#but I pushed through so I'm calling it a win and moving on with my life dajkgdsjkgdjkg

[sparrowmoth]

Yours, Mine, Hours • [AO3]

Teen | 11.5K | Wesper | Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Fluff, Consent Issues

➼ Summary:

When Kaz sends Jesper out on a fake date with the irresponsible playboy son of a mercher, it's meant to be an easy night. Just a couple hours at the club, nursing drinks and prying business secrets while Kaz is searching the mercher's estate. For Wylan, of course, it was never going to be easy, sitting by at the bar and watching Jesper's back, all the while pretending not to know his own boyfriend. He was bound to feel jealous. He was ready for that. What actually happens, though… he doesn't know how to handle.

➼ Excerpt:

The night had started well enough, hand in hand with Jesper on the bustling streets of the Barrel. Wylan had borrowed some of Jesper’s flash to better fit the scene they were heading into. He wore a green velvet tailcoat that hung off his shoulders, a loose-fitting cream shirt, and tight yellow patterned pants that tucked away into his boots—

A couple rings adorned his fingers, which Jesper had sized down for him. He wore some chains around his neck, too, and had some kohl smudged under his eyes. The final touch to Wylan’s costume was a green low top hat with a purple ribbon, which Jesper had set atop his head while Wylan stood frowning at his own reflection—

“This is never going to work,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Jesper, though Jesper heard and caught his eye in the mirror. Wylan noticed and sighed. “Jes, I could stand in for a mount of paradisaea guilielmi at the Ketterdam Museum. How is this me blending in?”

Jesper chuckled and wrapped his arms around Wylan’s waist from behind, then bent to lightly rest his chin on his shoulder. “Oh, I love it when you make up words,” he teased, earning himself an eye roll.

“I’m serious,” said Wylan, gently pushing Jesper’s hands apart from where they’d locked around his waist. “This is important, and—and it could be dangerous, and—Jesper,” he whined as Jesper grabbed at his hips and pulled him back against him while kissing up his neck.

“I hear you,” Jesper murmured, nipping at Wylan’s earlobe.

Wylan squirmed half in pleasure and half in frustration, because he couldn’t give in—or, well, he wasn’t supposed to. Kaz had told him to keep Jesper focused, because he trusted Wylan to—to—Saints…

“Kaz is… going to kill us!” Wylan huffed out about an hour later, running clumsily along behind a laughing, bright-eyed Jesper, who had him tethered by the hand. They were weaving through a crowd along the edge of the canal as the bells began to ring, assuring Wylan they were late and good as buried together if Kaz figured out why—

Oh, but Jesper, of course, just grinned over his shoulder. “You worry too much! Look, we’re practically there.” He jerked his head toward a building which Wylan could only see the top of—a balcony draped in gold-painted vines that showed signs of the weather, a chandelier showing through the windows framed by curtains and, beyond that, silhouetted by the light, a mass of undulating bodies—

Somewhere inside there, Jesper’s mission would be waiting.

➼ Read more on AO3

[puppym3]

୨⎯ "temptation" ⎯୧

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ bangchan x fem!reader

a result of the poll win! (cockwarming w chan)

summary: after waking up and realizing your boyfriend isn't next to you, you find him still working in his office. after asking him to join you in bed and his many refusals, you try convince him to join you.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: MDNI! 18+, established relationship, pet names (princess, baby, good girl, love), piv, unprotected sex, cockwarming (obvi), teasing, creampie, soft dom chan, chan is a workaholic, reader is needy, aftercare; (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: the poll was super close!! so i'm gonna post another poll that should be on my page now if you want to vote for the next one! i hope i didn't disappoint with this one;;; hope you enjoy reading!

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I felt the faint glow of the moonlight spread across my face from the cracks in the curtain. I stirred, my fingers brushing against the cool silk sheets where my boyfriend should be. The coldness of his absence was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand—2:00 AM.

I sat up, the chill of the night air sending shivers down my spine. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I slipped out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. I lazily threw on one of Chan’s shirts and slithered out of the bedroom.

As I moved through the hallway, I knew exactly where I was going to find him at this hour. My gaze fell on the closed door of his office. The faintest sliver of light seeped out from underneath it. I sighed, approaching the door and gently pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the glow of his screen casting a pale light over his face. Chan was hunched over his desk, fingers flying over the keyboard, eyes fixed on the screen. Papers and notebooks were scattered around him, and a half-empty cup of coffee sitting right next to his laptop.

I stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him work. His brows were furrowed in concentration, a small crease forming on his forehead. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of worry.

“Babe?” I called softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't look up, too engrossed in whatever he was working on. I padded over to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders from behind, resting my cheek against his head.

“Hmm?” he responded, still not taking his eyes off the screen.

“It's 2 AM,” I murmured, nuzzling his hair. “Why are you still working?”

“I have a lot of work,” he sighed, not sounding very convincing.

“But you can finish it in the morning, right?” I pressed, my voice tired.

“I just want to get it done,” he mumbled, fingers tapping against the keyboard.

“Chan, come on,” I pleaded, “You need to rest.”

“I can’t,” he groaned, leaning back against me. “I need to get this done.”

I sighed, feeling his warmth seep through my shirt.

"Come on, babe," I whispered, my voice filled with a mix of annoyance and playfulness. "I'm cold and I need your warmth to sleep."

He didn't respond, still lost in his work. I let out a small huff, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice.

"Baby, please," I pleaded, "I miss you and I can't sleep without you."

When he still didn’t budge, I decided to change tactics. Giving up on trying to pull him away, I slid onto his lap, straddling him. I pressed myself close, trying to make it impossible for him to ignore me.

His breath hitched at the sudden contact, and his hands faltered. I smirked to myself, knowing that I had gotten his attention.

"What are you doing, love?" he breathed, finally looking at me.

Chan's eyes dropped to my legs, and his gaze lingered on the expanse of skin visible beneath the hem of his shirt. I could sense his attention, his focus snapping back to me like a rubber band. His fingers tightened around my waist, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as he realized I was only wearing his shirt. The fabric was thin, and I knew he could feel the heat of my skin through it.

"Wha- Why are you wearing that?" he asked, his voice sounding strained

"I'm cold," I replied, my tone light and teasing. "And I thought it would be cozy to wear your shirt."

I leaned in close, brushing my lips against his ear. "Besides," I whispered, "It makes me feel a little bit closer to you."

I could feel the tension in his body as he struggled to maintain his focus on the screen. His hands slowly slid up my sides, tracing the contours of my body under his shirt. My heart raced as I leaned in closer, my breath hot against his neck.

"Chan," I whispered, my voice low and sultry. His fingers brushed against the bare skin of my stomach, sending shivers down my spine.

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before finally looking up at me. His eyes were dark and intense, filled with a mix of desire and reluctance.

"I can’t stop," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I have so much work to do."

"I know," I replied, my voice trembling slightly.

But I was too far gone, so needy for him, feeling his half-hard bulge pressing against me. I shifted slightly on his lap, rubbing against him slowly and deliberately.

Chan’s breathing grew uneven, and his gaze flickered between the screen and me, struggling to maintain his composure. The more I rubbed, the more his resolve weakened. He tried to focus on his work, but his concentration faltered with every brush of my body against his.

"You’re going to kill me," he whispered, his voice barely audible as he shifted slightly against me. His fingers trembled on the keyboard, his attention divided between the screen and the intense need pulsing through him.

I could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard press of his bulge making his struggle clear. His eyes were dark with desire, and I knew I had him where I wanted. I rubbed against him with increasing insistence.

"Channie," I whispered, my voice laced with desperation.

I continued to grind against him, feeling his erection grow beneath me. His fingers dug into my hips, and I could sense the heat building between us. I let out a soft moan, my body aching for more.

His breath was warm against my skin as he leaned in, his lips brushing my neck. "God, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse. The sensation sent a jolt of desire through me, and I whimpered, feeling my need grow stronger.

He let out a low groan as he slipped his fingers underneath my panties, teasing me. I could feel the slickness between my legs, my arousal intensifying. "You're so wet already," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "You need this, don’t you?"

I nodded, biting my lip. "I need you," I whispered, my voice trembling.

He smiled, slipping his hand into my panties and rubbing slow circles around my clit. I moaned, my head falling back as his fingers slid into me. He continued to tease, sliding in and out at a torturous pace.

I rocked my hips, craving more friction, but he pulled away, his touch barely ghosting over my skin. "Chan, please," I whimpered, my voice shaking.

Leaning in close, his lips brushed my ear. "What is it, baby?"

"Please," I begged, my voice cracking. "I need you in me."

He smirked as my hand reached for the zipper on his pants. "And I need to work," he replied, his tone firm.

My hand paused on the zipper, his heated gaze locking with mine. "You’ll have to be a bit more patient, my love," he said, a teasing note in his voice.

"I’ll be a good girl," I promised, my voice quivering.

"Mmm... we’ll see about that," he murmured, his tone skeptical yet intrigued.

I continued to unzip his pants slowly, revealing his throbbing erection. The sight of him made me shiver with anticipation. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking gently.

He hissed in pleasure, his hands tightening around my waist. "Fuck," he murmured, his eyes locked on mine.

I kept up the slow, deliberate strokes, savoring his reactions. His breathing grew labored, and he bit his lip, struggling to maintain control. "Such a needy girl," he whispered, his voice strained.

Leaning in, I brushed my lips against his ear. "I’m your needy slut," I murmured, my voice dripping with lust.

He groaned as his hands slid up my thighs, pulling my panties down. "God, baby," he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

He guided his cock to my entrance, rubbing the tip against me. My legs trembled as I slowly sank onto his length, feeling him stretch me open. "Oh fuck," I gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation.

He gripped my hips, pulling me down fully. I rocked my hips, grinding against him, and he groaned, his hands tightening on my waist.

I bit my lip, reveling in the fullness of him inside me. I rolled my hips, savoring the pleasure. His fingers dug into my skin, and the pressure on my clit sent waves of ecstasy through me.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice rough. "Stay still for me. Let me finish this work so I can take care of you properly."

I whimpered, my body aching for release, but I stayed still, feeling completely stretched, waiting for him to finish.

He began typing away, his gaze fixed intently on the screen. I tried to control my breathing, the heat building between us making me dizzy. The sensation of his length throbbing inside me was almost too much to bear.

I bit my lip, feeling every slight movement sending ripples of pleasure through me. He glanced at me, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Don’t do that," he warned, his voice low and husky.

I felt myself instinctively clench around him again. "I’m trying," I breathed, my voice strained.

The pressure of him inside me was becoming almost too much. I closed my eyes, resting my head against his chest and trying to relax. I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against my cheek. The rhythm was comforting, and I slowly began to regain my composure.

I took a deep breath, my body still aching with desire, but I focused on the feeling of his body against mine, his warmth seeping into me. Chan continued to work, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

I concentrated on his touch, the heat of his skin against mine. The feeling of him inside me was soothing, and I gradually started to relax. Chan’s pace at the keyboard increased as he worked through whatever he was writing.

I closed my eyes, the steady clacking of keys lulling me into a sleepy haze. I felt myself drifting off, the warmth of his body enveloping me. I nestled closer, my arms wrapped around him, losing track of time in a dreamlike state.

Suddenly, I felt a jolt of pleasure as he shifted slightly. I gasped, my eyes fluttering open, immediately aware of his throbbing cock inside me. I tightened involuntarily from the sudden surge of pleasure and let out a soft moan.

I bit my lip, struggling to keep my reaction in check. Chan paused, glancing down at me with a smirk. "I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

"I was," I whispered, my voice trembling with a trace of sleepiness.

"I guess I’ll have to take care of you now," he replied, his voice tinged with sweetness.

Chan closed his laptop, scooping me up from under my thighs and carrying me. His hard length still inside me, standing now, I felt fuller with him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.

He carried us to the bedroom, each step causing me to stifle whimpers on his shoulder. He laid me gently on the bed, hovering over me with his arms on either side of my head. I gazed up at him, my eyes wide with adoration.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, a small smile on his lips.

"I love you," I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

"I love you too, princess," he replied, his eyes softening.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. The kiss started soft but soon turned heated, our need for each other spilling over.

I moaned as he rocked his hips, grinding against me. His cock was still buried deep inside me, filling me completely. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, wanting more.

"You waited patiently for me?" he asked, pulling out completely, the tip lightly rubbing against my entrance.

"Yes," I breathed, my voice trembling.

"Good girl," he murmured, slowly pushing back into me. I gasped as he filled me, the sensation almost too much to bear. I gripped the sheets, my knuckles turning white from the intensity.

He began thrusting in and out, picking up the pace. I cried out, my body arching as waves of pleasure washed over me. His hands explored every inch of my body, touching me in ways only he could. I shivered under his touch, his fingers finding all the spots that made me moan.

My eyes fluttered shut as I lost myself in the pleasure. The feeling of him inside me, the way he moved, was overwhelming. I felt like I was floating on a cloud, my body aching with need.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, his voice strained. "You’re so tight. I thought I stretched you well, hm?"

"Y-you did," I whimpered, my voice breaking under the intensity.

"So what’s going on, huh? Are you that needy for my cock?"

Heat surged to my cheeks, making me feel vulnerable under his gaze. I tried to come up with a response, but all that escaped was a breathy moan.

"I-I don't know," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Oh, so you just wanted me to fill you up, hm?"

"Yes," I breathed, my mind hazy with pleasure.

He thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside me that made me cry out. I gasped, clutching his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Is this what you needed, princess?"

"Yes," I moaned, arching my back, my nails digging into his skin.

He groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck. Picking up the pace, he drove into me with relentless abandon. The room was filled with the symphony of our moans and the sound of our bodies meeting in passionate rhythm.

The pressure inside me built up, the pleasure so intense I could barely breathe. He held me close, his arms wrapped around me as he moved inside me. The heat between us was palpable, our bodies intertwined as we approached our climax.

I moaned his name, feeling the wave of pleasure crest. My body tensed, the sensations coursing through me, and I cried out, my nails digging deeper into his shoulders.

He growled, his grip tightening around me. His thrusts grew more frantic, each movement pushing him closer to his own release.

"You feel so good," he rasped, his voice rough with desire.

I gasped, my body shuddering with aftershocks. The feeling of him inside me, the heat of his body against mine, was almost too overwhelming to endure.

He moaned deeply, his voice husky as he came inside me. His thrusts became more urgent, his body tensing as he rode out his climax. The sensation of him filling me completely sent me spiraling, causing my body to tremble uncontrollably.

Once we both caught our breath, he slowly withdrew, his face reflecting a hint of panic when he saw his cum dripping from me. He quickly looked around for something to clean up before it got on the bed.

Returning with a towel, he gently wiped me clean, the soft fabric sending shivers through my overstimulated body. He made sure every drop was taken care of, his touch tender and attentive.

"Baby, was that okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

"I’m perfect," I murmured, smiling up at him with a sense of contentment.

"Thank you for being patient," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

The sleepiness from our intense moment began to catch up with me, my eyelids growing heavy.

"Channie, I’m tired," I mumbled, stifling a yawn.

He smiled warmly, shaking his head fondly. "I bet you are," he said, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me toward the bathroom.

"You always do this," I grumbled, a playful pout on my lips.

"Do what, princess?"

"Make me so sleepy after sex."

He chuckled softly, setting me down on the edge of the tub. "You wanted this, remember?"

"Yeah," I sighed, leaning against him as he started running my bath.

"Now, get in the bath and let me take care of you, hm?"

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taglist!

@stanskzot8 , @loverbangchan

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

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"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[mywritersmind]

Lando picking up drunk y/n from the club <3

CAREFUL -LN4

listen up : thanks for the request!! drunk!reader. that look of love. lando just being amazed at her.

word count : 915

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I got the call twenty minutes ago. I left my house nineteen minutes ago. I got here ten minutes ago and still can’t fucking find her.

Y/n called me, not unusual but odd for the time of night. When I answered all I could hear was her slurred words and music. She said something about me coming to the party and I came straight down.

I sigh in relief when I see the girl, her hair is a mess and she’s jumping up and down with her friends and some random guys on the dance floor. I push my way through the crowd and when I finally reach her, she grins wildly.

“Lan!” Her arms wrap around me and I hold her waist to stop her from falling. She’s wobbling on her heels when she faces me again, “You came! Drink time!” she goes to drink her own but is met with an empty cup.

“Hey… you wanna head home?” She frowns, her bottom lip gutting out.

“I wanna head to your-” she hiccups, “Home!”

When her hand meets my chest I suck in a breath. I look to her friends and they thank me, knowing I'm going to get her back safely.

We make it out with people yelling my name or guys hitting on Y/n. I’ve never been more relieved than when we get into my car.

She slumps across the middle console, looking up at me. Her eyes are the kind you could get lost in, and with her lip between her teeth and the sort of hazy gaze she’s giving me, I could really get lost.

I move my eyes away from her, reaching over and buckling Y/n in. She giggles when I push her over a bit so I can secure it.

“Lando!” Her window goes down, “Let’s make out!” I glance over to her, a small smirk on my face.

“Is that a yes?” She rests her head in her hands.

“That’s a no, but nice try.” she frowns again. I would happily oblige if the circumstances were different. The circumstances being if she were sober and actually felt like that for me out of her drunken mind.

“But we’re good!” She whines, putting her feet out the window now, “Soo good!” She leans her head back onto my arm like she’s remembering.

Maybe we had a bit of a makeout at a party some time ago. We were sober but drunk off my win and in the mood for something fun.

She pulls her feet back into the car, shivering a bit, “Tell me that when we’re sober, love.”

“Love…” She mimics my accent, “stop tricking me.”

“Tricking you?”

“Yes! You say ‘Love’“ she mocks me again, “and all I hear is ‘climb on top of me and suck my neck.” I let out a genuine laugh.

“Didn’t know I had that effect on you.” She sticks her tongue out, hearing my tone.

She unbuckles her seatbelt, her dress riding up and making me glue my eyes to the road. She turns her body, snaking her legs onto my lap and tilting her head out the window.

I eye her and am met with this look on her face.

Like she’s been waiting for me to look at her.

The wind is blowing her hair in all different directions, her lipstick is smudged, and she’s fucking glowing.

Her skin gleams under the moonlight, stretching her arms out of the window and leaning into the air more.

“Fuck.” I mumble under my breath, grabbing her thigh instinctively. My cool hand on her hot skin makes her squirm.

“Turn it up!” She yells at me and I do as I'm told. Head Over Heels by Tears for Fears comes through the speakers.

I can hear her wind blown laugh, her arms moving with the wind and then she starts singing… if you could even call it that. She’s screaming the words as I zip down the empty street.

“Something happens and I’m head over heels!” I join along, enjoying the view of her pure happiness.

She air drums which makes me laugh. I try to tell her to be careful but she can’t hear me, my hand tightens on her leg.

“Ahhh!” she screams out of joy, that same grin from earlier planted onto her face. Her eyes are closed, There’s glitter smudged around her eyes. It hits me in an instant how much I feel for her.

It’s ridiculous. How could one person be so beautiful? I reach over and pull her cheetah print dress down, she giggles. When she finally is back in the car, her hair is an absolute mess but the expression on her face is irresistible.

She looks at me once more, her legs still on me and her head against the closed window, “You’re really pretty.” It catches me off guard.

“Pretty?” I scoff a bit and she looks upset that I didn’t take the compliment so I look at her, my gaze softening, “Thank you, love.”

“Not going to say I'm pretty too?” She crosses her arms.

I laugh a bit, wiping my hand over my mouth, “You’re gorgeous, Y/n.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her frown wipe away instantly. It’s like she sobered up in seconds.

She looks to the road for once, trying to cover her face but I could never miss the blush that joins her freckles.

[wosoluver]

Oh, baby

Georgia Stanway x reader.

I know nothing about giving birth so bare with me. Also please don't kill me for the plot changes, Hope you like it!

Other players masterlist

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊���──

"Fuck!" you said feeling the warm liquid run down your legs. "No, no, no." You were staying over at her parents' house. Tomorrow would be the final match at the 2023 world cup and you would be gathered to watch the game there.

"Jo! We need to go, my water just broke!" you said grabbing her mother's attention. Her dad had gone to Australia to support her, but her mom refused leaving you, pregnant and alone. And you thanked the universe. You were 36 weeks, you were to give birth only next month. You had been feeling small contractions, that were apparently normal in the third trimester.

That was the only reason Georgia agreed to go.

A million thoughts went through your mind. Would the baby be okay? Would they have to do a C-section?

Would your fiancé be okay, knowing she missed the moment se was waiting so excited for? Were you even ready for this?

You started to cry immediately.

"Don't worry love, I'm calling her as soon as you're in the hospital."

"No please! You can't! You know her!" you said followed by a scream when you felt the sharp pain of a contraction hit you. "Please, please wait as much as we can. This is important for her, she needs to be a hundred percent focused."

"But seeing her daughter's birth is too..."

"I know but even if she knows, she'll won't get here in time. Please."

She only nodded agreeing with you. And you asked her to call your parents instead.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

While you walked around the room, preparing yourself for the ride ahead, in attempt to stay sound, you thought about what had led you here.

You and Georgia had been together for almost six years.

You had met at Man City, both came from a small town and were around the same age, sharing the dream to become big players.

You started dating, and your relationship went through a lot.

You endured for years a long distance relationship, when you moved away to play in Spain and she stayed back in Manchester.

A couple of seasons later you transferred to Bayern, where your girlfriend soon followed suit.

And you both finally managed to start your life together.

She didn't want to wait any longer, all that time had been enough.

From living together to her proposing, life felt like pure bliss.

And after the 2022 euro's title, you felt like it was the right time to have a pause on your career.

It wasn't an easy decision, since the World Cup was around the corner.

But differently from your teammates, you now had a bigger dream, Georgia fully supported you, she herself had always wanted to be a mother.

You didn't expect for it to work so soon.

Along with the risks the doctors had told you, it could take more than one try.

Fortunately the whole pregnancy had been very healthy, and nothing gave you any reason to think something like this could happen.

You questioned yourself if you were doing the right thing, by not updating her on the matter.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Georgia's head was buzzing, Spain was winning by a goal. England had slightly recovered at the end of first half, but it wasn't enough.

She sat on the locker room, trying to cool down, zoning out a bit. All she could think of was winning this, to come home as a champion. For her girls.

She could have never imagined you had been in the hospital for the last couple of hours, let alone giving birth. So she didn't bother to look for her phone.

And before she knew, she was walking back to the field for the second half.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

"Just one more push, yeah?"

And you did as a loud cry filled the room. And they placed her right on your chest.

You felt like you could pass out from how tired you were.

But you couldn't, yet.

"You did great darling." her mom cooed you in between tears.

"Is the game over yet?"

"Yes, they won second place." she handed your phone over.

You cried hard a the sound of that. She had been deprived of being champion and seeing her daughter's first moments in the same day, at the same time. You tried to recompose yourself while you pressed to facetime her.

ongoing call...

"Hey love, what took you so lon-" she managed to get out before shutting up at the realization. A big smile appearing in her tear stained face. "She's beautiful."

before she could say anything else, Lucy, who was prying at the video call, loudly announced to everyone.

"The baby is here!" and you could hear the girls cheering loudly. Running to try and congratulate you.

"You guys are so loud, geez." your soon to be wife said after a few moments, walking to a more private place, so you both could talk.

"I am so sorry." you said eyes filled with tears.

"We couldn't have known." she said giving you a reassuring smile. "I was going to show you this baby here," showing her silver medal at the camera. "But it seems like you're already holding our baby right there."

And for over ten minutes you two sat quietly, just admiring the angel you had brought into the world.

"Is she okay? I mean she clearly looks like it, but since she's early..."

"Better than expected actually. They said she's around 6.30 lbs and over 19 inches. Pretty big for a preterm. They'll run some tests in the morning, just to be sure." you said letting out a yawn.

"You need to get some sleep. And I'm getting on the first plane home."

"I love you, and I'm so proud of you."

"Oh baby, I'm the one who's proud. I love you. Both of you."

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Maybe another part with G meeting baby Talia?

like & share pls!

[bunnys-kisses]

HI HI omg this is my first request

Can I order a coffee with side of crostata and crème caramel served by 7x world champion Lewis Hamilton

And can the situation be they are both drivers and she pushed him of the track and won so after the race she avoids him until he catches her finally

Love the bakery btw 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

bakery menu

want to submit your own order! then check out the menu! there are tons of options and i'd love for you check it out! as for this lovely anon! thank you for the submissions! you know i love a good rivals au, i eat it up!! so i hope you love it! enjoy!

crostata (“stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.”) crème caramel ("oh. you thought you were getting away from me?") + coffee (rivals au) served by lewis hamilton (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, dom/sub, rivals au, driver!reader, mean!lewis, rough sex, driver's room sex, doggy style, unprotected sex, mean!lewis

you had been hiding since you pulled ahead in zandvoort, securing first place. you got past norris, you got past verstappen, and you even got past the seven time world champion, lewis hamilton.

maybe your methods were a little unconventional on the track, after all, you pushed lewis off the track as a meant to secure your spot. so currently the mercedes driver was upset with you.

so therefore you were avoiding him.

you and lewis had been rivals for close to two seasons. even if he was the seasoned veteran of the track. the top title holder with a model's face and the heart of an engine. and you were a little firecracker. you came onto the scene and drove like the devil himself was on your heels.

one the track, in the paddock or in front of the press. you were the first in a while to really give him a run for his money. while you weren't a beauty queen, the media thought you were their darling. when lewis accused it of amazing media training, you just smiled, "what's wrong hamilton, under my spell too?" and lewis wanted nothing more than for you to choke on his cock.

but, lewis was a good finder. and soon as you slinked through the empty paddock. everyone packed up for the night, you heard his voice, "is that the princess!" his voice echoed in your brain.

you swallowed and tried to start moving faster. but lewis had a wider stride and even if you tried to run. he would follow. after all, he wanted to see today's winner.

"there you are!" he said with faux sweetness in case there were any lingering workers. he grabbed you from behind and hoisted you around, "there's the winner! i was looking all over for you." you tried to make yourself dead weight so he'd let go of you, but when he whispered in your ear, your knees turned to jelly, "oh. you thought you were getting away from me?"

"hi, lewis." you swallowed.

his hand was spread across your chest. he could feel your racing pulse. he exhaled close to your ear and said, "oh, you're very funny for thinkin' that, love."

"it was an accident."

"no, no. don't lie. where's all that bravado. you look like you're going to pass out. what about the spell you had?"

"i'm sorry for pushing you off the track."

he kissed a kiss on the back of your neck, almost tender, "words mean nothing, love. can i trust you to walk about thirty feet to my driver's room? can you be a good girl for me?"

"lewis, can't this-"

"no." he said simply, "if this was about half an hour ago i would've driven us to my nice hotel and we could've even had dinner before i wrecked you. but not now, now you get to be fucked in the driver's room." his tone left you feeling hazy.

you tried to stand your ground with him, "they didn't call it, so you have no reason to be mad. you can't just pull those cheap seduction tricks and except me to fall for them."

his hands groped your ass and he said, "no, no. it's just the princess getting her special treatment once again. she can do no wrong." he kissed your neck once more, "can't let that ego get too big. because if you stop winning and the shininess of a female driver fades. they'll drop you. but i'll always have a place for you, love. right between my legs."

your stomach twisted, you felt a throb of heat in your chest. you said softly, "driver's room, right?" there was no escaping this.

lewis let go of you, but took you by the hand as an extra safety precaution. he even swung your hand like you were lovers as you walked to his driver's room. meanwhile you were mentally screaming.

you and lewis have had sex before. it was an open secret in the paddock, so much so the press had caught onto it. but it was all a flurry of rumors. there was no evidence, only word of mouth from the poor employees that caught you in the act.

you got into the room without much trouble. despite what many thought, the driver's room was the worst place to have sex. it felt like it was almost designed for driver's not to have sex.

it wasn't spacious, something about the furniture left it almost impossible to get intimate at a good angle. and that was where lewis was going to teach you a lesson.

lewis started to get undressed and expected you to do the same. he locked the door so there was no intrusion. if someone with a camera caught you, it would be international news.

then the press would talk about the eventually wedding and kids. and even the mere thought of it made you feel disgusted. being married to lewis, you had a career to go after. women to inspire! you couldn't be tired down to a man like lewis.

but yet he had you on the carpet, your hands above your head with your ass in the air. there was something domineering about him in that moment. the charming lewis, a true face of formula one, had you spread out on the carpet, ready to devour you.

you tried to get out of your clothes with your head pressed against the carpet. you kicked off your pants and struggled to get your panties off, briefly getting tangled in them.

lewis chuckled, "stuck there, love?"

you replied, huffing against the carpet, "i'm fine, i'm fine." you got out of your clothes and yelped when lewis smacked your soft ass.

"i have to admit." he said as he leaned back on his heels with his hard cock in hand, "you are very pretty. you could sell tickets with that face, but if you showed a little more. you could sellout tracks."

you arched your back and sighed into the carpet, "is that why you show all that skin online."

he leaned on top of you, his cock almost slipping in. he said, "no, no. i do those because i know you're looking. you still follow me online, love. i know you're watching and i like showing off."

you felt your heart skip a beat and you gripped into the carpeted floor, "fuck, lewis."

he pulled away a little and then rubbed the blunt tip of his cock up against your slick entrance. he said, "i know, i know. i'll make it all better soon." then eased into your pussy, which made you make the sweetest noises for him.

such a foe on the track, but when you were under him, you were a little lamb. you wouldn't hurt a fly. or push someone off the track.

he held onto your hips as he started to move. there was little time for introductions. the need to fuck was intense, it was causing your blood to run hot. you held onto the carpet and tried to meet his pace, but he kept it in a way that threw you off.

"you look good under me." he chuckled, his mouth was near your ear, he was keeping your top half pressed with the carpet. the material of it rubbed awkwardly against your breasts, leaving them a little raw from the movements.

"lewis. please, i'm sorry." you croaked.

he replied, almost softly, "i'll forgive you when you make me finish. can't be in a good enough mood to forgive when i'm hard as fuck." his lips trailed down your neck, and it made you shiver.

you whimpered a little, the feeling flooded your brain. the rush of feelings left you feeling hazy. your heartbeat felt distant in your ears as he continued to fuck you.

it was private, but it felt so public. someone with the right key could easily find lewis hamilton taking apart his rival. you were his favourite one, in a total honestly if he'd want anyone to beat him, it would be you.

but he'd never tell you that, he'd push you to your racing and sexual limits, leaving you gasping for more. flood that little head of yours with the reminder of how he made you feel.

you came and you had to cover your mouth so you didn't make so much noise. you didn't need to have people outside the room starting to get curious about what was going on inside. the feelings hit like a brick, a swift kick to you that left you aching. your noises, while muffled, made lewis want to fuck you harder.

you panted into your palms and arched your back. your eyes rolled back a little from the intensity. when you started to come down, lewis was still thrusting up into you. your noises were more passive as he continued to move against you.

"pretty girl." he said, "all fucked out under me." he shook his head a little, "i wonder what your team would think? having you spread out under me. no matter how many podiums you take, you'll never be me." he leaned forward, making sure every last inch was inside of you. he kissed the apple of your cheek and said, "i'll show you sometime, what a world champion trophy looks like." his voice was venomous and it bit at your lust riddled head.

"lewis."

"it's only fair." he curved your back a little more, getting at just the right angle, "it'll be the closest you ever get to one."

his harsh words made sparks in your head as you came once more. this time you sounded a little more desperate as you weren't able to cover your mouth. but that was enough for lewis, two heavy thrusts and he held onto you as he came.

you dropped your hips onto the floor and some cum ended up on the carpet. you panted wildly, not able to find words. but you could feel lewis' heated gaze.

he chuckled a little and rubbed his eyes, the feeling was intense even for him. he could feel the blood rush in his body, like when he raced. he said, "this is how i like you. all fucked out and not causing me problems on the track."

you made a small noise, your tongue unable to produce words. next time, think about running one of the greatest off the tracks. <3

[joelmillerisapunk]

Free Use, Full Plate

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 1,741

Summary: Joel's frustrated after a long day at work and takes it out on your pussy. Basically just pwp

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, assplay, fingering, f!oral receiving, consentual freeuse, breeding & house wife kink, food waste, reader has hair, breasts, and wears yoga pants. Joel calls reader sexy momma.

Notes: Just a life I wanna live, tysm to everyone who voted in this poll this was the winning vote. Ty @saradika-graphics for the divider.

Joel walks through the front door, tired and frustrated after a long day of work. The smell of dinner cooking fills the air, and he sees you bent over, grabbing a pot, your shirt riding up, revealing the small of your back.

You've had an agreement for a while now - free use, where Joel can take what he needs without any hesitation or resistance from you. It's a release for him, a way to let go of the frustrations of the day without taking them out on anything or anyone else.

As he approaches you, he can feel the tension in his body begin to ease. He reaches out and runs his hand over your shoulder, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers. You don't stop what you're doing, but he can hear your breathing quicken as he continues to touch you.

He pulls your shirt up and over your head, exposing your bare back. He leans down and presses his lips to your skin, feeling you shiver beneath his touch. He unclasps your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

As he cups your breasts in his hands, he can feel himself getting harder. He moves closer, pressing himself against you as he continues to touch you. You're still cooking, but he can hear the soft moans escaping your lips as he kneads your flesh.

He reaches down and undoes his pants, freeing his cock. He slides it between your legs, feeling the heat of your body through your stretchy yoga pants. No matter what was agreed upon Joel never pressured you to dress or look a certain way and it made you feel much more confident in yourself and your relationship. He rocks his hips back and forth, letting himself enjoy the sensation of touching you, even if it's just through your clothing.

“Mmm, Joel, you're home," you say, looking over your shoulder at him with a smile. "How was your day, my love?"

He doesn't answer right away, instead focusing on the feeling of your body against his. He can feel the heat of your pussy through your pants, and he presses himself against you harder, grinding his hips in slow circles.

“Don't wanna think about it. Just tell me what you're makin' baby," he finally says, his voice weak with desire. He slides his hands down your sides, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants. He pulls them down, exposing your bare ass. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight before him, getting on his knees and pushing his face right in there, taking the globes of your ass and making them jiggle onto his cheeks.

You giggle at the feeling, but you can't help feeling aroused as his large nose hits some of your folds as he shoves his face in as deep as he can, almost like he wants to suffocate the bad day away. "Just pasta," you reply, focusing on stirring the sauce so it doesn't burn.

He finally stands up and replies, "Smells delicious baby, just like you." he says, leaning down to press his nose into the crook of your neck, taking a deep inhale of your sent. “Mmm fuckin’ heaven.” He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him as he continues to grind his hips.

You let out a soft moan as he nips at your shoulder. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to his touch, but you try your best not to let dinner burn. He reaches down and slides a finger inside you, feeling how wet you are. He groans at the sensation.

"Joel," you say, your voice trembling with pleasure. "I'm almost ready to serve dinner."

"That's alright, love," he says, his voice strained with desire. "I can wait."

You turn around in his embrace to kiss him, but he stops you, his eyes darkening. He pats the countertop beside the stove. "C'mon, get up here darlin'."

"But the food." You point at the pan.

"You know, I could eat this whole dinner and still not be satiated in the right way. Now get on the damn counter, you sexy momma. Gonna fill you up real good.”

With those words, you scramble to the other side of the stove, sitting on the countertop. He starts rubbing his hands across your naked thighs, slowly working his way up until his hands reach the center of your chest.

“Come closer, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Wanna taste you.” He leans close then lowers his head and bites the tip of your nipple. Your nipples start to erect instantly, and your core feels tight. “Fuckin’ perfect.” He gets lower so his face is right between your legs.

Your stomach clenches as he kisses your inner thigh. “Joel…”

His eyes look up into yours. He pulls his mouth away just enough from your skin so he can talk, "Worry 'bout the sauce, I'm busy havin' my appetizer." His tongue swipes your clit, licking it gently before he begins sucking on the skin. You let out a soft sigh when his warm tongue touches your clit once more. You try to tend to the dinner currently cooking but it's near impossible to do so with him rubbing and sucking at you. “Keep stirring," he adds with a playful smirk. He slips two fingers between your legs, sliding them into your folds and circling one slowly before he plunges two more in. He starts moving faster. Your orgasm starts building in your belly.

"Mmmm, Joel..." you whine, grabbing onto the edge of the counter, digging your nails into the wooden surface. "I'm gonna come…" You start thrusting against his hand.

Joel stands up, not letting you finish and takes a step back, his eyes roaming over your naked body. "You're so fucking beautiful, baby, I'm the luckiest man," he says, his voice loaded with desire. He reaches out and runs his hand over your breast, tweaking your nipple between his fingers.

You gasp at the sensation, your body already on edge from his earlier ministrations. "Joel, I need to finish dinner," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I know, darlin," he says, his hand sliding down your stomach and between your legs. He starts rubbing your clit in slow circles, making you moan with pleasure. "I won't let you burn it."

He helps you off the counter and turns you around so you're facing the stove, your naked ass pressed against his hips. He reaches around you and grabs a pan of garlic bread, placing it in the oven. "Now, let's get back to work," he says, his voice low and seductive.

He slides his cock between your legs, the head of his shaft pressing against your wet folds. He starts rocking his hips back and forth until he slides inside you, fucking you slowly and deeply. "Keep stirring, baby," he says, his lips pressed against your ear.

You cry out as he hits that sweet spot inside you, your body trembling with pleasure. "Joel, I'm gonna come," you gasp, your fingers tightening around the spoon.

"Not yet," he commands, his hand reaching around to rub your clit.

He starts fucking you harder, his hips slapping against your ass. You can feel yourself getting close, your orgasm building deep in your belly. "Joel, please," you beg, your voice trembling.

He reaches up and grabs your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss your neck. "Uh-uh, you wait till I say so," he growls, his teeth scraping against your skin.

Joel continues to thrust into you, his pace steady and relentless. You can feel your orgasm right on the brink, your body feels like it might explode "Joel, please," you whimper, your fingers tightening around the spoon you were supposed to be stiring the sauce with. "Joel, I can't, m'gonna come please," you gasp, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“Yes you can, baby just a little more,” he says, pulling your hair and kissing the side of your head, holding onto you tightly. “Wanna fill you up, make you round and beautiful.” He slams into you, his balls hitting your ass. You feel juices dripping from his length, mixing in with your own fluids as they drip down your leg and onto the floor. He pushes his hips in harder and harder, causing you to cry out as you feel the intensity of his hard, thick flesh hitting your walls.

You can feel your heart racing as well, your mind clouded with lust and pleasure. "Oh fuck, oh god, Joel,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut and gripping the edge of the countertop for dear life as you feel your climax building. “Oh Joel! I'm coming'!" You cry out as your body convulses against him. You hear him release a long, loud, gutteral moan, releasing into you.

As you come down from your high, he presses his forehead against your shoulder, breathing hard as he lets go of your hips. He finally pulls out, his cock glistening, soaked with your juices. He turns you around pulling you in close. "I think dinner's ready," he says, smirking.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his waist, "I think you're right," you say, your hands running over his chest. You open the oven door to be met with disappointment. The garlic bread is burnt to a crisp, and so is the sauce.

Joel walks up behind you, "you orderin' or am I?"

You both can't help but chuckle at the situation and decide to order pizza, knowing it's a quick and easy solution. Joel wraps his arms around you as he gives you his phone to search for a local pizza place online, placing the order together.

Once the order is placed, you turn around in his arms, looking up at him playfully pouting, "I guess we'll have to settle for pizza tonight."

Joel leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, whispering, "I'd eat pizza every night if it meant I could come home to you like this."

[gguk-n]

Replaced (Charles Leclerc x Ferrari Driver!Reader)

Part 1 of Transition

Summary- Being the first and only female driver in Formula One was a huge deal; to be signed by Ferrari was even bigger. Imagine being blind sided by a replacement by Lewis Hamilton in 2025. Even worse; your boyfriend doesn't get it.

Warning- a little angst, established relationship

{Reader's POV}

My world came crashing down when I saw the post on the official Formula One social media. 'Lewis Hamilton to join Ferrari from 2025' How could Fred do this to me? After everything. I've been performing consistently, getting podiums, race wins against a RedBull. What more was I supposed to do? Why wasn't I informed before? My heart was beating against my chest, my eyes burned, my stomach was turning in on it's self. I couldn't help but pace around our house in Monaco. Charles had gone grocery shopping. Did Charles know? Why wouldn't he tell me if he did? How could they announce this when the season hasn't even started? Was I that easily disposable? My phone was blowing up from texts and calls from friends and family. I wanted to cry. Where was Charles when you needed him?

Speak of the devil; he opened the door with a pip in his step and a big smile on his face; he came and hugged me. "I missed you" he mumbled against my neck. My hands hung by my side. I didn't have any feeling left in my limbs. "Did you know?" I stammered, trying to stop the tears. Charles pulled back with confusion on his face. "Know what?" he asked. "That Lewis was replacing me next year" I stated. He was quite; worst of my fears were coming true all together today. "You knew" I breathed out. My voice breaking as I laughed. "My boyfriend knew I was being fired. Can't believe this" I said running a hand through my hair. "How could you do this to me?" I screamed. "Mon bebe, I didn't know for sure. I had heard rumours" He trailed off. "Yet you said nothing, you could've warned me. Maybe...maybe I could've convinced Fred to keep me" I cried. "You don't know what it's like being a woman in Formula One" I shouted with tears running down my face. "Mon Amor" he whispered trying to hug me. I pushed him away; "Don't...Don't you dare touch me. I don't need your fucking sympathy" I stated turning around to start pacing the room. "Everyone's calling and texting me Charles, what am I supposed to tell them? What am I supposed to tell my parents who put everything on the line to make sure I ended up in Formula One" I rambled. "We'll get through this. I'm sure" he began. "You have nothing to get through Charles, while you can still race in red for Ferrari, I've just lost my seat in Formula One. It was difficult getting here as is; now I need to find a way to stay on the track." I exclaimed. "Mon Coeur, we'll find a way. I'm sure other teams are lining up to sign you" he suggested. I laughed dryly, "I almost lost my chance in Formula One until Ferrari signed me a few years ago. I was on my way out; no race wins, no podiums just sheer determination to stick around. And then like the angels sent from above Ferrari signed me. I was over the moon. I won races, I was able to stand on the podium in Ferrari after 4 years in this sport. You know what it meant to me. I've told you everything, I've been the most vulnerable version of myself with you. Yet, you never told me there were talks to replace me" I mourned.

"World's best boyfriend everyone" I taunted while clapping my hands. "Y/N, this is hard for me too" he said trying to come closer. "No Charles, it's hard for me since I've been fired. You are not the one getting axed." I said finally sitting down. Charles walked towards me crouching down to sit on the floor while holding my hands, "We'll find a way. You're so talented anyone would want you. I'm sure" he proposed. I shook my head while I let the tears fall for the first time. I moved my hands up to wipe my tears, "I don't know what more I could've done to make sure that Fred kept me. I don't know what I could've done to stay" I lamented while rubbing my eyes. Charles moved my hands to cup my cheeks; "You can do it" he said while kissing my lips. "I need to regroup." I thought out loud. The cogwheels in my head started to turn. I wasn't letting them kick me out of the sport I gave my whole live to. I was gonna show them who Y/N Y/L/N was. They were gonna miss the day they messed with me. I picked up my phone and called my team to call for a meeting. My manager and mentor was already on it talking to other teams when I told we need to regroup. I could see a couple texts from Fred which I decided to ignore till I was calmer otherwise I would probably commit murder. While on call with my team, I started packing up my stuff. "Where are you going?" Charles asked while following me. "My teams in Maranello, I'm flying today so that we could start planning." I stated. "You can do that on call" he suggested. "No, I can't. I think I'll go mad if I see you right now" I dejectedly stated. "What why?" he questioned. "Charles, you have everything I've always wanted and everything I just lost in a split second. It'll make me hate you and I don't want that. I love you too much to hurt the either of us." I said while zipping up my bag.

"I'll see you when I'm ready, when I know what I'm gonna do" I said while looking at him. I saw tears pool up in his eyes, "Why are you punishing me?" he asked. "I'm not. It's for the best that I get away from here." I commented. "Je t'aime beaucoup" I whispered in Charles's ear while giving him a hug. "Je t'aime aussi" he whispered back pecking my lips. "I'll miss you. Come back soon. You know, I'll always be here." he said with a another peck on the cheek. "I'm yours forever and always" he said while holding my hands. "I know. I just....... need to get over these shitty thoughts." I said while carrying my bag to the door. "I'll drop you to the airport" he suggested. "No Charles, I need to figure this out on my own. Take care" I said. "Why does this feel like you're breaking up with me?" he cried out. "I'm not. I'm always yours but I need to do this. I need to figure some stuff out and I don't want to hurt you along the way." I said while smiling through the tears. "See you on the track, mon tout" I said while walking out of our shared apartment.

[sunny44]

Anxiety

Pairing: Lando Norris x Girlfriend!reader

Warning: panic attack, anxiety, English is not my first language and maybe more…

Summary: Lando has a panic attack because of the pressure of racing at home and Y/n helps him to calm down and show him that he’s good enough.

On the eve of the British Grand Prix, Lando was struggling with the pressure.

I stood outside Lando’s hotel room, my heart heavy with concern. The British Grand Prix always brought a special kind of pressure for him, performing in front of his home crowd, and I knew this race was weighing heavily on him. The door was slightly open since I was outside making a call, and I pushed it open gently, my eyes immediately finding Lando sitting by the window, a shadow of his usual self.

His eyes were distant, his body tense. I could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands gripped the armrests of the chair. Lando was lost in his thoughts, drowning in a sea of self-doubt and anxiety.

"Lando," I called softly, hoping to anchor him back to the present. There was no response. I moved closer, my concern growing with every step. When I reached him, I knelt down and placed a hand on his arm. He flinched, his eyes wide and filled with tears.

"Lando, it's me." I said, my voice steady but filled with worry. "Talk to me."

He tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Instead, a choked sob escaped his lips, and he buried his face in his hands. My heart ached for him. I had seen him face many challenges, but nothing pained me more than seeing him in this state.

I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. His body trembled against mine, and I could feel his ragged breaths on my neck. "It's okay," I whispered, my hand gently stroking his hair. "I'm here, Lando. You're not alone."

For what felt like an eternity, we stayed like that. I could feel the intensity of his anxiety attack, the way his muscles were taut with stress, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. I held him tighter, whispering soothing words, trying to ease the storm raging inside him.

Gradually, his breathing began to slow, and the tension in his body started to ebb away. I pulled back slightly, cupping his face in my hands. "Look at me, Lando," I said softly. His eyes met mine, and I saw the pain and fear that had consumed him.

"You are an incredible driver, but more importantly, you are an incredible person." I said, my voice firm and filled with love. "You don't have to prove anything to anyone. I love you for who you are, not for what you achieve on the track."

He shook his head, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "But what if I fail? What if I'm not good enough?"

"You are more than enough," I replied, my tone unwavering. "Success isn't measured just by wins or podiums. It's about passion, dedication, and being true to yourself. You've already achieved so much, and I'm so proud of you. But even if you never win another race, I'll still love you just as much."

My words seemed to pierce through the fog of his anxiety, bringing a clarity that he desperately needed. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight on his chest start to lift. "Thank you, babe." he whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll never have to find out." I replied with a smile, kissing his forehead. "We'll face everything together, one step at a time."

“Okay.” He smiled a bit and I kissed him.

“I’ll grab you some water.” As I was getting up, Lando hugged me tighter.

“Can we just stay like this a little bit more?” His voice was low.

“We can stay like this as long as you want.” He didn’t said anything but just by the way he started to play with my fingers I knew that he needed more time like this.

We stayed there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world outside the hotel room fading into irrelevance. The tension that had gripped Lando slowly gave way to a fragile calm. I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my own.

Eventually, I felt him relax, the tightness in his muscles easing. I knew he was finding his center again, the overwhelming pressure starting to dissipate. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, a comforting motion that I knew helped him relax.

"Lando," I whispered softly, "I believe in you. Not just as a driver, but as the amazing person you are. Tomorrow, when you get on that track, remember that it's not about proving anything to anyone. It's about doing what you love and enjoying every moment of it."

He nodded slowly, his eyes still glistening with unshed tears. "You're right. I need to focus on the joy of racing, not just the results."

"Exactly," I said, smiling. "And no matter what happens, I'll be here, cheering you on, proud of you every step of the way."

He sighed, a sound of release and acceptance. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he repeated, his voice steadier now.

"You'll never have to find out," I replied, a playful glint in my eyes. "Besides, I still need to keep an eye on you to make sure you don't get into too much trouble."

He chuckled, the sound a welcome relief from the earlier tension. "I'll try to behave," he said, a hint of his usual mischief returning.

We stayed like that for a while longer, wrapped in each other's presence, finding strength and comfort in our love. Eventually, I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "Are you ready to get some rest now?" I asked gently.

He nodded, his expression more at ease. "Yeah, I think I am. Thanks to you."

“How does a bath sound?” I asked him.

“Sounds very good.”

“I’ll prepare one for you and then we can get some rest.”

“Thank you.” He said and I went to the bathroom and prepared the bath.

I helped him get up, guiding him to the bathroom, I helped him get out of his clothes and the he get in the bathtub.

“Is I warm enough?”

“It’s perfect, just like you.” He said and I smiled at him. “Wanna join me?”

“I’ll love to.”

After some time in the tub we got out, got dressed in our pijamas and went straight to bed. He lay down, and I pulled the covers over him, and I laid on the other side and I think for the first time ever he was the little spoon.

“Wow, this is good.” He said getting cozier.

“What is good?”

“Being the little spoon.”

“I’ve told you many times but you never believed me.”

“Yeah, but usually I’m the one that protects you and not the other way around.” He said with his voice very low.

“I know baby, but sometimes you need to be the one that should be protected.” He didn’t said anything. “I'll stay awake until you fall asleep."

Lando reached out, taking my hand in his.

"I don't deserve you." he said softly.

"You deserve all the love and support in the world." I replied firmly. "And I'm here to give you just that."

He smiled, a genuine smile this time, and closed his eyes. I stayed behind him, holding his hand, watching as his breathing evened out and he drifted off to sleep.

As I stay there, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pride and love for him. Lando was an extraordinary person, and I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would face them together, stronger than ever.

When I was sure he was asleep, I quietly moved and turned off the lights, leaving a small night light on. I kissed his forehead one last time. I held his hand and closed my eyes to get some sleep before the next day.

Tomorrow would be a new day, a new race, but tonight was about love and support, and in that, we had already won.

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram stories

“Luv u baby” tagged: @landonorris

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

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

Part Two

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? You would probably just wilt.

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

"What kind of dog?"

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

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

"And you named him Buddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A party?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? No one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've never been?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

"See anything you like?"

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

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

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

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

"You decided, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hayden?"

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

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's for my brother, slut."

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

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

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

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

"I think so."

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

"I should explain—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

"His family—"

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See you tomorrow!"

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lunch sounds perfect."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you working on over there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What makes you say that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"When?"

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

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

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

"You should come with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W—What about Buddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[entitled-fangirl]

A change of sigil.

Robb Stark x Baratheon!reader

Summary: After wedding Robb Stark and becoming the Lady of Winterfell, the reader learns about the king's death and the treason of Ned.

Masterlist

..............................................................

The newly wedded Y/N Stark (once Baratheon) ran through the corridors of Winterfell. 

Her eyes fell upon the Stark's Maester. Her eyes lit up. "A letter from my father? Has he finally written me back?"

The older man's eyes softened with guilt, "I'm afraid not, my lady."

Her face fell but she quickly recovered it, "oh. M… May I still see it?"

"This," He held it back from her, "Is for Lord Stark to read."

Embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she nodded. "Right. How foolish of me."

His lips pulled into a smile and he held his arm out. The North did like the gentle girl, after all, "C'mon, my lady. Walk to me to him so we may discuss the reason for such a letter."

She smiled back and took his arm.

…

"Treason?" Robb's brows furrowed and his teeth grit, "Sansa wrote this?"

"It is your sister's hand, but the queen's words."

Y/N's eyes remained on the table, unsure of what to think. Her mother was a cunning woman, and it did not surprise her of such a thing.

"You are summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new king."

"My father is dead?" She interrupted quietly.

The men's eyes flickered to her.

Robb's anger did not falter, "Joffrey puts my father in chains, now he wants his ass kissed?"

The Maester sighed, "This is a royal command, my lord." His eyes flickered between the lord and lady, "If you should refuse to obey-"

"-I won't refuse," Robb quickly butted in. "His grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone."

He rolled the letter up and handed it back to the maester. "Call the banners."

"All of them, my lord?"

"They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?"

"They have."

"Now, we see what their words are worth."

"Very well." The maester left quickly.

Y/N's eyes remained on the table, not once wavering. Robb noticed it and rounded the table to sit by her. His head tilted to study her further. His hand reached up to gently grab her jaw, moving her head to face him.

Her eyes connected with his, and they were filled with tears, "My father is dead?"

His lips pull into a line as he looks to Theon and back, "I'm afraid so."

She took a shaky breath in to keep the tears from falling. "Murdered?"

Theon stood at her words, angered a bit inside. He quickly bowed his head and left the room in a huff.

Robb shook his head, "No. Animal attack while hunting is all Sansa wrote."

She was quiet a while before she spoke again, "He loved me."

Robb gritted his teeth. "He had a funny way of showing it."

"But he did love me. I am worth nothing now."

"Hey." His voice lowered at his words. His grip on her jaw tightened. "Do not say such things. You are worth everything to me. Winterfell is your home. Its people are your people. They are loyal."

"Loyal to you. To your name."

"No." He pushed. "They will be loyal to you. You are still a princess after all, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"And more importantly," he kissed her forehead gently, "You are my wife."

She nodded again before a thought came to her. "What is keeping those that rule from killing your father and sisters just the same?"

His eyebrows raised and he shook her head, "Nothing, I suppose. I must hope they fear the North enough or I drive my sword through your brother before they can touch the Starks." He tilted his head, "I need your loyalty. I know I have it. But the people need it."

"I am loyal to you, Robb. You are all I have."

He smiles and caresses her face before shaking his head, "I don't want loyalty for fear or power. Your loyalty should be of trust and honor. I ask again, are you loyal to me, my love?"

"Without my father, the Baratheon sigil means nothing to me. I belong to House Stark now."

His smile grows and he kisses her gently, "I will win this. For you. For my family. I promise you."

..............................................................

A/N: I feel a series coming onnnnn

[nhaaauyen]

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨ The Ghost of You ୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

"This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong // To love that well which thou must leave ere long." -William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

PART III: WE THOUGHT LOVE WAS SOMETHING

zombie apocalypse sevika x reader au!: sevika was the super soldier; a killing machine driven solely by survival. you were nomadic, constantly searching for something in whatever was left of the world—till you met her.

series masterpost: part I // part II // part IV // part V

wc: 6.1k cw: brief mentions of alcoholism, violence author's note: ngl this just might be my favorite chapter so far, holy shit! thank you to all the lovely comments last chapter, you guys are srsly so sweet <3

Strings of twinkling lights crisscross overhead, swaying gently in the evening breeze. The air is filled with the mingling scents of grilled food and the earthy aroma of a crackling campfire.

It's a birthday party for Marcus's daughter, Ren, and the yard is alive with celebration. Sitting on mismatched chairs, adults chat animatedly with drinks in hand.  Children dart between the adults' legs, their excited shrieks filling the air as they run around. 

You can't help but notice Marcus's absence, and you wonder if he's working late or planning to surprise his daughter by showing up later. It's odd for him to miss such an important event, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the joyful atmosphere around you.

A group of kids approaches you, pulling you out of your reverie.

"Hey, lady! Wanna play Marco Polo with us?" one of them asks.

"Sure," You turn to Powder and Ekko, who are lounging nearby. "You two want to join?"

Powder rolls her eyes dramatically. "I'm too old for that," she declares, trying to sound mature.

You shrug and follow the kids to an open area of the yard. "Marco!" you call out, closing your eyes.

"Polo!" comes the chorus of giggly responses.

As you start to move, arms outstretched, you hear Powder’s voice again. "Wait, no! We want to join now!"

You chuckle to yourself as you hear Powder and Ekko scrambling to join the game. The yard fills with shouts of "Marco!" and "Polo!" as you navigate blindly through the space, guided only by sound and the occasional brush of a fleeing child against your fingertips.

Suddenly, your hands make contact with fabric. You grin triumphantly, sure you've caught one of the kids. But as laughter erupts around you, you open your eyes to find yourself face-to-face with Sevika. Ren, peeks out from behind her, giggling uncontrollably.

Sevika raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth. "Ready to join the adults yet?"

You feel a blush creeping up your neck. “I was in the middle of winning a game.” 

Sevika shakes her head in amusement and hands you a plate of food. "You know, you're not a babysitter. Let the kids have fun by themselves."

You take the plate, shrugging. "I know, but I don't mind."

"Ah, right. You like to hang out with people of the same maturity level as you." Sevika teases.

Before you can reply, a commotion erupts near the gate and both of you turn sharply to the source. 

Grayson and Marcus have appeared, clearly amid a heated argument. Marcus's face is flushed, his movements erratic – clear signs of intoxication. Grayson stands firm, her posture rigid, and seems to be seething with barely contained anger.

A small voice pipes up beside you. "What's happening?" Ren peeks out, her eyes wide with confusion.

Instinctively, you move to shield her, gently guiding her behind you. "It's nothing, sweetie," you say, trying to keep your voice calm and reassuring.

But it's too late. Marcus catches sight of Ren, and his demeanor changes instantly. He shoves past Grayson, nearly knocking her over in his haste to reach his daughter. "Daddy's here!" he calls out, his voice too loud, too desperate. "Daddy didn't forget!"

Sevika moves swiftly, positioning herself protectively in front of you and Ren. Marcus stumbles to a stop before Sevika, his bloodshot eyes darting between her and his daughter. "How dare you," he slurs, turning back to Grayson. "You've gone too far now. This is my family!"

Grayson's voice is steel as she responds, "You lost the privilege of being a father when you became too drunk to do anything. The only reason why I'm still employing you is for the sake of your own daughter.”

His face immediately contorts with rage. "How fucking dare you," he roars. "You think you know everything? You can't even hold this place together!”

“You people think you are safe? Cause what, we have showers?  Look at your pathetic captains, my wife has one fucking mission with you,” Marcus stabs a finger into Sevika’s chest and you expect her to retaliate but she stands still as a statue, “Because of you... she’s gone.” 

The accusation hangs in the air and Sevika goes very still beside you, her expression unreadable but her fists are clenched so tight you’re worried she’ll bleed.

But Marcus isn't finished. His voice drops to a venomous hiss. "Fuck you. Fuck this place." He pushes past Sevika, reaching for Ren. "Come on, sweetie. We're leaving."

You instinctively tighten your hold on Ren as she looks up at you, her face questioning and so innocent about the situation. You want to protect her, to keep her from this mess, but you can’t and he scoops her up from your grasp.

As Marcus stomps off and the backyard falls into an uncomfortable silence, the cheerful lights now seem garish.  You look at Sevika, there’s a tightness around her eyes and her jaw is clenched hard enough for a vein to be visible. Grayson approaches, her face a mask of controlled anger and regret, and she puts a reassuring hand on Sevika. The two share a silent look that is full of meaning.

"I'm sorry you all had to see that," Grayson says, addressing the stunned partygoers. "Please, try to enjoy the rest of the evening."

But the damage is done. The carefree atmosphere of earlier has evaporated, replaced by a heavy, oppressive tension.  That night you couldn’t sleep, your mind kept wondering about the true cost of keeping Zaun safe and the toll it takes on those sworn to protect it.

Months ago if you told pre-Zaun you that you would care this much for the woman who was practically going to leave you as walker bait in the drug store, you would’ve thought you had gone insane.  But somehow, Sevika had snuck into your thoughts and made residence there.  

The garage door creaks as you push it open, letting in a sliver of sunlight. The air inside is thick with the scent of motor oil and metal. Sevika’s hunched over her workbench, her back to you, the whir of her bionic arm the only sound breaking the heavy silence.

You hesitate in the doorway, remembering Marcus's cruel words from yesterday. The pain in Sevika's eyes, quickly masked, had been unmistakable. 

"Hey," you say softly. "Everything okay?"

Sevika doesn't turn around, her shoulders tensing slightly at your voice. It's clear she's not in a talking mood, but you can't bring yourself to leave her alone like this.

"Fine," she grunts, reaching for a wrench.

You lean against the wall, watching her work. The silence stretches between you. After a few minutes, you decide to try a different approach.

"So," you begin, injecting a note of cheerfulness into your voice, "got anything to do?"

Sevika pauses, then turns to look at you, an eyebrow raised. "You're that excited already, rookie? Haven't you been on five or six missions now?"

You grin, relieved to see a hint of her usual self. "Six, actually," you reply, then quickly add, "But who's counting?"

A ghost of a smile flickers across Sevika's face. She gestures to the motorcycle beside her. "Well, if you're so eager, you can help me with this. Make yourself useful."

You push off the wall, moving to her side. "What do you need me to do?"

You might not be able to relieve the damage from yesterday, but maybe you can help her focus on something else, even if just for a little while.

"Why are you so excited to get out there anyway?" Sevika asks as you work together. "There's nothing to see but walkers."

You shrug, searching for the right words. "I don't know... there isn't much left out there, but it makes me feel like I'm not in a snow globe, you know?"

Sevika pauses, looking at you with confusion.

"I feel safe but it’s just… not real?  I want to be on the other side sometimes too. It's selfish 'cause we've got things so good here, but that was our world too, even if we lost it."

Sevika stares at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, her face softens. "I'm having a scout sent out today. Perhaps we can do our own scouting too."

Your eyes widen. "Really?"

"Yes," she nods, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "We need to expand our territory anyway. But first, help me with this. We won't be going anywhere if I can't finish this within the next hour."

"Got it, boss!" you say eagerly, reaching for a nearby tool.

Sevika rolls her eyes.

"How about 'captain' instead?"

She tries to look unamused, but you can see she's fighting a smile. "Suck up."

You saluted. "Yes, ma’am!"

"Smartass," Sevika replies flatly, but there’s a playfulness in her tone. "Now, less talking, more wrenching."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

"Hell no." 

Sevika, straddling her newly repaired motorcycle, looks at you like you've sprouted a second head.

"What?" she asks, confusion evident in her voice.

You stand outside your house, arms crossed, eyeing the bike with undisguised suspicion. "Are you crazy? I'm not getting on that death trap – when you said you'd pick me up after you changed, I thought you meant with a car!”

Sevika rolls her eyes. "Why do you think we spent so long fixing this bike?"

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening," you insist, shaking your head vigorously.

"What? You can go out there and face walkers, but not ride this thing?"

"Walkers don't get you into crashes!" you retort, your voice rising an octave.

Sevika sighs dramatically, holding out a helmet. "Just get on. I promise you won't fall off."

Grumbling, you take the helmet and reluctantly swing your leg over the bike. "What makes you so sure?" you mutter.

"Because of this," she says, grabbing your arms and wrapping them tightly around her abdomen. You can feel her muscles flexing beneath your fingers, and suddenly your mouth goes dry.

Before you can process what's happening, Sevika kicks the bike to life. The engine roars, and you let out a shriek as she peels out of the driveway.

"What the fu–" Your expletive is cut short as you zoom down the street, the wind whipping past you.

You spot Grayson on the wall, grinning widely as she signals for the gate to be opened. "Have fun, ladies!" she shouts as you approach.

"Grayson!" you yell, but your voice is lost in the wind.

Sevika glances back, noticing your tightly shut eyes. "Open them!" she shouts over the engine's roar.

Reluctantly, you peek one eye open, then the other. The world rushes by in a blur of color and motion. 

"I hate you!" you yell at Sevika, but you can't keep the laughter out of your voice.

She responds by revving the engine, speeding up as you clear the gate. "No, you don't!" she calls back, the wind carrying her words to you.

As much as you want to deny it, the scenery rushing past you is stunning. Lush greenery blurs into a vibrant tapestry, the sun's warm rays dancing across the landscape. The wind whips through your hair, carrying the scent of pine and wildflowers. 

You catch Sevika's reflection in the side mirror. Her expression is one of pure contentment, as if riding this bike along the winding country road is where she truly belongs. 

"You like it?" Sevika calls over her shoulder, a knowing tone in her voice.

"Maybe," you admit reluctantly. "Not too bad."

You can hear the smirk in her voice as she replies, "Well, I've got something to show you that might change your mind."

Your curiosity piques. "We're doing something else besides scouting?"

Instead of answering, Sevika begins to ascend a steep hill. The bike's engine roars with effort, and you instinctively tighten your grip around her waist, afraid you might slip off. The muscles in her abdomen tense under your hands, steady and reassuring.

"Look over," Sevika instructs as you climb higher.

"What?! Are you crazy?" you yelp, clinging tighter.

"Come on, rookie. Trust me," she insists.

For reasons you can't quite explain, you do trust her. Swallowing your fear, you turn your head to look over the edge of the road.

The view takes your breath away. A vast expanse of forest stretches out below you, a sea of green dotted with splashes of colorful wildflowers. In the distance, you can make out a winding river, its waters glittering in the sunlight like a ribbon of diamonds.

"Whoa..." you breathe, unable to form a more coherent response.

As you reach the top of the hill, Sevika brings the bike to a stop in a clear area that juts out like a natural balcony. From here, you can see for miles in every direction. Rolling hills give way to distant mountains, their peaks shrouded in a light mist. Birds soar on updrafts, their calls carried to you on the breeze.

You dismount the bike on shaky legs, your eyes never leaving the breathtaking panorama before you. The world feels impossibly vast and achingly beautiful from up here, a reminder of what still exists beyond the walls of Zaun.

"Worth the ride?" she asks.

You nod, unable to find words that could do justice to the moment. 

The silence between you is comfortable as you both lean against the motorcycle, its metal still warm from the ride. The vast expanse of the world stretches out before you, a breathtaking canvas of oranges, pinks, and purples as the sun dips below the horizon. Sevika's gaze is distant, lost in memories you can only imagine.

"This spot... it's special to me. I came here when Zaun was first established."

You turn to look at her, surprised by the admission. She continues, "I understand what you meant earlier. About feeling safe in Zaun, about missing this." She gestures to the expansive view. "The freedom to just... exist out here."

You nod, encouraging her to go on. 

"I also came here after..." she pauses, swallowing hard. "After Marcus's wife died. I was so close to saving her. I promised I'd bring her home." Her voice cracks slightly. "But I couldn't. Not alive."

The pain in her voice makes your heart ache. "It wasn't your fault," you say gently.

She turns to you, her eyes fierce. "I'm the captain. Every death is my responsibility. They trust me, they're my people."

You feel a surge of protectiveness. "But who takes responsibility for you? For your sacrifices?"

Sevika falls silent, considering your words. When she speaks again, her tone is delicate. "Every time you go out there, don't you think it could be your last?"

The question catches you off guard. "I do," you admit. "Every single time."

She moves then, positioning herself in front of you. Her hands rest on the bike beside you, her body close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from her. Her eyes search yours, intense and questioning.

"Then why?" she asks. "Why keep risking everything?"

You swallow hard, acutely aware of her proximity. "Because it's worth it," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because out there, I feel alive. Because someone has to, and if not me, then who?"

For a moment, the world seems to shrink down to just the two of you, the dying light of the sun shining a golden haze on her face.

This close, you can see every detail – the faint lines around her eyes, the determined set of her jaw. Your gaze lingers on the scar that runs across her cheek. You resist the urge to reach out and trace it, to ask about its story.

Sevika’s gaze locks with yours, her voice dropping to a whisper, rough around the edges but laced with something achingly tender. "You make me want things I’m not sure I deserve."

Sevika’s hands hover near your body, fingers trembling slightly as if they’re unsure whether to close the distance or retreat. You see the conflict in her eyes—Every inch she moves closer feels like a dance of tentative steps.

You swallow, the intensity of her words wrapping around your heart. The raw honesty in her voice leaves you breathless, but you manage to find your own, soft and steady. 

“Then let me show you.”

Without thinking, you take the first step for both of you. You gently cup her face in your hands, your thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. Your touch is tender, and your fingertips graze the rough texture of her scar. You can feel her breath hitch, a mix of surprise and anticipation.

For a split second, you feel her resist, a remnant of her walls trying to hold firm. But then she melts into you, her body softening as if surrendering to a battle she’s tired of fighting. 

Her right hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, while her bionic hand settles on your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first, an uncertain exploration of new territory. But as the seconds stretch, it deepens, a slow dance of lips and breath. 

When you finally part, both slightly breathless, you rest your forehead against hers. Sevika's eyes remain closed while her thumb strokes softly along your jawline as if she's trying to memorize the feel of you.

"I didn't think..." she starts, unsure of what she can, or even what to say.

You brush your lips against her cheek, feeling the raised line of her scar. "You deserve this, Sevika," you murmur against her skin. "You deserve everything."

⁺˚⋆｡°✩

The sun was blazing hot, its heat beating down on the training area Grayson set up in one of Zaun's less crowded areas.

"Remember," you say, adjusting Ren's grip gently, "It's not about strength. It's about precision and control."

Ren nods, and the other kids follow her steps with some additional adjustments from Grayson and Caitlyn.

You're about to move on to the next lesson when you notice one of Sevika's men approaching. Your heart does a little flip in your chest, but it comes to a stutter when you realize it's not Sevika herself.

"Got a mission for you tomorrow," he says gruffly. "Captain says to be ready at first light."

"Thanks," you reply, trying to keep your voice neutral. As he walks away, you can't help the twinge of hurt that settles in your chest. Sevika didn't come to tell you herself.

You shake your head, chiding yourself internally. She's busy. She's the captain. Why would you expect her to personally deliver every mission briefing?

Yet your mind still wandered to the kiss from a few days ago. The ride back to Zaun had been quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You had attributed it to both of you processing what had happened.

But then... nothing.

Since that evening, you haven't exchanged a single word with Sevika. A day turned into days and the silence began to feel deliberate.

You've caught glimpses of her – a flash of that distinctive silhouette disappearing around a corner, the echo of her voice giving orders from a distance. But every time you've tried to approach, she's been gone before you could reach her.

"Are you okay? You look sad." You're pulled from your thoughts by Ren's voice. 

Forcing a smile, you turn your attention back to the lesson. "I’m all good!  Just thinking, how about we work on our stances?"

Both Grayson and Caitlyn share a knowing look at your response.

“How about we take over? You have to be up early tomorrow.”  Caitlyn offers. 

You were reluctant, but you agreed, mostly because you knew you needed it and because you couldn’t handle the questioning looks the two women kept sending you.  

You're grateful for Caitlyn's insistence that you rest early the night before – the extra sleep has left you feeling sharper, and more alert. As you approach the gathered group, your breath catches in your throat. There's Sevika, leaning against one of the vehicles. She's dressed in military-style cargo, paired with a black tank top that exposes her toned arms, something she wears normally but you find that your body reacts even more so to her now. 

Your heart races as you draw nearer, but before you can even think about approaching her, Sevika climbs into the front seat of the lead vehicle. You swallow your disappointment and resign yourself to riding in the back of the truck with the rest of the team.

The journey is tense and quiet, everyone is lost in their own thoughts about the mission ahead. As the prison comes into view, you're struck by how eerily calm it appears. The high concrete walls are still intact, crowned with coils of razor wire that glint in the morning light. 

The decision to split into smaller groups is made quickly, you were paired with Sevika but your excitement was short-lived when you saw the tense look on her face. 

The massive iron gates groan as you push them open, the sound echoing ominously through the empty prison yard. The concrete beneath your feet is cracked with tufts of weeds pushing through.

Inside, the prison is a maze of long corridors and shadowy corners. The air is stale and heavy with the musty scent of abandonment.  As you move deeper into the facility, the lack of walkers becomes increasingly unsettling. You exchange a worried glance with Sevika, both of you on high alert.

Suddenly, a shuffling sound echoes from an adjoining hallway. Without a word, you and Sevika fall into formation. 

The first walker stumbles into view, followed closely by two more. Sevika moves with lightning speed, pinning one against the wall with her bionic arm. In a fluid motion, she drives her knife into its skull, the blade sinking in with a sickening crunch.

You dispatch the second walker with a swift kick to the knee, bringing it down before finishing it off with your own blade. The third lunges at you, but Sevika is there in an instant, her strong arms wrapping around its torso and slamming it against the wall. Your knife finds its mark, and the walker slumps to the ground.

You turn to Sevika, hoping to catch her eye, to maybe finally break the silence between you. But she's already moving forward, her eyes scanning the shadows for more threats.

With a silent sigh, you fall in step behind her. The tension between you becomes almost unbearable. 

And finally, you can't take it anymore.

"Sevika," you start. "We need to talk about what happened. About the kiss."

You see her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn't stop moving. "This isn't the time," she says, her voice clipped.

"Then when is?" you press, frustration seeping into your tone. "You've been avoiding me for days."

Sevika sighs, turning to face you. "Look, it was... it was a moment. We were caught up in–"

Her words are cut off as you both enter a large, open area – the prison's leisure room. Rows of cells line the upper levels, and old, battered furniture is scattered across the floor. Before you can respond to Sevika, there's a loud bang behind you.

You both whirl around to see the heavy metal door swing shut. Sevika rushes to it, pulling at the handle. "What the fuck? Who the fuck did that?!"

You join her, both of you straining against the door, but it won't budge. 

Then you hear it – a low, guttural groan that sends chills down your spine. You turn slowly, your blood running cold at the sight before you.

Descending the stairs is a massive figure, easily seven feet tall and built like a tank. He's decked out in makeshift armor cobbled together from prison riot gear. In his hands, he wields an enormous sledgehammer that looks like it could crush a skull with one swing.

"Shit," Sevika hisses, drawing her knife. You do the same, but your weapons suddenly feel woefully inadequate.

The behemoth charges with surprising speed. You and Sevika dive in opposite directions, barely avoiding the hammer as it crashes into the ground where you are standing. You roll to your feet, darting in to slash at the giant's legs, but your blade skitters off his armored shins. Sevika tries for a higher target, leaping onto a nearby table to gain height, but the monster swings his hammer in a wide arc, forcing her to jump back.

"We need to get that hammer away from him," you shout, ducking under another wild swing.

Sevika nods, her eyes scanning the room for anything you can use. "On three, throw your knife at his face. Aim for the eyes."

You count down together, then launch your knives simultaneously. The blades whistle through the air, but at the last second, the giant raises his arm, and your knives embed themselves harmlessly in his padded forearm.

"Fuck!" you curse, now completely unarmed. "What the hell is this guy? Is he a walker?"

Sevika shakes her head, narrowly avoiding another hammer swing. "I don't think so. I've heard about survivors getting all drugged up, ending up just like them. Mindless, but stronger."

As the behemoth charges again, you and Sevika split up, desperately searching for anything you can use as a weapon. Your eyes dart around the room, scanning the debris-strewn floor for something, anything that could give you an edge.

"There!" Sevika shouts, lunging for a mop propped against the wall. But before her fingers can close around it, the giant's massive form slams into her. The impact sends her flying, her back crashing hard against the concrete wall. You hear the air rush out of her lungs as she crumples to the floor.

"Sevika!" you cry out, your heart in your throat. She's trying to roll away, but her movements are sluggish, stunned by the brutal hit.

The monster looms over her, raising his sledgehammer for a killing blow. Time seems to slow down. You don't think, you just move.

With every ounce of strength you have, you launch yourself forward, shoving Sevika out of the way. For a split second, you lock eyes with her, seeing shock and something else – hurt, maybe? – in her gaze.

Then the world explodes in pain.

The sledgehammer connects with your leg, and you hear the sickening crunch of bone before you feel it. A scream tears from your throat, raw and agonizing. The pain is all-consuming, white-hot, and blinding. Your vision swims, dark spots dancing at the edges as your body tries to process the trauma.

You force your eyes open, fighting against the waves of pain. Sevika is on her feet, and the transformation is terrifying. Gone is any trace of the woman you kissed on that clifftop. In her place is a cold, merciless killing machine.

Her eyes, usually so expressive, are now flat and dead. Her face is a mask of fury, lips pulled back in a snarl.  In one smooth motion, Sevika snatches up the broken mop. She doesn't hesitate, doesn't strategize. She attacks.

The two halves of the mop become dual weapons in her hands. She drives one splintered end deep into the giant's thigh, using her bionic arm to force it through the armor padding. Before he can react, she's already spinning, jamming the other half into the gap between his helmet and chest plate.

The behemoth staggers, caught off guard by the ferocity of her assault. But Sevika doesn't let up. She's a whirlwind of violence, striking again and again.

You try to move, to help somehow, but even the slightest shift sends fresh waves of agony through your broken leg. You can feel the bone grinding, sickeningly out of place. 

The giant finally falters under her onslaught, his steps are laggard and his grip on the weapon wavering.  With a snarl, she wrenches the hammer from his grasp.

The man’s eyes widened in realization, but it was too late. Sevika shoved him back, the force of the blow sending him crashing to the ground. He tried to rise, but Sevika was relentless. She raised the sledgehammer high above her head, her muscles straining as she brought it down with all her might. The sickening crunch that followed was final, the man’s head caving in under the weight of the blow.

For a moment, the world went silent, the only sound was the ragged breaths escaping Sevika’s lips. The hammer is still clenched in her fists and blood splattered across her face – his or hers, you can't tell.

Sevika stands over him, chest heaving. For a heartbeat, she's still that cold-eyed killer. Then she turns to you, and you watch the ice in her gaze melt into concern.

"Can you move?" she asks, her voice hoarse as she rushes to your side.

You grit your teeth, trying to shift, but the pain nearly blinds you. "No," you manage to gasp out. "I think... I think it's broken pretty badly."

Sevika's eyes scan your broken leg. "We need to stabilize it," you say through gritted teeth, reaching for a nearby stick. "I just tie this to keep it straight and–"

"No," Sevika cuts you off, her voice firm but gentle. "I've got you."  She immediately tears off a piece of her shirt like it was paper and ties the stick to your leg to keep it straight. You hiss in pain as she tightens it, and her eyes flit to you with worry.

“Thank you,” You try to stand, stubbornness overriding your pain. "I think I got it now, you can't carry our stuff and me-"

"Yes, I can," she interrupts, her tone brooking no argument. Before you can protest further, she's scooped you up in her arms, cradling you against her chest with surprising tenderness.

"This is embarrassing," you mutter, your cheeks flushing despite the pain.

"Yeah, that's what you get for being an idiot."

"Wow, way to cheer a girl up,”  you reply sarcastically.

As Sevika carries you through the prison corridors, you can't help but study her face. Her guarded expression softens as she looks down. There's something else in there too, a whirl of emotions you can't quite place. 

You tighten your hold on her, tucking your head against her chest. You can hear her heartbeat, strong and steady.  The smell of grimy blood and her shampoo somehow distracts you from the pulsing pain in your leg.

The sound of gunshots echoes through the building and you feel Sevika tense. "Fuck," you mutter, "what is happening out there?"

Sevika shifts you slightly, freeing one hand to grab her radio.

 "We've got two severely injured," crackles a voice through the static.

As you emerge into the harsh sunlight, you see members of your group carrying people out. Two of them have nasty stab wounds, blood seeping through hastily applied bandages.

Sevika gently sets you down next to the injured in the back of the truck. You watch as the rest of the group gathers around the other vehicle, their voices low and urgent as they discuss the situation. There are still people left inside.

Despite the throbbing pain in your leg, your instincts kick in. You reach for your bag, trying to pull out the first aid kit. Sevika notices and immediately moves to stop you.

"Stop, stop," she says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "You're injured. Let us help, tell us what to do."

You look up at her, seeing the worry etched on her face.

"Okay," you nod, wincing as you shift to get a better view of the injured. "We need to apply pressure to those wounds. Get the gauze from the kit and press it firmly against the bleeding areas."

As Sevika relayed your instructions to the others, you had forgotten to close your bag properly.  In your bag was the red shawl you kept from the night of the campfire, and unbeknownst to you Sevika had seen it in there, her jaw visibly clenching at the sight.

More of her crew comes out the building, hauling out the fallen attackers, their faces set in a hard scowl. 

“Are the rest dead?” she demands.

A gruff voice answers, “Yeah, we got those fucking bastards. We wanted you to deal with these.” The crew shoves three people onto their knees, their faces unremorseful and stoic. 

One man in the center is screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice raw with fanaticism. “YOU WILL REPENT! THIS IS A RECKONING! THE WORLD WILL BE CLEANSED OF FILTH LIKE YOU!” His words are overlapped with another man reciting a desperate prayer, his hands trembling as he clutches at invisible salvation. 

Sevika’s face remains a mask of cold detachment, her eyes flickering with something darker as she assesses the situation. 

“They’re not worth our bullets,” she says, her tone flat and unfeeling. The others understand immediately, pulling out their knives.

You see Sevika stride toward the vehicle's trunk, and she retrieves a machete, its blade gleaming dangerously.

Sevika’s expression remains inscrutable as she approaches the only woman in the group, the machete held steady and unwavering. The final girl locks eyes with Sevika, but there’s an almost reverent look to them.

Her voice is trembling, but defiant. “No one is safe—you cannot escape His wrath.”

Without hesitation, Sevika swings the machete. In a brutal, swift move, her crew slits the throats of the remaining captives. The girl’s final scream is a gurgle of blood as Sevika’s blade comes down with a clean, merciless swipe, severing her head in a single, precise cut.

Blood splatters across the scene, painting their clothes and the ground. The force of the blow sends a spray of it onto Sevika and her crew, but she doesn’t flinch.

You’re left watching in shock, the brutal display leaving you breathless and shaken. 

Sevika’s gaze shifts back to you as the last of the blood settles. The fierceness in her eyes softens just slightly, the ruthlessness giving way to concern. She takes in your injured state and the rest of the crew.

“Head back,” she commands, her voice almost robotic.  “We need to get them to the infirmary immediately.” 

The truck lurches and bumps along the road, each jolt sending a fresh wave of pain through your broken leg.  You shut your eyes, focusing on the thought of arriving at Zaun.

When you arrive at the infirmary, Sevika is out of the vehicle before it even comes to a full stop. She scoops you up, carrying you inside with a determination that’s almost palpable. As she crosses the threshold, you catch sight of the crew still being helped out of the vehicle, their injuries more immediate and visible than yours.

"No," you mumble, your voice weak but insistent. "No doctors... attend to them first."

Sevika's eyes widen in disbelief. "What? Are you crazy?"

You shake your head, the pain and fatigue making it hard to focus. “It’s a broken leg. From what I can tell, no internal bleeding. They’re bleeding, Sevika. They need help now.”

She hesitates, clearly torn between her instinct to protect you and your insistence. After a moment, she lets out a heavy sigh, clearly exasperated by your stubbornness. The adrenaline from the fight is wearing off, and exhaustion settles over you like a heavy blanket. Sevika administers a painkiller, and soon the sharp pain dulls to a throbbing ache.

Silence falls between you, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing. Sevika sits beside your bed, her posture rigid, eyes fixed on the floor. 

"What's wrong?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.  The fatigue is dragging you down, making it hard to keep your eyes open.

Sevika’s gaze remains locked on the ground, her face an unreadable mask. She doesn’t respond right away, but you can see the tremor in her hands and the tightness in her shoulders. With what little strength you have left, you reach out, your hand finding hers. The contact seems to jolt her out of her thoughts, and she finally meets your gaze.

What you see in her eyes is fear. Raw, unguarded terror. It's an expression you never thought you'd see on someone so strong like her, and it sends a chill through you.

Your hand moves to her face, fingers tracing the scar that runs along her cheek. Instead of pulling away as you half-expected, she leans into your touch, her eyes closing for a brief moment.

"It’s okay," you reassure, fighting to keep your eyes open. "I'm okay... just... don't leave me."

As you drift into unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is Sevika’s voice, a hushed murmur barely audible. 

“I failed you.”

taglist:

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@sevikitty @sarahduke @raphaellearp @cewl-casper @crying-lighting443

@sodavrr @sweet-lover-girl @love-sevikalove

[heich0e]

just saw talk of boxer au!gojo on twitter and i fear now i'm thinking about satoru—undefeated in his weight class, a sensation in the sport—gearing up for a fight against a fighter from the underground scene, ryomen sukuna, who's known to have seedy connections and to not fight fair. his opponents often end up hospitalized, or mysteriously retiring after his matches—and there are rumours that some meet even more sinister fates.

and you show up at gojo's training gym one night, long after the rest of his team has gone home and find him in the practice ring just laying on his back, his mitts tucked under his head like a pillow, asleep and totally at peace. you hesitate, not sure if you should disturb him, but eventually climb up onto the elevated platform of the ring. you slip through the ropes like you have a hundred—maybe a thousand—times before, and approach him quietly as not to wake him.

he strikes when you're within arm's reach, moving faster than you could ever hope to dodge even if you did anticipate it, and before you know it you're toppling down on top of him as he uses his body to break your fall—two strong arms cradling you to his bare chest.

"you weren't sleeping," you grumble into his neck sullenly, and you feel his chest lift with a laugh. "you tricked me."

"had to, otherwise you might've tried to run away." his hands pat down along your spine, then up over your shoulder blades, holding you tight. "couldn't risk that when you haven't been answering any of my calls."

he lets you pull away but only barely—just enough room to use his chest to push yourself up and look at him, but his hands on your hips keep you pinned in place where you straddle him. when you look down at him, at his pretty face and his bright eyes and the soft smile he always shows you, you feel like you might start crying again—just like the last time you were in this very gym a week prior. the gym whose route you could walk in your sleep, whose walls you have memorized with his name and trophies displayed proudly everywhere you look. Gojo. Gojo. Gojo. the same way the crowds at his fights chant for him and his triumph.

gojo—a name as familiar to you as it is foreign. it's his, but it's not. because the boy below you, staring up at you with that same lovesick expression you've never seen waver, will never be anything to you but satoru. means everything to you as satoru.

"it's not too late," you whisper, reaching up with a shaking hand and running your fingertips along the blush that sits high on his cheeks. "you can still call off the fight, there's still time."

satoru's expression shifts for a moment, so brief you may have missed it if you didn't know him so well. there's a flash of something behind his eyes that reads unmistakably like guilt. he dons a facade of petulance to mask it, his lip pursing in an exaggerated pout.

"i can't believe my own good luck charm doesn't think i can win against some loser," he whines, turning his face and nosing against the palm that was cupping his cheek.

it's not true. you believe in satoru unwaveringly, you know his skill and his abilities. your faith in him is, and always has been, implicit. it's his opponent you don't trust.

it's what the fight might cost him, regardless of the outcome, that terrifies you.

"hey."

your eyes focus again, and you meet satoru's gaze below you. he lifts his hand, cupping yours—so much smaller in comparison—underneath as he holds your touch against his face, pressing a kiss to your palm.

it's so impossibly still in the gym with everyone else gone, but everything about it is known to you. is wholly familiar. the dim fluorescents, the smell that lingers in the air, the hum of the fans, the sound of satoru's breath.

"stop worrying, okay?" he whispers against your skin, kissing your palm again to punctuate the request. "there's no way i'm gonna lose. i'm the strongest, after all."

and there's familiarity in those words too, since he's said them to you more times than you could ever hope to keep track of.

but this time they just don't seem to reassure you the same way.

[sophsbookstore]

The Perfect Day

Charles Leclerc x hairdresser!reader pt. 2 ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Read pt. 1 here

A/N: In honor of Charles Leclerc winning the freakin Monaco Grand Prix!! 

Word count: 2,453

“Looks like you have no one on schedule.” The front desk lady says to Y/N.

Y/N looks up from her phone, constantly refreshing her calendar, checking to make sure what she’s hearing is correct. There has to be some mistake? Just yesterday she was completely booked for the day.

“I think everyone canceled for the grand prix, I mean who would want to miss it, Charles is starting on pole!” The lady raved. All of Monaco was rooting for Charles, there was something in the air, everyone knew that Charles was going to win the Grand Prix, he had to.

“So I guess I'm off for the day?” Y/N looks at the lady puzzled, regretting her rejection of Charles' invitation to the Grand Prix.

Y/N waves goodbye to the other employees packing their things, the girl goes back to her car, sitting in science before calling Charles’ mom. She picks up within the first couple of rings. Y/N asks for Charles, his mom calling to Charles on the other line, passing her phone to her son.

“Sorry for telling you on such short notice but my schedule is cleared if there's still an available spot to see you race today.” Y/N starts fiddling with her hands, although Charles can't see, she hopes he doesn't pick up on the pleas in her voice.

“For you? There is always room.” With that Y/N gets an address sent to her and digital tickets to let her in. “I'll meet you at the entrance so I can give you your pass.” Y/N nods rapidly, thanking Charles for his generosity. Telling her that it was no problem at all, Charles bids her farewell, promising to see her later at the Grand Prix. Y/N rushes home, knowing she doesn't have long until the event starts.

She rummages through her closest, trying to find an outfit she deems perfect for the occasion. Finally landing on an outfit that satisfies her she looks at the clock, noticing that it's about time she leaves. She locks the door to her apartment behind her, shaking her hands with anxiety, reminding herself that she's there to support Charles.

When she finally gets to the Grand Prix she notices a group of people huddled near the entrance. She follows security, parking her car, dusting herself off, rolling her shoulders back, and walking closer to the commotion. 

As Y/N steps closer she finally sees what's at the center of the huddle, Charles. She waves her hand up in the air, hoping he catches her signal to him. Luckily he does. Quickly he makes his way over to her, pushing through the interviewers and paparazzi, with the green paddock pass in his hand.

“I'm so happy you came.” He says, pulling her in for a hug, kissing her cheek as he does so.

“I'm so happy you still let me come.” The pair laugh, pulling away from the embrace.

Charles wraps his arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her close to him as the two enter the paddock. Charles lets go of Y/N for a moment, stepping in front of her and placing the pass around her neck as they reconnect with one another officially entering the grounds.

Y/N can feel everyone staring at her, anxiety starts to bubble in her chest, wondering if she was being stared at in disgust or curiosity. “Don't worry about them.” Charles turns whispering in her ear.

“It's hard, they keep staring at me like I'm some kind of animal at the zoo.”

“Y/N they are most likely looking at how pretty you are, I mean I can't help but stare too.” He smirks, Y/N playfully removing her hand around him to give him a little smack on the arm, quickly moving it back around him.

The pair make their way to the Ferrari hospitality, Charles introduces Y/N to the various staff scattered around before making his way over to his brother Arthur. Y/N has met Arthur before, giving him ‘hellos’ here and there when he comes in to get his haircut by his mom.

“Y/N! What are you doing here?” The younger driver asked in excitement.

“She's my plus one.” Charles smiles at his brother, Y/N blushing, nodding in agreement.

Before the three could say any more to each other someone taps Chalres shoulder, his engineer signaling to him that it's time for him to leave. Charles frowns, nodding understanding he gives his brother a hug, the younger of the two hyping up his older brother.

Charles goes back to Y/N giving her a long embrace before kissing the side of her head. “You're going to win today, I just know it.” Y/N whispers to Charles moments before he leaves.

“I really hope you're right.” He gives her one last glance before following his engineer toward the car.

Y/N and Arthur mingle around the paddock, Arthur introducing Y/N to almost everyone that he knows. “Is that my nephew?” Arthur yells out, moving quickly towards a man that Y/N has never seen before.

“Y/N, this is my adopted nephew Oscar.” Oscar walks over to the both of them, shaking Y/N’s hand. 

“Ahh, so you must be Charles’ new son. Congratulations on P2, I wish you luck on your race today.” Y/N gives him a warm smile, the driver smiling back.

“Thank you.” Moments later Oscar is also pulled away, saying goodbye to the two as he makes his way towards his Mclaren.

Arthur motions for Y/N to follow him, together they make their way over to their designated area, Arthur slipping some headphones onto Y/N’s head as the two settle in, anxiously watching the screen in front of them as Monaco settles in silence, manifesting Charles' win.

Needless to say the race was stressful, with the red flag barely into the first lap Y/N worried that someone would overtake Charles, wanting to scream to the other drivers not to pass Charles on such a special and important day.

Arthur and Y/N hold onto one another during every touch, maneuver, and tire change, wishing the best for Ferrari, but most importantly Charles. As the lap starts coming to an end Y/N and Arthur look at one another, is this it? Is Charles going to win his home race and finally break the Monaco curse?

As Charles pulls closer to the finish line everyone from Ferrari runs closer to the barriers, screaming for Charles as he crosses the line. Tears hit Y/N's eyes, the girl cheering as loud as she can. He has done it, Charles Leclerc wins the 2024 Monaco Grand prix.

Charles practically jumps out of his car, tears trickling out of his eyes as he cheers atop his Ferrari. Jumping down before running and leaping towards his team. As if the cries of joy couldn't be any louder they did. At that moment it seemed that all of Monaco was cheering for him. 

Charles moves throughout the crowd hugging the people who helped him most to get this victory, finally making his way to Arthur and Y/N. Y/N steps to the side, letting the brothers have their moment first, hugging one another before the driver turns to Y/N.

The two melt in their embrace, Y/N crying tears of joy for Charles. “You did it!” She pulls back, her arms still tightly around Charles' big frame. “I knew you would.” 

Charles continues to hold her. “Meet me after the race, I still have dinner with you tonight. '' Y/N nods rapidly. Charles finally stepped away to go with his rest of the team to the doc, getting ready to do their celebratory jump into the water.

Arthur and Y/N follow behind the large group, Y/N taking out her phone to snap a few pictures in celebration. One by one the big group starts to taper off, either going off to celebrate or do interviews, Arthur says goodbye to Y/N leaving the girl to wait for Charles.

After countless interviews the driver finally returns to Y/N, now fully dried he gives her a hug. “Thank you for waiting.”

“No worries! Congratulations on your race, seriously.” She smiles up at him. “You don't have to go to dinner with me, I know you would much rather be partying with everyone.”

“Nonsense, the parties will go on later in the night. Right now, I want to be with you.” He holds out his hand, Y/N gladly takes it, the pair walking towards Ferrari hospitality so Charles can change into less damp, non-Ferrari clothes.

Y/N waits outside for Charles to change, once ready the pair walk toward the parking lot. “The restaurant is fairly close if you want to walk?” He offers. Y/N looks over at her car, then back at Charles. “Sure!”

Together the pair walk out of the circuit, now entering the streets of Monte Carlo. They continue to talk with one another, getting interrupted every few meters by fans noticing Charles, everyone giving him high praise for his victory.

“Maybe we should have driven.” Charles jokes, the pair walking faster trying to get rid of the crowd following them, getting larger by the minute.

“Next time we will for sure.” Y/N nods in agreement.

“Next time? Already planning a second date before the first?” Charles smiles, the tips of his ears getting hot.

Y/N blushes in embarrassment. “Oh! I- ummm.” She stutters, getting caught off guard by Charles' question.

“I'd be more than happy to go on another date with you Y/N.” He smiles, the pair silently brushing their fingers together, slowly intertwining their hands as they continue down the busy Monte Carlo street.

Finally making it to the restaurant the staff immediately identify Charles, moving rapidly getting Charles and Y/N a room in the back. Patrons and staff of the restaurant give Charles loud cheers and high praise the further they walk into the restaurant.

Charles steps in front of Y/N pulling the girl's chair out for her to sit, thanking him she does so, Charles scooting her chair forward before taking his rightful seat across from her. The two open up their menus, engaging in slight conversation before both put their menus down, leaning forward, getting closer to one another.

“Thank you for coming to the race, and to dinner with me after.” Charles smiles, blushing ever so slightly.

“Thank you for the invite! Surprisingly, I'm glad that everyone canceled their appointments, if they hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to see you win.”

“I don't know how to feel, I'm just so excited and happy. I wish that my father would have been here to see it. We both dreamed of me winning my home race.” He looks down at the menu, quickly wiping his eyes.

“He is, he might not be physically here but he is always with you. I can say with 100% certainty that wherever he might be, he is jumping up and down cheering the hardest for you.” Charles looks up at Y/N, his eyes glossy.

“Thank you Y/N, truly.”

Before the pair can say any more, the waiter comes to the table. Both Charles and Y/N put in their orders continuing the conversation once he leaves. Charles asks Y/N about her life, wanting to get to know her more as the pair had only met days prior.

“I should really give you my number, especially since we are going on a second date. It would be weird if you kept calling my mom and asking for me.” Charles laughs, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

“Yeah…sorry about that.” Y/N looks away.

“Don't worry at all, it was my mistake for not asking for your number when we first met.” Charles hands his phone to Y/N the girl typing in her information before texting herself on his phone.

Their food soon arrives, the conversation not dying down one bit. The couple talked, not once did an awkward silence fall upon them. As the sun began to set the waiter came back with the bill. Y/N starts to reach for it, but Charles is too quick.

“Please let me, the date was my idea.”

“Charles, you literally won the Monaco Grand Prix, it's the least I could do.”

“You showing up, and coming with me tonight is everything I wanted. You can get the next one if you really want to.” He hands his card to the waiter, who soon comes back with Charles' card and the receipt.

Charles and Y/N both get up, interlocking hands once more before leaving the restaurant, Charles thanking the wait staff as they leave. “Let me walk you back to your car. I don't want you walking alone.”

The two walk in silence, taking in the warm summer air, gazing at the beautiful monte carlo sights. Charles notices Y/N’s face contorting in discomfort. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, my shoes are kinda hurting, but we’re almost there.” She shrugs.

Charles stops, Y/N following his lead the pair stand on the near empty Monte Carlo sidewalk. “Here let me.” Charles bends down, putting his knee up signaling Y/N to rest her foot on top. She does so, Charles taking off her shoes for her before getting back up off the floor, shoes in hand.

“Get on.” Charles turns around, squatting down for Y/N to get on his back. Once again she does so, quickly hopping onto his back as the pair continue to venture further into the night.

They finally get back to the parking lot, Y/N unlocks her car as Charles, ever the gentleman holds her door open for him. Y/N hops off of Charles back, staring ahead at her car, looking back at Charles who's looking back at her.

“Can I kiss you?” She asks, nervous for his response. 

Charles lets go of the door handle. “I thought you'd never ask.” He takes the sides of her face in his hands, the two engaging in a passionate kiss. Y/N wraps her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. After a moment the pair pull back, still holding each other close.

“What a perfect way to finish the night.” Y/N smiles, pulling Charles in for another kiss.

“I couldn't have said it better myself.”

[lovingjingyuan]

Short Story Rambble

I'm not posting any work this month but brainrots ideas. So busy with studies. I'll start getting to requests after everything is over. Not edited.

Sunday

You're so beautiful he had to keep your beauty in front of his eyes somehow. To be displayed for him neatly. What better way than to put you in a birdcage? To keep you in there. "Sing for me my sweet angel," He cooed, lips at the surface of the bars playing with your strands of hair through the bar of the golden cage. Beautiful just for him. He smiles at you with his angelic features.

The instrumental of the song on his vintage record player tuned music as you sang the lyrics. He hummed softly holding your hands admiring your beauty through the birdcage. Next, he'll have to figure out how to preserve your beauty for eternity. 

Aventurine

"What should I do next?"

"All in"

"Then I'm going all in," Aventurine pushes all the chips in the middle of the table. This pushes your chest against the edge of the table as you sit sweetly on his lap. His left hand on your waist, his right hand playing.

The wealthy businessmen and women starred in unease. Was this another buff from the IPC executive? Aventurine sat with a relaxed smile holding you firmly in his arms and making you sit patiently on his lap.

Everyone went all in. They seemed confident but was it enough to end his never ending winning streak? His left hand held your waist firmly as it tightened a bit. His thumb traced circles on the curve of your waist to ease his tension. He was nervous yet hid it well.

"Remember this is all just for you," He leaned over to whisper in your ears.

He revealed his cards. A royal Flush! He laughed in ecstasy grabbing all the chips for himself.

"I'll buy you anything you want after this" He whispered sweetly in your ears. He always had his charms. Even from keeping you sitting sweetly on his lap and betting on you, he'll always win. 

Jing Yuan

"If you win I'll let you leave," he smiled at you from across from the chessboard. You make another move. "Bold indeed." He smiled at you but captured your knight. Damn, he led you right in his trap.

He retained you in the Luofu you can't even leave if you wanted to! Not if every single person on the Xianzhou will be looking for you the moment you're out of Jing Yuan's glaze. But, you'll always end up back in his embrace.

Every move you made was falling into Jing Yuan's upper hand. He always knows how to lead with the chessboard.

"Checkmate," your heart dropped the moment you heard the word you feared hearing. He widens his arms for you to lean in his embrace. "Come here, my love" He pulls you in his arms.

He holds you tightly in his arms not wanting to let go. You should have known from the start you'll never win against a man with 800+ years of experience. what a fool you are for even accepting this.

"I love you," He kissed your lips.

What nickname should Aventurine call his darling I don't like using Y/N :(

I can't decide on Nicknames for characters' darling and I'm gonna do a few requests when I got time <3

[psychostxr]

𝐝𝐞𝐮𝐜𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐧 | kiss me better

PAIRING. deuce gorgon x gn/fem! reader

WORD COUNT. 0.6k

WARNINGS. mentions of bruises

NOTES. i'm alive! sorry for being absent, i got a job at a library and it's been taking up all my time so i haven't really written anything since febuary. but please enjoy this peace offering despite it being short

"Oh my ghoul," you whisper, taking in the sight of your poor boyfriend as he sits on the bench outside the school nurse's office.

You knew Deuce would take some hits during the Skultimate Roller Maze game, but nothing could prepare you for what you saw. Deep purple bruises stain his cheek and nose. A sling and cast cradle his left arm, and his signature shades are cracked, threatening to shatter and turn everyone around him to stone.

"Deuce!" you call, rushing toward him.

He looks up to see you and quickly tries to stand up from the bench. You wrap your arms around him as gently as you can, careful not to press against any of his injuries. Deuce winces slightly but pulls you closer with his right arm. You pull back just enough to cup his unbruised cheek, your thumb brushing against his skin.

"What happened?" you ask, "The camera in the maze suddenly stopped working, and then we couldn't see anything."

Deuce sighs, his breath shaky. You can see the pain etched in his eyes, even behind the broken glasses.

"It was Gary from Granite City High," he begins, his voice low. "He sneaked up behind me and stole my glasses. I turned the camera bat Rocco was holding into stone. Rocco threw the stoned bat at Gil and knocked him over. Then Gary shoved me. I slammed into Gil, and you know the rest."

Deuce gestures weakly to his battered body. You feel a surge of anger rise within, but you try to push it down. It's not fair that Granite City High got away with winning this season's Skultimate Roller Maze despite cheating and injuring your school's entire team. But there was no evidence to prove they cheated. They made sure of it when they destroyed the camera.

"What about Gil?" you question, distracting yourself from your anger. "How's he doing?"

Deuce motions to the nurse's office. "He's getting checked now. Lagoona's with him."

"I'm so sorry, Deuce." You lean your head against him, rubbing your hand up and down his chest. "What they did wasn't fair. You didn't deserve any of that."

Deuce kisses the top of your head. "It's not your fault, babe. You don't need to be sorry."

"I know…" you sigh, pulling away to look up at him. "I just wish I could do something to make it better."

"Well," Deuce says, his lips curling into a smirk. "There is something that might help. Think you can kiss me better?"

You grin. "That I can do."

Deuce gently tugs you closer by the waist, and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck. Standing on your tiptoes, you gently kiss his forehead, lingering just long enough to let him feel the affection behind it.

Then, you move to his non-bruised cheek, leaving a soft kiss there. You kiss every part of his face that isn't bruised, and when Deuce thinks you're finally going to kiss him properly, your lips teasingly brush over his to continue kissing his face.

Deuce chuckles softly. "Stop teasing."

You pause, locking eyes with Deuce through his shades. Then, you lean in and kiss him passionately, letting all your love and care flow into that moment. Deuce's grip on your waist tightens slightly, pulling you closer as he kisses you back. When you finally break the kiss, your foreheads rest together.

Deuce lets out a content sigh. "You always know how to make things better."

"I'll always be here for you, Deuce. No matter what."

© psychostxr — all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, translate, or claim any of my works as your own.