#journey of love jukebox

[thatfrailsoul]

– If you love me, then love me from the heart

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

Slow down for a moment. Give your conscious mind a moment of rest, allow it to step back. Instead, listen to your subconscious mind, to that inner voice, to the intuition that is guiding you to the pile in which your message hides. A message about the love that your heart is longing for. The one that you are hoping to find…

This is our third reading from our divinatory jukebox, inspired by possibly one of the most beautiful songs that I've ever heard - "Yağmur Yağar Taş Üstüne" by Mustafa Güzel and Batuhan Fırat (feat. Belkıs Güzel). I'm so deeply grateful for the person that suggested this song and gave us the possibility not only to discover it, but also to have such a deep and tender message through this reading. It is difficult to find the correct translation for this song, but I strongly encourage you to listen and read it, as it is simply magical in the softest way. I will leave you the links that were recommended to me here, in case you would like to listen to it. And if you would like to see a pick a pile reading inspired by your favourite song, you can discover more about how to participate here↓♡!

♪♡♪ Divinatory Jukebox ♪♡♪

P.s. This is my first attempt at a longer reading, so if you feel comfortable please let me know in the comments what you think of it! If you prefer the shorter ones, if there is any aspect of the reading that makes it difficult for you to read it, or in case you will take a look at the extended version of this reading, if you would prefer to have something more specific in the additional messages of our readings - I will cherish your opinion and use it to get better with each post!♡

– Pile One,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the magician, the seven of swords, the page of coins

Love… you so often consider it just a feeling. A feeling that after all these years alive you still can really connect only to your own self. To you who seems to be the only one to feel it. To give it. While all that others do is receive it from you. Giving you back some gratitude perhaps, but never something that feels like what you gave them. Nothing that really fills in that part of you that was emptied for them… Making you really wonder if perhaps you got it wrong for all this time, if what you considered love never was it. If you imagined and expected it to be more, made it be more. Giving others much more than any person could ever give you in return, more than you ever should've done…

All that attention, that care, that genuine dedication that you put in, time after time, for every soul that was close, going out of your way to be there, right by their side for whatever might come… But still standing alone when facing your hardships, your difficult moments. Only you on the first line, out there in the cold, just you against this world… You genuinely never thought that this is what love would be. You expected something different from what you always received from others before. A complete opposite of having to do everything on your own, of that fear of what will happen to you if one day things in your life won't work anymore. You thought that it should be different from that because you know for sure that all those years of struggle alone never had even a bit of love in them, not from the people that were all that time around and close to you, but never did anything to help you, apart from telling you that this is how it works and that you should grow and take care of yourself on your own.

You alway imagined it, in those dark and painful nights, a hug, a caressing hand, a soft voice that assures you that everything will be okay, that it won't be forever this way, that you are not alone but you will always have them… So you did your best to be deserving, manifesting those tender and loving ways through your own self. Through the way you looked after others, the way you cared for them. Not only knowing that this is the right way to treat others, the way you genuinely want to be, but that it will be also worth it, that you will one day feel the love you gave, through others that will do the same… But it never came. You never saw your reflection in them, you never saw that part of your heart that you gave away being nourished and taken care of… it was always mostly just appreciated in the moment. And forgotten. Or worst, taken advantage of by expecting or asking more. So after all these tears, all the days dedicated to others instead of yourself, all your prayers for help and support, just a little comfort, that you never received because they are too busy to take a moment to give you back that love that you never declined them…. You started to think that you are in the wrong. That the love you always waited for is just a dream that the real concept of love can’t live up to. No matter how much you can look for it or want it. It is simply not something possible. And you are asking for too much.

{ What this is all for }

the judgement, the ace of swords, the lovers

This world, this life in general… has a really unique way of helping us to learn, of guiding us in or through the right direction and path, of letting us know that everything will be alright… Their language is so different from ours that we really struggle to understand it, those words that come in the form of pure feelings directly from within us. The ones that we should trust the most but never do so. Especially when it comes to love, something that we so much idealise, something that we have so much desire for.

Your heart is so sincerely tired, it went through so many betrayals and wounds inflicted by those that you tried to love. To the point that it simply feels that heaviness, that weight of this experience that you never really wanted to begin with. So you feel like you are ready for something else, for that love that you did all of this for, if it even exists at all. But are you really sure of it..? Of knowing so well the person that you would like to have by your side each day, their character, their behaviour, their values? Are you sure that you really did look for them and not just anyone who seemed to be able to love? Are you sure that you really know your worth and the one of your love, how one must love you in order to really give you all that your heart needs and wants? Or did you think that you knew it before, and now you are settling for much less than you are deserving of, because of the overwhelming loneliness and fear that it will be this way for the rest of your days unless you accept whatever one gives you in return? Are you sure that you are remaining loyal to your own self and your soul, instead of trying to “sell” it to whoever is close and good enough?

Because, even though perhaps you are not doing it consciously, but you are changing. Little by little. Not in terms of who you are, but in the ones of who you allow others to consider you. Leaving it up to them to decide how much you deserve, what is the worth of your love and care that you give them after letting them in, where only the most sincere, genuine and trustworthy should belong. You just give them your all. Every single time. Without any limit or hesitation. Not even when all that you receive is another rude phrase, some judgement, coldness and distance once they got up and healed thanks to your love. You just do it. For everyone. Not choosing carefully, but treating every soul as the right one. And not in a good sense. Instead, you are not listening anymore to your own intuition or feelings, not trusting your own mind that recognises the things that are too off. You are just rushing in this hunt for “the one” as the time passes and you feel more and more scared and alone. You are throwing yourself at every possible connection, all in, wandering each time that it goes wrong what you did too little or too much of. And not realising anymore that it is not about how you love, if it is in the right way or the wrong one… But rather who you choose, even force yourself, to love. And how they are simply not the right one, no matter how much you sacrifice of your own values and preferences, just to make them fit in the place that it is not theirs to hold.

All these bad endings, failures, mistakes that you consider yours to be responsible for… Are just a natural consequence of you settling for less than you really desire and need in order to feel loved. All that sadness, that loneliness… are only your subconscious, your own heart that you willingly ignored at first, but that after some time managed to be heard by you, letting you know that the way you are treated, the crumbs that you accept, will never truly be enough.

Those endings, those coincidences that are never in your favour, those interferences in your connections from the outside world… are just its efforts to protect you and communicate with you, trying to show you that refusing your own standards is not what can help you find them, that right person that you can truly feel safe and understood with… Adapting to another person and changing, it is not what will make them love you like you want. It will only keep you stuck in a play pretend. Put you in situations and relationships that you won’t feel appreciated and cherished in. It will consume you from inside out, slowly but surely, just because that one time you believed more others, than your own self that always knew what was best and right for you, what you really wanted to feel and who you wanted to have with you…

The time already passed, you already got through so much. You can’t do anything about it, and it is alright. But you can do yourself a favour and listen again to your own heart, before following that overwhelming fear and anxiety of being left alone in the cold and the dark. Your heart, your love, they are unique. But not at all the only ones. There is a soul, out there, that is your perfect reflection, someone who resonates so much with your ways of feeling love. And you can and will find them. The moment you stop seeing all that happened and you went through as the mistakes you made, ways that you can be better by being more or less… And start to see them as simply were and when the things didn't feel right for your heart, for who you are. Because those things that you felt the lack of, or perhaps as though it is just too much, are the ones that you need to hold onto, to look for in others. Instead of ignoring them, just so you can fit in the perfect version of love of someone and they can accept you, even though you are not theirs to love…

Although it seems so easy to do through words… We know too well that sometimes it is not enough to just choose to listen to our heart more. It is not always enough when we, in a certain way, forget its language, when we are not able anymore to comprehend it and separate it from the voice of our mind that we learned to follow… For this reason, there is an additional message for you, if you want to, in our extended version of this reading. What you need to know and remember as you continue on this journey, in this search of the right person for you, but also of the confidence and trust in your own heart, that will be the things that will change everything about the situation in which you are now.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

– Pile Two,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the wheel of fortune, the sun, the devil

It happened so many times… So often you felt overwhelmed, completely overtaken, by the life of someone you loved… Their problems, their difficulties, their fears that became yours. Yours to resolve, yours to take care of, yours to endure, even though you never could really influence them, not the things that depended on their actions, their decisions. Not when it was something that was purely theirs to create, destroy and live… It happened so many times, truly. You felt so often the urge to be there for someone, just because you knew them, just because you saw their struggle and couldn't help but to try to save them. Because this is what everyone deserves, yes… But with those that had a special place in your heart, those that you felt so close to you, so needed as the air you breathe, there never was a chance for you to say no. Not when your heart so ardently fought for them each day, no matter if it was your battle, your victory to take or not.

One by one they took a part of your life from you, gladly accepting your love, your support and help. And leaving it all to you, to your heart and mind that never were supposed to live so many lives, go through so many situations and emotions, bear so many consequences that were coming from actions that simply weren't yours. And they took it from you. That time and energy, the courage and strength that otherwise would have gone to you, to your own healing, growth and protection. They took it all from you and, worst of all, they were able to do so thanks to you. You who gave it to them, all that you had, in the name of the love that you felt. You that not even once regretted it. Not in the moment at least…

They took so much from you, making you get used to it, to have so little, to give away so much… That now, for once, you want to find someone different. Someone who will not take advantage of your heart. Someone who will understand that, no matter how much you want and try, it is not the right thing to leave it all up to you, to handle their life… Someone who, for once, just knows more, knows better. Someone who can teach you, gently, softly, as they protect you from your own self, from your own urge to disintegrate yourself for the happiness and safety of someone else.

For once… you want to be overwhelmed by someone's joy, their hope, their desire to be here and to live this life. Their strength to choose to see the best aspects of the things. Their strength to be patient, to have faith, to believe that everything will work out in the end. For once you want to receive that strength, not to give it away. For once you want to be protected, guided, as you trust someone who doesn't expect you to lead the way out of the darkness of their days…

It might sound selfish to some, so entitled to look for someone who has it all figured out, who has better and more control of their life… But you are simply tired. And a little lost, if one can say the truth. Tired of figuring everything out constantly, keeping others above the water, as they push you down, never thinking of the air they are taking away from you. It’s not about an easier life, about receiving constant help or guidance, leaving it up to others to make the choice for you… It is about just wanting to have something that is left for your own self too. A little time, a little love, that you can give yourself without being afraid that in the meantime someone would get upset or hurt. You just want to be able to take care of yourself too, not only of those that you love, of your connections, of your situations, that seem to be destroyed each moment you are not looking after them. You just want to have someone that is by your side, living their life, instead of living yours that becomes so scarily about them, their necessities, their dreams, their worry and losses. You just want someone to learn from, or together, how to live this life in the most right and healthy, loving way. Not to teach it. While you yourself don't have any idea of how you are still here, how you made it until now every day.

{ Will you ever find someone like them }

the justice, the eight of wands, the queen of wands

This new and almost desperate desire in your heart now, might feel a lot like frustration, the last realisation of how things should've been when everything already happened, when it is too late to change them… But instead of a tragic end, it is more of a hopeful and promising beginning. The one that you are creating with your each thought, with each moment of understanding of what it is that you really want to feel, when sharing your love. The taste of it, the feeling, the emotions it can give you. With each found answer in your heart you are changing your life, much more than you expect now. Because it really is all about your choices. Your decision of who you will be accepting into your life from now on.

There is a part of you that is growing, getting stronger, preparing to be vigilant and serious about its duty: the one to protect your heart. One little thought created by the tiredness, the sadness of all that you endured… was enough to move the waves of the whole world, of the reality around you. Of who will be brought right to you, and who will be pulled back, not being the right ones. Changing your connections one step, one person at a time. Giving you back the right to decide for yourself, making you remember that you can in fact do it, you can choose the ones dear to your heart.

And it won’t be delusion, entitlement, selfishness, or any sort of limit that you will put on your heart… It will be just you, all grown up, who will now know that it is okay to not take it all on yourself, whatever and whoever comes, because of the fear of what not doing it will cause. It will be your understanding that people can and will make it through on their own, even if they are so afraid or feel incapable of facing their life right now. And it will be also your acceptance that not every story you hear is yours to live, to feel, to make sure it has a good ending. Not everyone is yours to protect and help. Not everyone has the right to come before your own self.

It might be a change that will take its time to settle in, especially in your heart that is just so full of love. Love that you didn't give yourself for so long, pouring it all in the needing hands of those by your side. But it will happen. It will feel safe and right, to allow yourself to choose how much the realities of others influence your life. And as you will go through it, as you will seek that courage and strength… It will be enough to remember that everything will be okay. Even in those moments of uncertainty, it will be enough to hold on tight to the message that we will receive, if you want to, in the extended version of this reading. A message about how you can and will change your life.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

– Pile Three,

{ The love that you are longing for }

the ten of wands, the star, the death

It is so difficult to need to explain yourself, your actions, your urges, your reactions. It is tiring to open up your mind and your heart sharing them with others, again and again. Just for them to not understand it, to not pay the slightest of attention, to not take it seriously, all those things that are still consuming your soul… It just feels so useless to go through it, to come out of your comfort zone so hopeful that they would be that right person… only to see them walk away, who scared, who uncomfortable, who deluded or bored. Leaving you feeling like a poor seller who is unable to demonstrate the worth of your broken, lived, soul. When you don't even want to do it in the first place. When it is so ridiculous that you need constantly and so fiercely to defend or explain your wounds, as if they didn't already hurt enough.

It just consumes you. Consumes your every desire to go out there, interact and try to connect with people, creating with such dedication a relationship that - you know it too well - will just be destroyed. By your own past, your own frail soul that is too difficult for others to manage, to use or control. Too delicate to do anything with it without hurting it more.

Deep down you know that not every single person you met was truly so evil at their core. But it still hurts you like hell, being rejected, just put aside, simply because of the way you feel so strongly and deeply every detail about this world. Just because you have more depth to your feelings, more power to the emotions that simply overwhelm you, good or bad, every single bit of them that fills you whole. And that you welcome and feel completely, still remembering how cold and dark it was when there weren't any emotions in you at all.

It just would've been much easier, for once, to not have the need to defend yourself, the way you became. If for once the one in front of you focused on who you are now, and not on who you were or who you could become if only you suppress your soul. Because you changed, yes, and it might be sad to not have that spark that others adored so much about you anymore. But the you who survived still and always deserves the same admiration and love, perhaps even more, after all that you were able to endure. This you who is so different is still you. The you who gave you the strength and courage to face it all. The you who shouldn't at all be forced to explain yourself to those that can't even do one thing: just listen to you, hear you truly, at least for once.

Because it is not so difficult, in the end, to just accept someone and love them for the way they are, without any if or but. You know it well, because you always did it and always do with everyone that is close to you. But while they can be themselves, knowing that they will be truly safe with you, their every wound that will be taken care of without any judgement or expectation to receive something in return… You are always asked to be less or more. To hide your pain, to be more joyful. To not react too much to the things that hurt you. To, instead, be more understanding and patient, accepting, of the ways of others. Even though they never tolerate yours.

So you remain here, among so many of them but still feeling so lonely, so trapped, exactly like it used to feel before. You still are being hurt, even though you had so much courage in not hiding yourself, your scars. Even though you learned to have the needed strength to stand your ground when others didn't see that they were stepping on your heart… And you still hope. That one day, somewhere and someone, for once will just feel drawn to you. Not a memory of you or your potential change. Just someone who, for once, is gentle and kind in their ways. Not because you asked them to, not because they were forced by your tears… But just because they are connected enough to their own heart. Enough to recognise the painfully familiar stories behind your tired and scared eyes. Just one person, just one single time would be enough. Just one single moment in which you would feel loved and cherished the way you are, even with all those fears and doubts that everyone has always something to say about. Just one true and genuine connection. One single chance for your heart to find again the hope that you, exactly the way you are now after all your battles, not less not more, will be enough.

{ You are not in the wrong }

the page of coins, the strength, the six of cups

Finally standing up for yourself, taking your defence, pushing back those that don't make you anymore feel safe… it took a lot of courage, especially when every decision that was already hard enough was also met with judgement, with pure rage, just because for once you weren't ready to be there for someone else. But while you thought that the worst part will be this, finding the strength to prioritise yourself, the most difficult part revealed itself to be resisting the urge to take all your words back, bowing your head, surrendering to discourses of others about how you shouldn't ever do that again, and coming back to your old and consumed self, asking it to endure it once again. But this time with the full awareness of how it is wrong, to give away so much of you, remaining with so little that it is never enough to take care of your own heart and mind…

You are resisting it now with all your strength, but the single thought that they might be right, that you are indeed acting too selfishly, is already enough to shake you to your core, to fill you with the pure terror that you might be becoming one of those that hurt you, coming down to their level without realising what you've done.

But you are not. I promise you. There is nothing wrong in putting yourself first for once. There are no mistakes when you are acting from your heart, from the pure desire to protect yourself now that you are realising that it all just has been too much. You are not the villain here, even if perhaps there isn't one among them either. There is no evil in knowing what you deserve and want, and not accepting nothing less from others, even if they so perfectly mask it with words like “It is the way I love”, “This is the best for you, the best you can ever find or hope for”...

You’ve endured a lot, so much that it is truly non conceivable and admissible that someone belittles it. That someone doesn't give it the importance and incredibly powerful and heart wrenching meaning that you surviving all of that holds. Don't stop for them, for their fears that you will change. Because it has already happened, in the good and in the bad. And if someone can't accept and respect the new you, if they, even in the name of their love, can't accept you… then it is okay. There will be someone else. Someone else who will meet you, get to know you, and learn to appreciate and cherish you for the way you are now, not a memory of who you were.

It might be sad to let go of some people, to lose some connections. It might be frustrating to see their absolute conviction that you are the one in the wrong… But you are tired now, you feel weak after needing to fight against them again and again just to protect yourself… so don't waste your last remaining energy on them, on proving them wrong when they already ended this story as it is more convenient for them in their head. Let them go. Let them be. Not to allow them to think that they are right. But for your own self and to give you that space and time to rest and recover, to take care of yourself.

This world is vast, there are so many of us. Remaining now for a moment alone… doesn't at all condemn you to have all the days of your life lonely and cold. It is just a phase, just a precious moment that will sign a new step in your growth, in how much you consider your own worth and protect yourself at all costs. People come and go. Some are good and some are not. But you are unique, you are the only one you have, the most important person that you need to love and take care of. Even if it means to not accept the love of others, simply because it is so different from what you are longing for. Even if it means to reject the company that you so much want, because they never offer it genuinely but only when it is so convenient and needed for them.

Times will change, you'll start new journeys, go through different paths that will align with others, new and completely different persons. And you'll create new connections, better ones. Better because of the ways and motives of those that will come closer. Better because you will be much more rested, healed and confident after this focus on yourself and this pause. Better because there won't be any play pretend, endurance or feelings that will be ignored. It will be better. Simply because you will learn from your mistakes, you will grow. And so will those that you will let go of, but not at your own expense and endurance of the way your heart hurts for them. Because they might not realise it now, they might be so convinced that you are the one hurting them… but you are making the best decision not only for your own self, but even for them. You are giving all of you a new chance. A chance that you for sure will take and use it to nourish a new beginning in your life, new connections that will love you, cherish you, protect you at all costs. Exactly like it should be between truly loving souls.

And if it feels still a little too overwhelming, a little too scary and unsure, the decision to put yourself first… There is a little message about the future, at what it holds, in our extended version of this reading, right here, if you want or feel the need to hear more.♡↓

{ a little message for you }

—

_

[luciole-dans-la-nuit]

What song is currently playing on your loop everyone?

life tip: you can listen to a song on loop

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While

Summary: Terry's back home and trying to make amends with an old friend.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,944

Part: 1 of ??

Warnings and Notes: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Drunk minds speak sober thoughts. Or at least Terry hoped that was the case as his thumb hovered over a familiar name in his contact list. A dingey hole in the wall became a haven on the tail end of his journey back to some sense of normalcy. He was down a bike, a truck, and a piece of his heart but continued to press on until fatigue forced him to stop for rest. The owner, a small woman with a big voice noticed his rough appearance as he passed by on foot and invited him inside to duck an incoming storm. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when he repeated that he had ground to make up before nightfall.

When she asked if he needed help he politely and foolishly declined all but a glass of brown liquor and access to an outlet. That same whiskey and a sprinkle of Motown-era love songs playing on a rickety jukebox had broken a grown man down enough to reach out to the one person who might still be willing to take him in. Even if only for a night.

Searching for extra courage, Terry took another sip of lukewarm Jack Daniels before tapping his phone screen. The line rang once, twice, and then a third time before a short pause signaled the call had connected. 

The silence on the other him was loud, forcing him to speak up first. 

“Hello?”

Fading voices and shuffling in the background were the only indicators of a presence on the other line, making Terry feel embarrassed for starting a call in the first place. 

He cleared his throat before speaking again. “Hey, look… if now’s not a good time I ca -” 

“Terrence? Did you mean to call me?” 

“I, uh…yeah. I did. I’m sorry. I should’ve -” 

“Are you okay? It’s loud wherever you are. You good? You hurt?” 

“I could tell you if you would give me a chance to answer,” he chuckled. His amusement made her kiss her teeth in annoyance. “I’m okay. I’m a little banged up, but I’ve seen worse. I’m somewhere between Charlotte and home. Stopped in this spot for a drink and somewhere to sleep for the night.” 

“And what does that have to do with me?” 

Terry took another swig of whiskey and sighed. “Nothing, really. I was hoping I could see you, though. You know, when I make it back tomorrow.”

“You staying anywhere when you get here?” 

“Not yet, but I’ll find somewhere. I know how to survive.”

“TJ…,” More silence. Thick. Long. Full of tension and years of baggage that they had yet to discuss. The other voice sighed before answering. “Come on by. I’ll have the back room ready for you. You need toiletries?” 

Terry’s face softened into a near smile at the invitation. “Yes ma’am. A meal would be nice, too.” 

“Okay. I’ll have you something if you can get here before dark tomorrow. Please be safe, Terrence. I mean it.” 

Before he could attempt to extend the conversation, the call ended, leaving her contact photo in full view. Terry allowed a slow grin to spread across his face just as a short text with her address came across the screen. 

“Another round, brother?” 

Terry looked up from his phone to find an expectant expression on the bartender’s face. He shook his head and reached for the wallet in his back pocket. “Nah, but thanks, man. Think I’m gonna close my tab, actually. I gotta see about a bus ticket before it’s too late.” 

“If you heading to her,” the man started, pointing toward Terry’s phone. “you need a cut, man. A lineup. Something. You look like what you been through. If you got $20, I can get you right.” A slight frown and knitted eyebrows in response made the bartender shoot his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want no problems, big dog. I just know what it’s like to see your lady after a hard time. Let me help you.” 

A quick look into the black mirror of his cell phone screen forced Terry to reckon with his appearance. He couldn’t remember his last haircut and his mustache was starting to dwarf his upper lip. He sighed and reached into his back pocket. 

“Extra $10 and you can get the face too?” 

“Extra $20 and I’ll get you where you going myself.” 

------

City noise had long been replaced by suburban quiet by the time Terry’s destination came into view. His friend back at the bar was true to his word and arranged transport that turned a 6-hour journey into 2 hours of UGK on the speakers, a little privacy, and AC on the hottest summer day so far.  

After exchanging pleasantries and cash, Terry stepped out of the cramped Honda onto the smooth driveway pavement. Every house, street sign, and front yard looked exactly as he remembered them, bringing mixed emotions forward.

The short journey to her front step felt arduous for his tired legs, but he persisted until he was mere inches from the front door. He lifted his arms and prepared to knock but stopped short when it swung open unexpectedly. 

“Knocking when I can hear those heavy feet from a mile away is courteous but unnecessary.” 

He chuckled and rubbed a hand down the back of his head. “Good to see you too, Treece.” 

Patrice greeted him with a half smile as she studied his appearance from toe to head. A few years and a little extra weight had done wonders. She settled on his eyes and softened her gaze. “You look good, TJ. Come in here and cool off.”

Stepping inside her home felt like walking into a time capsule. He’d spent so many after-school days and summer nights here that it felt like his childhood home not too far up the road. Photos from yesteryear lined the walls on the way to the living room where nothing had changed except new furniture and a bigger television on the TV stand. The heat from the oven mixing with a slight chill from the air conditioning unit kept the room comfortable enough to nap if he could settle for more than a few minutes. 

Terry’s eyes drifted from his surroundings to Patrice as she led the way. Long braids covered the back of a high school t-shirt and jean shorts. Her brown skin had become golden under the North Carolina sun, making her glow a little in the morning light. Grown woman weight had settled onto her once thin frame, transforming her into a more of a mini version of her mother than before. All the changes he’d imagined when he had a free second were ions better in person.

Patrice gestured toward the leather recliner in the corner without speaking, inviting him to take a seat and settle in on her way to the stove.

They existed without words for a few minutes while she took fresh biscuits out of the oven and arranged them next to sausage patties and an omelet on one of her good porcelain plates. Terry trained his attention on his shoes, trying and failing to find a way to break the ice. He wanted to apologize. Confess his wrongs and desires in one grand speech designed to erase nearly ten years of absence. But the words wouldn’t form in his throat and the moment came and went. 

Balancing a dinner tray in one hand and orange juice in the other, Patrice carefully made her way to his spot in the living room. Seeing her kind eyes calmed his nerves and set his chest ablaze.

“No more pork for you, right? This is chicken sausage from my Nana and them in the country.” She asked as she sat the tray on his lap. 

He nodded in appreciation. “Yeah. You remembered?” 

“You ain’t been gone that long, TJ. I still know who you are and what you like. That orange juice don’t have pulp in it either.” 

“Thank you,” he said sheepishly before hanging his head to pray. 

“Any time.” 

A re-run of A Different World became the only sound in the room outside of an occasional content sigh from Terry as he tore through his breakfast. Patrice watched in amusement until her broad smile caught his attention. He slowed in embarrassment and returned the stare long enough to induce loud laughter from both of them. 

“I look crazy, huh?” 

“No,” she assured with a sweet smile. “You just look like you're happy to be back home, is all. Fayetteville missed you.” 

“All of Fayetteville or someone specific?” 

“Don’t start, TJ.” 

“I’m only asking a question.” He answered without making eye contact. “You know you’re the only one who still calls me that?” 

“What? TJ? That’s your name.” 

“Yeah, but…you know. It’s not 2010 anymore.” 

Patrice shrugged and settled deeper into the couch. “Considering that’s about the last time I saw you in the flesh, I guess it stuck for me. But, I can call you Terrence if you like.” 

“Nah, TJ’s good. I like it. From you…specifically.” 

The pair exchanged equally bashful looks, both too shy to say anything that would incriminate themselves. Instead, they watched the television in silence and stole looks until a commercial break took away their distraction. 

Without speaking, Terry began to gather dishes and stand, prompting Patrice to rush over before he could move too far. 

“Treece, I can do it.” 

“I know,” she answered in a sing-song voice while sliding the tray from his grasp. “But I haven’t done this for you in a while. Let me love on you a little bit.”

His eyes tracked her every move until she was behind him at the kitchen sink. Boyish nervousness made him twiddle his thumbs until words came rushing out like water from a burst pipe as he sat back down.

“So, how you doing? How you been?” 

“I’ve been okay. Mostly work and no play, you know. Thankful to be out of that classroom for a few weeks and get some peace.” 

“Yeah? Kids driving you crazy?” 

“Baby, the kids, their parents, and my parents are driving me to drink,” she laughed. “I can’t catch a break.” 

“What about your man? He driving you crazy?” 

Patrice scoffed and shook her head. Her mama and his mama talked too much. Terry chewed his bottom lip, hoping he didn’t offend. 

“We…aren’t together anymore. Hard to build a family together when he’s off building one across town.” 

Terry craned his neck around the armchair to make sympathetic eye contact. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that part. I wouldn’t have said anything.” 

“It’s alright. I gave it to God a long time ago. Maybe I’m not meant to be anybody’s wife yet.”

“Maybe you weren’t meant to be his wife.” 

“Well, it’s not like any suitors are knocking down my door for my hand in marriage.” 

“Probably because you keep swinging it open before anybody gets a chance.” 

Patrice rolled her eyes and flashed her middle finger in Terry’s direction. “Ha-ha. I see you didn’t lose your jokes at Lejeune. Only your ability to keep in touch.” 

Her retort left a shallow cut in Terry’s ego, making him turn his attention back to the television. He knew he’d broken a decades-old promise and that atoning for his sins would take time. But he also knew that, at any moment, Patrice could send him back into the world with nothing more than a full belly and a swift kick in the ass. He had to tread lightly. 

Taking the lull in conversation as his opportunity to lick his wounds in private, Terry stood and gathered his belongings in both hands. Patrice watched him from her spot with an apologetic expression. 

“You don’t have to leave. Got a couple errands to run so it’ll be quiet in here. Take the whole couch if you want.” 

“That’s alright, but thank you. Figure I can make myself useful and cut the yard. Maybe unpack some of this stuff if that’s alright with you. You got a mower?” 

“Yeah, it’s back there,” she answered, gesturing toward the backyard with her head. “Will you be here when I get back?” 

Sensing the hidden motivation behind her question, Terry dropped his bag to the ground and made his way into the kitchen. Cautiously, he leaned down to press a short kiss to Patrice’s forehead before using his index finger to tilt her head upward and meet his eyeline. “Yes. I promise. You don’t need to worry about me.” 

Her eyes fluttered closed for a half second while she nodded her understanding. A wave of relief made the hair on her arms stand at attention but she quickly bit back any urge to engage further. 

“You looked tired when you got in,” Patrice started, turning her back to Terry to conceal her flustered face. “I cleared Junior’s old bed back there. It’s a little small but sturdy. The sheets are fresh. Let me know if you need more blankets. I like it cold at night.” 

“I’ll survive, girl. I’ve slept in worse places than a full-sized bed. Thank you.” 

A split second of hesitation kept their eyes glued to one another until Terry ended the stalemate by backing out of the room and disappearing down the hallway. 

Patrice took his absence as an opportunity to compose herself. Busy hands and racing thoughts fueled a cleaning marathon until tasks that had long fallen to the bottom of her to-do list were crossed off. 

For hours they co-existed without many words exchanged. Occasionally, Patrice would steal glances at Terry while he meticulously tended to the lawn and bushes. When he could, Terry made a point to brush up against her when he walked past and agree with each of her many suggestions. Being in her space was enough for him and he dared not upset the natural harmony. 

By the time dinner rolled around, they had found a groove. A quiet dinner led to an even quieter cleanup shift and quick good nights exchanged after watching Jeopardy together. 

Terry left Patrice to her own devices while he fought to acclimate to such cushy surroundings. Try as he might, he couldn’t get used to the soft mattress below him or the near-frigid temperature in the house. Tossing and turning left him unsatisfied. The walls felt like they were converging. Flashbacks were turning into night sweats. He needed to escape.

Slowly, he slid out of bed and into a pair of slippers Patrice had gifted him earlier in the day. Measured steps help him sneak past her bed bedroom, out of the back door, and down into the backyard without causing a disturbance. 

The early June air was balmy, clinging to the skin beneath his t-shirt. In the distance loud bass from someone’s car speaker vibrated until it was out of earshot. Dogs barked and howled to salute the moon worked in tandem with the faint smell of charcoal cooling from a night of backyard barbecues to remind him that he was far from the trouble of Shelby Springs. 

It’d been a while since he could enjoy the night without being on high alert. The last week was a special kind of hell that he feared he could never shake. The urge to flee was beginning to creep in like the tide, threatening to wash away what little progress he’d made.

After a few deep breaths and mumbled prayer, Terry retreated to a porch swing to rest his weary legs. His shoulders relaxed as soon as his backside met the aged oak and, almost instantly, he felt safe enough to close his eyes. One deep breath turned into another until he was drifting into his first peaceful sleep in weeks. 

Minutes passed like seconds. Thoughts slowed to a halt. His heartbeat regulated. Near bliss was upon him.

Inside, a single lamp flipped on to illuminate Patrice’s path as she searched the house for her guest. His room and bathroom had turned up empty results with almost no sign that he’d been there throughout the day. He wasn’t on the couch or in the kitchen raiding the fridge like she half expected. Worry had all but made her pass out until she heard the slight creak of her swing on the porch, making his head appear and disappear from the window above the sink.

She couldn’t fully open the door before Terry opened one eye and looked in her direction. She froze and he smiled.

“Feet not as heavy as you thought, huh?” 

“Yeah, yeah. If I’d known you trade in a bed for this old thing I wouldn’t have wasted my time on laundry.” 

“Hey, I built this old thing, remember?”

Patrice chuckled at the memory and pointed at the metal chain keeping the swing in place. “Damn near lost a finger behind it, too.”

“Would’ve been worth it knowing you were happy.” Patrice nervously shifted her weight from left to right under Terry’s intense gaze while he took his turn to look her over. Finally noticing her awkwardly standing between the screendoor, he motioned to the spot beside him. “Sit with me for a second.”

Patrice visibly wrestled with her decision but ultimately joined him. They maintained a careful distance, being sure to keep their individual limbs from connecting for fear that the mere sensation would set them ablaze. They played a childish game of cat and mouse until Patrice spoke.

“I was rude earlier,” Patrice confessed while fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt. Terry closed his heavy eyes to cure the burning sensation growing by the minute but acknowledged her statement with a confused grunt. She continued. “I never asked how you were doing. The whole thing about my ex sort of brought up old feelings.” 

He frowned, hurt by her revelation. “You know I wasn’t trying to hurt you, right?” 

“You never are. Same ol’ honorable TJ. Terry, I mean.” 

“TJ for you.” 

Again he popped one eye open and paired it with a grin that disamered Patrice and made her giggle like her high school self. The sound had him resolve that he’d spend his whole life making stupid faces if it meant she’d get some joy from them. 

“You ready to tell me everything I missed or are you content with popping up on my porch? And how long do you plan to be here eating all my food, anyway?” 

“I don’t think you wanna hear that,” he answered in an attempt to dodge the loaded question. Patrice persisted. 

“No, I do. I see the tattoos and the fresh haircut. TJ turned into a man while he was gone. At least let me get to know this new person.” 

“I grew up,” he sighed after some time. “Gained some. Lost a lot. Still trying to pick up the pieces.”

“What’d you lose?” 

“Lately? Money. Family. Shit, my mind.” 

“Why?”

“Mike died.” An abrupt interruption of an already complicated conversation brought forth a long pause. He waited for an interjection but found none, prompting him to offer more details. “He was killed. In jail. I tried to get him out and bring him home but I was too late.” Terry answered without making eye contact. Shame wouldn’t allow him to meet her potential judgment.

Patrice mentally cycled through names and faces until she realized the gravity of Terry’s statement. She reached out to breach their unspoken barrier and grabbed his hand which he accepted with no pushback.

“You wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really,” he answered before squeezing her hand and finally returning her eye contact. “I handled everything. It’s over for now. I’m here with you. We can focus on that.” 

“Even though you keep skipping how long you’ll stay.”

Patrice’s warmth was starting to take a backseat to her cold nature. Old wounds had started to re-open and rebuild a wall they both thought they’d successfully hurdled. Despite her attempt to pull her hand out of his grasp, Terry stayed put. He eyed her for a moment, picking up on a thin veil of tears threatening to form at her water line. 

She watched his normally steely blue-gray eyes soften into something that mirrored the softness he carried when they were kids. She couldn’t find the gumption to look away as he brought her knuckles up to his lips for a set of short kisses before looking back up at her. Pleading. Begging for any indication that she had softened her heart toward him. 

“Treecey, I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to say it. You meant more to me than the way I left and I pray every day for a chance to make it right. We crossed a line that night and I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t handle that like a man should have. I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face.” 

Sincerity was thick in his voice despite his low, even tone. 

Patrice listened without a word. A single tear cascaded down her face despite her valiant attempts to keep her emotions at bay. She swore she’d never cry about Terrence Richmond again. But old habits die hard. 

Terry used his free hand to swipe away that tear and the next one sitting at her lower lash line with the pad of his thumb.

“Say something,” he pleaded. “Anything. Tell me you hate me.” 

“You know I don’t hate you,” she whispered, too choked up to continue without a deep breath. “I…I just feel like you took a piece of me with you, you know? And you never wrote back. You never called. You shut me out like we were never friends. We could’ve gone back to how things were.” 

“I fucked that up.” 

“I’m aware. But that doesn’t mean that I trust you won’t do it again. No matter how much I don’t hate you, I’m not eighteen anymore. My patience is thin. I can’t allow you to turn my world upside down again.” 

“Hand to God I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Yeah. I hope so.” Though she whispered, Patrice’s words sliced through Terry like a hot knife through butter. 

He hung his head in defeat as she pulled her hand from his grasp and made quick work of standing from the bench. Her footsteps retreated past him and to the back door until she paused. 

He looked over his shoulder to find her eyes closed and chin pointed to the sky in contemplative silence. This was it. The final blow. 

She took a deep breath and stared straight ahead. “Stay as long as you want. Junior’s living with his girlfriend now, so nobody’s coming to make you leave. Tomorrow, we can go get you some new clothes. I’m tired of looking at those raggedy t-shirts already.” 

Terry took her jab in stride and gave her a half smile as a sign of compliance. “Yes ma’am. Thank you.” 

“Mhm. Lock the door behind you when you come in.” 

“Good night, Treecey.” His farewell came in an annoyingly sweet voice as a last-ditch effort to drag some loving words from her. Patrice stopped and gave him one more once over and a dismissive eye roll.

He waited for the ghost of a smile that disappeared before he could blink. She shook her head and took a step inside the house.

“Shut up, Terry. Go to bed.” 

Terry hid his amusement until she was out of sight, leaving him alone to grin at how even her rebukes felt like love letters. 

“Shut up,” he repeated to himself as he closed his eyes to doze again. “Hm. I’ll take it.” 

TAGS: @planetblaque

Happy to tag whoever is interested.

[jezebelblues]

don’t care if the sun don’t shine | h.s

summary: and so a rockstar and a seamstress walk into a bar coffee shop.

cw: mentions of smut, fem!reader, 1950s harry, unedited.

word count: approx 17.1k

| when in doubt, 1950s harry au 😎 am not time traveler or historian so sorry if smthn is wrong. also there’s just little hints of smut sprinkled in here, wanted to try 2 give a longer piece w/o it. hope u can enjoy maybe. also too tired to edit love u (so if u see smthn horribly misspelt or wtv, no u didn’t)

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

masterlist

April 1957, London

The rain fell in soft, persistent taps against the wide windows of Scotty McBean’s, the droplets weaving an intricate dance down the glass. Outside, the world was an impressionist’s canvas—blurred shades of grey, muted by mist and the rhythmic splash of tires through puddles. Inside, however, the café was a sanctuary. The warm amber glow of old Edison bulbs bathed everything in a golden light, casting long shadows that flickered with each movement. The scent of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint trace of damp wool coats, and the creak of wooden floors added to the atmosphere.

The coffee shop was a comforting contradiction—a place where time felt slower. The brick exterior gave way to rich oak paneling, with walls painted the color of soft sunshine. Espresso-colored floors groaned underfoot, and canary-yellow booths invited patrons to sit and forget the outside world. Old black-and-white photographs of singers—Elvis, Ella Fitzgerald—were pinned to the walls, their faces capturing fleeting moments of immortality. In the back, a narrow stairwell led to the owner’s apartment above, barely noticeable to most patrons.

In the farthest corner, away from the windows, sat Harry Styles, his back to the room, shoulders slightly hunched. He was an enigma in a leather jacket that looked as though it had traveled farther than he ever could. His head was bent over a notebook, its pages filled with hasty scrawls and incomplete lyrics. His curls, damp from the drizzle outside, fell into his eyes as he stared at the paper, his pen tracing aimless circles in the margins. The world had yet to catch up with him in this quiet pocket of London, where anonymity still hung in the air like the smell of freshly cut, wet grass.

The jukebox hummed quietly in the corner, playing a scratchy rendition of a jazz tune, though Harry barely registered it. The music was always there, surrounding him, but today it eluded him. The words wouldn’t come, and the rain outside seemed to pull him further into himself. With a sigh, he swirled the last of his coffee, watching the dark liquid spin lazily before he pushed the cup aside, his frustration beginning to creep in.

The bell above the door tinkled softly as YN entered, shaking the rain from her coat before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She barely glanced around the room, her focus already on her worn paperback novel, a sanctuary from the drudgery of her seamstress shifts. Scotty’s had become her escape, a place where she could lose herself for an hour or two, watching the rain smear the world outside into something distant and irrelevant.

Harry stood up abruptly, the sound of the stool scraping against the floor breaking YN’s concentration. She looked up, her gaze drawn to the figure of the man across the room. His presence was striking in a subtle way—the tousled hair, the red button-up shirt half undone, revealing tattoos that peeked out just below the collarbones. He had an air of casual disarray, like someone who hadn’t yet figured out where they were supposed to be but didn’t mind the journey. His black slacks were cuffed just above the ankle, exposing powder-blue socks and scuffed loafers.

He moved with a kind of restless energy, as though he was eager to be anywhere but here. Harry shoved his notebook into his back pocket and tossed a few bills on the table, offering a brief nod to the barista before he pushed through the door, the sound of rain enveloping him the moment he stepped outside. The bell jingled again as the door swung shut behind him.

From her seat by the window, YN watched as his figure disappeared into the misty street. Her gaze fell to his chair and the jacket draped over the back. The leather was worn, cracked in places, and heavy with the stories it must have carried. For a moment, she considered leaving it there, assuming he’d return. But something about the way it hung—forgotten, abandoned—made her stand up. She crossed the room, the wooden floor creaking underfoot, and lifted the jacket from the chair, feeling the weight of it in her hands.

Peering out the window, she saw him, just a shadow now, walking briskly down the street. The mist clung to him like a shroud, blurring the edges of his figure as he moved further away. Without thinking, she pushed through the door, the cool air biting at her cheeks as she hurried after him, the jacket clutched tightly in her arms.

“Excuse me!” she called, her voice slightly breathless as she jogged to catch up with him. “You forgot something!”

Harry stopped, turning on his heel, his brow furrowed in brief confusion. His eyes landed on the jacket in her arms, and a slow smile curved his lips, softening the sharpness in his expression. He walked back toward her, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low and smooth, like the distant roll of thunder on a quiet evening.

For a brief moment, their hands brushed as he took the jacket from her. The leather was cold from the rain, but her touch had left a trace of warmth. He pulled it on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as if it had never left. “Can’t believe I almost left that behind,” he mused, his lips quirking into a lopsided grin. “Must’ve been distracted.”

“No worries.” She shook her head, her smile growing a little as she handed it over. “I figured a jacket like that must belong to someone important—or at least someone who thinks they are.”

He let out a soft laugh, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Important, huh? I wouldn’t go that far.”

There was a moment of quiet as YN watched him, intrigued by the easy way he carried himself, like he was used to being on his own, used to being somewhere and nowhere all at once.

“Well, thanks again.” Harry nodded toward her, adjusting the collar of his jacket. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She chuckled breathily, stepping back slightly, ready to let him go on his way. “Just thought I’d return it before you left it behind for good.”

Before she could turn to walk away, Harry’s voice caught her attention. “You know,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes, “I should probably buy you a coffee as a thank you. Seems only fair.”

She tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Tempting, but I’ve got somewhere to be.” She turned then, walking away with a casual wave, her shoes splashing lightly in the puddles. “But maybe next time.”

Harry stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the mist. A smile still lingered on his lips as he tucked his hands back into his pockets and continued on his way, the weight of the jacket a comforting reminder of the brief encounter.

And yet, as the rain continued to fall, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something—someone—had just slipped through his fingers.

A week passed, and London remained draped in its usual veil of rain. The days blurred into one another as spring fought to emerge from beneath the clouds, the city waking slowly from the cold grip of winter. The air had a softness now, a kind of unspoken promise that something brighter was on the horizon, even if it wasn’t quite ready to reveal itself.

Scotty’s was much the same. The familiar hum of conversation, the soft clink of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of a tune crackling through the jukebox. But today, something lingered in the atmosphere—an anticipation, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for a subtle shift.

Harry found himself back at the café, though he wasn’t sure why. The lyrics had begun to flow again, slowly at first, but with a rhythm he could almost grasp. The pages of his notebook were no longer blank, though they still felt incomplete. He had made peace with that; creation was a process, after all. He sipped his coffee, black as always, staring through the rain-streaked window at the blurred shapes of pedestrians rushing by, umbrellas bobbing like ink stains against the grey.

He hadn’t expected to see her again, though the thought of her had lingered more than he cared to admit. The girl with the kind eyes and a smile that danced at the edges of her lips. He couldn’t recall the exact shape of her face, but the impression she left—like the trace of warmth her touch had left on his jacket—remained vivid. It had been a fleeting moment, but it had shifted something in him.

Across the room, the door chimed softly, admitting a gust of cool, damp air as it opened. Harry didn’t look up at first, too lost in the quiet cadence of his thoughts. But then, a familiar voice, muffled by the bustle, drifted over the sound of rain and soft rock n roll. His gaze lifted almost involuntarily, and there she was—her coat still damp from the street, strands of hair clinging to her cheek as she unwound her scarf and shook off the cold.

YN moved to her usual seat by the window, her eyes flicking to the rain-soaked cityscape beyond, unaware of the gaze that had settled on her. She seemed tired, as if the week had worn her down, yet there was a quiet resilience in the way she sat, her worn paperback already in hand. The café felt like a different place with her in it—warmer somehow, despite the chill from outside.

He hesitated. There was no reason for him to approach her. She had her book, her own sanctuary. But something tugged at him, a quiet nudge that whispered of unfinished business. He didn’t believe in fate, not really, but perhaps in coincidences that demanded attention.

Before he could second-guess himself, he stood, his leather jacket creaking softly as he slung it over his shoulders. He crossed the café in a few strides, the wooden floors groaning beneath his weight, and paused at her table, casting a shadow over the page of her book.

“Mind if I sit?” His voice was softer than he intended, as if he, too, was wary of disturbing the delicate balance of the moment.

YN glanced up, startled at first, but recognition quickly softened her expression. Her eyes flicked to the jacket—the same one she had returned to him just days ago—and a small, knowing smile curved her lips. “Well, if it isn’t mr. forget-me-nots.” She grinned, closing her book and gesturing to the chair across from her. “Go ahead.”

He sat, the silence between them stretching out in an oddly comfortable way. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the window, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no rush.

“I never did buy you that coffee,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting casually in his lap. “Thought I might owe you one.”

She chuckled softly, a sound that seemed to blend with the ambient music, smooth and warm. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you’re offering, I won’t say no.”

He motioned to the barista, ordering two coffees without asking her preference. Somehow, he sensed they would drink the same. The brief exchange felt easy, natural, as if they were old acquaintances rather than strangers bound by a single, fleeting encounter.

“So,” she said after a pause, studying him with a curious glint in her eye, “you still distracted?”

“Always.” Harry replied with a grin, running a hand through his damp curls. “Though less so, lately.”

The coffees arrived, and they both reached for their cups at the same time, their fingers brushing once again. This time, the touch lingered a moment longer, neither of them pulling away too quickly.

For a while, they talked about nothing—music, the rain, the oddities of London in spring. She told him about a film she’d seen at the Odeon, describing the way the characters had seemed to glow against the shadows of post-war England, and he listened with an attentiveness that surprised even him. He didn’t talk much about his music—he didn’t need to. The conversation flowed around it, like a river bending around an unseen stone.

The light in the café shifted as the afternoon stretched into evening, the golden glow deepening, casting their features in warm, soft hues. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a slick sheen on the streets outside, reflecting the world like a forgotten dream.

As they finished their second cups of coffee, Harry glanced out the window, watching the lights of passing cars blur into streaks of color. “Do you come here often?” he asked, the question simply, but laced with more than casual curiosity.

YN smiled, folding her hands around her empty cup. “When I can. It’s nice to escape for a bit, to be somewhere where the world slows down, even if just for an hour.”

He nodded, understanding that feeling all too well. Silence settled between them again, comfortable and heavy with unspoken things. The day was fading, and yet neither of them seemed eager to leave, as if this small corner of the world—this small moment—was theirs to hold for a little longer.

“Maybe I’ll see you again.” She mumbled softly, though it stood more of a question. Her eyes caught his for a lingering moment before she stood, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

“Maybe,” he replied, watching as she turned to leave, her steps quiet against the floor.

The bell above the door chimed as she walked out into the fading light, her figure disappearing once again into the misty streets. This time, Harry didn’t feel like anything had slipped away. Instead, there was a quiet certainty that hung in the air, like the last note of a song, waiting to be played again.

Another week later, the rain returned, draping the city in its familiar haze, washing the streets in muted shades of silver and grey. The city hummed beneath its damp blanket, alive with the quiet energy of a world that never truly stopped moving. The coffee shop was once again a refuge, its amber light glowing through the mist like a beacon for those seeking warmth and a momentary escape from the relentless rhythm of the outside.

Harry found himself at his usual spot, though this time there was less of the restless energy that had consumed him in previous weeks. He still wore the same jacket—weathered and worn, but it had grown more comfortable on his shoulders, like it had settled into him, just as he had begun to settle into the slow, steady rhythm of the café. His notebook lay open on the table, but today, he wasn’t scribbling hurried lyrics or fragments of thought. He was simply sitting, watching the rain trickle down the glass, feeling the weight of time slow around him.

He hadn’t seen her again since their last meeting, but the memory of their conversation lingered in his mind, like a melody he couldn’t quite forget. There had been something unspoken between them, something delicate and unfinished, and though they had parted ways without exchanging names, without exchanging promises, there was an unshakable feeling that their story wasn’t over.

The bell above the door tinkled softly, and Harry’s gaze flicked up instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. There she was.

She stood in the doorway, shaking the rain from her hair, her coat damp and her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before settling on him, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the space between them thick with the unspoken familiarity that had formed in their brief encounters. She smiled—soft and almost tentative—as if she, too, was unsure of what came next but willing to find out.

Without hesitation, YN made her way toward him, and Harry, unable to help himself, stood up as she approached. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, her presence shifting the air in the room, drawing his attention in a way that felt effortless and natural.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless, her fingers tugging lightly at the edges of her scarf.

“Not at all.” Harry smiled, gesturing to the seat across from him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

She sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the soft sounds of Scotty’s filling the comfortable silence between them. Outside, the rain tapped lightly against the windows, casting everything in a shimmering, dreamlike quality.

“Seems we keep running into each other,” YN said, her smile widening as she leaned back slightly in her chair.

“London’s smaller than it looks.” Harry laughed, his eyes glinting with a quiet amusement. “Or maybe we just keep ending up in the same places.”

Their coffees arrived soon after, and for a while, they fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, punctuated by the occasional sip and the comfortable pauses that stretched between them. They talked about everything and nothing—books, music, the rain, the way the city seemed to transform under its misty veil. Harry found himself listening more than he spoke, captivated by the way she described the world around her, as if she saw it through a lens just slightly different from his own.

“Do you ever get the feeling,” YN said after a moment, her fingers tracing absentminded circles around the rim of her cup, “that some places just hold memories? Like they’re waiting for something to happen, or maybe they already have, and we’re just walking through it.”

He considered her words, though they were random—watching the way the light flickered across her face, casting delicate shadows that danced with each subtle movement. “Yeah.” He murmured, nodding. “I get that. Sometimes I think the city’s like that. Full of moments we’ll never really understand, but we’re part of them anyway.”

She looked at him then, her gaze holding his for a beat longer than usual, something unspoken passing between them. The rain outside seemed to soften, the world outside the window fading into a blur of greys and soft edges, leaving only the two of them in this small, golden-lit corner of the café.

“Do you come here to write?” she asked, her eyes flicking briefly to the notebook resting on the table between them.

Harry glanced down at it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes. When the words come.”

“And when they don’t?” Her eyebrows furrowed, tone gentle, but with a hint of curiosity.

“When they don’t..” He paused, “I just sit here and pretend like they will.” He said with a quiet laugh, leaning back in his chair. “But I don’t mind. Sometimes it’s enough to just sit and watch the world go by.”

She nodded, understanding the sentiment in a way that didn’t need further explanation. They lapsed into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The café seemed to breathe around them, the soft murmur of conversations, the faint clink of dishes being cleared away, the rain that had begun to fall harder now, tapping insistently against the window.

“So,” Harry said after a while, his voice soft but playful, “are we going to keep pretending we don’t know each other’s names? Or is this going to be a thing?”

YN’s lips curved into a mischievous smile, her eyes twinkling. “I kind of liked the mystery,” she teased. “But I suppose we’ve gone long enough, haven’t we?”

He grinned, extending his hand across the table. “Harry.”

She took his hand, her grip firm and warm, her smile never wavering. “YN.”

There it was—a name, a simple exchange that felt like the opening of a door they had both been circling around for days. Harry’s fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before they let go, and with it, the air between them seemed to shift, something unspoken settling into place.

“I suppose now we can talk about more interesting things.” YN chuckled, her tone light, but there was a softness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. Something more open, more curious.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and full of quiet promise. “I think we’ve got time for that.”

The rain outside intensified, drumming against the windows of Scotty’s with a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Inside, the café seemed to shrink around them, the sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations fading into a soft murmur in the background. It was as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only the golden warmth of their table, the soft glow from the Edison bulbs overhead casting a flickering light over their faces.

Harry rested his chin on his hand, his eyes tracing her features as she spoke, but this time, he wasn’t just listening to her words. He was watching the way her lips curved when she smiled, the faint crease at the corner of her eyes when something amused her. She had a way of speaking that was unhurried, deliberate, like she wasn’t afraid of silences. He liked that. It made the conversation feel richer, like they were both taking their time to truly settle into it.

“So,” YN grinned, leaning forward slightly, her eyes twinkling with a new kind of curiosity, “I know we’re past the point of mystery now, but I can’t help but wonder—what do you do, Harry? Besides sitting in cafés, pretending to write.” There was a playful lilt to her voice, but underneath it, genuine intrigue.

Harry smiled, glancing down at his notebook for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “I suppose y’could say I write. Music, mostly. Or at least, I try to. Been doing it for a while now, but some days..well, it’s more like staring at blank pages and hoping the words will show up.”

Her brow arched slightly, the teasing smile still in place. “A musician, huh? That explains the jacket, I think.”

Harry laughed, a low, easy sound. “What, this old thing?” He tugged at the sleeve of his worn leather jacket. “Yeah, it’s seen a few gigs. I guess it’s part of the look.”

“Fits,” she said, her gaze drifting over the jacket before meeting his eyes again. “You seem like someone who carries a lot of stories around.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “I think we all do. We just don’t always share them.”

YN looked at him thoughtfully, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the rim of her cup. “I like that,” she said softly. “The idea that we’re all carrying our own stories, waiting for the right moment to tell them.”

They sat in that shared moment of understanding, the rain a constant, steady beat in the background, as if the city itself was nodding along to their conversation. The café felt like a world apart, and in the dim light, their words felt heavier, more significant.

“What about you?” Harry asked, leaning in a little, his voice dropping slightly as though the question required a quieter space between them. “What’s your story, YN?”

She smiled, though there was a slight hesitation in it, as if the question had tugged at something deeper than she’d expected. She glanced out the window for a moment, watching the rain dance down the glass, before returning her gaze to him. “Nothing as glamorous as writing music, I’m afraid,” she said with a soft chuckle. “I’m a seamstress. Spend most of my days with fabric and thread, stitching things together.” She paused, her fingers still tracing the rim of her cup. “But I suppose, in a way, it’s similar. Trying to create something from nothing. Trying to make something that lasts.”

Harry’s smile softened as he listened. There was something in the way she said it—a quiet pride, though she seemed to downplay it. “Sounds like you do more than stitch things together,” he said gently. “Sounds like you’re an artist.”

YN’s eyes flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or a kind of recognition she hadn’t expected to find in someone she had met only weeks ago. She tilted her head slightly, considering him in a new light. “Maybe,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Maybe we both are.”

The weather outside eased, as though it too was settling into the rhythm of their conversation, content to simply fall, uninterrupted. For a long moment, they said nothing, but there was no need for words. The connection between them had deepened, a quiet understanding of two people who had lived different lives but were somehow walking along the same path, at least for now.

As the café began to empty and the light outside faded into a deeper shade of grey, YN glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed softly. “I should go,” she said reluctantly, standing and gathering her things. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

Harry stood as well, though he made no move to rush her. “Same time next week?” he asked, though it sounded more like a pleas. His voice was hopeful, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

She paused, her eyes meeting his, a smile spreading across her face. “Maybe,” she said, her tone teasing but warm. “We’ll see if the rain brings us back together.”

He watched as she walked toward the door, the soft jingle of the bell marking her departure. But as she reached the threshold, she turned back, her eyes catching his in the dim light.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she said, her voice soft and clear.

“Goodnight, YN,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her until she disappeared into the misty streets, the rain swallowing her silhouette.

Harry stood there for a moment longer, the warmth of the café a comforting weight around him, though the space felt a little emptier now that she was gone. He knew they’d see each other again—there was something inevitable about it, something like the rain itself. It came and went, but it always returned, steady and certain.

And as he sat back down at the table, his notebook still open in front of him, the words finally began to come, slow and steady, like the first drops of rain after a long dry spell.

The rain had finally lifted. After weeks of mist and drizzle, London began to stir under clearer skies, the clouds pulling apart like curtains to reveal a softer light. The city, for the first time in what felt like ages, glimmered under the hesitant warmth of spring. It was the kind of day that made people walk a little slower, tilt their faces up to the sun as if to remind themselves that it still existed. The air smelled clean, almost sweet, with the faint scent of budding flowers lingering along the sidewalks.

Harry stood on the corner near the shop, the light wind catching the edges of his shirt. Today, the jacket that had become a kind of signature, was left at home. He wore only a white t-shirt and a worn pair of denim jeans. There was something almost unfamiliar about the city bathed in this kind of light, as though London itself wasn’t quite sure how to behave without the constant mist of rain.

The café came into view, its windows still streaked with the remnants of the last downpour, though the golden light streaming through them made the place look brighter, more inviting. As Harry crossed the street, his shoes tapping against the dry pavement, he found himself wondering if she’d be there. It wasn’t something they had agreed upon exactly—just a suggestion, a possibility—but he’d found himself coming back, waiting. Hoping.

He pushed open the door to Scotty’s, the familiar chime of the bell greeting him, and for a moment, he felt the comforting weight of routine. The café was quieter than usual, the absence of rain having drawn more people outdoors to bask in the fleeting sunshine. He glanced around the room, his eyes naturally drawn to the corner booth by the window, where he had come to expect her.

And there she was.

YN sat in her usual seat, her coat draped over the back of the chair, a book open in front of her. But this time, she wasn’t lost in the pages. She was looking out the window, her face tilted toward the sunlight, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of her book. The light caught the edges of her hair, making it glow in a way that was almost ethereal, and for a moment, Harry just stood there, watching her, struck by the quiet beauty of the scene.

She didn’t seem to notice him at first, her gaze lost in the world outside the window, where people strolled along the sunlit streets, their faces bright with the unexpected warmth of the day. But then, as if sensing his presence, she turned her head, and their eyes met.

A smile flickered across her face, slow and soft, like the unfolding of a secret. Harry felt his own lips curve in response, the tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding loosening as he made his way over to her.

“Sunny days suit you.” He smiled, his way of greeting as he slid into the seat across from her.

“Do they?” YN asked, her smile growing as she closed her book and set it aside. “I was starting to think I’d forgotten what the sun looked like.”

Harry laughed, the sound light in the quiet café. “Yeah, City’s not exactly known for its sunny days. But it’s nice to finally see it, isn’t it?”

She nodded, her gaze drifting out the window again. “It feels different today. Like it’s waking up after a long sleep.”

“It does,” he agreed, following her gaze to the street outside, where the light seemed to bounce off the buildings, painting everything in a golden hue. “I almost didn’t recognize it without the rain.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the novelty of the sunshine filtering through the café’s windows, casting long, lazy shadows on the floor. The warmth felt new, like a gift they hadn’t quite expected, and it seemed to slow everything down, stretching the minutes into something more luxurious, more tender.

“I almost didn’t recognize you without your jacket.” YN teased, her eyes flicking to white shirt that allowed for his tattoos to faintly peak through. “You look like you’re finally thawing out.”

Harry grinned, shrugging slightly as he leaned back in his chair. “Spring does strange things to people.”

YN smiled at that, her eyes catching the sunlight as it danced across the table. “Maybe it’s not so strange. Maybe it’s just the world reminding us there’s more to life than waiting out the rain.”

Harry looked at her for a moment, her words hanging in the air between them, their meaning sinking deeper than the lighthearted tone in which they were said. There was something about her that pulled him in, something beyond the casual conversations they’d had over coffee. She spoke with a quiet wisdom, as if she saw the world in a way that others missed, catching the subtleties in moments that most people let slip by.

“I like that,” he said softly. “I like the idea that there’s more.”

Their coffees arrived, interrupting the moment, and for a while, they settled into an easy rhythm—sipping, talking, the light stretching across the table as the day moved forward. The conversation flowed easily, as it always did, but today it felt lighter, less burdened by the weight of grey skies and rain-soaked streets. They laughed more, their words lifting with the warmth of the sun, as if the change in weather had loosened something in both of them.

“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come back for your jacket?” YN asked suddenly, her tone playful but with a hint of genuine curiosity. “If you’d just walked away that day?”

He smiled, the memory of their first encounter flickering in his mind. “I’d probably still be wandering around, writing terrible songs and cursing the rain.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and Harry couldn’t help but join in, the warmth of it filling the space between them. But as their laughter faded, he looked at her more seriously, his gaze soft but steady.

“I’m glad I came back,” he said quietly, his voice low. “It feels like everything’s been a little brighter since then.”

YN met his eyes, her own expression softening, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just as quiet. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Outside, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets, but inside the café, the golden light lingered, wrapping around them like something tangible. There was a new kind of warmth between them now, one that wasn’t just about the weather.

It felt like the beginning of something more, something that had been waiting for the sun to finally come out.

As the day slowly gave way to evening, neither of them moved, content to stay in this moment a little longer, their hands resting on the table, close but not quite touching, as if they were waiting for the right time to close the distance.

And for the first time in weeks, Harry wasn’t in a hurry to leave. The clink of cups and low murmur of conversations filled the café, but in this corner, it felt as though the world had slowed just for them.

Then, the bell above the door jingled, followed by a burst of energy as a group of teenage girls entered the café, their school uniforms slightly rumpled after a long day of lessons. Their chatter filled the air—laughter, the soft rustle of notebooks, and the sound of footsteps shuffling toward the counter. They looked like they were regulars here, perhaps stopping by for a post-school treat, the brightness of their presence contrasting with the calm, almost serene mood of the café.

At first, he barely noticed them, his attention still on YN. But then, one of the girls, no more than sixteen, froze in place, her eyes wide as they landed on him. Her breath caught in her throat, and she nudged her friend beside her, whispering hurriedly, “It’s him! Oh my gosh, it’s really him!”

The group turned in unison, their excited whispers rising in pitch. Their eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn’t fully noticed yet, too absorbed in his conversation with YN. But the girls didn’t move—just stood there, staring with a mix of awe and disbelief, as though they had stumbled upon something out of a dream.

Suddenly, one of them gathered the courage to step forward. She clutched a worn notebook in her hands, her voice trembling slightly with excitement as she approached the booth. “Excuse me are you–are you Harry Styles?”

He looked up, momentarily taken aback by the intensity of the gaze directed at him. The girls stood there, wide-eyed and hopeful, as if the entire café had shifted its attention to this one moment.

Harry blinked, a slow smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He wasn’t quite used to this, especially not in a quiet place like this, but he understood the spark in their eyes. It reminded him of how he used to feel, discovering his favorite musicians, before he became part of the scene himself.

“Yeah.” he smiled, his voice friendly but low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the delicate atmosphere of the café. “In the flesh.”

The girls exchanged glances, their excitement bubbling up as they realized they weren’t imagining it. “We saw you perform last month!” one of them blurted, her voice breathless. “At the Odeon. You were incredible! Could we–could we maybe have your autograph?”

Harry chuckled softly as he reached for the notebook she held out. “Of course.” He insisted, taking the pen she offered with shaking hands. He glanced briefly at YN, who was watching the scene with an amused smile, clearly enjoying the shift in energy.

As he scribbled his name, the girls hovered around him, chattering about the performance, about how they had saved up their money to buy tickets, and how they’d never forget the way he played that one song with such emotion. Harry smiled at their enthusiasm, handing the notebook back and signing a second for one of the others, his pen gliding smoothly across the paper.

“I can’t believe it,” one of the girls whispered to her friend, clutching her signed notebook to her chest as though it were the most valuable thing in the world. “We’ve never seen anyone famous in real life before.”

“Thank you so much!” the first girl exclaimed, beaming as she tucked her notebook into her school bag. “We’ll remember this forever.”

Harry nodded, his smile warm but humble as his cheeks heated to a faint pink.

The girls, still buzzing with excitement, waved one last time before heading to the counter to order their drinks. They glanced back at him occasionally, whispering excitedly to each other, but they gave him space, respecting the fact that he had returned to his conversation with YN.

As the café settled back into its familiar rhythm, Harry leaned back in his seat, exhaling softly as he watched the girls from the corner of his eye. YN, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Looks like someone’s popular,” she teased gently, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.” he sighed lightly, running a hand through his tousled hair. “They seem to think I’m a bigger deal than I really am.”

YN tilted her head, her smile softening. “Maybe you’re more of a big deal than you think,” she said, her voice light but sincere. “It’s not every day people chase you down for an autograph.”

Harry chuckled again, though there was a faint flush of embarrassment creeping into his cheeks. “I suppose. Still feels strange, though.”

There was a pause, and YN glanced out the window, her fingers tapping gently against her cup. “I guess I’m lucky, then,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t even know who you were when we met.”

He looked at her, surprised by the statement. “You really didn’t?”

She shook her head, her expression still playful but honest. “Nope. Just a guy who almost left his jacket behind.”

Harry laughed, the sound filling the quiet space between them. “Well, that’s a first.”

The warmth between them returned, unspoken but tangible, as if the moment with the girls had only brought them closer. The light outside had shifted, growing richer, casting long shadows across the street, but inside, everything felt brighter, more alive. There was something about the way YN looked at him—like she saw him, not the person the girls had seen, not the performer on stage, but the version of him that sat here, in this quiet café, sipping coffee and talking about everything and nothing.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his eyes steady on hers. “I like that,” he said softly. “I like that you didn’t know.”

She smiled, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup again, and in that moment, everything outside—the chatter of the girls, the fading light, the hum of the city—faded away, leaving just the two of them, suspended in the warmth of the day, in the quiet unfolding of something new.

“I think I like it too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, but her words carried more weight than anything else that had passed between them.

And in the golden light of a rare, sunny afternoon, it felt like they had found something more than just a shared cup of coffee. Something that stretched beyond the fame, beyond the rain, beyond the quiet streets of London.

Something real.

By mid-JULY, London had shed its usual cloak of mist and drizzle, now bathed in the soft warmth of summer. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers, and the city hummed with a new kind of energy—the kind that only came when the long days stretched lazily into balmy evenings. The streets sparkled under the glow of late sunsets, and the Thames shimmered like liquid gold in the fading light.

For the past few months, Harry and YN had settled into a rhythm that felt effortless. Coffee at Scotty’s, long walks through the city, moments of quiet laughter shared in the sunlit corners of bookshops and parks. Their lives had intertwined slowly, naturally, like vines creeping toward one another, until the space between them felt impossibly small.

Now, as she sat in the front row of the packed concert hall Harry dragged her to, YN realized just how little she’d truly known about Harry Styles. He had mentioned his music, his gigs, but this—this was something else entirely.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, the air electric with excitement. Fans lined the rows behind her, their voices a cacophony of eager murmurs and cheers. She could feel the heat of their collective energy as they waited, ready for the show to begin. The stage lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted into a wave of deafening applause and screams. YN’s heart raced, her hands gripping the edge of her seat as she watched the lights swirl and shift across the stage.

Then, out of the shadows, Harry emerged.

The crowd roared with an intensity that startled her, the air vibrating with their cheers as he walked to the microphone, his leather jacket gleaming under the lights, his presence commanding the room with an effortless ease. There he was—the same man who drank coffee with her in a quiet café, the same man who once nervously scribbled lyrics into a notebook. But here, on this stage, he was something more. Something bigger.

Harry grinned as he strummed the opening chords to Sunflower, the crowd immediately swaying to the familiar tune. His voice, rich and soulful, filled the room, and YN felt herself drawn into it, the lyrics washing over her, weaving through the crowd like a thread connecting him to every single person in the room. The way he performed, with such raw emotion and vulnerability, it was like he was telling the story of his life, not just singing a song.

YN watched, mesmerized, as Harry transitioned seamlessly into other songs. The energy of the crowd grew wild, and the music throbbed through the hall, each note setting the room ablaze. The girls behind her screamed his name, their voices blending into a chorus of adoration, and for the first time, YN fully understood what he had meant when he said he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it.

She had seen glimpses of this world—the autograph requests, the fans who recognized him even in a quiet café—but this was different. This was Harry in his element, where his talent became something bigger than himself, something that drew people in, made them feel seen, heard, understood.

By the time he reached Little Black Dress the crowd was on its feet, dancing, singing along at the top of their lungs. Harry owned the stage, moving with a confidence that radiated off him, his eyes occasionally scanning the crowd until, for the briefest moment, they landed on her. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and even with the chaos of the crowd around them, it felt like a private exchange, a secret shared in the middle of the noise.

When the final chords echoed through the hall, the applause was thunderous. YN stood with the rest of the crowd, her hands aching from clapping, her heart pounding in her chest as Harry took his bow, soaking in the cheers, his grin wide and unrestrained. The lights faded, and the crowd began to disperse, but YN stayed rooted in place, her eyes still on the stage, as if trying to capture the last flicker of magic before it disappeared.

Soon after, a staff member approached her, politely guiding her toward the backstage area. She followed, her footsteps light with anticipation, weaving through the narrow corridors of the venue until she reached a door with a small gold plaque that read Dressing Room.

She knocked lightly, and within seconds, the door swung open. There he was, leaning against the frame, still catching his breath from the show, his hair damp from sweat, his eyes shining. His leather jacket had been discarded, leaving him in a simple white shirt that clung to his skin.

“Hey!” Harry greeted, his voice a little hoarse from singing, but his smile bright and warm.

“Hey yourself.” She echoed with a smile, stepping inside. “That was incredible, H. I mean, I knew you were talented, but seeing you like that—on stage, in front of all those people—it’s something else.”

Harry shrugged, a little bashful now that the spotlight was no longer on him. “S’just a show.” He mumbled sheepishly, though the way his eyes flickered told her he was still riding the high of the performance.

“No,” she said softly, her voice firm but kind. “It’s more than that. I’ve never seen anything like it. The way the crowd reacted to you, the way you moved them—it was electric.” She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his, filled with a quiet admiration. “You have real talent, Harry. The kind that’s rare. I’m so proud of you.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat at her words. He had heard praise before—countless times, from strangers, fans, even critics—but coming from her, it felt different. It felt real.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say, and the silence hung between them, charged with the unspoken emotions they had carefully danced around for months. He looked at her, standing there in front of him, the glow from the stage lights still lingering on her face, and something inside him shifted. It was as if every conversation, every shared look, every coffee at Scotty’s had been leading to this moment.

“I need to tell you something.” He murmured with a hesitant nod, his voice suddenly lower, more serious. He stepped closer, closing the small distance between them, his eyes never leaving hers. “These past few months—getting t’know you..I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect to feel this way.”

Her breath hitched as he reached out, his fingers brushing gently against her hand.

“But I do,” he continued, his voice soft but filled with conviction. “I like you, YN. More than just a friend. More than just someone I grab coffee with. You’ve been the one thing I can count on t’feel real, when everything else is crazy. I didn’t want to admit it to myself for a while, but now—” He paused, his hand slipping into hers. “I can’t keep it t’myself anymore.”

For a moment, YN just stood there, her heart racing, her hand warm in his. She had felt it too—the pull, the connection—but hearing it from him, standing there in the aftermath of his performance, made it all the more real. Slowly, she smiled, her fingers tightening around his.

“I’m glad you said something,” she whispered, stepping closer, her other hand brushing lightly against his chest. “Cause I thought I was crazy for thinking the same.”

Harry’s eyes lit up, and in that instant, the world outside the dressing room faded away. The noise of the crowd, the lingering adrenaline from the show, all disappeared, leaving just the two of them in the soft glow of backstage lights.

He smiled, his thumb gently tracing the back of her hand. “So what now?” he asked, his voice low, a playful hint in his tone.

“Now,” she said, smiling up at him, her voice full of warmth and certainty, “We just be.”

And with that, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt like the answer to every question they had left unspoken, every moment they had shared in silence. It was soft, slow, and filled with the promise of something new, something neither of them could ignore any longer.

When they finally pulled back, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his breath still a little uneven, his smile wide and unrestrained.

“Best show I’ve ever played,” he whispered, and YN laughed, her heart light and full as they stood there, together, the future unfolding around them like the soft warmth of a summer night.

After a month of bliss, the late AUGUST sun streamed through the open kitchen window of Harry’s flat, casting a golden light over the space. A soft breeze drifted in, carrying with it the sounds of the bustling streets below, a gentle hum that filled the quiet moments between their words. The fire escape, just outside, rattled slightly in the breeze, its iron bars warm from the afternoon sun. It was a peaceful, lazy kind of day, the kind where the world outside moved in fast forward while everything inside seemed to slow down to a comfortable stillness.

YN sat across from Harry at the small kitchen table, her legs tucked under her on the worn wooden chair, her skin still glowing from the warmth of the afternoon. She was only wearing a pair of dainty white socks, her frame barely visible underneath the oversized pink button-up of Harry’s that hung loosely off her shoulder, the fabric draping over her like a second skin. Her hair was tousled, soft from a morning spent doing nothing but being with him, and she looked effortlessly beautiful. The shirt, far too large for her, hung in a way that felt intimate, as though it had become an extension of him on her.

She cradled a cup of tea between her hands, sharing it with Harry. Every now and then, they’d exchange the cup, their fingers brushing as they passed it back and forth, a quiet exchange of warmth that mirrored the easy comfort between them. The tea was a little cool now, forgotten between soft smiles and absentminded touches.

Harry sat opposite her, his acoustic guitar resting across his lap, his fingers lazily strumming a melody that filled the air like a soft hum. He was dressed in nothing but plaid boxers and socks, his usual nonchalance apparent, his bare chest catching the light as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes focused more on her than on the guitar.

The melody shifted, a fun, intimate tune that YN hadn’t heard before. She looked up at him, her brows raised slightly in curiosity.

“What’s that?” She giggled, her voice dipped in honey, though, almost hesitant, as if she was interrupting a secret.

Harry’s lips curled into a slow smile, his fingers still moving gently over the strings. “Cinema.” He said gently, his voice quiet, as if the song were something fragile, still forming. “S’about you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, her fingers tightening slightly around the teacup as she watched him, her eyes wide and full of something unspoken. The song was simple, delicate, but each note felt like it was laced with the weight of everything they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment between them.

He began to sing softly, his voice smooth and low, the lyrics winding around her like a slow embrace. The song told of the way he saw her, how helplessly he was beginning to fall for her, each moment between them something worth watching, worth cherishing. He sang about the little things—the way everything about her felt like a never ending climax, way she made the ordinary feel like something more.

YN listened, captivated by the sound of his voice, by the intimacy of the words. She hadn’t known how much of him had been poured into this song, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt until now. As he finished the last note, she set the teacup down, her chest tight with emotion.

“I dig you, too.” She grinned, her voice thick with admiration and something deeper. She reached out, her fingers brushing his wrist gently. “I don’t know what else to say.”

Harry smiled, his eyes soft as he set the guitar aside, leaning forward slightly. “You don’t have t’say anything.”

And then, without thinking, without hesitation, she leaned across the small table and kissed him.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press of lips that spoke of the quiet affection they had shared for months. But then, as Harry’s hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, it deepened, a slow burn that spread through her like the warmth of the sun streaming in through the window. Her fingers tangled in his curls as she pulled him closer, as much as she could with the guitar between them, her body leaning forward, chest pressed into his, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the kitchen.

For a moment, nothing else existed. The sounds from the street outside faded away, the distant hum of the city disappearing as the world shrank down to just the two of them—her lips on his, his hands on her skin, the heat between them palpable.

But after a few heartbeats, they pulled away, their foreheads resting against one another, their breaths coming in soft, uneven pants. YN smiled against his lips, her hand still resting lightly on his chest.

“Play something else,” she whispered, her voice playful, her eyes bright with mischief. “Something I can dance to.”

Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he reached for the guitar again. “Dance, huh? Alright, let’s see what I can do.”

He adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers finding the familiar chords as he began to play Heart Attack, a song that always sent his audience wild but now, in the quiet intimacy of his flat, felt like a private performance just for her. The upbeat rhythm filled the kitchen, light and infectious, and YN grinned as she stood up, the oversized shirt hanging loosely around her, the hem brushing against her bare thighs as she moved.

She danced in the kitchen, her feet barely making a sound as they moved across the floor, her arms raised as she twirled, laughing softly as she spun in circles. There was something carefree about the way she moved, something so full of joy that it made Harry’s heart ache in the best possible way. Her hair flew behind her, catching the light, and the oversized shirt swayed with each movement, slipping further off her shoulder as she lost herself in the moment.

Harry kept playing, his eyes never leaving her as she danced. The song flowed through the room, but all he could focus on was her—the way she moved so freely, so unselfconsciously, the way she smiled at him, the way her laughter filled the space between the notes. There was something about seeing her like this, in his flat, in his shirt, dancing to his music, that made his chest tighten with a feeling he couldn’t quite put into words.

He watched her, his fingers still moving over the cords, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He was starting to realize just how much she meant to him, how much she had become a part of his life, a part of him. She wasn’t just someone he shared coffee with, or someone who listened to his songs—she was his person, the one who made everything feel more real, more grounded.

As he played, the realization settled over him quietly, like the gentle August breeze drifting through the open window. He was falling for her. Slowly, steadily, in the way you fall for someone without even realizing it’s happening until you’re already halfway in.

But he didn’t say anything. Not yet. He just watched her, the sound of the guitar filling the air as she danced and laughed, the summer sun spilling golden light into the room around them, framing her in a moment he knew he’d carry with him long after the music stopped.

SEPTEMBER had arrived quietly, bringing with it a softness that only early autumn could offer. The leaves were just beginning to turn at the edges, their once-vibrant green now kissed with the faintest hint of gold, and the air had cooled ever so slightly, carrying the last whispers of summer on its breeze. The sun, dipping lower in the sky with each passing day, stretched long shadows across the park, casting everything in a warm, golden light that seemed to linger just for them.

Harry sat on the edge of the picnic blanket, his legs stretched out, his half-buttoned Hawaiian shirt loose against his chest, a playful pattern of palm trees and flamingos catching the light. His thin beige slacks clung to his thighs as he shifted slightly, leaning back on his hands to watch YN beside him. She was cross-legged, her cream-colored Mary Janes neatly tucked under her, the soft cotton of her dainty dress fluttering in the breeze. The dress, pale and delicate, fit her perfectly, the hem swaying just above her knees, while white socks peeked out from beneath her shoes. Harry couldn’t help but stare at her beauty.

The two of them had settled into this quiet evening by the lake, the park around them empty, save for the sound of distant birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the trees. A spread of meats and cheeses lay scattered across the blanket between them, along with half a bottle of wine and two glasses—one tipped precariously between YN’s fingers as she took a slow sip.

“Could stay like this forever.” She hummed, her voice soft, almost dreamy, as she set her glass down and glanced out at the shimmering water, the fading sun casting a golden path across its surface.

Harry smiled, his gaze fixed on her rather than the view, the way her hair moved softly with the breeze, the glow of the setting sun painting her in amber light. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something deeper. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

They had spent the last few hours like this—laughing, teasing, sharing kisses between bites of cheese and sips of wine. The conversation had flowed effortlessly, as it always did, weaving between light-hearted banter and quieter, more intimate moments, the kind where words weren’t always necessary. There was something so easy about being with her, something that made him feel like they were the only two people in the world.

She reached for a piece of cheese, popping it into her mouth as she met his eyes, her lips quirking into a playful smile. “You’ve been staring, Styles.” she teased, her voice light as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. “Am I that interesting, or are you just distracted?”

He grinned, shrugging slightly, but his gaze never wavered. “Maybe a bit of both.” He chuckled, his tone casual, though there was an undertone of honesty there. He couldn’t help it—every time he looked at her, he felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest, the kind that had been growing steadily for months now, slowly but surely.

“Careful,” YN said with a mischievous smile, leaning in closer, her voice dropping into a whisper. “You’ll give me a big head.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy, before reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late for that, I think.”

She swatted his hand playfully but leaned into his touch, her eyes softening as their playful exchange gave way to something quieter. For a moment, they just looked at each other, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, the weight of the day settling over them like the blanket beneath their feet.

As the sun began to dip lower, casting the sky in hues of pink and lavender, YN shifted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. Harry tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss to her hair, his arm slipping around her waist to pull her in.

“I don’t know how you do it.” She murmured, her voice quiet, almost to herself.

“Do what?” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her eye.

She smiled softly, her fingers tracing lazily over the tattoos on his chest where his shirt hung open. “Make everything feel so easy. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Harry’s heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him that had nothing to do with the wine or the fading summer heat. He didn’t respond right away, instead pulling her a little closer, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side as they sat together, the world quieting around them.

After a few moments, YN pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, her eyes glowing with the light of the sunset. “What?” she asked, her brow lifting in curiosity as she caught the look on his face.

He hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest, the words suddenly heavy on his tongue. He’d been holding them back for weeks now, unsure of the right moment, unsure if she felt the same way. But sitting here, with her head on his shoulder, her laughter still lingering in the air around them, he realized there would never be a perfect moment. There was just this—the two of them, in a park, at sunset, with nothing but the quiet certainty of how much he cared for her.

He exhaled slowly, his hand slipping from her side to rest against her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her skin. “I love you.” He admitted, his voice soft but steady, the words tumbling out in a quiet confession. “I’ve been wanting to say it for a while now, but I wasn’t sure when the right time was. But I do, YN. I love you.”

For a moment, YN just blinked, her eyes wide with surprise as the words sank in. But then, her face softened, a smile spreading slowly across her lips as her hand reached up to cover his, her touch warm against his skin.

“You love me?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost incredulous, as if she hadn’t expected it, but now that the words were there, she couldn’t imagine it any other way.

Harry nodded, his lips curving into a soft smile. “Yeah, I do.”

A laugh bubbled up from her throat, light and full of joy as she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips, soft and lingering. When she pulled back, her eyes were shining, her smile wide and unrestrained.

“I love you too.” She whispered, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “I think I have for a while.”

Harry’s heart swelled, and before he could say anything else, YN kissed him again, deeper this time, her fingers curling into his shirt as she pulled him closer. The world around them seemed to fade, the sunset casting them in a warm, golden light as they sat together, wrapped up in each other, the rest of the world falling away.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, YN smiled up at him, her hand still resting against his cheek. “You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “for someone who says things like that, you’re surprisingly cute about it.”

Harry laughed, his forehead resting against hers as his hands slipped around her waist, pulling her close. “I can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “Y’bring out the soft side in me.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss him again, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon by the time Harry and YN began their walk back to his flat, the warm glow of twilight lingering in the air. Harry's fingers intertwined with hers as they strolled along the quiet streets, the last traces of their picnic still hanging in the air between them—the taste of wine on their lips, the feel of her laughter vibrating against his chest. He glanced over at her, catching the way the light from the streetlamps played across her face, softening her features into something that looked like a dream.

She smiled when she caught him looking, her thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. "Thank you for this evening.” Her voice was barely above a whisper as they walked. "I didn't want it to end."

Harry's grip on her hand tightened, his heart swelling at her words. He didn't want it to end either. There was something about this night, something about the way it felt so easy, so right. He hadn't felt this connected to someone in a long time, maybe ever.

"Doesn’t have to.” He murmured, his voice low, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple as they approached the front door of his flat.

They climbed the narrow stairs to his building, the warmth of their evening lingering between them.

By the time they reached the door to his flat, Harry's heart was racing-not from the climb, but from the anticipation that seemed to have woven itself into the quiet moments between them.

As soon as they stepped inside, they toed off their shoes—the familiar scent of his home washing over them—the faint musk of old books, wood, and the lingering trace of his cologne.

The kitchen light flickered on as Harry dropped the picnic basket onto the counter, the empty wine glasses clinking softly against each other. But neither of them was thinking about the picnic anymore.

YN turned toward him, her lips parted, her gaze soft but filled with something that simmered just beneath the surface. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she placed the folded blanket down on the table, her fingers lingering over his skin. He met her gaze, the electricity between them sparking back to life, more intense now that they were alone, without the open sky and distant voices of the park around them.

Before either of them could say anything, Harry's hands were on her waist, pulling her close. His lips found hers in a heated kiss, soft at first, but quickly deepening as the warmth between them flared into something more urgent. YN responded immediately, her arms wrapping around his neck, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her body pressing into his.

They stumbled back toward the living room, their movements clumsy with desire, knocking into furniture as they kissed—his hands gripping her hips, hers tugging at the collar of his shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on his chest, still unbuttoned from earlier, and YN's fingers found their way to his bare skin, her touch sending shivers down his spine.

They collapsed onto the couch, lips still fused together, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. YN straddled his lap, her dress hitched up around her thighs as she leaned into him, her lips trailing kisses along his jawline, down his neck, making him groan softly against her skin. Harry's hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, lost in the moment, lost in her. His cock hardened underneath his slacks, YN feeling it against the growing heat of her core.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, the sudden, shrill ring of the rotary phone in the hallway shattered the stillness, cutting through the heat of their embrace like a sharp blade.

Harry froze, his breath ragged, his lips still pressed against her skin. The phone rang again, the sound insistent, pulling them both from the haze they'd fallen into. YN let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against his as she pulled back slightly, her hands still tangled in his hair. "Are you going to get that?" she asked, her voice teasing but breathless, her eyes dark with the same desire that was coursing through him.

The brunette groaned, his hand reluctantly slipping from her waist as he rested his head back against the couch. "I don't want to.” He muttered, the frustration evident in his voice.

The phone rang again, louder this time, and Harry sighed, pulling away from her with a reluctant smile. "M’sorry, baby.” He sighed, his hands brushing against hers as he slid out from beneath her and stood, running a hand through his hair to steady himself.

YN sat back on the couch, her lips still swollen from their kiss, her breath coming in soft, uneven gasps. She watched him walk into the hallway, his bare chest glistening faintly in the low light, the fabric of his loose slacks swaying with each step.

Harry grabbed the phone from the wall, pressing the receiver to his ear with a hasty "Hello?"

"Harry, mate!" came the familiar voice of Jeff, his manager. "I've been trying to reach you for hours."

He frowned, his eyes flicking toward YN, who was still sitting on the couch, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and anticipation. "What's up, Jeff?" he asked, doing his best to sound casual, though his mind was still very much on YN and the way he wanted to bury himself inside her the way he did this morning.

"You're going to want to sit down for this one.” Jeff said, his tone brimming with excitement. “We've just locked in your first U.S. tour."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his grip on the phone tightening. "What?"

"Yep, we've got you lined up for a string of shows across the States-New York, Chicago, L.A., the whole works. It's going to be massive, Haz. A real game-changer for your career."

For a moment, he stood there, his heart pounding in his chest, trying to process what Jeff was saying. This was huge-bigger than anything he'd done before. His first U.S. tour. The realization hit him all at once, a rush of excitement flooding through him. "Holy shit.” He laughed, “that's amazing, Jeff.” He shook his head, voice thick with disbelief. "I can't believe it."

"Believe it!”Jeff replied, laughing. "This is it.”

You're about to hit the big time. We'll get into all the details tomorrow, but I had to let you know."

Harry nodded, still in a bit of a daze. "Thanks for telling me."

After a few more words, Harry hung up the phone, his mind racing. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the reality of the tour sinking in. This was what he had always dreamed of—the chance to take his music across the world, to reach new audiences, to grow.

But as he turned back to look at YN, sitting there on the couch, her smile soft and expectant, he felt a different kind of weight settle in his chest. He walked back into the living room, sliding onto the couch beside her, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

"Everything okay?" YN asked, her hand slipping into his, her thumb brushing softly over his knuckles.

He nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face. "M’going on tour.” He said softly, the words still feeling surreal. "In the States. My first one."

YN's eyes widened, her face lighting up with excitement as she squeezed his hand. "H, that's incredible!" she exclaimed, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so so proud of you, lovey.”

Harry smiled, the warmth of her words settling into his chest. "It's a big deal," he said quietly, his hand tightening around hers. "But it means I'll be away f’a while."

He watched her face carefully, searching for any flicker of disappointment, but instead, YN smiled, her eyes soft as she leaned in, her forehead resting against his. "I know," she said softly. "But l'm not going anywhere. This is your dream. I want you to go and chase it."

Harry's heart swelled, and for a moment, he could only look at her, overwhelmed by the quiet support in her words. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, his hand cupping her cheek. "I love you.” He whispered against her mouth, the words tumbling out without hesitation this time, filled with all the certainty he'd ever felt.

She pressed a kiss into his lips, smiling against them. “I love you.”

Harry lingered his lips against hers for a while before he stood, the weight of the news still buzzing between them like electricity. His smile was wide, unable to contain the excitement of it all. With a quick glance toward the window, where the last traces of twilight hung in the sky, he crossed the room to the small transistor radio on the windowsill, his fingers turning the dial until a soft crackle of music filled the air.

A warm, upbeat tune drifted through the living room, the melody slow and sweet, with just the right amount of rhythm to sway to. The soft hum of the radio blended perfectly with the evening breeze sneaking through the open window, carrying the cool, fresh air into the flat.

He turned back to YN, his eyes twinkling under the dim light of the living room lamps. She was still sitting on the couch, her expression a mixture of excitement and affection, her legs tucked underneath her. The warm glow of the lamp caught the soft fabric of her dress, her skin glowing in the fading light.

“Dance with me.” Harry grinned, holding out a hand, his voice full of that playful warmth she had come to love. It wasn’t a question but an invitation—one she couldn’t possibly turn down.

She smiled, rising to her feet with a light laugh, taking his outstretched hand. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist as hers settled on his shoulders. The music filled the space between them, the gentle swaying of their bodies perfectly in time with the rhythm.

They moved together effortlessly, Harry’s forehead resting against hers as he led them in a slow circle around the room. The soft fabric of her dress brushed against his thin slacks, the warmth of her body pressed to his, making the moment feel intimate and timeless. Neither of them spoke at first, content to just be in the silence, to let the music carry them as they spun in small, lazy circles on the living room floor.

But soon, Harry couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He leaned back slightly, grinning down at her, his eyes shining. “Can you believe it?” he murmured, his voice filled with disbelief and joy. “My first tour in America. New York, L.A.—all of it. I never thought..”

He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

“I can believe it.” She smiled, her voice soft but filled with pride. “You deserve this, baby. You’ve worked so hard. You’re going to be incredible.”

Her words made his heart swell, and he leaned down to kiss her, slow and sweet, savoring the taste of her lips. When they pulled back, their foreheads resting together again, he whispered, “It won’t feel real until I’m on that stage. But knowing you’ll be here waiting for me..that makes it better.”

YN smiled, her fingers brushing softly through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I’ll always be here.”

They danced for a few more minutes, their movements light and easy, occasionally interrupted by shared giggles when Harry twirled her unexpectedly or when they stumbled slightly in their steps, only to fall back into each other’s arms with soft laughter.

As the song began to fade, they slowed, their feet barely moving now, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around them like a cocoon. Harry’s hands slid up from her waist, cradling her face as he looked down at her, his expression serious but soft.

“Can I say something?”He asked, his voice quiet but steady as he watched her expectantly. She nodded, allowing his lips to part. “When I go to America—on tour—I want you t’stay here. At my flat. You know, while m’gone.”

YN blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. “Stay here?” she repeated, her brow furrowing slightly.

Harry nodded, his thumbs gently brushing over her cheeks as he held her face in his hands. “Yeah. I mean, y’already spend so much time here, and I like the idea of you being here when I get back. This place already feels more like home when you’re around. I don’t want it t’feel empty when m’gone.”

YN felt a warmth bloom in her chest at his words, her heart swelling with emotion. The thought of staying here, in his space, while he was away—it felt like more than just a casual offer. It felt like a promise. Like he was offering her a part of his life, a piece of him to hold onto while he was gone.

Besides, she still lived with her mother’s small guesthouse in the backyard. It was more private than the house she grew up in, much cheaper than the flats for rent in the city, but it was still her mother’s nevertheless.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly, her voice filled with uncertainty but also hope. “I don’t want to impose..”

“You’re not imposing,” Harry said firmly, his eyes steady on hers. “I want y’here. I’ll feel better knowing you’re in my flat, with my things, waiting for me to come back.”

YN’s lips curved into a soft smile, her hands resting on his chest as she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “I’ll stay.”

Harry’s face lit up, and before she could say anything more, he kissed her again, deep and full of gratitude and love, his hands holding her close as if he never wanted to let her go. When they pulled back, both of them breathless, their eyes met, and in that moment, everything felt right.

They didn’t need to say anything more. The promise had been made, quiet and sure, between kisses and slow dances and soft words spoken in the fading light of the evening.

As the music on the radio continued to play softly in the background, they held each other close, swaying gently in the middle of the living room, knowing that no matter where Harry’s career took him—across oceans, to new stages, to new cities—this was home. Here, in this moment, with her. And it always would be.

*

The morning Harry left for his two-month tour in the United States felt both far away and painfully close, like something they’d been anticipating for weeks but weren’t quite ready to face. The flat was full of quiet anticipation as YN helped him pack, their movements unhurried, though the weight of the impending goodbye hung in the air like the last lingering warmth of summer.

Harry stood in front of his open suitcase, a floral shirt half-folded in his hands, staring down at the items already packed but not quite seeing them. YN sat on the edge of the bed, methodically folding a few more of his clothes, her fingers moving over the soft fabric with care. Neither of them spoke much, but every so often their eyes would meet, a small smile exchanged between them, both pretending it was just another ordinary day.

As Harry zipped up his suitcase, he turned to her, his expression soft but serious. “Y’sure you’ll be alright staying here? I mean, for the whole two months?”

She smiled, standing up to meet him, her arms looping around his waist as she pressed herself close to him. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, her voice soft but steady. “Besides, it’s your flat. It already feels like home.”

He sighed, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her, slow and tender, savoring the taste of her lips. “M’going to miss you.” He murmured against her mouth, his forehead resting against hers.

“I’ll miss you too.” She whispered back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “But you’re going to be amazing, love. This is your dream.”

He nodded, though there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. They stood there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, the stillness of the flat pressing in around them.

When they arrived at the airport later that day, the weight of their goodbye became real. The terminal was buzzing with travelers, suitcases rolling over the tile floors, the constant hum of announcements echoing over the loudspeakers. Harry’s manager and a few of his crew stood off to the side, chatting quietly, but Harry stayed close to YN, his hand never leaving hers.

They found a quiet corner, away from the noise, and just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. The departure gate loomed nearby, a silent reminder of how close the moment had come.

“Call me as soon as you land.” YN nodded, her voice steady though her grip on his hand tightened slightly. “I want to know you’ve arrived safe.”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her once more, his lips lingering on hers as if he could carry the memory of her with him. “I will.” He promised, his hand brushing her cheek. “And I’ll write. Every chance I get.”

She nodded again, swallowing back the lump in her throat. “I’ll be waiting.”

When the final boarding call echoed through the terminal, they kissed one last time, slow and full of unspoken promises, before Harry reluctantly pulled away. He squeezed her hand as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I love you.” He told her, his voice soft but sure, his eyes full of everything he couldn’t say in that moment.

“I love you, H.” She grinned, her heart aching as she watched him walk toward the gate, his figure disappearing into the crowd.

The next two months unfolded in a strange blur of time. YN settled into Harry’s flat, her things mingling with his, their shared space becoming even more of a home as the days passed. She left little traces of herself everywhere—the way she neatly folded her clothes next to his in the wardrobe, the half-finished book on his bedside table, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. It was comforting, knowing she was surrounded by him even when he was an ocean away.

They kept in touch constantly. Every night, YN would sit by the rotary phone in the hallway, eagerly waiting for the sound of the ring that meant he was calling. The calls were frequent—sometimes brief, just to say hello, and sometimes long and winding, stretching late into the night as they talked about everything and nothing. She loved hearing his voice, even crackling through the static, as he told her about the tour—the shows, the fans, the whirlwind of new cities and stages. But more than that, she loved how he missed her, how he’d pause sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, just to say, I wish you were here.

Letters came too, scrawled in his messy handwriting, full of little stories about life on the road, about the places he visited, the things he saw, the moments that made him think of her. YN would read them late at night, curled up in his bed, her heart aching with longing and pride in equal measure. She kept every one, tucked away in the drawer of the bedside table, next to the book she hadn’t been able to finish since he left.

It was a month into his tour, past midnight, and YN had already settled into a chair she had dragged from the kitchen, the lamp casting a soft glow over the room as she sat by the phone, waiting for Harry’s nightly call. When the phone finally rang, her heart skipped a beat, and she eagerly lifted the receiver to her ear.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice warm with affection.

“Hey, bunny,” Harry’s voice came through, a little rough but full of warmth. She could hear the faint noise of people talking in the background, but his focus was entirely on her. “Missed your voice today.”

YN smiled, curling the phone cord around her finger. “Missed you too. How’s everything?”

He sighed, the sound of his breath crackling through the line. “Busy. Exhausting. But good. The shows are going well. The crowds have been incredible.” He paused, his voice dropping slightly, his tone softening. “But I’d rather be there with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, her grip tightening on the phone. “I’d rather have you here too,” she whispered, her voice low, almost teasing. “It’s been too quiet without you. Though I’ve heard you on the radio here and there.”

The conversation drifted into more intimate territory, their voices soft and full of longing, each word laced with the quiet need they hadn’t been able to express in the letters or brief phone calls before. Harry told her how much he missed her, how the bed felt too big without her next to him, how he couldn’t stop thinking about the last night they’d spent together.

YN felt a blush rise to her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat as his words grew more heated. “Tell me more,” she whispered, her voice low, a smile playing at her lips.

Harry’s voice dropped even lower, his words slow and deliberate. “I miss the way you taste..like melted sugar on my tongue.”

The sound of his voice, soft and rough all at once, sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, her body responding to his words in ways that made her ache with need.

“Probably soaking from just my voice, hm?” He hummed, feeling the familiar ache of himself hardening beneath denim.

She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. She squeezed her legs shut, her heat pooling between her thighs. Harry chuckled breathily from the other line, palming himself through his jeans. “My poor girl.” He cooed, listening to her faint whimper crackle through the phone. “I’ll be home in a month, baby.”

But just as the tension between them began to build, just as his voice grew more intimate, the sound of a knock echoed faintly in the background.

Harry groaned, the frustration clear in his voice. “Shit. It’s Mitch.”

YN laughed softly, the moment broken, but still charged with the tension that had hung between them. “You better get that,” she said, though she didn’t want the call to end.

“Give me a minute, yeah?” Harry muttered, the disappointment evident in his voice. “We’ll finish this later.”

YN smiled, her heart still racing, the wet spot in her panties only continuing to dampen. “I’ll hold you to that.”

There was a brief pause, the sound of Harry muffling the phone as he spoke to Mitch in the background. When he returned, his voice was quieter, more resigned. “I have to go. We’ve got soundcheck in a bit.”

YN sighed softly, her fingers tracing the edge of the phone. “Alright. Go be brilliant.”

“I’ll call you later,” Harry promised, his voice warm again, though still tinged with regret. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” YN whispered, her heart full as the line clicked and the dial tone hummed in her ear.

As she hung up the phone, the quiet of the flat settled around her again. But even in the stillness, she felt connected to him, the promise of his return always just beneath the surface. She stood up from the wooden chair, leaving it in place as she padded barefoot back to his bedroom. As she lay back in bed, the sound of his voice still echoed in her mind, she knew that no matter how far away he was, he would always feel close.

The late NOVEMBER air was crisp as YN made her way to the airport, her breath fogging in front of her with each step. The city had entered winter, the sky a moody shade of grey, with the kind of cold that bit into your skin if you stayed still too long. A light dusting of frost clung to the streets, and the wind carried with it the promise of snow. But despite the chill, there was a warmth spreading through YN's chest—an excitement she could hardly contain.

Harry was finally coming home.

It had been two long months since she’d kissed him goodbye at the airport, and though they had talked nearly every day, the distance had made the longing more acute, like an ache that refused to fade. The flat had felt too quiet, too empty without him, but tonight, that would change. Tonight, he would be back in London, back with her, and she couldn’t wait to wrap her arms around him again.

She had spent most of the day tidying up the flat—making sure everything was perfect for his return. His favorite records were stacked by the record player, the sheets on the bed freshly changed, and the faint scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air from the strawberry cake she had baked earlier. It was his favorite, and the smell of it made the place feel warm, cozy. She had also made his favorite pasta dish, the sauce simmering gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the comforting aroma of home-cooked food.

As she reached the airport terminal, YN’s heart began to race with anticipation. The cold faded from her awareness as she entered the busy terminal, weaving through the crowds of travelers until she reached the arrivals gate. Her eyes scanned the sea of faces, searching for him, her breath catching in her throat every time she thought she spotted his familiar curls.

And then, there he was.

Harry stepped out from the crowd, his figure unmistakable even in the thick winter coat and scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. His hair was longer than she remembered, his cheeks flushed from the cold and travel, and his eyes were bright with excitement. When their eyes met, everything around them seemed to fade—the noise of the airport, the bustling travelers—all of it disappeared as they locked eyes.

“Harry!” YN called, her voice soft but full of joy as she broke into a run toward him.

He grinned, dropping his suitcase to the ground as he opened his arms wide, catching her as she threw herself into his embrace. The moment their bodies collided, YN felt a rush of warmth flood through her. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, with the faintest trace of his cologne.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Harry mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His hands slid up her back, holding her close, as if he were afraid to let her go. “You have no idea how good it feels to be home.”

They stood there for a few moments, lost in each other, the cold air of the terminal swirling around them but neither of them caring. When they finally pulled back, Harry cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently over her cheek as he studied her.

“You look even more beautiful than I remembered,” he said, his voice soft but full of sincerity.

YN laughed, her heart swelling as she leaned up to kiss him again, a quick, sweet press of lips that tasted of relief and longing. “Come on.” Her voice was light as she grabbed his hand and squeezing it gently. “Let’s get you home.”

The flat was warm and welcoming when they stepped inside, the heat from the oven and the soft glow of the lamps making the space feel cozy against the winter cold. YN had turned on the record player before she left, so the soft croon of a jazz tune filled the air, blending perfectly with the scent of fresh pasta and strawberries.

Harry dropped his suitcase by the door, his eyes lighting up as he took in the scene. “You’ve outdone yourself.” He sighed, his voice full of affection as he looked around the flat. “It smells incredible in here.”

YN smiled, slipping her coat off and hanging it by the door. “I wanted to surprise you.” Her tone was sheepish, leading him into the kitchen where the pasta dish was waiting on the counter. “I made your favorite. And…”

She reached for the cake on the counter, carefully placing it in front of him with a playful grin. “Strawberry, just for you.”

His eyes widened with delight as he leaned down to inspect the cake, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You spoil me.” He laughed, turning to her and pulling her into his arms again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love it. Thank you.”

They sat down at the kitchen table, the small space filled with the warmth of their reunion, their laughter mingling with the clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the record. As they ate, Harry told her all about his time in America—the shows, the fans, the cities he had visited.

“New York was something else,” he said, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he recounted the night he performed at a famous venue in the heart of the city. “The crowd was wild—bigger than anything I’d ever seen before. And Los Angeles.. God, the energy there was electric. But you know what? None of it felt real without you there.”

She smiled, her heart full as she listened to him speak, his voice full of passion and excitement. She loved seeing him like this—so alive, so full of stories and experiences. But more than that, she loved knowing that through it all, he had thought of her.

As the evening wore on, they moved to the living room, the plates forgotten in the kitchen as they curled up on the couch together, Harry’s arm draped lazily over her shoulders. They shared soft kisses between conversations, quiet declarations of love and how much they had missed each other filling the spaces between the stories.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Harry confessed quietly, his fingers brushing lightly over her arm. “Every time I stepped off the stage, all I wanted was to call you, to hear your voice.”

She rested her head against his chest, smiling as his words wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt the same,” she whispered. “I’ve been counting down the days until you came back.”

Harry tilted her chin up, his lips finding hers in a slow, intimate kiss. It was gentle at first, a soft meeting of lips that spoke of their longing, but as the kiss deepened, the intensity between them grew. They shifted on the couch, their bodies pressed close as the room grew warmer, the air between them thick with the weight of two months spent apart.

“I love you.” Harry murmured against her lips, his voice rough with emotion. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, their kisses slow and tender, until the quiet of the flat surrounded them once more. The night was peaceful, the city outside blanketed in winter cold, but inside, everything was warm and full of love.

As the record player continued to hum softly in the background, they lay together on the couch, content in each other’s arms, talking quietly into the night. Harry shared more stories of America—the friends he’d made, the strange food he’d tried, the nights spent traveling between cities. But no matter how far he had gone, no matter how many stages he had stood on, all he could think about was coming home to her.

And now, finally, he was.

JUNE 1958 arrived in a haze of blooming flowers and endless blue skies, the air warm with the promise of summer. The countryside stretched out in front of the beautiful English cottage Harry had purchased just months before—a place that felt far removed from the busy life they’d led on the road. The last six months had been a whirlwind of travel, music, and crowds, with Harry embarking on his biggest tour yet. It had started in the States, but when the tour expanded to Europe, he had begged YN to join him for the last three months. After some hesitation, she had agreed, unable to resist the thought of being by his side again, experiencing the world with him.

Now, they had finally come home.

The cottage was nestled on the edge of a quiet village, its stone walls covered in ivy, the roof gently sloping with aged charm. It had a large garden out front, filled with wildflowers, and a path that wound lazily around to the back, where rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Inside, the cottage was cozy, full of light streaming through the windows, with exposed wooden beams and a fireplace that had already become their favorite spot to curl up on colder evenings.

Though neither of them had said the words out loud, YN had moved in. It had been gradual, her things slowly trickling in from the flat they had shared in London. A few clothes here, a stack of her favorite books there, until the entire cottage was filled with the subtle signs of her presence. Her shoes next to his by the door, her perfume resting on the vanity in the bedroom, and her laughter echoing through the kitchen as they cooked together in the evenings.

The unspoken decision to live together felt natural, like the culmination of everything they had shared over the past year. They had grown even closer on the road, their bond deepening with each passing day. Those months in Europe, where they had traveled from city to city, felt like a dream—a blur of music, late-night conversations, and stolen moments just for the two of them amidst the chaos.

Now, in the quiet of their new home, they could finally rest.

On this particular afternoon, YN stood by the open window in the kitchen, the warm breeze gently lifting the curtains as she gazed out at the garden. She wore a simple summer dress, her hair loose, as she absentmindedly twirled a glass of lemonade in her hand. The air smelled of fresh-cut grass and the wildflowers that had bloomed in every corner of the garden. The cottage had a peaceful stillness to it, broken only by the faint sound of birds chirping outside.

Harry was in the living room, the soft strumming of his guitar floating through the open door. He was sitting in the armchair by the window, his eyes half-closed as he let his fingers move over the strings, playing a melody that felt like a lazy summer afternoon. The past few weeks had been a blissful sort of quiet—no deadlines, no schedules, just the two of them and the steady rhythm of days spent together.

As YN walked into the living room, Harry looked up from his guitar, his eyes brightening at the sight of her. “There you are, baby.” He smiled, voice soft with affection.

She smiled back, setting the glass of lemonade down on the table before crossing the room to sit beside him on the couch. Harry set the guitar aside and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her waist as she settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Hard to believe we’re really home, isn’t it?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “After all that time on the road, I thought we’d never get here.”

She laughed softly, her fingers tracing absentminded circles on his chest. “I still can’t believe you talked me into joining you for the last three months,” she teased, her voice light but full of warmth. “But I’m glad I did. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

Harry grinned, his hand slipping up to cup her cheek as he looked down at her. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “It was hard enough being away from you at the start of the tour. Having you there–it made everything better.”

They sat like that for a while, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around them like a soft blanket, the distant hum of the countryside a soothing backdrop. It felt surreal, being here together after months of living out of suitcases, staying in hotels, and constantly moving from one city to the next. But now, in the calm of the English countryside, it felt like they had found something solid—something real.

“Y’know..” Harry mumbled after a moment, his voice thoughtful as he gazed out the window, “I’ve been thinking about something.”

YN looked up at him, her eyebrows raised slightly. “About what?”

Harry hesitated, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek as he smiled softly. “About this–us… this house,” he began, his words slow but deliberate. “We’ve never really talked about it, but I love that y’here. That you’re living here. With me.”

YN’s heart fluttered at his words, her fingers tightening slightly on his shirt as she looked up at him. “I love it too,” she whispered, her voice full of warmth. “Feels like home.”

Harry smiled, a soft, almost relieved laugh escaping him as he leaned down to kiss her. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of all the unspoken promises they had made to each other over the past year. When they pulled back, Harry’s forehead rested against hers, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Let’s make this official then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers. “Move in with me properly. Let’s call this place ours.”

Her eyes softened, her heart swelling with emotion as she nodded, her lips curving into a smile. “I already have.” she whispered, kissing him again.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a peaceful blur. They moved through the cottage together, side by side, making dinner in the cozy kitchen. Harry stirred a pot of sauce while YN sliced vegetables, the two of them stealing kisses in between tasks, their laughter filling the space. The evening sunlight poured through the windows, casting the room in a warm glow as they sat down at the small table for dinner.

As they ate, Harry told her stories from the tour—stories she hadn’t heard, little moments that had made him laugh or think of her. He spoke about the cities they’d visited, the people they’d met, and the way the crowds had grown bigger with each show. But through it all, his eyes kept drifting back to her, his words trailing off as he reached for her hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles.

“You were the best part of it all,” he said softly, his voice full of affection. “You being there with me. Every time I walked off stage and saw you waiting, it made everything worth it.”

After dinner, they moved back to the living room, curling up on the couch together as the last light of the day faded into dusk. The fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and the air was filled with the comforting smell of woodsmoke. They stayed like that for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, talking quietly about the future—about the cottage, about what they wanted to do next.

As the evening began to settle, they both stood side by side at the sink, washing the dishes in comfortable silence. The window above them was cracked open slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze that carried the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. Beyond the window, the sun was sinking slowly beneath the hills, casting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the last light of the day stretching long shadows across the garden.

YN handed Harry a plate, her fingers brushing against his as he took it from her, their quiet rhythm so familiar now. He dunked it into the warm, sudsy water, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he scrubbed at the remnants of their dinner. Every so often, he’d glance at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched her work.

“You’ve gotten good at this.”YN teased, elbowing him lightly. “I remember when you used to burn toast.”

Harry laughed, the sound light and full of warmth. “That was a long time ago.” He quipped, turning to splash a bit of soapy water in her direction with a playful grin.

YN gasped, dodging the spray with a laugh of her own, but not before flicking some of the suds back at him. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she dipped her hands into the water, gathering a handful of bubbles.

“Oh, are we playing dirty now?” Harry teased, his eyes narrowing as he scooped up his own suds.

Before she could answer, he splashed her again, the warm soapy water catching her on the arm. YN laughed, retaliating by flinging bubbles at him, the kitchen filling with the sound of their playful banter and the splash of water against the counter. The dishes forgotten for the moment, they both moved around the sink, ducking and dodging each other’s playful attacks, the air filled with their laughter.

Harry caught her by the waist, pulling her close as he wiped some of the bubbles from her cheek with a playful grin. “Alright, truce!” He giggled, his voice softening as he looked into her eyes.

She smiled, her laughter dying down as she leaned into him, her hands resting against his chest. “Truce.” She agreed, her eyes still sparkling with amusement.

They both turned back to the sink, their laughter lingering in the air as they finished the last of the dishes. The warmth between them was palpable, and even as the sun began to dip lower, casting the room in a soft, golden glow, there was a sense of peace that wrapped around them like a blanket.

As they dried their hands on a shared towel, YN turned to look out the window. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the hills, the sky now painted in deep hues of purple and orange, the last light of day clinging to the horizon.

“S’pretty here.” She murmured, her voice soft as she watched the sunset.

Harry set the towel aside, stepping up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist as he pulled her close. “It is.” He agreed quietly, though his eyes weren’t on the sunset. They were on her.

For a long moment, they stood like that, the warm evening air drifting through the open window, the world outside quiet and still. There was a calm that had settled over them, a quiet contentment that came from being in the presence of someone who knew you—really knew you—and loved you anyway.

Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he pulled back slightly, his arms still wrapped around her.

“I want to be with you forever.” He admitted suddenly, his voice soft but steady. It wasn’t a question or even a declaration, just a simple truth spoken into the stillness of the moment. His words carried the weight of something deeper, something unshakeable. “Not just for now. Not just for a few years. Forever.”

YN turned in his arms, her heart skipping a beat as she looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. His expression was serious, but there was a warmth there too, a quiet certainty in his gaze that made her chest tighten.

His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing gently over her cheeks as he looked down at her, his voice lowering to a soft murmur. “I love you.”He smiled. “More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I don’t just mean in this life. I mean in every life. Beyond this, even. If I could have forever with you, I would. That’s what I want.”

She felt a rush of emotion swell in her chest, her throat tightening at the depth of his words. She could see it in his eyes—the way he meant every word, the way this wasn’t just about a lifetime, but about something that transcended even that. It wasn’t a proposal, but it felt like a promise. A vow that he would love her no matter what, no matter how long or how far life took them.

“I want that too.”She whispered, her voice catching slightly as she reached up to brush a curl away from his forehead. “Forever sounds just right.”

His smile softened, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled, his breath warm against her skin. “Then it’s settled.” He murmured, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, full of all the love he couldn’t put into words.

They stood like that for a long moment, the kitchen bathed in the last light of the sunset, the quiet of the evening wrapping around them as they held each other close. The world outside felt far away, and in that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of them, standing together in the cottage they now called home.

When they finally pulled back, Harry’s hand slipped down to take hers, his fingers intertwining with hers as he led her toward the living room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as they curled up together on the couch, the soft murmur of their voices filling the space between the gentle flicker of flames.

And as the evening stretched on, they spoke of dreams and plans, of all the little things that made life beautiful. But in the quiet, in the spaces between the words, they both knew that they had already found what they were searching for—each other.

Forever.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[5.7k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 8 "The Lie"

It’s been a journey.

Parched and starved, you’d been dragging your feet over the desolate wasteland deep into the night. The promise of a guesthouse only a mile or two away keeping your spirits up and your soreness to a minimum. Your head was still fuzzy with the trauma, as expected after taking such a brutal blow.

A pale coat of dust covers your boots, the blood has ceased oozing and now clings to your hair and skin like haunting war paint.

Cooper hadn’t said a peep about what had happened earlier, didn’t complain about you keeping his hand hostage either, just let you soak his glove in sweat while indulging in chain-smoking.

The lights coming from the inn are a beacon in the darkness, they slice through the shadow of the night, beckoning you with whispers of a bed and a full night of sleep. An exasperated sigh leaves you when you finally see it.

It was once a farmhouse. Large three-story mansion built of wood and reinforced by steel sheets only after the apocalypse. There’s a barn to the side, presumably turned into storage, a handful of soil beds from which vegetables are sprouting, a small herd of brahmin lay huddled in a corner, under a flimsy tin roof, sleeping in the remnants of a stable. A large rusty gate hugged by a sturdy fence, electric too once you were close enough to hear the distinct buzz. The generator rumbles behind a locked door in the ground, the basement if your speculations are correct.

It’s a fine establishment by today’s standards, well-known for offering respite for travelers because it was plopped in the middle of nowhere.

Regardless of the newfound relief, your pace stays the same, too achy and drained to rush towards the finish line. It’s a slow and agonizing walk, feels like an eternity, but as you climb the front porch steps you crack a smile. Your hand is promptly released and you take your usual place behind the ghoul, the medical folder still pinched under your armpit and looking like an old pancake.

The rich yellow hues shining through the dirty windows illuminate the creaky wooden boards beneath your shoes, the old benches on either end of the porch, and the large urns hosting a blooming tato plant each. There’s a mud-caked mat at the entrance and you can scarcely make out a “welcome” sign beneath all the grime.

Cooper spares you a glance over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes and husky tone indicating he’s just as exhausted as you.

“Don’ wander. No talkin’ t’ strangers.”

“Got it.” you nod, suppress the urge to hold onto his coat, and follow after him through the door.

You’re flooded with cigar smoke and the smell of spirit. Methodical chatter hangs in the air, mixing with the fluent jazz from the jukebox, random paintings are strewn across the walls, hiding the peeling wallpaper, some of the hanging lights are intact, some are missing their glass domes. Simple wooden chairs and circular tables, mostly vacant aside from a few rugged personas stuffed in the darker crooks of the establishment.

You take in everything under lowered lashes and caved-in shoulders.

It’s a cozy place, an oasis nestled along the road, a lovely little safehouse that welcomes any who have the caps.

The bar looks out of place, it’s too new and polished compared to everything else, dark oak shining under the soft glare of the old lightbulbs. A plethora of bottles are on display behind it, most of their labels scratched out or simply missing.

“Where’s Monique?” Cooper rests a palm against the counter and cocks his head to the female ghoul absentmindedly wiping at a glass with a stained rag.

“Holy Moly…”

You’re awestruck at the sight. She’s the second ghoul you’d ever seen and a woman at that. Despite the decomposition, she’s still retained her feminine features, one could even call her exotically beautiful. Donned in a full-body apron, a turquoise polo peaks under it; her eyes are sunken but lively, however the veiny red sclera makes you cringe. It just looks damn painful.

“Nice to see you too, Cooper.” she barks a laugh, her voice – distorted by radiation, but still cheery and friendly. “She went to bed so I took over. What’ll it be?”

“Got any rooms left?”

You’ve decided to focus on the hand-drawn menu hoisted above the liquor cabinet, scrunching your nose at the radroach skewers and cricket potato stew. There isn’t much that would suit your pallet, especially not the yao guai jerky. What even is a yao guai? Another overgrown bug?

The drinks have more variety than the food, even though most are alcohol. There’s still just plain water, specified as ‘mostly rad free’, then there’s tato and cactus juice. The options aren’t mouth-watering, but the drawings next to the headers are cute, some of them are even colored in.

“Got two, lucky for you.” she pauses then and the friendliness on her gaunt face gives way to confusion. She leans to the side as you step out of Cooper’s shadow to get a better view of the menu, her mouth shrinks out of its prickly smirk. “Oh, hello.” her curiosity quickly blossoms into sweet glee as she stares you down with startling warmth, then tosses the bounty hunter a passing comment. “Made a new friend, I see.”

You stiffen as the realization of her attention on you sinks in. Rolling your eyes to her, you find her beaming and you can’t help but return her welcoming smile with an awkward one. You fix your slouched posture, straighten up because first impressions are important, and give a polite nod.

“Mitzi, good to meet you. And you are?” she’s all giddy grins and wavy hands, finding you as a good treat after a long time of only having gruff wastelanders as customers. And you’re more than happy to humor her, she matches your character perfectly and you feel her filling up your energy levels instantly.

Your lips part as you fully intend to reciprocate her brightened mood.

“I’m – ”

“–An annoyance.” a dismissive scoff, one which has you shoot Cooper a nasty look. He’s indifferent, doesn’t bat an eye at you, instead nudges his chin at the untouched bourbon bottle. “I’ll take that one, room too, don’ care which one.”

Mitzie turns to reach for the bottle and sets it down next to the bounty hunter before sifting through the ledger hidden behind the counter. Keeping the privacy of her customers comes as a nice surprise. She mumbles something soft, supposedly checking the available rooms, then looks up at you.

“Shower or nah?”

“Excus – ” you blurt, then stop and suppress the need to ask for elaboration. “Shower.”

If she was alluding to the possibility of taking a proper bath, you’d cry. After months of rubbing soap into your sweat and using saliva to wash out toothpaste, you felt disgusting. Dirt had accumulated in places you didn’t even know existed and all of this excluded the greasy mess your hair had become. At times, you wanted to crawl out of your skin with how crusty you were.

And the stench was a whole other story you fought valiantly to ignore.

“Gotcha.” she hums and stuffs her hand into a jar before pulling out a large, rusted key and handing it to Cooper. “Master bedroom, second floor to the left.” her baby blues dart back to you. “Just so you know, showers cost extra.”

You hear the disgruntled groan and your expression sours.

Of all the things he dismissed to save up on caps, basic hygiene was one which you fiercely disagreed with. You’d already had this conversation multiple times, him walking around smelling like a dumpster fire with no regard for how that made him look was unacceptable. His clothes needed washing, he needed washing, and you’d scrub him clean if you didn’t know he’d stab you if you so much as tried to bring your soap bar anywhere near him. Both of you were in dire need of a proper bath. You’d work him into the idea, you’d already succeeded once when you were less acquainted.

With a sigh, you blindly pat the side of your backpack in search of the pocket holding your caps.

“How much?”

“Thirty per shower.” she answers simply, then perks up to holler at a behemoth of a man waving her over from the back of the bar. “I’ll be right there!”

“Deal.” you chirp and point at the menu. “And a cup of brahmin bone broth, please and thank you.”

“Right away.” Mitzi graces you with another cheeky smile before rushing past the counter and through a door to the kitchen.

You’re close enough for the smell of roasting meat and herbs to waft into your nose, your stomach twists with hunger and gargles in protest. You clear your throat in embarrassment, the jazz music does a wonderful job of disguising the ugly toon. A clatter of pots comes from behind the kitchen door followed by a meager slur of curses that has you hoping your order wasn’t the cause.

After gathering enough caps, you extend your arm to leave them next to the register. Your attempt is shot down by a sharp slap to the knuckles, you glance up at Cooper and prepare to debate why you should be allowed to wash up and spend the money for it. He snuffs out your bubbling protests with a stern look and a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Mitzi reappears shortly after with a tray in hand.

“Here you are.” she lays down a steaming tin can in front of you and scoots to the register, which is mostly used for decoration. “You want the total or separate tabs?” she scribbles down each of your amounts and lifts her eyes to Cooper.

“Total.” he gruffs out and litters the free space on the bar with scoops of caps fished out from his bandolier.

You have to bite down on your bottom lip to prevent a grin and tuck away your money. He definitely knew how to turn your legs to pudding and tie your tongue into submission. Sadly now that meant you couldn’t complain for at least a week.

“Hundred-fifty. Oh!” the waitress sloppily wraps a rag around your drink and squeezes it in place. “Here. I tend to forget smooth-skins have more delicate hands.” she winks at you and proceeds to gather up the payment, combing through it with a long bony finger and counting. “We’ll get to know each other another time.”

Once she was sure of the amount, Mitzi stuffs it all in the hefty pickle jar labeled ‘earnings’, then sealed it shut and stored it somewhere around her feet. She’s back to polishing shot glasses, gives both of you a ginger smile and nudges her head towards the staircase to the right of the counter.

“Enjoy your stay.”

You take the broth and let your fingers soak in the warmth as you follow behind Cooper with bated breath and a spring to your step.

A bed and a shower, you were being spoiled tonight. The covers and sheets are probably old, the room itself is most likely slowly rotting away and covered in grime and dust, but it’s heaven compared to sleeping on the ground with one eye open due to threats skulking about. The last time you’d managed to get a full night of sleep was back in Tillburry, and just the thought of being undisturbed had you going through a plethora of pleasant jitters.

You give the greasy drink, your dinner, a good sniff while climbing to the second floor.

It’s not an aroma that makes you salivate, but you’ve missed the luxury of warm food and the herbs do well at overpowering the stench of boiled beef. Even under the weak light in the corridor, you can tell it’s fatty enough to keep you sated for a while, it’ll have to do. The can is used as a cup for hot drinks, the broth came from elsewhere, either that or you were scammed into eating dog food judging by the peeling-off sticker of a poodle.

You thump over a long red carpet rolled out on the floor, squint at the hacked cough coming from one of the rooms, and then stop a foot away from the ghoul.

He jams the key in and after a deft click, the door creaks open.

Your refuge for the night isn’t as bad as you’d imagined. The bedding is mostly white minus a few stains, the wallpaper is torn a tad, but intact and it’s all relatively clean, there’s even a few trinkets lying about to bring more life. A wall clock is hung above the curved sofa next to the window, it’s not working but it is a nice touch. There’s a night lamp on one of the nightstands, a wide drawer, an ashtray on the table along with two more chairs in case there were more than two bodies in the room. There’s even a deck of cards next to the crystal alcohol glasses.

You watch Cooper set down the bourbon and slouch against the couch with a long exhale before shrugging off his hat and coat and letting his eyes shut for a moment.

“Darn hell, what a day…”

Safety is painted in his mannerisms, you smile adoringly at him and shut the door behind you.

True to her word, there indeed was a bathroom. You switch the lights on and peek inside. The tiles are cracked or missing, it’s old but clean and there’s a bottle of Rad-X among the diluted shampoo bottles. Lovely!

You hear a ripple and whirl your head to see the ghoul lighting a cigarette. His feet are perched up on the table and crossed, his bandolier thrown over the backrest of the sofa, he takes a long drag and strains to push open the window.

“You know Mitzi?” you ask and shed your backpack with a delighted moan before kneeling to zip it open. With your trusty Vaseline and a tiny vodka bottle in your free hand, you join him on the couch, sitting on the opposite end to give him as much space as possible.

“Hm? Sure I do, met some years ago.” he twists to partially face you and pinches the smoke between his lips before grabbing for the bourbon. “Thought you’d wash up first thing. Changed yer mind?”

You chuckle at that and dab the vodka into your palm before rubbing it between your fingers. It’s a mundane little habit you picked up since you learned vodka specifically was almost pure spirit nowadays. Considering the unthinkable things you touched on the hour, from blood to dirt and worse, and without a sink to wash your hands, you needed this at least before eating.

“I’ll shower later. Wanna take a breather first.” you cradle the broth to your chest and take another good whiff before sighing. “Plus, I’d like to drink this before it goes cold.”

“Hope you know tha’ ain’t all brahmin, Darlin’.”

“Let me stay ignorant, please.” you mumble before taking a long sip.

Cooper cackles but decides not to ruin your dinner. You watch him pour a glass of bourbon for himself, mull, and then pour a second one before setting it next to you.

“Mm?” you give him a crooked look, frown with scrunched eyebrows.

“Heavy broth goes good with booze.” he gestures for you to take the offer with a keen smirk. “ ‘Bout time we pop your cherry anyway.”

“Gosh, don’t call it that!” you hiss through a flustered face, but take the glass and ignore his mocking grin.

The jukebox can still be heard from the main floor, it calms your apprehension and you twirl in your spot to open the window fully, looking to the sky for further comfort. You’re intentionally stalling as you swish the bourbon around, elbows rested on the windowsill and gaze lifted to the cluster of stars. A chilly breeze caresses your bare shoulders and you shudder.

“Thought you’d get bored gawkin’ at nothing by now.” The ghoul spits, watching you like a hawk because he refuses to miss your first time trying alcohol. You wish he wasn’t, it adds unnecessary expectations and you’re unaware of how exactly you’re supposed to react. By the smell alone, you’re guessing it won’t taste pleasant.

“I’ll never get tired of the sky.” you muse out loud with an unreadable expression, then face him briefly. “Has it changed over the years?”

You don’t know how old he is, he’s refused to disclose that with you, but from the subtle hints in the past, it’s been longer than the average person. You wish he’s looser, that he trusts you enough to share more about who he is and where he comes from. He seems to know almost everyone you’ve crossed paths with, could work with any weapon and traversed the wasteland without a compass or map and still know exactly where he’s going.

“ ‘Sides the radstorms, not much.” he rolls his tongue over a mouthful of bourbon, then audibly swallows and scowls. He raises his glass towards you, waiting for you to mimic him. “ ‘Nough stallin’ ya pansy, it ain’t poison. Drink.”

Your nose is already wrinkled at the idea, but you oblige him by lifting the drink to your lips. Holding your breath you take a tiny sip and your skin explodes in goosebumps before the fire registers on your tongue. Your taste buds feel defiled, the foulness makes your eyes pop open and you spit before the urge to gag crawls too high up your throat.

First impression: No.

“Ugh…Ew!” a hand clasps over your mouth, obscuring both disbelief at the fact you’d spat straight against the window and pain at the utter nastiness of the flavor. You take the rag wrapped around your now lukewarm broth and wipe off the evidence with urgency. “How do you like this stuff? It’s awful!”

He’s cracking up a storm on the other end of the sofa, having burst into such an abrupt fit that half his drink was running down his vest. You sneer through a glare, hoping he catches your translucent reflection in the glass and feels at least a drop of remorse for your misfortune.

“Glad to make you laugh.”

He tries to say something, a snippy remark most likely, but his gullet is too dry and nothing comes out when his mouth parts. He washes down the hoarseness with another swig of alcohol and tries again.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong.” he’s all up in your beginner technique, even though you weren’t open to be taught how to become a proper alcoholic. Nasty habit that, but he’s given you no choice. “Gotta let it rest on yer tongue, enjoy the taste ‘n go slow.” he can see you sulking even with your back turned to him, can practically smell the discomfort and annoyance emanating from you.

He tones down the decibels when you refuse to face him. Unlike you, Cooper finds the concept of convincing you that drinking is a fun pastime activity strangely thrilling. That, and he’s a horrid old man who selfishly craves to claim all your first experiences, no matter what they are. It’s a vile desire and he’s aware, but the longer you exist in his presence the further his obsessive protectiveness develops. He chalked it up to you being dumb and defenseless, it was natural to become possessive of you and want to keep you safe.

He’d be caught dead before he let some mangy bastard touch you before him or be present for your first cigarette. And he’d take this revelation to the grave because he was too prideful to admit to his urges. This was for your protection, better him, a person you trusted, than anyone else.

“Come ‘ere.” he takes off his gloves and extends a hand to you, beckoning you in the softest way he can muster. “I’ll teach ya.”

You look back at him and the angry frustration simmers down to mild irritation when you notice he’s reaching for you. Tasting that nightmarish poison again makes you queasy, you don’t want to and you’re fussy, but falter for him once more with the intent of giving it another go and then never again.

He’s paid for your dinner, bed, and shower, it’s only fair to entertain his stupid ideas. That doesn’t mean you’re going to smile through the whole thing though, no, you’ll grimace until the end.

He shifts until his feet are firmly planted on the floor as you round the table.

“One last time.”

“Last time.” he repeats through a haggard breath and as soon as your fingers dip into his open palm he spreads his legs farther apart to accommodate a plan you were blissfully unaware of. “Promise, Sweet pea…”

He coaxes you closer, tugging on your hand until you’re standing between his legs, radiating confusion. Guilt prickles his heart, you don’t deserve to be manipulated into succumbing to his perverse advances. It wasn’t even a good lie. Teaching you how to enjoy bourbon…a load of horse shit, but what were the odds that you’d so pliantly let him desecrate you once the concussion and fatigue didn’t stand in the way of clear thinking?

You were vulnerable now and he was a fiend for taking advantage. He’d deal with the consequences later.

The concentration carving his expression is hidden under the guise of darkness as he gently lures you down until you’re hesitantly sitting on his thigh. An arm coils around your waist to keep you in place, you’re face to face and the ringing in your ears increases, completely deafening the music from downstairs. Blunt fingers melt into your supple flesh, deliberately massaging away the prolonged day. You’d had it rough today, poor little thing, you needed some good kneading.

He’d give it to you. Whatever the hell you wanted, you’d have it.

Rotten man. Defiler.

He shakes the thoughts away and feeds on the sugary lavender hints beneath the sweat clinging to your body.

You’re engulfed in warmth and finally, you can put a name to the ever-present musk he carries around – bourbon and cigarettes; the smell of home. Your hands are resting in your lap, pinching at your dress in a nervous tick as you fight to keep eye contact. Inexplicable tension writhes in the air, it chokes you with sadistic glee.

Cooper’s studying your features as they twist, searching for something specific in the involuntary muscle twitches.

“You don’ like it, you call quits. Got it?” he speaks softly, but with authority, already taking another sip and letting it rest in his mouth.

You’re no less lost than you were two minutes ago, left to wonder what he means because your glass is on the other side of the table. But now he’s mute with alcohol and unable to elaborate verbally so you simply nod in understanding.

“Got it.”

No cheeky smirks or mischief is dancing in his eyes. He’s the most serious you’ve ever seen him, it’s nerve-wracking, you’re left to blindly follow his guidance and you trust him, but anticipation has no boundaries. The bedroom turns stuffy and his once welcomed heat is forming sweat on your forehead and pinching at random nerves throughout your body.

He glides a hand to the back of your neck, holds it with solemn tenderness. You make a pathetic noise when he leans you back until you’re cradled in the safety of his arms without leverage, hovering above the sofa as he watches over you with a mellow look.

“Tha’s it…steady, Pretty girl.”

You’re rigid and hesitant in his embrace, don’t know what to do except give in and let him work you like a puppet. It’s humiliating, you want to be an active participant, give him what he wants without him having to hold your hand, but you can’t. The only soothing thought that comes to mind is that he’s a dominant man, he probably doesn’t mind.

Probably even likes it like this.

“This okay, Sweetheart?”

You barely register he’s asked a question, the gravel in his voice seizes your breath.

“Yeah…Yes?”

The ghoul is languid and gentle when he leans forward, taking his time, but you notice the twitch in his fingers, the hidden urgency behind the façade he’s adopted to not scare you away. But he’s still a rugged man, you can tell by the callouses on his palms and the leathery skin on his face as it rubs against yours.

It’s a peck at first, makes you tingle all over. He barely brushes his chapped lips against yours, testing the waters, and dulling your awareness with patience before he shatters and ruins your innocence. But you’re too enticing for your own good. You don’t startle; cling to his vest instead and shiver with a milky moan and his resolve cracks.

With a ravenous snarl, he squishes you against his chest when you offer no protests and the hands that held you are now clutching. He kisses you with a bruising need, changing into a brutish oaf as his tenderness fades. Your mouth opens in a gasp and he lets the bourbon seep past his teeth and ravage your taste buds. The flavor is the last thing on your mind as he devours you whole, a few droplets escape from the corner of your lips and trail down your jaw until they soak into your hairline. Starved of everything soft and sweet, he gorges and palps, litters you with clumsy bruises because he’s forgotten how to handle someone such as you.

He tilts his head to one side and his tongue glides past your teeth to twirl around yours, forcing you to open wide. His eyes are hidden behind squeezed lids, leaving him purposefully blind to your current expression. He didn’t want to see rejection, didn’t want to know if you were disgusted but too fearful to pull away. All he needed was just one moment of indulgence disguised as him teaching you to drink. Let him feast upon you for a bit and he will never touch you again afterward, he swears it.

It’s just to show you how to enjoy a good glass of alcohol.

But you weren’t stupid, you already knew this was all a charade. It’s agonizing when you wrap your arms around his shoulders and clutch at his back. You’re klutzy in your love, a shaking mess as you try to match his pace, but this is too new and with an absent mind, instinct can only tell you so much. Still, you fill his cavernous maw with high-tuned chirps of affection and you’re so pleased despite the uncertainty, you’re aching for him, you’re just as starved if not more.

Cooper wasn’t prepared for reciprocation, it leaves him boneless and barely holding you both steady.

You let your eyes close as well and guzzle down the remainder of the booze from his mouth. A strained growl reverberates in his throat as he cuts down the urge to buck into you. Too soon, not yet. He’s taken enough from you for one night.

You suck in a breath as your knees turn to jelly. Your thighs are quaking; he presses one hand against them to soothe you and earns a muffled mewl. It’s raw lightning, sparking over your skin and making your clothes feel so damn constricting. You’re clawing at your tights, scratching at his sleeves, turned feral with lust and lilting pleas in his chewed-up ear.

A clash of teeth and jerking tongues, muffled sounds of indulged wants and thinned nerves.

He’s intoxicating, gruff to the bone and you avidly drink in everything he offers.

“Greedy little thing…” he rasps over deep breaths once he’s pulled away enough to take in your possum-like state. “So how’d you like the bourbon?”

A dull ache forms in your core at his sweet derogatory coo. You bite the side of your cheek to stifle the vulgar rattle trying to escape the confines of your heaving chest.

He lifts you into a proper sitting position and readjusts your dress back over your legs because he’s a gentleman tonight.

You’re a mixture of labored inhalations and sputtered words, struggling to descend to normalcy and proper manners. It takes you a moment to find your voice, you speak before thinking, high on a newfound addiction – him and his taste and his smell and everything that had to do with him. The knots in your stomach ease, but you’re still absently fiddling with the straps of his vest while trying to regain composure.

“Can we…” you shrink as his heavy gaze makes your throat tighten, lower your eyes in bashfulness but your insides burn and you need that fire sated. It’s his fault you’re like this, him and his sinful vulgarities. “Can you show me again?”

He croons a laugh and bloats with pride, doesn’t even care to take a shot before he latches onto you again.

“Needy girl…So pretty f’ me.”

You’re the one with the lingering hands now, sigh in relief when he violates your mouth again as if being apart had been torture. Nimble fingers intrude on his spine, slipping beneath the loose collar of his shirt and mapping out the marred flesh like it’s a piece of art. He shudders in your hold, mouths something that gets lost among the vocal sloppiness emitting from your feverish kisses.

You’re too eager at the mixed saliva dribbling down your chin, too delighted when he pauses to lick it off and keep you partly decent as he suffocates on his passion. You cage him between your thighs like it’s only natural, nestle down on him because he’s your new throne and he shoves a hand between your bodies to adjust his straining erection before you find out how desperate he is. You’re too spread and willing, unaware of the debauchery your actions hint towards.

He’s a man gone wild beneath you, boiling and unchained and drinking in your wanton display. A blank canvas for you to paint whatever you wished on as you submit to cravings he’d unraveled. He was a perverse bastard, stole your first kiss and hadn’t even made it proper, but there was nothing right in this world anyway. You returned his advances, you were happy, the rest be damned.

You leave his scalding tongue and nipping teeth to pepper his bony face with butterfly pecks. He’s a silent enjoyer, lets you drown him now that you were unleashed, with a ghost of a smile and lazy blinks, mild and content. Time slips past in a blur until you’re finally satisfied, having pruned and memorized every inch of his face.

You’re studying his features while cupping his jaw when the haze fades and you register just how many lines you’d crossed. His hardness digs into your thigh and you wince because you’d climbed him like a mountain, sat on him like he was just a chair and not someone you held dear. You’d taken advantage of his docile form, oblivious to the fact that this was what he’d hoped for from the start. You’d treated him like a tool to cater to your horniness without ever considering how much strain you’d put on him.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he’d thought. No, that wasn’t it. You trusted him too much. Took his every word as fact.

Your heart is pounding and the trembling returns with twice the vigor as your serene smile dies.

“Oh my God…Jeez! I’m so sorry. Wait! I– ” you blabber while prying away with clumsy movements. You’re sure you’re about to have a heart attack and die on the spot.

What have you done?!

Why didn’t he stop you? Why did he look so high when you’d forced yourself on him without even asking for his consent? All he’d done was try to ease you into drinking and you’d thrown yourself at him like a…

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t even ask you…Why didn’t you say – Sorry. I’m – ”

“Whoaw there, Cowgirl.” he springs to action, forced out of his delightful trance by the utter horror written in your eyes. He grips you before you manage to stand, coercing you in a bear hug. Opposite to your shaken state, he rounds up your skittishness with honeyed words and caring touches. “Easy now, Sweetness. All’s fine, easy…easy.”

He stuffs you in the crook of his neck as you sputter more apologies, nuzzles his cheek in your hair and coos. You’re inconsolable for a time, badmouthing yourself because you knew no better and it’s heartwrenching because it’s his fault for taking advantage of your trust. He rocks you into silence while chuckling, criminally unapologetic.

“Now if I didn’ want any o‘ this I would’a kicked you off long time ago. ‘S okay, Sweet pea, all’s fine.” he palms himself until you can’t feel the incessant poke anymore, the scowls at his meager self-control. “Damn thing got a mind of i’s own.”

You hum in response, whiney and weak. He snorts at your deflated mood, to think his boner would be the cause of worry is comical. He lets a jab slip to bait you out of the cesspool of self-bludgeoning you’d thrown yourself in. He could be truthful and lay out the entire farce before you, but that came with the change you’d never let him near you again. Cooper isn’t a good man, nor a truthful man and what you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you.

“Now quit yer mopin’, you’re ruinin’ m’ shirt.”

It does the trick. You stiffen against him and choke because how dare he.

“Asshole!” you recoil and land a weak fist against his shoulder. “You’re the one always ruining everything. I’m thinking about your comfort and your consent and trying to be nice and all you ever do is mock me. Awful man! You don’t even use the toothbrush I gave you. And you’re horrible company too.”

He’s laughing for the countless time that night, catches your wrist, then your other one, stifling your tantrum. A grin peeks beneath your stern glare, his high spirits are too contagious, and you wrestle against his unweaving hold without much zest.

 “Too bad.” he gives you one good jerk and you faceplant into his neck, then rests his chin against the top of your head and you can hear the cocky smirk forming. “Is either me or the wasteland, Darlin’, and the wasteland don’ give no kisses, trust me.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

<<< Chapter 7

Chapter 9 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @lomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

@sgt-barnesveins @alastorsw1f3 @villainofmyownstory

[almostheav4n]

Tomorrow Never Came: Chapter 1

masterlist | ao3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ warnings: unspecified age gap, hints at past SA, no break-out, no y/n, no reader description, discussion of past trauma, reader develops a reliance on him, hints at a ddlg relationship in terms of a caregiver x little relationship (reader is of legal age), joel is a vietnam war vet with a very tough exterior so it takes a bit to get it moving but it does by chapter 2! <3 word count: 5,495 summary: set in Texas in the 1980s, Joel picks you up on the side of the road when headed west, you embark upon a journey of self-discovery with the help of a seasoned man

“Do you wanna see the west with me? Cause loves out there & I can’t leave it be.”

The cold beer bottle contrasts your harsh, warm, two-handed grip on it as your feet sway from the bar stool sat at. Your cross-country adventure had landed you here, in west Texas, penniless & destitute, nothing but the jacket on your shoulders and the pistol in your pocket. 

You had traveled from west to east in an attempt to meet your father who you later found out wanted nothing to do with you. Having had saved up for years to make the trip, not accounting for how expensive shit was, landed you in the middle of nowhere Texas, trying to make your way back to your home in California. Truth be told, you set your hopes high that maybe your father had just desired to leave your mom and not you but you learned very quickly that wasn’t the case. 

Now you sit, in a dusty dive bar, men circling like vultures as you try hard to ignore their glances and as one next to you, leans into mumble something you can’t make out. Instead you focus on the sounds if Bob Dylans ‘knockin on heaven door’ that plays loudly from the busted jukebox. 

“Wanna dance?” You slur a bit, not necessarily because of the alcohol, but maybe an attempt to match the demeanor of the man next to you, who bought you the beer. He isn’t ugly, he isn’t pretty. He is drunk though, maybe drunk enough that you can slip some bills from his wallet. 

He’s eager you realize as his hand lands on the small of your back, tripping a bit over his feet to make his way to the dusty center, the wood creaking beneath your feet as you place your hands to his chest, slightly propping him up, the bourbon on his breath quite rich. 

Your eyes scan the room to find men and women watching, finding it a bit silly. Being from California, quite used to others dancing like no ones watching. Finding that in Texas, people are always watchers rather than dancers. 

A watcher catches your eyes, his grayish-green eyes narrowed towards you as he brings a glass to his lips, his face mostly shadowed by a brown cowboy hat as he leans against a pillar. 

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, his aura fogging up the space around him like a puff of smoke, as he tilts his head down, focusing on the drink in his hand, scuffing up his boot on the ground before turning his attention back to you. Swiping his tongue against his bottom lip as he adjusts himself, thumbing his belt loop. 

It fills your belly, the admiration, bubbling up into your throat as you smile, a little quirk of the lips as you stare at him, stupidly and obviously. 

He returns the stare. Not smiling back, but the stern gaze worn on his brows replaced by a softer one, more relaxed. 

You're pulled back into reality as the man’s hand slips below your back onto your behind as you sway to the music, causing you to break apart. Whispering nonsense into his ear comprising of ‘if he wants to get out of here’, knowing he’s drunk enough and will most likely barely make it to his car. 

You’re correct as he piles into his truck and falls asleep halfway out of the lot, allowing you to maneuver the vehicle to the side, eventually slipping into his pockets to pull out his wallet and the forty-three dollars.

Ditching him there, you head for a motel and pay them the $30 fee for one night, giving you enough time to bathe and wash your clothes in the bathtub before eating half of a candy bar and heading to bed. 

The nearest grocery store is a bit of a long haul as you walk a few miles until you head into the small mart. Its the size of a shoe box with people littered up and down the aisles as you make your way to the hygiene aisle, slipping a packaged bar of soap into your deep pockets along with tampons. Wandering onto other aisles, sifting through the snacks before landing on a few breakfast bars, deciding to slide one up your sleeve. Your eyes peeking to the side to find that you’re being watched by a familiar set of eyes. 

You slip up the bar into your sleeve before turning to the man you had seen yesterday, his brow raised curiously, having seen your little trick. 

He strikes you once again in a different light… his worn jeans, scuffed boots, his flanneled shirt, the sleeves rolled up exposing his tanned arms, thick veins roped within them leading to his hands, the one specifically carrying a cart with his own personal items. His dark beard ruffles as he bites on his inner cheek, studying you it seems, his eyes roaming around the aisle and then back to you. The same hat worn yesterday, sturdy on his head. 

You hum a bit, leaning back on your heels, not sure whether he means to turn you in or something else. You simply bring your finger to your lips to create a ‘shush’ sound in hopes he will keep your secret before heading for the exit, stopping to pick up a coke, tossing a quarter to the cashier, and promptly exiting. 

Finding a nearby patch of grass, you pass your time by watching the cars and drinking your Coke until it’s empty. You figure now might be the time to make your way from Texas, heading for the busiest road and sticking your thumb out as you follow along the white line on a dirt path. 

Five cars pass before a blue Ford pickup truck pulls up, the gleaming shine causing you to cover your eyes as they adjust, hearing the driver's door open & close. 

You instinctively take a step back, watching a familiar hat make its way from around the truck as you can’t help but break out into a smile. 

“Third times the charm huh?” You laugh a bit watching him remove a hat, letting it fall to the side in his hand as he runs his other hand through his hair. 

“Uh-huh,” He grunts, leaning against the side of the truck, observing you just as he did in the store and in the bar.

“You a cop?” You question, brows scrunching up to match his hardened gaze. The question makes him laugh, a short release of breath before composing himself. 

“Ain’t a cop darlin’…” He mutters, eyes going to your tattered shoes, biting on the inside of his cheek once more, followed by a clicking sound of the mouth.

“Who are ya then?” you place your hands on your hips, attempting to assert any dominance you have, feeling picked apart by his gaze. 

“Didn’t your mama tell you not to talk to strangers?” He inches closer, calculated, stopping far enough from you to bring you ease, his noticeable large size gaining your attention. 

“Tell me your name and you won’t be a stranger… this being our third meeting I find myself quite familiar with you…” You don’t know why your voice catches in your throat as you speak, but you clear it quickly.  

Maybe because he was unlike the men you came across during your journey. Quite honestly, the men you came across reminded you of the boys in high school. Unsure, dull, weak. A boy in the shell of a “man”. 

He wasn’t a boy in the body of a man, just a full man, through & through. 

“Joel.” He offers, his head pointed towards the ground, focused on a trail of ants, then back to you. It’s difficult to hold his gaze without blushing. “Where ya headed?”

“West… California.” You admit, watching as he nods, eyes searching the sky now, observing as he always seems to do. 

“What’s there for you in California?” He questions, eyes coming back to you as you feel your words stuck in your throat, his stare enough to cause your knees to buckle and weaken. It’s a hard gaze, one you hadn’t noticed as clearly beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat.  

“My mama…” you mutter, words coming out hushed, embarrassed, deciding to focus your own attention on the ants, you stupidly feel naked when he looks at you just bare and open.  

You don’t hear him head for the door, only hear the door opening, your eyes shooting up to Joel as he looks at you, bewildered as if you should know what to do, patiently waiting as your eyes swipe back from him to the truck and back to him. 

“Whatre you waitin on? Get in.” He speaks lowly as you attempt not to feel stupid, the blood rushing to your cheeks with a quickness as you bite your lip back.

“Not gonna kill me right?” You ask, stuffing your hands in your pockets watching as he lets out his same light laugh, just a puff of air. 

“I ain’t planning on it, sweetheart.” He bites on his bottom lip, the thick hair on his beard twitching as he waits. 

You hesitantly approach the vehicle, calculated steps leading you around where he stands by the door, sliding into the truck, the leather seating new indicating a certain amount of wealth that puzzles you. 

To be honest, the men who usually attempted to pick you up were composed of overly excited older men with fast food wrappers & cigarette buds piled up in the passenger's seat and the smell of beer wafting from the vehicle. 

It was rare you ever accepted rides from men, usually finding a chick who could take you a few hours down before dropping you off. 

His truck however seemed almost brand new, and clean, even the trash within it, was still kept nicer than most people who offered you a ride. 

The door shuts beside you with a click as he soon piles in, turning the ignition with ease and one hand steering the vehicle back onto the road with one smooth motion. 

It’s a routine, you think as you watch his legs spread apart along the seat, his free hand fumbling with the volume of the radio as he finds a station playing old country which seems to satisfy him as he relaxes into a manspreaded position. 

The motor and the hum of the songs is all you hear about an hour in as you realize he’s quite quiet. Which is rare. 

He hadn’t pestered you about your past, stared longingly at your exposed legs in the summer heat, or even tried to touch you. 

The few times you had gotten rides for men when you were younger and rather dumb, they had talked your ear off about something irrelevant, asked too many questions, or taken the first opportunity to lean over and try to fuck you right in the seat. 

He is quiet. Joel's quiet… hard set gaze focused on the road, the only constant motion being the rise and fall of his chest & occasional repositioning of the wheel.  

He pays you no mind. You would like to assume he’s gay but you don’t think so 100%

“You pick up strays often?” You break the silence, used to being the quiet one. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, only readjusts himself in the seat. You wonder if he is maybe a serial killer. 

The dirt under your fingernails seems interesting all of a sudden as you focus your attention on cleaning them, the awkward energy looming within the truck, 

“Strays…” He responds, finally, rubbing his hand over his beard before scratching at it with a deep sigh. 

“Don’t usually pick up hitch-hikers if’s what you’re askin’” He grumbles lowly, his Texan accent deep and thick. 

You think for a beat, wondering if his natural nature is stoicism and a cold front or if he’s already annoyed by his pestering passenger. 

“Why’d you pick me up then?” You question turning your head towards him, attempting to read him more. 

God, it takes him forever to respond. You aren’t sure if he’s thinking about the question or just in no hurry whatsoever, but it fills you with anxiety and anticipation. 

“Well…  when you stole from Earl, he sorta went around lookin' for you… Then when I saw you stealin' from that shop, I assumed it’d be best to get you to where you need’ta go so trouble doesn’t find you no more.” He admits shooting you a quick look, a quick raise of the brow in a disciplinary way, he means to scold you, you think.  

“Earl?”

“That man you went home with from that bar…”

“Oh… ha! earl,” you snort a bit remembering him. When you stole, you made sure to never stick around for that reason exactly. 

“Well, my thoughts on the matter are men take advantage of drunk women every day, I’m just leveling the playing field.” You respond in a sassy manner, crossing your ankles to sit up straighter, asserting yourself.  

“I ain’t judgin, I just didn’t want to see him comin’ down to find you.. he’s a drunk & a mean one,” He mentions cracking the window, the summer breeze picking up the strands of his dark brown hair & some gray.  

“You know a lot about this, ‘Earl’ ?” You roll down your window then, the wind blowing over your face a familiar and refreshing feeling, picking up your own hair as it tossles over your face. 

“Knew Earl all my life, worked for me…” He grunts, clearing his throat. 

“You hire drunks?” You giggle, feeling like you caught him, disappointed he doesn’t return the laugh as he only shrugs. 

“Like I said… I don’t judge, ‘f the work is done, it's done.” He switches his blinker on before pulling into a lot filled with shops, your eyebrows scrunching as you eye him. Bathroom break maybe. 

“Bout time to eat and get you some new shoes…” He gestures down to your feet as he parks, slightly far from other cars, maneuvering into the spot with ease as the truck comes to a jolt. 

You giggle dumbfoundedly, tickled by the thought that he thinks you walk around in tattered shoes because you choose to. “Joel… I don't have any money.” 

The sound of his door closing acts as a response as it barely grants you a moment to think until your side door is pulled open. “I am well aware of that, cmon now.” 

He’s confusing, his coldness, and lack of conversation, followed by an offering to purchase new shoes. You feel the need to make it clear to him you aren’t a prostitute. 

“I’m not a hooker,” Your nose naturally scrunches in confusion, ready to bolt if he accuses you of wasting his time or something worse. 

He laughs, a true laugh, his shoulders rising and falling as he tips his head down in a chuckle, the top of his cowboy hat revealed to you. 

“I know darling, now don’t rush on my account,” he teases, still propped up against the door, waiting for you, patiently. 

You bite your lip back to distract from your red cheeks. He’s quick to reach his hand out to help you down from the truck as you take it, calloused and warm. 

You don’t desire to let go, trying to remember the feel as he breaks away once you find your footing. 

His long strides are difficult to keep up with you find, his head moving from left to right then left again, surveying the lot for oncoming traffic or anything else that might come at you sideways in a lot, always on alert it seems as he leads you towards a store reading ‘PAYLESS’. 

The door opens with a jingle as he holds it open for you before leading you down the multiple aisles, past the men's section into the womens. 

You collide with his muscled back as he stops abruptly, your eyes narrowing as you back up slightly. 

It takes a few seconds to realize he is waiting for you. Looking down at you, your eyes connecting up to him as blood familiarly rushes into your cheeks, standing closer to him than you ever have been honestly, allowing you to smell his cedarwood aftershave, makes you wanna purr. 

“Well, you have to go select the shoes now don’t you?” He chuckles as he always does, fast and dry but warm as you look down the aisles, scrunching up your nose in confusion. 

“Where you will be?” It’s stupid to already feel a sort of attachment to him, curious about his well-being more for the safety of your own. 

“I’ll be parked right here,” He gestures to a nearby bench seated across a young child screaming and crying as a mother forces on their shoes. 

You only nod back, not trusting your mouth to form appropriate words as he gives you a nice playful push with his elbow passing behind you, gesturing for you to go on. 

He does just what he said he would and you find yourself slivering between row after row of shoes, eventually finding a nice comfortable shoe that doesn’t cost too much, moving to show Joel before being gobsmacked by a pair of leather western boots. 

You decide to pick both, coming to the conclusion that Joel can decide as you walk towards him with one shoe on each foot.

“Okay, okay, ya gotta choose alright?” You position yourself in front of him, finally getting the chance to be above him, feeling a sort of strength and confidence because of it.

His head rises from where it was slouched on his chest, his hat covering most of it until he takes it off with a puzzled look on his face, probably having just napped you think. 

“I gotta choose huh?” He questions slowly in a drawl, snorting a bit as he rubs his nose. 

“Mhm!” You nod turning to the back of the aisle before walking down the carpet as if it’s a catwalk, giving him a little twirl at the end watching as his brows raise in curiosity. 

He responds with a slow clap as you curtsey to finish it off, eyebrows high as they screw together. 

“Well, aren’t you just the bee's knees…” He smirks a bit turning his head to the side, biting the inside of his cheek in long thought as you rock back and forth on your feet in the silence.

“I say get 'em’ both.” He shrugs. 

“Joel…” you pout placing your hands on your hips, “You’re supposed to choose the best one.”

“Go’n and get both, s’ my choice, like you said… toss that pair on your feet and wear one out of the store. Those shoes have seen better days…” He gestures to worn ones nearby with his foot before sucking his bottom lip in, biting down as you scrunch up your face once again, confused by his generosity. 

You open your mouth to speak until you hear his name called, a gentleman his age heading over with a big smile on his face as Joel gets up to greet him shocked it seems by seeing the man. Before he dives into conversation about some time in Arkansas they shared. 

He seems to forget your presence until he fishes in his pocket before turning to you. 

“Check out baby, I’ll be there soon,” He mumbles, handing you his wallet before turning back to converse with the man about god knows what. 

Baby… 

It sits on your tongue as you repeat the word… baby. 

Once you pack up the western boots & toss your ratty pair, curiosity gets the best of you look through his wallet to find a hefty amount of cash along with a few cards, his ID reading ‘JOEL MILLER’. 

You ponder why he trusted you with it, you could bolt, to be quite honest, live off for months with the amount of cash stored. 

You don’t, finding zero need to. 

Eventually, you realize it could be because he trusts you since he���s the furthest from careless. 

It’s a funny feeling, trust, as you make your way to the checkout stand. A boy maybe a bit older than you reading a magazine as you have to muster up a ‘hello’ to gain his attention. 

“Fuh- Sorry, shi-, I mean, sorry I ain’t see you or nothin’” he nervously rambles taking the boxes, one empty but still necessary to scan.  

“Wasn’t ignorin’ you…” He adds as you smile a bit, attempting to ease his nerves. 

You are reminded of how you are able to make boys nervous, having been able to do so since grade school, and not necessarily because you were some Hollywood star, you simply carried yourself with a certain amount of confidence that had boys sputtering and timid. 

It’s refreshing you find after figuring you don't seem to do that to Joel. 

He is never nervous around you, quite the opposite as you feel as if butterflies are swimming in your belly every time he looks at you.  

The boy with a nametag reading, Ted, begins to bag as you slide the total amount on the counter from Joel’s wallet, your pinky hitting a jar of candy on the counter. 

“These free?” You question eyeing a red lollipop. 

“No, um, you can have it, it’s 25 cents, goes to helping out a kid in need,” He fumbles giving you your change as his sweaty hand releases it into yours. 

You return a quarter and fish out your lollipop, discarding the wrapper into your pocket before plucking it into your mouth. 

It isn’t difficult to notice the boys attention on your mouth as your lips wrap around the sucker as you turn your head a bit, sorta wishing it was this easy with Joel. It makes you smile a bit, the idea of getting this reaction from him but the boy thinks it's for him as he smiles back. 

You make sure to wear a look of disgust to dissuade him from thinking it’s for him, lost in your own fantasies as you stick the lollipop far into your cheek. 

“You uh- need help carrying this back, maybe I can help you carry this back to your car?” He offers a little breathless as you pop the sucker from your mouth. 

“Maybe, uh I don’t know where-” You start

“Sorry bout that darlin’,” the gruff voice behind you is followed by the warmth of a hand on your hip as he picks up the bag with the boxes, ignoring the cashier's hand on it. 

“We all square?” He questions looking down at you in a familiar stern manner, maybe questioning the fact that you didn’t steal this time.

“Uh huh,” you nod, “Bought candy too…”

“Oh yeah I can see that-”

You press the lollipop to his lips cutting him off suddenly, expecting to gain some sort of reaction from him finally, but he only opens his mouth to take it in before stuffing it in his cheek, “Delicious… let’s get a move on.” 

A giggle expels from your mouth as you find yourself bewildered as he leads you out of the store before handing the sucker back to you in which you take it swiftly, before waving goodbye to the clerk who wears the strangest expression of confusion, making you laugh even more. 

You expect to head to the truck, and instead follow him towards a sandwich shop as he holds the door open for an elderly woman before letting you pass in. 

“You know what you want? They got hot & cold sandwiches it seems…” He mutters moving up in the line as there’s a good amount of people in front of you. 

“Umm, just a coke…” you hum happily looking at the glass bottled drink behind the counters before hearing Joel sigh out gruffly. 

“Look at me.” He’s stern when he speaks yet soft as he turns towards you, curling over as he closes the space between your bodies. You attempt to make eye contact with his grayish-green eyes, before looking down at your feet, your stomach turning in on itself. 

It isn’t until his fingers move along your jaw to your chin, tugging it up so you can look at him right there, your face resting in the cup of his hand, his hats shadow covering the both of you, making it feel as if you are the only people in the room as a slow gulp glides down your throat, his eyes searching yours as you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“I need you to get real food, you’re gonna get a sandwich. You understand me?” You open your mouth slightly to breathe in his words, stuck in a trance that has you resting your hands on his forearms for balance. 

You wish to speak, to object but only nod as he seems satisfied before breaking away to move up in line with only two people now ahead of you. 

It feels as if your heart is beating through your throat as you expected him to kiss you then, wanted him to. Yearned for it, lips left unsatisfied as you take them between your teeth to gnaw at them. 

He doesn’t even seem bothered in the slightest as he continues to read the menu, distracted as you size him up. 

His tanned arms roped with veins leading down to his hands, his jeans bolted together with a belt as the jeans hang over his boots, the thick beard that holds specks of gray that creep down his throat. His face littered with scars, the most prominent on his nose… he’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever come across. 

Why didn’t he kiss you… 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the person making the sandwiches asks what you want. You list off an assortment of turkey and cheese and other veggies before turning to Joel, somewhat seeking his approval as he gives you a little nod. 

You slip his wallet into his jeans before heading to find a table in the back, immediately getting side-tracked by a little kiddie ride shaped as a horse, seen through the glass window of the building, fishing into your own pockets to pull out a little ten-cent coin before exiting through the back door. 

It isn’t hard to settle onto it, clearly made for those younger but something fun to do while you wait as it begins to rock you back n forth, popping your forgotten sucker back into your mouth as you move your hips with the ride, it brings you back to a certain comfort forgotten in your childhood as you close your eyes, listening to the carnival music that exudes from the speaker box next to it.  

“What… are you doing?” You're interrupted by a familiar voice as you turn your head to Joel as he stands by the door, propped up, arms folded across his chest in a questioning way, not judging but curious. 

“Ridin’ a pony…” You hum biting into your lollipop, turning back your attention to the machine as it ceases. 

“Seems like you’re done ridin’ a pony, come on in so we can eat.” He huffs out, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, the summer sun shining down as you remove yourself before heading inside, sliding into a seat across for him, unwrapping your sandwich to find he’s already dug into his own, pastrami it seems. 

Your eyes narrow behind him as you find a group of teen boys, three, eyeing you. 

One spreading his legs open as another makes a gesture to sit on his lap, realizing they had seen you from the glass on the ride, a queasy feeling filling your stomach as you remove your hands from the wrapper placing them in your lap.

It doesn’t take Joel long to notice, his brow raising, chewing on the last bites in his mouth before leaning back in his seat, expecting some sort of reason as to why you haven’t touched your food. 

“Theyre just… starin…” You whisper, hushed, scared to provoke them, avoiding their gaze, and chuckles from behind him. You’re older than them, you know it, but there's more of them, and with men, when there's a will there's a way. 

He’s quick to set his food down, not missing a beat as his head swivels over his shoulder before back to you. 

It’s hard to hide your sickening expression, regretting your choice to reconnect with your inner child, “Can we maybe leave?” 

The stupid tears prick at your eyes as you once more feel dwindled to a piece of meat for the wolves to pick at. 

You don’t expect the reaction, you don’t expect Joel to get up with a loud screech of the chair against the tile that has patrons of the shop turning to see the commotion. His reserved, quiet, & sturdy demeanor, now replaced with a brash, harsh, mighty one as he approaches the table. 

“There a fucking problem?” 

He doesn’t yell… you think it’s scarier that way? His anger low and simmering yet already intimidating, you hope you never see his anger come to a rolling boil. 

The men, younger, stupider, shake their heads, one of them speaking up, “N- no just having fun, just fun…” You don’t hear Joel’s response but watch as the boys scurry out eventually, allowing Joel to return to the table after apologizing to a nearby couple for his language. 

He sits back down, not waiting to take a bite into his sandwich before gesturing to yours as you obey, unwrapping it and digging in to eat in comfortable silence, a strong wave of protection washing over you. An unfamiliar one, one never expressed to you before, it isn’t necessarily the possessive protection from toxic boys in the past, it’s healthy and feels good? 

You don’t notice he’s finished, lost in your own thoughts until you hear his mouth ‘tick’ and then feel his thumb swipe at the corner of your mouth getting at a bit of mustard there before pressing it to his mouth, sucking it off with a quick motion that leaves you biting into your sandwich to subdue the need to press your lips to his, squeezing your thighs together. 

It’s nice just sitting in silence with him, as he sips his beer, and you drink your coke, finishing eventually, keeping the bottle cap.

Eventually, you head back to the truck. 

Truth be told you hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, making it hard to stay awake for the drive, eventually resting your head on the window as you think of telling Joel just that, maybe to show your gratitude. 

Instead, you drift off deciding whether to or not to. 

You don’t notice you’re awake until you collide with a plush mattress, groaning into the comforter as you come to realize you’re in a bed. 

You spring awake, forgetting the day, forgetting where you are, only knowing you are now in a strange bed placed there by a person…

“Easy…” A familiar voice sounds out as you scramble to get up, a warm hand pressing to your chest to ease you back down as you remember, it’s Joel, you’re safe. 

He pulls back the covers as you slip in, expecting to hear him follow in soon, expecting to feel his body heat warm the cold bed.  

Instead, you watch as his figure strides to the door, confusion setting in. 

“Joel… where are you going?” It comes out in a hush, feeling too vulnerable for your own skin, the exterior of hyper-independence you've worn since grade school replaced by an anxious curiosity.  

“Got a room right next door, just holler f’ya need anythin…” He moves to open the door, a gust of warm wind entering as you realize it’s night, a nearby clock reading 8:32 p.m.

You don’t know why you’re frustrated, it’s stupid. Your hands balling up the sheets as you clench onto them, attempting to figure out what it would to get him to stay. 

He’s being respectful you think, but it makes a certain loneliness you are familiar with, creep its way up your spine. You don’t have the guts to ask him to stay. 

“Okay… if some serial killer comes to get me in the middle of the night it's your fault,” is all you can get out, attempting to soothe your own anxiety with jokes. 

You can see him slightly as he exits the door, the soft moonlight reflected upon him in a way that makes your heart flutter, “Not on my watch baby, get some sleep.” 

The door shuts with a hard thud and soon you get up to lock it behind him leaving you wishing he shared the bed with you. 

You drift off that night imagining what it would look like if he did.

[harrisonarchive]

Screenshot from The Beatles Anthology.

“[I love] Hoagy Carmichael, who my mother was also into.” - George Harrison, Billboard, December 5, 1992 “My mother, ‘Who’s That Girl’ by the Eurythmics. My dad, ‘Barnacle Bill the Sailor’ by Hoagy Carmichael.  He would go up at parties to the DJ and say, ‘I’ve got something really amazing.’ ‘Cause he was who he was, they would listen to him, and then everyone would just be bummed out, it would clear the dance floor. And then he’d come back later — ‘I’ve got something else’ — and he’d put it on again. You know, he would just do this until the DJ was like [exasperated].” - Dhani Harrison (on what songs he associates with his parents), la minute rock, Rolling Stone France, November 28, 2017 “Hoagy Carmichael reminds me of being around the fireplace at home with my parents when I was young. It's [‘Stardust‘] just one of these songs that brings me comfort; it's just beautiful. My mother and father had a jukebox; this song was number 7806 in the jukebox. Don't quote me on that! But, yes, I think it was 7806.” - Dhani Harrison, The Line of Best Fit, October 20, 2023 “[W]hether he listened to Hoagy Carmichael or Cab Calloway, we would go on a musical journey for like months at a time. You would wake up to ‘Bugle Call Rag’ on the jukebox, that was his way of getting Dhani up for school. You know, loud. [Laughs] He probably would have covered Barnacle Bill the Sailor by now, you know, because he had a funny version of that. And it was all about the chords and notes and the sentiment.” - Olivia Harrison, Dark Horse Radio, 2018 (x)

[spaceprincessem]

another lil coda for day 4 of robstar week. i kind of re-imagined the time during the brotherhood of evil plot where the titans were split across the world. loved the idea of the team having lil meet ups and late night calls and just taking whatever they can get to be with each other @robxstar

day 4 - downtime

how we touched and went our separate ways

The hot Nevada sun is just beginning to set beyond the horizon when Robin parks his motorcycle outside of a small diner. There’s a sign right off the road letting passerbyers know that Las Vegas is only 60 miles southeast and Death Valley 50 miles west. 

It’s one of those places no one really notices; a last chance run of the mill restaurant to get something decent to eat before you’re stuck in the middle of the desert. Beast Boy swears by their mac and cheese and rhubarb pie.

(Robin’s not really sure where the hell they get the rhubarb though, but the diner is sitting at a crossroad and stranger things have happened.)

It’s the closest meeting point for the whole team, and despite the short window of time they have before their (seemingly) never-ending mission to unite Titans across the world against the Brotherhood of Evil, they take whatever they can get to see each other.

It’s difficult getting all five of them together. 

The past few weeks have consisted of quick dinners or a few stolen hours in each other’s company. Robin was lucky enough to see Raven a few days ago when they passed through the same town. They got coffee and video chatted with Cyborg before their missions called them away again. 

He hates the team being so divided, but the quicker they get this done the sooner they can all go home. 

And Robin really misses being home. 

They’ve all opted for street clothing in their public meetups, not wanting to draw attention or risk the Brotherhood attacking them during their small moments of peace. 

He’s pretty sure he’s a little early, possibly the first one there until he looks up through the window and spots Starfire sitting at the counter sipping a milkshake. She’s dressed in jeans and a colorful crop top sweater with space earrings Beast Boy gave her as a gift from a shop near Area 51.

Robin swallows the sudden flutter of nerves that never cease to leave him be when he sees her. His heart is equally traitorous, thumping against his chest, pulling pulling pulling him to her. He follows the tug, easily falls into her gravity — her magnetism — like he was born for it.

And sometimes he thinks he was.

They may be from different worlds, but whatever stardust made them is one in the same.

Some Journey song is playing on the Jukebox — Separate Ways (World’s Apart) — and Robin smiles at the irony of it. Starfire is tapping her finger against the glass in time with the music, her focus lazily held by two dude bros tripping over themselves to talk to her. His fingers tap the small of her back and stay there like a warning that the boys clearly take heed of. 

Starfire turns, lips spreading into that dazzling smile as she leans into him, like maybe she’s caught in his gravity too. 

“Hi.” He says, softly.

“Greetings.” She replies, gently laying her hand on his arm.

Being here now, so close and yet never close enough, Robin realizes how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other.

He realizes how much he fucking missed her.

He wants to touch and take and taste every part of her, like a man starved for oxygen. With the way her eyes sparkle in the orange hue of the setting Nevada sun he knows that she feels the same.

He’ll never forget the first time they kissed.

It was just after one of their more dangerous missions that required a tag team. The appearance and sabotage of Madame Rouge quickly complicated things and it was one of those rare times they barely made it out alive. 

Robin can still sometimes feel the way his heart ripped right out of his chest when he thought he lost Starfire. When she appeared at his side seconds later, bruised and bleeding, he didn’t stop to think; he simply let his instincts — his wants and desires take over. 

Her blood was sharp and strangely sweet on his tongue, the taste of her seared in his brain forever. The hunger, the dire need to take more more more somehow melted into soft sacredness, like something holy. Robin wanted to take his time memorizing the way her lips perfectly slotted against his own and how kissing her was the easiest thing in the world.

Like they were made to fit this way.

Of course, they couldn’t keep the hunger, the animal desire, at bay for long. He needed her in every way imaginable and she needed him just as much.

They haven’t had time since then to just be. To be around each other and hold each other and enjoy this new step in their relationship. They’ve survived off of late night calls and text messages when they can help it.

Robin’s known for a while that he loves her; something he’s not allowed to say or even think about for too long right now.

Maybe someday. 

Someday.

“Beast Boy will be mad if we order pie without him.” Robin finally says as he takes the seat next to her.

“I have been patiently waiting for you all to arrive.” Starfire chides gently, but her smile takes out any of the heat in her words.

“Here I was thinking I was early.” He grins, leaning in for a quick, soft press of their lips.

Starfire tastes like chocolate malt and whipped cream and something so magical it simply is not made of this earth. She hums against his lips before moving to press her own against the corner of his mouth.

“I believe flying is faster.” She teases.

“Well Raven can teleport,” Robin pouts, “and she’s not here yet.”

As if summoned by her name the small bell on the door rings and they both turn to see Raven heading over to where they are seated.

“I’m right on time.” She says, taking the other seat next to Robin, giving him a pointed look.

He withers a little under her stare, but it’s cut by Starfire’s giggle and Raven eventually giving in by smiling. Cyborg and Beast Boy join them just as the waitress pours Robin a fresh cup of coffee.

“I’ve really missed y’all,” Cyborg says after their order’s been taken. “I’ve even missed BB’s bad jokes.”

“Don’t get him started,” Raven says flatly, but the pink tint to her cheeks gives her away.

“Cyborg,” Beast Boy says dramatically, “have I not added you to my meme chat? I’ll have to amend that immediately.”

Cyborg’s phone pings and he quickly scrolls through it, his shoulders shaking as he tries not to laugh.

“This is just you trying to teach Star how to use memes.”

“And,” Beast Boy grins, “it’s working.”

“Beast Boy recommended we all watch the, and I quote,” Starfire says somewhat seriously, “the cinematic masterpiece that is Shrek when we all get home.”

“Lord help me.” Raven mumbles.

Robin joins in with Cyborg’s laughter as Beast Boy scoffs in Raven’s direction. Starfire just watches with amusement, her fingers catching Robin’s under the counter for a moment.

“Movie night when we get home,” Robin says, as he picks up his fork with his free hand, “sounds like a good plan.”

His friends all smile in return and they all take their time eating, wanting the night to last just a little bit longer.

“Does anyone know how the hell they get all this rhubarb out here?”

[chasingfictions]

im sure someone has thought of this already but the way the taylor swift jukebox musical about an aspiring famous person closeted lesbian who flees her small town but also her true love childhood sweetheart but then the sweetheart follows her to the big city eventually and they build a real life together but ultimately the protagonist has been changed too much by her fame and they break up both fundamentally changed by the journey and now going in different directions. the way it writes itself

[cherrygirlystuff]

Sleaze Diaries: Embracing the Indie Sleaze Lifestyle 🌟

Indie sleaze isn’t just a style—it’s a way of life. It’s about finding beauty in the chaos, embracing the raw and unfiltered, and living life with a rebellious spirit. Here’s how to document and live out your own indie sleaze journey, one day at a time.

1. Concert Nights: The Heartbeat of Indie Sleaze 🎶

Concerts are the soul of the indie sleaze scene, full of energy, raw emotion, and unforgettable moments. Here’s how to document your concert nights in true indie sleaze style:

Capture the Vibes: Bring your camera or smartphone and snap photos of the atmosphere, the crowd, and those electric moments when the music hits just right. Look for shots that capture the energy and chaos of the night.

Get Up Close: If you’re lucky enough to get close to the stage, take photos of the band in action. Focus on those raw, intense moments where the artist is fully immersed in their performance.

Document the Crowd: Indie concerts are all about the community. Capture the excitement and energy of the crowd, from the headbanging fans to the quiet moments of connection between songs.

Concert Night Tip: Use filters or effects that add a bit of grit to your photos, reflecting the raw, unpolished feel of indie sleaze. Grainy textures or black-and-white shots can add a vintage touch.

2. Dive Bar Adventures: Where the Magic Happens 🍻

Dive bars are the quintessential hangout spots of indie sleaze culture—where the music is loud, the drinks are cheap, and the people are real. Here’s how to document your dive bar adventures:

Capture the Atmosphere: Dive bars are all about their unique character. Photograph the quirky decor, the dim lighting, and the worn-in furniture that give these places their charm.

Focus on the Details: Snap pictures of the little things that make dive bars special—like a perfectly worn jukebox, a collection of old band posters, or a bartender pouring a drink with flair.

Show the People: Document the vibrant personalities that frequent dive bars. Capture candid moments of laughter, conversation, and the occasional dance-off. These shots bring the spirit of the dive bar to life.

Dive Bar Tip: Opt for low-light settings and embrace the imperfections in your photos. Dive bars are all about authenticity, so let your photos reflect that raw, unfiltered vibe.

3. Day-to-Day Indie Sleaze Life: Embracing the Everyday Adventures 🌟

Indie sleaze isn’t just about the big nights out—it’s also about finding the magic in everyday life. Here’s how to document the ordinary moments with that indie sleaze flair:

Everyday Adventures: Whether it’s a day spent wandering thrift stores, hanging out at a local café, or just chilling with friends, capture the little moments that make up your indie sleaze lifestyle.

Embrace the Imperfections: Indie sleaze is all about authenticity, so don’t worry about making everything perfect. Embrace the messiness and the spontaneity of everyday life.

Tell Your Story: Use your photos and stories to create a narrative of your indie sleaze life. Share anecdotes about your favorite spots, the people you meet, and the little things that make your day special.

Daily Life Tip: Keep a photo diary or journal to document your adventures. Mix in candid shots, personal reflections, and snapshots of everyday moments to create a comprehensive picture of your indie sleaze life.

Final Thoughts, Gorgeous: Living and Documenting the Indie Sleaze Vibe 🌟

And there you have it—your ultimate guide to living and documenting the indie sleaze lifestyle with Sleaze Diaries! Whether you’re capturing the energy of a concert, the charm of a dive bar, or the beauty of everyday moments, remember to embrace the raw, rebellious spirit of indie sleaze in everything you do. Your photos and stories are a celebration of a unique and authentic way of life.

What’s your favorite indie sleaze moment or spot to document? Share your stories and photos in the comments—I’d love to see how you’re living out the indie sleaze dream! 💕

[thatfrailsoul]

– The look in your eyes, got me hypnotized

tarot pick a pile reading ( → 1, 2, 3 )

pictures from pinterest → one, two, three

There are people that just have something about them... Something that makes you unable to resist the urge to follow them, to get closer... Just to feel their energy around you. Just to receive their attention, feel their gaze on you. There is just something so magnetic about those that inevitably call you. A bait that leads you again and again into the trap of someone so intoxicatingly loving, so painful in the way they grasp your heart. There are many moments in our life when we are captured, hypnotized, by someone. A dangerous love, a painful friendship, a delusional connection, a misleading admiration... But how can we ever be able to resist them, protecting our soul from the ones that try to steal it, make it theirs to play with and enjoy?

This is our first pick a pile reading from the Divinatory Jukebox - I'm so happy that so many of you liked this idea! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡

Apart from being obviously inspired by the story that this song narrates - "Hypnotized" by Funk Tribu and Part Time Killer - this reading was also guided by my cards, that showed me the point of view from which we should listen to this song, the way it wants us to feel, what it wants us to understand right now, what that part of our subconscious that resonates with it wants us to realize...

P.s. If you would like to see a reading inspired by your suggested song, you can learn more about how to participate here ↓

♪♡♪ Divinatory Jukebox ♪♡♪

Slow down for a moment. Give your conscious mind a moment of rest, allow it to step back. And listen to your subconscious instead, to that inner voice, to the intuition that is guiding you to the pile in which your message hides.

( You can scroll right down to your pile, but if you have a moment to spare - there is something that I would love to hear your opinion about.♡ )

In my each reading, I dive as deeper as I can into the topic or situation that we are looking at. I call for the most needed information for you, the guidance that is the most important for you to receive now... But as useful and right, I sometimes feel a sour taste after a reading. Simply because I understand too well that so often there is much much more that we personally might want to know, more details that we want to hear, more things that we want to be aware of... For this reason, and also to give myself a little more help financially, I was considering on doing extended versions of our pick a pile readings. An addition to each pile of a reading that we do, through which we will be able to have even more details about the situation. So we have not only the message that we need, but also the answers to the questions that we are most curious about.

{ Thank you for letting me know!♡ }

_

– Pile one,

the seven of cups, the death, the five of cups

To be seen, to be noticed amidst all the other ones... To be hold onto so tightly... To be chosen so fiercely and passionately again and again... There is nothing wrong about it. There is nothing wrong or entitled in just wanting to feel so needed and desired. So important and necessary for someone just for once... But when the part of us that desires it so much, finds it so romantic and loving, is the one that has so many wounds, that bleeds still because of all the times it was left behind or put aside... It is no longer just a desire. With each moment and connection that it passes without it, it transforms it into a weapon against us. And worst of all, a weapon that we don't realize to be the ones to hold.

Because for our honest, most genuine and softest heart, to be chosen is to be loved, to be enough, to be that all that someone needs or might want. It doesn't consider being a part of a plan, a part of a temporary satisfaction. It doesn't imagine that others might choose us, but only for a moment that will soon pass. We don't think so superficially, we don't focus only on the now, even if it is all that we hoped for... Our mind and heart rushes, moves forward in time, in our dreams and expectations for a fairytale like story that we think just began. We imagine and start to wait for more moments to create with them, and even difficulties that would be so easy to overcome now that there is someone by our side. We still feel that fear, still overthink and expect the worse. But we also fight every doubt and negative thought with the reminders of their gentleness and comprehension. We soothe ourselves with their loving ways, with the conviction that nothing can really tear us apart. Not when they were the ones to choose us, to come closer to us. Not when they were the ones to take care of us and promise us so much.

So when times change, when the first challenge arrives... we are armed with that sureness that everything will be alright that we created in our heart. Even if it is not just external interference. Even if it comes from them, from their suddenly confusing and so different ways. We still endure it and wait for the best, thanks to that enthusiasm and sureness that just being noticed and chosen created in ourselves. And it becomes only stronger when things do work out. When that person, after making a "mistake", taking some time or hurting us for the first time, comes indeed back and speaks so wholeheartedly about how they understood what they've done and how they will never allow it to happen again... It just makes our conviction stronger, our heart and mind even more infatuated with this perfect story of redemption in the name of love. In our name...

And then it happens again. And again, and again, and again. But we endure it, we are patient, we are understanding, we are hopeful of the fact that everything will be alright. And we fail to see the pattern. The way it happens so similarly every time. The mistake. The hurt. The regret. The forgiveness. And back from the start. Every single time, one after another, a well done play that for so long we consider being something normal... Just because we were convinced of it through the sweet and loving words.

We allow it to happen, without even knowing that we are the ones to allow it. Without understanding that this is indeed not normal. That this, in the first place, is not even what we were looking for when desiring to be chosen. And it just becomes a neverending cycle. With the same person or with the others. In the same exact way, or worse, in newer and ever changing ones. We never have a break. We never feel truly safe and chosen over other people or things. But we just become someone who is so convenient for when things get boring. So easy to maintain with just a few tender words and gentle ways.

And when it is described this way... It seems so obvious how it is wrong and dangerous, and how easy it is to recognise it and to avoid... But it is more tricky than it looks. It is much more difficult to recognise the danger, something that is wrong, when not only it is all that you've known for so long... But also the only one that you ever received from another soul.

Because recognising it is not the only step. There is also the one of refusing it, of walking away and not taking that "bait". But is it really so easy to ignore it, when you know that it might be the only food that you will find in miles and miles that you will need to survive? Facing loneliness, the coldness around you as there is no one to warm even a little your heart... It is not easy at all to face it. And it is even more difficult to choose it, condemning yourself to that silence and void, that absence of smiles, of laughter, of the joy of having someone sometimes by your side. It is not really the decision to hurt yourself. But the one of hurting you less, by giving yourself at least something, even if it is not the exact thing you desired.

Or at least so you thought... What in the theory of a broken and tired heart makes sense, reveals later to be something much more draining and hurtful than you can bear in the reality of your days. The days that perhaps are really not that bad, even if you are the only one to witness them... They are not so cold, even if you have only the warmth of your own heart. They are for sure different from what you desire, or even from what others might expect from you. But not for this reason they are useless or not worth it. To be lived for your own self, candied only by your love... They can be sweet enough to be still enjoyed. Rather than ignored just because it does not come from someone else's heart.

It is not easy at all to resist it, to stop looking for or accepting something that is so damn similar to what you truly want and hope for... But it is easier to start, one step at a time, to learn how to give more love and respect to your own self, to your own ways, your appearance, your character, all that is a part of your beautiful soul... Because it will create that needed and better armour for you, that filter through which you will see the ways of others, giving them credit and appreciating them, but also never feeling dependent, never feeling like it is the only thing you have. So even when it will happen once again, as you will grow and learn to understand the intentions of others more... It will not hurt so much, it will not happen for so dangerously long. Because although still remaining your sweetest, hopeful and open self, you will also become whole. You will be enough, even on your own. Your life as it is will be enough. And every time your soul will connect with someone, they won't be the reason for your days to be lived, they won't cause your life to crash down if they are no longer by your side... But they will just be someone that, if you want to, you can share it with. A little moment, or a whole life.

♡ { free guidance | a little thank you } ♡

– Pile two,

the hierophant, the death, the three of cups

This world is so incredibly vast... This life can be so different just because of one little decision, a step in one direction rather than in the other one... And it is beautiful, it is indeed. But it is also so overwhelming. This freedom but also the risk of making a mistake, of not knowing in fact what is the best for you right now. It is difficult and so so scary to make your steps out there without even knowing what you are looking for, what you would like to achieve in this life, what or how to create... And what you will do if it will not work out. How will you handle a failure all on your own, the one responsible for all your actions and the consequences, the only one to be able to help you or give you support...

So it is normal to look more for that safe space, for that creation of a solid and strong base, perhaps not in other areas of your life that are already so difficult to manage... But at least in your connections, in the people that are by your side and that indeed can make any challenge feel so different, so easier to take care of when you are not alone in this mess desperately trying to save your life. It is normal to do it, to look for them, and once you found them - to look up to them. It is normal to seek support and guidance from those that have such an important place in your heart once they entered your life. It is normal to listen to others, to their opinions and experiences in hopes of finding answers to your own questions about this life. And it is normal to be charmed by their confidence, their strength, their plans and how easily they realize them one step at a time. It is normal and it is logical. To look for someone that can help you grow and become better at managing your life. Someone that, if something happens, always will have your back, always will know how to catch you before you fall to the ground...

But while they do inspire you in your journey... their path is all that they really know. And you are the one that, still so hopeful about your own desires and capabilities, is able to translate their conviction for their goals in motivation for your ones. But what happens when you fall more and more, what happens when you start to feel so tired and hurt with each failure that tears your goals apart, while they seem to become just better and better, safer in their life..? You stop to transform it and translate it for yourself, their story and their ways. And you start to absorb it. Without any filter, desperately. Because you are so consumed that only doubts remain in your heart. Doubts about your own capabilities and chances to succeed, doubts about your awareness and ability to make the right choices, to fight for the right things... Doubts that are just void in your heart, your mind, your ideas or motivation. A void that is so easily filled with the dreams of others, when they are so important, so close, so powerful and successful. An example of perfection that you respect and aspire to become. So you make them yours. Their opinions and convictions. And they help you at every step, because it is simply something that they love and that worked for them, so they are sure it will do the same for you... But does it ever truly..? Or is it just a well hidden play pretend, your tired feet that you try to fit in other's shoes, in hopes that they will be more comfortable, more safer, in the end?

But even so, it is not something that you allow to happen just because of your weakness or such a low self-esteem either... It is rather an influence that you almost desperately accept, in hopes that it will work better than what you tried on your own. It is not really lack of desire of working on something by yourself, but it is rather a genuine uncertainty and confusion on what you want to work on in the first place. It is just the most innocent naivety, being so new and fragile from this perspective for this world. It is just the desire and need to be guided a little, to have that help in figuring out what is the best or what you want, what might work... And it is not a malicious game of manipulation from others either. There is no desire in washing out your brain and fill it with their dreams or goals. It is just a genuine desire to help, but with so little knowledge of the other ways and journeys out there in this world. It is only someone that knows so well and trusts that one specific something, being able to show and help only with and through that. And it is just you that don't really know where or how to make your steps, what path to take, and in front of the immense risk and responsibility of choosing on your own, prefer to trust someone that you love and respect so much. Someone that you know will never do something to hurt you or to ruin your life.

But it still happens though... In a certain sense. Not intentionally. But they still ruin your journey that you do have, contrary to what all these obstacles, failures, and constant changes made you think. It's just not a linear one, not a specific one like so many others have. Your journey is just about something different from simply choosing and achieving. It is more than just one path or one thing to do, try or enjoy... You made so much experience so far, but at the same time so little. From your perspective it is all about failures, not being able to manage things, not knowing where to go... And it is so little about the joy of freedom, the possibility to start again and again, the chance to try and experiment with so many ideas and ways that this world wanted so much to show you, but that presented it so confusingly and poorly, so differently from the way and a language that you could comprehend...

But it is nothing irreparable, fortunately and as always. No matter if you want it or not, there will be many more endings and beginnings, many more changes that you will face in your life... You just need to not be afraid of them, to resist that urge to hold onto the hand of others so dearly, hiding behind their reassuring back instead of moving forward, through and past the obstacles on your path. You just need to have more faith, in your own self and your way of being, your intuition and instincts. More than you trust the ones of the others when it comes to your own life. You just need to be there for yourself, when it becomes a little too scary, different and new. You just need to trust and follow your own gaze, the things that caught your attention. Instead of looking for and trying to decipher the glimpses from others around you, before making any step.

It is okay, it is still right and fine even if it is so different from the journeys of others. And just because they are successful after walking on their chosen path, it doesn't mean that you can't become it too, on a different one, or many different ones. To be successful it is not always or only to achieve your initial goals or to stick to the plan. It is also to be able to learn from what happened, to grow, to enjoy it or even just and simply experience something. And you do it so well already, you manage things much better than you recognise.

Hold onto your own self, onto your curiosity and even the mood swings that gift you the desire to do something else, to look for something more. And let go slightly of their hand. They will not disappear, the ones that you love and look up to. They will always be here. But now you will have the chance to live your life like you want and feel right, not how they would do it, or how they did.

♡ { free guidance | a little thank you } ♡

– Pile three,

the page of cups, the hanged man, the page of pentacles

What can be worse than believing so much in someone, in loving them, in giving them every chance, making them the object of your strongest hope... just for them to be someone that will walk away, uninterested to all that you've done for your connection, not being satisfied with all that you would be ready to do just for your bond..? Only doing it more than once. Again and again. Trusting, welcoming, one soul after another into your world... watching them destroy it after using it for a moment of comfort or unconditional love and support...

But it doesn't really matter for you, for your heart. Does it? All that you endure when you try to connect deeper with someone is simply nothing, compared to that world hidden in their soul that you can witness, that bond that can heal any wound, banish all the fears and nightmares of the old ones... if only they reciprocate your affection and love. It is nothing compared to the chance that the person in front of you is indeed the one. It is nothing compared to the pure pain that would overwhelm you if you miss them. If you miss them because you will be one of those that you swear you won't become. A cold, judgemental, selfish soul...

Because you know thank to your own self how people can be different from the mask that they carry when they are outside. You know how many stories and reasons can be hidden behind that coldness, that meanness, that defensivness that sometimes pours out of someone who is just not used to be treated so softly, so kindly, as you do thanks to your so gentle heart... You know it well, because for so long you felt the same way. In need to protect yourself, to hide your tenderness so you won't be used or hurt every single time... And you remember how, while doing everything to push others away, all you wanted was to be seen and understood, accepted and appreciated just the way you were... So you do it with others too now. Now that you found that strength and courage to just love the way you feel is right. You nourish every person, you take care of every one that crosses your path. You believe in them, you trust them. And you hope that one day, thanks to you, they will finally open up. And love you back.

But although so noble and incredibly sweet... it is a promise that is not so easy to keep. Not when those that you try to take care of are so different from how you were when you needed it. Their armour is stronger. Their pain is more loud. And sometimes... they already chose a different path, a more lonely one. And nothing will change it, no matter how hard you will try, how strongly you will believe that somewhere in them there is more sweetness and gentleness hidden, that there can be more between you than just this coldness and distance between your hearts.

You are incredibly loving, you are just so sweet. And it truly admirable the way you still hold hope, the way you find courage within yourself and are ready to put your own heart at risk just to help others. Just to gift them that love that you know they need... But it is also so destructive, for your own soul. To put yourself again and again on the line in the battles of others, just because they are by your side, close enough to be noticed by your protective and selfless eyes...

For how long can you endure it? For how long you can give so much of you, because of this strong conviction that there is more to people, to connections, to their stories... Because of your desire to know them, understand them and save them, like no one ever did for you when you needed it the most? It wouldn't be right to just tell you to not do it. To lose your faith in people and in the connections. To force yourself to believe that no one ever will appreciate the way you love or give you that same love back... Because it is just the way you are. So rare and beautiful in how much love you hold in your heart... But it would be right and even needed for you to learn to not force it... when you feel so much resistance, when you just receive silence, in return of your desire to help or show others a different way to see this world. Because there are those that are more sure and more honest. The ones that want to take care of their wounds on their own, and that would never accept to use someone, because they know too well how much it would hurt. The ones that just push you away, or move forward and past you, following their own journey and making it clear that they want to go through it alone... But there are also those that are more confused, more tired, or even worse just bored... Those that make you stay, seeing how much you want to give to someone your love. Those that accept it. But also never repay you. Those that take more and more from you, that are so willing to help every time that they ask you...even when they don't really need it. But just want it. So it is less lonely and cold.

You have a golden heart, a pure and honest one. And for this reason it should be protected, at least a little more. Be yourself, be kind, be gentle. But also pay more attention to the ones that call your name and seek your help so often, always right after being the one to push you away... Because sometimes there are people that just can't resist your love that is always so available, so comforting and convenient for their lonely nights, for the nightmares and difficult times that they could and should overcome on their own, but are just not ready. Or don't want.

♡ { free guidance | a little thank you } ♡

[rhondafromhr]

First little snippet of “Peanuts the Musical: Story of a Squirrel”

Summary: The Starlight’s highly anticipated production of Peanuts the Musical: Story of a Squirrel brings with it chaos, camaraderie and copyright infringement. It also gives Ruth a chance to overcome her stage fright, Brenda the chance to shine as a choreographer and Grace the chance to supervise the show and keep it as wholesome as possible. On the rollercoaster that is the road to opening night, the three girls form an unexpected friendship that just might lead to a backstage romance.

Ruth sits cross-legged atop her messy twin-sized bed among her many plushies, which she’s carefully arranged so that they all face the clunky old TV sitting on her dresser. This is an important moment, possibly the most important of her life, and she’s going to share it with them. She feels sort of stupid and childish doing it, but she’s kind of scared to face this moment alone and nobody else is around. She leans forward, eyes trained on the screen, resting her chin on her hands.

“Good evening Hatchetfield, I am Dan Reynolds with Action News, weekdays at ten PM. Tonight’s top story: a winner for the Local Writers’ Workshop has finally been chosen to be performed at the Starlight, and let’s just say, we think you’re gonna go nuts for it.”

He flashes a cheesy, but inexplicably charming grin at the camera. Ruth feels a faint sheen of sweat on her skin, and not just for the usual reasons. Her window is wide open, holding a box fan that’s currently on full blast, but neither the gentle hum nor the cooling breeze seem to bring down Ruth’s temperature or quiet the nervous, restless energy coursing through her body. She grabs a handful of sour candies from the bag on her nightstand and pops them into her mouth; she read on what looked like a very legitimate website (it had ads for sexy singles in the area looking for a good time and everything!) that they can help reduce anxiety. They don't do much for her in that regard, but at least they’re at least enjoyable as the chewy, gummy texture slowly melts in her mouth and the flavor goes from tart to sweet and mellow.

“That’s right, Dan,” says Donna cheerfully, adjusting the papers in her hand. “If there are two things all of us here in Hatchetfield can agree on, it’s our burning hatred for the putrid hellhold known as Clivesdale and our boundless love for Peanuts the Hatchetfield pocket squirrel. With this jukebox musical, his incredible journey of perseverance will come alive onstage, featuring hits from ABBA, Nine Days…” Donna squints at something in the distance, probably the teleprompter. “What’s that say? Starkid? Some band named Starkid? Who’s that?” She turns to Dan, who looks equally confused and shrugs. Donna quickly composes herself and returns her gaze to the audience. “And many more.”

”That’s right, Donna!” Dan flashes the audience another one of those grins and seems to address them directly. “And if you, dear viewers, want to be a part of the excitement, open auditions are being held at the Starlight this Saturday starting at noon.”

Well, that settles it. It’s Peanuts! And who wouldn’t want to be in a musical about Peanuts? Ruth is going to have to do the unthinkable, the thing she’s feared and wanted the most for years. She’s going to have to march right down to the Starlight (or, more likely, get a ride from her mom since it’s all the way downtown) next Saturday, sing and act her heart out in front of everyone, and land a role. She wonders if it’s too late to get a new headshot before then, or at least touch up her current one. She’s been bugging Richie to help augment certain areas of it ever since he started getting good at photoshop. She really thinks it’ll add a touch of class and help elevate it to the next level.

Oh, how can she think about that right now? Well, she’s Ruth, that’s how. But there are more important things and there’ll be time for big bazongas later! First things first, she needs to pick an audition song and start practicing like her life depends on it.

[billpottsismygf]

The Devil's Chord! This was my most highly anticipated episode of the series because of The Beatles - who I'm very nostalgic for, sue me - but they had a much smaller part than I expected. That may be for the best, as the actors don't look anything like the real deal, but they did an admirable job considering the circumstances.

I love the idea behind this one. I'm a musician myself and love things about music. Music being important, music being holy, I love it all. Everything from Maestro playing us into the theme tune, to the way it aligns with the characters' established personalities (the Doctor's jukebox and Ruby's band), made me very happy. The music battle was especially cool. Very The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Out there, but I liked it a lot.

Maestro was also a lot. I liked them, though. Great costumes, great performance. A campy villain in the best way. They're the Toymaker's child, which is interesting in itself, and I like that the rules around fair play seemed to extend to them as well.

There was a lot of series arc stuff here. So, Ruby has Carol of the Bells deeply ingrained within her. There was some important figure (another of the Pantheon, presumably) at her birth - is Ruby herself a child of the Pantheon? More snow, as well. There's also the One Who Waits coming up again. It all feels a little too self-conscious and crammed in - "remember, there's pay-off coming for these random mysteries that you have no context for!". I know we live in an era of heavily serialised media, in large part because of streaming and the binge model, and obviously Doctor Who has been semi-serialised since the revival, but it just seems like a lot. Maybe even too much, especially since the first episode was quite heavy with it too.

Although, I did wonder if this one was meant to be later in the series. First Ruby saying "you never hide" and then "you always know what to do" signaled a far longer association with the Doctor than she has had, but then it was especially jarring when she said it was hard to keep track of when her time is and it could be June or July... That sounds like someone who's been travelling with the Doctor for a while, not like someone who's on their second trip. And it was Christmas for her only last episode. Obviously there can be off-screen trips, but usually for the first couple of episodes we want to feel that this is the start of their journey as the audience gets to know them. Did this get plucked from later in the series and dropped into the episode 2 slot? Because it seems a bit of a shame, if so.

There was a lot of fourth wall breaking in this one as well. There was a wink to camera each from Maestro and the Doctor, as well as the Doctor's comment about thinking the music was non-diegetic (a nice little moment that probably a lot of people will miss). I do quite like a meta moment, and particularly loved the Twelfth Doctor's partaking in them, but I wonder if these serve a particular purpose, because we also had Mrs Flood talking to camera at the end of the Christmas special. Since RTD seems to be going with a theme that the rules of the universe have changed and become a bit more magical, I wouldn't be surprised if the meta elements tied in somehow.

Then, this is less meta and more fully surreal, but that whole ending musical number was... odd. I don't know what I think about it yet. The Doctor with his wink and "there's always a twist at the end" seemed to signal that we were leaving the normal reality of the show, but then... Did that musical number literally happen? How about the Abbey Road zebra crossing acting like a piano? It's part of my specific brand of autism that I struggle with surreal things when it's not clear how/whether they relate to the more realistic things going on, so maybe other people love it. It just made me feel confused, though, and slightly annoyed. I expected a musical number because the trailers showing this made that fairly clear, but I'd assumed it would be explicitly connected to the strange happenings of the episode. Instead it's just plonked at the end after everything has been fixed.

A lot of this latter stuff sounds quite negative, but overall I really liked this one! As I said before, the music stuff speaks to me personally very much, and I'll withhold final judgement about the serialisation stuff and even the meta/surreal stuff, as it may well pay off yet.

Small things

Love their outfits so much, and obviously we've known about them for a while, but it was funny they were worried about blending in when both of them (especially Ruby) were wearing pretty 60s adjacent outfits at the start. The Doctor was more 70s, but I don't think many people would have looked askance.

Ahhhh, Fifteen mentioning that One was in the junkyard made me exceedingly happy! The speculation about what happened to Susan also has me hoping beyond hope that this might be set-up for a Susan return.

I loved that extended instrumental scene where Ruby just played on the rooftop and people listened. It was quite moving!

Love hearing the word "lesbians" on Doctor Who <3 - I don't think even Bill explicitly got to use that word!

Just the general queerness is really nice. Ruby writing a song for her friend's gay break up. Maestro being they/them and it not really being a thing beyond their introduction. Ruby's mum having a "girlfriend" who was a Beatles fan that makes me wonder if that's in the platonic or gay sense.

I want to know the behind the scenes details of how they chose the music they did, especially when it comes to the chords that both summon and banish Maestro.

Henry the child is real and alive at the end! (Though it's during the musical number, so I guess real is dubious.) When he vanished into nothingness (and his music teacher didn't seem to care), I had thought he wasn't real. Does he have his own world-ending powers?

The Doctor referring to bigeneration as having had his soul "torn in half". Hmm, don't like that! I won't rehash my feelings on bigeneration here, but this implies that there is not continuity between the end of Fourteen and the start of Fifteen, which mucks up one of the only ways I could hold onto being just about okay with it.

[aikoiya]

Hello there, I love your post and I like your idea about Danny being affected by hamon but now not the time for dp x jjba and i have a long post idea that I would be understanding that it takes you days to research and post your idea.

Danny Phantom (phantom planet not happen in this au idea) x hunter: the parenting and by extension the world of darkness.

A few months before the event of Adorable Family Trip, the D family went to Amity Park for a month to visit one of Big-D ex, Jack Fenton, and while at Amity Park Kitten decided to look into Amity Park folklore. I want to know what 3 folklore that Amity Park has and what Kitten and Big-D thought about it, also bonus point if one of them is not about ghosts.

Also I have fun idea that the D family shenanigans while in Amity Park like Kitten learning about ecto ghost from Maddie ( who has extreme bias), Jack ( who is still learning about ecto ghost), and Big-D ( who usually keeps info until it's relevant), Marckus telling Danny and Dash about his experience with bully and tell them about how Brok Blacklaw eat Marckus book, gross Danny and Dash out, Door and Boy waiting in line at Nasty Burger for the meatiest burger for Boy and telling Jazz about his old 'mining day' unintentionally misled Jazz into thinking he was a miner and not a EOD specialist that he actually is, and Big-D and Jack have a journey and talk about why Big-D broke up with Jack as while Jack is good against ghost, he is not prepared for Big-D reckoning against the various supernatural.

Also for the funny Big-D know Danny Fenton is Danny Phantom when first met and didn't tell his family until on the plane back to Norfolk UK and his reasoning is that "it is obvious".

Holy cow! Honestly, I was confused for a bit. But the further down I got, the more I recognized. Like, Big-D was my first tip off, but it wasn’t until I read Markus, Door, & Boy that it clicked.

Now, I know what we’re talking about. I was afraid this was about Monster Hunter or Hunter x Hunter because I know practically nothing about either of those except dragons & that they are an absolute infestation in Monster Hunter.

You have no idea how lucky you are that my brother got me to watch the animated adaptation on YouTube or I would be completely lost! XD

So, congratulations, I can ramble about this subject!

However, I have only seen the animated adaptation up to Big-D's guide to avoiding arrest & am actually currently watching it as I type because I asked my brother a question about the show & he later said he'd rather watch more of it rather than continue with Lupin III. So, thanks for that. (Jk.)

Brok literally just appeared for the first time. His crew certainly seems to possess quite the motley assortment of very unfortunate faces, don't they?

But, yeah, I haven't seen any of the actual sessions, so my knowledge about how that world works is limited to that.

First off, I love, love, love all the supernatural lore in it. I was literally taking down notes.

Anyway, hmm… Well, I just looked at a list of Michigan cryptids & it talked about Michigan Mermen, though evidently, it's “bad luck to threaten one.” Though, the legend specifically says it's in Lake Superior. At the same time, the 2 lakes are connected by Whitefish Bay, so I wouldn't understand why they wouldn't also appear in Lake Michigan unless it was specifically inhabited by a predator of theirs. There's also apparently the Chicago Mothman, which according to a really cool map someone made from doing a bunch of research (Amity Park Location & Map), is most likely not even a full day's travel from Amity. Then there's the Lake Michigan Sea Serpent, which is, like, right there.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if it lived in Lake Eerie. Maybe even just a short walk away from Amity itself.

Though, I do also have something a bit more benign that I made up myself. It's not really a creature. It's just a jukebox that plays creepily accurate music. → The Haunted Jukebox

It's really not much, but I figure that it'd be nice to investigate something that wouldn't try to do unspeakable things to them for once, ya know?

And I do have to say that I very much don't see Jack as the type who'd be into Big-D. In fact, I think the only dude that Jack might have a chance of being into is Vlad, who was never interested & will never be interested. And I don't even know if Jack would be aware of his own interest or if it's ever even crossed his mind.

However, I do have an alternate suggestion. What if Jack & Big-D… were brothers or cousins?

Now, I have a lot of thoughts on not only the Fenton Family’s lineage, but several others too, so here's a link so that I don't have to put it all here. → DP AU - Family Legacy

For that matter, I also hc that Warden Walker is Maddie's dad (but neither are aware). Seriously, go read Grandpappy Walker on Fanfiction.com. It’s an interesting read. However, it never finished. I have other hcs involving her family here, too. → The Walker Family

Now, moving on. This could absolutely work because my theories regarding both the Fenton family & Big-D actually align very well.

Mainly in that I hc that the Fentons are descended from a Lugat, thus making everyone descended from him dhampirs after a fashion.

Now, if we go this route, my suggestion is that Jack was the black sheep of the family… but Big-D was the bedazzled, feral sheep that kept biting everyone. Brilliant & the star of the Fenton family with a brain like a supernatural encyclopedia, but obviously has something very wrong in his head.

In my mind, Jack was never good at learning other languages (which was very important for research) or the apotropaic magics of his family because he could never really wrap his head around the mechanics of how it all worked, so he became frustrated with it all, called it a load of hooey & became determined to prove himself a hunter through the medium he did understand: SCIENCE!!!

And engineering. However, because he'd felt like an outcast due to being unable to understand the magical side of things, he'd begun to reject a lot of the old, tried & true hunter methods, relegating them to the domain of superstition even though a part of him knew that it was all true. He was bitter, okay?

Despite this, he's actually surprisingly honest with himself, considering how full of himself he can be. As such, if he's ever shown concrete evidence that he's wrong, he's actually very quick to adapt & accept that fact.

Then, promptly make amends.

Maddie, however, is ridiculously secular & stubborn. As such, she would be ridiculously difficult to convince regarding subjects involving the supernatural that couldn't be explained using science.

Interestingly, despite being so very different, Big-D was actually one of the only ones in their family who actually heard out Jack’s theories.

At the same time, though Big-D thought that the possibility of this “Ghost Zone” was, indeed, possible, he'd never thought that Jack would not only be able to reach it, consistently of all things, but then prove it!

Personally, I love it when experts of the supernatural are entirely blindsided by something that completely shatters their understanding of the world around them. Like, science is making new discoveries all the time. Why can't the supernatural hunter field also be doing the same?

I'm saying that I think it would be fun if the entirety of Big-D's knowledge of this new plane of existence completely consisted of whatever theories Jack had spoken to him about regarding it.

On the one hand, he's so ridiculously PROUD of Jackie-Boy!!

On the other, Big-D is absolutely shitting his short shorts as it slowly dawns on him the implications of all this.

I mean… this… this is the fucking trans-universal thanatonexus!! Literal proof of alternate & parallel universes!!!

The universe between universes & the moment between times!!!

….

….

Big-D needs to sit down before he passes out…

Which, my guy. I have a full freaking masterlist of hcs regarding how the Infinite Realms work, how it interacts with the Living Realms, how ectoplasm is made. As well as hcs about Clockwork & Nocturn. → DP Ghost Zone Masterlist

Clockwork - The Origin of Clockwork - Clockwork Through the Multiverse - Nocturn (My Style)

Peruse at your leisure.

Seriously, I might have a problem…

I mean, if you really think about it, how would Big-D know much of anything about ecto-ghosts? The only people shown to possess portals are the Fentons & Vlad & the only other portals are natural portals which open randomly & very rarely. Like, maybe he's heard stories about powerful beings that could fly & shoot lasers, but I don’t think he’d know anything truly concrete.

But I definitely think he's aware of Danny's time traveling shenanigans, though only from the perspective of having seen imagery of Phantom & Plasmius scattered through time. But not that it’s Danny & the mayor of Amity (at least initially).

Which, I honestly think that they'd legitimately despise each other. D & Vlad, that is.

Which, perhaps Big-D's actual reason for visiting could partially be because of that? Maybe he saw a picture in a supernatural tabloid about a little town in Illinois that was a tourist trap centering around ghosts? And the picture used was of one of Danny & Vlad's fights?

Maybe it was Kitten who was reading it & Big-D was just sort of sipping his drink at breakfast, was chatting with Kitten, & glanced down only to choke on his drink as he recognized the figures from one of the single greatest mysteries in all of hunter history. He gasps & wheezes rather comically as he tries to catch his breath. Kitten is concerned, but the second D caught his breath, he declared that they were headed to Amity Park to visit family.

The terrifying thing is that I actually think that the Fentons of Amity might be the most well-adjusted members of the current Fentons in the family… This realization haunts me…

Holy fudge, I think Jack would end up being the responsible & rational one between him & D…

Like, I can just see Jack looking D dead in the eye & telling him that drugs, psychedelics, alcohol any purer than near beer, & especially sacrifices were not allowed within 5 yards of the perimeter of Fenton Works & neither were D's sexual indiscretions.

If he brings that shit anywhere near his family, no one will find the pieces. And if he gets caught with that sort of thing here, then Jack's never met the man.

Like, the supernatural stuff is fine, whatever.

Typical Fenton clan brouhaha, but Jack raised a couple of wonderful, talented, genius kids.

(Even if Danny was having a rough time keeping his grades up at the moment, he could still reverse engineer any one of their inventions practically on autopilot & sometimes could even surpass Jack himself in terms of guerilla science & ingenuity, but that's not the point!)

His kids were brilliant & they don't do drugs or commit crimes or go out drinking, & he's not about to have one Bignaceous Ditryck T. Fenton walking in & screwing up the 2 (3 if they’ve adopted Ellie) most sane, well-adjusted children born into the Fenton clan in 5 generations just because he couldn't behave like an adult for a week! Like, he loves D, but “Seriously, D, you need serious help.”

Which would probably start a bit of a dismissive handwaving about how, of course, he’d never dream of it! But Jack just narrowed his eyes at the other man’s insane smile before sighing with a slump of his shoulders before letting them in reluctantly.

Anyway, I'd very much appreciate Amethyst Ocean to be a thing here. This is the DP ship that I've been shipping since I first watched the show. And it was made canon.

Of course, in the end, it's your choice. Not mine.

Also, keep in mind that if Phantom Planet isn't canon, then neither is A Glitch In Time. Just something to remember.

[bri1234]

What song(s) do you relate to a Choices book survey results!

Hello! So it's been about a week and there are a few responses from the Google form I sent out! The form is attached at the bottom of all this so if you want to take it, you still can!

I will continue to update this if there are any more responses.

Also if you see your song on here but not the additional comment (if you left one) and would like it on here, just let me know and I'll add it!

So without further ado, let's jump right in!

Songs that relate to a Choices book (chosen by you guys!):

Across the Void

Remember Me as A Time of Day by Explosions in the Sky

Blades of Light & Shadow

Two by Sleeping at Last

Comment was "MC's deeply unhealthy desire to put everyone else's wellbeing first (book 2)."

Degenerates by I the Mighty

In My Head by Jacob Ryan Smith, Daniel Mertzlufft, Andrew Barth Feldman, & Joe Serafini

Comment was "Aerin and MC on Deadwood lake date (book 1)."

Falling by Write Out Loud, Ciara Renee, and Kat Sicilian

Die With A Smile by Bruno Mars and Lady Gaga

A Courtesan of Rome

I Survived a War by Mariami

Crimes of Passion

In My Blood Song by Joel Smallbone and The Cast Of Journey To Bethlehem

Comment was "I relate this song the Trystan Thorne, specifically Book 2 of CoP, wanting to be the son his parents and country are proud of while being himself."

Arpeggio by Alexandro

Perfect World by Twice

The Cursed Heart

Dream A Little Dream of Me by The Mamas & The Papas

Comment was "It reminds me of how Kieran and MC often would visit each others dreams at night (book 1)."

Power Over Me by Dermot Kennedy

Without You by Ursine Vulpine

Find You by Ruelle

Die For You by Postmodern Jukebox and Tatum Langley

Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

Comment was “MC thinking about their mortality and how someday they won’t be young and beautiful.”

Los Ageless by St. Vincent

Comment was “Lustre’s theme song 😈”

Dirty Little Secrets

"Slut!" by Taylor Swift

Suburban Legends by Taylor Swift

The Elementalists

Hedwig's Theme by John Williams

Guinevere

Queen of Heart by Twice

Only Girl by Stephen Sanchez

Hot Couture

Choose Your Fighter by Ava Max

Immortal Desires

Boys Will Be Bugs by Cavetown

End (The Other Side) by Fit For A King

Scars & Lifelines by I Prevail

Death Is All Around by The Amity Affliction

The Death We Seek by Currents

Kindred

Still Don't Know My Name by Labrinth

In Hell I'll Be Good Company by The Dead South

Murder at Homecoming

no body, no crime by Taylor Swift

Nightbound

Songs from the Shadowhunter series: Dynasty , Hurricane, Making a Monster out of Me (Katherine McNamara) , This is the Hunt (Ruelle), Storm (Ruelle) , Bad Dream , Love to Hate You, I am Ember from Katherine McNamara , Hold On (from Chord Oversee) , Glass Slipper (Katherine McNamara) , Paralyzed (NF), Angel with a Shotgun (instead shotgun imagine crossbow) , Brother (Kodaline), Shadowhunter series Finale Song by Ruelle

Open Heart

Symphony of Skin by I The Mighty

Comment was "Romancing Bryce vibes"

Platinum

3 Minutes by Alexi Blue

Red Carpet Diaries

Why Should I? by Alexi Blue

Roommates With Benefits

You Give Love a Bad Name by Bon Jovi

The Royal Romance

Not Your Barbie Girl by Ava Max

Barbie Girl by Aqua

Loves Me Not by Kate Grahn & Will Jay

i wanna be your girlfriend by girl in red

Rules of Engagement

Hair by Little Mix

Surrender

Bad Habits by Ed Sheeran

Here's the Google form if anyone wants to take it! Thank you so much to those of you who have taken the time to do this!!!