#the song is called afterthought

[zweigsangel]

ex fratboy! chris. smut-angst. 1.8k words.

it’s one of those late nights, and you’re standing there in the middle of a way-too-crowded, kinda messy party that, honestly, you only came to ‘cause your friends dragged you here. the air's thick with too many people, bad beer, and random songs blaring loud enough to drown out any thoughts you might’ve had. and that’s when you see him: chris. the ex you swore you were over. but like, really, are you?

it’s weird though, ‘cause he’s just chilling across the room, laughing too loud, his arm around some guy you don’t recognize, talking animatedly about god knows what. he’s got that same stupid, loose stance, shoulders relaxed, wearing that hoodie he always wore, the one you’d stolen a million times. you think— hope, he hasn’t noticed you, so you kinda try to blend in, sticking close to the wall, pretending to check your phone.

you weren’t always like this, all distant and tense. you’d meet up after his frat meetings, and he’d tell you all these wild stories about his brothers, like the time they tried building a slip n’ slide down the staircase and ended up getting written up by their advisor. you’d just sit there laughing so hard you’d cry, and he’d look at you like nothing in the world could ever compare. and for a while, it felt like he was it. but it ended, kinda messy, mostly because chris was…well, chris. he’d blow off plans, flirt with people at parties, and honestly, it just felt like he didn’t know what he wanted. or maybe he did, and it just wasn’t you. he’d show up late and drunk, ramble on about his deep thoughts on the universe, and then disappear for days, leaving you feeling like some kind of afterthought. eventually, you got tired of being the whenever person, so you cut it off. even if it hurt.

it’s been a few months now, and you’re doing your thing—focusing on classes, seeing friends, trying to move on.

but nah. of course he sees you.

“yo, wait up,” he calls, weaving his way through people, looking right at you. you try to act casual, like this isn’t a big deal, like you don’t feel your stomach flip. he stops in front of you, that grin still hanging on his face. “hey,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “long time no see, huh?”

“yeah, well, been busy,” you reply, shrugging. it sounds casual enough, but he’s still looking at you like he’s trying to read something on your face.

“you look good,” he says after a pause, and it’s so out of character for him to just say something like that, straight-up, that it throws you off for a second “uh...thanks?” you laugh, awkwardly. you know he’s probably just trying to be friendly, but you can’t help wondering if there’s more to it. “so...you still doing the same old chris thing?”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, looking away for a second. “i guess so,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. and then he kinda sighs, like he’s tired of the frat boy act, or maybe just tired of himself. “been, uh…been thinkin’ about you,” he admits, his voice low. “more than i probably should.”

you try to brush it off, folding your arms to keep your cool. “oh, yeah? that’s, uh, new.”

“i know, i know, i messed up,” he says, sighing. “just…never got you outta my head, y’know?” you can feel yourself softening despite everything. “yeah, well, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

he looks at you, his eyes searching yours, and there’s this vulnerability there, like he’s finally ready to admit something he’s been holding back. “you think i didn’t? trust me, i tried. i just…i dunno. couldn’t do it.”

you don’t want to care, don’t want to feel that old pull, but it’s there, creeping up on you. he steps closer, barely an inch between you now, his gaze never leaving yours. “you want me to back off?” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the music. “just tell me, and i will.”

you could tell him to go. could shut this down, walk away, stay done with him. but instead, you shake your head, just a tiny movement, and he lets out a soft breath, like he’s been holding it in. before you can think, his hand’s on your waist, his fingers brushing lightly over your hip, pulling you closer.

the kiss starts slow, tentative, his lips brushing over yours like he’s testing if this is real. then his hand moves up, slipping around your back, and it’s like something inside you snaps. you grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he lets out a low sound, his grip on you tightening as he presses his body against yours, his mouth moving over yours with more intensity.

“missed you,” he whispers against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. you barely register the words, just feel the heat rising between you two, feel his hands sliding lower, pulling you against him, his fingers firm on your waist, his mouth moving along your jaw, down to your neck, sending shivers through you. you tug him toward the hallway, away from the crowded room, and he follows, his hand gripping yours, letting you lead him through the maze of people until you push open the bathroom door, dragging him inside.

the space is cramped and a little dingy, but you don’t care. the second the door clicks shut, his hands are on you, pushing you gently but firmly against the door. his mouth crashes into yours, hot and urgent, and your hands find their way under his hoodie, slipping over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin. you tug the hoodie off him, and he lifts his arms to help you, tossing it aside without a second thought, his hands already back on you, roaming down your sides, exploring every inch.

he kisses you harder, more intense, his lips pressing down your neck, his hands slipping under your top, that quickly joins the hoodie on the floor.

“god, i’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. “yeah? thought you forgot about me,” you tease, but there’s no real bite to your words. it’s playful, but you both know the truth behind it.

“never forgot. couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you,” he admits, his hands sliding up to your bra, deft fingers working to unclasp it. you feel a thrill of excitement mixed with nerves as it falls away, and his hands are on your bare skin, exploring, his touch igniting every nerve in your body.

“you’re, uh…sure about this?” he murmurs, his voice low, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. you don’t even hesitate. “yeah,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

he lets out a soft, almost relieved sound, and his mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, like he’s been holding back and can’t anymore. his hands slide down, finding the waistband of your skirt, tugging it down, his touch steady and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. you step out of it, your pulse racing as his hands explore you, pulling you closer, pressing you against him.

you tug at his belt, fingers fumbling, but he’s already helping, working the buckle loose, kicking off his jeans. he’s back against you in a second, his hands on your hips, his lips trailing down your collarbone, leaving a trail of warmth and shivers in their wake.

he lifts you, setting you on the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist. “you okay?” he asks, checking in, “yeah, jus’ do it,” you whisper, barely able to hold back the urge to pull him closer, “please.”

he’s kissing you again, his mouth moving against yours as you feel him press against you, hot and hard, and you let out a soft gasp. “need you,” he murmurs, almost pleading, and that raw honesty sends a thrill through you. you nod, breathless, and he positions himself, sliding inside you slowly, giving you a moment to adjust. it feels incredible, every inch of him fitting perfectly, like he was made for you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, and the sound of his voice makes you moan softly. as he starts moving, the rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, and you feel every thrust, every movement building inside you. he’s murmuring your name, breathless, and the heat between you is consuming. you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling him in deeper, urging him to go faster.

“yeah? you like that?” he asks, his breath hot against your skin as he quickens the pace. it feels electric, every thrust sending shockwaves through you, and you nod, lost in the sensation.

“so good, chris,” you moan, the words tumbling out as you feel that familiar coil tightening deep inside you. he leans back, looking at you with those dark, intense eyes, and it drives you wild. “gonna make you feel good, okay?” he says, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes your heart race.

with each thrust, the world outside fades away. it’s just the two of you, the heat of the moment enveloping you, and you feel that sweet pressure building, your body responding to every touch, every whisper, until you’re trembling around him, ready to fall apart.

“come on, babe,” he encourages, his voice low and rough, and you can hear the strain in it as he moves faster, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “can’t hold on much longer,” you breathe, feeling that familiar rush as he hits just the right spot, sending you spiraling.

“let go for me,” he says, his voice thick with desire, and the way he looks at you, his eyes dark and hungry, pushes you over the edge. with a loud gasp, you’re coming undone, waves of pleasure crashing over you, and he follows right after, burying himself deep as he lets go. the sound of his voice, mixed with yours, fills the tiny bathroom, and in that moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in each other, together again in a way you thought you’d never be.

as you both come down from the high, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath. he doesn’t say anything, just lets the silence settle between you, a quiet, unspoken apology wrapped up in the way he looks at you, his eyes softer than you remember, like maybe he’s finally realized what he’s been missing all along.

and for now, it’s enough to let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

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

Part Two

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? You would probably just wilt.

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

"What kind of dog?"

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

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

"And you named him Buddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A party?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? No one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've never been?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

"See anything you like?"

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

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

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

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

"You decided, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hayden?"

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

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

[ylangelegy]

After MAMA awards I'M VERY PROUD OF MY BOYS and seeing Woozi crying, nooooo my mannnnn

So can I request Woozi or anyone after awards, all members celebrating with their partners hehe LOVE YOUUU!!!

PLEASE PLEASE 🛐🛐

🍑 i will really live the rest of my life repaying you.

you don't see seungcheol until the next day. such is the life of the general leader, it seems— the never-ending heralding, the non-stop worrying. he deals with his boys, first, then the fans, then the staff. but once that's all done, he's at your front door, collapsing into your arms before he's even past through the entryway. it doesn't matter how many awards its been. he is still overwhelmed by it every single time, and you are a soft place to land. he comes home to you and whispers the sweetest nothings in your hair. i'm so proud of them and they did so well and they're so happy. as he holds you tight— like you're the only thing keeping him upright— it's your turn to let him hear those words. i'm so proud of you. you did so well. you get to be happy, too.

the jeonghan on the other end of the video call has been quiet for the most part of the past half-hour. you'd be more worried if you hadn't already predicted where his solemness was coming from. "hannie? still with me?" you prompt gently, and he finally tears his gaze away from the ceiling to look back at you. "yeah. yeah, i'm with you," he answers. a beat. there are some things you no longer have to say out loud. how he wishes he was there. how he misses them and tries not to let it show. instead, you give him a reminder that's quiet and firm. "this is yours, too," you say. this award. this moment. these boys. all still his. there's a ghost of a smile on his face as he mumbles, "right. of course. how could i forget."

joshua likes keeping lists. a running one he has with you is that of gratitude, where the two of you try to end each day with acknowledgements of what you're grateful for. you're expecting a whole essay for him after tonight. he surprises you by keeping it short, sweet, and straight to the point. in no particular order, he types out into your shared note. music, the boys, you. hours later, he adds a footnote like it'd occurred to him as an afterthought: i'm always grateful for those three, but especially so today.

"look at them!" jun shrieks. his video call pixelates, either from spotty connection or his sudden burst of enthusiasm. you have half a mind to warn him that he may get a noise complaint again, but this time it'd be completely warranted. he's positively vibrating with excitement, his eyes glued to the livestream of his twelve brothers ascending the stage for their second award of the night. "look at them," he repeats, and this time his voice is more reverent than anything. you could comply, could do as he's asking, but your eyes are trained elsewhere. and look at you, too, you want to say. look at you and all that you've done to get this far.

even though it's been an exceptionally long day, soonyoung comes home brimming with adrenaline. he does dance routines in your living room. he jogs around your block until you beg him to just come back. he sings in the shower before collapsing onto the bed next to you, where he suddenly becomes boneless. the glow of pride stays even as the exhaustion hits. he pulls you against him and cuddles right into you. to soonyoung, this is as good as any trophy: the peace that comes with falling asleep next to you.

wonwoo has no destination in mind. he has a car with a full tank, and a playlist of all his favorite songs, and you in the passenger seat. that's more than enough. you pass through tunnels with warm lighting; expressways where he keeps the windows down so the wind will whip at your hair. occasionally, you'll stop to grab a snack or take a photo of something interesting on the side of the street. after hours of just going in circles, he'll ask, "should we keep driving?" even though he knows you'd never deny him this. this. his little celebration in the form of getting 'lost' with you.

nobody hears from jihoon for the next couple of days. the managers are worried, but the boys all just shake their heads and say that he's in good hands. which means: he's wherever you are. the two of you don't talk about his speech, about his public breakdown, because both things make him want to hide forever. instead— he sleeps in. he watches movies from months ago that he promised he'd get to. the two of you go on walks at night, and have breakfast at lunch time. the vicious cycle will soon have to begin again. jihoon knows that. but for a few, precious moments, his heart is not a heavy burden because it's safe and sound in your capable hands.

seokmin takes you on the textbook definition of your perfect date. a shopping spree? here's his black card. an amusement park? he'll rent out lotte world for the day, if he must. you're understandably baffled. he's the one who just won big, and yet you're the one being treated like royalty. try to resist and he'll only push back on you. seokmin already spoils you enough as is, but this is just a little more over-the-top than the day-to-day stuff. at the end of it all, his rationale is as sweet as it gets. "you keep me going," he tells you. "and so you deserve just as much credit as i do."

mingyu has always liked to celebrate with a meal. you'd expected his usual fare of some swanky restaurant or high-end café, but, this time, he asks for only free reign of your kitchen. he props his phone up against the salt shaker and pulls up a youtube video before flashing you his best 'just-trust-me' grin. your trust is not misplaced; the two of you do manage to bake the celebratory cake, though whether it's any good is an entirely different story. the end result doesn't matter as much as the process. mingyu is happiest about the flour marks on your cheeks, about the kisses he steals while you whisk eggs. it's not a birthday cake, but you light up a candle for him anyway. just for the hell of it. "make a wish," you tease. he's looking straight at you as he blows at the flame.

minghao asks for a beach day. the two of you set out for the nearest one. maybe the sand is a bit rocky; the shore, lacking in shells. he doesn't care. he only seeks out the sun beating on his back, the saltwater clinging to his skin, the first punch of air after emerging from the water. as the stolen weekend winds to a close, the two of you sit at the point where the water lap at your toes. neither of you have to speak. here, minghao lets the tide wash away the ache of homesickness. here, minghao redefines 'home' as a future with the boys of his youth, with the music that is as constant as the waves— and with you, of course.

the ferry ride to jeju is about four or so hours long, but seungkwan doesn't mind. there's just something so right about getting on the first vessel that will take him back where he has family waiting with a homecooked meal and a play-by-play of the award show. besides, the ferry means having four hours of uninterrupted leisure time with you. the pair of you literally have nowhere else to be except this boat and this point in time, which seungkwan is a little guilty to be so happy about. he's a glutton for your time and attention, and these ferry rides— these trips home— remind him just how much he likes taking the scenic route.

vernon treats it almost like it's just another day. almost. you're thrown off by his initial nonchalance, by the lack of utter fanfare in the way he asks you out to lunch and the two of you barely discuss the recent accolades. when you prompt him about it, you realize it's not because of arrogance or ignorance. "we're just doing what we always do," he says with an expression of mild confusion. winning?, you almost inquire half-jokingly, but that's only part of it. he elaborates, "we were just ourselves, y'know?"

when chan suggests a rage room, you're understandably confused. the wrath-based activity doesn't seem like the most optimal celebration, but you're not about to cramp his style. the two of you queue the angriest songs known to man before smashing some defunct appliances and throwing empty bottles against a wall. once your time is up, chan looks at you with that familiar spark of fire in his eyes. that dedication you fell in love with, that passion that has always burned bright. "again?" he asks, and you know it's not just the rage room that he's asking for.

[ma1dita]

now that we're older

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 3.5k

summary: (established relationship) The one where he asks if you can stay the night even if all of cabin 11 makes fun of him. Luke is tired of the routine. He just needs his girl. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: its really something about me always posting at 4am.... listened to three songs on a loop while writing and they were all called ‘older’. 5sos-> gracie abrams-> lizzy mcalpine—this works for the trajectory of trouble & luke if you give it a listen; anyways you guys deserve the fluff. PLEASE TELL ME THIS IS HAPPY (ignore the...tinge of angst) BUT THIS IS HAPPY RIGHT? RIGHT? scream at me in the comments & enjoy <3

(posted 3/26/24, semi-edited)

—

Luke lets you love him in the nighttime. 

It’s not to say that you don’t love him every second of the day and then some, but he’s much softer at night, weathered down and stripped of the many roles he carries. Maybe it’s the weight from the responsibility of being an all-star cabin counselor or the bone-deep ache of being camp’s best swordsman, perhaps even the ailment of being Hermes’ favorite forgotten son—but he endures until the night where he can lay it all down and be nothing but yours. 

And you let him. 

The mask usually starts to fall apart during dinner when he comes to sit at your table— besides the extra space, Luke likes intentionally knocking his knees against yours, the hand not holding his fork squeezing the inside of your thigh. He’s more open and receptive to your doting by the time the sun sets, fiddling with the hem of your camp shirt on the walks to the bonfire, letting you hang off his arm as you sidestep each other’s feet, hip to hip in hushed giggles. Whether it be chatty campers running through attempts at kisses, Chiron and Mr. D accidentally interrupting your loving glances, or occasional interference from the gods above, there’s only so many ways to be together in the in-between.

Tonight he’s yawning as he places his head on yours from behind, the both of you watching all your campers file out towards the amphitheater. A gentle smile graces your face and he’s warm all over, arms caging around your chest as you lightly sway against the summer breeze.

“You okay, angelface?”

Humming in response, he lowers his cheek to yours and whispers a proposition.

“Wanna skip the bonfire? Like how we used to…”

Turning to face him, your nose bumps against the scar on his cheek, and he feels the teeth of your smile on his skin as you mumble, “That was before cabin 7 needed an understudy for special requests, babe.”

“You could still sing for me. I’ll even clap if you want,” he muses before warbling out a few off-key notes to your favorite song until you’re a mess of giggles under him, fingers reaching up to cover his lips.

“That’s terrible,” you say between fits of laughter, until your eyes meet Percy and Grover’s wandering ones, “Hey! You two ready for your quest tomorrow?” Luke’s hold on you falters into an afterthought, fingers playing with your belt loops as the boys walk to the center of the clearing to meet you two.

He thinks about his little sister going on a quest to prove herself to her mother, even if it’s not her own cross to bear. He thinks about the satyr risking his life to protect another demigod who follows in his footsteps, and finally his dark eyes land on the sandy-haired boy destined to get caught in the crossfire. Luke’s feet feel heavy as if they’re cemented to the ground, and when you step away to greet the boys, he stays where he is. You misinterpret it for his fatigue, which is only part of what’s weighing on his mind.

“Luke? Go on ahead, I’ll cover for you. Get some rest.” But he can’t sleep without you; the times he’s tried are met with a touch of darkness only you can will away. He wants to hold on to you for as long as he can— Luke’s always been more vulnerable in the nighttime, with or without you.

Later he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his cabin, thrashing in the twin bed against the back wall as he rests his eyes and tries to get comfortable. There are reminders of you wherever he looks, gauzy white curtains strung up around his bed like swirling clouds, pictures of the both of you pinned to the worn walls of Hermes’ refuge for the unclaimed, and though he’s always known his heritage—the way he can pick out your voice through the sound of all the others that file in reminds him who his heart belongs to. Luke shuts his eyes until he feels your lips on his forehead, balmy from your berry chapstick with a hint of your smile. He murmurs your name sleepily, but your hands tickle his torso as you lift the hem of his shirt up.

“Woah there, keep it PG. There are children here!” Travis says mockingly, and the sound of giggles and shuffling sheets fills the room as everyone gets ready for bed. There’s a resounding thud that follows and that makes him open his eyes.

“Mind out of the gutter, Stoll! You know your brother overheats at night,” you mutter, and his hands are already ghosting your hip in silent confirmation. Tearing your lavender gaze from Travis who’s spitting out feathers from across the way, you look down at him and mumble, “Sleepy, angelface? They’ll do cabin checks soon and then it’s lights out.” 

“Don’t wanna sleep without you. I can wait,” he slurs, saying your name slowly like he’s spelling it out. Luke looks at you blearily when he sits up, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes as he pulls his shirt off from the nape of his neck. When the orange fibers lift from his vision, he sees you in sleepwear (all stolen from his closet, just the way he likes it) and your face shiny with skincare. 

“Was gonna get you ready for bed, babe. Got Lee to cover for me tonight and Beck and Katie are on morning shift. Wanna go to mine?”

He knows he should. The both of you never play hooky, not since taking up your counselor positions 3 years ago. Luke doesn’t remember the last time either of you were in bed before midnight and up before 6 the next morning. Never on purpose at least—the surprise jolts him awake a little as he cocks his head at you curiously. 

“Got off the hook, Trouble?”

The question makes you bite your lip, “You’re acting surprised. Something told me you needed it.” He flops back down on the worn mattress, far too soft with age that his back tweaks a little when he moves over for you and pats the space you’ll take up. It’s his though—even if it doesn’t have his name on it, and for once he just wants to sleep in here with his girl like everything is right in the world (and ignore that he’s about to tear it all up). He thinks he might actually miss this cabin, the sound of his scuffling siblings, the way things quickly disappear and reappear at the change of hands in this community of outcasts, but most of all, he’s going to miss you and how you can settle them down with a single hush.

“Can we stay here tonight? Too comfy. Never get to admire the little setup you made for me here since we’re in 12 so often.”

“M’not going anywhere, my love,” you whisper as you push back the curtains, climbing into his bed to cuddle against him, but he shifts so that his head is on your chest. Luke’s hugging you like he’s a weighted blanket, and he strings a garland of kisses along your collarbone leading up to the space over your heart. Running your hands through his hair, you sing to him quietly until lights out, not even noticing the change while you’re looking at each other eye to eye. No one laughs at your lullaby, the sound of your voice tucking the rest of the cabin to sleep.

Almost losing consciousness again, his cheek shakes with the giggle that rises from your chest as you whisper, “Didn’t know you put our camp prom photo up on your wall. We look like we hate each other.”

“You were so mad because I kept stepping on the bottom of your dress. Had to get your attention somehow,” he chuckles, before tightening his hold on you, “I knew I liked you already by then, too. Wasted too much time trying to get Chiron in a prom dress with the boys that I didn’t get the chance to ask you to dance.”

“Ended up on a bead though. Is that what that memory tells you, angelface?”

“You’re my favorite memory, Trouble,” he sighs, muscles relaxing at the feeling of your fingertips tracing stars into the planes of his back. Then hearts. A squiggle of something you tell him is obviously a centaur, which makes his brows furrow, before he kisses your chin when you spell out your name. Slowly, like you want him to remember it. He does.

“I’m still here, silly—pretty sure to be a memory, time has to take me away first. Not letting that happen. Me and you forever if I can help it,” you say breathily, voice tinged with sleep and so much love for him that feels like it chokes you, but that might just be the angle of your neck as you try to look down at him again. Dopamine lines your system at his words, and you let out a strained sigh—lovesick and heady with the feeling.

“I know but you’re in all my favorite ones too. When I think of you, everything’s better. Like I didn’t eternally fuck up my fate before I even turned 20,” he jokes, and like a lot of them, they fall flat. You hope that by wrapping your legs around him Luke will know how much you want to crawl into his skin and hold his heart to protect it. That with you, he won’t ever have to be alone. Words are never enough, after all. Even if you have nothing you need to prove, it won’t stop you from trying to show him.

“Still a few weeks off, so don’t try your luck. There are worse fates than falling in love with you, Luke Castellan.”

He turns from the wall at the sound of that, wanting to disagree, but you kiss him before he can protest.

“I’m the lucky one. Sometimes I think loving you was the only thing I did right,” he murmurs, before drifting off. You’re the last thing he looks at before he goes to sleep, the way he likes it—like a longstanding memory he gets to keep before he’s vulnerable again in his dreamstate. He’s the strongest when you’re with him, and his brain goes quiet. No one dares to break him when he’s with you like this. 

Not a dream, nor a titan.

You can't imagine sleeping another night without this crick in your neck with his name on it, the shape of him pressed into your body. With only the moon as your witness, you whisper words of devotion, sneak featherlight kisses wherever you can reach, and hope that they get to your love, wherever his mind is right now.

“I love you, I love you, I love you…”

—

You let him love you in the mornings.

Even unknowingly, it seems. On a normal day, your alarm would ring and you’d sleepily pat Luke (his face, chest, whatever part of him you could reach with your eyes closed) so he could shut it off. He’d let you sleep in a couple extra minutes (somewhere between 5-10) before pulling you from unconsciousness with a hug. 

This morning, with no alarms ringing in his ears Luke finds that he wakes up a little before you anyway. Down to his circadian rhythm, you’ve affected him, and he takes it with an upwards quirk of his lip as he squints at the sunlight through the sheer curtains that brush against your arms. He watches you delicately, even with the sounds of a lively morning filling the cabin—everyone up and ready for the day while you two are wrapped in your little bubble. It’s a stupid thought that crosses his mind, but a coherent one nonetheless; jealousy fills his chest at the sight of sunlight kissing every inch of your skin that he can only try to reach. He runs his hands from where they’re tucked underneath your waistband to the expanse of your back, and over your shoulders until you’re humming under your breath, midway out of a dream. 

Luke takes an extra moment to admire the way you latch onto him and he finds it almost frustrating how everyone from the gods above to the demigods at Camp Half-Blood down to the powers that damn him to Tartarus know you’re his biggest weakness. It’s almost unfair how you’re his strength too— the sheath that reminds him not to cut, the control behind his unbridled rage that heats up the back of his neck like a brand but instead of feeling fire, he feels sunlight.

You search for him in every sunrise, light refracting through your irises until a smile settles on your cheeks like you want to say, “Yes, I’m here with you. ” 

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

The both of you shifted during the night, almost as if in a dance of limbs and dreams, and somehow you’re nestled against his side and using his bicep as a pillow. It flexes as Luke raises his arm to brush the hair away from your face, when you kiss his scar and mumble, “Did we miss breakfast?”

“Almost over, but we can just grab something from the kitchens. Surprised everyone left us alone, actually,” he says thoughtfully, “the kids might’ve already left for their quest.” He likes watching you reorient yourself into the land of the living, before you step into your boots of being head counselor, before you put on the facade of being the perfect demigod—the protector and glue of Camp Half-Blood.

“Mmhm… was gonna offer my lighter to Percy and them last night for protection, but he was wearing your shoes. You gave them to him?”

Luke wipes drool from the side of your lip, watching you kiss his thumb in thanks with no thought as it was as easy as breathing. A half smile splits through the scar on his face as he says, “He’s gonna need them. For luck.” You lift your upper body up and look at him, hair forming a halo around your face and you sniff, “But you loved those shoes. Gift from your dad aside, I know they’re one of your prized possessions.”

He coaxes you back into his arms as he shifts up and leans against the wall. Prying eyes would think you’re hugging, sitting heart to heart on the small mattress.

“Annie didn’t take your lighter?”

He knows you’re rolling your eyes against his shoulder, feeling your fingers clutch at his curls to pull him away to look at you. You look at him knowingly and say, “Stop trying to change the subject. Anyways, Annie said if we help them anymore she’ll think we don’t trust them enough to come back alive.”  

“I mean it when I say you’re all I care about. Shoes… None of it matters.”

“What I care about is how you used to love flying around in those things. Even if you pissed me off a lot with them too,” you say, and the both of you laugh. They were a consolation from his dad after his quest, probably the closest thing to an apology (or even a “hello, glad you’re alive!”) he’d ever gotten from Hermes. Though the scar on his cheek was more than enough of a reminder of that—he didn’t touch the shoes until a few months after, when you taught him how to drive. Luke propositioned you promising to take you out on a spin once, and you thought he meant the car…

“You loved them more than I did,” he grins, and you recoil and slap his chest.

“You flung me onto the roof of the dining pavilion, Luke.”

“It was an accident! Plus it did make cabin checks go faster…Once I got the hang of them,” he snorts, deciding to pull you to stand. Batting away the curtain, he’s sliding into his slippers and Luke helps you step onto his feet and you groan into his chest, “What are you doing? M’gonna break your toes, Lu—”

“Shhh…I’m the strongest guy you know. Can handle anything for ya.”

He backs the both of you up to the center of the cabin, spinning you in slow circles to an imaginary beat. One hand around your waist and the other interlaced with yours as your smile feels like sun beaming through a window as you ask, “How did I ever get so lucky to fall in love with you, Luke Castellan?” 

You’ll never tell him, but that’s the only thing you’ll be ever grateful to Hermes for.

He shakes his head in astonishment as he whispers, “I love you, you know that?” It hurts his head if he thinks too hard—how does a love so intoxicating manifest as something so gentle? How can he be powered by your love but still fueled by hate? How can he be both damned and saved by you? Luke wonders if his thoughts even break the surface of how busy the mind of a daughter of Dionysus is—to know insanity in love, and still be able to welcome it with open arms.

“Beats prom, huh? Am I a good dance partner?” 

You tilt your head, tongue in cheek as you gaze at your boy like he’s said something stupid, and though it’s been a year and change, you hope the fluttery feeling Luke gives you will never go away. With him, you never have to pretend—never needing to mince your words or soften the blow. You’ve never felt more yourself than how you feel hand in hand with him.

“We’ve always been good partners, me and you.”

He sways you in the momentary quiet of cabin 11 as you step away and hold the bottom of your (his) shirt out like the frills of a skirt, and Luke raises your arm overhead and then you’re spinning, spinning, spinning…

The front door swivels open, and Chris peeks his head in.

“Hey lovebirds, sorry to interrupt but Sword and Shield is starting soon, and Clarisse still has your names on the roster…”

You both sigh.

“You signed up for offense?”

“And you signed up for defense, so don’t look at me like that, Trouble…”

Instantly the two of you harden your stances, parrying at each other’s torsos with hands as your swords until you try to make a run for it and drag Chris behind you to use him as a human shield.

“Hey! Oof—”

Moving as quick as a bullet, Luke accidentally knocks the wind out of his brother who’s now hunched over as you laugh at him like a madwoman.

“You two are going to have weirdly violent children one day,” Chris huffs, before stepping back towards the door, “See ya in 30!”

Cheeks reddening at his brother’s comment, Luke crosses his arms and takes a good look at you, bathing in the light of the open doorway and looking like the rest of his life.

“Well, back to work. Bit too good to be true, huh babe?”

“For now,” he says thoughtfully, “Summer will be over soon though. Gonna get quieter around here for sure…”

You’re already stepping off the front porch walking backwards as you grin, throwing your arms up in the air as you make your way across the path to your cabin to get ready for the day. You’d hate to leave camp—it's as true as your love for performing, caring for others, and most especially, him. He knows it because he knows you, and unlike most things, that’s never going to change.

Not if he can help it.

“Summer doesn’t last forever. But we’ll still have the fall, the winter, and whatever’s next…me and you.”

You’re yelling to him over the railing of your porch and he nods his head at you, turning away before you speak again, “Maybe one day when we’re older!”

“What was that baby?”

Looking at Luke like you already have it all planned out in your head, you say softer, “Kids. If that’s what’s in the cards for us. Though I do like practicing…”

Instantly he cracks up but nods, because there’s no future he can conceive without you being in it. There’s a serious turn in his response and it makes your heart beat out of your chest.

“Anything you want. You know I don’t leave anything up to fate. Not glory, not you.”

Everything you touch turns into gold, and he hopes somehow he would too. Two sides of the same coin, striving for a good ending, one worth remembering—one to last forever.

You get to love each other in the in-between, when time can’t get in the way. The clock is always ticking though, rattling against his brain as a reminder. 

Luke just wants to make sure there’ll come a day where there’ll be no more interruptions.

—

“When is a monster not a monster? Oh, when you love it. Oh, when you used to sing it to sleep.” Caitlyn Siehl

 ½ luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01@poppysrin@ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[strawberrysainz]

about you. charles leclerc

“ snippets of times your paths cross. and how you begin to intertwine a little. / in which you, after many months, find your way back to him again. ”

charles leclerc x fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

strongly advise listening to ‘about you’ by the 1975 just for extra vibes idk

The first thing you think, as he gestures for you to lean into the window of his car - Andrea is holding up your red iPhone to take this picture you may have dreamed of since forever - is that he smelled very real.

It sounds ridiculous. Of course it does, but there is a significant way in which he smells like almond and vanilla scented something that makes you feel like you’re sixteen in your shower with your mum’s body wash she was gifted that in turn was for your own use (she liked soap bars instead).

And as the man smiles and counts down from three, you try to smile effortlessly- you will be showing this photo for years to come- but instead your grin is real, because he is real now, you will remember the smell, his smile, the soft lilt of his voice that you knew wasn’t his proper one.

“Thank you,” you say for a moment, sincere. The Sunday evening is early and welcome, his race win is fresh on everyone’s minds.

“And congratulations.” You add, as an afterthought, smiling. “I seem to have forgotten that.”

He falters for a moment - your casualness has seemed to startle him - and your friends are already pulling you away from the car, wanting to beat the traffic. Andrea hands your phone back and you lean a bit awkwardly over Charles to get it. Charles is staring at you with some sort of amusement, and as you shout a goodbye and a thank you, he waves with a grin as some boys run up to the car.

You laugh into the night air as you get into the taxi, staring at the photos, some candid, some not, of the two of you.

His smile is as big as yours, clearly ecstatic about his win still.

🍷🍝📷💋

A few months later - it’s summer - and you’re in Italy, hot nights and all the Aperol Spritzes are powering you through the days. You’re bundled up in the front seat of a little Volkswagen Beetle on your way to someone’s villa/winery when you notice two guys standing on the side of the road with a car that’s run out of petrol.

You gesture to your friend, and she sighs, and you pause the song and stick your head out of the yellow car. “Are you guys okay?” You say in that heavy accented English, and with a jolt you realise it’s Charles and Joris.

Your friend has realised too - she was at the Grand Prix with you that night - and Charles is staring at the two of you through those RayBans, a little laughing smirk on his face. “The car’s gone.“

“Are you sorting it out, or…?” You say, giggling a little; Joris looks very uncomfortable in the summer sun.

“Everyone’s closed. We called. It’s a Sunday.”

“Get in,” you say, sharing a glance with your friend, “Come have some lunch. One of our friend’s dad is a mechanic, we’ll see what he can do.”

You watch him debate with Joris silently, and then with a shrug they get in.

“This is Stella,” you say, smiling, and introduce yourself too. Charles’ face kind of squints with recognition. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I met you in Monaco the night you won,” you smile, kind of embarrassed, and he slaps his thigh, making a noise of recognition to be nice (but you know he doesn’t remember that interaction at all).

You nod and Stel talks to them for a while, talking about how lovely Italy’s been in August, and the road is winding away until you’re at Luca’s.

🍷🍝📷💋

You friend Luca is very drunk, you note, the flush on his cheeks and the lazy lilt to his voice are very apparent. When he recognises Charles - this friend group is F1 mad - he hugs him and runs away immediately to get him a drink.

You’ve let your friends take on the role of entertainment for the guests, opting to strip down to your bikini and hop in the pool. It’s a scorching hot day, and you lather on sun cream before relaxing with a spicy margherita in your hands.

Your girlfriends pounce, Stella telling the story of picking up the hitchhikers and one of them thinks she can “totally bag Leclerc” before you’re all called inside for the food.

Before you walk in, you slip on the pair of denim shorts you were wearing and some sandals. Charles has a drink in hand and is sitting at the table already, the pasta and homemade bread having been broken into. Stel pulls you in to sit opposite him and Joris, and you lean over to dish some salad while Charles discusses the watch on his wrist with one of your friends (it’s the car chase robbery story that went viral a few months ago). Joris watches on, looking a bit awkward, so you lean in and begin to make some conversation.

He gladly accepts the invitation to talk, and you launch into a conversation about the holiday he is on before getting stuck on the road. You realise Charles is watching you speak now, oddly engaged, and you look down at your food, cheeks hot.

“So you two were in Monaco, right? For the Grand Prix? How was it?” Charles says, smiling sort of amicably, and a rush of embarrassment engulfs you as you smile at him. “So good. We loved it.” You say, and Stella launches into a story about a weird man who sat next to you on the grandstand.

🍷🍝📷💋

You squeeze in to the middle of the backseat, between Charles and Joris: your bare legs brush against them both in a moment that has you scrunching your nose with disbelief, Luca’s dad rattles on in Italian in the passenger seat with a large petrol can in his lap.

Twenty minutes later, you’re back on the hill on the dark and you’re hugging Charles and Joris goodbye, waving them away. You blow a kiss and get back in the backseat, laughing, shaking your heads.

🍷🍝📷💋

Seven months later, the cold February air finds you in Milan as you walk by an open window. You’re here for work, for Fashion Week, and you drift between fashion houses and shows, writing about them, chatting to models and designers and curators and it’s all so elegant, fun and exciting.

Next on your list is Ferrari’s show in the early evening, looking down to your list, and the waitress brings over your drink in the cosy restaurant.

Sitting on a cold hard (concrete?) bench across from the runway, you’re sitting between to an influencer with the most gorgeous pink jacket you’ve ever seen and an old fashionable Italian man with leathery tanned skin (how is he so tan?), and you launch into conversation with him about his experience this week so far, making notes. The show is as good as it could get for the brand, their classic leather, green and red and yellow ensembles with some gems in between that you adore. It’s alright, you think, it’s average, and just as you’re debating leaving someone roars in Italian and holy shit, Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz are walking down the runway.

You immediately begin to laugh a little under your breath, taking some pictures, and as Charles passes your side the girl next to you tries not to shout.

They look pretty cool, you think - all leather pants and shirts and vests, stuff you think they could use a little more of for their everyday fashion. You cheer along with everyone else as Carlos blows a kiss when they leave, laughing a little.

🍷🍝📷💋

You’re just about to leave when a girl comes up to you and engulfs you in a hug, and you tentatively grip her back before looking back, only then relaxing. She’s from university, she eagerly recounts memories of 1st year linguistics class. She hands you a glass of champagne and invites you back to the after celebration, and with a shrug - it can’t hurt, right? - you follow, being led into a room at the back.

It smells like too much cologne, and you scrunch your nose as you find a stray canapé to munch on when Joris calls your name.

Of course he’s standing there, and you run over to give him a hug.

“My saviour!” He jokes, and you laughed, staying by his side to have a chat. You can’t believe he even remembered you. You’re chatting about your latest projects when you’re interrupted by a hand on your shoulder. It’s Charles and Carlos, and Charles has to stare at you for five seconds to figure out who you are before he says your name, squeezing your shoulder. You stand there, rocking on your high heels for a second before he introduces you to Carlos.

“She saved me and Joris in Italy last summer when our car ran out of petrol, we had lunch at their friend’s house.”

Carlos laughs a little when Joris chips in. You’re staring at someone walking past in a great pair of red leather pants when Joris taps your arm.

“We still have to pay you back for last year. Do you want to go for dinner with us?”

Now Carlos’ girlfriend, Rebecca, has turned up, achingly beautiful, and Carlos introduces you and you kiss cheeks before she nods and says she’s so hungry too.

So you end up in a big black car, and Charles is phoning the restaurant and they don’t have a table for 5pm until he does a subtle name drop and then they magically do. Italy has a big love for him, their il predestinato. When you all pull up, there are a lot of people milling about outside, in sparkly dresses and sweatpants, lots of makeup and bare-faced, and you spot Suki Waterhouse when you walk in.

They give you a spot near the back, the brown wall making the space warm as you and Rebecca slide in to the booth.

They order aperitifs and you all chat about what you’ve been seeing this fashion week, the boys’ experience walking, and then you talk to Rebecca about her life for a while.

Then you all order seafood, and it’s delicious and tastes like it’s been made with joy and love.

“I still feel like we have to repay you,” Charles says, catching your attention, and you laugh and shrug the idea away. “This dinner’s lovely. It’s okay.”

“Can I give you and … -“ Joris murmurs to him, “Stella nice tickets to Monaco? Or Monza? Is that fine?”

“Monaco,” Joris nods, and Charles looks at him then back to you. “Really, it’s the least we can do.”

You are busy turning down the offer when Charles shakes his head. “Sorry. See you in May.”

🍷🍝📷💋

You and Stella giggle gleefully as you hear the little sound of your card authorising your access to the paddock. The two of you intertwine arms, walking down. You walk around, peering at everyone supposedly trying to get on with their business in the Thursday morning.

You send a text to Joris, and you just keep walking around for twenty minutes until he replies and says he’s sent someone to come get you. It’s a woman, and she has a lovely smile and she takes you to the hospitality - it’s upstairs, because the paddock is so small in Monaco, and you two have a glass of champagne before Joris appears, slightly sweaty. He’s just got here, he explains, him and Charles - they were slightly held up by fans.

You and Stella laugh and hug him.

🍷🍝📷💋

You spent the day just talking with Joris and other people in the hospitality about their jobs. It’s genuinely the best experience, and it’s nearing 6pm when everyone starts closing up and you are standing near the entrance/exit of the paddock, Stella in the bathroom when Charles comes up to you.

You’re on your phone when you hear him walk up, and you look up with a smile. You haven’t seen him since that dinner - three months ago - and when he pulls you into a hug you feel a rush of energy (electricity?) flow through you. His smile is big and bright.

“How was your day?” You ask, fiddling with your phone case, and he sighs dramatically. “Busy. Monaco is always crazy.”

You nod.

“How was yours?”

“So great. The people in your team are so wonderful. I had a really lovely day.”

Your dress swishes in the wind and you see him cast a glance down at your exposed legs before meeting your eyes again. “Me and Joris are going to do pasta tonight. Do you want to come over for it?”

“Stella’s still here…” you say awkwardly. “I’m not sure what she wanted to do, she mentioned going out.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Ok.”

Stella comes back from the bathroom and she smiled at Charles. “I never got to say thanks for this trip, it’s been great so far.”

Charles smiles at her. “No problem.”

🍷🍝📷💋

Friday comes and goes, a slightly uneventful day (you don’t see Charles, he’s too busy with the practices and the press) and there you are on a rainy Saturday morning.

Stella insisted on hiring a bicycle to get the ‘authentic experience’ so the two of you are busy cursing the weather in plastic rain jackets as you whiz down the streets on bright green bikes.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you see that Charles and Andrea getting off their bikes as you arrive. He notices you, sodden like a wet rat, your nice jeans probably ruined, and giggles in the pouring rain, coming over to help you off your bike and give you an awfully cold hug. His arms wrap around you and you feel him kiss your cheeks, so you return them, but you’re shivering so much he keeps his arms around you until the same nice lady from Thursday comes with an umbrella and takes you inside. You wave goodbye to Charles as he goes to the garage and you blush, your hair soaked still.

The woman takes you and Stella to a tiny little room with cupboards and points to a drawer that contains a hairdryer and a Dyson airwrap (to your delight) so the two of you end up hair-drying yourselves dry - jeans and all. You also get to touch up your makeup after you dry your bag with the hairdryer too.

Nice and warm, you’re given cappuccinos and you peer out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the track, and see the boats rock in the harbour due to the rain and the wind.

“I don’t think we’ll have qualifying on time at this rate,” another man comments, also a guest of Ferrari, and you and Stella nod, trying to seem up to speed with track condition information.

So an hour later the two of you get to watch the boys film a YouTube video, and part of a vlog they seem to be making.

Afterwards, Charles comes over with Joris, and the four of you chat for twenty minutes before Charles is called away. It’s soft conversation, irritating talk about the weather because of the people around you, so you’re glad to change the topic when he leaves.

“What are your plans for tomorrow evening?” Joris comments. There’s a big party, you’ve heard from the groups of rich and famous people, happening on this gigantic yacht tomorrow, but you haven’t scored an invite so you might just go clubbing. But that sounds embarrassing, so you shrug. “Not sure yet.”

“You have to come to this big party an old friend of Charles is hosting. It’s on this yacht and everyone will be there.”

You and Stella fistbump under the table.

“And what are you guys doing tonight? Charles said you guys were having pasta last night.”

Joris looks a little surprised for a moment then quirks his lips in thought. “Probably not anything. He likes to be alone the night before the race. But last year we did this little dinner at his brother’s house which ended up being really nice.”

You nod.

Qualifying is postponed until five o’clock, and you’re taken to the paddock club by someone to be able to stand at the top and peer down at the track.

The rain has quietened down, yet there’s a lot of tyre warfare, teams mistakenly putting on hards before spinning out so there’s a red flag or two before Q3.

You watch the big screens to see Max score pole, and with a wince Charles is only third.

It’s highly upsetting because of how crucial qualifying is for Monaco. So everyone supporting Ferrari (Carlos is sixth) lets out a heavy sigh before going back to the hospitality.

🍷🍝📷💋

It’s 8 now, the sky dimming, and Stella has plans to see an old school friend so you hang around the hospitality, dreading taking the stupid bike back to the hotel.

There’s an energy in the air tonight, the kind you only get in a different place at night. It’s that kind of powerful feeling. You’re talking to one of the chefs as they all finish their service for the night when Charles comes to pick up food, and you’re surprised to see him when he comes to stand next to you.

“Hi,” you say softly, smiling when the chef you’re talking to launches himself at Charles for a hug, speaking rapid French.

“Where’s Stella?” He asks, and he’s checking how his food looks through a peek at the polystyrene container when you reply. “She has plans with another friend tonight.”

“So what’re you doing?” He looks up at you.

“Avoiding taking the bike back to the hotel, then I’ll probably have dinner there.”

“If you ride that stupid big bicycle 5km back to the hotel now at night and in the rain alone I’m going to kill you.” His expression is one of concern.

You laugh as he laughs too, his cheeks warming.

“I’ll get someone to come pick it up, I know they work at the company. Please let me take you somewhere for some food?”

“Don’t you want to wind down before the race?” You ask, uncertain.

He shakes his head. “You won’t be a bother.” He says quietly, and you blush, looking down at the floor.

So you two leave, and he’s got a car waiting for him, and you sprint from the hospitality because the rain’s started to pour again.

🍷🍝📷💋

You have to stop at his apartment so he can drop off the food that he now probably won’t eat and so he can change out of his garishly red clothing to be a little more discreet.

You two stand alone in the lift, and you look at him in the mirror for a moment before your eyes meet and he looks away.

His apartment is immediately cosy in the way a man just has stuff everywhere. He has a coat of his mom’s you can borrow after he noticed you shiver when you got out of the car, and when he hands it to you the look on his face is so tender you feel a little anxious.

Going back down, you stand a little closer and get back in the car. He smells comforting now, like that cologne you once caught a whiff of one hot Italian summer day.

Scrolling through your feed, your phone lights up the car and he gets a call from his mom, talking softly in French to her.

You lock your phone. The driver tells you to connect to the aux via Bluetooth and you freeze up with anxiety. But when you start with a Fleetwood Mac song Charles is mouthing the words silently as he texts someone so you relax.

Because of traffic, it takes you forty minutes to get to this restaurant tucked away on a quiet street. Charles opens your door for you.

Entering, the maître d’ is an elderly woman and she hugs Charles so tight. You stand there behind him and she comes to hug you too. She seats you two far away from the door after he asks.

“I think you should get pasta. It’s unreal here.” He says, after you’ve both ordered water.

You smile. “What are you eating?”

“Probably just a chicken salad. Have to stay in order for tomorrow,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not eating pasta if you have to eat a salad. That’s sad.”

You then bicker for ten minutes until the woman - Gilda - comes back. You make him order first - a chicken Parmesan salad - and then order the same and he shoots you a look (he thought he convinced you to order the pasta).

🍷🍝📷💋

After supper you leave in the drizzle, and he takes your arm and loops it through his. His arm is so warm, and you end up leaning your head against the beginning of his shoulder as you stand against the wall, waiting for the driver again.

He turns his head to say something to you, then stares at you for a second. He then leans down to whisper something in your ear and you giggle and then he’s moved to face you properly.

You’re anxiously biting your lip because he’s looking at you like you hang the stars in the sky and you feel terribly awkward and then he leans down and kisses you and he tastes like Parmesan so you laugh in the kiss.

You feel his body shake with laughter beneath your touch and his body is warm even in the drizzle. And when you kiss his lips make your whole body fire up. And his hand is gripping your waist through his mother’s coat and his other hand is running through your slowly dampening hair and he groans and you’re electric.

You pull away when the driver drives up, flushed and awfully happy. His cheeks are pink and his eyes soft.

“Get in the car,” he murmurs softly, and when he opens the door he slides on to the backseat behind you and wraps a hand around your shoulder and everything feels perfect.

back from hibernation. hope you enjoyed!!!!

here’s my masterlist

[scary-grace]

Somewhere in the Crowd- a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Tomura tells himself he's content with singing backup in the band he founded, and most of the time he is. But when he takes a song request from you during the biggest concert the League of Villains has ever played, he realizes that there might be a few advantages to claiming the spotlight. 4.1k words, no quirks, band au. the League sounds like Lord Huron because I want them to and all songs referenced are from LH's discography.

this fic is for the lovely @scarlettcryptid's birthday! she offered me free rein to write a Shigaraki x reader fic, and true to form I have produced a band AU. happy birthday Scarlett! sorry it's a little late.

Even midway into his second tour with the band he started, Tomura still hasn’t fallen for the supposed romance of being onstage. It’s hot under the lights. The entire venue smells like sweat. And if it wasn’t for the earpiece jammed in one ear and the earplug jammed in the other, he wouldn’t even be able to hear what the rest of the band is doing. Not Twice on drums, not Toga on violin or musical saw or whatever weird instrument she dug up, not Dabi on piano or Spinner on guitar, and definitely not either Dabi or Spinner’s singing. Without the goddamn earpieces, the League of Villains would fall apart.

And at the same time, Tomura doesn’t hate it quite as much as he used to. Since the League got signed with Deika Records, they’ve been playing sold-out shows in increasingly larger venues. Tonight’s venue has three thousand people. Three thousand people paid money to get in, and some number of them paid more money to meet-and-greet with the band afterwards, and right now, all of them are focused on the stage.

They’re mainly focused on Spinner and Dabi, who are singing, or on Twice, who’s always doing something weird and destined to go viral, or on Toga, who’s better at playing to the crowd than anybody else in the band. Tomura, off to one side of the stage with his bass and a mic in front of him, might as well be an afterthought. And that’s fine with him. He’s the one who formed the band. He’s the one who writes the songs. His music is in the spotlight. That’s good enough.

They’ve just wrapped up a crowd favorite, one of the songs from the first album, and they’re officially in the back half of the set. Tomura glances down at the set list, sees the blank spot, and feels a wave of apathy sweep over him. It gets even worse when Spinner, his handpicked lead singer who’s all about keeping things fair, steps up to the mic and announces it to the crowd. “We’ve got space for one more request, so send it on over to Shigaraki! It’s his turn to pick.”

When it’s Dabi or Spinner picking the request, people rush the stage, and people rush it this time, too – so they can try to get the poster they made or the picture they want signed right up and personal with Spinner and Dabi. Tomura sidles awkwardly over to the edge of the stage, wondering if anyone will try to request something from him. Tonight there are two dozen or so, all with big posters asking for the band’s most famous songs. Someone wants a deep cut, one that Dabi sings solo, and Tomura’s feeling like an asshole, so he skips that one on purpose. And then he spots something else.

It’s not a poster or a photo for signing. It’s a piece of folded-up notebook paper, held up by someone who doesn’t look like the type to be right up front at a League of Villains concert. It’s hard to get a good look at your face with all the posters in the way, and somebody keeps bumping into you, almost knocking you over. You keep your arm up, your piece of notebook paper flapping, and Tomura reaches out to the absolute edge of his balance and snatches it from your hand.

“We have a winner,” Toga calls out, and a bunch of people cheer – because it’s Toga talking, not because Tomura grabbed a request. “What’s it gonna be, Tomura-kun?”

Tomura unfolds the piece of paper. Three words. Play your favorite.

He knew he grabbed the right one. “Lost in Time and Space,” he announces, to the tune of a collective “huh” from the audience. “Spinner. Move over.”

Spinner’s grinning as he steps away from the center mic. “We haven’t done this one in forever,” he says, too quietly for the crowd to here. He swaps his guitar for Tomura’s bass. “Whoever did the request must be a fan of yours.”

Tomura doesn’t think you are, really. He’s not even sure you’re a fan of the band. If you were, you’d have requested a specific song, not just requested that Tomura play his favorite song. Tomura feels a surge of nerves as he gets set at the center mic, then pushes them aside. Just because he hasn’t sung lead in a while doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how. Everyone might rather look at Spinner or Dabi, but for the next three and a half minutes, they’re going to have to put up with looking at him. Tomura cues the rest of the band, adjusts his grip on Spinner’s guitar, and plays.

It’s an old song, off the League’s first LP. That LP became their first album, with the weird character songs and story arcs the League is famous for, but neither Spinner nor Dabi wanted this song. Tomura doesn’t blame them. He was pretty depressed when he wrote it, and it’s a little too mopey for the LP and for what the League usually plays. But it’s his damn song. He hasn’t played it on tour at all. He’s going to enjoy it.

He does enjoy it. Not enough to make him miss singing lead or being the star of the show, but he enjoys getting to play a song that’s his, one he didn’t write to play to anybody else’s strengths. And at the end of the song, once he’s stepped away from the center mic and gone back where he belongs, he picks up the notebook paper off the stage and tucks it into his pocket. Whoever you are, he hopes you got what you were looking for out of the show. As he slogs through the rest of the set, Tomura wishes he’d gotten a good look at your face.

After three encores – a record – Tomura and the rest of the band get a break, hanging out in the green room before the meet-and-greet. Toga beelines for the fridge, but instead of opening it, she hauls out a can of air freshener from the floor next to it and starts spraying it everywhere. Twice gets a blast in the face and sneezes through his mask. “Hey, what the hell? That’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled and it sucks!”

“It smells like boy sweat in here,” Toga says. “I love you guys, but you stink. The girls at the meet and greet won’t like that.”

“Some of them are into it,” Dabi says, and smirks. Spinner grabs the air freshener from Toga and sprays both armpits. “Quit simping so hard for your fans, lead singer. It’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“They paid to come talk to us. We shouldn’t tear-gas them with our body odor.”

“So you’re going to tear-gas them with air freshener instead?”

“They’re his fans. He can do what he wants.” Tomura shakes his head when Spinner offers him the can. Deodorant exists, and it’s not like anybody’s going to want to talk to Tomura anyway. “That goes for everybody. Do what you want. But if you break Magne’s rules, you’re on your own.”

Magne’s been the tour manager since halfway through their first tour, and she’s strict as hell. In fairness to Magne, they earned it. Halfway through their first tour, one meet-and-greet turned into one party and turned into five separate scandals, one for each of them. Spinner’s was the smallest and Twice’s was pretty funny, but Dabi and Toga both spent a night in jail over theirs, and although it upped their cred with the fanbase, it also tanked a possible record deal. Kurogiri showed up to bail them out, and he brought Magne with him.

The door to the green room opens, and Magne steps in, like Tomura somehow summoned her by mentioning her name. “They’re all lined up,” she says. “I’m sneaking you in the back way. Does everybody remember the rules?”

Tomura mumbles agreement along with everybody else. Magne’s smile takes on a dangerous glint. “There are only three important ones,” she says. “First: The bus leaves when it leaves, regardless of who’s on it. I don’t care how hungover you are. Get your ass on the bus.”

When Tomura’s hungover, he usually sleeps on the bus, just to make sure it doesn’t leave without him. “Second,” Magne continues, “remember that whatever you do with a groupie is going to end up all over the internet. And don’t bring any groupies on the bus unless the rest of the band okays it.”

That’s happened exactly never. Tomura uses the bus trips for writing or for naps, and too much groupie bullshit makes it hard to do either. “And finally,” Magne says, “if I find out that any of you were hooking up with a groupie in a goddamn koi pond again, I’m taking you to the vet and having you neutered before you sober up.”

“That was one time!” Twice protests.

“Yeah, and we’re still getting therapy bills from the fish,” Tomura says. Toga cackles. “Can we get this over with?”

“Yep! Right this way.” Magne leads them out the door and down a hallway, then ushers them through the door into the venue’s VIP lounge. Tomura’s last in line, and she grabs his arm before he can go in. “I got a call from the big boss at Deika. He says to try not to look like you’re in pain the entire time.”

“Tell him to stop looking at me, then.” Tomura shrugs her off, steps through the door, and skulks over to the far corner of the room. “Nobody else is.”

Back before he made it in any capacity, Tomura used to daydream about meet-and-greets, getting all wound up over the idea that people would pay to talk to him about his music. A few years into his career, the reality’s set in: Meet-and-greets are for photos and autographs and fans throwing themselves at the artists, and nobody throws themselves at Tomura. Kurogiri thinks it’s his stage presence, or the fact that he doesn’t interact with fans on social media, or that he doesn’t look very approachable. Tomura’s pretty sure it’s about how he looks, period. With a face like his, approachable doesn’t matter.

The fans start filtering in, beelining for the others, and Tomura digs his notebook out of his pocket. He might as well write a bit.

Compress, who handles production and merchandising on the tour, swings by at one point to give Tomura the figures. They’re doing well, which is a surprise. “Even the new stuff?”

“The K-pop strategy is working,” Compress says. He lifts his mask to take a sip of water, then lowers it down again. “Everyone’s trying to collect them all – the photo cards, the different editions of the albums, the replica costume pieces. The fans on Twitter are competing to see who can get an autograph on every piece of merchandise first.”

The fans on Twitter are really stupid. “If it works, it works.”

“It’s working very well,” Compress says. He pauses. “Somebody did come by looking for something I didn’t have. They wanted a copy of Vide Noir. Not the album – the LP.”

“The LP? Why?”

“Because the album doesn’t have Lost in Time and Space on it,” Compress says. “I’m not kidding, Shigaraki. Those were her exact words.”

Tomura has a hard time believing that. He’s pretty sure Compress is saying it just to build him up, because they’re halfway through the meet-and-greet, and nobody, not even the autograph hunters, has come to talk to Tomura. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Tomura didn’t start writing music so people will talk to him. That’s what he’s been insisting on since he started the band. Midway through their second tour, it’s almost the truth.

Compress leaves, and Tomura keeps writing, scratching away at a verse that’s not coming together. He’s just starting to wonder how much longer this thing is supposed to go on for when a shadow falls across his notebook page. “Um,” a girl’s voice starts. “Hi. Are you Tomura?”

“Dabi’s over there.”

“Yeah, I saw,” the girl says. “Are you Tomura?”

“I’m Shigaraki.” Tomura doesn’t look up. “You want to talk to Spinner? He’s over there. He likes the shy ones.”

Tomura’s not sure if Spinner likes the shy ones or if he’s just less scared of them than he is of the others. For a lead singer, Spinner’s unusually spooked by his fans. “Is Spinner the one who writes the songs?” the girl asks. “I wanted to talk to the person who writes the songs. If the liner notes are anything to go by, that’s you.”

Tomura looks up at tonight’s misguided, irritating fan, and stops at chest height when notes the lack of a backstage pass around your neck. He notes your breasts, too, and the fact that you’re not showing them off. “Nice work on sneaking in here without paying. Dabi will be impressed.”

“I didn’t sneak in,” the fan says. “The woman at the door let me in when I showed her this.”

Tomura doesn’t look up, and the fan sticks a notebook into the middle of his eyeline. A notebook with lined paper and the remnants of a torn-out page still clinging to the binding. Tomura fumbles in his pocket for the request he took and unfolds it, lining it up to match the torn edge of the page. The request is a little crumpled, but when Tomura smooths it out, he can see that the edges match.

His heart skips an awkward beat, then another. He’s not talking to a random fan. You’re the one who gave him the request. He hands you back the notebook without the request sets his own notebook aside, and gets to his feet, so he can finally get a look at your face. You’re pretty, and you’re dressed like you came here straight from an office job, and you came to talk to him – and he’s been a dick. “Sorry,” he says, the word feeling awkward and unwieldy as it forces its way out of his mouth. “Thought you were here for somebody else.”

You shake your head. “I was hoping to talk to you,” you say. “Sorry about the first-name thing. That was – awkward.”

You used Tomura’s first name, and Tomura was a jackass to you. That makes it even, in his opinion.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“I wanted to thank you for taking my request,” you say earnestly. You remind Tomura of some of Spinner’s fans. “And I wanted to know why you picked the song you did.”

Now you sound more like one of Dabi’s fans. Dabi’s fans get kind of direct when they want something. “I’ll tell you that if you tell me why you gave me that request instead of a normal one.”

You look at Tomura, and Tomura looks back. “Can we sit down?” you ask. “I took an elbow to the knee trying to get through the mosh pit, and my leg’s still kind of numb.”

Something about that strikes Tomura as funny, but he doesn’t realize what it is until you’re both sitting down on the floor, leaned back against the wall. “Did you just make a Skyrim joke?”

“Don’t get too excited. I only know the one.” You glance sideways at Tomura. “Want to see the bruise?”

Usually when Dabi’s fans ask him if he wants to see something, they mean their tits. Or their ass. Tomura nods, and you hike up your pantleg. Tomura gets kind of fixated on your ankle, then your calf, but then you pull the fabric up over your knee, and Tomura winces in spite of himself. “Are you sure it was an elbow and not a hammer or something?”

“Maybe it was. Your fans are kind of crazy.”

“The band’s fans,” Tomura corrects. You let your pantleg fall back, covering up your calf and your ankle, and Tomura feels weirdly disappointed. “Are you going to answer my question?”

“Why I gave you that request?” You tilt your head back against the wall. “You write all the songs, but you never sing lead, and songs sound different when they’re sung by the person who wrote them. I thought if I asked for your favorite, you’d pick one you sing lead on.”

And you were right. Tomura feels weird about that. Weird enough to answer your question before you can ask it again. “I picked that one because it’s the only one I still sing lead on. I have favorites for the band. But I always pick those. I just thought it might be – fun.”

“I liked it,” you say. “When Dabi and Spinner sing, they’re telling a story. It’s a good story, and they’re telling it well, but – when you sang it, it sounded like it was about you. Do you feel like you’re writing about yourself when you write songs?”

“Do you usually get this personal with people you just met?”

“I don’t usually meet my favorite songwriter,” you say. “So no.”

Your favorite. “I’m not your favorite. Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie about stuff like that,” you say. “I wouldn’t take an elbow to the knee for my second-favorite songwriter.”

Tomura snorts. “I didn’t know people had favorite songwriters.”

“I’m weird,” you say comfortably. Now you sound like a Toga fan. Or one of Twice’s. Their fans don’t take themselves too seriously. “And I’m a writer, so I know the good stuff when I see it.”

“You write?” Tomura asks. He wouldn’t have guessed looking at you. Then again, he wouldn’t have guessed that you’d be at a League concert, either. “Poems or something?”

“No, stories,” you say. Tomura’s a little bit relieved. “Stories have arcs and plots, just like your songs do – and the band’s albums – but you do it in a lot less space than I have to work with, so you’re much more efficient. You can define a character in two lines, and it’s compelling. People connect with it. They must, or they wouldn’t dress up in those outfits.”

Tomura tries not to pay attention to the outfits. Sometimes seeing what people took away from his songs is a little upsetting. Listening to you talk about what you like about his songwriting style is a different kind of upsetting, the kind where he wants to believe it and knows he shouldn’t. “What’s your favorite?”

“Meet Me in the Woods,” you say without missing a beat. “I was kind of sad you all didn’t play it.”

“We need a female vocalist,” Tomura says. “We rented one for recording it, but Toga doesn’t sing, and Magne wouldn’t do it even when Twice dared her to. And Dabi said his balls shrink every time he puts his falsetto up that high.”

You laugh at that. Tomura likes what it sounds like. “Spinner says the song gives him the creeps,” he adds. “I sang lead in the studio.”

“You should sing lead for that one,” you say. “And find a female vocalist.”

Tomura shrugs. “Job’s open if you want it.”

Your face flushes instantly. “I bet you know better jokes than that.”

“Can you sing?” Tomura asks. You look away in a hurry, the flush deepening. Now you look like a Spinner fan again, but you’re not saying no, either. Now Tomura’s interested. He gets to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

Tomura holds out a hand to help you up, and after a long second, you take it. “Let’s go.”

Tomura doesn’t let go of your hand, and you don’t pull away. It’s not until Tomura leads you back out onto the stage in an auditorium that’s now lit only by a ghostlight that you put the brakes on. “No.”

“There’s nobody in here but me,” Tomura says. “You said it’s your favorite song. Try it.”

“Would you try it, if you were me?” Your hand is shaking a little bit. “Faceplanting in front of my favorite songwriter was not on my agenda for this evening.”

“I’ll sing, too,” Tomura says. “I could always faceplant in front of my biggest fan.”

Maybe that was a dumb thing to say. Maybe you don’t want to be Tomura’s biggest fan. He waits for you to protest. Instead, you take a deep breath. “Start singing, then.”

The first verse is Tomura’s, and his joke about faceplanting in front of you gets a little too real in a heartbeat. There’s something weird about singing in front of just one person, someone he can’t see even though you’re right next to him. It’s a relief when you join him on the tag at the end of the verse, even if you’re quiet. And Tomura was right – you can sing, at least enough to harmonize, and to match his tone so your voice doesn’t clash with his. The real test will be the chorus, if you can keep pace with Tomura there.

And you can. Tomura knew you could, but he’s surprised by how good it sounds. By the last line of the chorus, you’re confident enough to screw around a bit, putting a turn on the last three notes of the third line instead of hitting them straight. Tomura’s not projecting his voice all that hard, and neither are you, but the auditorium’s empty. There’s nothing for your voices to hit that will deaden the sound, and the acoustics bounce it back in an echo that sends chills down Tomura’s spine.

When the echo fades, it’s silent. Next to Tomura, you shiver. “Maybe this was a bad place to sing this song.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Tomura will admit the line about the endless night hit a little harder than it was supposed to. “Tomorrow night, try not to stare into the lights.”

“I told you not to joke.”

“I don’t joke about stuff like this,” Tomura says. Now you’re reminding him of Spinner, who took way too much convincing before he’d believe that Tomura not only wanted him in the band, but wanted him to sing lead. “I told you. The job’s yours if you want it. Do you want it?”

It’s quiet for a second. “Where’s your next show?”

“A couple hours from here. Are you worried about your job or something?”

“No,” you say slowly. “Tonight was the last night of a business trip. I’m remote most of the time.”

“So you can work anywhere as long as you have internet access,” Tomura says. He hears you make some kind of distressed noise. “It’s your favorite song. I’ll put it in the set list and I’ll sing lead. You just have to sing it with me. Are you in?”

“This isn’t why I came here,” you say. “I just wanted to meet you and talk about your songs. I wasn’t trying to, like – get on the bus or something.”

“That would be a hell of a long con,” Tomura says. “I don’t think you’d go for that. Too many moving parts.”

“Yeah.” You make that distressed noise again. It’s sort of cute. “Is there a reason we’re still holding hands?”

“Yeah. It’s dark in here and I didn’t want you to fall of the side of the stage.” Tomura starts back towards the wings, pulling you along with him and trying to get his stupid grin under control before he steps back into the light. “Look at it this way. Even if you faceplant tomorrow night, it’ll be something to write about.”

“Are you going to write about this?” you challenge. “You never told me if you feel like your songs are about you.”

Tomura doesn’t, usually. He writes about characters for a reason. Most of the things that happen to him aren’t worth writing about. You, though – you fought through the mosh pit to give him your request, and then you came to find him after the show, and you like him as a lead singer and you can sing and you sound damn good singing with him. And you’re still holding his hand. Most of the things that happen to Tomura aren’t worth writing about. He met you half an hour ago and you already are.

You don’t try to let go of his hand, and you don’t hit the brakes again until you’re just outside the meet-and-greet room. “I want to know,” you say. The shellshocked look you had on when you got back into the light has faded. Now you just look pretty and stressed, and like you’re not going to take no for an answer. Tomura likes that. “Are your songs about you?”

“This one will be,” Tomura says, and he pulls you into the room to meet the rest of the band.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Bits of fluff, Angst.

❤️

You had been friends with Chrissy for the longest time, she was your best friend. Sweet, the queen of Hawkins High, pretty and kind. Everyone noticed Chrissy and you were fine with that.

Sometimes, you wished that a guy would notice you like they did with her but dismissed the thoughts after a while; you weren't cut out for the popular crowd and constant attention.

Then Eddie Munson came along, and he did notice you; in fact, he went out of his way to be sweet to you; Chrissy thought it was adorable.

He was nothing like you thought he'd be like.

"Mean and scary?" He teases when you tell him this, and you nod, flustered that he's able to tell how you feel just by looking at you.

The two of you begin to get to know each other, Eddie teaches you how to play the guitar and about D&D. In turn, you introduce Eddie to your favourite books, giggling at his reaction to Madonna or Duran Duran, he seems partial to a bit of David Bowie though and could be heard humming different songs of his while planning campaigns.

Prom is fast approaching, and the closer you and Eddie get, the more you wonder if he will ask you to the dance. Things have gotten a little more physical between the both of you, lingering touches and gazes that last longer than they should.

Each time you feel butterflies and a rapidly growing feeling... It feels like love.

❤️

The bubble bursts, the happiness you've built up swept away once rainy Friday when Jason walks up to the table you're sitting at with Eddie.

"Munson, freaks aren't welcome here", Jason snaps, and you lose your temper, utterly sick of the way Jason treats him.

"Leave him alone Jason. I like him, and I want him here, so go away and leave us alone" There's a tense moment of silence, and then Jason laughs, cold and cruel.

Jason scoffs, "You know the freak is just using you to get close to Chrissy, I overheard him earlier talking to his freak friends"

"You were just using me to get close to Chrissy all this time?" your heart shatters into tiny pieces, and you flinch away when Eddie kneels down beside you; his face falls at your reaction.

"It was a stupid joke at first; I had a dumb crush on Chrissy, and Gareth suggested I hang out with you; I was a fucking idiot, sweetheart; I... I didn't realise how much I would enjoy spending time with you, how madly I'd fall in love with you"

Tears pool in your eyes, and you shake your head, moving away, "I can't believe I thought you liked me all this time when it wasn't true. You're just like everyone else. I'm an afterthought to Chrissy" You push his hands away and get up grabbing your bag.

Eddie's hand captures yours and he's begging you to face him, "No, no, shit. I'm in love with you princess, I don't care about Chrissy. I got to know you and I fell in love with you"

There's a warm feeling inside of you at these words but they are dampened once again by Eddie's actions at the start of your friendship.

"You still used me, Eddie. You came into this with no interest in friendship, just trying to get closer to Chrissy. This started as a lie so how can I believe you now?" Jason snorts and claps Eddie on the shoulder.

"Well, down freak, lost the girl now, haven't you?"

Eddie lunges at Jason but is stopped by Chrissy slapping him across the face, "You asshole, how dare you use my best friend like that" Her eyes are filled with barely concealed fury, and she's glaring at Eddie.

Having enough you rush away from the cafeteria as the tears fall down your cheeks, ignoring Eddie's calls for you to come back. Embarrassment burning in your gut, you can't believe you thought Eddie liked being with you, that he liked you...when all along it was a lie.

❤️

[strniohoeee]

Hearth

Pairings: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader ⚠️SMUT⚠️

Synopsis: During a cabin get away a game of Never Have I ever leaves Y/N embarrassed. And a nice Matt is worried and in love🥹

Warnings⚠️: This is a 18+ story. It’s straight up smut okayyyy. Never have I ever being played, lose of virginity. Sweet cute lovey dovey sex. Madi is the “bad” guy but like I had no other girl to make it so it had to be her. No hate to her tho at all.

Song for the imagine: In my room- Chance Peña

⚠️THIS IS AN 18+ STORY SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT BEYOND THIS POINT⚠️

The triplets had asked me if I wanted to join them on their trip up to the cabin up in Cape Cod, of course I agreed I would never miss a trip to the Cape, but slowly I was getting a little nervous wondering if they had asked any other girl up to the cape with them. I was relieved when I found out it was only Madi, she was my only girl friend I had. Most girls the triplets would be friends with never liked me, so it made it hard to have friends. I never really cared because most just wanted to fuck Chris or matt, and they were soon dropped which made me laugh.

We had just got to the Cape on a chilly Friday night, and we immediately ran into the house, getting a fire started, and choosing our rooms. I picked the room with one bed, while Nick bunked with Madi and Chris and Matt bunked together. I enjoyed being alone, but sometimes that loneliness felt like seclusion. Madi was their friend first, and introduced me to them so I was close with them, but not as close as she was.

Although she was close with Nick I always felt this vibe that she might’ve liked matt. And it hurt after a while when I started to catch feelings for Matt. He was always there for me, and me and him were always together, that is until Madi comes around then I seclude myself not wanting her to think I wanted Matt. Although they never had anything going on I always knew how she truly felt.I never told her because Matt would never go for a girl like me when Madi was far more gorgeous.

I settled into my room deciding to unpack a few things, and I decided to turn on my Roku tv and cast my Spotify to the screen so I could blast Olivia Rodrigo. As I was unpacking and jamming out Matt came into my room

“Yooo” he said as he threw himself on my bed

“Sup Matt” I said lowering the volume on the tv to hear what he has to say

“We ordered some wings and fries from that spot we drove by on the way down here” he said watching as I put my makeup on the dresser

“Oh nice I’m so hungry” I said looking a him

“Yeah Chris took Madi with him” he said looking down at his phone with a blank stare.

“Oh cool” I said not really caring to respond to that

“So I figured I come chill with you” he said locking his phone and looking at me

“Ouu glad I’m an afterthought” I told him jokingly rolling my eyes

“What no..you just always leave me when Madi comes over to me” he said closing his eyes pretending to sleep

I went to answer but we heard Nick call us down to come eat. We both ran downstairs and sat at the table beginning to eat. As we ate we joked and laughed. My eyes kept wandering over to Matt and seeing Madi looking at him and chatting with him made me a little sad. God I wish he could look at me that way was all I could think.

As I’m continuing to glance at them I see her touch his hand in a flirting way, and this immediately made me lose my appetite. I loudly slid back from the table grabbing my plate and standing up.

“Done already” Chris asks looking at everyone else still shoving food down their throat

“Uhh yeah I uh just got really full” I said looking down at my plate that had four wings and a few fries eaten. He looks at me a little confused and just nods his head

I decided to clean up my plate and drink some water in the kitchen watching them as they engaged in conversation.

“OH MY GOD GUYS!” Nick yells loudly

“It’s a cabin tradition! We have to play never have I ever” he said giggling like a schoolgirl.

“Nick…what are we 10” Matt says shaking his head

“Nah this will be fun” Chris said laughing as he wiped his fingers

After everyone finished dinner and cleaned up we all showered and changed and went back to the living room. Madi had Matt help her start up a fire in the fireplace again after the first one went out. While Chris was grabbing a Pepsi before heading over to the couch. Nick was already sitting on the couch waiting for the fire to start. I was the last to join because I could care less about playing never have I ever. I wasn’t too fond of playing a game that ended in people being embarrassed and exposed.

I grabbed a water bottle and headed over to the couch to sit next to Nick.

“The queen joined us” Nick said hugging me

“Oh I couldn’t miss playing this middle school game” I said giving him a sarcastic grin

“Hey! This’ll be fun” Madi said, smiling at me, and I smiled back. I could never be mean to her. She was my closest friend, but man when she was all over Matt I never wanted to look at her again.

I just smiled at her, a weak smile that I hoped she picked up on, but knowing her she didn’t

“Alright bitches who’s going first?” Madi asked

“I say Nick goes since this was his idea” I stated looking over at Nick giggling slightly.

To this he just rolled his eyes and mumbled a ‘fine’

“Alright, never have I ever shit my pants” he said laughing and we all just rolled our eyes. All of us putting a finger down.

“Never have I ever stood someone up” Chris asked, every finger went down but mine.

“Y’all are cruel” I said shaking my head, and to this they laughed shouting out little excuses

“Ouuu never have I ever farted in a public place’’ Matt said laughing, once again all our fingers went down as we died in laughter… “ouuu stinky” Chris said in a funny voice.

Two rounds later I saw Madi’s body shift, and I knew this shift meant intense questions were coming.

“Let’s spice it up. Never have I ever made out with an influencer of some sort at a party” Hers and Nicks finger went down

“Never have I ever got caught during ‘me time’ Chris asked. My finger was the only one to go down. My eyes bulged out in embarrassment.

“Explain” Madi said laughing at me

“Well I was about 17, and I thought I was alone in my house, but uh turns out my grandma heard some things” I said covering my face in embarrassment as everyone laughed.

“Never have I ever kissed someone” Matt said, and once again my finger was the only one that didn’t go down.

“Never have I ever messed around in your parents house” Nick asked, and not a shocker my finger was still up.

“Never have I ever given head” Madi asked. Are we shocked that my fingers are still up??

“Never have I ever gotten head” Chris asks, wiggling his eyebrows. To no surprise the finger is still up.

“Never have I ever given a hickey, '' Madi asks, and now I’m starting to think she's picking up on my lack of experience because her eyes are starting to twinkle with an idea.

“Never have I ever had sex” I keep my fingers up with a long sigh and an annoyed expression

“Never have I ever hooked up in a car” Now I’m just staring at the floor wanting to die.

“Never have I ever not done a single sexual thing” Madi asks laughing

“Alright now you're just being mean” I finally snapped looking at her with a hard glare

“WHAT?? I’m just messing around with you” she said still laughing

“Yeah embarrassing me is so funny” I said giving her a sarcastic smile

“I didn’t embarrass you…technically you did that yourself” she said looking down. I just scoffed and got up

“Goodnight! Glad I could be the center of the ring for you guys” I said grabbing my phone and my water and turning around

“Wait don’t go” Matt said sounding bad for me, I just shook my head and kept walking upstairs to my bedroom

3AM

It was now 3am, and everyone had called it a night by 10 because of how exhausted they were from the drive here.

However I was wide awake replaying the embarrassing event that occurred a few hours prior. I was so annoyed that Madi would say such a thing. She was supposed to be my best friend, and those weren’t the vibes I was getting. I decided to head downstairs to sit in the living room, and clear my mind.

I headed downstairs, and started a small fire in the fireplace, so I didn’t have to keep the lights on, and potentially wake one of them up; because I really wanted to be alone right now. I sat in front of the fireplace with a blanket wrapped around me. Just staring into the flames, and letting my thoughts run clearly. I felt a tear slip down my face as I felt all the embarrassment and shame wash over me.

Just sitting asking myself why. Why in the world would she ask those questions knowing my answer. I felt betrayed and like a fool. I shouldn’t be embarrassed of my lack of experience. I'm only 21. This is very normal, but I just hated how I felt, and I wanted to crawl into a dark hole and disappear. After wiping my tears and collecting myself I just stared into the fire letting the flames reflect off my brown eyes

Suddenly I heard a door creak open from upstairs, and feet shuffling. I was really hoping one of them were just going to the bathroom, so I can bask in my self hatred a little more. Unfortunately I heard the stairs creak loudly under the pressure of someone’s feet, but I refused to look over my shoulder.

I felt a presence next to me, and suddenly they sat down next to me, and only then did I finally look over, and to my surprise it was Matt looking into the fire. I watched the reflection of the flames make his icy blue eyes twinkle. When he decided to speak up “I don’t think you deserved that” was all he said still looking at the fire

“Thanks, but I’m used to being the embarrassed one” I said quietly

“Doesn’t matter. It was fucked up, and uncalled for. Plus she’s your best friend. I have no clue why she'd say such a thing. I’m not too sure what’s gotten into her lately” Matt said, looking over at me. This made me turn to look at him, giving him a small smile

“She likes you” was all I could say as I searched his eyes for an answer, or a glimpse of hope that they’d scream “i don’t like her” back at me

“Likes me?” He said with a confused look

“Yes Matt…you are so blind Madi is head over heels in love with you” I said in a nonchalant way

“She’s like my sister….I have never expressed any other feelings other than a family type of relationship with her” he said rubbing his eye

“Yeah well she might not have gotten that. Don’t you see the flirty looks, the flirty touches, the comments trying to embarrass me infront of you” I said looking him dead in the eyes

“Is this why you leave my side when she comes around?” He asked staring back into my eyes

“Well yes. I don’t want to be the punching bag, and I can’t stand watching her trying to get with you” I said slightly looking away from his gaze

“I would never get with her” he said almost laughing a little bit

“Why not? She’s gorgeous, long hair, beautiful face, thin, sweet, funny and nice” I said turning back to look at the fire

“This is crazy” he said still looking at you

“Is that all you took away from what the fuck I just said” Still not looking at him

“It’s crazy that even though she embarrassed you and always does you still have nothing but nice things to say about her” Matt said, waiting to see if I’d look at him

“Jesus Matt!” I said a little more loudly finally turning to look at him

“I’m sitting basically professing my love to you in such a vulnerable way, and all you can do is mention her” I said shaking my head

“Mentioning her? In case you haven’t noticed I’m mentioning you….haven't you seen all along?? The looks? The touches? Always running to you for opinions? Always looking for you? Always wanting to be near you? And all you did was run away from me every single time” he said looking hurt

“Didn’t you notice the captions on my instagram posts?? They would be finishing every sentence you would say. You pay attention to the little things, so I thought you’d catch on” He said shaking his head

Everytime Y/N would post on Instagram it was always a song lyric.

Y/N caption: she thinks it’s special

Matt’s caption: but it’s all reused

Y/N caption:Think I’ll miss you forever

Matt’s caption:Like the stars miss the sun

Y/N caption:I’m trying to be brave

Matt’s caption:Stop asking me to stay

And Y/N’s latest post even had some fans questioning what was really going on being her and the young boy.

Y/N caption:Just put your hand on the glass

Matt’s Caption:I’ll be there to pull you through

Their posts had been matching up for some time now, but neither of them would say a thing.

I just stared at Matt dumbly because I genuinely had not paid any attention to our captions. I couldn’t allow little small things to alter my brain, and make me think we had a chance

“Y/N you’re my everything. You have always been since the moment we shared a Twix after Chris stole mine. I saw how giving you were, and how you cared to everyone, and that made me fall head over heels in love with you” He said searching my eyes for an answer

“Matt you have been my everything since the moment you complimented my hair and makeup after Madi told me it was too much. Right in that moment it gave me so much hope you saw me differently” I told him looking back into his eyes

Without a warning he just pulled me in for a kiss. I have never kissed anyone before so I was shocked, but when I finally got the hang out I could feel butterflies all in my stomach, and the weight of 1,000 pounds being lifted off my chest.

“I have wanted to do that for so long” he said after pulling away, and all i could do was stay there starstruck and as red as a tomato

I just pulled him back in for a kiss, and this time it got more heated. I had wrapped us in the blanket when I started to lean back onto the floor as he started to hover over me.

“Wait I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this to do this” He said pulling away from the kiss

“I would never think that, and if I wanted to stop I would’ve” I told him shyly. He continues to kiss me slowly going down to my cheek, then my jawline, and then down to my neck. Peppering light kisses to my neck on both sides. This made me let out a few sighs as I ran my fingers through his hair.

“Matt, can you take my virginity?” I asked him bluntly. He pulled back and looked into my eyes once again searching for any sign of discomfort

“Are you sure?” He asked me looking down to my lips

“Yes Matt. This is all I’ve ever wanted” I told him shamelessly. He nodded and began to kiss my neck again. He decided to take her shirt off, and continued to make out with me while I got more comfortable.

“Matt, I want to take off my shirt,” I said, pushing him back a little bit. He nodded and let me remove my shirt. I was completely bare in front of him. This made me a little shy, and he took notice

“God Y/N you’re so gorgeous” he said as he went down kissing both boobs, and slowly taking one nipple into his mouth while he kneaded the other one. I let out a silent moan and ran my hands through his hair. This action alone was making me so aroused, and I was starting to ache with an undeniable want for Matt

“I have to stretch you out a bit before I can have sex with you” he said after pulling away from my breast, and running a hand down from the valley of my beast to my lower abdomen.

“Do whatever you want to me Matt” I said looking at him

“This might hurt, and you have to promise to be quiet. We don’t want to wake them up” he said, kissing my lips. I nodded and bit my lip

He slowly removed my pants, and then along my underwear followed.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous with the fireplace reflecting off your skin” he said feeling up on my body as he stared at me

“Matt please touch me I want you so bad” I said to him, and to this he nodded

He started to kiss my neck and the valley of my breast as he started to travel his hand down to my pussy. Collecting my arousal and spreading it around some more

“God you’re so wet” he said as he continued to rub, and all I could do was moan and whimper lowly for him

He pulled his fingers away and spat on them to lubricate them some more. He placed them back on my vagina and continued to rub my clit as my legs spread wider for him

Slowly he pushed his middle finger in. As it kept going in I felt the burn from the stretch of his finger. I had fingered myself before but this was a different stretch. Matt’s fingers were thicker and longer

My eyebrows furrowed in pain and pleasure as he got his finger all the way in. Slowly he started to go in and out pushing up against my G spot in a come here motion

“Fuck Matt” I whimpered lowly

“I know baby” he said, kissing my lips as he slid the second finger in. This one I felt the pain the most. I gasped loudly and bit down on my hand

“I’m sorry. It will go away pretty girl” he said pushing both fingers in again.

Matt was taking his time fingering me and stretching me for him. I told him I wanted to cum on his dick, so to not take the fingering too far

���You think you’re ready for all of me” he asked as he pulled his fingers out

“Yes Matt” i told him running my hands down from his chest to his bulge and giving it a light squeeze

Matt had removed his pajama bottoms and his underwear. He pumped his cock a few times, and then lightly spat on it to lubricate it some more. This made Y/N even more wet just watching this beauty of a man touch himself infront of her

“Okay baby this will hurt, but it will go away, and if it’s too much I’ll stop okay” Matt asked rubbing her cheek with his hand

“Okay Matt. I trust you I’m ready” she said as she held onto both his arms as he leaned over her.

He brought one hand down to guide his dick to her entrance. Slowly he pushed his tip in. Y/N let out a small cry in pain as this was a new stretch for her

“Fuck Matt this hurts” she said opening her eyes to look him in the eyes

“Do you want me to stop” he asked her, looking back at her. She shook her head no, and he slowly kept pushing himself into her while kissing her so he could silence her winces

At this point Matt was all the way in and was getting adjusted to Y/N. She nodded at him to let her know he could move

So Matt started slowly moving in and out of the girl. Allowing her to feel all of him as his dick hit her G spot

“Fuck Matt” she whined as he hit her g spot once more

“Shhh baby i know” he said breathing heavily

Matt was continuing his slow and steady strokes. He moved a little faster, but mostly he was focusing on slow deep thrusts to allow Y/N to feel the most pleasure. At this point Matt was sweating and breathing heavily. He really wanted to be a moaning whimpering mess for her, but he couldn’t risk waking anybody up. He snakes his hand down to her clit to allow her more pleasure so she could cum.

Y/N let out a loud moan and Matt quickly put his hand over her mouth to silence her, and to this she moaned again letting her eyes roll to the back of her head as he kept pounding into her and rubbing her clit

After 10 more minutes of deep strong thrusts Matt started to feel her clench around him, so he knew she was close.

“Matt I’m going to cum” she said looking up at him all fucked out. Hair sticking to her forehead and her body glistening with sweat

“I know baby. I know” Matt said rubbing her clit faster and thrusting deeper and harder

“Fuck Matt fuck fuck fuck” she said as she clenched down harder, and with this she came all over his cock. Her brows were furrowed together and her mouth was hung open as she let out silent screams. Her body was shaking and trembling, her thighs were shaking as she saw white flashes of ecstasy. She slowly came down from her high with heavy breathing and Matt pulled out. Stroking his own cock over her

“Can I?” He asked her as he was stroking harder

“Please Matt cum for me” she said to him, and that was all it took for his brows to furrow and his mouth to fall slack as his lower abdomen contracted, and he was painting her stomach with white hot strings of cum.

As he came down from his high his breathing was deep and shallow. He grabbed his shirt and wiped her stomach clean. Falling down to the left of her and allowing the blanket to cover them.

“God Y/N you’re so gorgeous I’m in love with you” Matt said as he looked down at her. Propped up on one arm as he looks into her eyes wiping the hair off her forehead

“Matt this was all I could ever ask for. I love you so much” she said weakly looking at him

“I love you too” he said, giving her a kiss on the lips.

She turned into his chest, and they eventually fell asleep together

8AM

Around 8AM Nick and Chris came downstairs and walked to the living room to see a sizzling out fireplace, and a naked Y/N and Matt sleeping together wrapped in a blanket. They both looked at one another wide eyed

“MATT WAKE UP” Chris said kicking Matt’s foot, and to this he jumped up to, also waking up Y/N

“OH SHIT” Y/N said covering herself with the blanket

“What the fuck happened here” Chris said

“Uhhh” Matt said looking over at me

“YALL WAS FUCKIN” Nick said trying to contain his excitement

“I fucking knew y’all liked each other” Chris said kind of jumping like a kid

“Although this is so cute and yall are so cute together. Please get up and put some clothes on” Nick said laughing

Chris went to grab Matt’s shirt when Matt interrupted him

“DONT touch that shirt” Matt kind of yelled

“Why not?” Chris asked scared and concerned

“It has my cum all over it” Matt said bluntly

“MATT!” Y/N said smacking him on the arm

“DUDE WTF” Chris said running away

“That’s actually disgusting” Nick said giggling like a little kid and kicking the shirt away

Matt and Y/N got up to get cleaned up and ready for the day, and finish the rest of their weekend get away.

The End

I think my next ones going to be a Nick with a female reader but it’s going to be a friendship imagine🥰🥹

[asliceofzosan]

zoro doesn't care if people forget his birthday. he really doesn't. but when it's his own boyfriend who doesn't acknowledge his birthday at all... that's a whole different thing entirely. (zosan modern au for zoro's birthday!)

Zoro never understood the hype around birthdays.

It's just another year. 19 didn't feel that different to being 18. 21 didn't feel that different to being 20. He's pretty sure it's going to be the same all the way up to his 80's. He understands the importance of milestones and whatnot but other than that, celebrating his birthday was an afterthought.

It's the big 26 today — one year closer to his thirties — but again, it's just an ordinary day. He woke up, showered for once, and headed straight for the kitchen where his boyfriend was already cooking breakfast and dancing to whatever new K-POP song came out. One of the perks of moving in with Sanji was the early morning entertainment Zoro gets everyday.

Zoro leans against the kitchen island, just watching Sanji hum along to words Zoro can't understand. He loves moments like this. He developed a habit of watching Sanji every time he isn't looking. It's his favorite way to start the day. It gets even better when Sanji notices him, his face lighting up brighter than the sun, and throws his arms around Zoro in their daily good morning embrace.

However, this time, Sanji just looks over his shoulder with a shocked expression.

"Oh, you're already awake!" Sanji exclaims and he steps aside from his work station to reveal he was packing up bento boxes. "I wasn't expecting you to wake up until 10 since you're off work today."

"Thought it would be a good day to wake up early," Zoro says slowly, brows furrowed at each passing second that Sanji doesn't give him his morning hug and kiss. Zoro doesn't think he's clingy, he'd murder you if you said so, but they have a routine. And the routine includes morning hugs and kisses until they're both breathless. Why isn't Sanji bounding over to him and showering his face with kisses and squeezing the daylights out of him? Was he in the twilight zone?

Sanji just keeps on arranging the bento boxes carefully, labelling them with post-it notes and his signature sparkly gel pen that Nami gave him as a joke gift. Zoro stays rooted to the spot, patience waning the longer Sanji doesn't kiss him.

"I was called in today to cover some shifts at the Baratie," Sanji starts to say as he maneuvers his way to the fridge. Zoro scowls when Sanji passes him and doesn't even peck him on the cheek. His voice is a little muffled when he places the bento boxes into the fridge, explaining that he might be out the whole day and won't be back until 10PM earliest.

10PM. Earliest.

"I already pre-made your meals for the day. Breakfast is warming up in the oven right now." Eventually, Sanji does end up giving Zoro a little peck on the cheek, but Zoro felt himself subconsciously chasing after the cook's lips as he moves away. Sanji gives him a warm smile. Zoro thinks he's about to have an aneurysm.

"Sorry, I can't eat breakfast with you today." And to his credit, Sanji looks genuinely apologetic. "The Baratie's gonna be packed. You'll be okay by yourself, right?"

Zoro knew that not making a big deal out of his birthday was his own damn fault but this just seems... off. In every way possible.

Because of all the people in the world, how is it that Sanji has forgotten his birthday?

Sanji, the man who marks every major and minor holiday on his google calendar so he has an excuse to cook a big feast for his friends? Sanji, the man who cried his eyes out when he found out Zoro never had a proper birthday party because he understands the feeling of not being celebrated. Sanji, who loves rom-coms, choose-your-own-adventure interactive novels, and thinks that the way food is arranged on the plate can clearly indicate one's emotions.

Sanji, the biggest sap in history, has forgotten his boyfriend's birthday.

"Zoro?" Sanji's voice slices through the fog of confusion slowly filling up his brain. The hand cradling his face forces him back to reality but all he could do was stare longingly at Sanji, begging him with his eyes to not go. Sanji runs his thumb gently over his cheek and Zoro nuzzles into his hand like a stubborn child. Sanji chuckles.

"I'll be back, you big softie." His reassurance doesn't sit well with Zoro but he only manages to nod. Sanji leans down to kiss Zoro, too chaste and too fast, before pulling away far too quickly. Zoro watches miserably as Sanji puts his jacket on, grabs his keys, and bids him goodbye.

Zoro manages to meet him at the entryway, his hand catching Sanji's arm before he leaves. Sanji tilts his head at him, smiling at him in the way he does when Zoro is being stubborn. "What is it, marimo?"

Zoro stares down Sanji with his good eye, willing and pleading him to remember. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sanji blinks. Zoro blinks. Then, Sanji smiles and Zoro thinks he actually gets it.

Until Sanji pulls him into a searing kiss. When they pull away, Sanji rubs their noses together and lets go.

"Can't forget the goodbye kiss!" Sanji places one more kiss on Zoro's nose then leaves a very dazed, very irritated Zoro at the entryway.

from: cap'n luffy

zoooorrooooooo happy birthday !!!!!!!!!! zoro zoro zorooooo have a good day ^_^

from: witch of the sea

happy birthday you big lug <3 as my present, your debt is reduced by 10% ;)

from: chopper

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZORO! I LOVE YOU! DON'T GET SICK TODAY OKAY?!?

from: ussop :^\

BIG 26 ! HBD MY MAN ! you don't look a day over 19 ^_^ honest!! maybe they'll even ID you at the club HAHAHHAHAHAHA

from: robin

Happiest birthday, Zoro. I've deposited birthday booze money into your bank account. Have fun.

from: franky B)

HAVE A SUUUUUPPPEEERR BDAY BRO ! My bday gift isnt ready yet tho i still need to tweek it bUT ! ur gonna love it!! trust !

from: brook

zoro_birthday song_final_real final_absolutely final.mp3

from: jinbe

Have a fruitful birthday today, Zoro. You only turn 26 once!

Time ticks by and Zoro reads and re-reads all the birthday greetings from his friends. Many of them even sent multiple messages in their group chat. It mostly consisted of Luffy and Chopper spamming the chat with birthday gifs. It eased Zoro's racing mind just a little. But he can't help himself from opening up his chat logs with Sanji...

And still nothing.

Just a simple 'hbd marimo' from him would have eased his worries. But Sanji hasn't even messaged him once throughout the entire day. Usually, he'd send a couple of pictures to prove that he's alive. One time, he event sent a selfie while something caught on fire behind him. That's Zoro's wallpaper right now.

It really, really shouldn't be bothering him this much that Sanji hasn't said anything about his birthday. It's also not hard to forget Zoro's birthday. It's literally 11/11. It could not have been a more convenient date.

But Sanji was always the more romantic one of the two of them. Zoro can be accidentally romantic, sure, but Sanji likes grand gestures and showering others with love in every way possible.

Sanji is the last person on earth to forget Zoro's birthday.

He may have never understood the hype around celebrating his birthday. He hasn't had a party since his 18th. But there's something that's mildly irritating that his own boyfriend just straight up treats it like any other day. And not only that, he just leaves Zoro alone too. To celebrate his birthday miserably in their empty apartment with a box of reheated leftovers on his lap.

He doesn't want to admit that he's hurt.

But he is.

However, before he could pick up his phone again to call Sanji and give him a piece of his mind, it starts to ring. He scrambles to answer it without even checking the caller ID. The relief that washes over him when he hears Sanji's voice on the other line was indescribable.

"Cook," and it really shouldn't have come out this desperate. But Zoro is really hanging on by a thread here. "Are you going to tell me something?"

"Yeah! I can't believe I completely forgot!" Sanji's laugh is like a balm to Zoro's anxious conscience but it immediately slips away when Sanji continues.

"I forgot my phone at home."

Zoro almost growls in frustration. "I'm borrowing Patty's right now. Can you do me a favor and look for a recipe that I saved on my notes app? It's super important."

"What could be so much more important than..." Zoro trails off, managing to actually find Sanji's phone on the kitchen counter. Right where he was just this morning. "I fuckin' found it." He taps on the screen, his heart pinching when he sees that Sanji's lockscreen is a candid photo of the two of them taken the exact day they finally got together. Sanji's head was tucked against Zoro's shoulder, his cheeks flushed red, laughing and laughing at something Zoro can't remember anymore. And Zoro... was just looking at Sanji like he was his whole world.

And he still is.

Maybe that's why Sanji forgetting hurts even more.

"What's your passcode?" He grumbles, putting his own phone on speaker.

"I'm surprised you don't know it," Sanji says, footsteps seeming to echo on the other line. "It's pretty hard to forget."

"Contrary to popular opinion, I respect your privacy sometimes Curly."

"How sweet," Sanji says sarcastically. Zoro can practically hear the eyeroll. "But seriously. You know the passcode."

"No I fucking don't?" He exclaims incredulously, glaring at his phone in the hopes Sanji can probably feel it too. "What the fuck are you on about, cook? I don't know your damn passcode!"

"Yes, you do." The fact that Sanji isn't yelling back like he usually does sits uneasily in Zoro's stomach. "Fine, I'll give you a hint since my little marimo needs some help with his homework." Zoro grumbles that he's not a child but Sanji just ignores it. "It's related to the most important person in my life."

Zoro furrows his brows. "Zeff?"

Sanji chuckles. "Try again."

"Um," He scratches his head this time. "Nami?"

"As much as I wish that were true," Sanji sighs dramatically and it was Zoro's turn to roll his eyes. "It's not her. Come on now, mosshead. You know who it is."

The way Sanji's voice softened made something click in Zoro's brain. With a long shaky breath, Zoro took Sanji's phone, stared at the lockscreen one more time, and inputted a significant number.

111197

November 11, 1997

Then Sanji's phone unlocked.

"Did you get it?"

Zoro couldn't concentrate on Sanji's voice. Because staring right at him was the picture Sanji used as his homescreen.

A beautifully edited candid picture of Zoro, his face glowing against a gorgeous sunset, the light shining through his hair in an otherworldly haze. There was text edited above his chest and it read, clear as day:

Happy Birthday, my everything

"Can you open the door for me, love?"

As if on autopilot, Zoro walked to the door, Sanji's phone still in his hand, and he opened it to see his boyfriend standing right there. His face was illuminated by the glow of a single candle sitting on top of a simple vanilla cupcake. Surrounding that cupcake was a plate full of carefully arranged sushi, onigiri, grilled meats, and dipping sauces.

And written with an elegant hand at the edge of the plate, with something Zoro can somehow identify as a thickened oyster sauce was the same thing he read on Sanji's home screen wallpaper:

Happy Birthday, my everything

"Did you really think that I would forget?" Sanji says, the love in his eyes shining through the light of the candle. "You guessed the passcode, didn't you?"

"You piece of shit." Zoro's voice cracked only slightly (only slightly!) "I'm gonna fucking murder you, I swear to god."

"You don't believe in god," Sanji says matter of factly, reaching up to cup Zoro's face with one hand. Zoro scoffs but there's no lick of malice to it. Sanji then presents the cupcake to him and with another roll of his eye, Zoro blows the candle out, much to Sanji's amusement.

He knows he's supposed to be making a wish or whatever but he doesn't. Everything he's ever wished for is right here, standing in their doorway, with a plate of food made by his own hands. Hands that he kisses every night. Hands that cradle his face like Zoro is something to be treasured.

Hands that hold his, no matter what life throws at them.

Stepping into the apartment, Sanji places the plate of food on the table at the entryway, then drapes his arms over Zoro's shoulders. Zoro's hands find Sanji's waist immediately.

And finally, Sanji says the words Zoro's been waiting to hear all day.

"Happy Birthday, Zoro."

Then, Sanji kisses him, his lips soft and his hands warm as they tangle into Zoro's hair. Zoro deepens the kiss, thinking that maybe celebrating his birthday isn't so bad after all.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Things I left behind - Lewis Hamilton

Little extra to Back to December - can be read as a piece on it's own

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: just angst (but it adds depth to the fluff of the main piece)

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The piano keys were cold under my fingertips.

The sun was barely up, slipping through the half-closed blinds of the apartment I’d rented for a few months.

This was supposed to be the place to find myself again, but it felt like a cage to my own mind.

It was far enough from everything—far from him, far from the life we’d built, far from who I thought I was.

But not far enough from me. From my regrets.

The cold seeped into the apartment, the kind that sinks into your bones — the bite of the chill, the way it pressed into me, the way it matched the ache inside my chest.

I could see my breath in the air, little puffs of warmth that disappeared before they could settle into the room.

It felt poetic somehow, fitting. Like everything inside me, too quick to vanish before I could hold onto it.

G minor – the first sound that came to me.

A low, sorrowful note. It filled the quiet, echoing back as if it understood what I couldn’t say out loud.

My phone sat on the edge of the piano, the screen dark. I hadn’t touched it in days, not since I checked it obsessively, waiting for a call that never came.

I closed my eyes and let the melody flow, the way it always did when words felt too heavy on my tongue.

I knew the words were there—somewhere beneath the hurt and the regret and the messy tangle of everything I couldn’t bring myself to face.

But I couldn’t say them, not yet. Because there were so many words—so many things I should’ve said to him when I had the chance.

But instead, I’d thrown it all away.

It had been months since I left, since I stood in front of him with my heart in my hands, spilling out words that I knew would end us.

It hadn’t been a fight, not really. Lewis didn’t know how to fight back what I was choking on.

He just stood there, taking it all, and I hated him then. I hated how he just let me go, like he’d known this was coming, like he’d been bracing himself for the moment when I’d finally walk away.

But now, I hated myself more.

I hated myself for leaving, for letting fear dictate everything I said, for the way my voice broke when I told him that I needed to focus on my music, on my career, on myself.

And I hated that he believed me, that he nodded like he understood. Like he’d known I’d choose my dreams over us, even if he’d never once asked me to make that choice.

I’d thought freedom would feel like the air in my lungs, a wide-open sky with no strings pulling me down.

But it just felt empty, like the hole I’d carved into my chest the day I left him standing in that doorway, staring after me with those eyes that always saw too much.

D, this time.

A little brighter, but it clashed with the melody. Just like everything in my life seemed to clash right now.

Like the memory of that last night with him, when I’d finally said everything that had been building inside me.

How I’d told him that I was tired of being the girl in the back of every photograph, tired of people caring more about who I was with than the songs I wrote, tired of feeling like my name would never be more than an afterthought next to his.

“I’m scared, Lewis. Don’t you get that?” I’d said, my voice rising despite the way I was trying to keep it steady.

He was sitting on the edge of the couch, hands folded in his lap like he was trying not to reach for me. Like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“I’m scared that no one cares about my music because all they see is you. It’s always about you. And I don’t know how to be okay with that.”

“You know I never wanted that for you, Y/n,” he’d said, his voice breaking on my name. His eyes so full of hurt it nearly shattered me right there. “You know that, right? I’ve never wanted to hold you back”

I was pacing, my feet moving restlessly across the floor, needing the movement to keep from collapsing. “It doesn’t matter what you wanted, Lewis. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening. That people look at me and all they see is—”

“All they see is me,” he finished quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his shoulders pulling him taut. “I know. I know, and I wish I could fix that. But... but leaving? Is that really going to fix anything?”

I’d turned to face him then, my vision blurred with the tears I’d refused to let fall. “I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what’s going to fix this. I just know that every time I look at you, I see everything I’m not. And I hate myself for it.”

He flinched at that, and for a moment, I thought he might yell, might finally snap and give me the fight I was bracing for.

But he just looked at me with this broken sort of resignation, like he’d known this was coming long before I did. Like he’d already prepared himself to watch me walk away.

And God, I wished he would have fought me on it.

I wished he would have yelled or begged or done anything other than let me go so easily, so quietly. It would’ve been easier to leave if he’d been angry, if he’d given me a reason to walk out that door.

But he just stood there, letting my words tear through him, and when I finally ran out of things to say, he said the one thing that broke me completely.

“I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Even if it means I’m not the one who gets to do it.”

“I love you, God, I love you so much it hurts, but I can’t breathe when I’m with you anymore.” I had pleaded and he just looked down at his hands then, like he was searching for something to say, but the silence stretched between us, suffocatingly.

Finally, he nodded, a slow, reluctant movement that made my chest tighten.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re suffocating, Y/n. If you think that leaving is the answer, then... I don’t know how to change this for you.”

The tears came then, spilling over before I could stop them. I wrapped my arms around myself, as if that could hold in all the pieces that felt like they were breaking.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, but I knew it wasn’t enough. It was too small to hold all the regret I’d carry with me when I walked out that door.

He stood up then, closing the distance between us with that careful, measured step he always took when he thought I might bolt.

I almost reached for him then. I almost took it all back, almost fell into his arms like I’d done a thousand times before.

Almost.

But I stepped back, swallowing the ache that clawed at my throat. He dropped his hand, his shoulders slumping, and I saw the hurt flash across his face before he looked away.

“I wish I could be enough” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I shook my head, the words tumbling out before I could think. “You are, Lewis. You are so much more than enough. This isn’t about you. It’s about everything I’m too afraid to lose if I stay.”

But I didn’t think he believed me. And honestly, I wasn’t sure if I believed myself either.

He deserved better than that. He deserved better than me. And I’d been too much of a coward to stay.

He walked me to the door, that same careful distance between us, like he was afraid that if he got too close, I’d shatter right there in front of him.

He held the door open, and I stepped out into the cold, the wind biting at my skin.

I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Not when I knew that if I saw the way he looked at me, it would break whatever resolve I had left.

B minor.

The notes slipping into something closer to a melody. I let it carry me, to the way I’d felt standing outside his door, the wind biting and the sound of my own footsteps fading into the night.

I could still feel the ghost of that night hanging over me. I could see the look in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t watching—the one that made me think maybe he was just as scared as I was.

Scared of what it meant if he couldn’t give me what I needed, if he couldn’t make me stay.

God, how could I have been so blind? How could I have thought that walking away would make this hurt any less?

It’s been months, but sometimes it feels like I’m still standing there.

Like part of me never really left that doorstep. And I keep thinking about all the things I should have said, all the things I wish I’d done differently.

I wonder if he does too. If he lies awake in that too-big bed in Monaco, wondering if I regret that.

My fingers stilled on the keys, the silence rushing back in. My breath came out in a shaky exhale, fogging up the air.

"I go back to December all the time..."

The words felt too heavy, too raw.

I wanted to erase them, to take them back before I could let myself feel their weight.

Before I could admit that the truth was that I had never left that December.

I’ve been in a loop. Over and over. Replaying the moment when I turned away from him and stepped into the cold.

And every time, I wished I could go back and do it differently—wished I could find the courage to stay, to let myself believe that we had what it took to be enough.

I pressed my hands to my face, letting the tears flow freely, and whispered into the darkness, “I’m sorry, Lewis. I’m so, so sorry.”

Freedom wasn’t what I thought it would be.

It could never be.

It was just another kind of loneliness, one that I wasn’t sure I’d ever learn to live with.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[thetriplets3]

Hi I have a request! In Taylor's new song there's lyrics "in the world of boys, he's a gentleman" could you do something about matt or chris with it??

❝𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧❞

matt was the first person to show me what love looked like. i had only been in one relationship that lasted 5 months then he “got bored” and started seeing someone before he even broke up with me.

i had my fair share of blind dates my friends insisted on setting me up with but none of them left me feeling loved. i always felt like an afterthought on these dates. they walk in the restaurant and head to a table leaving me trailing behind like a lost puppy. they’d spend the whole night talking themselves and finding a way to make it about them barely letting me get a word in, and they’d always ask for separate bills. those were the better of the dates. some of them would text me all day telling me how excited they were to see me and as soon as it came time for our date i was met with radio silence. i sat at countless tables repeatedly telling the server “he should be here soon”. i was embarrassed to be in this situation, especially since it isn’t the first time it’s happened.

there were plenty of times guys showed they were really just boys.

the last date i was on the guy wanted to take me to a fancy restaurant, saying i deserved to be given the best treatment. that was a lie. i’d been waiting in this high end restaurant alone for nearly an hour waiting. all my texts to him asking where he was got left on read. i was feeling self conscious, suddenly aware of everyone giving me pitiful looks, i don’t belong here i stand out like a sore thumb and it’s very obvious i’ve been stood up. my phone buzzed, causing me to immediately pick up my phone hoping he’d finally texted me back. a sigh escapes my lips when i see it’s a text from nick checking in on me.

nick

sooo how’s mr fancy treating you??

me

he ain’t shit. i’ve been waiting for him for almost an hour i feel like an animal at the zoo being stared at this is fucking embarrassing

nick

wtfff that’s horrible i’m so sorry. men suck

me

correction boys suck

nick

i say give him 20 minutes, if he doesn’t show up by then, leave

✿

~third person pov~

what she didn’t know is that nick had mentioned her situation to his brothers and without hesitation, matt headed to his room and changed into nicer clothes. nick and chris weren’t shocked when they saw matt all dressed up and heading out the door without a word. they know their brother would do anything for that girl, which is why he told her to wait, knowing matt would be there in minutes.

she has been by their side since grade 4. her and matt have always been closer than she was with the other boys. they were the perfect pair, they were meant for each other, just too shy to say anything. they didn’t need to admit anything though, their feelings showed through their actions.

matt pulled up to the restaurant and quickly made his way in scanning the dimly lit room for her beautiful face. within seconds his eyes meet her heartbroken face. he practically sprinted towards her, out of breath and ready with a fake excuse as to why he’s late.

hearing heavy quick steps in her direction, the girl whips head up only to be met with the person she really wanted to show up. a smile replaces her frown as she gets up, shimmying the hem off her dress down, and meets matt’s open arms.

“i’m so sorry i’m late, chris hurt himself so i had to bring him to the hospital. i would have texted you but my phone died and i was too panicked to try and call you” he says loud enough for people around to hear, before pulling her chair back to let her sit and tucking it in before seating himself. “once they saw chris i left and came straight here. i really didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. i’m sorry love” he says, eyes boring into hers with sincerity.

“that’s okay you’re here now. i’m glad you were there to help him” the girl said, playing along with his story.

after finally eating, he paid for their meals and led her to the exit of the building with a gentle hand on her lower back. before heading outside he took off his jacket and put it on the girl.

“it’s cold out” he softly started, before holding the door open for her as she walks out the door with a true smile and a growing blush on her cheeks.

“thank you matt you didn’t have to do that. i was perfectly okay with leaving and getting an uber” she said as she gave him a hug and placed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

“you might have been okay with doing that but i’m not. you don’t deserve to get stood up and you got all dolled up i’d be mad at myself if i didn’t come here and just let you sit there even longer looking all pretty with no one there to appreciate you. i’d do anything for you in a heart beat, you know that” he said before holding her warm face in his hands, his eyes searching hers for approval. with a subtle nod and a glimmer in her eyes he wastes no time placing a sweet and loving kiss to her lips.

✿

~reader’s pov~

it wasn’t long after that night when matt asked me to be his girlfriend. he makes sure to show me everyday what it’s like to truly be loved. it’s the little things; subtly switching sides with me if we’re about to pass a group of creepy men or drunk boys; he’ll reach his hand behind him if he’s in the middle of a conversation or busy with something to hold my hand, letting me know he hasn’t forgotten about me; he always has extras of things i use often with him either in his car, his room or his backpack he’s got it. if my hairs bothering me and i forgot a hair clip or hair tie, he’s got one clipped to his bag and a hair tie around his wrist. if i need lip balm he’s got about 3 with him at any point, and he gets a taste of the strawberry lip balm each kiss, he can’t complain; knowing how clumsy and spatially unaware i am, any time i bend down to get something his hand is right there to stop me from bumping my head on it. he’ll brush my hair and attempt to braid it which usually ends up with him just playing with my hair, knowing how relaxing i find it. he can read me like a book he knows me better than anyone else and he’s always one step ahead of me, going that extra mile.

he makes me feel seen like no one has done before. i am his never ending thought, never an afterthought, like every boy made me feel like i was. matt has shown me what it’s like to be loved, i don’t know why i put up with being treated poorly for so long.

he’s a gentleman in a world full of boys

(not the lyrics but close enough)

taglist:

@antisocialties @iluvmatt @dwntwn-strnlo @fake-coolbeans @opheliaofficial07 @angelcake-222 @oneirophobic @strniolo @lollibumblebee @ssturniolo @20nugs @abbie13sworld @strniolo @luvsturniolo

[qiupachups]

miles.g / wiles

.｡.+*☆ headcannons 👾💭

contents: general hcs, mention of his father’s death, i call 42-miles ‘wiles’, me sorta bullying him

a/n: after a lot of procrastination and harassment gentle encouragement from @vhstown i’m finally posting my hcs. :3c (they’ve been sitting here since july)

Despite his tough guy exterior and criminal career, he's actually a massive nerd geek. Like: gundham, comics, posters all over his room.

Until you bring up those interests, he won't mention them. But once you start a conversation about them, he can tell you all the lore front to back or tell you where and when each collectible is from. Just listening to Wiles and nodding along will make his day.

Accepting help from others is not an option. Ever. He's an overly D.I.Y guy since his father's death and it's staying that way.

... unless you're very close to him. Wiles will begrudgingly accept your help and then be adamant on repaying you. No matter how trivial it was, he'll show his gratitude through service.

Wiles has great memory and knows all the lyrics to his favourite songs. Go through his playlist and pick something at random- he'll recite them flawlessly!

A good memory also helps with remembering those flashes of songs playing on your lock screen. Just a split second glance? He's adding it to his playlist, maybe listening to it as he works on his latest gear.

Would be a straight A student if he were there half the time. The only thing keeping his total grades down is attendance, where he’s often absent.

However, if he’s in a group project with you, Wiles will put more effort into it. Getting a ‘C’ or GPA point lower is fine if it means keeping Brooklyn safer. What’s not fine is him being the reason for your lower marks.

Unlike his counterpart from 1610, Wiles’ art is more realistic. He tries to capture the subjects’ essence quickly and minimally, so colours are an afterthought.

Accuracy was his pride in art until it came to you. He’d be so nervous in getting your smile right, scribbling failed attempts over and over again. Wiles even resorted to a pencil sketch.

Following the passing of Jefferson, Wiles has gotten much closer to Rio. That’s a no brainer; he was fourteen— a kid. And Jefferson never got to see his son in that overpriced Visions uniform.

Wiles makes an effort to speak more Spanish. He lets his mamí braid his hair even if it hurts like hell. Those stupid telenovelas aren’t that bad on the second watch.

Once upon a time, Wiles used to be a choir boy (keyword: used). He’d love singing hymns and doing nativities before he could read; all for his mamí and dad to see.

However, the christmas after Jefferson’s passing felt… empty. Wiles quickly lost his passion for choir and now just attends mass with Rio at most.

After years of experience being a choir boy, Wiles has the voice of an angel. Not that you’d know, of course— he intends to take that to the grave. But there’s also a deeper, darker secret… he can’t rap to save his life.

An extremely personal and harrowing Musically comment told him so. Following that attack, twelve year old Wiles abandoned his account with only a black profile picture left behind.

Like any other middle schooler, Wiles had a hype beast phase (he denies it). When Aaron got a Hype shirt for Wiles’ 12th birthday, words couldn’t describe how he almost knocked Aaron down with a hug.

The shirt’s first stain had Wiles distraught and furiously searching ‘remove paint on shirt hacks’ on Youtube. His heart would probably stop if he misplaced a gift from you.

Wiles isn’t the best cook, but he can definitely make himself a good meal. With Rio working night shifts and Uncle Aaron doing… jobs, he has to be self-sufficient.

A secret lil’ side project: he’s trying and failing to replicate Jefferson’s mac ‘n cheese. It wasn’t the best, but it was his. Something’s always off when Wiles makes it and he’s not quite sure what.

Sure, cooking isn’t that hard, but baking is like wizardry to Wiles. AP Chemistry and it’s endless calculations felt way easier than making pan de agua with his mamí.

But, mamí didn’t raise no quitter! On a particularly busy birthday, Wiles pulled together a modest little cake for Rio. She burst into tears seeing the shaky ‘!Feliz Cumple!’ written in too-sweet icing.

Calling Earth-42 a wreck is a massive understatement. Shit’s like Gotham, only very real and very deadly. Just breathing in that damn city air makes Wiles’ skin crawl.

Luckily, he’s got an outlet: boxing. A fun hobby he picked up from Uncle Aaron became his release. Wiles might never be in the ring, but Brooklyn’s more than enough.

a/n #2: what the fuck. this was supposed to be short and silly and fun. exsqueeze me how did this… erm. disjointed mess.

[geotjwrs]

hey, um, may a request jenna x male!r base on the song "You're losing me" by Taylor Swift.

love your writings!

my heart won't stop anymore

Pairings ; Jenna Ortega x Male!Reader

Warning/s ; angsty

Y/N sat in the dimly lit living room, the shadows from the streetlights outside casting an eerie glow on the walls. The room, once filled with warmth and love, now felt cold and distant. Photos of happier times decorated the shelves – memories of vacations, holidays, and spontaneous adventures. He stared at a particular picture, one where Jenna was laughing, her eyes sparkling with joy as Y/N held her close.

The door clicked open, and Jenna walked in, her heels echoing in the silence. She barely glanced at Y/N, her attention immediately focused on her phone. She tossed her bag onto the chair and headed straight for the kitchen.

"Jenna, we need to talk," Y/N said, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions.

Jenna sighed, her eyes never leaving her phone. "Can it wait? I'm exhausted and I have an early call time tomorrow."

Y/N stood up, his frustration boiling over. "No, it can't wait. We've been putting this off for too long."

She finally looked up, her expression one of annoyance rather than concern. "Fine. What is it?"

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady his trembling hands. "Do you even care about us anymore? About what we have?"

Jenna rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defensively. "Of course I do, Y/N. But I'm in the middle of a huge project. This is my career we're talking about."

"And what about our relationship? Does that mean nothing to you?" His voice cracked, betraying the depth of his pain.

She shrugged, her indifference cutting deeper than any harsh words. "I told you from the beginning that my career comes first. You knew what you were signing up for."

Y/N felt a lump form in his throat, his vision blurring with unshed tears. "I didn't sign up to be an afterthought, Jenna. I feel like I'm losing you, and you don't even care."

Jenna's eyes softened for a brief moment, but it was quickly replaced by her usual stoic expression. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but I can't slow down now. This is my dream, Y/N. Can't you understand that?"

He looked at her, searching for any sign of the woman he had fallen in love with. But all he saw was someone who had become a stranger, consumed by ambition. "Maybe we need to take a break," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jenna's reaction was almost mechanical. "If that's what you want, then maybe it's for the best."

The finality of her words was like a dagger to his heart. Y/N turned away, unable to bear the sight of her cold, detached demeanor. "I guess this is it then," he said, his voice breaking.

"Goodbye, Y/N," she replied, her tone flat and unfeeling.

With a heavy heart, Y/N walked out of the apartment, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the silence. He stumbled down the stairs, his vision blurred by tears. As he stepped into the cool night air, he felt a crushing weight settle over him. The woman he loved was gone, replaced by someone who barely acknowledged his existence.

Hours later, Y/N found himself wandering the empty streets, the city lights casting long shadows that mirrored the emptiness he felt inside. He tried to recall the moments that had led them here, to this breaking point. The late-night phone calls that went unanswered, the dates that were postponed or canceled, the laughter that had gradually faded into silence.

Their love had once been a burning flame, bright and all-consuming. But now, it felt like the last embers were flickering out, smothered by the relentless pursuit of ambition. Jenna had always been passionate about her career, and Y/N had admired that about her. But somewhere along the way, he had become an afterthought, a footnote in the story of her success.

He ended up at the park where they had their first date. It was a place filled with memories – the bench where they had shared their first kiss, the tree where they had carved their initials, the path they had walked hand in hand, dreaming of a future together. Y/N sat down on the bench, the cool night air doing little to numb the ache in his heart.

He pulled out his phone, scrolling through old photos of them. Each picture was a reminder of what they had once had – the smiles, the adventures, the quiet moments of intimacy. But now, those memories felt like ghosts haunting him, reminding him of what he had lost.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke through his reverie.

Y/N looked up to see his best friend, Emma Myers, standing there, concern etched on her face. "I figured I'd find you here," Emma said, sitting down beside him. "What's going on, man?"

Y/N took a deep breath, struggling to find the words. "It's over, Emma. Jenna and I...we're done."

Emma nodded, her expression somber. "I'm sorry to hear that. I know how much she meant to you."

Y/N felt a tear slip down his cheek, hastily wiping it away. "I don't know what happened. One moment, we were happy, and the next...she's just gone. It's like I don't matter anymore."

Emma placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You do matter, Y/N. Sometimes, people change, and their priorities shift. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong."

Y/N shook his head, the weight of his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I just feel so...lost. I thought we had something real, something worth fighting for. But she didn't even care."

Emma sighed, looking out at the park. "It's hard, man. Love can be beautiful, but it can also be painful. Maybe it's time to focus on yourself, figure out what makes you happy."

Y/N nodded, though the words felt hollow. "I don't even know where to start."

Emma gave him a small, encouraging smile. "One step at a time. You've got friends who care about you, who will be there for you. And who knows? Maybe one day, you'll find someone who will appreciate you for who you are."

Y/N knew Emma was right, but the thought of moving on felt impossible. The pain was too fresh, too raw. "Thanks, Emma," he said quietly. "I just need some time."

"Take all the time you need," Emma replied, standing up. "I'll be here for you, whenever you're ready."

As Emma walked away, Y/N sat there, letting the tears flow freely. The park was silent, save for the rustling of leaves in the breeze. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the joy he once felt here with Jenna. But all he could feel now was a hollow emptiness.

Days turned into weeks, and the weight of the breakup lingered over Y/N like a dark cloud. He went through the motions of daily life, but everything felt numb, colorless. Friends tried to cheer him up, but their efforts only highlighted the void left by Jenna's absence.

One evening, as he sat alone in his apartment, Y/N's phone buzzed with a message from Jenna. His heart skipped a beat, a flicker of hope igniting within him. Maybe she had realized her mistake. Maybe she wanted to make things right.

But as he opened the message, his heart sank.

"Hey Y/N, I hope you're doing well. I just wanted to let you know that I've been cast in a new film. It's a huge opportunity for me, and I'll be traveling a lot. I hope you understand. Take care."

Y/N stared at the screen, the words blurring as tears filled his eyes. There was no apology, no hint of regret. Just a cold, matter-of-fact announcement of her success. He realized then that Jenna had moved on, her dreams taking precedence over everything else, including him.

He threw his phone aside, burying his face in his hands. The pain was suffocating, a relentless ache that refused to fade. He had given his heart to Jenna, and in return, she had given him nothing but indifference.

Months passed, and slowly, Y/N began to rebuild his life. He threw himself into his work, finding solace in the routine. He reconnected with old friends, started new hobbies, anything to fill the void Jenna had left. But despite his best efforts, the memories of her lingered, haunting him in quiet moments.

One day, while walking through the park, he saw a couple sitting on the bench where he and Jenna had once shared so many moments. They were laughing, their faces lit up with love and joy. A pang of longing hit Y/N, but he forced himself to look away. He couldn't dwell on the past anymore.

As he walked further, he saw a familiar figure standing by the tree where they had carved their initials. It was Jenna. She looked up and their eyes met, a flicker of recognition and something else – regret? – crossing her face.

"Y/N," she said, her voice softer than he remembered.

"Jenna," he replied, keeping his tone neutral.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

"It's a public park," he replied, the bitterness slipping through despite his efforts to stay composed.

She nodded, looking down. "I know I hurt you, Y/N. And I'm sorry. I was so focused on my career that I forgot what was really important."

Y/N felt a mix of emotions – anger, sadness, a lingering love that refused to die. "It doesn't matter anymore, Jenna. You made your choice."

"I did," she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. "And I regret it every day."

He wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto the hope that they could somehow find their way back to each other. But the wounds were too deep, the pain too fresh.

"I need to move on, Jenna," he said quietly. "And so do you."

She nodded, wiping away a tear. "I understand. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I appreciate that. Take care, Jenna."

"You too, Y/N," she whispered, watching as he walked away.

As he left the park, Y/N felt a sense of closure. The pain was still there, but it was no longer an open wound. It was a scar, a reminder of a love that had once burned bright but had been extinguished by ambition and indifference.

He knew it would take time to heal completely, but for the first time in months, he felt a glimmer of hope. He would find his way, one step at a time, and one day, he would open his heart to love again.

[madneedshelp]

See Me - Eddie Roundtree x FReader

Summary: You had spent your whole life trying to prove yourself, to be seen. Living in the shadows of your brothers was exhausting, but you fought to make a name for yourself. So, how could not fall for the only person who saw you no matter what?

You had always been Billy and Graham’s little sister to everyone. It didn’t even make sense because you and Graham were twins, but you were still always considered to just be somebody’s something. You were never known as just you.

When you were a kid, you were mildly annoyed by your afterthought status, but you expected the feeling to fade with age. It didn’t. It was only made worse when The Dunne Brothers formed.

Did Billy and Graham ever ask their own sister if she wanted to join the band? Of course not. You didn’t play any instruments, but you had talked about wanting to learn before. It kind of hurt how little attention they paid to you.

Instead of let it drive you crazy, you decided to use it. You were going to make them see you, and then maybe it would feel like they gave a shit. You were even lucky enough to have the perfect opportunity open up.

You could tell Chuck was flaking. He wasn’t serious about the band like the others. So, you took up bass guitar in secret. You were earning your spot in the band once he left, because you could very obviously tell he was leaving.

Sure enough, right before the band was leaving for LA, Chuck told them he was done. You walked out in the driveway to find the remaining band members looking absolutely pissed. 

“What’s going on?” You put a hand on Graham’s shoulder to catch his attention. 

Billy beat him to an answer. “Chuck quit. Now we’re out a bass player.” 

“The fuck are we going to do, man?” Graham looked over at him. 

“I don’t know, Eddie can switch to bass for us.” Billy spat out.

You glanced over in time to see a flash of anger in Eddie’s eyes. He didn’t want that, and frankly, neither did you.

It was now or never. “Let me do it.” 

“You play, little Dunne?” Warren asked. 

“Yes,” You assured him at the same time Billy and Graham let out a sure “no”. 

Your brothers turned to you in surprise the second the words left your mouth. 

“Since when do you play?” Graham gave you a suspicious look.

“Long enough to be better than Chuck.” You folded your arms and looked between him and Billy sternly. “Will you give me a chance to prove it?”

Everyone turned to Billy as he turned to you.

“Fine, yeah, let’s hear what you got.” 

You played one song for them and the vote to let you in was unanimous. 

————————

There was nothing quite as exciting as the feeling when you all arrived in LA. The night after you arrived, you all partied hard. Sure, you all didn’t know what you were doing or how you were going to make it, but you took a huge leap and that called for celebration in your eyes.

“Hey, I never got to thank you.” Eddie handed you a beer as he took the seat next to yours.

You thanked him and took a swig. “Thanked me for what?” 

“You saved my ass before we left. I like where I am, I never wanted to be a bass player. Besides, you’re way better at it than I am. You could kick anyone’s ass at bass.” 

You chuckled at him. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“No, I’m serious. We should’ve kicked Chuck out when he started skipping practices ages ago.” 

A genuine smile grew on your face. No one has ever complimented you this much before. Especially not someone you barely knew. Eddie hung out with Graham, the most you’d really talked was small conversations in passing.

“Thanks, Eddie. I really appreciate that.” 

He gave you a smile in return and you felt a flutter, an honest-to-God, romance movie flutter. That was not good. You couldn’t fall for someone in the band, things would blow up if it didn’t work out. 

You excused yourself and went to find Camila. She might’ve been Billy’s girlfriend, but she had quickly become your best friend. 

“Hey Cam, come get another drink with me?” You put a hand on her arm.

She turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, sure.” You led her back inside and went immediately to the fridge. “More beer or should we open a bottle of wine? Fair warning, it’s super cheap and super shitty, but it’ll do the trick.”

“How about you tell me what happened with Eddie out there first?” She gave you a sly look.

You closed the fridge and whirled around. “What? Nothing happened!”

“Oh there was definitely a moment. I saw some looks over there.” She poked you. 

“He was just being nice about me joining the band. That’s it. Nothing more.” You held up your hands defensively. 

“Why not? Eddie’s a good guy.”

“I just got in the band, I’m not complicating things with that. Besides, we’ve barely ever talked before. I don’t even think you could call us friends yet. The most important thing right now is figuring out how to actually get famous out here.” 

Camila considered your words for a second and shrugged. “I guess you have a point there. And I wouldn’t worry about you all making it, I have faith in this.” She looped an arm through yours. “Now, let’s go get drunk off our asses on this cheap wine.”

————————

After that night, you found yourself acutely aware of everything Eddie did and it frustrated you to no end. Every time he glanced at you in practice, every compliment he gave you, every little gesture he did. The last thing you wanted to do was develop feelings for Eddie, but it looked like it was maybe too late for that.

Y/N: To make matters worse, Camila had definitely not done what I asked and liked to play the subtle matchmaker. She thought I didn’t notice, but she was pretty obvious about it. 

Camila: So maybe I tried to get them together, is that so bad? Y/N was skeptical, but I knew it wouldn’t blow up like she thought. Besides, I’ve known them almost my entire life, and they deserve to be happy. 

“Hey, would you mind grabbing some ice from the kitchen?” Camila called out as she arranged some plates of food on the table. 

It was Julia’s first birthday, and you and Cam decided to plan a little gathering for it. Just the band was there, it wasn’t anything huge. 

“Yeah, of course.” You dusted off your hands as you finished setting up a folding table. 

“Great! Eddie, go help her.” 

You didn’t even have time to shoot Camila a glare before he nodded and started toward you. Instead you mouthed not funny at her as soon as Eddie couldn’t see. She gave you a smug grin and mouthed you’re welcome. 

You followed Eddie into the kitchen, nervousness faintly tingling in your veins. This man had entirely too much power over you. You had tried everything to get him off your mind, and it would work for a little, but then he would tell you he liked that little riff you threw into that song or he’d bring you your favorite drink after you and Billy had an argument over some stupid thing at the studio and you would turn all mushy again. You had come to realize that he understood what it felt like to be overlooked and maybe that was why you felt a weird connection with him. 

“You seen the cooler?” Eddie asked, bringing your attention back to the moment. 

You glanced around. “Yeah, it’s up there on top of the fridge. One second.”

As you stood on your tiptoes to reach for the cooler, you were realizing that you weren’t going to be able to reach it. Then you felt the ghost of warmth behind you. 

“Here, I can help with that.” Eddie’s smooth voice murmured above you. 

Instantly, you felt your face flame. God, you hadn’t behaved like this since you were thirteen. It was more than a little embarrassing and you sure as hell weren’t about to let him see you like that. As soon as Eddie snatched the cooler and stepped away, you put distance between the two of you. 

“I’m going to go see if Cam needs any more help, you got this from here?” You blurted as you made for the back door. 

“Wait!” Eddie grabbed your wrist gently. You flinched out of surprise, but he immediately dropped your hand. “Sorry, sorry, I just wanted to talk.”

“No, it’s fine, uh, what’s up?” You put on an entirely forced smile. 

Eddie folded his arms and gave you an earnest look. “Did I do something?”

“No,” your brows furrowed. “Why?”

“You avoid me all the time. I don’t know if I pissed you off at some point, but you act like I’ve got the fucking plague or like you want nothing to do with me.”

It stung a little bit. He seemed genuinely hurt, and you never wanted to do that. “No! It’s not you, Eddie. You haven’t done anything wrong, I swear.”

“Then what’s wrong? It’s bad enough being in a band with one Dunne that can’t stand me, I don’t know if I can handle two Dunnes acting like that.” Eddie threw his hands up in frustration. 

You closed your eyes and sighed. “Eddie, I promise I don’t have a problem with you.”

He took a step closer to you. “Then why do you act like you do?”

His tone was becoming more and more irritated, and the insistence was starting to annoy you too. He was going to make you say it, wasn’t he? But honestly, maybe you should’ve just told him. It had been well over a year of pining. If continuing to act like this was going to cause a fight, maybe it would be less chaotic to tell him and see what happens. Things couldn’t keep going the way they were, regardless. 

“You really want to know why?” 

He nodded. “Please.”

You took a breath and looked him directly in the eyes. “I like you, okay? And I don’t want to like you because liking people in your band doesn’t usually work out well, but it’s been too fucking long and I can’t stop feeling like this so I avoid you.”

Eddie let out a dark chuckle. “That’s it? You’ve been ignoring me all this time because you like me?”

“Yeah, I have. And don’t act like that’s so wild. My reasons make sense. It’s not stupid.” You practically spat the words. 

There were lots of ways you had envisioned this possibly going, but you never thought he’d be this angry. You didn’t think he’d be angry at all. Awkward maybe, but not pissed. 

“It is stupid, actually.” 

Your head snapped toward him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Eddie stepped closer again. “I said that’s actually pretty fucking stupid.”

“Eddie, I swear to God, if you-”

Eddie crashed his lips against yours before you could say another word. Your shock wore off after a moment and you were able to kiss him back like you’d wanted to for so long. The two of you broke apart after what felt like a small eternity, panting and grinning.

“Graham owes me $20.” Warren chuckled from the doorway. 

Both of you jumped apart and were met with Warren’s pleased face. 

“How long have been there, Warren?” You stammered.

“Long enough, Little Dunne. Long enough.” 

You pointed a finger at him. “Keep it to yourself, or you lose nickname privileges.”

“We already know!” A voice called from outside. Karen. 

You rolled your eyes. You kind of hated your friends sometimes, but you also kind of loved the infuriating little shits. 

“Whatever, let’s just get the ice back out there.” You shook your head with a laugh.

Eddie grabbed the cooler with one hand and your hand with the other, and you had to admit, you felt way less scared of the possibility of dating a bandmate. 

————————

Y/N and Eddie Roundtree got married a year after Daisy Jones and The Six broke up. They currently work together producing music and are still located in LA. Their daughter and son already have a huge love of music, and are rumored to be starting a band of their own.

[lipglossanon]

Behind Every Lie There’s A Bird Song Within

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{previous installment} | | {next installment}

Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

shoutout to @gumiegumie hope you enjoy it!! And also to the anon who wanted angst with a happy ending!!

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, angst, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), Leon being nicer in this one 🤭

Not proofread as per the usual

Title from Don’t Fake This by Chevelle

✩｡:*•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•*:｡✩

It’s slow dreary Saturday and you find yourself mindlessly scrolling on your phone. After catching up with your friends and perusing TikTok for the umpteenth time, you sigh and flop back onto your bed, phone locked and set aside. 

You look up at your glow in the dark stars and drum your fingers on your stomach. 

“Could go for a snack,” you say to yourself out loud. 

Rolling off your bed, you set your phone on the nightstand then make your way downstairs. You pass by Leon’s room, noticing the door’s open and no one’s inside. Shrugging, you don’t think anything else of it and continue on downstairs to head into the kitchen. 

Sock clad feet step on the bottom stair when you hear voices coming from the living room. Pausing, you tilt your head up trying to place who it is. You quietly walk a little closer, wanting to be nosy but not obvious, and peek into the room. 

What you see makes your heart drop like a stone. Leon’s sitting on the couch next to some pretty girl; a movie’s playing on the tv but they’re so busy talking and laughing with each other that it’s practically an afterthought. 

Your chest feels so tight when you watch as Leon puts his arm around the unknown girl and pulls her in for a hug. The girl’s giggling and pushing at his chest but not really trying that hard to get away. 

You feel sick—nauseous—stomach acid fizzing with your nerves. Leon says something too low for you to hear and the girl laughs and smacks his arm. You want to disappear, wish you’d never come downstairs but if you hadn’t you’d never know and isn’t thatsomehow even worse?

Your nails dig into your palms as you watch the girl drag her hands down his arms, lips turned up into the biggest smile. Leon does nothing to stop her and in fact takes her hands in his as they continue talking. 

You blink, not realizing the tears welling up in your eyes. Why should you even care? I mean technically you’re not dating—hell how could you? You’re step siblings; you’re just messing around for the fun of it. You wipe at your face with the palms of your hands. He obviously isn’t that serious about you, doesn’t see you romantically so it’s no big deal. 

With that last thought, you close your eyes to the scene in the living room and turn around. You head back upstairs, appetite long forgotten, and lock yourself in your room. You flop down onto your bed and bury your face in your pillows. 

Disappointment and heartbreak are making you curl in on yourself. You let yourself cry, hating that you let yourself get so attached to something that didn’t really mean anything. You can’t even be upset with Leon; you’re the one who let yourself get pulled into those giddy feelings, thinking you’re different—special.

You cry until your eyes are puffy and swollen. Raising up, you get out of bed to search for your bag. Once you find it, you dig around to pull out a small pack of tissues. Sitting at your vanity, you clean the dried tears on your face and toss the tissues in the trash. 

Feeling sad and wrung out, you lay back down on your bed, pulling the covers up to cocoon yourself against the world. Unsure of how long you stay like this, you’re startled when there’s a loud knock at your door. 

“Honey, dinner’s ready,” your mom calls out. 

“‘m not hungry,” your hoarse voice replies. 

A pause on the other side of the door then, “Are you okay? You sound a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you clear your throat, “just tired.”

“Well,” your mom continues, “it might do you some good to get out of your room and come downstairs.”

“I’m fine, mom, really,” you kick off the blankets but don’t leave your bed. 

“Honey I think— oh, Leon, good. You think you can get her to come out? Sometimes moms aren’t the most convincing,” she laughs. 

“Sure,” you hear him reply and it makes your stomach roll with nerves.

He raps his knuckles on the door, “Hey, foods gonna get cold if you don’t come down for dinner, princess.”

“I said I’m not hungry,” your voice is cold, firm, “so go ahead without me.”

The knob rattles but the door stays shut. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you hear the confusion in his voice and your mom hums. 

“I think she’s sick,” she taps on the door, “C’mon honey, come out and let me make you some soup or a grilled cheese. You don’t have to eat anything heavy if you’re not feeling good.”

Feeling frustration beat at your temples, you push yourself out of bed and walk over to your door. 

Unlocking it and pulling it open, you take in the concerned faces of your mom and Leon. 

“Excuse me,” you mutter, pushing past them and making your way downstairs to the dining room. 

Your stepdad’s already seated at the table and he frowns at you in concern. 

“Feeling okay?”

“Fine,” you shrug, sitting in your seat, “not that hungry though.”

“Ah,” he nods, “well you can cut out early. Don’t worry about your mom, I’ll talk to her.”

You give him a small smile, feeling a little relief in the midst of your tumultuous emotions. 

“Thanks.”

Your mom and Leon step into the room and you drop your gaze down to your plate. Walking to stand next to you, your mom checks your temperature with her palm. 

“Hmm you’re not running a fever at least.”

“Told you I’m fine, just not feeling hungry.”

Your mom purses her lips but drops her hand and heads to her seat. 

Leon tries to get your attention, but you completely ignore him and push your food around your plate. You drink some water, throat feeling a little dry from the crying jag earlier. 

“May I be excused?” you ask, looking at your stepdad. 

“Sure, and leave your plate. I’ll get it.”

Your mom frowns at him then looks at you, “Honey—“

“She’ll be fine, let her go,” your stepdad motions his hand to the door, “she’ll eat when she’s hungry.”

You nod and stand up from the table, making your way back upstairs. Halfway up the flight, you feel a hand grab your wrist. 

“Let go, Leon,” your voice comes out bland and tired. 

“No,” he tugs until your turned halfway towards him. 

You stand a couple of steps above him making him look up at you. He takes in your swollen eyes and stiff demeanor. 

“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?”

You sneer at him, “So? What’s it to you?”

His brows furrow, blue eyes filled with something you don’t want to see, “Princess, who made you cry?”

“You,” your voice escapes your throat before you can think better of it. 

A wounded look comes into his face, “Me? What did I—“

You yank your hand away from him, “Who cares, Leon. I’m fine just leave me alone.”

You turn back and continue up the stairs, Leon hot on your heels. He grabs your shoulder this time and spins you around, his hands wrap around your biceps to hold you in place. 

“I care,” he heatedly tells you, “what did I do?”

“Forget it,” you hiss, trying to pull away from him, “it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” he growls, “what the fuck did I do?”

“Nothing!” you whisper scream at him, eyes angry as you stare him down, “you did nothing, Leon.”

You feel tears pricking your lash line but you keep your gaze locked with his shocked one. 

“I’m upset at myself. I let myself get carried away,” you grit out, tears slipping from your eyes, “so go hang out with your girlfriend and leave me alone.”

A look of confusion overtakes his features, “Girlfriend? What girl—“

His eyes widen in recognition and then darken. He drops your arms but as you’re stepping away he grabs your waist and puts you over his shoulder.

“Leon!” You slap at his back, “what the fu—“

He carries you into his room, kicking the door shut and locking it. He tosses you onto his bed, following quickly to pin you down by holding your wrists above your head. 

“Let go or I’m going to scream!” You yell up at him, “god you suck Leon, I hate—“ 

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” his voice is deep and harsh, “whatever you think you saw, wasn’t anything. Anything. Okay?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, chest feeling split open with feelings of heartbreak and despair. 

“Sure thing, Leon. And I’m sure if I asked her she’d give me the same spiel.”

“She would cause she’s my first cousin,” he practically snarls in your face, “you’re such a fucking brat, god.”

“What?” you feel as if in a free fall. 

The fights leaves you, body now limp in Leon’s grasp. Different thoughts war for attention but the only thing you can really focus on is the warmth blooming in your chest. 

“Cousin?” you ask dazedly, wide eyes looking up into his dark blue gaze. 

“Yes,” he glares down at you, “we haven’t seen each other in ages so we were catching up. You would’ve known if you just would’ve introduced yourself like a normal fucking person.”

“I-I didn’t—“ you start to softly cry and his face softens. 

“Hey, hey, no I’m sorry, fuck I shouldn’t have said it that way,” he lets go of your wrists and pulls you into his arms.

Laying on your sides now, he pets your hair with one hand and rubs your back with the other. 

“Princess, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you cry,” he kisses the top of your head. 

You press your face harder into his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, then louder to you, “hey, it’s okay. I promise I don’t have anyone else. You’re my special girl, why would I ruin that, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you hiccup. 

You press your face harder into his chest, no longer crying; slowly breathing in his woodsy cologne is helping you feel calm. You keep nuzzling his chest while he pets your hair and back. 

Once he can feel your breathing return to normal, he pulls you away from his chest. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing under your eye, “you okay?”

You give a weak smile, “I’m better now.”

“Good,” he drags his thumb down to swipe across your bottom lip, “I’m about to show my girl how special she really is.”

Your breath hitches and Leon slips his thumb between your lips. 

“Seems my little sister needs to be reminded who she belongs to.”

You moan, eyes fluttering as he pulls his thumb from your mouth. He drags it back and forth over your lips until they’re damp with spit. He kisses you hard, tongue fucking into your pliant mouth over and over. 

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders trying to pull him closer. 

“Lay back, baby. Gotta be sweet to my other girl too,” he presses you down on your back and helps you tug your shorts and panties off. 

“God, she really looks like she needs big brother’s kisses huh,” he groans, laying down between your legs as you whine. 

“P-please,” you whimper. 

“Shh, don’t worry princess, gonna be real sweet to you tonight,” he promises, hands skimming up your legs to grip your thighs. 

“Fuck can’t wait to eat out this little cunt,” he kisses your thigh, teeth nipping the skin, “she’s crying for me already.”

“Leon,” you gasp as he bites down on your thigh and sucks. 

He worries the skin until he feels certain a bruise is forming. Your legs kick as he does the same to the other thigh. Your pussy is starting to leak all over his sheets. 

His dark eyes watch as clear strings of slick drip from your needy cunt to his bed. He buries his face in your soaked pussy with a moan. 

“Leon,” you whimper, hands finding their way into his hair and gripping tightly. 

“You can pull my hair if you need to baby, I don’t mind,” he says, pulling back from your pussy, “like knowing I’m making my girls feel so good.”

“Fuck,” you bite your lip, watching as Leon goes back to licking and sucking your clit. 

Your hips writhe but he pins you down to his bed as he fucks his tongue in your wet hole. You bring one hand up to muffle your whines in case your parents walk by the room. Leon runs his tongue up from your hole to lap at your sensitive clit. He sucks on it gently and then kisses your clit over and over until your hips are pushing up into his mouth. 

“Let me kiss her baby, gotta make sure she gets enough of big brother’s kisses too,” he chuckles, the vibration pulsing in your pussy. 

He groans when you tug his hair, “God, why would I even want anyone else, princess. So sweet for me, want you all the fucking time that it’s stupid.”

“Yeah?” You whine, watching as your slick leaks out onto Leon’s mouth making his lips shiny. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he kisses the hood of your clit, then spreads your pussy open so he can kiss on your clit directly.

You try to kick your feet, feeling so much from his pouty lips on your cunt. 

“Wanna sneak in your room at night and just have my way with you,” he groans, tongue licking into your pussy, “so when you wake up I’m already balls deep in your little cunt.”

You muffle a high pitched whine as you roll your hips down into his mouth. 

“Fuck, you like that?” he grins, pupils blown wide, “guess I need to show my little sister what she’s missing out on.”

He tongue kisses your drippy hole, tongue sliding deeper against your fluttering walls. He pulls back to spit on your clit then laps it up with broad strokes of his tongue. You tug his hair again making him moan and press his face into your throbbing pussy. His nose bumps your clit as he fucks his tongue in and out, in and out, in and out, until your eyes are rolling back in your head. 

“Leon, m’gonna cum,” you whisper down to him, biting your thumb to muffle your voice.

“Mmm, then cum on my tongue, princess,” he sucks on your clit, moving one hand from your thighs to push your thumb from your mouth to slip his first and middle finger past your lips.

You buck your hips into the hot, wet suction on your swollen clit and whine. Grabbing his wrist with the hand not tugging Leon’s hair, you hold his hand in place while eagerly sucking and moaning around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin.

Leon groans into your cunt and flicks his tongue over your clit which is the last straw for you; your legs clamp down around his head as your hips thrust up against his mouth, pussy fluttering around nothing as you cum. He moans and pushes his tongue into your clenching walls, eagerly tasting the slick quickly pooling in his mouth. A low moan builds in your throat, gargling around the fingers you’re still softly suckling. 

With one last wet kiss to your cunt, Leon raises up. Slick coats his lips and jaw, dripping off his chin. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and grabs your waist to yank you down. You back slides against his sheets until you’re caged underneath him. He cradles your jaw before kissing you hotly, tongue pushing past your swollen lips to share the taste of your pussy. Moaning, you wrap your hands around his shoulders and pull him closer. 

He moves his mouth away to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, “So fucking perfect.”

You feel his hands clench around your waist, broad palms squeezing you tightly as he ruts his hips against you. 

“Leon,” you sigh, nails running across the nape of his neck.

He shuts his eyes with a harsh breath and pulls back from you. Whining you reach out to him, but he holds your hands in his.

“Want to make this all about you, princess,” his eyes reopen, sea storm blue hungrily taking in your body, “you make it so fucking hard though.”

A quick knock of ‘shave and a haircut’ on the door sounds out before Leon’s dad calls out, “Hey, we’re going to finish up that crime show so you better get downstairs or we’ll watch it without ya.”

“Okay, pops. Be down in a minute.”

“I’ll knock on—“

“Nah, I’ll let her know,” he cuts him off, eyes never leaving yours, “we’ll see you downstairs.”

Waiting a beat to make sure his dad is gone, Leon stands up from the bed. He helps you to stand and grabs your clothes from the floor. Handing them over, he runs his hands through his messy hair.

“Uh, I’ll duck out and let you get dressed. You don’t have to come down if you don’t want,” he brushes your cheek with his knuckles.

“Thanks, Leon,” voice soft and shy, you press up on you tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

“No problem, sweetheart,” he kisses you again, chaste and quick.

He adjusts himself in his sweats and quirks an eyebrow at you, “So does it look like I just ate my little sister out in my bed?”

“Leon!” You cover your mouth, muffling your laugh as you smack his arm.

He ducks back, missing your hand, “Just making sure, princess.”

Opening the door, he looks down the hall and seeing no one, slips out. 

Before closing it completely, his eyes take in your half naked state; a grin tugs at the edge of his lips, “See you downstairs.”

Rolling your eyes at the closed door, you quickly dress to follow him.