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[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 11: The Innocent Can Never Last]

A/N: Below are your guesses…let’s see how you did!!! 🥰😘 Only 2 chapters left 🥳

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Wake Me Up When September Ends” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.3k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“You could have gone to California with them,” Rio says as he flips open the fuel cap of a black Nissan Frontier, parked in the driveway of a two-story brick house on National Avenue, not far from where Route 95 branches north of Winnemucca like an artery from a heart.

You squint up at the cumulus clouds to avoid meeting his eyes. You keep thinking you’re going to cry and have to suffocate it, drown it, slit its throat. “I didn’t want to.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Sweat runs in rivulets down his face as he slides in the semitransparent siphoning hose, the one with the little pump on it that Jace had when you found him in Iowa. Aemond gave this to Cregan; he kept the hose without the pump for himself. A small, curious sacrifice. You are fanning Rio with a magazine, Bow International. You had grabbed it thinking of Daeron, then remembered he wasn’t here to give it to. “Jesus Christ, it’s so fucking hot…”

“Djibouti was hotter.”

“Djibouti had a beach. And an air conditioning unit in every window.”

Cregan is waiting by the Tahoe and leafing through a guidebook he found at the Maverik gas station. Ice is lying on the ground and panting beside him, her shaggy grey coat filthy with dust and sand. “The town was named for Chief Winnemucca, who was born in the 1820s in what would later become the Oregon Territory. It either means ‘the giver of spiritual gifts’ or ‘one moccasin,’ depending on the interpretation.”

Rio says: “Damn Cregan, you can read?”

Cregan frowns down at the guidebook with feigned regret. “I really wish Trump had built that wall.”

Rio guffaws. “Cregan, man, I told you. I was born here!”

He continues: “Winnemucca was a stop on the transcontinental railroad.”

“Great. Let’s get that up and running again.” Rio groans as he squeezes the pump on the siphoning hose with increasing frustration. “Absolutely nothing. Not a drop.”

“We probably have enough to get to Denio Junction,” you say gingerly, knowing he’s suffering. It has to be over 100 degrees.

“Yeah, and what if there’s no gas there? How the hell are we going to get to Adel, Oregon?”

“We could walk if we have to.”

“85 miles? In heat like this?”

“In basic training we had to run—”

“We had water in basic training, Chips!” he snaps; and Rio never snaps. “And real food, and corpsmen for if we passed out, and also there were no fucking zombies running around eating people, remember that part?!”

You stare down at the dirt. You can’t cry; you can’t waste the liquid.

“Wait, no, no, no, I’m sorry.” Rio lifts your chin so you aren’t able to hide from him. “I’m…you know…I should already be there. I could be in Odessa in six hours, I could be with Sophie and the baby before sundown, and instead we’re stuck here in the desert and I’m thinking…what if what should take hours ends up taking weeks? What if when I get there, I’m too late?”

You nod, you understand. Out on the road, Cregan keeps his face buried in his guidebook, trying to be polite and pretend he can’t hear you.

“And, I’m also thinking…” Rio says, soft and low. “That I don’t want to be the reason why you miss out on a chance at happiness when the world could literally be ending.”

You gaze up at him, dejected, pathetic. “I can’t handle any virgin jokes right now.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to make one.”

“I didn’t want to go with them to California,” you lie. And then a truth: “And I would never leave you. I promised.”

Rio smiles. “You promised not to let me die alone, and I don’t plan on dying. You’ve gotten me most of the way already.” He glances towards the Tahoe. “I think Axe Boy would have rather stayed with them too. When he was asleep last night I heard him mumbling something about Helaena.”

Cregan? Helaena? Interesting. “Aemond doesn’t want me.”

“Oh, come on. You know he and his one eye are sobbing into a can of SpaghettiOs right now.”

“Be nice,” you murmur morosely.

“Why? He can’t hear me,” Rio says. “Look, Aemond’s fucked up. And of course he is. He went from learning how to save lives and deliver babies to watching his friends die horrible, preventable, completely meaningless deaths. That’s gotta suck. It sucked for me, and I barely even knew them, and no one expected me to be able to do anything about it. Aemond’s the one people trusted to protect them, and he couldn’t. So why would he be able to protect you?”

I never wanted Aemond to protect me. I just wanted him to take me away from here, even for a minute, even for seconds, one hushed stolen moment at a time. “I wish I had said something different back in Battle Mountain.” I wish I had told him I love him. But I didn’t, and now it’s too late.

“You deserve to have the whole wholesome normal family thing, the husband and the kids and the warm fuzzy holiday traditions. I know you’ve always wanted that.”

“If I choose the wrong person, I’m going to end up alone and miserable. And I’ll turn into a monster like my mother.”

“Hey,” Rio says, like he’s ready to fight you. And then he uses your real name, something he’s done maybe five times since you met him, just like you almost never call him Bryan. “You will never be like your mother. Okay? It’s not possible. You don’t have it in you. You’re not a parasite, you’re not mean.”

You want to believe him. “Okay.”

Then Rio chuckles. “Actually, you’re going to end up like my mom. Living in the middle of the woods, making your own soap out of goat milk, growing weed and knitting sweaters.”

You smile wistfully. “I have no idea how to knit. I want to build things.” Then you remember something from when you were fishing on Lake McConaughy in Nebraska. “Aegon said I look like someone who knits. Whatever that means.”

“It means you’re from Kentucky.” Then Rio asks, tentative: “So…what do you think about Aegon?”

This seems random. “He’s cool. I like him, obviously. He’s, um…I don’t know how to describe it. He’s so sad but so warm. It’s impossible to feel nervous around him, which is nice.”

Rio nods, giving you a teasing smirk. “Alright then.”

“Why?”

“Well I was just thinking that if he grows up a little more, he might be good for you.”

“Rio, he’s thirty.”

He bursts out laughing. “So give it another decade and he’ll finally be baby daddy material.”

“I’m sure he’ll be preoccupied with his drug dealing and brothel empire by then.”

“You aren’t even the tiniest bit intrigued?”

“I’ve never really thought about him that way.” And there’s another dimension to it that wouldn’t occur to Rio: Aegon is an addict. You know what it’s like to have to depend on somebody like that. You would never allow yourself to fall in love with him, not the way he is now.

Rio sighs and pivots. “You want me to give you a baby?”

Now you’re giggling. Of course, he’s not serious, just like he wasn’t serious when you were trapped on that transmission tower together back in Pennsylvania. “Stop.”

“I’m super tall and charming, and I was a great electrician back when electricity existed, and I have luscious curly hair that you can readily observe since the U.S. Navy isn’t around to make me shave it off anymore.”

“Sorry, I don’t reproduce with Enrique Iglesias fans.”

“You are so racist, and yet I’d still be willing to help you out with a sperm donation. I’d blindfold myself and struggle through it somehow.” He’s grinning, but his dark eyes are kind. “As long as I’m alive, you will always have a family. And Sophie gets that. Her parents were fuckups too. That’s why she’s so close with mine even though they’re insane.”

“They’re exactly the right kind of insane for the way the world is now.”

“Remember when my dad went through his ‘wifi gives you cancer’ phase and would only communicate with me via Republican-president-themed postcards?”

“The Ronald Reagan one was neat. So many eagles.”

“Truly an excessive amount of eagles.” Rio goes for the porch. “I guess we’ll scrounge whatever we can inside and check the rest of the cars on the street before we head north.”

“I ain’t seen any others without the fuel cap already open,” Cregan says from the Tahoe, dispirited but trying not to show it.

“If we end up having to walk, we’re going to need water or Hawaiian Punch or something. A lot of it. Maybe we can find some of that Pedialyte stuff Aemond got for Jace when he was sick.” Rio pounds one closed fist against the front door. “Hey! Anybody home? We’re looking for supplies. Not trying to cause any problems. If somebody’s in there, just give a shout and we’d be happy to keep moving.”

You’ve followed Rio up onto the porch. “If there’s no water inside, canned fruit will work. You can drink the syrup for hydration, and all the sugar gives you calories.”

Back by the Tahoe, Cregan is leaning down to pet Ice. She’s still panting hard, foamy saliva dripping from her muzzle. “Y’all, we gotta get moving,” Cregan says. “Princess needs to be back in the truck with the AC, and I don’t want to waste gas by letting it idle.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re working on it.” Rio kicks the door once, hard enough that you hear the wood split near the hinges, dry and cracking. He backs up to prepare to give the door another blow, which is all it will take. Then there is a muffled voice from inside the house.

“Get the hell off my property!”

Immediately, you are stunned by the boom of an explosion, shards of wood flying like shrapnel, the steel barrel of a shotgun jutting from the fresh hole in the center of the door. Rio is scrambling off the porch and dragging you with him. With your free hand, you grab your M9 from its holster and begin shooting before the man inside can fire again, before he can kill Rio or Cregan or you. Your bullets pierce through the blackness of the gaping wound in the front door. You hear shrieks of agony; you see flecks of blood painting the wood. Now there are people shooting from the second-story windows, and you feel the wind of bullets clip by as Rio pulls you towards the Tahoe. The engine starts; Cregan is already in the driver’s seat. You return fire until your M9 makes only small, hollow clicks when you pull the trigger. And by then Rio is shoving you into the truck.

“Go, go, go!” Rio yells at Cregan the second he crawls in behind you and slams the door shut. Cregan swerves away from the curb and barrels down the street, tires squealing, gunshots still ringing out from the house. Ice is barking franticly.

“Rio, I’m out,” you say, terrified.

“What?”

“Bullets. I’m out of bullets.”

“We gotta go,” Rio concedes. There are scratches on his cheeks from splinters of wood, sweat turning from clear to blood-tinged pink as it drips down onto his shirt. “We gotta get out of Winnemucca. If we have to walk, we’ll walk. At least there’s no one north of here to worry about for a hundred miles. Not living and not dead either.”

From the backseat, you glance over at Cregan. “Oh my God, Cregan, you’re hurt.”

“I know.” His right forearm is covered in blood. It’s a graze wound, but deep; when he turns the steering wheel, you can glimpse the white of bone as his shredded muscles open like a mouth.

“You need stitches!”

“Oh yeah?” Cregan replies as the Tahoe bumps over corpses in the street, bodies mummified by the wind and the sun. “And which of you two would be better at that, you think?”

“We’ll get supplies to patch you up,” Rio says, peering out the window, searching for someplace to stop. “And enough food and water to last us through the desert. Right there, hop on Route 95, and we’ll find a store at the edge of town before we’re in No Man’s Land.” Cregan jerks the wheel; the Tahoe veers onto Route 95 heading north. Boarded-up houses and graffitied overpasses and gnarled bristlecone pine trees and lifeless traffic lights and looted storefronts pass by in a blur.

You turn to Rio. “What if those people try to follow us?”

“It’ll only take five minutes.”

“Rio…”

“We don’t have enough to drink. If we get stranded in the desert, we’ll die. I’m not dying out there. I didn’t cross 3,000 miles to drop dead just a few hundred away from Sophie.”

He’s right. There’s no other option. North of Winnemucca is a wasteland, a boneyard. “Okay,” you surrender, helping him look for stores. “But we have to be quick.”

“I can be real quick, baby. You’d know that if you took me up on my very selfless sperm donation offer.”

Cregan raises his eyebrows; you can see his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Y’all have a mighty strange relationship.”

Rio is pointing. “Right there, Riverside Grocery & Liquor. Let’s give that a try. Cregan? You see it? By the Taco Bell.”

“Of course you’d be attracted to Taco Bells,” Cregan says as the Tahoe zigzags across the parking lot, but his voice is woozy. Blood pours from the gash in his arm. What if the bullet severed a major artery? What if he’s bleeding to death?

You ask: “Cregan, do you feel okay?”

“I’m alright. Don’t you worry about me, Miss Chips. You got enough worries already.”

“You don’t look alright.”

His eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror; they are fearful. “I think I need to get pressure on it.”

“We’ll take care of you, buddy,” Rio says. And as soon as Cregan shifts the Tahoe into park, Rio is out the door and striding into the small grocery store, his Remington 12 gauge in his hands. It’s unloaded, but still good for blunt force trauma. The glass of one of the front doors has been shattered. Rio steps inside, his boots crunching on broken glass. You are right behind him; Cregan lifts Ice with his uninjured arm so she can get inside without cutting her paws.

Harsh desert sunlight streams in bright enough that you can see reasonably well, dusk or dawn instead of midday. The air tastes like dirt and decay. The shelves of alcohol have been picked clean, but cans and bottles and cardboard boxes have been left strewn haphazardly around the rest of the store. There are several circular racks of souvenir t-shirts: horses, mountains, pine trees, I was a buckaroo on the Cowboy Corridor, #DesertLife, Straight Outta Winnemucca. You yank a white shirt with a rattlesnake on it off its hanger and tie it tightly around Cregan’s bleeding forearm, closing the ragged ends of his wound.

Ice is whining and nudging at Cregan. “There’s one in here,” he warns.

“Yeah, I got it,” Rio says. She staggers out of the stockroom hissing and growling, the flesh on her face almost completely gone, her exposed skull stained with clotted blood, her teeth chattering. Long strands of blonde hair hang in patches from the back of her head. She is wearing a red vest with a nametag on it. Once upon a time, her parents called her Jasmine. Rio strikes the zombie with his Remington so hard it is decapitated, and the corpse crumples to the filthy tile floor as its head rolls over towards the cash register. Then he slings the shotgun over one of his shoulders and begins shopping.

Cregan is tall enough to see the tops of shelves where items have been missed; he pulls down bottles of Snapple, Gatorade, Yoohoo, Jarritos soda and stuffs them into his backpack. You are on your hands and knees sorting through the debris on the floor, everything coated with a layer of dust and sand. You find cans of mandarin oranges, boxes of graham crackers, tuna pouches, and packets of Tylenol. Cregan will need them. He needs more than that, but you can’t give it to him. You’ve never been to medical school. You grab more souvenir shirts to use as bandages later.

Maybe there are doctors in Odessa.

Rio says excitedly from the other side of the store: “Chips, they got Cheddar Whales!”

Maybe there’s a life worth living in Odessa.

“Just hurry up so we can go.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He’s filling his arms with boxes and bottles, making a lot of noise. Ice is pacing and whimpering, panting like she can hardly breathe, drooling gluey strings of saliva. The grocery store is an oven. Cregan pops open a can of Arizona iced tea and pours it into her mouth to be gulped greedily down. Still, Ice’s yellow wolfish eyes dart around the room, vigilant, rattled.

“I think there’s another zombie,” you say, watching her. You reach for your M9 before remembering it’s unloaded.

Cregan replies: “Sure she ain’t just overheated?”

Somewhere close, less than a mile away: gunshots out on the streets of Winnemucca.

“Ready, kids?” Rio says, his arms overflowing, half a Slim Jim hanging out of his mouth like a cigarette.

“Yes sir,” Cregan agrees. The t-shirt you knotted around his forearm is splotched with crimson, but the bleeding appears to have slowed. Fragments of glass shatter as he crosses through the doorway and out into the parking lot, carrying Ice as she struggles and barks.

Rio pauses as he passes one of the other t-shirt racks, circles of metal that gleam like halos. He’s rearranging his supplies so he has a free hand to grab a shirt he likes. There are more distant gunshots outside, and the squealing of tires. In the parking lot, Cregan is starting the Tahoe.

You say distractedly, noticing an empty Twizzlers wrapper on the floor and thinking of Jace: “Rio, let’s go.”

“Hold up, this one has an elephant on it—”

The hand juts out from below the rack and seizes his ankle, claws up his legs, rips and tears at him, grey flayed flesh and screeches from rotting vocal chords, something that used to be a man or a woman and is now only a monster, half a body, nothing from the waist down but shred of black necrotic muscle, skin, intestines, too close for Rio to push away, already clinging to him like graffiti on concrete, like a pair of stainless steel dog tags hanging from his neck. Without thinking, without hesitating, you are across the store and trying to get it off him, screaming as your fingers rake through disintegrating gore, so deep you can feel the zombie’s ribs like rungs of a ladder, trying to get a grip on it, trying to kill it. Now Cregan is back with his axe and he’s hacking at the skull as best he can without hitting Rio, and Ice is barking, and Cregan is yelling for you to get away before you’re bitten, but you don’t listen, you don’t care; all your life you were homesick until you found homes with Rio thousands of miles from where you were born, and if he’s gone then so is the only place you’ve ever belonged. There is a surge of blood, hot and metallic, rot and iron in the air, and you don’t know whose it is.

He can’t be gone. If he’s gone, who am I?

An arm hooks around your waist and drags you backwards, so roughly you lose your breath for a moment and cannot fight them; over your right shoulder, you see a hand holding a Glock. Aemond pulls the trigger and the zombie falls to the floor, a mangle of decomposition and exposed bones, because wherever the others ended up they found bullets and gasoline…and then they came back for you.

Aegon is stumbling over the rubble that litters the floor to get to Rio. You can hear Daeron and Rhaena’s voices out in the parking lot, and the blasts of Rhaena’s Ruger, the revolver she once didn’t know how to use. Cregan is trying to help Rio up, but he can’t stand. He is slumped against bare shelves and holding a hand to his throat, where he’s hemorrhaging from a gaping, ragged wound, torn arteries and lacerated veins. He’s been bitten, but his transformation won’t take long. He’s bleeding out. His dark eyes are on you, and beneath the glassy sheen of catastrophic blood loss is disbelief and fury and grief. He will never see Sophie again; he will never meet his child.

Your voice is a whisper, a phantom. “Bryan…”

“It only takes once, right?” he says, weak and guttural, already fading, blood on his lips. Then his eyes drift to Aemond. “Get her out of here.”

“No!” you shriek as Aemond pulls you towards the door, his arms locked around your waist, his lips to your ear as he begs you to come with him, that you have to leave, that it’s not safe here, that Rio doesn’t want you to see what has to happen next. Aegon is sobbing as he touches Rio’s face. Cregan bows his head; but he’s already looking at the Marlin .22 that hangs by its leather strap from Aegon’s shoulder. “No, I promised, I promised! I promised I wouldn’t let him die alone!”

“He’s not alone,” Aemond tells you, and he doesn’t let go when you struggle, when you scream. Burning sunlight floods over you, and you are in the parking lot. Rhaena and Daeron are shooting down zombies as they lurch towards the grocery store, drawn by the commotion, the symphony of the dead and dying. Luke is using a siphoning hose to fill the Tahoe’s tank with the remaining fuel in the Ford Expedition. Helaena is moving their supplies into the Tahoe, weeping softly to herself, her long ghost-pale hair flowing in the desert wind.

The racks, you think, you remember. You can see Helaena shining the flashlight into your eyes like you’re back on a living room floor in Iowa. I forgot to remind Rio to check under the racks. And now he’s gone.

You’re screaming that it’s your fault as Aemond forces you into the Tahoe, and you don’t care what anyone says to you: Luke trying to tell you that’s not true, Rhaena swearing that you’re safe now. There is a gunshot from inside the grocery store. Your heart and lungs have turned to iron like the anchor of a ship, cold and still and heavy, unmovable, unbearable. You cannot breathe through your sobs; you cannot see, cannot speak. You curl up on a seat and wish you were dead. All your life you have been compelled by a blind belief that there are better places even if you cannot imagine them, that sometimes when it feels like the world is ending the only way out is through. For the very first time, you want to give up. You want to let all the poisons of this earth seep into your bloodstream until they stop your pulse and everything goes quiet, quiet, quiet.

Aemond is pouring bottles of water over you so he can wash away the blood and sand and gore. He is searching your skin for bitemarks. People are climbing into the Tahoe and a key turns in the ignition. The wheels are spinning; shadows fall over your face through the windows as you sail beneath overpasses. You hear voices but not words. You feel Aemond’s hands on you and do not flinch away.

Someone is putting pills in your mouth and telling you to swallow. “What is it?” you ask.

“Tramadol,” Aegon says. “It will take you somewhere else.”

And it does, this poison he doesn’t know you are starving for; it erases the future and the past until you don’t exist, you never have, and this is a relief.

~~~~~~~~~~

Glimpses through fogged vision, disjointed flashes like dreams: Aemond cleaning and suturing Cregan’s arm, Helaena’s fingers threading through Ice’s shaggy grey fur, smoke from smoldering Marlboro Golds billowing from Aegon’s lips and out through an open window, coyotes watching the Tahoe pass from the shoulder of the highway, mountains and barbed wire, clouds and useless power lines, land that turns from flat and vast and vacant to steep hills thick with pine trees, so many they block out the sun.

You are dimly aware that the Tahoe is stopping frequently, long lulls to hunt for gasoline in small towns, one gallon here, three gallons there, discussions over which routes to take as Aegon scrutinizes his map. Aemond is always with you, coaxing you to take sips of Gatorade and nibbles of Ritz crackers, feeding you spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup straight from the can, and each night when you fall into numb unconsciousness in a dead stranger’s bed he sleeps on the floor in case you need him, and eventually you do. You jolt awake from a nightmare, not death but cursed immortality, a bite he missed somehow that turned you into a monster, into a murderer, your raw skin and muscles sloughing off your bones.

“You’re fine, you’re fine, look at your hands,” Aemond says, taking your wrists and holding them gently. “No bites. You’re going to be okay, I promise. Hey, hey…” He cradles your face, he pleads for you to believe him. “I swear to God, you’re going to be okay.”

“It should have been me,” you whisper in the red glow of the candlelight. “I don’t have a family that would miss me if I was gone.”

“Yes you do,” Aemond says fiercely; and it takes your drugged, horrorstruck mind a moment to realize who he means.

The next day the Tahoe runs out of gas, and you know this because Aemond wakes you with a palm resting lightly on your forehead and an apology sighed through your hair. “What’s wrong?” you murmur.

“We have to get out and walk for a while. Can you do that?”

You force yourself to sit up, blinking at him. “Where are we?”

“Kingvale, California. In the Sierra Nevada Mountains.”

“We’re going to the beach house,” you realize.

“Yeah,” Aemond says, smiling a little. “Yeah, we are. We’re going home.”

On Donner Pass Road, following in the centuries-old footsteps of doomed westward migrants, someone always walks with you as you shuffle along in a daze. Aemond tells you about California, Rhaena reads aloud from Mockingjay, Ice licks your knuckles, Aegon talks endlessly about golf and yachting even when you can’t respond. His burned leg is still bandaged, but healing, and he’s found a Converse sneaker a few sizes too big to wear on his left foot; Aemond treats and wraps his wounds each morning and night, and Rhaena observes and takes notes so she can learn how to do it.

One afternoon just north of Beale Air Force Base, Daeron sneaks a Marlboro Gold out of Aegon’s backpack when no one is watching and lights it as he lingers in the back of the group. Aegon smells the smoke immediately and whirls, runs to him, snatches the cigarette from between Daeron’s lips and stomps it into the pavement.

“You’re not going to be like me!” Aegon shouts at him in the middle of the road. “Goddammit, you’re going to be safe, and you’re going to be happy, and you’re going to know that people care about you because I’ll break your fucking arm if I ever see you smoking again. You don’t get to poison yourself. You’re going to live to be a hundred years old. Got it?”

“Got it,” Daeron echoes, startled, petrified; and then Aegon hugs him, hanging on for a very long time.

~~~~~~~~~~

It is midnight in Meridian, a miniscule town founded in the 1850s on the banks of the Sacramento River, a relic from a time when travel meant ferries and railroads and wagon trains. Here, well outside the state capital, there are no sounds except the breeze through the trees—blue oaks, sycamores, willows, white alders—and the hoots of owls. The house is old, built in the 1950s or 60s, creaking steps and a screened-in front porch where Cregan and Daeron are playing Uno while keeping watch. The moon is new and invisible. The stars are bright.

Aemond appears in the doorway of your room. You are on the edge of the bed and staring at the wallpaper, flickering candlelight and scenes of galloping horses. Aemond is not letting you have any more Tramadol. He’s also not letting anyone load your Beretta, although you saw a box of 9mm bullets in Helaena’s burlap messenger bag. Maybe he’s worried you’ll try to shoot yourself. Maybe he’s not too far off.

He closes the door, crosses the room, and sits down on the bed beside you. In the firelit quiet, Aemond says: “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to help you.”

“I can’t stay here. Take me somewhere else.”

At first, he doesn’t understand what you mean. Then you reach for him—for a life raft, for something to tether you to the earth—and the lines of your palm press against his scar, flesh he stitched back together himself, proof he can heal people, a reminder of how temporary any of you could be. Aemond lays his hand over yours and closes his eye, holding you there against his face, feeling your warmth and your forgiveness, your need to be close to him in a way that is suddenly so uncomplicated. There is no fear left in you. Perhaps there’s nothing left at all.

Aemond kisses you, and there are blooms of golden light through your darkness like what you call lightning bugs and he says are fireflies. You are entangled on the bed together, and all the sounds still ricocheting in your memory—screams, gunshots, bloodlust, hunger, anarchy—fade until they cease to exist. He is touching you, and you can feel lost pieces of yourself returning to you like rain soaking through parched earth, faith and resolve and desire. And now, and now…

Now Aemond is taking you far, far, far away, to bottomless blue water you can drown in, to where Diego Garcia lies marooned in the middle of the Indian Ocean, to the sun-glinting waves off the coasts of Chinhae, Corpus Christi, Key West, the Horn of Africa. He is between your thighs, and you want him through the pain, a razor-sharp fullness that seems so immaterial and so fleeting; and you lie to him over and over again because if he knows he’s hurting you he’ll stop, and in this world one cannot assume there will be second chances. Aemond stills once he’s inside you, giving you time to adjust but also overwhelmed by the intensity of it, his hands in your hair and trembling all over, kissing your face as the pain bleeds away and leaves a shade of craving you’ve never felt before, something deep and indistinct, something intangible like a spell or a myth. You move first, rolling your hips with a slow, cautious rhythm, and only then does Aemond follow you. It’s in his voice, in the reverence of his hands, in his iris like a clear secretless sky; you have taken him far away too.

“I love you,” Aemond says afterwards as his head rests on your belly, your fingers tangled in his damp hair and your skull hushed like calm seas. “And I can’t pretend I don’t anymore.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want you to.”

And in the morning, there is something different about the world: a hopefulness that makes you want to wake up, a radiance like moonlight on the wave crests of the Indian Ocean.

[pedriache]

You are in love — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everyone could see the look in Gavi’s eyes when he looked at you. and soon enough, you saw it too.

Word count: 965+

Disclaimer/s: fluffy fluff fluffff

A/N: i had this written and tumblr didnt save it so i angrily rewrote it. enya received a voice message about it thats how pissed off i was🤦‍♀️ anyways hi!

The piano keys felt comfortable under your touch—like an extension of yourself, which happens when you’ve playing the instrument since childhood. Your eyes were closed as your fingers smoothly glided over the keys, the melody of “Mists” by Iannis Xenakis bounced off the dark walls of your music room.

Piano had quickly become your favorite calming technique. Which you were now using since your brother had thrown a gathering at your house, considering it was far larger than his due to your particularly good income and the fact that you always had guests and a love for large spaces. You had stepped away to ‘chill out’, finding the loud party guests too much to handle.

The lights in the room were dimmed as you were attempting to learn in the dark. A knock at the door had your eyes opening curiously, “come in?” You call out, eyeing the door warily.

Pablo’s head pokes through the open crack, “can I come in?” You nod, sending him a welcoming smile.

Walking inside, Pablo’s eyes wander around the room. He takes in the parts of you people rarely got to see. You were quite.. how did Fermín put it? Uptight, when it came to practicing and your music room. You weren’t one to easily allow just anyone to see you in this state.

Scooting over on the bench you sat on, you pat the open spot beside you. “Come, sit.”

Closing the space between you, Pablo slides onto the wooden bench, his chest rising and falling slowing due to the close proximity. “What are you playing?” He asks, looking to the paper that was propped up in front of you.

“A masterpiece by Xanakis.” You pause, reaching for his hand to place it on the white keys, “want to give it a try?”

You were letting him touch your piano. Last time Fermín touched it, his hand was red and aching for an hour. Pablo had to suppress the smile that threatened his face.

Not only were you initiating contact, you were asking him to try out your piano? He could swoon.

“I think i’d break your ears.” He chuckles. You nod in agreement, a grin on your lips. His eyes flicker across your face, memorizing your smile lines even in the darkness.

“Piano isn’t for everyone.” You agree, “well, worth a shot, I suppose?” You let go of his hand, and the man finds himself missing your touch.

“Will you play something for me?” The brunette quirks an eyebrow, “unless.. I just make you so flustered you can’t play properly.” His tone is teasing, which you roll your eyes at.

Scooting closer to the middle of the piano, which meant your hips bumped his and your shoulders brushed, you let out an exaggerated sigh. Pablo was certainly flustered, but you weren’t.

Smirking, you flex your fingers. “Watch and learn, starboy.” You mock, taking a deep breath as your fingers connect with the white and black keys.

The soft tune of, ‘Love in the dark’ by Adele emitted through the room. Pablo’s eyes darted from your hands to your face, his eyes soft and admiring.

“Can you sing while you play?” He interrupts your concentration, which you scowl up at him for.

You were never nervous when you did this in front of people, but him—Pablo? Your hands were sweating. “I—I’m not that good of a singer.”

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “Bullshit. I’ve heard you live, cariño.” See, he didn’t mean to let that slip, but God he was grateful he did.

Your cheeks flushed a deep red, seeable even in the darkness. “Whatever, fine.” You huff, “now. Silence.”

Playing the beginning, you suck in a deep breath, singing the opening lyrics quietly, building up your nerve. “Take your eyes off of me so I can leave,” Your fingers glide over the keys, playing them expertly and precisely.

The atmosphere is tight, not in the bad sense, but in the way that Pablo’s heart was exploding with the mixture of your voice, the way you were playing, and everything in between.

His eyes darted from your hands to your face, softening in admiration. When you glance up at him, your breath hitches. Momentarily taken aback—you miss a key. “Shit.” You groan, “that’s enough for now.”

“That was..” Pablo trails off, his gaze not leaving your face. “Wow.”

You laugh, head dipping down. “It was okayyy. Nothing too spectacular.” You shrug off his compliment, hiding your face from his view.

Pablo shakes his head, leaning to the side to catch your eyes. “No, really, it was. You’re insanely talented.” His eyes are warm and kind, a hint of—wait. What was that? Something flashed across his eyes, something that came and went so fast you couldn’t catch it.

But, oh, oh you knew the second it returned. And you hoped that you were returning it just as noticeable.

He says your name quietly, which you hummed in response to. His dace so close, you felt his breath fanning your face as he spoke, “I—“

“Ay,” The click of a door opening has the both of you pulling away with wide eyes, heads snapping in the doors direction. Fermín comes into view, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Oh, hey, Gavi..” He says slowly, “sis.. we’re about to eat.”

Clearing your throat, you spin around on the seat and stand. “Great! Very hungry, are you hungry? I’m actually starving!” You stumble over your words, looking anywhere but in Pablo’s direction.

Without waiting for his response, you speed walk towards the door, passing your brother. He smirks down at you as you pass, turning his attention to Pablo. “Well, well—“

“Shut up.” The younger boy scowls, brushing past the blonde. Fermín’s laughter echoes off the walls as he skips after the two flustered adults.

Likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future gavi posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @ar4ujos @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @jajajhaahaha

[zot3-flopped]

considering that so many magazines and critics gave midnights really good reviews, i have no hope for ttpd because to me midnights was the most awful album that i have heard all year. With how much do you think it will debut (i mean in terms of sales) since swifties say 2 to 2.5 million debut week which i would find awful cause she is just cheating the system with it and it would be wrongfully historic.

You're missing the point. Midnights did not have controversial lyrics aimed at ruining the reputation of a mild mannered actor who has never uttered a word against Taylor Swift.

If she gets 2m sales then she's sold less than 500k in real terms because she forced her fans to buy four extra vinyl albums in order to get all the songs. If she got 2m with one version it would be a real achievement but that will never happen. Adele still rules with 25. 3m debut week with just ONE album. No desperate, chart rigging variants.

[nastasya--filippovna]

What kind of music are you into? :D

Random, I know haha

*screams* Please sit back while I do a two-hour long PowerPoint presentation.

Do I have a favourite genre. I don't think so. To me music is about sounding good and feeling good. It's a lot less about the words and the notes than what they mean to me.

But here's some artists that I just simply looooove

Edith Piaf, Adele, Hozier, Mitski, Maisie Peters, Chappel Roan, Conan Gray, Olivia Rodrigo, Celine Dion, Taylor Swift, Queen, Beatles, Bob Dylan....

Also I love symphonies. Just lyric-less pure raw music

Am I missing something.

One thing I feel like I should say: I love love love Taylor's music. Like it is so good. But somehow I feel like I don't like Taylor Swift as a person. I don't like who she is (capiTaylist?!) and her political beliefs and other stuff. I took me a while but I've come to realise that those two things are not mutually exclusive. I mean you can like someone's art but not like them as a person (Ahem NeilGaiman Ahem!)

[the-man-in-the-suit-official]

Scott Street.

Summary: You’ve risen to new found stardom, but an old flame from the past insists on winning you back. A continuation of You’ve Become My Ceiling.

A/N: Genuinely sorry for the infrequent posting! I’ll get around soon. Formatting was also getting on my nerves.

Taglist: @reveriehs @belovedcherry

Reader Pronouns: Any

Length: Long? 5,667 Words.

Celebrities: Harry E. Styles

TW: Angst, Cheating

Song(s) To Listen To:

Your hands gripped the slick phone, eyebrows furrowed and heart feeling frozen and still. The phone was attempting to tell you that you’d missed a call, but your eyes were out of focus as you gathered your thoughts.

It was Harry.

Part of you wished it to be a dream, but the other part was curious, yet cautious. Your life had been a little bland the past few years, though you’d never admit it, you missed the adventures and midnight memories.You missed your best friend. That’s who you were still grieving, not the cheating liar who broke your heart over six times.

It had been a week and you’d failed to notice the call, only now discovering it while cleaning out your phone. There was a voicemail, but your hands were far too shaky to play it. You gave yourself a moment to calm down and played it slowly.

A small chuckle came from the recording, “Heh. Um, hey, (Y/N). I know I’m the last person you want to hear from, but…You know I’m proud of you. And also…I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

His voice broke a little, “I know how much pain I caused now. I was stupid and young and it’s not an excuse, but I’m just really sorry. I wish I could do it all back again. I still can’t find the answer to why I did the things I did to you, either. You were the one thing that had loved me since before I was famous. I was an idiot to have let that go.”

There was sniffing on the other end, “You’re such a good person. And I…I really hollowed you out. I never even gave you a true apology. I miss my best friend. I became someone I didn’t know or want - someone I’d be repulsed by now. Someone I’d never want around you. I’m sorry.”

Harry cleared his throat, “But I’m proud of you, is all. You left and did greater things for yourself.”

It was silent for a moment again, “I never knew you could sing so beautifully. I’d like to hear it in person, if I could. You took a big part of me when you left, (Y/N). I still…I still feel the same way. Always have. But, um…Get back to me when you can- I mean, if you want. Alright. Bye.”

Taking a deep breath, you waited until the longing finally brushed itself off of you and was replaced by neutrality. The old memories resurfaced. Finding Harry in bed with another. On a date with someone you’d seen with him before.

You put your phone down and walked away, trying to collect yourself.

-

As for Harry, four and a half years changed him just as they did then. When you left, the guilt destroyed a piece of his heart, and he made his best attempt to be what he couldn’t be for you. He hadn’t dated since then, hadn’t felt he was worthy enough, really. He’d dedicated the entirety of Harry Styles - his debut album - to you, though he was sure you had no idea. Even now, his journal was filled to the brim with songs about you, most prevalent, some variation of a song he’s called, “Falling.” It was a heavy song, but the lyrics stuck with him.

They told the story of his departure from you, cheating and all, though the public wasn’t aware that it even happened.

His apartment smelt of lavender and poppies, even as he made his breakfast and did their daily duties. His album had released about a year ago, maybe a little less, and he hit stardom like he had never expected it. Taking a break from touring for even a week was well worth it. He loved his fans, sure, but it was draining to be a musician. Nonetheless, he was grateful.

Harry didn’t even expect you to make a call back. He just wanted to say sorry, truly, from the bottom of his heart, because he was different then. Fame changes you. And he should have never let that happen to him.

He knew he didn’t deserve your forgiveness.

So it was a surprise to him when a message appeared on his phone two months after the initial voicemail.

Y/N: Hey, Haz.

-

Jack was a tall man who was more legs than anything. He was stern, always looked at you with a taut expression, and would put you in your place, but oh, how he was completely soft for you. You’d met through his grandparents, who he took care of in his nice, spacious house. He and his grandparents were your neighbors, but you’d met his grandparents at a park years prior, engaging in small chat very often.

They’d loved Harry, though you were both sure they had positively no idea who he was aside from your boyfriend. Lily, the woman, would never hesitate to pinch his cheeks and comment on how amazing the two of you looked. You’d both expressed hope in wanting to be like them, growing old together, but here you were without your other half.

After your breakup, you’d rented a cozy apartment right next to Jack and his family’s house (though it was unbeknownst to you), and found that the park was relatively close to it. But as you walked on the trail, you came to find that everything seemed to have lost its shine. No longer did the water glisten so bright, or did the roses avoid withering like they simply couldn’t die, but everything was so undeniably…normal. Harry had shaken your life, only to disappear later, leaving you back in something that should have been comfortable, but was instead foreign. Normalcy was foreign.

“Oh, my dear!” The familiar voice, loaded with a beautiful French accent, slipped its way into your ears, and you tore your eyes away from the pond, behind you and finding the couple, holding something up to you, “You’ve dropped this.”

Lily brought the small item to you, showing you that in her gloved hands lay a necklace, a mother of pearl inside the locket. Harry had gifted it to you for your one year anniversary.

You furrowed your brows at the memory before she noticed it.

“Where is the handsome boy?” She tried to get her point across, even with the language barrier, “The one with the curly head? Tall? Le Britannique ?”

You felt the winter air nip at you more than it already had in your light jacket, “No, no, he is not here.”

She tilted her head in confusion, her husband watching over her, knowing even less English than she did. Harry had always been the translator for you, so speaking without him made it frustratingly harder.

“He has been gone for quite some time.”

You looked down, and in this, they seemed to both understand you. Paulie, her husband, took his coat off, placing it over your shoulders. The weight seemed comforting now.

“Aw, mon chou, come have a cup of tea with us,” Lily held your shoulders, slipping the necklace into your hands.

Despite your protest, you found yourself in their lovely home, surprised to see that they were a direct neighbor, “Jack, nous avons amené un chien errant !”

Lily smiled back at you before turning back and looking down at someone in the next room. You entered it, never really breaking away from her vibrant blue eyes, before you saw what she was looking at. Or rather, who. He was young, maybe just a bit older than you, and had eyes more alluring than hers. He had a slim figure and face, with a longer nose that matched, and tousled, short brown hair. His slender fingers were placed on the piano keys as he sat. He was breathtakingly handsome, really, and despite you not finding any sort of attraction in him, seeing as you just met, there was no doubt about his conventional attractiveness.

“Bonjour ?” He’d asked, his right eye squinting as if he were trying to scan every detail about you.

His expression softened into a smile shortly after, his eyes half-lidded when he got no response, “Hi. I see you’ve met my grandparents. Eager, aren’t they?”

You smiled back, chuckling, “You could say that.”

And it all started there. You’d started to take piano and French lessons from Jack, who after hearing about your still unnamed ex, wanted to help the best he could. You’d taken up piano for your career, and French, well, simply to prove to yourself that you really didn’t need Harry. Not for French, and not for life.

You and Jack had been good friends for a year now, knowing each other for about three before you’d really connected, so it felt right to turn to him and spill your gossip all over his fancy blue canopy bed during a hangout.

“Wait…” He started, surprised and clutching his elbows, arms crossed, “Your ex is Harry Styles?!”

You stuffed your face into a pillow, “That’s what you take away, Jack?! Everyone knows that!”

“Well, I didn’t! You know I can’t handle all the social media stuff, I avoid it like the plague!” Defensively and rather playfully, he rested a hand on his chest. He was wearing a brown and green sweater vest with brown dress pants and a white shirt, a nice green bowtie to tie his look together for his last day shadowing a French professor.

“The point is,” You giggled at the older man who seemed more like a best friend to you now, “I’m really not sure what to do here. He sounds so sincere, and maybe I fell out of love with the person he became a long time ago, but if he’s the same person I grew up with…Well…”

“No way. You can’t go back,” He paced, a hand on his chin, a habit of his you’d always loved.

You whined, “But can’t I? If I just want to rekindle the friendship we had before-“

“What are you going to do when you find him in bed with someone else again?”

Your heart stopped. He was right, of course.

“I’ll be respectful,” You responded sternly, “He isn’t mine.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, “Well, I can’t change your mind. I know you. Just be careful. It could be good for you, who knows? I just…don’t want you to get hurt again, (Y/N).”

Smiling with excitement, you thanked him countless times for listening to you and your rambles. You left shortly thereafter, and his smile fell as soon as the door shut behind you.

It was then you texted Harry, just a simple text, though it took you hours to finally hit the send button. He responded not a minute later, and you jumped at the sound.

HAZ: (Y/N), hi.

The name you never bothered to change in your contacts.

The two of you texted on and off casually, before deciding that maybe it would be better to catch up in a coffee shop. You were nervous, admittedly, but nonetheless stunned when you were escorted to your private booth at the Beachwood Café.

All you wore was a jumper and jeans, nothing too fancy, but you couldn’t help trying to style your hair in a way he would like.

He had been the first to arrive, you’d seen him in the window, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. God, did he look good as ever. His hair had grown out a bit more than the last time you saw him, and he’d dressed in clothes more personal to him, a shirt with small puppies printed on it under a knitted cardigan, baggy jeans and rings. He was definitely richer than the last you saw him, but the thing was, he was still your Haz, that much was noticeable.

The waiter led you to your table and you gently sat your bag down on the floor, sitting across from him. He’d been waiting for you, not even ordering yet.

“You look amazing,” He spoke, seemingly subconsciously.

“You’re not so bad yourself, H.”

And it was true. He looked cleaner, happier. Like he was taking care of himself. Everything was going well, and to be honest, it made you beyond happy. It was as if you were friends again, and nothing bad ever happened. Eventually, the topic reached Gemma somehow.

“So, I heard Gemma finally graduated,” You continued, “That’s wonderful! I always knew she could do it. She’s rather smart.”

“She’s great! She’s married now, you know. He’s wonderful, just feels a bit…weird. That she has someone now and I don’t.”

“Recent breakup?” You’d asked, a genuine question.

“No,” He chuckled, “Not at all. I worked on myself. Haven’t dated since you.”

A small gust of wind came through the window beside you, and you blamed the shivers on that. There was a gentle pause, but you shook your head and continued, “Oh, I see.”

There was obviously still a spark there, you’d noticed. Your heart still beat wildly to the tune of his.

“But, erm,” You continued, and he cleared his throat, “That makes me feel old.”

He scoffed playfully, his arms crossed, “What does that make me, then?”

You giggled. The two of you weren’t so far off, really. Just a couple of months, but he always managed to mention it.

“An old man,” You joked, and even the humor was still there.

His chuckle sent butterflies throughout your stomach.

“So, how’s the band?” You tilted your head.

You hadn’t really noticed that breaking things off with him would essentially alienate them, too.

“Well, Mitch and Sarah are getting married,” You did a bit of a double take.

“Wow, I mean, I knew it was going to happen, I just had no idea.

“A lot changes in our lives,” He spoke smoothly as the waiter came.

“Hey guys, my name is Carson, I’ll be your server this morning! What can I get for you?” He was younger, bright-eyed.

“I’ll just have an Americano and the strawberry crepes,” Harry didn’t even have to look at his menu, and yet you were scrambling to know what you wanted before he got to you.

“Alright,” The waiter wrote it down before turning back to you, “And for the spouse?”

Your face flushed red, “Oh, no, I’m not!”

Harry only chuckled and watched in amusement as the waiter became embarrassed, too.

“Jeez, I’m so sorry, then what can I get for you?” He rubbed the back of his neck and you giggled once more.

“Hazelnut hot latte and almond croissant, please, Carson.”

He nodded and left soon after.

“I listened to your songs, by the way,” Harry began slowly, “How’s that?”

“Well, one thing they don’t prepare you for as a strictly-solo show is how heavy the equipment is, like the drums? Jeez, don’t get me started.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “You’ve always took on way more than you could carry.”

“Yeah, well, suppose that’s me,” A smile found its way to your face, “But being alone is good. I needed that.”

He nodded again, “Yeah, I think I did, too.”

There was the beginning of a pause, but you still refused to let it linger, “I live on Scott Street now.”

“Oh, by the rose park?” He perked up, “I love that place.”

“I know,” You said bashfully, “Harry, our first date was there.”

“Wasn’t sure you’d remember,” He smiled back.

“But how could I forget?”

It had been magical, with swans skimming the water, almost as in love as you and Harry were. Had been. Are.

“Oh, but remember that old French couple we ran into? I know it’s quite random, but I ran into them again while I was having a bad day. They noticed we weren’t together anymore, and next thing I knew, I was at their house drinking a cup of tea. They’re quite nice. Their grandson, he lives with them, showed me a bit of piano.”

He remembered it well, you had said that you wanted the two of you to last even longer than they, and you had even hoped they’d be your spitting metaphorical image in decades.

“Anyway, I’m learning French now, I guess. And I found out we’re neighbors, isn’t that weird?” Carson set everything down on your table as you talked.

“Anything else for now?”

“No, thank you,” Harry didn’t even look up at him, listening intently. He didn’t even notice when Carson had left.

“So, now I take piano lessons on Fridays, and French lessons on Tuesday and Thursday. But his grandparents have been acting a bit odd - think they want me to stick around for more than just lessons,” You chuckled and sipped your latte.

You could’ve sworn Harry’s eye twitched, but you dismissed it, “That’s…great. I’m glad. You always wanted to learn French.”

“Right? You should come with sometime, you’d like him,” You hadn’t even noticed you were now arranging a second hangout. But he did. He always noticed.

“I’d love to,” It was oddly fast.

“Well, he’s invited me to a dinner party for his work - he’s a French professor. But he’s only been out of college a couple of months. Got his PhD. He’s nice, I think you’d like him!”

You looked down, fiddling with your thumbs, “But if you’re busy that’s totally fine! I just don’t wanna stick out like a sore thumb, is all. And it was always more fun when we stuck out together.”

He blushed, and in that moment, he would have done anything in the world you’d ask of him.

“Consider my plans all clear that day, alright?” He held your hands, “It's about time we did something as friends again.”

You nodded with a smile, “Okay, you’re right.”

You two split ways shortly after, Harry having insisted on paying the bill. He was happy to be talking to you, sure, but there was still a sinking feeling he felt when you were mentioned.

Shame.

You had piano lessons that night, and you wore the same outfit, feeling exhausted just from the interaction. Jack had greeted you happily.

“Mon cherie! (Y/N), come in!” He stepped aside, “Nana and Papa are out, so it’s just us today.”

“Would you like something to drink?” Jack reached for the cupboard, “Nana just got this new wine, and I think it’s quite lovely.”

“Sure!” You agreed, sitting at their small dining table, “Oh, Jack, I hope you don’t mind! I invited a friend of mine to come to the meeting with me. Both of us have always been interested in French, so I figured it would be perfect!”

Jack, in all truthfulness, assumed it would be a woman, and thus, agreed.

“Not a problem, cherie,” He handed you a glass, full with dark red liquid, and he drank from his cup slowly.

You watched him aimlessly, his Adam’s Apple defined, bobbing up and down. Like he hadn’t had anything to drink all day. Jack was like that, he’d forget to eat, sleep, drink. He was always so busy with work. You admired him for it.

“You know, you should remember to drink more often. Have you eaten at all today?” Tilting your head, he shook his and set his cup down.

“How could you tell?”

You chuckled and stood up, holding one of his cheeks in your hands, examining his lips, “You drink way too desperately.”

He was a little stunned, to say the least, and gripped the counter, his stomach in knots.

“But,” You wiped his upper lip with your thumb, ridding the excess wine off before moving to the stove, “I’ll make you something. I owe you after all these free lessons, anyways.”

He slumped, disappointed, but continued onward, “I could never ask that of you, but…that sounds very nice.”

“Then consider it done, Cherie.” You mimicked him, getting to work.

Afterward, your lessons continued as normal, and you were actually getting pretty far along.

-

“So, (Y/N),” Jack finally looked up from his paperwork, having left you with some French worksheets, “Nana and Papa wanted me to invite you to The French Riviera with us. Figured it would be a good learning experience. I agree, what do you think?”

You thought hard before answering the question on the worksheet and looking back up at him, shrugging, “Sure! That sounds lovely. When?”

“Well, they plan to order the tickets this weekend. We were just waiting on your oh-so-busy schedule,” He smiled, his dimples showing rather lovely.

“Oh, I can do it anytime! The glory of being a musician with no tour dates. Your meeting is in a month, yes?” You finished your worksheet and turned to him.

He nodded, causing a single strand of hair to fall in his eyes, “Oui, mais la réunion sera courte .”

You exhaled a chuckle at his quiz, “Okay, then how about next weekend?”

“You’re getting good, Chérie,” It gave you a proud smile.

“Then it’s settled. Send me the details,” You checked your clock, “Jeez, it’s already 8PM. I was supposed to write another song for the debut album.”

“Well, feel free to use me as a muse,” He smiled again, and it was a joke, but something struck you quite suddenly.

He had been there for you for years, and the thought of thanking him never even crossed your damned mind, distracted by your old lover. As you entered your house, you walked straight to your desk, completely in a trance as you thought about him. He was amazing, someone everyone should have in their lives, so how come you’d never noticed?

Daydreamer.

With eyes that make you melt,

He lends his coat for shelter,

Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be,

Waits for you, then sees you through.

You smiled softly, hearing a guitar strum in your head, and suddenly your heart felt warmer than it originally had. The night really hits you, and next thing you know, you’ve got a demo at 2.56 AM.

You smiled wide now, your heart running rampant over a daydreamy thought you had of your neighbor. It’s not like you actually feel this way about him, but imagining yourself in something so plausible seems lighthearted and warm. Reaching for your phone, you bite your lip, wanting another opinion on the song, but not knowing if your relationship with Harry has evolved enough yet. It’s soon, but he still feels like your closest friend. You decide to go through with it anyway and text him.

ME: Haz! Want to hear something new I’ve just come up with over the course of seven straight hours?

It was actually very, very surprising when he responded a few minutes later.

HAZ: Yeah! FaceTime?

You smiled wide, feeling your heart skip a beat before agreeing. His phone call came in shortly after, and you were met with a very groggy Harry, his hair messy and in his face.

“Harry,” You looked at him suspiciously, “Why are you even up this late?”

He grew rather embarrassed, you could tell by the way he hid his face from the camera subtly, “Never bothered to change the ringtone you set.”

You could have died of embarrassment right then and there. The old ringtone you chose for your beloved boyfriend at the time, mind you, a very, very famous celebrity, was, in fact, a loud rooster. How much more embarrassing could you get? Laughing instead, you smiled wide. Things were going back to your normal, after all.

“Anyways, you let me know if this is good, okay? And be brutally honest.” Harry raised a brow in suspicion but quickly settled down as you began to play the guitar, strumming it gently.

“Daydreamer,” You began, and he felt his body go cold, in shock and in amazement. Hearing it semi-live, and completely personal was extremely different than the borderline music stalking of your singles he’d done recently.

“Sittin’ on the sea, soaking up the sun,” You changed the hit a higher note at, “He is a real lover, of making up the past and feelin’ up his girl like he’s never felt her figure before.”

You strummed gently for a few seconds, tying the calmness of the song together, “A jaw dropper, looks good when he walks, is the subject of their talk. He would be hard to chase, but to catch and he could change the world with his hands behind his back, oh.”

You strummed on some more, too nervous to look Harry in the eyes, despite him on the screen, and with a higher voice, began to sing more, “You can find him sittin’ on your doorstep, waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and you can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

This verse had been completely different, with you dragging on words and indulging in the beautiful memory, “Daydreamer, with eyes that make you melt, he lends his cost for shelter, Plus he’s there for you when he shouldn’t be, waits for you, then sees you through.”

Harry felt completely inferior in your presence, your voice sounding like he’d never heard it before. Instead of low and emotional, it was high and nostalgic, and for a moment, the thought that the song was about him struck him. Higher, you continued, “There’s no way I could describe him. What I’ve said is just what I’m hoping for, but I will find him, sittin’ on my doorstep waiting for a surprise. And he will feel like he’s been there for hours, and I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

You slowed the guitar down, “And I can tell that he’ll be there for life.”

There was a moment of silence as you set the guitar off the bed, your face completely red after realizing the complete feeling of the song.

“(Y/N)…” Harry began, obviously now waking up completely, “That was amazing.”

“You mean it? It’s not too cheesy?”

He shook his head fast, “No. I don’t even know who it’s about, but you’ve got me falling in love with him, too.”

You smiled softly, happy to hear that he enjoyed it, “You sure? I don’t want it to sound creepy if I tell someone it’s for him. I just wanted to write something about someone who’s helped me so much.”

Continuing on, you fiddled with your sleeve, “Jack’s just so great.”

His heart dropped, and he furrowed his brows in jealousy, his stomach in knots as the idea of a love song for someone else hit him.

“He’ll love it,” He responded, not really thinking much as he did so, spaced out.

“Oh, just so you know, I’m going to France soon! Jack’s grandparents invited me, and I think it would be good to learn.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip as he snapped back into it, “You’re right. Be safe, okay?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I’ll be completely safe. It’s you I’m worried about, Haz. You’re quite the klutz.”

He chuckled, and from there, the conversation continued. It was like nothing had changed from your old years, and the night was talked away by two silly teenagers in love. When you woke up, a smile found itself on your face as you quickly noticed Harry’s sleeping face displayed on the camera. You’d fallen asleep before him, but he’d stayed.

His eyes were closed, revealing his long eyelashes. Were they always that curled? His lips parted for a moment and he heaved a great sigh, mumbling something before brushing hair out of his face. He was ethereal.

-

The trip came sooner than you’d noticed, and you didn’t want Daydreamer to be the last single released. It was so out of place from the rest of the album, but if you didn’t use it, then you wouldn’t have another single. There was one song you’d half-written, but it felt too personal, and besides, you’d already released a song about Harry. It felt like overkill. But it also just felt right, as a final goodbye to the situation.

Jack looked down at you as you sat with your guitar, “So, you want me to preview the song, yeah? Then we can go to France?”

He was teasing you, wanting to seem agitated, but you’d never heard him so much as raise his voice or seen him even furrow his eyebrows with a mean stare.

“Yes,” You chuckled, “I just don’t know if this song is too much. I had breakfast with Harry the other day and it came to my mind a week or so later.”

“Go on, then,” He sat down across from you, “I’m sure I’ll love it either way.”

But in his heart, he hated the fact that he was listening to a song you wrote about another man.

“Okay,” You took a deep breath, strumming.

“Walkin’ Scott Street feelin’ like a stranger, with an open heart, open container. I got a stack of mail and a tall can. It’s a shower beer, it’s a payment plan,” You recalled the first few weeks of moving out and how harsh it was. All you wanted was to be happy with him, but instead there were constant reminders that he was no longer there. Stacked up bills and inquiries about single-household payments, and the liquor which he hardly ever let you drink in fear you’d succumb to its temptation.

“There’s helicopters over my head every night when I go to bed. Spending money and I earned it, when I’m lonely, that’s when I’ll burn it,” You had complete control over yourself, sure, but at what cost? As you strummed, you felt tears pricking your eyes.

“Do you feel ashamed,” Singing clearly, it surprised Jack, who was already stunned silent, “When you hear my name?”

“I asked you, ‘How is your sister? I heard she got her degree.’” You detailed a conversation.

“And I said, ‘That makes me feel old.’

You said, ‘What does that make me?’

You asked me, ‘How is playing drums?

I said, ‘It's too much shit to carry. And what about the band?’

You said, ‘They’re all getting married.’”

You continued on, “Do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?”

You began strumming a tune for a long time, tapping your foot to the sound of the beat. Maybe you went a little overboard, but it didn’t matter. You could tell Jack was glued to you.

“Anyway, don’t be a stranger,” More strumming, “Anyway, don’t be a stranger.”

And on a quieter note, you continued to the final line, “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, you know you’re talented, don’t you?” Was all your friend managed the day as you set the hollow instrument down, completely taken away.

“Aw, you’re just saying that.”

“I mean it!” He didn’t hesitate as you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Thank you, Jack,” You smiled softly, “And you should be pleased to know that I’ve written something dedicated to you, too.”

His heart was almost definitely leaping, “You did? Can I hear it?”

“Mmm, maybe in France,” You teased.

-

You found France to be quite lovely, filled with beautifully blue clear water, and lovely locals that had a tendency to mistake you and Jack as a couple. Despite the mishaps, you’d gone to see various things. The art galleries, cafés, bars and lounges, they were all magical, and today you’d be seeing the ocean for the first time ever.

Harry was not so amused by the photos you’d sent him. He was glad you were having fun, yes, but he hated that it wasn’t with him. He was the one who promised you he’d take you to see the ocean, and he was the one who was supposed to take you to see it for the first time. Not some idiot with a PhD who didn’t know half of the things he knew about you. He was angry, not at you or Jack, but with himself. It hurt so much to see you with another, and you weren’t even his. How must you have felt during your relationship with him?

And now, he was drinking whiskey in his bedroom, strumming notes mindlessly. His phone rang once, but he didn’t really notice it, the volume being off. That was until he felt he was finished with his guitar and set it to the side of his bed, finding that he’d dropped his phone. The screen showed brightly that he had missed a call from you, and soon later, after he’d turned his sound on, the rooster notification sounded throughout the room. He chuckled and turned it down, already slightly tipsy before he began to play the voicemail on speaker.

It was you, practicing your French.

“Coucou! Tu dors ? Oh, j'suis désolée…(Hey! Are you asleep? Oh, I’m sorry…)” You sounded lovely in French, like the language was made for you.

“Bah (Well…),” You began but decided to take it back, “Non... Nan, c'est pas important… (No, it’s not important.)”

“Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on— (Yes, we went to the beach and now we—)” You were telling him about your day, just as you had been for the past few days as you kept in touch. He was smiling as he heard you, but then he picked up on a voice in the back, assuming it was your friend.

He heard something about the dinner, but then the words hit him. Mon cherie. My dear. My darling. My love. Had something already happened?

“Parfait ! (Perfect!)” You answered Jack, “Allez ! (Let’s go!)”

The voicemail ended abruptly, leaving him cold, staring at the wall in his bedroom, utterly dumbfounded. His strongest coping mechanism was always songwriting, and maybe that was a habit you’d picked up, but he sighed and pulled his laptop onto his lap.

Mon cherie. Cherry.

He’d use your voicemail in it, he was sure, and he chewed on his necklace as he looked down upon the lyrics later.

Don’t you call him baby.

[johnniesmoke]

Jealousy Kills Me Too

"Jealousy Kills Me Too" is a deeply introspective and vivid portrayal of the complexities of human emotion, ambition, and resilience. Opening with the line "Me too yo," the song sets a raw and honest tone, exploring themes of youthful uncertainty and the challenges of navigating societal pressures and personal expectations. The artist crafts a narrative that captures the tension between regret and hope, reflecting on missed opportunities while embracing the drive to forge a unique path forward.

The lyrics, steeped in cultural and personal references, provide a layered exploration of ambition and identity. Lines like "Where might I really need to be, freelancing like a playoff Adele" combine creative independence with a sense of determination, juxtaposing the chaos of modern life with the artist's relentless pursuit of meaning. Throughout, the theme of respect and self-awareness shines brightly, particularly in the lyric, "If all these people could just manage respectfully," signaling the challenges of finding harmony amidst misunderstandings and conflicting priorities.

The song's emotional depth is matched by its sharp storytelling, delving into moments of vulnerability and interpersonal tension. "Jealousy kills an episode of throwing straight, willing to do anything, but not by" captures the nuanced struggle with jealousy and self-doubt, while "tripping on air and staying down" evokes the artist's resilience in the face of failure. These lyrics invite listeners to reflect on their own experiences of grappling with setbacks and finding strength to rise again.

As the track progresses, its meditative tone shifts to one of resolve and defiance. The imagery of "Split a defensive pair, Mac is wondering, where's the sugar?" illustrates the artist’s ability to face challenges head-on, blending humor and determination into a captivating narrative. "Calibratory idea for the wind" adds a layer of precision and balance to the message, emphasizing the importance of persistence and focus.

The song culminates with an anthem-like declaration of resilience: "Undefeated, didn't see that one coming," leaving listeners with a powerful sense of triumph over adversity. "Jealousy Kills Me Too" is an anthem for anyone who has struggled with their place in the world, offering hope, empowerment, and an unrelenting drive to overcome life's imperfections.

Jealousy Kills Me Too: Lyrics:

[Sample]

Me too yo/ You guys ought to know something not nothing about these troubles/ Could be on the up and up after all/ Last fall I missed ball season/ This fall I'll miss ball season/ Of where might I really need to be freelancing like a playoff Athlete/ Where I can be an at heh lete and Athlete/ If all these people could just manage respectfully/ All right so it's a song so it could be a walk of life/ You don't have to ask me twice/ You shouldn't have to ask twice/ Of whom is Snow White/ They-They might be on or something you-you-you-you/ Want me to take it where I can take and get out of dodge before it turns violent/ It's been a while and well its our livelihood, man/ I'd be reserved at this time/ Jealousy kills an episode of thrilling straight willing to do anything but not bi/ As I talk high/ This one's sober after a shower because I really gotta' go/ Man of whom was Hermione Mrs. Amelia Dowd Mrs. Dot/ Okay, where's the wand/ Just tell me something/ What might I need/ Into a hit and run/ Pay the deductible/ Well, I don't got money/ Coach, told me to leave/ Twin-sis told me to leave, black car parked on the street/ It's dark I can't see/ It's not like it's insincere/ What I do here, Hurt that guy/ I ask I couldn't hurt that guy/ Guy couldn't hurt a fly Bodied' though that don't even hurt/ This kid's just tripping on air and staying down/ That is crazy/ Then are you tripping tripping someone in warm ups that you know like your cousin or brother from another mother/ Em[inem] lickity-split with the scheme/ Someone lifted to a pitch slinky hitting an ooh-oh-ooh-whoa/ I'd split down the middle/ Split a defensive pair/ Oooh-oh-ooh-woah Mac is wondering Where's the sugar/ Yo little sugar of whom might she be/ Little young Kyla Dodds, Dotty[ie?] of what Whoa whoa sorry for the attention sorry for the trauma/ She finna hit a wobble skates on hit a sprint/ And it's a lot like a calibratory idea for the win/ Might be on to something a-little Squibih-bih-bih-bihb/ A little on-side For the win/ Ooh-oh-ooh-woah/ Undefeated but ooh-oh-ooh-woah/ Didn't see that one coming yo Ooh-oh-Ooh-Whoa [Me rounding "sample"] ....I'm so scared of you/

[m-r-nicely]

Love In The Dark

Cassandra x reader

Word Count: 1347

Summary: A song fic interpreting Love In The Dark by Adele cause I'm in a writers block. Set in a Modern AU.

As before, the colored texts are lyrics from the song, though some of them may seem a bit forced or out of place. I also skipped quite a few lyrics cause I couldn't find a way to fit them in.

The bold texts are thoughts.

The italics are just emphasized.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, depression, grief, mentions of death, bit of angst

___________

You stood from the bed to get ready for another day. Going out the door, you didn't spare a glance over your shoulder at the other side of the bed. She hadn't stayed long enough for you to wake up for the past month. It was small but it was progress. She would constantly deny it, though.

Just five months ago you'd been caught watching her, again, as she got dressed. From the moment the bathroom door opened across the hall to the way she pulled on her clothes. Your eyes scanned her body, taking in all the details that made her perfect in your eyes. Her stretch marks, moles, a few scars and even a plethora of tattoos. Each of which she had explained the meaning to on your several dates.

In a playful tone she said, "Take your eyes off of me," causing you to look at her face, which was now aimed in your direction with her signature smirk plastered across it. You had completely missed that she was done getting dressed. The bed dipped as she knelt on it in order to crawl up toward you.

"Why?" the question quietly fell from your lips as she came to hover over you.

"So I can leave," she whispered as she kissed your forehead, followed by your temple and cheek. Finally her lips met your own with a mumbled, "I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me."

"What if I never looked away?" you asked as a single strand of brown hair fell out of place for you to fix, "If I asked you to stay with me?"

Cassandra weighed her options before responding, "I can't stay this time," she stated, "because I have to be to work, but maybe the next time we both have the day off."

She chuckled at your pout, gifting you quick pecks until you smiled up at her. Once your beloved brunette was gone you got to have about another hour before you had to get up for work. On your way out the door you got a call from your soon to be younger sister in-law.

"Hey sis!" she shouted from her end.

You sighed, "Hello Dani. I'm on my way to work right now. What do you need?"

As you started up your car she asked, "What would you say if I told you I found a box of old home videos in mom's attic?"

"That depends," you said as you buckled your seatbelt, "do these videos have any embarrassing moments from Cassandra's childhood and were you planning on letting me see them?"

There's silence for a moment, "Yes," she drawls the word as she answers the first question, "and what if I don't let you watch them?"

You smiled, stopping at the red light, "Then I would say I don't love you anymore."

Daniela gasped and giggle over the phone, "Well we can't have that, now can we. How does this weekend look on your schedule?"

If you'd known that would be the last good day, perhaps you would have asked your fiancé to cherish it more. As much as you wish you could say that was the day you felt a switch flip, it just didn't happen that way. After that morning everything started blending together. Not in the long way either. The next couple days blinked by in a few minutes. The week seemed to end in a few hours. Everything after the call became an echo.

White noise.

Soon enough you'd started leaving in the middle of the night. Something in you just urged you to go get fresh air, and you listened to it. Every time you would leave and end up in the same spot.

You had to leave at night, otherwise she would lose her footing. How many times had she begged you, "Please stay where you are," when she sees you trying to go.

You still remember the first time you pleaded, "Don't come any closer," only for her to crawl into your arms.

The last time you held her through the night, she sobbed as she begged you to stay, but all you could whisper into her hair was, "Please understand, my love, I'm being cruel to be kind," just for her to tighten her hold on you.

The first month was bad, though it would all get worse. Her sobs got deeper as you stopped giving in to her desire to be with you. Her sisters and mother would come to check on her every few days. As much as you wanted to help them around the house and with the cooking, you couldn't.

Yet you couldn't leave either.

One night you heard Cassandra talking in the bedroom. You sat down in the hallway, knowing she was speaking to you, and listened. She was pouring her heart out. It was just like the day she proposed. Both then and now you found yourselves in situations you simply thought would never happen.

Then, just like when she was kneeling with the ring in her hand, she tearfully stated, "You have given me something that I can't live without," and she paused to compose herself before continuing with, "It hurts just how much that phrase has changed in meaning now."

I couldn't agree more.

She looked up when you stood, hearing the movement, and gasped. Her tears began to fall.

Please don't fall apart.

The aching on her face as she processed what she could do, knowing you wouldn't be here for long. Especially if she made a move to hold you.

I can't face your breaking heart.

"You can do this."

She sobs at the sound of your voice. Something you have withheld for at least a month.

"I'm trying to be brave, but I need your help."

"You need to move on."

"I don't know how," her sobs nearly break you entirely. You've never been able to hold it together when she was in any form of distress, and it was worse knowing you were the cause.

"Stop asking me to stay."

You said a single sentence, a quite vague one at that, but she knew exactly what you meant. You were here because she was unable to let you go. Her days were spent mourning you and putting on a facade for the world so she can get through work, but her nights were spent yearning for you to be by her side.

"I need you," she cried, "I can't do this with you gone."

You moved to be on the bed with her. Grabbing her face as gently as you could, you made her look at you as you said, "Cassandra, I need you to know that I don't regret a thing. Every word I've said to you, know I'll always mean. It is the world to me that you were in my life, but I want you to live and not just survive," you tried to hold back your own tears as long as possible whilst you spoke, "That's why I can't love you in the dark anymore. Even at night you have to mourn. So let me go and live life again."

"How?"

"One step at a time."

At this point you were crying together. You kept her eyes looking into yours as she was trying to bury herself in you, her hands turning white with the grip they had in your shirt. The same one you were wearing the day of the collision.

"You're right here but it feels like we're oceans apart," she whispers to you.

You nodded your head, "Like there is so much space between us."

What a mess, and to think one accident is the reason everything changed. In a moments notice at that.

You held her as she cried herself to sleep. Then the next morning came, and Cassandra woke up with a new feeling. She wasn't going to be able to fully move past your death for quite some time. For the first time, however, she felt like she was healing.

[mackdizzy]

This is a song cycle I made for my friend's OC, Rain, in an art collab! The cycle is in 7 parts with 6 songs each. The whole thing will take about 2 hours and 45 minutes to listen to, and each part is around 25 minutes. I'm posting the graphics, song lists, and spotify playlists (there are 6 separate playlists) in order, but if spotify isn't your jam, isn't accessible, or if you'd rather all in one go, at the end of this post (along with some more info about the cycle) is a youtube playlist that contains all 42 songs all at once!

1; An Axis of 23 Degrees

Mountain Sound (Of Monsters and Men)

The Moss (Cosmo Sheldrake)

Woodland (The Paper Kites)

Ends of the Earth (Lord Huron)

Moments We Live For (In Paradise)

The View Between Villages (Noah Kahan)

2; All Things End

Dream Sweet In Sea Major (Miracle Musical)

Oak Trees (Daniel Nunnelee)

All Things Ends (Hozier)

Willow Tree March (The Paper Kites)

my tears ricochet (Taylor Swift)

Underground (Cody Fry)

3; I Will Survive

Labyrinth (Miracle Musical)

Skyfall (Adele)

Are You With Me (Nilu)

Eleanor Rigby (Cody Fry)

Bad Blood (Taylor Swift)

Carry On (fun.)

4; Did You Miss Me?

Villains Aren't Born (They're Made) (PEGGY)

dumb dumb (Mazie)

Bust Your Knee Caps (Pomplamoose)

Did You Miss Me? (I'm a Veronica) (The Veronicas)

Blow Me (One Last Kiss) (P!nk)

Everybody Wants To Rule the World (Lorde)

5; Tomorrow's Too Late (Amen)

Spring and a Storm (Tally Hall)

Before The Line (Dodie)

Always Sayin' (The Littlest Man Band)

Cicada Days (Will Wood)

Jane Doe (Hail the Sun)

These Days (Nico)

6; A Ghost at the Back of Your Closet

Wish That You Were Here (Florence + The Machine)

Up the Wolves (The Mountain Goats)

Bloom (The Paper Kites)

Home (Edith Whiskers)

City of Lights (The Music Tapes)

Earth (Sleeping at Last)

7; Who's a Heretic Now?

Frozen Pines (Lord Huron)

Blood // Water (grandson)

Enemy (Imagine Dragons)

Which Witch (Florence + The Machine)

Burning Pile (Mother Mother)

Meet Me in the Woods (Lord Huron)

──★ ˙🌱 ̟ ¡! ★ ── For music choices, I mostly went of lyrics, this time, though I tried both to pick songs that musically matched Rain's vibes, and songs that tonally stayed consistent throughout each part (though this does mean that some parts sound wildly different than others). The intention is to follow their journey as you listen, and it's certainly a journey! I hope you enjoy and have fun listening! Youtube Link.

[zephrunsimperium]

Lyrics that make me think of Stanley Pines:

Feel free to reblog with your own additions!

Mama, life had just begun,

But now I've gone and thrown it all away

Mama, oooh,

Didn't mean to make you cry,

If I'm not back again this time tomorrow,

Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

Too late, my time has come,

Sends shivers down my spine, body's aching all the time

Goodbye, everybody, I've got to go,

Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth

Mama, oooh

I don't want to die,

I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all (Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen)

I'm sorry for everything, oh, everything I've done

From the second that I was born, it seems I had a loaded gun

And then I shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved

Oh, I shot, shot, shot a hole through every single thing that I loved

Am I out of luck? Am I waiting to break?

When I keep saying that I'm looking for a way to escape

Oh, I'm wishing I had what I'd taken for granted

I can't have you when I'm only gonna do you wrong (Shots, Imagine Dragons)

I know I'm not the only one

Who regrets the things they've done

Sometimes I just feel it's only me

Who can't stand the reflection that they see

I wish I could live a little more

Look up to the sky, not just the floor

I feel like my life is flashing by

And all I can do is watch and cry

I miss the air, I miss my friends

I miss my mother, I miss it when

Life was a party to be thrown

But that was a million years ago (Million Years Ago, Adele)

Dear reader

If it feels like a trap, you're already in one

Dear reader

Get out your map, pick somewhere and just run

Dear reader

Burn all the files, desert all your past lives

And if you don't recognize yourself

That means you did it right (Dear Reader, Taylor Swift)

And he'll race for miles through the night

He runs because he knows he cannot hide

He's never gonna make it, all the

Poor people he's forsaken, karma

Is always gonna chase him for his lies (Outrunning Karma, Alec Benjamin)

[florilegia-or-what-you-will]

Commonplace Songs

So. Here’s the thing. I have a bad habit of skimming, especially when I’m reading rubrics. I don’t notice I’m doing it but it can mean I miss important bits of information, such as the part about your last entry being a 250 word retrospective. Luckily I am aware of this deficiency of mine so I tend to check my rubrics periodically to make sure I haven’t missed anything. So I wrote the post. But. Before I realized there was a set end to the life of this blog I still intended my own form of wrap-up. I decided to make a playlist with at least one song per reading from this class. Even after I knew I just had to write a lil paragraph I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here is the playlist anyway. [Commonplace Songs] Obviously it would be a bit of a time commitment to listen to the whole thing, so this was mostly just for my own enjoyment, but I had too much fun not to share. Notes for each song under the cut.

Abbess Hild & Caedmon, & Caedmon’s Hymn - Sisters of Mercy - Leonard Cohen

This one was honestly one of the most difficult to figure out. I generally struggled most to find songs for the explicitly religious texts, but I think this one works pretty well if you think of it as being from Caedmon’s perspective.

The Exeter Book Riddles - The Riddle Song - Joan Baez | Scarborough Fair - Simon and Garfunkel

These are cheating a little I know, since they both have very old origins themselves. I did consider including Schubert’s Swansong as a reference to Riddle 7, but I’ve tried to stick with songs that have lyrics.

The Wanderer - Man of Constant Sorrow - Joan Baez

Man of Constant Sorrow is really a modern version of The Wanderer to me. An exile “bound to ramble” away from their loved ones, unable to see them again in this life.

Deor - This Too Shall Pass - Danny Schmidt

This one is obvious from the title, and she makes rings! What more could you ask?

The Wife’s Lament - You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me - Dusty Springfield | One Too Many Mornings - Joan Baez

You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me really captures the tragedy of still being in love with someone who’s abandoned you. I think the desire for physical proximity really works with The Wife’s Lament. One Too Many Mornings works for the feeling of physical, but more importantly, temporal distance. The tortuous, and at the same time mundane passing of time, and the feeling of it being too late.

Wulf and Eadwacer - Farewell Wanderlust - The Amazing Devil

I struggled with this one. Another song considered was Better Man by Pearl Jam but I think Farewell Wanderlust works better even if it's less specific. It's got the anger, frustration, heartbreak, and defeat going for it. 

Dream of the Rood - The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails 

I decided no church music was allowed which made this one harder. I decided to lean into the slight body horror of the description of the cross shifting between bloodstained and bejewelled. Also: “He’s covered with scabs he’s broken and sore” just like Jesus! Obviously this doesn’t really suit the glorious tone the poem was going for, but I personally found the poem a bit unsettling.

Judith - Glory and Gore - Lorde | The Dismemberment Song - Blue Kid

Glory and Gore definitely fits the tone of the poem best, it's hard to explain why without going line by line, but trust me this one is exceptionally good for Judith. The Dismemberment Song is here even though it's not quite right, because it was suggested to me and it made me laugh. Content warning though, it is very clinically detailed about, you know, dismemberment.

The Battle of Maldon - Immigrant Song - Led Zeppelin

This one is pretty obvious right? I came so very close to including Waterloo by ABBA as well, but I do have some restraint.

History of the Kings of Britain - Set Fire to the Rain - Adele | Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tears for Fears

Set Fire to the Rain is for Igerna. All that love, and vulnerability, and secrets, and distrust. This song is just about Igerna to me now, it's pretty perfect for her. Everybody Wants to Rule the World works really well for Arthurian legend. “Nothing ever lasts forever, everybody wants to rule the world”

The Mabinogi - Rhiannon - Fleetwood Mac | She’s Always A Woman - Billy Joel

Rhiannon is ludicrously obvious, I don’t think I need to explain. She’s Always A Woman is also about Rhiannon, specifically how Pwyll defends her and keeps her as his queen even though everyone is against her.

Lanval - Who is She? - I Monster | Come Wander With Me - Jeff Alexander

I feel like a magical woman appearing out of nowhere to be your girlfriend would actually be pretty trippy, hence Who is She? Come Wander With Me is a bit more suitable tonally. Have fun wandering off, never to be seen again, Lanval!

Ancrene Wisse - Agoraphobia - Deerhunter

As you might expect, from a song called Agoraphobia, this works well for anchoresses. The lyrics match the actual daily life of an anchoress surprisingly well.

Middle English Lyrics - Luck Be a Lady - Frank Sinatra

With regard to The Lady Dame Fortune is both frende and foe

Sir Orfeo - Frozen Pines - Lord Huron | Word Spins Madly On - The Weepies

Frozen Pines captures the frozen-in-time-ness and its about seeking a lost loved one in the woods. It's perfect. World Spins Madly On works because time has also very much not frozen, and they are apart from one another, knowing, and at the same time not knowing, where the other is. Honourable mention to Nothing Takes the Place of You by Toussaint McCall, which just wasn’t quite right, but has a maturity the other two lack.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight I - Family Friend - The Vaccines

Poor Gawain is the only responsible adult at court. Jokes aside, this is a really good character song for Gawain.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight II-III - All in Green Went My Love Riding - Joan Baez

I’ve mentioned this one before. It's too perfect not to include.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight IV - Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons

Another character portrait for my favourite boy Gawain! This also works for him in Morte d’Arthur. He tries so hard, and always comes just a little bit short, and then blames himself mercilessly.

Canterbury Tales – General Prologue - Prologue: Into the Woods - Stephen Sondheim

I’ll be honest, I had no idea what to do for this one, but I committed to a song per reading. It does work well in a way. They are both prologues that introduce a billion archetypal characters at once, tell you what they want, and make fun of the a little. Sondheim could have done a kick-ass musical adaptation of The Canterbury Tales.

Piers Plowman – Prologue - Land of the Believer - The Weather Girls

Club music perilously close to gospel music, I wouldn’t be surprised if this genuinely was about Jesus and religion. I considered skipping Piers Plowman because we didn’t actually go over it in class, but I’m a completionist.

Chaucer – Canterbury Tales – The Miller’s Tale - You Give Love a Bad Name - Bon Jovi

Oh Absolon… I considered going with Tainted Love, but I needed a ridiculous song for a ridiculous story.

Chaucer – Canterbury Tales – The Miller’s Tale - Put the Blame on Mame - “Rita Hayeworth” Anita Ellis

On the other hand, Put the Blame on Mame is about a beautiful woman being blamed for disasters both natural and human, but which is supposed to, in my opinion, make you think about how ridiculous it is to actually blame a woman for that kind of thing.

Julian of Norwich – A Revelation of Love - Space Age Love Song - A Flock of Seagulls

I love taking songs that aren’t supposed to be about Jesus and making them about Jesus, and Jesus in the role of alien girlfriend is funny to me. That said, it does work really well for the transcendent vibe of medieval mysticism.

The Book of Margery Kempe - Crazy - Gnarls Barkley | Policy of Truth - Depeche Mode

I found it a bit difficult to take Margery seriously at first, because she is patently a ridiculous person, but is she really crazy just because others think she is? Trying to think of songs for her is actually what made me take more seriously what her life was like. She experienced many dangers and a lot of persecution for living her truth, hence Policy of Truth.

The Book of Margery Kempe - Sad Eyed  Lady of the Lowlands - Joan Baez

A singular, and shockingly untouchable woman.

Second Shepherd’s Play - Mack the Knife - Ella Fitzgerald | Sheep - Pink Floyd

I admit, these are both kind of joke songs, but they do work! Mack because Mac, sheep because sheep.

Second Shepherd’s Play - Under Pressure - Queen and David Bowie

The slightly more serious choice for this play. It matches the complaining of the shepherds at the beginning of the play, and it has references to prayer, and a desire for change that works given it is a nativity play.

Noah’s Flood - Rain on Me - Lady Gaga (feat. Ariana Grande)

Okay, hear me out. I know it's a club song, but it's actually perfect for Noah’s wife. I can’t go line by line, but it expresses disappointment with a relationship, be it with God or Noah, but it also expresses gratitude for being alive, even though they wish they were “dry” , a reference to rain, and alcohol.

The Crucifixion - Blowing’ in the Wind - Joan Baez

This one was really hard without just choosing a song literally about the crucifixion, which would be cheating. Blowing in the Wind is about ignorance and apathy to human suffering, which is also what characterises the Roman soldiers. Also, yes, I will pick the Joan Baez version of every song I can. Thank you for asking.

Mankind -  WWJD - The Axis of Awesome | Out of Touch - Hall and Oates

Mankind - Send Them Off! - Bastille

WWJD is another joke song, but you can’t tell me a group of demons in a morality play wouldn’t sing this. Like the demons in the play, it humorously pokes at a question people would really be asking about how they are supposed to ever live up to Jesus. Out of Touch and Send Them Off! are more straightforwardly readable as Mankind singing to/for Mercy.

Morte d’Arthur, book 1 - Tower Song - Martha Wainright | In the Blood (feat. Ashley Barrett) - Darren Korb

Tower Song is my other song for Igerna. It works along the same lines as Ste Fire to the Rain, but it's a little more vicious. I was torn about including In the Blood, even though it works well for Arthur, because of course it does, I transposed one young hero who is the future of his people, onto another. I still think the Arthurian angle changes the way the song reads enough for it to work, though.

Morte d’Arthur,  book 8 - Happy Ending - MIKA | Heavy Crown - Trixie Mattel

For Happy Ending, please see my previous post on Lancelot and Guinevere. Heavy Crown is for Arthur, “Winning’s losing with a couple strings [...] Gotta be the last to know”, I think it suits the melancholy of all the lost glory Camelot, and how inevitable the whole thing felt to Arthur the second he was confronted by Agravaine and Mordred about Guinevere and Lancelot

[ailee-celeste]

Since I am German and people from other countries don’t usually listen to our music like we do to theirs I’ll list up my favourite German songs + my favourite lyrics with HEAVY meaning to me… {I’ll translate them for y’all}

Grüne Augen lügen nicht - Jeremias

I‘m watching documentaries out of boredom, would rather have your face in front of me.

We‘re smoking cigarettes after sex and years and years in my attic apartment from number 4.

Letzer song - CRO

And I heard about your new boyfriend, and it doesn't hurt anymore, you're fine and you're alive, and it's good to see that. I wish the best for you and that someone gives you what I couldn't be for you. I'm sorry, sun.

Leichter//Kälter - Edwin Rosen

And your lips are purple, like the flowers that I never buy you, that I never buy you...

Spiegelbild - Mayberg

And I am grateful that my life is enough for me to live, some don't have it so easy, some don't have it so easy. I know people who don't have it so easy...

So schön - CRO

And even if you can't babe I love when you dance, oh I love when you dance dance dance for me, no matter how it sounds oh I love when you sing oh I love how you sing sing sing for me!

Ich will nur - Phillip Poisel

I just want you to know: I still love you, and that in the end there is no one else who changes me so much. That moves me so much.

Herz über Kopf - Joris

Haven't looked at me like that for a long time,

I tried to understand us far too often,

The eyes meet, the wine is already half empty.

Oh, I know exactly what you're thinking

The train has left the time was given away.

Feels so right, but is so wrong.

And whenever it's time to go,

I forget what once was and stop

The heart says stay, the head screams go..

Heart over head

Augen auf - Sido

Hey, mom, open your eyes, drive out my fluff. I want to grow up so much and not die at the age of 18.

Irgendwie, Irgendwo, Irgendwann - NENA

Give me a hand, I'll build you a castle of sand, somehow, somewhere, sometime.

Whatever - CRO

Yeah! Bye, bye I feel so free, free. I don't want to go home anymore and I don't give a shit what comes tomorrow, I'll lift my glass and scream…

Vermissen - Juju

I get back on the tour bus and I'll smell your shirt,let's see if the scent still remains,until I get off the bus again..

How can you miss someone so much?Like I miss you in this shitty moment?I'm so torn right now.Should I just write to you again or not?

How can you miss someone so much?Like I miss you in this shitty moment?I'm so torn right now.Should I just write to you again or not?

Lieder - Adel Tawil

I was one of five boys, "one minute", off, then it was over I only sang for myself, for an infinitely long time. Then I met her, and she reminded me that we were worlds away and yet from the same star.

Astronaut - Sido feat. Andreas Bourani

We are building higher and higher until it goes to infinity, almost eight billion people but humanity is missing. From up here, all this suddenly doesn't matter anymore, from here you can see no limits and the color of the skin. All this noise and nothing is silent, I can't hear you anymore. Slowly I have the feeling that I don't belong here. There is no forward and no turning back, only down and up. One in a hundred million, a small point above the ground.

[bigmack2go]

Me: story wise i think heathers did a great job. Ups and downs, and just a generally creative and good story with a good and,,more or less sense-making plot. Im not sure how to explain what makes a hood or a bad plot but imma just say, cats was a very bad example of story/plot. Maybe this comparison helps

Me: Talking lyrics, i absolutely say hamilton! Its a lyrical masterpiece which especially brings out hamitons own lyrical genius. Lin Manuel Miranda is a great fan of motifs and mass rhymes, and methaphors. His stylisation is 🔛🔝

Me: but I honestly didn’t like the choreo… i do however think that westside storry has an awesome choreo! It tells storry but it’s still dancing. Good dancing i mean.

Me: and while the tunes are awesome there, there are better ones. Like Rent. But even better: hadestown. The tunes are everything there! Or in the hights! Awesome composition!

Me: yk what else is great about in the hights? The mood! It has ups and downs. An awesome balance thats brought acroos awesomely!

Me: while its not like they had the chance to, they still didn’t have the greatest costumes… however i love the costumes of six! They’re original and iconic and make the characters!They also have a great mood but i dont think they found a good balance for that

Me: then theres storry telling for which i say cats. cats… which is quite ironic. They could have done better but i still think it’s the best there is! They TELL their storry. Like in six exept they actually have a present that like,, exists. The lyrics alright i guess but the composing could have had a little more variety, however i did love the stage there as well because it was always the same but still did awesome stuff like the train thingy

Me: talking about stages! I think the stage is such an important part. There are musicals like dear evan hansen, the prom, be more chill or tuck everlasting that have a variety of different sets but it’s just actually different things. There are two versions of good stages. One that take you in the setting, but that only works if your setting is a special place. There are many musicals that made this one very well. My top two are frozen on ice and tarzan. The second type is when there is one element thats used through the whole show and that makes the setting. One of the best examples for this is probably Falsettos

Me: then theres what i call the manipulation aspect which is choice that were purposely made but not pointed out. I think that hamilton did a great job here too. A lot of people talking at once when much to much is going on in his life and only him talking when he makes the dumbest decision in his life. Walking in straight lines when thinking simple and good but in circles when it’s complicated and a lot. That sort of stuff.

Me: something that i shouldnt count tbh but gives bonus points is: every musical should have at least one singer tht seems to not even be able to miss a tune if they tried. Sure all singers should be goould but one needs to be over the top adelle level. The greatest showman has one and its epic, like,,, goosbumbs throughout the whole song “never enough”

Me: the last aspect is performance. Its hard to rate this since for stage musicals the actors and therefor the performance changes constantly but i think the original tuck everlasting cast did a great job!

Me: however those are only the best in their aspects but if you’re asking what the BEST MUSICAL IS I definitely say Newsies! A d im not saying that because i like it, but actually critically thing! Lyrics are honestly great! I have zero complaints about that. If anything, i have complements! Sure, its not as good as lmm works but what is tbh. I think the lyrics were still more than A+! The story easily *cheffs kiss* i personally think its harder to make something that already exists or happened into a storry. It requires much more creativity despite already having a ‘template’ you have to make the whole thing fit and make sense with your own thing and theres a lot about this actually. Newsies did great with that! It’s composed geniusly. The choreo? Bombastic! Prolly the best i even seen! Tunes? Through the fucking roof top. Mf i loved that shit. The mood was great but it had a balance! It was introduced with a good mood making u invested but still,, oh well you know what i mean. While the costumes aren’t too original they’re definitely iconic and i honestly likes them. Story telling is fan-frickin-tastic! There are some talking to yourself/the audience and telling the story! Some telling the shit WITHIN the plot (which they did a gooood job making it seem natural and not forced info) and some middle grounds. I really liked it. They also blurred the lines there perfectly. Stages! I love using newsies as an example for a good stage because they have BOTH kinds of a good stage! (sorta) its one element that is rearanged to make a whole different setting. They only needed some sittle elements that weren’t always the same. Add a few tables and chairs? Diner. Ad fancier chairs? Pulitzers thingy. Typewriter? Boom! Office. I also think that the metall shit did a really good job reminding u where exactly this is taking place and that lower manhattan in 1899 wasnt the most beautiful place so that sorta counts for the first type. We dont even need to talk about the “manipulation” aspect bc i wouldnt even know wgere to start. Im not even sure it was all on purpose. They have medda and jeremy jordan as jack kelly so they have not one but TWO of those perfect singers! Ive honestly never seen a bad performance of newsies lmao. So yes. Newsies is the best mysical

Smn: u could have just said that newsies was your favourite

Me: no. It isnt my favourite. Its just the best. I also wasn’t sure if thats what you meant exactly bc u could have neant [insert monologue about the things they vould have meant] and you didn’t ask my favourite! You asked the best.

Smn: well then which if those is your favourite?

Me:

Me:…

Me: starlight express

Smn: whats the best musical

Me: im so glad u asked SO

[nairagossip]

I Miss You Adele Lyrics

I Miss You Adele Lyrics

I want every single piece of youI want your heaven and your oceans tooTreat me soft but touch me cruelI wanna teach you things you never knew, babyBring the floor up to my kneesLet me fall into your gravityThen kiss me back to life to seeYour body standing over me Baby, don’t let the lights go downBaby, don’t let the lights go downBaby, don’t let the lights go downLights go down, lights go…

[notroosterbradshaw]

It’s Only My Heart (Save Yourself)

about: Rooster’s very bad, terrible day. Super angst and maybe a glimmer of hope at some point.

word count: 7.3k

warnings: angst, language

masterlist.

"My God, if you are not a sight for sore eyes," Jake Seresin shook his head, slowly taking you in from top to toe.

"You're all dressed up," you smiled, acknowledging the Navy's traditional ceremonial kit and gloves. "Very slick, Bagman."

He gave you his trademark, megawatt grin that didn't quite meet his eyes. "What are you doing here? Thought you were tearing up the East Coast, living the dream!"

Completely embarrassed, you hated that nothing could be further from the truth. But that was a story for another time. He enveloped you in a warm hug as you gave him a gentle smile. "Gig," you motioned behind you to the band setting up, the gentle thrum of a snare drum and bass echoing gently.

"You're playing?" he pulled back with a raised eyebrow. He blinked, almost like he didn't believe your answer.

"Yeah," you smiled at his confusion. Something reflected in his bold blue eyes and he held up a finger.

"Hold that thought, huh?" he gently released you and wandered away, catching a look over his shoulder as you went back to your bandmates to warm your vocals up a more. 

There was still plenty of time before the wedding reception, but you always wanted to give your all, and ensure the best part of the day was the happy couple cutting a rug on the dancefloor, with love, joyous grins and laughter. "Where's the playlist?" you asked your guitarist and band manager, Tom, as he handed you the info. It was perfect. The couple's first dance was to Adele's version of "Make You Feel My Love". You adored it and knew how to make it perfect for the couple too.

“Jesus Christ," Rooster sighed to himself. This could not be happening. Not today, of all days, this just could not be happening.

Removing his cover and sitting it protectively under his arm, he debated his dumb luck. There you were, eyes closed and lost in the song you quietly rehearsed. Still magical as you basked in the late afternoon light that poured through the bay windows behind you. Fucking ethereal, he realised. He had to get to the bottom of this as he carefully walked into the reception hall of the hotel the wedding was being held. His throat tightened as he approached you, the lyrics of the song clearer.

"'Dream a little dream of me,'" you crooned and grinned as the band gave themselves some kudos, ready for the evening's festivities. You turned your back to face your guys and chatted about switching up a few songs, depending on the vibe of the wedding party and guests.

"That was really beautiful," some guy told you, affectionately patting your shoulder as you ducked your eyes bashfully. You were never one to take a compliment easily.

Before he knew it, Rooster was before you. "It is you," he said, just quietly enough for you and your bandmates to hear, a little bewildered, as you and your bandmates turned to face him. If you weren't holding the mic stand, you might have lost your footing.

"Holy shit, Rooster. What are you doing here?" a blink and you'll-miss-it fondness gracing your features. He didn't return it.

With a gentle scoff, he replied, "What do you mean, what am I doing here? I thought you were in New York."

"I have been back a few months," you admitted. God, you were getting sick of admitting that. It sounded more pathetic every time.

"Of course you have," he started pacing. He paused, raised his long index finger, and continued to pace. If it wasn't so dramatic, it would certainly be comedic as your bandmates behind you bit back their chuckles.

"Uh, do you know this guy?" your band's manager, Tom, whispered, standing with you.

"Ex-boyfriend," you answered softly, heat prickling your face.

"Ex-boyfriend?" Rooster's ears pricked up and his deep voice cracked a little, and you cowered a little. "I think I was a little more than that." True. He was the love of your life.

"Okay, okay. But Rooster, you need to calm down. Maybe I should have mentioned I was back, but you made it pretty clear when we broke up that you didn't want to see me again.”

"You broke up with me to go to New York," Rooster calmly reminded you. "Follow your dreams, or whatever. Do not pin this... on me."

"Do you need something, man?" Tom asked. "Because all you're doing is intimidating her and that's not cool with us."

Rooster stopped and inhaled. This Tom dude wasn’t wrong and Rooster reflected, hoping to recall his cool, reminiscing on all his years of psychological training to put his body and mind through the worst of human conditions. All of that training escaped him as the moment unfolded. Of all things, he'd never want to scare or hurt you. "You have absolutely no idea, do you?" he almost accused. "I fucking texted you about this."

"I didn't get it," you said, softly. "Sorry, Rooster." He'd been blocked on your phone for so long... it had hurt too much to keep receiving his texts and you having nothing but failure to respond with.

"Well, you hadn't responded to any texts for years, why would you have started with that one?" He'd definitely fine-crafted the art of sarcasm.

"What the hell is going on, Roost?" you asked softly, embarrassed for this scene he was causing.

"This is my goddamn wedding!" he exclaimed, loosening his tall collar. He felt like he was going to have a panic attack and retreated himself. He needed air, his throat constricting.

You felt as if your heart fell out of your butt, a horrible concoction of shock... and terrible sadness. "Oh," was all you said. Well, this escalated into literally the worst day in a matter of seconds. "I didn't know - "

"How do you not know?" he demanded. "You're the fucking wedding singer."

"She's not the MC, she's never the MC," Tom spoke up. "I talk, book the gigs; she sings."

"Just the singer," you told him meekly as Tom looked over the call sheet and handed it to you and you about wanted to die. "Lt. Bradley Bradshaw and Ms Hayley Wills. Okay. Roost, I'm sorry," you looked at Tom, panicked. "I won't do this, I'll go. I won't ruin the evening for you guys."

Tom nodded, patting your shoulder. "It's okay - "

"How did you not know?" Rooster refused to understand. "This is my wedding day. Has my name not crossed your band's lips once?" he was astounded.

"No, only your bridezilla and all the changes she wanted to make up until about two hours ago," Tom warned as you raised your hand, not wanting to hurt Rooster more. "Hardly mentioned you. Can't imagine why, though," he sneered.

"Tom, it's okay," you didn't need him making the situation much, much worse.

"It's cool, man. We'll return the deposit and start packing up - " Tom continued, giving your bandmates the sign to wrap it up.

"You can't go. I've got 100 assholes I don't know watching me get married in - " he checked his watch. "Less than five minutes, depending on how late Hayley wants to be and make me sweat more than I already am."

Sighing, you carefully stepped off the stage and approached Rooster, guiding him with a light touch on his bicep that he didn't shrug away (even if it scalded him). You moved him away from your confused, protective bandmates who were about ready to take his head off. Without a word, he followed you outside into the choking humidity, no relief from the breeze off the water. “Go get married. I will leave; the band can stay. No one has to know - “ you tried as he whipped his arm away from you.

”But I’ll fucking know,” he hissed, pounded his chest, wanting to scream it at the top of his lungs. The last thing he needed to do was draw more attention to the situation.

"Okay, okay. Calm down. I get that you're upset, but I didn't know and clearly neither did you, so we're both equally as pathetic here. Your day can still go on without a hitch. I'm sure your bride is on her way now and your guests are probably wondering where the fuck you are. So stand up straight," he immediately did so. "Go find a mirror, take a shot with Bagman, and man the fuck up," you hated every word you said.

He frowned, his height towering over you suddenly. "I hate this."

You wanted to ask if he meant you or the day, but kept your trap shut. You were beginning to think a little of columns A and B.

He inhaled sharply, in hopes of calming himself. "I told myself I would never allow myself to be alone with you ever again," he looked back at your bandmates through the sheer blinds of the reception room. They'd taken the initiative to put your guitar away and start putting your kit near the door. Bless them, you thought. "And here you are, on my wedding day. I don't even want to get married," he confided. "I never did. Even when we were together, it was just a piece of paper. Why do you need it if you love someone? Shouldn't love be enough?" he rambled.

You nodded, with a shrug. "Sometimes people just need it, Rooster."

"But I don't. And she," he waved towards the rest of the hotel, putting his bride-to-be in the 'people' category. "She does. She needs the fanfare, the show. The dress. The band," he spat the last part as Hangman came into view and approached you both steadily. "Make sure I'm in my uniform. Make sure everyone knows who I am, what I do. My badges gleaming. It's 75 fuckin' degrees!"

"Rooster... Hayley is here and the guests are asking questions," Hangman said quietly. "Do you want me to go and say something?"

"What do I say?" Rooster retorted and Hangman was understandably speechless. "Just buy me some time."

Hangman nodded and made a very hasty exit.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked you. "I cannot get married, knowing you're here."

"I'm leaving. You'll never have to think of me again," you tried reassuring him. "Tom can cover the singing, he will find a believable cover for me in case Hayley asks questions. Just breathe, and try and have a good day."

"No," he shook his head, finally meeting your gaze. "No. Know that I know you're back? I can't - I don't - " Rooster struggled to get out and you stopped, desperately wanting to hold him - hating how angry he was at you, how much he despised you in this second. "I was madly in love with you, and you left me like I was fucking nothing to you. You broke my heart! I thought about following you every day for a year and you didn't call or text me once."

Panic washed over you a few moments later when you heard, "What do you mean, 'he's just getting some air', Jake?"

Tears streaming down your face now, you dropped your eyes. The situation was escalating much faster than you had the ability to process. Guilt-riddled and in a predicament you never thought imaginable but you weren't veiled in an invisible cloak of obscurity and people could see you both now. And just to Rooster's side in your eye view, a vision in white approached, her dress moving whimsically around her. She was beautiful, everything you'd ever imagined for him. Just spectacular.

"Fuck," he rubbed his face. His entire relationship was hanging by a moment and he hoped and prayed that you both couldn't make more of a mess of this than you'd done already.

"Bradley, sweetheart? What's going on, why aren't you inside?" she asked nervously. "Is something wrong?"

He had the balls to reply, "Baby, I don't think I'm supposed to see you yet," he kept his back to you, his eyes telling you not to make a goddamn sound. No problem, you had no interest in acquainting his fiancee.

Credit to her, Hayley wasn't buying what Rooster was selling and she stiffened. "Don't bullshit me. Why are you out here? Are you getting cold feet?"

Of course he is, you wanted to reply. Things like this weren't natural to Rooster... he hated being the centre of attention, he choose when and how he'd be put on display and you knew this just wasn't him. Eloping? Yes, you could see him eloping. On a beach, a sunset, some tropical island, a cocktail function later with a handful of people you'd bothered to invite - and just like that, those thoughts you'd pushed to the back of your mind years ago were bopping in your heavy brain again. All those dreams of when you thought you and Rooster would celebrate this day and you just wanted to be sick.

"I'm just nervous," he admitted, turning to face her, bad luck be damned (how could it all get worse though?). Even he had to admit, even at his worst, she looked absolutely stunning and she was right there... waiting for only him. "You look beautiful."

"Who is this?" she disregarded Rooster's terms of endearment.

"I was just getting some air, walking past," you kind of lie. Argh. Shut up, you told yourself. Let Rooster handle this. You glued your eyes to the decking below you, wishing it would disintegrate and you'd just disappear.

"No... you're the singer," Hayley realised.

You waved gingerly. "Hi."

"Hi," she broke into a small, relieved smile. "Baby, are you coming in?" she asked Rooster as he tensed.

"I will be right in," he said. And you didn't know how well Hayley knew him, but you know without seeing those soulful hazel eyes that this man was lying through his teeth.

"Hold on... Do you two, like, know each other or something?" She certainly wasn't buying anything, you gave her credit, she had learned the wiles of Bradley Bradshaw. She was smarter than you were giving her credit for.

"No," you both lied terribly. Hayley stepped back to gaze at you both in her focus. "Brad, is there something you need to tell me?" Ew, he hated being called Brad.

His resolve breaking, he introduced you only by name although you figured she'd know that, but different contexts now. "My ex."

"Your ex-girlfriend?" Hayley asked as so calmly that it cooled your blood.

"Yes," he replied numbly.

"Oh, my God," she said softly. "The wedding singer?" she asked incredulously. "How the fuck could I have been so goddamn stupid?"

Right? 

"Did you do this on purpose? Not tell me?" she suddenly flared up, the accusation in her voice rising as she closed in on Rooster.

"No, I didn't," he answered. "Trust me... there is nothing I would have wanted less. Believe me, when I tell you I simply did not know. You were pleased with the band, frankly, that's all I needed to hear. You've done all this yourself..." he rambled. But Rooster's eyes changed. You had only seen this rage once or twice, not including today, but his ability to keep his rage in tact had always been a slight downfall of his. Oh dear, you hated when Rooster smartened up because reason had found him and good things never happened when Rooster let the beast out. "Because like everything in this wedding, it's been what you wanted. If you wanted the band, you were just going to get the band anyway,” his tone must have stung his bride-to-be because the wave of bitterness hit you like a little ton of bricks.

Oh, that didn't help the situation, you thought, turning to try and leave. "Don't you go anywhere," Hayley hissed.

"This is between you two - " you tried.

"True. But you've always been there," Hayley said evenly, moving past Rooster to approach you. "Always like a shadow in the background. When I met Bradley, he made it no secret he had been hurt before and that he needed someone who he could trust fully. And that is me."

"I don't deny that," you admitted.

"You destroyed him."

And while it hurt to hear Rooster say, it felt a shit tonne worse to hear someone you didn't know say it so explicitly.

"I brought him back to life, my family adore him, only for you to come back today. How could I be so goddamn stupid? It's like I practically invited you to wreck our day," she paused to retrieve her gorgeous heel from where it was caught between the wooden planks through the layers of sheer fabric.

"I swear, I'm not here to ruin anything. I didn't know Rooster was getting married today."

Hayley gave a bold, mocking shrug. "Well, I guess now you do."

"Okay," you said, your nerves shot, you'd had enough. "You two are a mess. Clearly, the issues between you are way bigger than me. I've tried to be polite to now, but fuck it. Hayley, Rooster, good fucking luck to you both if you manage to get yourselves married today. You clearly belong to each other. I don't need this shit. Goodbye, good fucking riddance. Your dress is lovely, by the way," you told her quickly, it really was, as was the woman who wore it before her, as you desperately held back the bird and walked away.

"It's Rooster's mom's dress," she replied after you and you slowed to look to Rooster as his eyes dropped. He gave you credit, you knew exactly what Hayley was wearing and commended you for keeping your trap closed.

"This is Carol's dress?" you played up for him and him only but he didn't reply. He knew you were just trying to poke the bear.

"You knew her?" Hayley asked.

"Yeah, I grew up down the street from Rooster." You stopped yourself before you told her she let you dress up in it all the time as a child, it was your dress well before it was ever hers. That would certainly have been the final nail in the coffin of an awful, terrible day.

"So this was probably supposed to be your dress too," Hayley exploded, face red with rage. "Jesus, get me out of this place. Get me out of this shitty dress," she turned, and for the first time, you noticed a couple of dozen people around you, bearing witness to what was embarrassing to you... was probably a helluva lot worse to Rooster and Hayley. "And get me the hell away from him."

It took hours for you to stop thinking about the horrors of the previous day. The last time you checked the clock was about 2am and the alcohol in your system had helped you finally pass out, amidst the misery of your bedroom spinning and thoughts of lost love tearing you apart.

Hearing an incessant knock at whatever time it was frightened you as you noted the time on your phone. 4:30am, it blared as you sighed and reached for your UVA hoodie. "Good Lord," you muttered as the knocking continued. You shuffled down the hallway to the door, telling whoever it was to calm the fuck down. Opening the door to Rooster, maybe you weren't entirely surprised, but a little alarmed as he almost fell through the doorway. "Woah," you tried to help and pushed him upright.

He was still in his suit nix the jacket, the collar undone, his curls unruly and his face flushed from booze and frustration.

"Sorry," he mumbled quietly.

All you could ask was, "You lost?"

"Must be," Rooster replied, exhausted as he slumped against the doorframe, chewing his lip. "She, uhh... she thought it was best we not get married... today," he mumbled.

"Oh, Rooster - " you said, eyes welling as your heart broke for him.

"Or ever," he drawled.

"I'm so sor - "

"Yeah, I know. You're sorry. The sorriest you've ever been," he said meekly. "You know, I didn't even realise this was still your place. I just assumed you got rid of the lease when you left," he rambled. "Lucky guess, huh? Could have really pissed someone off if this wasn't your place," he snorted.

Failing to see the funny side, you replied, "I sub-let. What are you doing here?"

He inhaled sharply. "Nowhere else to go. Penny had to close the bar at some point. Can't go to Hayley's. Too embarrassed to show my fuckin' face on base."

”Come in, Roost,” you took his clammy hand in yours, guiding him into the apartment, and he followed numbly. "Drink?"

”Least you can do,” he said, voice terse. "I drive past here to our - Hayley's place - all the goddamn time and always see the light on. Now I know you were there, just living your life..." he stopped at a photo of you and Pheonix at the zoo one day, grinning and giggling, both gorgeous and sun-kissed. "She knows you're back, right?"

"She's known a while," you confirmed. Pheonix had seen the whole showdown between yourselves and Hayley and followed you home, damning any nuptials Rooster and Hayley may have had. She brought over the first 2 bottles of wine you shared to drown your sorrows together - a true friend.

"Can't believe she kept it from me." You knew it must have hurt him to learn his close friend keeping such a big secret from him.

"I asked her to keep quiet."

"She did a good job. She didn't know you were working yesterday?"

"Not your wedding," you sniped. "This isn't about her, Rooster. Please don't drag her into it."

"No, no," he agreed calmly. "You're right. I'm just wracking my brain, right?" he drawled. "How have we not bumped into each other? This is a small town."

"I'm not dumb enough to go where you frequent, Rooster," you rolled your eyes. Seemed fairly obvious to you.“Take a seat,” you instructed with a sigh as he meandered into the living room. It looked the same as when he spent every waking minute there. You went to the cabinet and collected a tumbler, a double shot of whiskey. You knew he’d already been drinking but this poor bastard… you helped ruined his life today.

Wandering back to him slowly, you watched him sit in his old spot and look up at you. “I don’t know why I’m here. I shouldn't have come to see you,” he accepted the glass and sipped, easing back and rubbing his face. “Hayley put me back together and you walk back into my life for five minutes and destroy it all again.”

Wasn't getting any easier to hear.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” he put his face in his hands before looking back up with an incredulous smile, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling his sleeves half up his forearms. You didn't like that smile.

”I don't know what you want me to say, Roost.”

”Stop calling me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore," he warned, there was no humour in his tone.

“Okay. I'm kind of fucking sick of talking anyway,” you sighed, sitting cross-legged on the coffee table before him. He was wretched and still as beautiful in his way. Maybe as handsome as before. The boyish innocence was gone though, and there was a man about to start his life over again. The guilt was swallowing you whole.

“Hayley's a good girl. She cares about me, she loves me,” he looked up and was simply defeated, you wanted to hold him desperately and fought every urge not to do so. “I’ve never been more embarrassed. Having to tell everyone that there wasn’t going to be a wedding today. Thought her old man would put his fist through my teeth. But I maintain that I didn’t do anything wrong."

"You didn't," you reassured him. It was on you both.

"And here I am anyway," he reasoned with his demons and continued to internalise.

Answering would only end up with a barrage of pain and insults so you stayed quiet. Rooster leaned forward, sipping the amber liquid just like he had a million times before in the same seat he found so much comfort. His eyes started from above your messy hair, they softened when he met your eyes. “And you haven’t changed a bit. Just as beautiful as the day I dropped you at LAX, with your dreams that were bigger than me and fuckin’ suitcase. I looked you up Fleet Week last year,” he confided. “I saw you had a show in Brooklyn and I was gonna come see you, make sure you were okay. Just to see with my own two eyes that you were okay in the big city without me."

"Did you come?" your eyes were trained to stay with his, but the pain dripped from his eyes unbearably.

He shook his head, but after all the booze he'd consumed, it was just a messy roll of his head. "I thought it best I didn't."

"I would have loved to have seen you."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you would have. Whipped into a frenzy of old memories before you up and left again like I was fuckin' nothing to you."

"Do you have a single thing to say to me that isn't in the shape of an insult? Because I'm kind of done with this today. You can leave if you don't have anything constructive to add," you muttered, eyes watery. His face softened as he scooted closer to the coffee table, legs wide and he grabbed your ankles and dragged you closer to him, his palms grasping the hoodie for dear life. You were clinging to each other and it was killing you at the same time. The word vomit spilled from your lips before you could stop your, restraint failing in his close proximity. "When I left... I didn't call or text you, Rooster, because I knew the second I heard your voice, I'd be on the first plane back home, begging you to take me back. Begging you forgive me and my fucking ego. Thinking that I had a chance to ever make it."

He sighed, gently wiping a tear away with his thumb. "You deserve all the success in the world, sweetheart. You took your chance. It took me a long time to understand that. I guess I thought that maybe one day you'd come back to me... but I couldn't expect you to stay here while I was gone for weeks and months on end. I was a selfish asshole too."

True.

You stayed silent for a while, happy to study him, reaching to touch the scar that ran across his Adam's apple. It bobbed under your touch and Rooster swallowed hard. "Please don't touch me," he begged. "I will lose all resolve."

But you ignored him as your finger continued tracing the others that ran scant on his chin and the left side of his jaw. You knew what the sensation did to him, and it wasn't the intent to drive him crazy, but the temptation of him so close was starting to affect your mind and body. "Did she love these as I did?" you dared ask; and your heart raced as his eyes fluttered closed, his cheek falling lightly into your palm. "Cherish every blemish because she knew what you went through to get them?" you continued, your thumb padding his bottom lip as his breath hitched.

"Please, stop," his tired eyes half-lidded. A mix of lust and drunk... on you. His phone sounded abruptly, interrupting the revelry. You looked down, saw the callsign and dropped your touch as he sighed. You picked up his phone and he didn't stop you.

"It's okay, Mav. I've got him."

"Thank Christ," Pete sighed. You were hearing his voice for the first time in years. "I thought he'd done something stupid."

"He has. He's with me," you told him. A small chuckle replied you and the line went dead.

"Why did Mav call?" you asked. Rooster and Mav's long-running feud saddened you.

"Long story," he sighed. As long as he had Maverick back in his life, you hoped Rooster was a little less lonely.

"Does everyone hate me?"

"Naw," Rooster said softly. "Worse, they miss you. When Hangman told me you were here today, he felt like he'd seen a ghost. Like someone was playing a practical joke on him," he bit back a laugh, a half-smile gracing his features and he relinquished your touch, falling back into the couch. "I get the ghost bit though."

"I'm here, Rooster."

"Yup. In my UVA sweater that you never gave back," he licked his lips, dragging in a deep breath.

"I love this sweater," you admitted, bringing the collar to snuggle into your face. And it was all I had left of you after I walked away from you.

"Always looked better on you anyway," he gave a slow chuckle.

"Roost?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, easing back into the couch, his eyes closed as he nursed the whiskey to his lips. He took a slow sip and raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his attention but the alcohol had taken over, the heat of the moment had gone with Mav's call and you were both back to your corners, preparing for the next round. Deciding against telling him how much you missed him and were happy to see him, even in the day's circumstances, you told him to put the glass on the table and lay down. You'd get him a blanket and pillow so he could finally give in to the sleep that was beckoning him. "You're probably right."

"I'll be right back," you told him, getting off the coffee table and walking slowly to your room, finally able to breathe. Realising that since you opened the front door, it was like someone was standing on your chest. Rooster was back in your life in a way that you'd never expected. But he was back and it was like you'd never found the courage to leave him. You had no idea how you'd be able to get over him this time.

Finding a blanket in the cupboard and a pillow from your bed, you wandered back down the hall to find him exactly how you'd guided him, snuggled into the cushions on his side and already asleep. Not surprisingly, the adrenaline had to wane at some point. You took a mental picture of how sweet and relaxed he looked for the first time today and lightly covered him with the blanket before you went back to your bed. But there was no way you could sleep again, not with him just a room away. Checking your phone, you went to his number and unblocked it, littered with all the texts you never saw when you left. Hundreds. A lot that he missed you, did you miss him? Can I visit? Are you coming home for the holidays?

Then nothing for a year. Finally... the last one, six months ago:

I'm getting married.

And there it was. "Shit," you bemoaned, realising how easily avoidable today was in hindsight. But also? How relieved you were now you had Rooster back in your life. What does that look like? You didn't know. But he was mere feet away and you would be patient to find out. As long as you could find a way to be near him, laugh with him again, it would be enough.

He was an enigma to you now. So close, yet so far. For three years, you tried your best to pretend that Bradley Bradshaw didn't exist and in a single moment, he came back screaming into focus. He still looked every bit as handsome as you'd remembered, even the moustache, new for you, surprisingly wasn't a dealbreaker, just so masculine. He was definitely in better shape, losing the last of the puppy fat that you always adored but Hayley had reaped the benefits. But his voice... oh, God, his voice, even when angry at you could still bring you to your knees. The gravelly rumble was still delightfully laced with honey, maybe deeper now with age.

Convinced the last three years were a mistake, you put your head in your hands and cried for all the failures, but also for the strength you had to walk away from a man you were so terribly in love with the try and see if you could make it without him. Maybe you could have, but the universe had other plans for you both. Not knowing what else to do, you picked up your phone and texted Natasha.

You: He's here and I don't know what to do

You weren't surprised when you saw the little dots indicating she was texting right back to you. "Just don't tell him you're still in love with him. Not yet. Do you want me to come and get him?"

You: No, he's passed out in the living room atm. Why are you up?

Pheonix: Left sound on my phone in case R texted or whatever. Kind of expected the worst tonight tbh

Pheonix: You know he's in love with you. But you can't rush this. You know what's coming: good things. But now you have to adjust to being in each other's lives again 🫣

You: Bullshit logic. Hate fucking could be amazing 🥵

Pheonix: But you don't hate each other. That is why you found it so easy to hurt each other today...

You: Deep 🫡

Phoenix: Try and get some sleep. But don't be surprised if he's not there when you wake up.

You were more surprised when you saw him at the door to your room when you woke up, still in what he wore last night, but barefoot. Stretching and hangover in full effect, your eyes raw and like sandpaper, you tried to look like a functional human adult as he gave a half-smile. "I made coffee," he said. "But you didn't have any sweetener," he nodded to the cup on the bedside table he'd left before you rose.

"Thank you," you smiled appreciatively, taking the warm mug into your palms and letting the aroma envelope you. "I don't take sugar anymore," you admitted after all the years he tried to get you to quit it.

"Imagine that," he said, amused at the development.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he admitted. "Head killing me, body feels like it's been ejected about two hundred times."

You stayed quiet. You didn't need to talk about that kind of stuff this morning.

He remained in place, very good after years of being told to stay to do it exactly. He was scared to cross the threshold to your bedroom, but you didn't want him to approach either. You'd be a lost cause if he took another single step. "I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday."

"What, like your horrible ex-girlfriend wrecked the biggest day of your life?" you slowly sat up. Thinking about it, you added, "Honestly, how were you supposed to act?"

"Better," he told you and it quietened you. He didn't want your apologies, he was taking ownership of the situation and you were so proud of him. "I know better. I was a dick, and I hate how I treated you - both of you."

"I accept that. But you don't have to apologise. It was a lot," you tried to reassure him, but it was his redemption hour and he was on his box.

"You didn't mess it up. I did," he sighed and sat down, stretching his lean legs out as he leaned against the doorframe. "I never wanted to get married - I just thought it was the logical next step, you know? I was spiralling and you were the one there that took the brunt of it."

"I shouldn't have come. I will do better research next time about who I'm singing for," you pledged (and would continue to do so).

"Hayley wanted you there. She didn't know."

"Well, now she does."

"And so does everyone on the Island," he rubbed the back of his neck, tensing, his lips in a tight line. "I thought marrying her was the right thing. I'm not getting younger."

"Yeah, how old are you now? Like 63 or something?" you teased the two-year age difference between you.

"Knock it off, I'm not dead yet," he rolled his eyes. "We're not spring chickens anymore. What are we doing with our lives?"

"Clearly making messes of them."

He actually laughed, a hearty, raspy, oh-so fucking sexy Rooster laugh. "I said knock it off. You're such a pain in the ass."

"Hey."

He hummed in reply, sipping his coffee, and looking at you over the rim of the mug.

"It's not like you do to do what's expected of you, Roost."

"Mav said the same thing," he said, quietly.

"I'm so glad you two cleared the air. Whatever happened was worth it," you told him honestly. "You need him and he needs you. You're family."

He shrugged, nonchalant. "Only took half-killing us, though," he bit his lip, knowing you would ask what the fuck he was talking about.

"WHAT?" you howled.

And he proceeded to tell you the story about the squad and their near-brush-with-death mission. And even though he made it out relatively safely in the end, you kind of wanted to kill him yourself. And Mav, for what it was worth. "Oh, my God," you said, eyes watering, body shaking by the end of it. And although you knew you shouldn't have, you bolted from the bed into him, crushed against his chest, openly wailing that you could have lost him and you would have been no better for it if Natasha had to tell you as such.

A gentle 'oof' escaped his lips as your force made contact with his torso and he smiled. "It's okay, it's okay," he said softly, patting your back tenderly. "I'm still here and making terrible life choices."

"It was a fucking one-way ticket to your grave, you idiot! I am not even surprised with Mav."

Rooster chuckled quietly. "It's okay, really. He saved us."

"You're both idiots," you conceded.  

He gently pulled you back and wiped away the tears from your face. "Oh, darling. I lived to tell the tale. Don't live in the past," he whispered the latter part. "Or at least that's what my shrink says," he adjusted your posture and sat you across his lap - close, intimate and forcing you to face your demons head-on. "God, you beautiful disaster," he teased, a gentle laugh escaping his lips and he combed his long fingers through your hair lightly, tangling in your hair as they did so many moons ago, gently calming you. "Did you mean what you said last night? About if Hayley loved me like you did - "

Hiding your eyes, you played with his collar instead. "Can we not?"

He ignored you. "No one has ever loved me like you," he said softly, terribly nervous again. "I've been through some shit. But losing you was the worst thing I've ever been through as an adult. It took me a long time to learn that I pinned too many things to us; a home, a family, a life. Then you were gone and I was debilitated. But now you're back, I'm not expecting anything. I know I'm a mess too. But if - after..." he tried, stumbling over his words and holding your chin to meet his gaze. "I just want to be your friend. Just to be in your life, that will be enough for me."

Thought it killed you to say, you told him, "Things are complicated now. More than they ever were before."

"I know," he nodded. "We're older. No one said wiser." Swallowing, he continued, "Tell me this is all in my head, and I will believe you," he said confidently.

"It's not in your head," you told him delicately. "I have missed you every day since I left. Leaving was the stupidest thing I ever did. And I regret it every minute. But you have a lot of stuff to clean up... and I'm not sure I should be there for that. You need to see Hayley and apologise and sort your life out. I don't need to overcomplicate or distract you."

"But you're such a good distraction," he mewled, he thumbed your cheeks in his rough warm palms. His eyes tested you, dared you to look away.

"Don't," you warned again. You were waning though, and he knew it better than you did. He was watching you keenly, just waiting for his chance. You brought yourself here, he'd remind you, just like you used to. A position like this was never romantic, it always led to a certain wildness in you both -

"To be honest," he said. "If Jake didn't see you yesterday... we wouldn't be here."

"So we thank Bagman?!" you asked incredulously as Rooster laughed heartily, his head lolling back and resting against the doorframe and it was absolute bliss - god, you'd missed that breathy tinkle of joy and you sighed, able to fight just a moment more to keep him serious.

He relaxed and his eyes dropped, nodding. "Yeah, okay. You're right."

"Bradley," jolted back to your gaze by his name on your lips, you added. "I am so in love with you. I've always been in love with you. I'll wait for whenever this all works out for us."

"I know," he nodded, a glimmer of hope returning to his handsome features, he leaned forward and kissed you, just once, just chaste, just to test the waters. He inhaled, evening his breath - how lucky for him considering you'd stopped breathing somewhere in the conversation.

"Don't start, I swear. I'll be a lost cause if you kiss me," you begged, your fists clutching his collar and your knuckles turning white, taunting you just like you had the night before when you reminded him how you knew every devastating scar on his skin. You loved and moved each other in a way no one would ever understand.

"Don't start what?" he whispered, moving your hair from your face to trace the rim of your ear with his steady finger. A tactile asshole when he wanted to be, the use of his hands was his love language and he was going straight for the jugular. He knew every nuance of your body and mind and it left you brutally exposed for defeat.

"Rooster," you warned. "Don't."

He laughed quietly, your tone betraying you - not force, just accepting your fate and you'd lost. "I'm not doing anything," in his other palm, he gripped your wrist and brought it to his lips, the bristles of his moustache as he placed a tender kiss on your pulse. "It's racing," he tormented you. Goddamn heartbeat selling you out. It raced like a hummingbird when you were in his presence. It never changed. Its effect on you still pushed you to the absolute brink and made your head spin. "Just say the word and I'll stop."

But the words were lost as you moved to your knees and brought his face to yours. He adjusted his legs, allowing you more room and his face remained passive, daring you to say no. But as in most instances with him, the words were lost only to the actions.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[metonomyg]

Lucemond au where Lucerys and Aemond are forced to marry to secure the family bonds. While both are not happy about this, they have no choice but to proceed.

It is the day before the wedding that Aemond takes to the halls, not able to sleep and simply walking under the moon with the eyepatch missing.

The soft steady footsteps falter when he hears a soft hum. Being close to the garden, Aemond slowly creeps closer and looks to find Lucerys. Standing there, looking up into the sky, the moon illuminating a soft blue hue on his face. The young man continues to hum, and a few words can he heard from the cover of the bush that Aemond has taken.

“There’s a fire starting in my heart,

Reaching a fever pitch and bringing me out the dark.

The scars of your-”

It is the sudden crack of the leaves that exposes Aemond, and suddenly Luke is looking at him with wide eyes and parted mouth. Face in the shadows, but Aemond clearly visible to him.

“Finally, I can see you crystal clear.”

He is stricken by the image that this boy, his nephew, his betrothed is presenting. The meaning of his words only registering a moment later. It is then that the prince realizes, his eye is exposed. The deep blue glowing brighter under the moon. And then…

He runs.

—

Lyrics from Rolling in the Deep by Adele, the moment I heard it I couldn’t help but imagine these two.

[astranva]

Not One of Them.

// masterlist //

Word Count: 9.9k

Category: Fluff, single mom!Y/N

Warning: Some strong language. Slight mention of abortion. Not proof-read.

Note: time-skip to when covid-19 is dead ok

Summary: Harry is lyrically stuck, Y/N is the new big songwriter. She’s also a single mom to a 4-year-old girl.

Early italics are flashbacks.

..

When you’re a young mother, the world isn’t always the kindest, especially when no partner is in the picture.

While you were young, having had baby Faith when you were only 21, you applauded yourself for years for the effort you poured into raising a child alone – with the help of family and friends, and too many books and videos, but you get the point.

Faith wasn’t a mistake, you hate it when anyone even dares to imply so, but she was unplanned. You were in a toxic on-and-off relationship for 3 years, at some point believing that it might have been an open relationship because of the amount of times you caught your ex-boyfriend flirting with women and men right in front of you.

You had done your part after knowing that you were pregnant after one drunken night that led to a rough make-up session. You approached your ex, sat him down and broke the news;

“I’m pregnant.”

“Whose is it?” He had asked, face falling.

Yours scrunched up in anger, almost disgust at the implication. “Yours, you dumb-fuck! I don’t sleep around while I’m in a relationship like some people.” You had emphasized.

He ignored your comment, releasing a sigh. “You aren’t keeping it, are you?”

You were never against abortion. You were never against planned pregnancy. You had freaked out alright on your own when you were confirmed pregnant, but something inside you told you to hold on to the human inside of you, to that little bundle of oblivion – a little bundle of faith.

It was when he asked you that one question, his tone almost sure that you would abort the child, that you felt angry tears pool your eyes. “I am.”

He wasn’t ready to hear it and his wide eyes showed that, “Wh-What do you mean you are? I can’t have a fucking baby! This wasn’t supposed to get this real!”

“This real?” You had chuckled bitterly, “You stay with me for 3 years, fuck me over more than I can count then you always come crying for me, then tell me it wasn’t supposed to get this real?” You stood up, draping your bag over your shoulder, “I’m having the kid, Will. It’s over between us and-“ you gulped, swallowing back the tears as you pointed at him, “I never want to see you again.”

“You bet your fucking ass you won’t.” He had grumbled, tearing eye contact to look somewhere else but your death glare before you left.

 Besides the university halls, Will had managed to stay out of your sight and you were grateful for that. Pregnancy was a roller-coaster, one you definitely screamed during all ride of, but nothing and nobody prepared you for the moment when you gave birth to your little love.

Your roommate and best friend, Cece, had driven you to the hospital and notified the rest of your family and friends, and you were glad that during that very period of time, you had someone beside you.

It was when you held your little love that it all faded away; the pain, the loss, the confusion, the fright – everything faded away the moment your skin made contact with your daughter’s, watching her with pure love and admiration.

You hadn’t picked a name before that moment, only nodding and smiling to the showering of recommendation from people, but one name wasn’t recommended, not even mentioned.

“Faith. You’re my little Faith.”

“You’re looking a little sick, honey. Have you been eating well? You overwork yourself-”

“Mom, mom,” you laughed quietly, tearing your eyes from watching your daughter play with her cousins before looking at your mom beside you, “I’m alright. Last project was challenging, that’s all.”

“Who were you writing for this time?” your mom asked with pride and excitement, curious to know the name of yet another big celebrity her daughter had been working with.

“Adele.” You smirked as you sipped your juice, hearing your mom gasp with a hand to her heart before letting out a small squeal.

In her dungarees and sandals, Faith ran towards you, making you set your juice aside to welcome your daughter in your arms. “Mommy, did you see me win Tag?”

“Yes! You were amazing!” You hyped your daughter up, pressing a sloppy kiss on her cheek, making Faith giggle.

With Faith standing between your legs, talking to her grandma, you checked your watch. “Ah, shoot. I better get going.”

“Will you be here for bedtime story?” Faith asked, looking up at you as you slung on your tote bag and held your car key in one hand before kneeling in front of your daughter.

“I will be, baby. Don’t give Nana a hard time, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“I love you.” With one last hug and a kiss on her cheek, you smiled at your daughter who clung to your neck, pressing a sweet kiss on her cheek.

“I love you.” Faith replied, moving to stand with her nephew after waving at you as you left.

“Call me at any time if anything happens or if you need anything, Mom, yeah?” You said as you walked towards the door, your mother following behind.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb your wo-”

“Mom.” You stressed, turning to look at your mom, “Nothing like that. I’ll get going. Thank you for watching her.”

“Oh, don’t thank me. You know I love spending time with little Faith more than anything. Drive safely, honey.”

//

“Hey, Andrew, got you a donut.” You beamed as you approached the studio’s receptionist, a 19-year-old intern.

“You’re an angel.” Andrew sighed in contentment as he opened the box containing his donut before looking at you, “Just adopt me. I guarantee I’ll be the best brother to Faith.”

You laughed, “Think having a 19-year-old son will make me feel old. I’ll pass.”

“Dammit.” Andrew shook his head jokingly. “Meeting with Jeffery Azoff, huh?”

“Yeah, do you know if he got here yet?”

“Like 3 minutes ago.”

You checked your watch again, finding that it was just on time for your scheduled meeting, feeling glad that you weren’t late.

“Alright, I’ll see you on the way out.” You waved at Andrew who nodded at you while raising his donut before you set off down the hall and into the elevator.

Walking out and down the hallway, you approached the room you had agreed to meet Jeffrey in before knocking softly, hearing a distant “come in!”

Gently opening the door and sticking your head inside, your eyes moved to the couch where 2 men looked up at you; one was Jeffrey – you had seen pictures of him from when you worked once with his father – and the other was, undoubtedly in your mind, none other than Harry Styles.

“Y/N?” Jeff asked, him and Harry standing as you walked in and closed the door behind you, approaching them.

“Yes,” you smiled, reaching for a handshake which he had happily accepted, “It’s great meeting you.”

Harry’s eyes were set on you, a small smile on his face that did everything but mirror the surprise he felt. He wasn’t sure why; he didn’t have any expectations but he certainly didn’t expect to see someone as radiant as you were.

You looked at him next with a polite smile as you reached for a handshake, “Pleasure meeting you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

And God, his stomach flipped and his face flushed at the comment, feeling shy under your gaze as he shook your hand, “Thank you so much. Can say the same about your work, you’re very talented.”

“Thanks!” You beamed before motioning towards the couch, the 3 of you sitting down; Harry and Jeff on the couch, you on a chair across from them. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks. Had the biggest cup of coffee just before coming here.” Jeff replied.

You turned to look at Harry, smiling and nodding when he raised his bottle of water.

“Alright, let’s get into it,” you leaned forward, “How can I help you?”

Jeff looked at Harry, signaling for him to talk.

“I know it hasn’t been a year since I released Fine Line,” Harry moved his hands as he talked, looking at the carpeted floor underneath him before looking up at you, “But I’ve been writing ever since but- something is missing. Something is wrong. I wrote 9 tracks so far, all of them are unfinished because I just feel like they’re missing something. I have the idea, have the concepts, sometimes I have the tunes,” he counted on his fingers, “But I can’t finish one song. It’s like I’m, like,” he shrugged, trying to find the right word.

“Stuck?” You suggested, staring at him with an assuring expression which he found soothing.

Harry’s body slumped, tilting his head slightly as he looked back at you and a soft, small smile made its way to his face at how you understood. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, stuck. That’s the word.”

“I get you,” you assured him, “Do you guys have any sort of deadline?”

“No, not really, no. Not yet.” Jeff shook his head.

“Great,” you clapped, your eyebrows going up, “Do you have any of these tracks’ lyrics now?”

“Yeah, lemme just-“ Harry reached beside him, holding his tote bag to take out his journal.

“Hey!” You grinned, grabbing his attention and making him look at you, seeing you holding out your tote bag to him.

You matched; right on the fabric in the middle was an illustrated design of a small cactus plant pot.

“I have the same one!” You looked down at yours before looking at him, Harry mirroring your actions before a grin broke out on his face.

“Well then, Y/N, it’s set. These will be the best songwriting sessions of the century. It’s fate.” He said dramatically in a joking manner, making you laugh quietly as you set your bag aside and he fished out his journal.

Flipping through the pages, he handed you his journal so you can see one of the songs he had half-written, watching as leaned back on the comfy chair, holding the journal in your hands and reading.

It was excruciating. Harry grew nervous, feeling funny in his stomach and he tried to convince himself that it might be the salad he had eaten prior to that meeting, and not that he was nervous you’d think he was the worst songwriter to-date.

He watched your eyes, taking notice of how you didn’t skim through the words, but read them carefully and taking your time to do so.

“This is really beautiful, Harry.” You said softly, eyes still on the page before looking up at him, oblivious to the breath Harry let out, “Really beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, discreetly wiping his sweaty hands on his pants.

“Not much damage really. The concept is clear. Post-breakup song.” You said, handing him his journal.

Harry nodded, confirming.

“Are the rest like that, too?”

“Not really,” Harry shook his head, “Figured that the last album had too many of that.”

You nodded, “Yeah, I understand. Just- I say take your time, honestly. I’ll help you with the songs you have, maybe we’d get inspired along the way to write new stuff, too, but you don’t want to force anything, you know? Sometimes some lyrics just aren’t meant to be, you know?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded.

“Don’t you worry,” you gave him a smile, “It’ll all work out.”

“Well, so do we have a deal?” Jeff asked with a smile, opening his arms.

“I’m in.”

Maybe it was because you said that as you looked at him, or maybe it was because he knew of how crazy talented you were – he had spoken to his good friend Ed Sheeran a week prior and Ed had sworn up and down on your talent and how “bloody lovely! Like a little bird” you were – or maybe it your smile – hell, it might be a combination of all that, but Harry was ecstatic to work with you.

“I’m very excited to work with you, Y/N.” Harry had said with a smile of his own.

“Likewise, Harry. It isn’t that common to find artists as real as you are.”

God, what was with your compliments that had him blushing?

“It’s a pleasure, Y/N,” Jeff, too, had said. “Let’s talk busi-”

“Let’s do that over lunch.” You pointed at him, standing up, “My treat.”

“You always this friendly with clients?” Harry joked with an amused smile, staring up at you.

But your smile dropped and instead, your face twisted to worry. “Oh God, I hope I’m not stepping boundaries. It’s just always a good idea to warm up to each other and- I’m sorry, you probably think this is unpro-”

“Hey, hey, no,” Harry was quick to stand, holding his hands out, “I didn’t mean it like that. I genuinely think you’re friendly. Half of the songwriters I worked with were strict and- Shit, no. Lunch sounds wonderful. Really wonderful.”

He felt like an ass. A proper one. He hadn’t meant to make you feel like you were too friendly but that didn’t turn out as well as he had thought.

“We’d love to, really. Besides, it’s probably a great idea that you and Harry know each other so the sessions can go smooth.” Jeff added, standing up.

At this, Harry found himself smiling when the smile returned to your face. “In that case, there’s a place nearby that makes amazing sandwiches and desserts.”

Jeff’s mind was squeaking from its gears working. There weren’t many people on this planet who were purely kind, and it was something he admired in Harry. But at that moment, Jeff knew he had met one more person who was genuinely kind, just like his best friend and “client” – he hated calling Harry that – and it was proof when you insisted that you could give them a ride to and from the place instead of them following behind you or using the GPS, Jeff sitting in the passenger seat during the ride to the place while Harry sat at the back.

The place was a 5-tabeled one, nothing big. One wall was decorated with polaroids of customers, the waiters and waitresses, the chefs, and another with colorful stick-notes with messages from customers. It was a lowkey place, one that Harry hadn’t visited during all his trips to the studio until that moment.

“Hey, Y/N!” The woman behind the counter beamed as she waved.

“Hi, Soph! How are you?”

Soph stood from the chair she was sitting on, taking a few steps back to show her pregnant bump, putting one hand to it, “Ready to pop!”

You had motioned towards a table to Harry and Jeff who were quietly watching the interaction.

You gasped, “Look at you! And you’re still coming to work? What a queen.”

Soph shrugged, sitting back down, “Got mouths to feed and a self to pamper.” She said before waving at Harry and Jeff, “Hello, gentlemen.”

Jeff waved with a smile while Harry added, “Hello! Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Styles.” Soph replied.

Harry liked it. The no-freaking-out. How homey it all felt.

“Rick will be with you in a sec.” Soph said.

You, Harry, and Jeff sat on the circular table, both Harry and you hanging your tote bags on their chairs.

“You come here often, huh?” Harry started the conversation, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward.

“You have no idea. You’d think I don’t know anywhere else.” You chuckled, “Been coming here ever since I was in college.”

Harry’s eyebrows went up in surprise, “Really? How long ago was that?”

“Graduated 3 years ago, first came when I was 19 so that’s about 6 years.”

“True loyal customer you are.” Harry said.

“What did you study, Y/N?” Jeff asked.

“Music composition. Was the disgrace of the family.” You joked, “Definitely had no idea the entire time if I would actually work or not.”

“But look at you now, one of the best.” Harry motioned towards you.

You waved him off with a bashful smile, “None of that. I still have no idea what I’m doing most of the time, I just get paid now.”

“Who even knows what they’re doing now?” Harry rhetorically asked, “We’re just, going with the flow.”

“Word, sir. Word.” They heard, the 3 of them turning to see the waiter – Rick – by their table.

Harry laughed, “Right?”

“Absolutely. I don’t remember the last time my plans didn’t get fucked. Just riding now.” Rick shrugged.

Harry raised his fist up for a bump, Rick bumping his fist into Harry’s.

Time seemed to pass as Harry and Jeff let you order for them, talking about the music industry and sharing funny stories while at it, as well as you had discussed your own business as you ate the club sandwiches and sipped on the iced tea.

“What are you doing?” You asked with a funny face as Harry took out his wallet after you had asked for the check.

“Paying?”

“Yeah, no. Said it’d be my treat.” You pointed at him, raising one eyebrow with a smile.

“Come on, I can’t just let you pay for us on the first day we meet.”

“Let’s at least split the bill.” Jeff suggested, watching as you shook your head.

“Absolutely not.” And with that, you stood up and walked towards Soph, paying for the food.

“How much do you want to bet that something will happen between the both of you?” Jeff asked quickly with a smirk, looking at Harry with a knowing look.

Harry’s eyes widened, tearing his gaze from being on you to his friend and manager, “What?”

“How much?”

“I just met her.” Harry tried to reason with him, finding Jeff to be bizarre and irrational. Hopeful, but irrational.

Jeff only gave him a shrug, “That’s a first.”

“That’s enough rom-coms at night for you, Jeffrey.”

At the sight of you walking back towards them, they both stopped talking and instead, smiled. “All sorted.”

“Thank you so much, Y/N. You really didn’t have to.” Harry stood, slinging his tote bag on his shoulder.

“I wanted to. Please don’t mention it.” You had smiled as you replied, the 3 of you putting back your chairs. “Bye, Soph!”

“Bye, sweetie!”

“Congratulations again on your pregnancy and good luck.” Harry put both hands together, pursing his lips into a polite smile at the woman behind the counter.

“You’re a sweetheart. Thank you, kind sir.” Soph joked, tipping an imaginary hat at him to which Harry responded to by holding up the tips of his imaginary skirt, putting one foot behind the other in a curtsy making you giggle.

With no spoken words, Jeff was quick to get into the backseat, pursing his lips to stifle his laughter at Harry’s face, who looked at him with wide eyes and an expression that screamed “What the fuck are you doing?” but he got into the passenger seat nonetheless, oblivious to the light shade of red that visited his cheeks but aware of the heat his face seemed to radiate.

The ride back to the studio wasn’t quiet. The radio was on for some background music but you and Harry were too engaged in a conversation to take notice of the songs playing. Anyone could have asked you what even started the conversation of French toast and you wouldn’t know how to reply because none of you knew how you suddenly began talking about French toast.

“Have you tried soaking the toast in lemon?” You asked, tone excited and face breaking into an eager smile.

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed, “Haven’t, no. How good is it?”

“God, it’s,” you shook your head, almost closing your eyes in delight as if you tasted the toast that moment but refrained because you were driving, “It’s so good.”

So what Harry secretly wished the ride was longer? He wanted to talk about French toast. That was definitely why.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure working with you.” Jeff said, “Thank you for the food.”

“It’s no problem.” You smiled at him, turning around to look at him once you were parked.

“I’ll wait for you in the car.” Jeff said, patting Harry’s shoulder before getting out of the car.

Harry took a breath, slapping his hands against his thighs, “Well, that was fun.”

You nodded, looking back at him with a bashful smile that you mentally scolded yourself for; why were you getting bashful?

“Is it alright if I take your number from Jeff?” Harry asked quickly, “Uh, so we can schedule meeting up for the sessions.” He quickly added, “The writing sessions.” He nearly cringed at his addition and he guessed you caught on because you giggled quietly before straightening your posture.

“Actually, Jeff has my business number. Maybe you can just, take my personal one so I can reply faster. You know, the sooner the better.” You cleared your throat, nodding to yourself.

Harry’s lips stretched into a side smile as he looked at you before he coughed and nodded, “Definitely. The sooner you reply, the sooner we meet. For the writing sessions.”

“Yeah and I can give you the lemon toast recipe.” You said before your eyebrows rose up, “For business purposes, of course.”

Harry’s smile widened at that, holding out his phone for you to take after he unlocked it. “I’d love that.”

You typed in your number before handing his phone back to him, watching as Harry glanced down at it before your phone began ringing, “And that’s mine.” He said, watching you unlock you phone and type before you locked it back.

“Then it’s settled.”

“I’ll text you.” He smiled before opening the door and standing out, ducking to look at you, “Next time, lunch is on me.” And with that, Harry gave you a wave before closing the door and walking away, only giving you a smile over your shoulder and another wave before getting into the car with Jeff.

After getting some snacks from the grocery’s with a shit-eating grin on your face, you drove back to your mom’s to pick Faith up.

You stood on the other side of your car, watching the door open before you saw Faith, her backpack on her back with her grandma standing behind her.

At the sight of her Mommy, Faith was quick to grin before running to you and into you arms as if she hadn’t seen you 4 hours ago.

You hugged your daughter, pressing a kiss to her hair as you did. “Did you have fun?”

Faith nodded before she pulled away from the hug, still keeping her arms around you, “What about you? Did you have fun, Mommy?”

You almost blushed as you remembered, opting to reply a simple reply instead of getting into details. “I did. Ready to go?”

//

After giving Faith a shower and giving yourself one, too, you and Faith were sat in the comfort of your cozy apartment, sitting on the couch and watching The Greatest Showman for the umpteenth time seen as it was Faith’s favorite. With her cheddar cheese and lettuce sandwich in her right hand and favorite dinosaur toy in the other – a “Megalosaurus not a T-Rex, Mommy” – Faith was cuddling into your side while one hand of yours played with her wild hair as the other tapped absentmindedly on your phone’s screen, eyes set on the television.

“And if it’s crazy, live a little crazy.” Faith sang along with Hugh Jackman, eyes wide as if she was seeing the movie for the first time.

“You can play it sensible, a king of conventional.” You joined her, peppering kisses on her cheek causing her to squeal and giggle.

As Faith sang along with the song, you opened your phone’s camera before switching it to video, flipping the camera so that it was the front one. You started recording, the screen showing you your face as you smiled with pride, tilting it so Faith was shown as she sang, unaware of you recording.

Only 12 seconds into the video, a message pop-up had your eyes traveling to it, falling on a text preview from none other than the young man you were with that day – Harry.

‘Hey, Y/N. Sorry to bother but would you be able to send me that lemon toast recipe? Might treat myself to it tomorrow morning. Sorry for the bother. :) Harry’

After stopping the video and opening the text and reading it, if it weren’t for Faith, you wouldn’t have known that you had a grin on your face.

“Why are you smiling so big? Did Auntie Cece send a picture of her cat?” She had asked, looking up at you with curiosity.

Looking down at her, you laughed slightly at yourself. “No, she didn’t.”

“You look happy.”

There were many things you loved about your daughter, many things you were in awe at. As only a kid, Faith was one of the most empathetic people in your life and that moment as you both cuddled on the couch was proof.

With a matching grin, Faith’s eyes twinkled with glee at the sight of her smiling mom, curious to know the reason.

“They aren’t singing This Is Me yet!” Faith added, knowing that the both of you usually laughed and giggled while singing that song, only because you always sang it so dramatically and at the top of your lungs.

“Just happy you’re finally done with the sandwich because now I can do this!” And with that, you tickled her, Faith breaking into laughter and giggles as she tried to stop you.

5 minutes later, Faith was back to watching the movie while you typed a reply.

‘hey, harry! it isn’t a bother 😊 i’ll write it down and send it in a moment :))’

‘Thank you! x’

And you wrote it down and sent it to him, adding little notes, too just to make sure that he perfected the toast.

‘let me know how that goes for you :) x’

‘Will do, love. Talk to you soon. Goodnight :) x’

‘goodnight, harry x’

As if your little love took that as a sign, you looked down at her as you felt her body grow heavier against you and noticed her breath get steady, seeing her eyes closed as she snoozed.

Carefully, you turned off the television before holding her with your arm so she didn’t fall down as you stood, bending to carry her before kneeling a little to grab her fallen dinosaur, letting out a tiny groan as your back ached.

Tucking her in her bed, you sat beside her for a moment, brushing her hair back softly before bending to kiss her forehead.

“Story?” She sleepily asked, struggling to open her eyes.

You chuckled, “You’re already asleep, nugget.”

She hummed, still struggling to open her eyes, “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You smiled before standing up, walking towards her small vanity and turning on her star light lamp.

Just as you were out of the door, you lingered, turning to look back at your daughter, “Was I really smiling big?”

In her sleepy state, Faith managed to reply. “Very big, Mommy.”

You chuckled to yourself and shook your head before walking out and towards your own room.

//

Harry felt like a kid. He was too excited that morning to get up and get on with his breakfast, wanting to deny that it wasn’t because he wanted a reason to text you, but who was he trying to lie to? No one, he was alone.

He followed the recipe, chuckling and laughing to himself during some moments when he was about to fall for some mistakes before reading your notes and saving his toasts, as if you were sitting right there and monitoring him.

His playlist was playing from his phone that he held in his hand, and he was humming along as he placed the two toasts on a plate before adding some powdered sugar to them and grabbing his juice.

Before eating, Harry had taken his time in taking a picture of his breakfast, thankful for the natural light his kitchen window was giving for his little photoshoot.

He was just as much nervous as excited as he sliced up a piece before taking a bite, taking his time to taste his work and his eyebrows shot up and he blinked twice in surprise.

It was so good.

While eating another slice, Harry held his phone and opened his messages app, going to your contact.

Attaching the best picture from his breakfast photoshoot, he added a text with it,

‘Tastes incredible! Would have burned it to coal if it weren’t for your notes hahah x’

And he put his phone back on the table, open at your messages as he continued eating while listening to music.

He was mid-sip of his juice when you replied and Harry hated how excited he got because the next thing he knew, he was having a coughing fit that had him go tearful before finally calming down.

‘looks incredible, too! oh trust me, i know. burned a fair amount of toasts on my own so i decided to spare you the damage. you’re a quick learner :)) x’

That morning, you and Harry exchanged multiple texts, drifting from his breakfast to how you both wished to have dogs.

It was around 4 when you were driving back with Faith from her gymnastics practice when Harry called, thankfully just as you were unlocking the door to your apartment.

“Hey.” You smiled to yourself as you answered, taking off your shoes by the door beside Faith’s before closing the door behind you, watching as Faith went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

“Hi,” Harry, too, was smiling to himself as he held the phone close to his ear, “I was walking around and I found this tiny restaurant that reminded me of where you took us yesterday and, apparently they make the best Italian pizza. Was wondering if you wanted to grab pizza with me and we can talk about, you know,” he chuckled, “The sessions.”

You thought, mind instantly going to who would watch Faith as you went before your eyes fell on your daughter who came back, whispering to you if she should wait for you in the bathroom seen as you were on the phone.

“One second,” you said to Harry before moving the phone from your ear and muting the sound, “Yeah, baby, do that. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

You unmuted, “Hey, sorry about that.”

“No worries.”

He was growing nervous at how you were yet to reply to his suggestion, having already had been nervous enough to suggest and call in the first place.

“Pizza and talking sound lovely.”

He released a breath, smiling to himself. “Great, great! Pick you up at 6?”

“Sure, yeah. 6 is great. I’ll go now. See you soon, Harry.”

“See you soon, Y/N.”

You didn’t trust strangers to watch your daughter, didn’t exactly trust strangers in your house unattended, too. It’s why at times when you couldn’t drive the 40-minute drive to your mom’s, your best friend, Cece, was always your go-to and that was especially nice because she also lived two buildings away.

Cece’s job was one from her home, making food and delivering it to people while she managed her business on her own through social media and it was why most of the time, she was home and always happy to have her goddaughter keep her company.

After calling Cece to make sure she was okay with babysitting Faith for some time and her assuring you that she was, you prepared dinner for your daughter after giving her a shower.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me leaving, baby?” You asked as you sat with Faith while she ate the pasta you made her.

It wasn’t frequent of you to leave Faith for anything but work. Maybe for a night out with some friends every now and then but you always went out with them for 3 hours tops before you began feeling guilty for leaving your daughter and going back to get her so you can spend time together instead.

And it wasn’t like you were frequently going on dates either. Cece had pushed you into it when Faith was 2, and you did go out a few times with different people, all whom you never heard of whenever they knew that you had a daughter and then you decided that maybe the single mom life was just too welcoming of you.

Hell, you didn’t know whether you should call having pizza with Harry a date. It wasn’t, was it? Not that you’d mind but it was for business, wasn’t it? Strictly business. Or maybe it wasn’t and that was fine by you- and now you were beginning to feel like a teenager again. Great.

“Mommy,” Your 4-year-old huffed, rolling her eyes, “I’m a big girl. You should have more fun.”

You couldn’t believe that you were getting advice from a 4-year-old, especially your daughter, but you deserved that.

“When did you get so big?” You rhetorically asked, “Thank you for being understanding, Nugget.”

Faith smiled at you, kicking her legs as she ate. “Where are you going?”

Now that question you weren’t prepared for, as much as you thought about it.

You couldn’t risk telling too much to Faith, knowing that she got excited over new people and couldn’t risk disappointing her if Harry ended up being, well, not one to stick or friendly to kids of single moms.

But at the same time, your daughter was your best friend. It was because of your honesty with her and how you acknowledge her and treat her that she was an understanding and empathetic person who could hold a conversation.

“Well, you know Harry Styles? The man who sings Canyon Moon?” You asked, knowing that that song was on her top favorite songs list after she had heard it once on the radio as you were driving her to her practice.

She nodded, “The pretty man with drawings?”

She had been curious to see the face behind her favorite song and once you showed her a picture, her smile got big and she had said that he was “very pretty” and had “nice drawings that she wanted to color in” meaning his tattoos.

You chuckled, “Yes, that one.” Again, Faith nodded. “Well, I’m helping him with his songs and I’m going to have dinner with him tonight.” You said, crossing your arms on the table.

Faith dropped her fork, looking at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, causing you to laugh heartfully at your daughter. “Mommy, really?!”

You nodded, opening your phone’s camera to record her, Faith not caring.

“Mommy you’re meeting Harry Styles!”

“I am,” you laughed, “Are you happy?”

“Very happy I’m going to cry!” She gasped, “Can I see him? Please, Mommy, please!”

“I don’t know, Nugget. I might have to ask him.”

“Do you think he’ll say no?” She frowned, “I can wear my Harry dress!”

And by her Harry dress, she meant the Fine Line black tee you had bought her, and even though it was sized small, she was only a toddler so you had resulted for her to wear it as a dress after you had trimmed it and its sleeves and had your mom fit it as tight as she could without damaging it. Needless to say, whenever your daughter wore the oversized tee dress, you had to snap multiple pictures of her because she always looked too adorable and fashionable in it.

“I don’t know what he’ll say but I’ll ask him. And yes, you can. You always look adorable in it.” You smiled, still recording her.

“Can you tell him I love his songs? I love Canyon Moon so much an-Oh! And Sunflower, too!” She grinned, “Are you going to show him this video?” Faith asked as she looked at you.

You shrugged, “You want me to?”

She nodded excitedly before looking at the camera, “Mr. Harry, I love you very much, sir. I hope I can see you but Mommy said she’ll ask you so please say yes. Make Mommy happy, not sad. Goodnight, sir.”

Your heart might have as well exploded that moment as she waved before you ended the video.

As if he was waiting for you to finish, your phone began ringing the moment you stopped recording, finding Harry calling you which made you instantly pick up the moment Faith began eating again.

“Hey, do you like strawberries?” He asked, the moment you picked up.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion but a silly smile took over your face nonetheless, “Uh, yes?”

“Alright, great. I’ll see you soon. Bye!”

//

To make matters easier, once Harry had texted you that he was 2 minutes away, you grabbed your bag and left your apartment and into the elevator before walking outside your building, just in time to see a yellow Ferrari Dino pull up.

You smiled at him, watching as he parked before getting out, “Did I keep you waiting for long?” He asked as he approached you.

“No, just came down.” You answered, watching as he reluctantly slightly opened his arms. He was a hugger.

You wrapped your arms around him in a greeting hug, taking notice of how good he smelled. Just as good as he looked; he was in off-white textured knit Wales Bonner polo, paired with his Gucci flared denim pants and off-white Converse. Nobody should be allowed to look that good in casual clothes.

It wasn’t like Harry’s mind wasn’t doing flips at that moment, too. Instead of smelling like overpriced perfume, you smelled like coconut and roses; a refreshing smell that made Harry’s smile deepen enough for his dimple to make appearance. You, too, were in casual clothes; violet colored cropped culottes, a white tee tucked inside, white sneakers on, a black and white cross-bag and your hair was up in a messy ponytail that was kept by a hairband but you wrapped a black and white head bandana around the band just for the looks.

You looked effortlessly beautiful.

You both walked to his car, Harry opening the door for you before grabbing something from the passenger seat before you sat – a bouquet of strawberries.

“Didn’t know what type of flowers you like so,” he said before extending the bouquet towards you with sweetest and giddiest smile, “Hope that’s okay.”

You almost melted, your face changing to a pout as your head tilted to look at him while you accepted the bouquet, “This is so nice of you. Thank you, I love it.”

Alright so you don’t get strawberry bouquets to people you aren’t going on dates with, right?

The ride to the little pizzeria was nice – comfortably nice. You had shared the strawberries there and your stomach did a thousand flips when you offered Harry one only to have him open his mouth,

“I’m driving.”

And then he opened his mouth again, biting the strawberry you offered with your hand, laughing when it was about to drip on him if it weren’t for your fast reflexes – thank motherhood for that – as you held out your other hand beneath his chin.

By sharing strawberries, you mean you ate some as well as fed Harry some.

You both mentally took notice of how conversations flowed so effortlessly between you, as if you had met years ago and not just a day. Hell, even the texts were random and messy as well as entertaining and fun.

The drive wasn’t a long one, only about 20 minutes before Harry was parking in front of a place called ‘La Pizza’.

You both went outside the car, you waiting for Harry by your side as he walked towards you.

You might as well have melted right there and then when you felt Harry’s hand, very gently, on your back. It was very gentle, you almost didn’t notice and you felt that he was just making sure that he wasn’t making you uncomfortable but it was a reflex action of his. Nonetheless, you appreciated the concern and decided to show him that it was okay to touch you when you touched his arm as you both walked through the door.

Harry gulped, feeling hot as you touched him and he almost scolded himself because it only lasted for a second, yet there he was, getting flustered already. What the fuck was going on with him?

A waitress greeted the both of you, smiling widely as she motioned for you to follow her inside the place.

“There are more tables on the roof, would you want to check that?”

Harry looked at you the same moment you did at him, both of you nodding to each other to say that you wouldn’t mind.

“That would be great, thank you.” Harry said, smiling politely at the waitress who nodded and walked in front of you with the both of you following her up the stairs, Harry’s hand now more comfortably on your back as he walked behind you.

The roof was beautiful; cliché but beautiful fairy lights of small globe bulbs hung above the place, only 3 tables there, each at a good amount of distance from each other.

“Would you want to sit here or downstairs?”

Harry looked at you, you giving him a nod. “Here would be fine.”

The waitress nodded before guiding you towards a 2-chaired table. Harry had sat you down first before moving to his chair.

“Thank you.” You both said in unison as the waiter placed 2 menus in front of the both of you.

“I’ll be back to take your orders.” She smiled before leaving.

“Looks good.” You smiled at him before looking down at the menu.

“Didn’t know they had a roof.” Harry said, “This saved me.” He chuckled.

You looked up with confusion, “Saved you from what?”

Harry shrugged, now growing nervous. “Uh, wasn’t sure if taking you out for the first time here was chivalrous enough because it felt too casual, like a friends thing and not a date but now here seems right.”

He wished the ground he was on would split and swallow him whole. Wished to crawl up a hole and cry.

There were things he was practicing on on the way to you; like how he would hide that he was a nervous wreck, how he was excited to spend time with you, how he knew almost every single song you worked on, and finally, how he wouldn’t spill that he thought that was a date, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

You were amused. Contrary to how Harry truly felt, you thought it was nice that he was straightforward.

“Figured this wasn’t too casual the moment you gave me the strawberry bouquet, Harry.” You smiled, assuring him that you were okay with this being a date.

Looks like it wasn’t business after all.

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow, “That was nice, wasn’t it?”

You laughed, “Yes. Don’t think I was ever given a bouquet of fruit so yeah. Really nice.”

You both went through the menu, commenting on some plates and ingredients as you did and contemplating together.

“Maybe we should just get two pizzas and share, so we can try more than one option.” You suggested.

“Good idea.” He agreed, “What do you think of Quattro Formaggi?”

“Ooo, yes.” You then pointed on another topping, “Pizza Melanzane?”

“Yes.” Harry closed his menu with a nod.

Shortly after, your waitress came back and took your order before leaving.

“Finished a song yesterday.”

Your eyes widened as you took a sip of water before putting the glass back down, “Really?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. A new one.”

“You mean you wrote a new one? Not finished writing one you already had?”

Again, he nodded, putting his arms on the table. “New. Very much new.”

You grinned at him, “That’s amazing. What is it about?”

Alright maybe he didn’t think that one through. He did write a song the previous night and he was proud of it and his gut did tell him that it would make it to the list of his next album, but telling you about it on your first – and he hoped it wasn’t the last – date? Well, not so ideal.

“It’s about opening up to someone new. Trying love again and unraveling yourself to the other person.”

Maybe it was because of your situation, but your breath hitched in your throat.

“You know when you get fucked from an ex and love as whole and you think that you don’t want to go through that again and you, like, close off,” Harry explained, “And it’s like you’re immune to feeling any sort of love or interest in anyone after that. Sure, maybe some sexual attraction here and there, but never something wholesome, you know?” He motioned with one of his rings clad hands as he talked, “But then you meet someone and you feel like a teenager or something,” he chuckled, “And it’s a nice feeling, it’s wonderful, that you start thinking that, hey,” he tilted his head, “Maybe I can do this again.”

You were speechless.

You were a woman of words, hell, you worked with words, but right then, you barely remembered the alphabets.

“You- You get me, right?” Harry asked.

You broke out of your trance, nodding absentmindedly, “Yeah, yeah, I,” you paused, an airy chuckle leaving your throat, “Man do I get you.”

He smiled in amusement, “Relatable?”

“Too much, you had me by surprise.” You answered honestly, releasing a breath.

It wasn’t a surprise to Harry that somebody broke your heart; it was always the good ones who got their hearts broken and got fucked over, always the givers.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling of shock at who would possibly have you at arm’s length, with the ability to kiss and cuddle you, and decide to break your heart?

See, maybe Harry had just met you but you know when you meet someone good. Someone kind. Especially when you’re in an industry that is full of shitty people and too many cold snobs.

“When was it?”

You understood his question, understanding that he meant to ask you about when your heart got broken – when somebody fucked you over.

“5 years ago.” You answered, “You?”

“2.”

“Cheers.” You joked, raising your glass of water to clink it to his, chuckling when he did clink them.

“5 years is a long time.” He commented, gentle with his tone as were his eyes.

“It is,” you agreed, “Got over him, really.”

“You met someone after?”

His question made you think again of your answer, causing you to giggle before correcting yourself, “Got over him as a person but not over the whole thing.”

Harry chuckled, “So no.”

You shook your head, “No. Didn’t have the heart to.” And even though your sentence carried double meanings, you took a mental note of that same sentence just for future songwriting sessions. “What about you? Met anyone after it?”

“Not really,” he shook his head, “Friends set me up with some people but it never went further than a day.”

“You don’t click?”

“No,” Harry answered before a small smile made its way to his face, “I didn’t.”

Your face grew hot, breaking eye contact to glance beside you for a moment.

“How long did it take to write that song yesterday?” You asked, turning back to look at him, growing more flustered to see that he was already looking at you with the same smile.

“Think 25 minutes.”

Your eyes widened, “Inspiration really did hit you, Harry, huh?”

“Grabbed the journal and guitar and I just ran to the studio at home, and it just,” he shrugged, “Happened.”

“Let it keep hitting you like that and we won’t be working together.” You said with a smirk.

“Then I’ll purposely distract myself whenever it hits me so I can see you.” Harry was quick to reply, a smug smile of his own on his face.

“Oh my God.” You whispered under your breath, shaking your head as you covered your face, hearing Harry laugh before feeling his hands on yours, guiding them down.

Shortly after, your waitress was back with your orders; both pizzas looking mouthwatering.

You and Harry decided against utensils, exchanging slices with your hands and granted, as Harry had said, they did make the best Italian pizza.

//

After the pizza and paying, you and Harry had grabbed ice cream from the parlor right next to the pizzeria before sitting in the car, remaining parked as you laughed about everything and anything.

“And I had no idea that Paul McCartney was right behind me the entire time. It was awful!” You finished, laughing more at how hard Harry was laughing at your story.

“Would’ve changed my name and moved out of this planet if I were you.” He teased you as he regained his breath.

“Oh, shut up!” You laughed, rolling your eyes at him.

Harry laughed, reaching out to place a hand on yours, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Embarrassing shit happens to me everyday, too. On stage is the worst.”

You tried to ignore the tingly feeling that rushed within you at his hand over yours, but good heavens, you were a goner. “The falls?”

“At some point I thought it was good my tour got postponed because I see myself falling during most of the songs. Imagine Watermelon Sugar, I’d be a clown.”

You laughed, “Probably so,” you teased him, batting your eyelashes jokingly when he feigned shock, “But really, you’re an amazing performer. I actually have been to one of your shows once.”

Harry’s eyes widened and as did his smile, “No way.”

You nodded, “The one in Glasgow in November.”  

“You’re telling me that we were in the same room and-“ Harry paused, shaking his heads as he let out a chuckle of disbelief, “Wow. Alright. Did you have anyone with you?”

“Was just me and Faith.” You answered nonchalantly, only realizing once you did before your looked intently at Harry.

“Is that a best friend?” He asked, “Did they enjoy the show?”

“She did, yeah. Very actually,” You chuckled, remember how surprised you were at how 2-year-old Faith at the time was actually very interested and was dancing in your arms the entire time. “And she is my best friend at some point but she’s my daughter.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting but you definitely weren’t expecting Harry to grin excitedly.

“You have a daughter?”

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, a small smile on your face as you inspected him, “I do. She turns 5 in December.”

Harry only seemed to get more excited at the news, which made your heart flutter at the sight of.

“Do you have a picture?”

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled more then, eager to show him your beautiful girl before unlocking your phone and opening your photos album, only to find the most recent addition to it – the video. “Hey, actually, she wanted me to show you something.”

You gave Harry the phone to watch better, most of the time keeping your eyes on him. Harry’s cheeks sported a shade of red at how highly your daughter spoke of him, laughing and giggling to himself as he watched.

“Nooo, I won’t say no. I’d love to meet her.” He cooed, continuing to watch.

As the video ended, Harry handed you back the phone, “Please let me meet her. And what’s that Harry dress?”

And so you told him about your adventure with the tee, to which his heart seemed to grow a thousand times more at.

“I wasn’t aware kids loved me, I’m sorry you couldn’t find her size.” Harry frowned, feeling genuinely bad.

“Hey, no,” you assured him, putting your other hand on his – that was still resting on yours – “Don’t worry about it. You don’t exactly sing the alphabetics, Mr. sex-inspired-my-last-album-and-I-made-it-on-shrooms.”

Harry giggled, shrugging at you.

You both talked some more, only about Faith. Harry’s eyes were wide with admiration when you told him about how you raised her alone – also assured when he realized that the father wasn’t exactly in the picture even though his heart broke at that – and he showered you with compliments of how brave you were to raise a kid alone.

“Think I should head back now. I still need to pick Faye up from my best friend’s.” You said, leaning your head on the headrest as your body was turned towards Harry, his hand sandwiched between yours on your thigh.

“Can I help?” He asked, “Only if that’s okay. I don’t want to be crossing my limits.”

Your eyes searched his, growing emotional at the man in front of you. “Are you sure?”

Again with the double meanings.

That time, Harry noticed, his face softening as he looked back at you. Softly and ever-so-gently, he leaned to press a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’m sure.”

As he drove, you and Harry held hands on your thigh, the both of you singing along to Fleetwood Mac on your way.

As you gave Harry directions, he was absentmindedly rubbing your hand with his thumb. If you would have told him that he was doing that, he would have denied it; not because he wanted to deny it, but because it felt too natural that he didn’t realize he was doing it.

“Right here.” You pointed at a building, “She’s two buildings away. You can go, it’s a short walk.”

“I’ll wait for you here.” Harry said, parking before turning to look at you.

“Harry, seriously, you can leave if you want. I’m right there.” You pointed at your building.

“Nonsense, love. I’ll wait here.”

You sighed in contentment, giving his hand a squeeze before getting out of the car and into the building.

“Why did you not tell me that you were on a date with Harry fucking Styles?” Cece whisper shouted as soon as she opened the door, “Knew from Faith, you shit.”

“Because you’d overr-“

“He could be the one!”

“-react. You’d overreact and plan our wedding.” You teased your best friend, “Where’s Faye?”

“Won’t you come in for a drink?” She asked before turning, “Faith, it’s your mom!”

“Can’t. Uh,” you cleared your throat, “Someone’s waiting for me.”

“Some- No fucking way!” She exclaimed, muttering a “sorry” when you hushed her, “He-Harry is downstairs? Are you shitting me?” Cece excitedly asked.

You couldn’t stifle the smile on your face as you nodded.

Cece was about to talk some more before Faith appeared beside her, her backpack hung on one shoulder as she rubbed her eyes.

You knelt down, hugging her. “Hey, Nugget. You sleepy?”

Faith only nodded, wrapping her arms around you as you carried her, feeling her rest her head on your shoulder and you instantly knew that she slept.

“I’ll text you, alright?” You whispered to Cece.

“You better.”

Carrying Faith as well as having her backpack in one hand, once Harry saw you, he was out of the car and rushing towards you, taking the bag from your hand.

“Thank you.” You smiled thankfully, noticing how he walked beside you and guided you to the car, opening the door for you and sleeping Faith before closing it as gently as he could.

The lack of backseats made Harry place the purple backpack on his lap as he drove towards your building, a seconds drive.

He stopped the car and was out of his seat the moment he parked, slinging the bag on his shoulder before helping you out, taking your bag for you, to which you quietly thanked him for.

“Um, you can place the bags on my shoulders or something.”

“I can help you upstairs, come on. It’s no problem.”

You knew he was set on it and you let him, mostly because of how surprised you were that there were people who didn’t cringe and run the moment they knew the other person had a kid.

Harry did all the work; opened the building’s door for you, pressed for the elevator, pressed your floor number and had even taken out your keys once you told him to to unlock the door.

“Come in, come in.” You whispered.

Unsure of what to do, Harry walked inside and mirrored your actions by taking off his shoes before lingering.

“You can follow me.” You whispered again, turning around for a moment to look at him with a smile.

A quick take of the apartment was what Harry could do as he followed you, feeling an emotion of comfort and coziness engulf him as he did.

You were never less thankful for yourself for every time you changed Faith into pajamas before taking her to Cece’s, because it only made the process of tucking her in easier.

Harry had helped you by moving the covers so you could place Faith in bed before he stepped back, letting you tuck her in.

He smiled, watching how you seemed to shift around her or even when you just talked about her, like she was the most important person in your life and he knew that she was exactly that.

Faith was beautiful, and more often than not, you were glad that she got most of your looks and not her biological father’s because it only meant that he really was out of your life.

Harry noticed it, too. She had your nose, your lips, your facial outline, and your hair color. And from what he had seen in the video from when Faith was awake, she had your eye color.

You placed a kiss to her forehead before turning around, your eyes falling on Harry whose eyes were set on Faith with a ghost of a smile on his face.

His eyes came up to you and you noticed that he was still holding on to Faith’s backpack and was wearing your crossbag across his own chest.

You smiled as you grabbed the backpack from him and putting it aside on the floor before looking at him.

The only light in the room was from the hallway, making the room dimmed and making the both of you in a much more sentimental moment.

“They usually run away when they find about Faith.” You whispered, stepping closer to him, “Now is your cue.”

Harry’s eyes were on yours until they glanced at your lips, and butterflies erupted in your stomach at that.

“Thank God I’m not one of them, then.” He replied gently in a low whisper before he leaned closer, shamelessly looking at your lips.

It was you who took the final step, closing the minimal space between you by placing your lips on his.

His hands went to your waist as yours went to his neck, feeling him kiss you back softly but eagerly before pulling away from less than a second to tilt his head, getting a better angle before his lips were back on yours.

“Mommy?”

Pt. 2