Doesn’t look familiar.”

“Oh we’re definitely starting it over then!” 

“No, ya don’t hafta..”

It’s too late, you’ve already discarded your now mostly empty plate of food, nearly knocking your glass of wine over in your excitement of making him watch one of your favorite movies.

Almost an hour in, you don’t notice that Harry’s eyes have drifted to you. In fact, they’d mostly stayed on you since you’d restarted the movie. Your facial expressions were better to him than any movie; the way your eyes softened at the more heartwarming parts, or when your mouth formed a soft ‘o’ and gasped at parts he was certain you had probably seen at least a dozen times before.

You clasp your hand over your heart dramatically and he doesn’t even flinch, just listens intently when you say, “I love this part..this is the moment.”

His eyes temporarily flash back to the tv then, “The moment?”

“Yeah, you know, the moment. Where the guy looks at the girl and realizes he’s in love.” You sigh deeply, “I always wanted someone to look at me like that.”

Oh, you mean like what’s happening now between us? God he hopes for just a glance from you, a chance to show you that you’re living your own moment now if you’d just look at him. 

It’s tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he can stop it, his mouth working faster than his brain, but it’s a low enough whisper he thinks maybe you won’t hear.

“I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.”

You do hear him, though you don’t believe it at first. Your hand is still resting over your heart, searching his face for any sign of teasing or dishonesty.

“H..did you just..?”

He’s looking down at his hands, fingers fiddling with one of the rings adorning his fingers, nodding before replying, “I did.” 

“How long?”

“Um..since the first week we’ve lived together? That first night we made dinner together and it was a disaster. Thought you were gonna catch the place on fire.” A giggle escapes him at the memory of you, rushing around the kitchen that night, face flushed red and hair a mess.

“That’s my moment? Almost burning our apartment down?”

“That and now, yeah. Just been strugglin’ with the best way to tell you. S’pose the wine’s making me a lil’ more fearless,'' He takes a deep breath, still not able to look at you in case he finds even a hint of rejection on your face, “But I understand if you don’t feel the same..”

“I do.”

His head snaps to look at you then, eyes widening for a second before he composes himself, “Really?”

You can’t stop the smile that blooms across your face at the sight of the thrill in his eyes. There’s a new buzz of elation in the air, but neither of you make a move at first. A pleasant tension fills the space between the two of you.

You break the silence, “So..what do we do now?”

“S’all up to you how fast and how far we take this. M’all in though, ready when you are, love. A cuddle might be nice while we finish the movie, if you’re up f’that.”

“I think I could handle that. I want something else first though.”

He’s trying to read your mind, thinks he knows exactly what it is, but he wants to hear you say it. Wants to hear the words he’s been waiting to hear for what feels like a lifetime now.

“Kiss me, Harry.”

You’ve already turned your body towards him; the movie, the food and the wine all long forgotten. He clears the space between the two of you easily, a hand on the side of your neck to add just enough pressure to pull you towards him.

Your lips crash against his, noses bumping at first but it doesn’t stop you, it only makes you crave him deeper and closer. You press your knees into his thighs, pushing yourself up so that you hover over him, your hair falling around his face. It’s still slightly damp from the shower, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your head now. 

There’s a smug look on his face when he pulls away, a hand still placed on your hip to hold you steady. He’s still breathless when he asks, “Did you use my shampoo?”

When you wake up in his bed the next morning, you question if last night was a mistake. You don’t regret it, not for a second, just wonder if maybe things will be different in the morning light. 

So when you barely touch the plate of eggs and toast he’s made for you for breakfast, he worries you’re having second thoughts about him, that he’s ruined any friendship you’ve already built by rushing into a relationship. 

So when you say, “Did you really mean what you said last night..about loving me?” He visibly relaxes, dropping his shoulders and beaming at you from across his own breakfast plate.

“Oh, darlin’,” He plucks a piece of uneaten toast from your plate, winking at you as he does, “You don’t know the half of it.” 

[kingstylesdaily]

Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-­flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style trans­formation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’  ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

[hypnomicimagines]

In Another Life [Jinguji Jakurai]

You don’t know what you did to end up on the receiving end of a knife.

You had been peacefully slumbering, your parents in the next room over having finally quieted down after an extended fight that you hoped would lead to a divorce. It was a bit dark to think such things but you were a teenager now, you were beginning to understand adult issues and you could tell that there was something hovering over them causing these outbursts. Perhaps separating wouldn’t be in their best interest but you were simply tired of the yelling, of the constant negativity, of the inability to exist in your own house without having to be stressed about when the next fight was coming.

You fell asleep thinking about them but your dreams had been far more pleasant, a technicolor daydream of another life, one where you were unapologetically happy.

And then you woke up to a knife to your throat.

Your eyes met your attackers briefly, a chill coursing through your veins at that complete lack of emotion in them. You were used to being surrounded by anger and hatred, but there was something foreign about this look. It’s like his eyes (you thought it was a man, a boy, but it was rather dark) were devoid of any emotion, telling you ‘this isn’t personal’; luckily you were feeling enough emotions for both of you but remained too afraid to move, frozen in place as you lock eyes with your attacker.

What were you feeling now? Acceptance? You wished you could say goodbye to your parents. Would this mystery man at least let you do that? There are a thousand thoughts running through your head but you notice as time ticks on that he’s unmoving, that he can’t seem to tear his eyes off of you. You almost want to ask if he’s okay despite how nonsensical it would be to do so flinching when he finally moved. The knife is no longer pressed to your throat and as he’s pulling away, a sliver of moonlight drifting in through your window reveals that his hands are shaking.

Was he as scared as you were?

Was he feeling regret?

You don’t get an answer, your vision blurring before you’re left alone in your room once more. You almost think that he was simply a hallucination before you feel something wet sliding down your neck, fingers coming up to curiously feel around the area, stained red with your blood. You sat up from your bed and ripped the covers off, running screaming down the hall for your mother as you suddenly realized something bad had almost happened. The rest of the night is filled with your screams, your tears, life as you knew it ending.

You didn’t think much of it now that you were an adult.

You had a fulfilling career, owning a club of your own in Shinjuku where you often hosted costume nights and other little celebrations to give people a respite from their boring day jobs. You loved greeting all types of customers, making long-lasting friendships that might benefit you in the long-run, working until the wee hours of the morning when you finally dragged yourself home (though there was a backroom at the club that you sometimes made a temporary place of rest as you got too exhausted to walk back to your apartment). Your life had been on a steady track for such a long time you didn’t think anything else could possibly upset it, after all, what could be more senselessly tragic then finding the dead bodies of your own parents?

You had run into their room that night and thankfully, the carnage had been mostly hidden by the dark but the scent of copper hitting your nose made you realize quickly what had happened. Had that same person who ominously loomed over you killed your parents first? Or had it simply been a job done by multiple people at once? You didn’t want to think too deeply about it, for the sake of your sanity you knew you couldn’t play detective, but for many people it left a pressing question in the back of their minds.

Why did it happen? Why were you left alive?

All you knew was that you were alive. You had lived through that night, being shown some odd sliver of mercy from that dark, emotionless figure, and you weren’t going to squander what you had been given. You would live your life, unquestioning, mourning your parents but doing your best to live a life that would make them proud.

You met him one cold December night, walking down the street with an unfortunate number of shopping backs in your arms. They weren’t difficult or too heavy for you to hold but you were looking forward to being home, hoping that you’d get there soon so you could decorate your home with the new decorations you’d had. You were deep in thought when you’re suddenly bumped into by a gaggle of squealing women, eyebrow raised as you hear them speaking of some type of rap battle going on. You had been curious about the upcoming DRB, of course everyone and their mother had been talking about Matenro in Shinjuku, but you found yourself too busy to look too far into it.

But there they were.

The blonde was the number one host in Shinjuku, you’d passed the billboards countless times, and the other one was the most exhausted looking office worker you had ever seen. At first their leader, the one with long flowing hair adorned in a doctor’s coat, had his faced turned in the opposite direction, politely greeting some fans that had the courage to approach them. His mannerisms made him seem polite enough but those women were swooning, leaving you curious as to what he looked like. He had to be a bombshell, right? No one acts like that for some average joe.

And then he turns toward you, his eyes drifting through the crowd until they meet yours.

You’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

They’re different for sure, they’re no longer blank but filled with an emotion that you’re not aware of. You are, however, aware of how hard this man is staring at you now and as confident as you are in your looks, you’re pretty sure he’s recognized you as well. For a second you have to wonder if this is the end of the line, if this man is about to actually take you out since you know some rather scandalous information about him, but then again how could you ever prove it? It takes all the will power in your body to tear your eyes away from him, pushing back into the crowd that had slowly started to form around Matenro until you’d managed to sneak into an alley.

Your night continues unimpeded, thankfully no man is standing by your bedside when you wake up the following afternoon; you’re almost a little disappointed as he looked far more beautiful after all these years, you certainly wouldn’t have minded getting a house call from him. The trauma you had gone through was really rearing its ugly head with your sense of humor but it was amusing in the end to see that your potential assassin had turned his life around into not only becoming a doctor, but also a famous rapper. You almost wished you had approached him just to see what he would say, what he would do, but that plan had officially been canceled as you suspected you wouldn’t see the man again for a very long time.

That night was when he came for his first visit to your club.  

You spot him sitting at the bar and he’s rather hard to miss, not to mention he’s so recognizable that you’d have to be blind not to realize who he was. Doing a quick internet search helped you refresh your memory on his name, Jinguji Jakurai, and there were quite a few articles about what a skilled doctor he had turned out to be (as well as his past experience being in a famous rap group which was often compared to the group he was part of now). Did his teammates know who he was? Did they know what he did? Or were they just as blissfully unaware?

“Did you come back to finish the job?”

You shoo away the bartender before speaking with Jakurai, knowing this is a conversation you’d like to deal with one on one. The club wasn’t technically open yet but he must’ve talked his way inside by flashing a handsome smile; you could only imagine all the things that smile of his could get him. You don’t get to see it as he doesn’t find your joke nearly as funny as you do, almost flinching as you bring up a past he likely wants to forget about. You have to deal with the reality of that past though and so does he, regardless of how you both personally feel about it. But you’re curious as to what this visit is about, ready to call for security at any given moment should things go south.

Jakurai takes a few moments to respond, taking a sip from his grapefruit juice (you noticed the lack of alcohol in his drink right away) before he responds.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” His hands remain wrapped around his glass, Jakurai casting a contemplative glass at its contents.

“That’s fair enough because I can say the exact same thing. But… Why are you here, exactly? Did you want a thank you for not killing me? Because like thanks and all, but you still got my parents so we’re not exactly even in my book.” Another wince of pain, but he takes your shot with grace, nodding his head as you continued on. “I’m glad to see life’s been treating you so well, Doc, but mines been a mess. So what is it that you want?”

“To apologize,” Jakurai stated firmly, eyes coming to meet yours. “For all the pain that I have caused you.”

“Your apology isn’t accepted.” He’s not at all surprised which sort of pisses you off, of course this assassin rapper man has it more together than you. There are long buried emotions beginning to bubble to the surface and you consider grabbing his glass to dump the contents all over him, Jakurai removing his hands from it as though he had read your mind. But as quickly as the anger bubbled up it simmered down, your heart still hammering in your chest as you tried to regain control of your emotions. “Can you at least tell me why? Did you… Were you the one who did it?”

“…I didn’t. I don’t believe that would make you feel any better about what happened but I… You were the first person who made me truly believe that I could no longer live the life I was living.” Jakurai’s voice softened, “You were like a light in the darkness, too bright to look at yet I couldn’t bring myself to look away. I wanted to thank you as well for all that you’ve done for me but it didn’t seem right to do it in the same breath.”

“You… I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to think of this. You’re thanking me? You didn’t kill my parents but you were definitely about to kill me but you… stopped because I was some light to you? Some person who made you realize killing other people was wrong? You know how that sounds, right?”

“There’s a lot in my life I wish to atone for.” Jakurai flashed that handsome smile that had gotten him into your club early, “I don’t expect your forgiveness but it wouldn’t feel right to be reunited with you without expressing my regrets.”

He stood from the bar and placed money on the counter, straightening himself out and brushing his hair from his shoulder as he prepared to leave. It felt wrong to leave it there, to allow him to exit your life once again as quickly as he had entered it, especially when you felt you were still owed something. You reached across the bar to grab at his sleeve, tugging on it and watching as Jakurai turned around with a surprised expression on his face.

“Just.. come perform here or somethin’, okay? Get me some business and maybe I’ll start to think about forgiving you. Maybe.”

Jakurai smiled but this time it was more amused in nature, as if he didn’t expect something like that from you.

“As you wish.”

And your wishes were fulfilled.

You met Hifumi and Doppo through Jakurai, listening to them both speak highly of their leader and all that he had done for them. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he truly had turned over a new leaf, as far as they knew anyway. He hadn’t really given you any reason to doubt his change in character, even now when you look into his eyes you could tell something had changed within him, and Jakurai did uphold his promise to have Matenro perform. He even came back whenever the three of them weren’t busy, increasing publicity for the club further as now it was assumed you were good friends of the three rappers instead of just a one-off gig.

You could say that was very close to what was happening.

You were fond of Hifumi and Doppo, you always threw free drinks at poor Doppo who came in to complain about his boss and laughed at all of Hifumi’s stories that were at Doppo’s expense. Chatting with them had been much too fun for you to cut it short so you spent your nights at the club with them at their VIP table, Jakurai quietly watching the interactions between the three of you with a content expression on his face. You didn’t know how happy it made him to see the three important people in his life getting along well, you probably hadn’t even guessed how important you truly were to him just yet.

“I still see you as that light,” Jakurai confessed one night after the club had closed, not a hint of shame on his face, “However, now that I’ve gotten to know you… You’ve become so much more to me. It feels out of line to say such things after all I’ve done…”

“Yeah, it sure does.” You feel a little awkward now because you felt the exact same way, completely fascinated by this man, enamored with him like a lot of the women in his life seemed to be. Yet you were the one who got to be close to him like this, who got to sit face-to-face alone with him while he wasn’t on the job, and that had to count for something. “But you… You mean a lot more to me now, too.”

This is the first time you’ve ever seen a look of genuine surprise on his face but you quite liked the way his eyes raised and the corner of his mouth twitched, not sure if he should smile or frown at your statement. He let out a sigh but he it was out of relief more than anything, knowing he didn’t deserve even that out of you after what he had done. To find love with the one target he couldn’t kill… How many sleepless nights had he spent thinking of you, worrying over what might have become of you?

“This is like, kinda fucked up, you know? Like what type of weird way to meet is ‘I almost killed you but realized I couldn’t and now we’re in love’? Like seriously, there’s gotta be like ten trashy, poorly written romance novels about-“

You continued to ramble on nervously, knowing this hardly made sense but at the same time who cared? This was your life after all, and if you wanted a pretty doctor to kiss you to make you feel better, then you would get it! Past be damned, you were going to take this God given gift of a man and use him for all he was worth.

Jakurai’s fingers gently touch your face, running along your jaw towards the small scar, the scar he had made, before he suddenly shied away. But you don’t want him to leave, you crave his touch now, putting his hand right back where it was and looking up at him with pure determination. There were heavy sins weighing him down, resting on his shoulders, but he had only been a child himself, something that made forgiving him a little easier to swallow. You believed him when he said he hadn’t been the one to kill your parents and you believed him when he said he was remorseful for the lasting impact he had on your life.

“Jakurai, I’ve come up with a way to forgive you.”

“Is that right?” Jakurai’s smiling his beautiful ethereal smile that always causes your heart to skip a beat, “How might I be of service?”

“Kiss me.”

“I have a lifetime of mistakes to make up for,” Jakurai whispered against your lips, hands cradling your face in a loving manner, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You say that yet…” You reached over to run your fingers through his silky hair, twirling a strand of it around your finger, “I can’t account for your other mistakes but that doesn’t matter to me now. You’ve changed for the better, you save lives every day, so as long as you keep doing that… I think that I… I forgive you, Jakurai. So please, accept my heart and protect it.”

Those words he never thought he would hear finally reach his ears and he’s so filled with joy he could hardly contain himself, brief tears gathering at the corner of his eyes before he leans in to press his lips against yours. You want to pull away, to tease that he had only kissed you now because he was trying to hide the overflowing emotions he was currently dealing with, but it felt far too good to leave Jakurai’s embrace now.

If you could help it, you’d never have to live without his embrace again.