#the way I would turn around and kiss him and grab his hair and cram our faces together... WHO SAID THAT

[futurewife]

boy why was he standing so close to her here to read. i know i am a true kissless handholdless virgin cause this has me as lightheaded as those male dancer lapdance videos on insta

[firstdivisiongirl]

can i request headcanons for Tokyo revenger; draken, Mikey, mistuya and baji in a scenario where they're walking and a random girl (reader) walks up to them and begs them to pretend they know her because she thinks shes being followed?

(Bonus if reader isn't from japan and just moved there so her language skills aren't that great)

Hi there. This was so cute! So, the only one I did not write for is Mikey. I might eventually write one for Mikey and maybe a few other characters. I made the reader for Mitsuya and Draken foreign, but not Baji's. Idk why I did that but it kind of happened? Anyways, sorry for rambling. Thank you for the request and please enjoy!

Trigger Warning: Stalking

Baji, Mitsuya and Draken Helping Out a Female Reader When They Feel Uncomfortable

Baji:

Baji is a true gentleman

I know right!  Shocker

You were walking home late one night from the supermarket because you needed something to eat and you had nothing at home

You felt these eyes on you

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man following you

He walked a little faster and faster, but you still felt like you were being followed

Suddenly, you saw this guy, about your age with beautiful long black hair

You walked up to him and asked him quietly if he would just pretend to be with you

You explained that you felt like you were being followed and were scared

Baji immediately looked around and then grabbed your hand.

The man walked away thinking you two were a couple

He asked where you lived and he took drove you home on his motorcycle that was parked not far from where you two were

When you arrived home, he gave you his number

He said if you ever needed to run an errand late at night or felt uncomfortable ever to just call him and he would be there for you

Mama Baji would be proud of her son

And you were happy to have a new friend

Mitsuya:

Another gentleman in Toman

You were new to Tokyo

Really Japan in general

Ever since you moved to Tokyo, you worked late at night at a convenience store so that you could earn extra money to help out the family and take care of your younger siblings

One night on the way home, you just had this bad feeling

You felt like you were being watched

Which was only made worse when you saw a mysterious figure behind you

But suddenly, you saw this boy

He had silver hair and an earring in his left ear

You walked up to him and tried to tell him what was going on

Sadly, your Japanese wasn’t great

He tried to follow, but he was having trouble

Suddenly, a few words clicked and he figured out you were being followed and you wanted him to pretend to know you

He grabbed your hand and smiled at you, kissing your cheek

You were bright red at this point

So was he

Eventually, he noticed the figure walk away

After that, he told you who he in the best English he could speak

Thankfully, he was a good student in English class, so he wasn’t too bad

He apologized for the kiss and walked you the rest of the way home telling you about himself as you did the same

Turns out that was the start of a beautiful friendship

And eventually a really cute romance

Draken:

All these Toman boys are just gentleman

I swear, they are

But anyways

You were on your way home from cram school and you saw a man out of the corner of your eye

You kept walking hoping you were just freaking out for nothing

Well, you weren’t

Eventually, you saw this guy with a dragon tattoo on the side of his head

He looked scary, but you were desperate

You walked up to him and in your best Japanese, you begged him to help you out and pretend to know you.

Well, Draken was a bit confused at first but he saw the look in your eyes and decided to help you out

He walked with you until he saw the man leave

He handed you his number and asked you to meet him after school the next day

After that, he introduced you to all of his friends, including the boys and Emma

That one act of kindness helped you to feel more comfortable not only that one night, but for the rest of your life in Tokyo

They even helped you learn more Japanese and you helped them with English

You were thankful for Draken’s kindness

And Draken was happy to help someone in need

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[dyaz-stories]

you know my tongue is a weapon || gojo satoru x reader

synopsis: Shoko suggests a study night, but Gojo's bored and he doesn't want to study. So, instead, he offers to play a game, when all the others have left to get some food: every time he gets an answer right, he gets a kiss.

As you soon find out, Gojo can be very good at studying, as long as he gets something out of it.

word count: 3.8k

genre: college!AU, mostly fluff i think

cw: kissing, making out, semi-public kissing, unresolved sexual tension, reader is insecure and is therefore an unreliable narrator, dry humping ig, fem reader (the word girl is used once)

a/n: first time writing for jujutsu and for gojo! any feedback is appreciated, and i hope you enjoy yourselves :)

soundtrack

prequel

Exam season is never a fun time to be on campus. Stress fills the air, the hallways, the always full libraries, even the coffee shops where people usually meet to relax between two classes. It’s the only conversation subject between sleep-deprived students, looming over their head threateningly at any time of the day and night. It’s stifling, a weight on their chest that never quite wears off.

As for you, well, you’re doing alright.

Oh, for sure, it’s a lot of work, and you’re not thrilled about it by any stretch of the imagination, but academia is your thing, so you don’t find it nearly as crushing as others do. You’re more terrified of the time period that comes afterwards, while you’re waiting for the results like Judgement day.

In the meantime, you’ve given up on trying to find a spot to study in the library, and you’ve been doing most of it in your small student room. You haven’t stepped outside in days when Shoko texts you to suggest a study night. You suspect that she hasn’t started working and intends to cram, but you take her up on the offer nonetheless.

You show up at her place right on time — you always are — with your notes and some snacks. You wait quietly after knocking, trying to make sense of the chatter you hear on the other side of the door. She had mentioned she would ask a few other people if they wanted to join, which you had assumed would be fine, but faced with the reality of it now you can feel a lump growing in your throat. Academia might be easy for you, but people… aren’t.

When the door opens to reveal Gojo Satoru, piercing blue eyes meeting yours through white locks of hair that he pushes out of his face a second later, you fully consider turning around and leaving.

“You made it,” he says, shooting you a wide grin.

“Hi,” you squeak in reply.

Gojo is a… friend. Ish. Kinda. You think. Well, he’s a friend of Shoko’s, anyway, so the two of you have hung out, socially, before. Up until last summer, you assumed he didn’t even know your name.

“Thank God you’re here,” Shoko says, appearing from behind him to grab your hand. “No one here wants to work. We need to whip these imbeciles into shape or something.”

“I’m working,” Nanami sighs from the table in the living room, where he’s sitting alone.

“I was just waiting for everyone to be here, Shoko,” Geto says, his voice soft and even, as he approaches the table.

You set your bag down, giving Nanami an sympathetic smile, and he pushes his glasses higher on his nose. When he nods at you, you’re pretty sure it’s a silent way of saying ‘thank you for not leaving me alone with them’.

“What are you guys starting with?” you ask, pulling some books out of your bag.

Everyone here has different majors, but with some classes in common. You’re not sure how efficient this enterprise is going to be, if you’re completely honest, but as Gojo lets himself fall on a chair with a dramatic sigh, you suppose it can’t be worse than if he was left to his own devices.

“I’m doing literature, algebra and physics tonight!” Haibara announces, perhaps a tad too enthusiastic. You don’t want to crush his hopes and dreams, but—

“You’re never going to get through all that in one night,” Nanami says with a frown.

“Don’t listen to him”, Gojo intervenes, “you can do anything you set your mind to.”

There are stars in Haibara’s eyes when he looks at him, but you notice the glances Gojo is stealing at Nanami, and the way his smile widens when Nanami grits his teeth in annoyance. You bite your lip so you don’t let out a chuckle.

“Do you want to start with literature with me?” you offer. “Nanami, you’ll have to handle algebra because I’m not taking any algebra classes this semester.”

The corner of Nanami’s lips curves to form a smile.

“It’s good that someone here is taking this seriously.”

“Ugh,” Gojo mutters. “Fine. Hey, Suguru, do you know what tests I have next week?”

Nanami buries his head in his hands with a pained groan, and you laugh again, lump gone from your throat now, as you move your chair to come sit next to Haibara. Gojo’s eyes follow your movement silently. When you lean over the same textbook as Haibara, shoulders brushing against his as you push a lock of hair behind your ear, his expression turns thoughtful. It’s only when Geto drops a book in front of him that he snaps out of it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do shots instead?” he asks, tone sour.

“Man, don’t tempt me,” Shoko whines as she sits down as well. “The shots will have to wait.”

Truly, Gojo thinks, sadder words have never been spoken.

Nanami calls it quits right before 10 pm. He’s tried to leave a few times by then, usually because of one of Gojo’s quips, but Shoko’s managed to keep him around until then. It doesn’t help how delighted Gojo gets by his reactions, and you can’t blame him for abandoning you. You don’t doubt for a second that he would have been much more productive without everyone else around.

“If they pass their exams, we should give ourselves all the credit for that,” he comments at your intention, right before walking out the door. “Good luck with them.”

Then he’s gone, before Gojo can start to protest about why he is not getting any encouragements, even though he’s suffering so much, and everyone is mean, and nothing about this is fun, and—

Haibara, despite his best intentions, falls asleep on the couch less than thirty minutes later. It was just supposed to be quick nap, but by midnight he’s still down, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up. Plus it’s not like you were making a lot of progress with him anyway, so he just might be better off sleeping.

It’s not long after that that Shoko starts to get real antsy. So far, she has kept on track despite Gojo’s attempts at distracting her, but you can tell she is starting to get incredibly bored. Somehow, that doesn’t seem to be Gojo’s case, even if the way his leg bounces underneath his chair tells you he’s itching to do anything other than sit here doing nothing.

“Fuck it,” Shoko says, finally giving up. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

Geto frowns.

“Now? Alone?”

“As if anything would happen to her,” Gojo says, spinning a pen between his fingers. “She’ll be the scariest person out there.”

Geto rolls his eyes.

“I’ll come with you,” he tells Shoko, and she shrugs. “Do you want to come too, Satoru?”

Gojo lets himself fall down on his chair, looking at Geto with his head hanging behind the back of the chair.

“Nah,” he says after a few seconds of intense deliberation. “Can’t abandon the teacher here.”

You feel your face heating up.

“Oh, I mean, I’m sure I’ll be fine. If you want to go, you should—”

“It’s fine,” he handwaves your protests away. “I’ll finally get some work done without Shoko here to constantly distract me with—”

He bursts out laughing when Shoko throws her pen at him.

“We’ll be right back,” she announces, standing up. “You,” she points at Gojo, “play nice. And you,” she gives you a severe look, “don’t hesitate to hit him. I’m not joking.”

She leaves the room, escorted by Geto. Haibara doesn’t even stir when the door slams.

“Alright,” Gojo says, not wasting a second to reach for your chair so he can pull you closer to him, “it’s my turn to get my own personal tutor.” His fingers brush against your leg as he pulls you in, and you know, from how his eyes seem to drink in everything about you, that he doesn’t miss your quiet gasp nor the way your breath quickens. You’ve noticed this before, too. If he likes annoying Nanami, he seems to delight in your reactions at least as much — though he tries to make you laugh or to fluster you rather than piss you off.

“Um,” you say, with the eloquence that characterizes you around him, “what do you need help with?”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies you. You find him breathtaking, you always do, but you think you’ve gotten better at hiding it, so even if it feels like he’s looking right into your soul, you give him an easy smile.

Somehow, he is the one who ends up averting his eyes.

“How about philosophy?”

Right, the two of you share that one class on the history of ideas.

“Sure,” you say, already grabbing a book and thumbing through it. “I’ve taken quite a few notes for that class, actually, I can give them to you if you—”

“That’s boring,” he interrupts you. “We should do something else.”

You put down your book, intrigued, and something twists in your stomach when you see the look he’s giving you. He’s like a cat with a mouse, with exactly the same hunger in his eyes.

“What—” you clear your throat when your voice cracks. “What are you suggesting?”

“Well,” he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table and putting his chin in his palm, “I need an incentive to work, you know?”

You swallow. Sure.

“So how ‘bout I get a kiss for every right answer I give you?”

And you almost choke on air.

“What?” you manage to croak. Blood is rushing to your face, and it feels like your brain is short-circuiting. Your heart’s beating faster, hammering in your chest, and you feel your palms grow sweaty.

“C’mon,” he teases, reaching out to pull on a lock of your hair and twirl it around his finger, and you know, you know, he knows he’s got you right where he wants to, “help me study.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he all but purrs.

“Satoru,” you say, “what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he blinks innocently. “Just trying to find a fun way to study.”

You examine him carefully, try to figure out what, exactly, is going on behind these beautiful eyes of his. You’ve had— moments, with him. He fell asleep on your shoulder in the car once. He held your hand through a busy festival, teasing you about not wanting you to get lost, and later helped you get on his shoulders so you’d get a better view of the stage. The one time you agreed to accompany Shoko to the club, you remember his hands on your hips, his breath against your ear, the ghost of his lips to your neck. But nothing actually happened between the two of you. You’d told yourself that it was all a distraction for him, that he didn’t want more.

This isn’t exactly confirmation. You don’t doubt that it’s all in good fun still, and knowing you, and how hard you tend to fall, you should walk away while you have the chance.

But you really, really want to kiss him. Want to know what it would feel like to taste his lips, to have his body pressed against yours, to feel his hands all over you.

You always take the smart decision. This is not the smart decision. But…

“What if you get it wrong?” you ask.

Satoru blinks.

“You can, uh, spray me with a water bottle?”

You let out a brief laugh.

“Isn’t that a dog thing? That feels unethical, Satoru.”

He preens at your use of his name.

“You should take your chance,” he drawls. “Shoko says it’s really cathartic.”

You’re not sure you need catharsis, but you feel a little lighter now. It’s all a joke to him, clearly, and from what you’ve seen in the past couple of hours, he hasn’t seriously studied once. He’s not going to get the answers right. You don’t think he’s even trying to.

“Fine,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes, reaching out for a water bottle and positioning your chair so you’re facing him. “Who came up with the notion of civil disobed—"

“Thoreau, 1848, but the essay was republished with that name in 1866.”

You stare. Gojo gives you a lazy smile.

“Now where’s my kiss?”

“Um,” you say. You feel incredibly awkward now. He’s leaning back against his chair, with eyes that have not left you once since he’s suggested that idea. You— have to move, now, don’t you?

Very slowly, very hesitantly, you push yourself to your feet. Satoru doesn’t move at all, and you don’t know if it relieves you or stresses you out even more. The position is quite uncomfortable, too, with you standing and him sitting down. You don’t know that you’ve ever towered over him like that. Gingerly, you put a hand on his shoulder, and then you’re leaning over him, and then you’re kissing him, and then you’re moving away as fast as you can. This was just a peck, really, a press of your lips to his that lasted a second, tops, and that you’re already trying to forget about.

You’re not a teenager anymore, and you know this shouldn’t be getting to you that much, but it’s— it’s Satoru Gojo. You’ve worked very, very hard not to think of him like that, because you didn’t want to let yourself get hurt. And now, you’ve let yourself be dragged into this so easily? Ugh. You wish you could slap yourself.

“Okay,” you say, voice more high-pitched than you’d like, but still understandable, which you’re grateful for. “Next, um, can you explain what philosopher kings are?”

Surely—

“Of course,” Satoru pretty much sing-songs. “Plato thought that cities should be ruled by trained philosophers, because only a philosopher would know and act for the good of a city.” There’s a brief pause, before he adds, “Aristotle thought that was bullshit, though. For the record.”

And then he waits. You narrow your eyes at him.

“When did you study for that?”

“I never study,” he answers lightly.

Instead of standing up this time, you scoot your chair closer to him, and you lean forward. Satoru chuckles, but humors you — even if the temptation of leaning further back to make you come to him, because you’re just adorable when you’re flustered, is great. This time, when you kiss him, though, he presses forward before you can move away, his nose brushing against your cheek as he chases after you. And oh, what a sight you are after that, wide eyed, lips parted, hands tightening on your notes.

“Next?” he asks.

“Right,” you say. You’re— not sure what’s happening here, to be quite honest. Should you stop this? You— don’t think you want to, but you’re also not sure what this charade is all about. “Um. Spinoza thought that free will—”

“—could only be reached through knowledge, and that most people never obtained it.”

Okay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a physics major?”

He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely amused.

“Determinism’s a pretty big deal in science, actually, but let’s not change the subject here.”

You bite your lower lip, and his eyes track the movement like he’s starving for you.

You’re feeling hot all over, anticipation burning inside of you, and this time, you can’t pretend that he hasn’t done this on purpose. That he wanted to kiss you. You can’t quite reconcile the way you see yourself with that thought — how could Gojo Satoru want you, of all people? — but you find that it doesn’t matter.

You lean towards him once more, and this time, you let yourself kiss him. Really kiss him. You press your lips to his, soft at first, but when you don’t move away immediately, you feel him pressing against you, one hand coming to cup your cheek. His teeth pull at your bottom lip, and you let out a involuntary gasp. He doesn’t waste the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth, and you keep inching closer to him, hands coming to his shoulders for support. You can feel yourself melt into him, and you curse your common sense when it leads you to break away from the kiss.

It doesn’t deter Satoru, though, because as you do, his hand slides under your knee, and next thing you know, he’s pulled you into his lap. His face is deliciously flushed, pink hue under the pale skin. He looks up at you, long fingers tightening around your thighs.

“We should waste less time like that,” he says.

Shoko likes to say he’s insufferable, and you can see why. Everything all seems to come so easy to him, and you’re defenseless against the way your heart races. When his eyes are on you, it feels like you’re the only person in the world. You’re not usually the type to indulge in that idea, but, ah, what’s the harm, as long as you know how to come back to earth later on?

You shake your head as you take him in.

“How are you even doing that?” you ask, mildly peeved.

“Haven’t you heard?” he grins widely. “I’m a genius.”

You roll your eyes at him. You’ve heard about that, of course, about how he maintains stellar grades without breaking a sweat. You just hadn’t seen that in application until now. In class, he’s usually asleep, or taking great joy in bothering the teacher. You’ve never seen him try to get something.

“Well, where’s my question?”

You sigh, putting your arms around his neck. You left your notes on the table, meaning that you might be less prepared than he is, actually.

“Descartes famously said—”

“Cogito ergo sum. C’mon, rational doubt is at the heart of science. I’m starting to think you’re just trying to kiss me.”

You do want to kiss him, but you have the self-control to shrug.

“Well, if you don’t want to—”

His mouth is on yours before you can think of how to end that sentence. He kisses you hungrily, hands gripping your hips as he tries to pulls you closer to him. Your chest presses into his, and you tighten your hold around him, fingers running through his hair. He grunts when you pull on it slightly, tilts his head back a little more to give you better access to his mouth, and when his tongue brushes against yours once more, you can’t help but to rock your hips against his. The friction makes you gasp into his mouth, and one of your hands falls down to his shoulder, fisting his shirt as you try to find better support.

“Fuck,“ you hear him mumble underneath you, right as you feel him grow hard. He pushes up against you. His fingers dig into your skin, one hand slipping under your shirt to run over your skin, leaving a trail of fire behind. It moves higher, brushing against your bra.

Against your better judgement, your hands travel down his body, tracing over his muscles. You feel him twitch under you, and when you roll your hips once more, with much more intent than the first time, he groans.

“Satoru,” you whisper, though even you don’t know if it’s a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

His eyes widen, and you feel him lift you up easily, pushing you onto the table. You lean back slightly, resting your weight on one hand. He’s red all over now, from his ears to his neck. His pupils are wide, his lips swollen, his hair messy. He looks like sin.

You don’t want to think about what you look like.

“C’mon,” he says. “Last question.”

“Haibara’s in the living room,” you point out. Even you know where this is leading.

“He’s dead asleep,” he merely shrugs. He’s mesmerizing, but you note that the glimmer of amusement that always dances in his eyes. This feels— serious.

“Um,” you say, licking your lips and watching how he bites his as his grip on your waist tightens once more — like he’s holding himself back. “Confucius—”

And then, the front door opens.

Gojo clicks his tongue and reluctantly steps back as you jump down from the table, beelining for the bathroom — you know that kiss is written all over your face.

You glare at yourself in the mirror. Your body’s still tingling, and you’re aching with want, now that release has been denied to you, but you know better. You’re supposed to know better. You take a few seconds to comb through your hair with your hands, and when it no longer looks like someone’s, well, kissed you senseless, you cautiously step back outside.

“We got you some fuel,” Shoko announces loudly, before getting shushes by Geto. He points in Haibara’s direction, who’s started snoring slightly.

“Thank you so much,” you say sweetly. “I’ll— Why are you wet?”

Gojo deadpans as he looks at you but, well, there’s water dripping from his hair, down his chin, and onto the shirt your hands were fisted in just a few minutes earlier, so, you think the question is valid.

“He was splashing water on his face when we got here,” Geto supplies helpfully. “Gojo runs hot.”

“And now it’s all over my floor,” Shoko mutters. “Next time, just wait ‘til the bathroom’s free, huh?”

Gojo looks like he has something to say just on the tip of his tongue, but he glances at you and seems to swallow it back.

“If anything, I made it cleaner,” he proclaims, leaning back on his chair. “Shoko, how long has it been since you cleaned in here? We really need to find you a partner who’s willing to do that stuff, otherwise you’ll keep living in fil—”

Shoko’s pencil case lands right in the middle of his face.

“You absolute brat,” she spits out, “I can’t believe you’d have the nerve to tell me something like that when you rely exclusively on Geto to—”

The bickering continues, but you tune it out. Under the table, Satoru’s knee brushes against yours. It’s almost hesitant at first, before he leans his leg against yours, when he realizes you’re not moving away. This isn’t the smart choice, either, but, ah, you’re always, always the smart girl. Is it so bad to have a night of fun? Is it so bad that you want to know what it would feel like to have him, even if it’s just once?

He’ll break your heart, the voice of reason says in the back of your mind, but then Satoru looks back at you, checking to see if you’re laughing at how he’s making fun of Shoko and, well.

You think you’ll let him.

Any and all feedback in the form of asks, reblogs, comments, tags is highly encouraged and appreciated~ If you enjoy my work, interactions are what keep me writing and motivated!

I haven't written anything in months and I think it shows but, well, I have to restart somewhere lol, so I hope it was still fun for you and you enjoyed yourselves here for a little while. Thank you for reading <3

prequel

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems, Part Two

IT"S FINISHED! whew, that only took forever. part of the reason this took so long to write is that i was obsessing over if it would be as good as part 1, so hopefully y'all like it (but please be nice if you don't). final word count is about 22-23k words...so buckle in, grab a snack, and enjoy!

Part One

*.*

Japan

Harry walked alone through the busy streets of Tokyo, his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. There was a cadence to his steps as he kept time with the song that played on a loop in his head. It wasn't one that anyone here but him would know. Well, him and one other person, but she was a world away.

Rounding the corner, Harry turned into the cafe he'd been frequenting since he'd arrived. He nodded to the shopkeeper before heading over to the counter, pulling an old, weathered vinyl from his bag.

"This is the one I was talking to you about," he said by way of greeting. "It truly is a phenomenal record."

Harry handed over the record, hesitating a little before letting go of it. He'd been listening to it nonstop since he'd left Los Angeles, and parting with it was more difficult than he originally thought it would be. When he first came to the cafe, he'd looked for it within the crammed shelves huddled in the corner. The shopkeeper had never even heard of it, and Harry could only imagine what Y/n would say if she knew. She'd been the one to introduce him to it, the memory of that conversation in her apartment seared into his brain.

"Wings?" Harry had asked, not quite suspiciously, but the glare Y/n sent over his shoulder made it seem like he'd already written it off. Her glare is so cute, he remembered thinking, admiring the adorable furrow of her brow as she rooted through a collection of vinyls that was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen.

"It'll change your life," she'd promised, before sliding the record out of its sleeve and putting it on the turntable. Her record player was littered with stickers, some too faded or covered by others to see them properly.

She'd grinned as the opening chords to the first track played, settling next to Harry as she picked up her wine glass, her lips puckering around it to take a sip. She hadn't noticed him staring until about a minute later, when her eyes met his. Her brows had furrowed once more, but this time it was more confused. She'd nudged Harry's leg with her foot, which was covered in a purple patterned fuzzy sock.

"It's your turn, isn't it?" she'd asked, eyes darting to the Scrabble board on the coffee table.

Harry remembered taking the wine glass from Y/n's hands and setting it on the table next to the board. He remembered taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He remembered her squeak of surprise but that she didn't pull away.

Their very first kiss.

The memory of her delicate hands sliding into his hair, of her crawling into his lap, the little noise she made as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip—it was all-consuming as Harry sat down at his usual table at the cafe a million miles from Y/n and Los Angeles.

"It'll changed your life," she'd promised him. Little did he know, she already had.

*.*

A week after Harry left, you received a text from your ex, a total surprise seeing as you hadn't spoken to him since you'd broken up.

Gavin: I heard about what happened with you and my sister. Can we meet somewhere and talk?

That message sat in your inbox without a response for hours as you tried to work up the courage to say yes. You knew you needed to, you knew you would feel better after the fact, that both of you deserved closure after the colossal end to your relationship, but every time your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you chickened out.

Until finally, you wrote, Okay.

Seeing Gavin again was a trip. He looked the same, yet so different at the same time. He had facial hair for one thing, and his hair was a couple inches longer than it had been when you were together. Deep down, you assumed a public shaming on his part, you feared he would just berate you for all the ways you'd hurt him and that he hated you for breaking his heart and humiliating him.

But that had never been who Gavin was. Your ex was kind and honorable, he tipped generously on dinner dates and warmed up socks for you in the dryer because he knew how cold you got after a long day at work. He was the definition of a sweetheart, and assuming the worst about him was just the fear and insecurity talking.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Gavin," you said, trying to hold all the excess of emotion brimming to the surface as you walked beside him. You'd agreed on a walk through the park as opposed to sitting down somewhere, both of you perhaps too nervous to sit still.

Gavin merely nodded, which was more than you could've asked for given the circumstances. "Thank you. So much time has passed, but...it feels nice to hear."

It was a while before either of you said anything. Los Angeles wasn't a frozen tundra by any means, but it was quite brisk by the ocean, and you crossed your arms across your chest to retain a bit of heat.

Then, Gavin said, "I...I just need to know why. Did I do something? I thought things were good between us. I mean I wanted to—"

Maybe it was the cold, but his cheeks were rosy as his voice tapered off. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gav," you said, wanting to take his hand but refraining. It didn't feel like something you could do anymore. Even if two years had come and gone, you couldn't make yourself cross that line. It didn't feel right.

You didn't know how to sugarcoat your words, but you hoped time would soften the blow. "I just...I realized that you were in love with me and I—I just wasn't. I wanted to be, I wanted to be in love with you, but—And then I panicked. I overheard your mom and sister talking about you wanting to propose, and I just couldn't lead you on. I couldn't let you do that knowing you deserved better than what I could give you.

"But it killed me, Gavin," you said, tearing up just thinking about it. "Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done, and I've—I've hated myself for putting you through that, and I couldn't face you after, which was unfair of me."

"I just wanted an explanation," Gavin said quietly, his head bent so you couldn't see his face. "All I ever wanted was to understand. I think that hurt more than you breaking up with me, that you couldn't offer me that decency."

You nodded with a sniffle, keeping your eye on the slate blue of the ocean and the clouds covering your favorite shade of sky blue. "It was selfish of me to ignore you, I know that. I just...couldn't. I was scared that you would convince me to come back when that wasn't really what I wanted, and with your family and friends constantly messaging me, I just thought staying away was for the best."

"Y/n, what—what messages? What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Gavin's family would never do or say anything to him that would make them look bad in his eyes. But so much time had passed that you thought it would've slipped. He'd heard about the coffee house incident, after all.

With shaking hands, you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. After scrolling through your messages, you passed it to Gavin, letting him look for himself. He was quiet as he looked over the messages from his sister. There were others, but Larissa's were the most vicious. A more mentally sound person would've deleted them ages ago, but you liked to punish yourself when you were feeling particularly low.

"I don't hold any of this against you," you said. "I know you're not your family, but I just...I don't know."

"I wish I'd known about all this before," Gavin mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry for them."

"Thank you."

You didn't know what to say after that, you weren't even sure you wanted to dwell on the past anymore. It had gone by so quickly in your eyes, but two years suddenly felt like ten. You felt older, more jaded as you walked next to the man you were almost engaged to.

"Are you happy?" you asked suddenly, stopping at a bench and sitting down.

Gavin sat down next to you. He handed your phone back before sighing. "I am. I wasn't for a while, but I am. You?"

You nodded. "Learning to be. I think I was...in a rough place before I started seeing you, and now I think I'm finally on the other side of it."

Gavin's grin was familiar. It felt good to see it, but it didn't give you the butterflies that it used to. Maybe just a little relief. You smiled back, nudging him with your shoulder. "You seeing anyone?"

The blush on Gavin's cheeks told you everything you needed to know, and knowing he moved on settled something in you. "Yeah. We've been together about a year now."

Sometimes you daydreamed about who Gavin would be with when he eventually moved on. Someone perky, but not in an obnoxious way. Maybe she liked to paint and drew pictures of his profile while they had picnics together, because picnics were the kind of dates they would go on. They would hold hands in the popcorn bowl at the movies and wear matching sweaters on Christmas. The girl who would truly steal Gavin's heart would be just as sweet and generous as he was and would make his lunches for work and wipe his mouth at dinner with a smile and love him with her entire being because he deserved it.

"That's wonderful, Gav," you said earnestly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed, hoping he knew you were telling the truth. The only thing you hoped was that he kept her far, far away from his family.

"Are you? Seeing anyone?"

A simple question, and yet you didn't know how to offer a simple answer. Eventually, you shook your head. "Uh...no."

"Brothers scaring the line of willing suitors?" he joked, knowing full well how your brothers could be.

Laughing, you shook your head. "No, nothing like that, I just—It's complicated, I guess."

You couldn't quite believe that you were having this conversation today, especially with Gavin. But talking to him had always come easy, it was one of the things you liked best about being with him.

"If you can believe it," you added, a little humor in your voice. "I was the one who was ready to take things further."

For a moment, you worried you'd taken things too far, but his brows just raised amusingly. "No shit. Really?"

"He wasn't ready. Just my luck. I finally get my shit together and he takes off to another continent."

You didn't resent Harry for leaving. He'd done what was best for him, but that didn't mean the timing didn't suck. You finally felt comfortable and confident enough to be open with someone, and they fled the country.

Okay, so Harry didn't flee the country, but you felt the blow to your ego no matter how rational you were about the situation.

"He'll come around," Gavin promised, which took you by surprise. "You're probably not aware, but you're very easy to fall in love with, Y/n."

Your cheeks flushed, feeling Gavin's words right down to your toes. It didn't feel romantic in any sort of way, but there was some reassurance. Gavin knew you well, and he had been a good friend.

And yet, the only thing you could think as you continued to catch up with your ex was, Then why is it so hard for me to fall in love?

*.*

Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd started to keep a list in his head, a mental tally of all the little things he learned about Y/n and that made her who she was.

The list had started with small trivial things like her coffee order and that she seemed to be particularly fond of wearing bandanas in her hair or that she always carried the same canvas tote on her shoulder, one that read, "You're Doing Great," in squiggly blue writing. From there, the list grew, and he suddenly began to collect bits of information from Y/n like valuable trading cards—what it was like growing up with three older brothers, how long she stayed in Nashville before moving out to Los Angeles, and what the perfect record was for when she was feeling sad. Harry wanted to know everything, every little piece she was willing to give him until he understood even the smallest gesture.

"Why don't you perform your songs?"

It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind for weeks now. Harry had heard Y/n sing on multiple occasions as they wrote together, and he couldn't help but think that she was the whole package. She could sing, had the kind of voice that was soft and low, a little raspy but easy to harmonize with. She wrote incredible songs that held so much depth and emotion and she could play multiple instruments. Harry could see her selling out stadiums and connecting to people through music that she wrote and performed. Yet she didn't.

"I never really had the desire to," Y/n said with a shrug. They were in his backyard, sitting around a bonfire with a bottle of wine between them. It was her turn to pick, and Chris Stapelton was crooning through her phone's speaker.

"Is it like a stage fright thing?"

"No, not at all," Y/n said. "I just don't think that life was made for me, you know? I don't know if I could handle being famous."

Harry supposed he understood what she meant. He loved his life, but it wasn't always a walk in the park. But it did make him wonder if she would ever be with someone like him, someone who did lead a life that she thought she couldn't handle. For the first time since he'd met her, Harry decided he didn't want to know.

"What about...singing backup or joining your favorite musician on tour once he releases the greatest album since...So?"

"I didn't peg you for a Peter Gabriel fan," she murmured, immediately recognizing the title, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the fact that she knew exactly what album he was referring to. "But, I guess so. If it was for a friend."

Harry tucked that little nugget of information away. Tour was worlds away at the moment, but it was always good to think ahead, especially when he knew he needed a keyboardist replacement.

Looking up, he admired Y/n in the glow of the bonfire, his heart beating rapidly even though she wasn't even doing anything. Ever since their first kiss a week ago, he just wanted more. His brain could hardly keep up with his heart and how badly it longed for her. And she didn't even realize the effect she had on him. She drove him crazy.

And that scared him. Harry had only recently broken up with his ex, and he didn't think it was possible to feel so strongly for someone after coming out of a pretty serious relationship with someone else. He knew he should untangle the strings, that if he let things get too far, they'd get messy, and he and Y/n would both end up hurt.

But that voice in his head that told him to be careful became a low buzz as Y/n stood up and shuffled over to him before placing herself in his lap. Her fingers came up to play with the hair that curled at the nape of Harry's neck, and he couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling, at her closeness, at the smell of her perfume that lingered on her clothes.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself and not to Harry. "And I don't have any expectations, but I'm okay with it if you are."

Yet. Y/n didn't have any expectations yet. He knew the familiar thudding of his heart, the excited flutter in his stomach as he leaned into her touch. Of course there would be expectations, but Harry found himself nodding anyway, unable to deny either of them the pleasure of her lips sliding lightly against his. Y/n had never initiated anything between them before, and her tentative kiss told Harry she was unsure of herself. At first glance, she came off as unsure when it came to most things, but Harry learned that she held within herself a quiet confidence that he admired.

Harry stood up with her in his arms as he led them back inside. He didn't know where this would lead, tonight or any night to follow. He didn't know if Y/n was ready to sleep with him, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was either. But he wanted her close and to feel those gentle hands a little firmer in his hair. That was all he knew, and he let himself not think about anything else.

The tangles of his feelings were positively knotted, and despite his long list of things he knew about Y/n, he still didn't know where her heart truly lay. But if she was willing to walk through the fire blind, then so was he.

*.*

Two weeks into Harry being gone, and you were starting to wonder when you'd become so pathetic.

In the time since Harry left for Japan, you hadn't written a single song, not even a lyric. It was ludicrous. You'd written by yourself your entire career, but after a couple months spent with a writing partner, you were rendered insipirationless.

Not to mention semi-friendless.

It wasn't that Harry's friends didn't want to hang out, you just weren't sure you could. Outside of Sylvia, you didn't hang out with Harry's team without him, and it just felt weird to start doing so now. You didn't shy away from them when you saw them in the hallways of the building you all worked in, but you never knew what to say past a casual greeting.

Funnily enough, though, you'd said everything you needed to say to Gavin. Meeting up with him eased a heaviness in your chest you'd been carrying around with you for the last two years. You both were able to get the closure that you'd been denying yourselves, and it felt good to get everything out in the open, to receive Gavin's forgiveness after punishing yourself for such a long time.

Seeing Gavin and talking to him left you feeling lighter, but it also left you a little hollow to. With no rain cloud hanging over your head anymore, you didn't know what to do with yourself. The concept of happiness was something you'd never thought you would get, and now that it was within reach you were hesitant.

"Maybe we need a sabbatical, pookie," you said to your dog, kissing his nose. "What do you think?"

Buddy Holly didn't have a response for you, he just tilted his head at the sound of your voice. Sighing, you scratched his head and pressed play on the movie you'd previously been watching before your dog unceremoniously climbed into your lap.

Now that Harry was gone on his journey of self-discovery, you'd gone back to spending your nights alone. In theory, it should've been easy. Before Harry, being alone was second nature, but your first night alone you were at a loss. You kept wanting to reach for your phone and call him, send him a text about the record you were listening to or the ridiculous thing Buddy had done that day. You didn't realize of much Harry had engrained himself into your life, and now he was half a world away.

Reaching out wasn't an option, either, no matter how much you wanted to. He didn't tell you much for his reasons for leaving, a "writing retreat," he claimed, but you knew it was more than that. There was shit he needed to figure out, shit regarding his past relationship, so you felt the ball was in his court.

The next day, you were on the elevator going up to work, arguing with your brother on the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Hayden," you insisted, rubbing a tired hand over your face.

"No, there definitely is. Evan, Andrew, and I all agree," Hayden said. "Something's definitely wrong with you. And when something's wrong with you, it's usually one of three things. Menstruation, a guy, or one of us, and seeing as we haven't done anything, and your period doesn't—"

"Oh my God, Hayden!" you groaned as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not...menstruating. Jesus! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Hayden kept jabbering in your ear, but you weren't listening anymore because the elevator doors had opened to reveal someone on the other side. Mitch, Harry's friend was standing there, eyes wide as he looked at you, clearly having heard your side of the conversation with your brother.

God, could this day get any worse? you thought. Shutting your eyes, you wondered if you stood there long enough with your eyes closed, the elevator doors would close and take you straight to hell or you would maybe just disappear on the spot. Either would be appreciated.

"Hayden, I have to call you back."

"You're still coming to my game this weekend right?" he asked.

"Wearing the other team's jersey," you muttered, hanging up as your brother began to protest.

Since the elevator doors stayed open and you didn't spontaneously combust, you opened your eyes. "Hey."

Mitch nodded. "Hey, Y/n."

The air was so incredibly awkward, and you wondered why you weren't sprinting toward your studio and locking yourself in permanently. But neither of you moved, and now you felt the need to explain yourself. "I...I wish I had an explanation other than my brothers still seem to ruin my life from hundreds of miles away, but I don't."

You finally stepped out of the elevator and moved around Mitch, who stepped inside. He still had that tense smile on his face, and you wondered if the two of you would ever be able to make eye contact again. Not that you ever did all that much before this God-awful incident. Just another reason to avoid Harry's friends.

"Right. H mentioned you had brothers," he said. "See you around, Y/n."

For my own sanity, I hope not, you prayed to whoever was listening.

*.*

"Do you ever think about what you would be doing if you weren't doing...this?" Y/n asked, gesturing vaguely around her.

Harry looked down to where she was spread out on the floor, her head rested in his lap while he leaned against his sofa. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up on the floor, but he didn't dare move, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. It was shiny, and smelled faintly of apples. He wondered if it was as soft as he imagined.

Blinking, he stumbled around in his brain for an answer, clearing his head of thoughts of silky hair passing through his fingers. "Honestly? No, not really."

"You don't?"

Harry shrugged even though Y/n's eyes were closed. She did that often if there was music playing, as if she was trying to absorb every note into her body while maintaining a conversation. Right now they were listening to one of Harry's current favorites: a Joni Mitchell album he'd grown up listening to with his mum. He remembered when he used to scramble for answers in interviews when he was asked about his favorite artist or album, trying to come up with an answer that the media would want to hear without appearing fake. He'd list classic rock bands like Fleetwood Mac and wear old band t-shirts from the seventies. He didn't not like those artists, he loved them. But when Y/n asked about his favorite record in his collection, he didn't hesitate to reach for Joni Mitchell, knowing she wouldn't judge him for his answer.

"No. I was so young when I auditioned for the X-Factor," Harry explained. "I don't even think I knew what I wanted to study in school then, so it's hard to know what I would be doing now if it weren't for all...this."

And I wouldn't have met you, he thought but kept that to himself. Neither of them was ready for those kinds of words if he was being honest. Y/n was skittish about feelings at the best of times, and he didn't know where his feelings for her started, and getting over his ex ended. It gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he didn't.

Y/n sat up, and Harry resisted the urge to pull her back to him. As they hung out more and more, he had this overwhelming desire to be near her as much as possible. A hollowness would form in his chest if he didn't seek her out at the studio, leaving him blushing like an idiot every time he left his friends behind as he walked down the familiar hallway to her door. None of them ever said anything outright, but he could practically hear their teasing thoughts, but he couldn't help it. Y/n had drawn him in from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Maybe you'd be a florist," she said with a small grin.

"A florist?"

"Yeah." Y/n's grin grew, and Harry swore his heart grew with it. When he initially started spending time with her, or bugging her, more like, she hardly smiled. He thought it was such a shame. Not only because Y/n had a beautiful smile, but because she felt like she couldn't. Harry never wanted her to feel like she couldn't be happy, least of all around him. "You could have this big truck and deliver flowers to baby showers and weddings and other big occasions."

"Oh yeah? And where are you in this scenario?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear the answer.

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as she looked at him. "In the passenger seat."

*.*

The third week Harry was gone, a stranger popped into your studio. A sense of deja vu had run through you as you looked up to find someone occupying the space in your doorframe, only Harry never knocked to make his presence known. You'd always just been aware of him when he entered the room.

"Can I help you?" you asked. You were working on a song that you actually quite liked. A new angle, a different approach to songs that you wanted to see through, and interruptions weren't going to help.

"Mitch said to come find you," he said. He looked a little nervous at having disrupted your work, so you eased up on your stare. "He said you could help us?"

Us? you thought. You supposed that it wasn't too far fetched that Harry's team would make themselves busy while he was off on sabbatical, or whatever it was he'd been doing in Japan. You hadn't heard from him much, and you tried not to let that hurt your feelings too much.

Brows furrowed, you said, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I would help—"

"He said you've written for country artists before?" the guy said. "We're sort of stuck and he said to come find you, so..."

Sighing, you stood up, but not before jotting a couple notes down in your journal. Perhaps it was kismet that the song you'd been playing around with today had been country in your mind. The prospect of writing with anyone other than Harry felt odd, uncomfortable. But Harry wasn't here, and you didn't know when he would be back and you couldn't just hide in your studio because he'd left.

You didn't know what to expect as you followed the man, Daniel, he'd finally introduced, led you to a studio a couple rooms away from yours. You'd met Harry's writing and production team a number of times, but Harry wasn't a country artist, so Mitch was clearly helping out with a different project, which meant introducing yourself to a whole new group.

Mitch was waiting with one other person, a young woman who was about your age or younger. She had blond curly hair and light blue eyes, a smile on her face at something Mitch said. When you entered the room, you couldn't help but think back to last week when you'd completely embarrassed yourself in front of Mitch. You hadn't seen him since, and even though it was probably unlikely, you'd hoped you'd never have to again.

Introductions were made quickly before a chair was pulled out for you. The young woman's name was Cam, and she was working on putting out her first ever single. "And album eventually, but we're starting out small," she said with a bashful grin. "I'm such a huge fan of your work, and when Mitch said you were just down the hall, I told him he had to introduce me. I swear I love every song you've ever written."

Nodding, you gripped the soft leather binding of your journal, wondering what Mitch was angling at here. From the short amount of time you'd spent with him, he seemed rather quiet. A chill person who mostly kept to himself. You weren't sure why you were being dragged into one of his projects.

"Yeah. That's where I started my career," you said. "I'm sorry—Did you want my help with a song?"

"The whole album too, hopefully," Cam said, and you could see it in her eyes how bad she wanted this. She was ambitious, but not in a way that made you want to run back to your room and have nothing to do with this project. You eyed her scuffed boots and the worn friendship bracelets on her wrists and the hope that lined her body as she waited for you to say something.

"I usually work alone," you said. "But, I—I did happen to be writing something a little country today if you wanted to take a look."

You handed your journal over to the young woman, trying to decide if you wanted to be part of this little team. On the one hand, you thought Harry would be the only person you'd feel comfortable writing with, but...if he had a team, why couldn't you? Perhaps Harry had opened you up to the possibility of branching out and trying things you'd closed yourself off to in the past.

At the very least, you decided, you would hear her out, see how you gelled with this small group. If not for any other reason than as a small favor to an acquaintance. You didn't know Mitch all that well, but you considered him someone you knew.

And to be honest, maybe you were getting tired of staying holed up in a studio by yourself all the time.

So now you were meeting with Cam, Mitch, and Daniel regularly. That first day, you stayed at the studio late at night workshopping ideas and getting a feel for the sound and vision Cam was going for. And it was easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, picking up the guitar and playing a potential riff and letting Mitch carry it somewhere else, working out harmonies and melodies with Cam. You'd left the studio later than you ever had that night, but energy coursed through your veins as you left the building.

You'd never been a part of something at the start with the means to see it through. You usually wrote songs and sold them to whoever wanted them, and with Harry, you'd joined in songwriting when he and his team were well underway, but this...this was new, and you didn't hate it. In fact, you were looking forward to meeting the next day, and the next, and the next...

Weeks flew by as you worked on this album, and you suddenly lived off takeout boxes and snacks as you spent many a late night as you worked on song after song, eager to see this project come to life. There wasn't necessarily a deadline, but you were all just eager to keep working on what you all knew was something special. And today Mitch was going to teach you how to play the drums while Cam met with her record label for an hour. It felt like there was finally light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, one that you'd been winding through the last two years. It felt good to feel this light again, even your brothers got off your back a little, though you knew that wouldn't last very long.

"I'm on my way right now, and I'm bringing Buddy because he's being extra clingy today," you said into the phone. "He's also my reason for going home at a reasonable hour—"

Time stopped as you opened the door to your apartment. Your heart was in your throat, partly because you were startled to find someone on the other side, and then because your eyes finally registered who was on the other side.

"Y/n?"

Blinking, you quickly told Cam you had to go before hanging up the phone, slipping it in your coat pocket before letting it drop to the floor. You ran a hand over your face, wondering if you'd magically conjured him to your door, or if you were so tired you were suddenly delirious, but when you uncovered your eyes, he was still there, hands tucked in his pockets and a suitcase resting by his feet, a cat carrier on top of it.

"Harry? What—What are you doing here? When did you—"

There was no time to think or speak or breathe as Harry surged forward, his hands suddenly out of his pockets and settling deep in your hair, and kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, making it hard to think straight, making it hard to think about anything but him. His cologne flooded your senses as if you'd never smelled it before, making you sigh against his mouth and giving him ample opportunity to slide his tongue against yours as he backed you against the doorframe with a soft thud.

Your hands flew of their own accord, reaching beneath Harry's coat and gripping the shirt he wore beneath it. You needed to feel him, to know he was really here in front of you, that he wasn't going to evaporate in your hands leaving you with only the memory of his kiss. You'd had that particular dream one too many times.

Harry's hands smoothed down your sides, rucking up your shirt and setting your skin on fire when his thumbs brushed your ribcage. Your breaths stuttered until you finally had to pull back to catch it Instinctively, Harry followed, his mouth searching for yours, then your neck, but you held him in place for a moment.

"Wait," you said, breaths shallow. Harry stopped immediately, eyes roving your face in a similar way to how you were doing so. When he finally met your gaze, a small, shy smile, spread across your lips. "H—Hi."

Harry's responding grin was radiant. "Hi."

*.*

"I don't understand, when—when did you get back?"

It was safe to say you weren't going into the studio. There were about ten seconds of protesting before you finally caved, and it had nothing to do with Harry's lips on your neck or his hands sneaking beneath your shirt. "Stay," Harry had mumbled. "Please? There's so much I want to say."

So you stayed, though you hadn't really spoken much. You and Harry had ended up on your couch huddled up together under a blanket, Buddy Holly dozing at your feet. You kept waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. It was nice for a while, but you began to itch with the need for answers. You didn't want to immediately fall back into old habits the second he came back, even if laying flush against his chest was the most peaceful you felt in weeks. You were nervous to talk to him, to hear him say that after staying away for two months, he still didn't want a relationship. But even so, it would be better to know the truth and start getting over it now than to hold out hope.

"Today," Harry said. "I came straight here from the airport."

"Why? Wouldn't you want to go home? Get settled. Sweet Pea probably misses home."

Harry raised his head from where he'd been resting it in the crook of your neck. His brows raised suspiciously to where his cat was dozing on top of Buddy, as if she'd never left. "I think she's rather comfortable."

"You're awfully comfortable too," you said under your breath. Then, even though you felt so warm in his embrace, you sat up, putting some distance between yourself and Harry.

You could tell he wanted to protest, his sleepy eyes and mussed brown curls covering his forehead in a messy tangle told you that all he wanted was to fall asleep next to you. You wanted that too, but your mind kept drifting back to that last conversation, to that last exchange of words, and you let them keep that small bubble of distance between you and him.

"I need to know why you're here, H," you said, raising your knees up to your chest.

Harry could hear the seriousness in your voice, his expression sobering a little. He sat up too, facing you as he took up his place at the corner of the couch. There were only a couple inches between you, but it felt like Harry was still in Japan with how distant you felt from him now. He was home, but was he really? You didn't know how your friendship was going to evolve from here. You supposed you could be okay with just being his friend. It would sting, but you would get over it.

Eventually.

You hoped.

"I...just knew that this was where I needed to be," he said, not meeting your eye. "I came home and the only person I wanted to see was you."

His words meant more than you cared to admit. They filled you with warmth, bringing a flush to your cheeks that you prayed Harry didn't see.

"I missed you too," was all you could think of to say.

"And I—I want more," Harry said. "I was halfway across the world, and I was writing and walking around the city, and all I wanted was to share those moments with you and write with you and wake up next to you. I just...I want you in my life, Y/n."

"As your friend?" you asked, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

"However you'll have me."

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stopped yourself from launching across the couch into his arms. It was all too good to be true. Harry wasn't ready for a relationship before he left, and you'd been gracious and understood where he was coming from. And now that a few weeks had passed, he suddenly wanted to be whatever you wanted him to be. In the back of your mind, the fact that he hadn't said "boyfriend" pricked a sensitive part of your brain. It was silly and minuscule, and it shouldn't have mattered, so you tried not to let it.

Still, you were unsure. You knew Harry would never be so cruel as to feed you words for the sake of placating you, but something left you hesitating. Maybe it was that the last time you saw Harry, he told you he couldn't give you what you wanted and now he was saying he could, or maybe your heart was still protecting you from potential pain, you weren't sure. But you couldn't give in.

Almost as if he could read the jumbled thoughts running around in your head, Harry inched toward you, his expression soft and open. "I can tell you're unsure, and I don't blame you," he said, taking a chance and reaching a hand across the couch to hold yours. "Let me prove it to you."

Brows furrowed, you tilted your head to the side. "Prove it?"

"We'll go slow," Harry said as he nodded and moved closer. Close enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. "We can do that, can't we? We don't have to rush things. We can just...go on a date and see what happens, right?"

Despite the hesitation, a smile twitched at the corner of your lips. "Harry Styles...are you asking me on a date?"

Harry's responding grin was wide and sweet as honey. "Only if you're saying yes."

Eight weeks ago, you'd stepped out of your comfort zone by asking Harry for more, and watching him walk away hurt more than you ever thought it would. Your instinct was to hide, to crawl back into your shell before you could get hurt again. But you knew Harry had been hurt before too, and now he was trying. Even though they'd both had their hearts broken for different reasons and had every reason not to give into their feelings and hide, preferring to be alone.

It took you two years to..."forgive yourself" didn't seem like the right words. To be ready to put yourself into the world again, to allow yourself the possibility of hurting and being hurt in that way again. Your scars had healed over into faint white lines after two whole years. Nearly imperceptible, but still there, a subtle but constant reminder of what you stood to lose if you ruined things again. But also a reminder that you could love and lose and still heal, and maybe even love again. Harry hadn't been there when he left, and at the time you hoped he would be. And maybe part of you knew he would be, because you'd gotten there too in your own way.

The hope that kindled in your chest made you nervous, but it made you excited too.

"I—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because—"

Harry's index finger was on your lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes nearly crossed as you looked down your nose at it, and you heard his chuckle at what was most likely a silly look on your face. "I know I don't have to do anything, Y/n. I needed some time to clear my thoughts and untangle all of my feelings. I want this. I want you."

Over your time spent with Harry, you'd come to realize he had expressive eyes. While he kept a lot to himself and didn't share much unless it was through songwriting, his eyes said everything. This close to his face, you could see the honesty, the earnestness. You decided to believe him, to believe in whatever had been forming between you since the first time you'd met.

Not holding back, you did lunge for him this time, but gently, seeing as he was so close. Harry seemed surprised by your sudden movements but didn't stop you as you took his face in your hands and kissed him for all he was worth. You felt his face slowly split into a grin as his hands roved up and down your back, as if he was finally reacquainting himself with your body. Or maybe it was that this kiss was different from all the others, with different expectations and intentions and promises for more.

"What happened to slow?" he asked, teasing as you nipped at his ear.

"Tell me to stop," you said, feeling out of breath.

He didn't, you knew he wouldn't, but that only made him grin even more. "I still want to do things properly," he told you, leaning back against the couch and taking you with so that you were on top of him, your body flush against his. "I want to take you out, I want to hold your hand and pull your chair out for you at dinner."

Resting on your elbows, you lightly traced the delicate planes of his face with your finger. Harry's eyes tracked your movements while he waited for you to answer, kissing the pad of your index finger when it passed over his lips. You smiled a little, unsure of where all this giddiness was coming from but hoping it wouldn't go away.

"I want that too," you murmured before kissing the tip of his nose. "But maybe that can start tomorrow."

Harry's hand came up to cradle the side of your face, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. Everything already felt different. New and fragile and breakable. So, so breakable.

"Your heart was glass, I dropped it," you'd written way back. You had the potential to break Harry's heart. But the notion that you wouldn't was so intrinsic in that moment, you felt like the only way you would crack the glass this time was by squeezing too hard, by liking him too much.

You didn't know what you would do if Harry would drop yours.

It was a terrifying thought, one that was too dreadful for the peaceful bliss taking over your apartment. Harry was looking at you like your hair was made of stars or pure sunlight, and it warmed every inch of you down to your bones as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

"I can get behind that," he said quietly.

After that, you finally relaxed. Your head found purchase on his chest, comfortable against the soft material of his sweatshirt despite the firmness of his body beneath you. You breathed in deep, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it all out in one soft exhale. With that breath, you felt the last of your doubts flutter away—for now, at least—allowing you to believe in the promise Harry offered you.

*.*

"Come on. If you're not going to let me go to work, you're gonna help me here."

You managed to untangle yourself from Harry, who pouted at you as he remained sprawled out on your bed. Leaving him there, you went to the front door to where you'd left your guitar case when you found him on your doorstep yesterday. Slipping your well-loved guitar from the case, you walked back over to Harry, who was now sitting up on the couch. His eyes tracked your every move as you made your way back over to him. His stare felt heated, causing a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it as you settled on one end of the couch, resting the guitar in your lap.

"Looks like you already have something in mind," Harry said. He still sounded playful, but you knew he wasn't going to try and dissuade you from this. He was just as eager to write as a team as you were.

Writing without Harry while he was gone was strange. At first you thought you'd be fine, seeing as you'd preferred working in solitude most of your professional career. Yet when he left, you were unable to write. You found yourself looking for him, raising your head to ask what he thought of a melody when he wasn't there, thinking out loud as if he was still in the room to bounce ideas off of.

You'd missed him in more ways than one, that was certain. This new dynamic with Mitch had been good, fun even. You attributed your openness to teamwork to Harry, and now you were nearly finished with an album, a project you'd been part of from start to finish, something you'd never really been able to say before. You'd enjoyed going into the studio to work with Mitch, to share song ideas with Cam and see where she took them. If given the option, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

But something in you settled as you began to idly pluck at the strings of your guitar, Harry sifting through his duffle bag until he produced his leatherbound journal from it. You felt comfortable, complete, not an atom out of place as you began to sing the lyrics of a partial song you were going to work on with your team today.

"There is a town, somewhere down a country road," you sang softly. "I see it now, take it everywhere I go. The river sways, I can almost here it now. As if to say, 'You're not the only one who wants a way out.'"

"That's nice," Harry said, his thumb tapping against his knee in time with the music coming from your guitar. "Something new?"

"I've had the idea for a song about a small town for a while," you said, fingers still plucking at the guitar strings, though not with much intent while you spoke to Harry. "My hometown."

Nodding, Harry said, "You don't talk about your home much."

"Not much to say," you shrugged. "At least I thought so. Now I just keep thinking how so much has changed since I moved away. How much I've changed,"

"Good changes, I hope," he said.

You shrugged again, trying not to let the topic make you squirm. You normally didn't around Harry, but perhaps being away from him for so long had you shying away just a little. "Good and...neutral, I guess. Sometimes I feel like I've changed so much I can't even reconcile who I was then and the person I am now. Not really sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. To be determined, I suppose."

Harry processed the information quietly, letting the conversation end there. You fell into a comfortable silence as both of you played around with lyrics and melodies in your own heads. You eventually grabbed your own journal to jot notes down in, and at one point Harry took your guitar into his own lap to play around, humming quietly to himself.

His plucking of the strings slowly became something less abstract and more concrete, and it eventually became the backdrop to your thinking process. You liked the tune he played better than what you'd originally come up with, and you let it guide your pen as you jotted down words and phrases until you eventually had something that might've been a pre-chorus or a bridge. Shifting closer to Harry on the couch, you showed him what you had so far, hoping he'd be able to fill in the gaps like he normally could.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he took your journal and pen from your offering hands. For a minute, the only sound was the tapping of the pen in his hand in time with the melody he'd been playing moments ago. You watched with slow blinking eyes as he eventually began to scribble his own little notes beside yours, sometimes writing lyrics of his own and occasionally circling a word you'd written and putting a suggestion above it.

The scratching of pen on paper was an unusual lullaby, but sure enough, the warmth emanating from Harry's body and the familiarity of this moment, yet something precious and new blooming between you, was enough for your breaths to deepen, your blinks to become fewer and far between. Even after being on a plane all the way from Japan, the scent of Harry's cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used lingered on his clothes. It was so familiar, as much of a welcome home as him actually being here beside you.

Breathing in deep, you huddled closer to Harry. Feeling your movements at his side, Harry shifted so that you were leaning against him more comfortably, his body solid yet soft beneath your cheek. "I missed this," you murmured, the words clinging together as you inched closer and closer toward sleep. "I missed you."

There was no stiffening of his posture at the words, no hesitation or uncertainty as he said, "I missed you too."

*.*

"Don't leave again," Y/n said.

Harry was pretty sure she was already half asleep, was sure she wouldn't even remember this conversation when she woke up in a couple of hours. But even so, the words made him pause, the pen in his hand jerking almost imperceptibly.

Y/n hadn't brought up his departure since he'd come back yesterday. Even now, she didn't sound resentful, though that could've been the fact that she was seconds away from falling asleep, but Harry didn't think so. Yet in her current limbo between states of consciousness, she revealed something that she probably wouldn't have if she'd been fully awake.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by going," he said, and he knew he was a bastard for saying it when she was seconds from falling asleep.

A deep breath, then another, then another.

"Don't leave me again," was all she said in reply, perhaps all she could muster just before unconsciousness finally settled over her like a blanket.

Harry's heart clenched. Don't leave me again, she told him. He'd learned rather quickly that despite all that she'd been through, Y/n hid a gentle heart behind all those walls she put up. A heart that had been battered and bruised and hidden away after so much unhappiness. Harry realized early on in their semi-friendship that he never wanted to be the reason for another wall between Y/n and the rest of the world; he wanted to be someone she could entrust to protect her gentle soul, to be someone who helped her realize she was much more fierce than she knew.

Knowing he'd caused her pain by leaving dug at him, even if leaving was in some ways very necessary. Harry needed that distance, that time away to clean up the mess his ex had left in him. Nothing about his previous relationship's demise was simple, and the things he'd begun to feel for Y/n while still trying to untangle himself from his ex only complicated things. Harry knew it would be a disservice to both himself and Y/n if he jumped into something he wasn't ready for. He felt horrible that night she'd laid all her cards on the table before him. He knew that it had taken a lot to state what she wanted from him so plainly, to realize that she was still deserving of more after what she'd been through. And Harry had to offer the same honesty, even if it was something even he didn't want to hear.

But it had been the right thing. For both of them. Of that he was sure. Harry had done a lot of introspecting, had allowed himself to simply be alone in a way he hadn't been for a long time. His last relationship was perhaps the most significant, but it was one in a rather long list of failed attempts to find love. His friends often teased him for not knowing how to not be in a relationship, and after this last breakup, he realized how right they were.

Harry liked Y/n. He was fascinated by her talent as a songwriter and enamoured by the person she was outside the studio. He liked her chunky patterned sweaters and the array of rings on her fingers that changed from day to day. He liked that she wasn't perfect, that she was shy to an almost stubborn degree, that he had to work hard to piece together who she was bit by bit until a beautiful mosaic was laid out in front of him.

But he needed to know that he knew how to be alone before giving himself over to her entirely. Who was he outside of a romantic relationship? Harry honestly had no idea, and while that had never even so much as itched his brain before, it terrified him after things ended with his ex. He owed it to himself to try to stand on his own two feet, to live on his own and know that he could be content to do so. He didn't need a relationship to be happy, that was what he set out to discover.

And once he did. Once he lived and wrote songs and got coffee and ate by himself, and didn't feel like an utter disaster, he knew he'd be okay.

Harry enjoyed himself in Japan. He'd committed himself to this soul-searching endeavor and actually came out on the other side of it pleased with himself. And at the end of it all, when he knew a relationship with Y/n wasn't something he needed but something he wanted, he knew he was ready to go home. He wanted her a lot, to be fair, so much so that he often wrote about her, and talked about her to the few friends he made in Japan. But being alone didn't kill him, and he was able to see that for himself the two months he was gone.

He left his feelings for his ex in Japan, letting every last bit of baggage he'd been quietly carrying around with him slide off his shoulders, holding onto those precious little blossoms of feeling for Y/n and bringing them home, right to her doorstep.

The plan hadn't been to go straight to her apartment, but that was where he told his driver to go when he slid into the backseat of the sleek black car his manager had sent to pick him up. Harry was actually supposed to go home and rest so he could meet with his label and discuss the progress of his album, but he stayed at Y/n's place anyway. He knew these next few months as the album went into recording and production mode wouldn't leave much time to spend alone with Y/n, and he needed these fleeting moments. He needed to hear all about the new album she was helping to write and what she and Buddy Holly had gotten up to while he was gone. He needed to kiss her, to touch her, to let her fall asleep against him while they wrote a song about a small town.

"I won't, I promise," Harry murmured, even though he knew Y/n was already asleep.

It was perhaps a promise to himself. He knew Y/n would never be that vulnerable, wouldn't reveal just how much she cared for him if she'd been entirely conscious. She'd been forgiving, if not a little hesitant when he showed up on her doorstep, but she'd never resented him for leaving. At least he thought she didn't. She'd been understanding when he left, but in her sleepy state, he saw a little bit of the hurt he'd inflicted by leaving, by rejecting her desire for something more with him.

Harry knew he'd done it for the right reasons, but guilt curled in his chest at the thought of hurting Y/n. He would commit himself to not doing it again, to be someone worthy of her vulnerability. Harry was aware of how precious it was for Y/n to open herself up to him like this. He wouldn't take that gift for granted.

Shifting around a bit, Harry took Y/n into his arms and stood up. He padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where a large, four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and one stuffed animal lay on. He set her down on white sheets with little red polka dots, pulling up the covers over both of them. Y/n curled into Harry immediately, and he didn't even bother trying to shove away the warmth that spread through him.

With Y/n's cheek squished adorably against his chest, Harry rested his arm behind his head as his eyes flitted about her bedroom.

He'd been inside it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him, because for someone so convinced they were undeserving of love, they sure loved heart decorations. Retro Valentine hearts were mounted on one wall, twinkly lights dangling between them; pink and red heart-shaped candles remained unlit on her vanity, a heart-shaped guitar on a stand next to it. Everything centered around something pink or red—the sheets, the pillows, the jewelry dishes and mirrors, even the stuffed bunny under her pillow that Harry knew Y/n slept with, even if she wouldn't admit it.

It was a mystery he'd yet to solve, but he imagined that would come in time.

Soon enough, Harry's own eyes began to droop. He nestled deeper into the bed, trying not to completely drape himself over Y/n. They'd never actually spent the night in the same bed before last night. Sometimes they'd fall asleep together on the couch, but this was different. Last night, they'd collapsed into bed after staying up late talking, nearly well into the morning. There had been no tangled limbs or breaths keeping time because they slept so close together, just two people in dire need of sleep.

In some ways, Harry wondered if it was too much as they were only just beginning to explore this thing between them, but he couldn't make himself leave. He turned over so his back was to her, trying to provide a modicum of space should Y/n want it, but not even a minute later, an arm snaked around his waist, a cheek pressed against his back as one of her legs slotted between his.

It was safe to say Harry fell asleep with a small grin and a full heart.

*.*

The following weeks flew by, and you saw Harry every single moment that you could.

Now that his album was in the later stages of production, he was constantly in meetings for promotion—release dates, interviews, live performances, and concept art for the album. You stayed out of those conversations, as you had your own projects to complete and deadlines to meet. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious. You'd never been part of those conversations before, as you merely wrote your songs and sold the demos to artists or bands. Seeing an album from start to finish was intriguing, though perhaps part of the reason was the hand you played in it and how important Harry was to you.

But even with all of that going on, Harry stayed true to his word.

He made every moment count. Suddenly there were flowers on top of the grand piano when you entered your studio, and he stopped by whenever he could. Each petal, each little note attached to the bouquets, filled your stomach with butterflies. And after you were both done for the day, Harry invited you over to cook dinner and listen to records. The atmosphere was different than before Harry left, a more romantic feel in the air as you sat across from each other, the warm glow of candles the only lighting in the room.

With the public attention Harry tended to get, you both agreed to keep things quiet for now. You'd always preferred anonymity, and although you knew your relationship would eventually become public, you wanted it to stay between you and Harry and your friends and family. Hopefully in the future, when this precious thing between the two of you wasn't so new, you would feel more comfortable. Until then, it would be secret dates and romantic dinners from home, but that didn't make it feel any less special or real.

It didn't take long for your friends to notice, though.

You and Harry didn't have much to hide in front of Sylvia and the rest of the people who made up your little group, but neither you nor Harry really went out of your way to tell anyone about the slight change since he had come back from Japan.

One night, Sylvia decided to switch up the usual gatherings from game night to a night at a karaoke bar. You didn't mind. In fact, you loved watching everyone drink and take up a mic in the private room that had been rented out. Harry stayed by your side most of the night, an arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb subtly sneaking beneath the hem of your patchwork top to graze your skin and leave goosebumps in its wake, and a neat tequila in his other hand, your leather jacket draped over his arm after he insisted on carrying it for you. You opted for a margarita, sipping on it idly while you went between talking to Harry and watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

"What do you say, are we up next?"

"We?" you asked incredulously. "You go. I've actually been wanting to see you perform."

Harry chuckled, his nose brushing against your temple. "Come on, love. For me?"

You both knew you had a soft spot when Harry pleaded with you. Just one more hour at his place, just one more kiss, getting his favorite takeout, all of it just required a slight widening of his eyes and him saying, "Pleeeease," or, "For me?" as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, and he had you. It was mostly harmless, but just like all the other times, it was working now.

"I don't know..." you said anyway, a small grin creeping its way onto your face. Harry only doubled down, which was exactly your goal.

"Please? I'll make it worth your while."

So that was how you ended up in front of the rest of your group of friends, a mic in your hand as you waited for Harry to pick the song. When the opening chords sounded through the speakers, you beamed, looking over at him with raised brows. Harry just sauntered over to you with a small grin, dancing over to you in that silly way of his that you learned was a unique trait he possessed.

"Islands in the Stream" was one of the songs the two of you had bonded over the last few months. You'd played it for him on the drive to Buddy Holly's favorite dog park, and the two of you sang it most car rides ever since.

Harry started the song, and you joined in, keeping your eyes on him for most of it. He definitely had more stage presence than you did, which you were fine with, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy yourself. Harry's eyes were on you the whole time too, his hip bumping against yours and spinning you around occasionally.

By the time it was over, there were cheers all around, and not just because Harry kissed you at the end. You'd made it all of two steps off the makeshift stage in the private room before you were tugged into a corner away from everyone else.

"What the hell was that?"

Sylvia was looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, though a grin stretched her cheeks. You couldn't hide your blush, opting to take the drink that Harry handed you once he found you again. "What?"

"You—You two are unbelievable," she laughed. "So this is real now? You two aren't acting like children anymore and pretending you aren't in love with each other?"

Trust Sylvia to make things between you and Harry awkward. Both of you laughed, though yours was more nervous because she'd revealed a truth you weren't quite ready to accept. Harry merely draped a hand over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

*.*

"You look nervous," you said, taking Harry's hand that rested on the gear shift.

"Me? Never," Harry insisted, though he gripped your hand a little too tightly for you to believe it.

"It's just one brother," you said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

You wouldn't lie to him and say meeting all three of your brothers at once would've been a walk in the park. But this was just Andrew, who was only in town for a night. You were pretty sure Hayden and Evan sent Andrew to investigate your relationship with Harry. For that exact reason, you hadn't divulged much to any of your brothers. After the whole, "Are you sure you're not menstruating" incident, you'd been giving Hayden the cold shoulder, so you knew for a fact that he'd enlisted Andrew's help to, at the very least, get back in your good graces, and hopefully get a little intel on your budding relationship.

"Andrew's harmless, I promise," you said. "He's about as threatening as a puppy."

Harry chuckled as he pulled into the trendy bar you had agreed to meet your brother at. "See, I want to believe you, but I've seen your brother play hockey, so...I don't."

Leaning across the center console, you kissed his cheek, quickly wiping away the lip gloss you'd left behind. Even in the dim lighting of the car, you saw Harry blush, which made you nudge him with your nose playfully. "I'll keep him in line, I promise."

You led Harry inside the bar, entering through a side door to remain relatively unnoticed, neck craning for your brother. Andrew wasn't hard to spot, his long arms waving back and forth from a tall table tucked in the corner of the bar. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you walked over to where your brother stood by waiting with open arms.

"How's my little sister?" Andrew asked as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to remind him you were older. Instead, you stepped back and introduced him to Harry. For all his nerves, Harry didn't show it as he shook Andrew's hand and asked how he was doing. Even when you knew your brother squeezed his hand too hard, Harry just smiled and sat down on the barstool.

Things went surprisingly well. Despite your earlier reassurances, you'd been a little nervous about the questions Andrew might ask, ones not necessarily thought up by him, but by the brothers who were absent tonight.

"So, Harry, where do you see this relationship with my sister going? I noticed she didn't introduce you as her boyfriend."

Perhaps you'd spoken too soon.

"Andrew, seriously?" you said, kicking him under the table. "Tell Evan to butt out."

"Evan's not—"

"Oh please," you said. That question had your oldest brother written all over it. "Andrew, you leave our brothers out of this or I'll tell Harry what they used to call you in high school."

Blushing, Andrew backed down immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. You didn't like stooping to your brothers' level, usually the silent treatment got your brothers to grovel after pissing you off, but they really couldn't be surprised when you did from time to time. You learned from the best after all.

Clearing his throat, Harry broke up the stare down you and Andrew had been locked in. "Um, to answer your question, I think we both—not to speak for you, Y/n—but I think we both see this evolving into something more, we just haven't had that conversation yet."

His words filled you with warmth. You'd been thinking the same—you wanted more from Harry when he came back, and things had progressed from there. You didn't think boyfriend and girlfriend titles were far off, but now that you knew where you and Harry both stood, you were okay with taking things slow.

Not that Andrew, or your other brothers, for that matter, needed to know that.

The rest of the night went much better. Andrew eased up and was finally able to ask questions that had nothing to do with the intimate details of your relationship with Harry, and when Harry began asking Andrew about playoffs, it was all your brother could do to not talk about hockey.

Your brother left you and Harry in the parking lot with a final farewell of, "You're alright, Harry Styles, and you," he said facing you with a pointed stare. "Stop ignoring Hayden, please. You know how he gets when you don't give him attention."

Huffing, you said, "I'll think about it."

Andrew grinned. Your brothers were a lot of things, but from the moment you became a part of the family, you were a little princess to all of them. Evan, Hayden, and Andrew had their moments, but they never liked to make you too mad. Most of the time. Still, you knew Andrew, and you knew he liked to be the unspoken, "favorite brother."

Harry took you home, his hand in yours the whole way back. Neither of you said anything, unwinding from the interesting night. It honestly could've gone a lot worse, in your opinion. Andrew really was the least of your worries.

Like a gentleman, Harry walked you to the door when you got home. You held back from unlocking your apartment and stepping inside despite the cold, taking his hand in yours. "I'm sorry if things were a little tense tonight."

Harry shook his head. "You really have them wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

"They have good intentions. They just...they were all I had for a long time. They're protective. Especially Evan."

Growing up, your brothers were pretty much your whole family. You were all bonded by the same shitty father, growing up raising and protecting each other. You knew the questions and the protective attitudes came from a good place, especially after the way things broke down with Gavin and his family. Evan saw how much it affected you, and probably just didn't want to see you get hurt again.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if they do slightly terrify me."

"They're big pushovers," you said with a laugh. "And like you said, they're wrapped around my finger. You'll be fine, I promise."

Harry smiled, tipping your chin up. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Mhmm," was all you could manage as he began to kiss your neck, a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk weather licking down your spine. The excitement that surged through you almost had you leaping into his arms. You settled for wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know we've been taking things slow, but I—I wouldn't mind it."

"You wouldn't mind what?" Harry teased, pulling away slightly when you tried to kiss him. "Might need to do a little better than that if you want me to be your boyfriend."

Everything was so easy with Harry. The playful teasing, the serious conversations, getting drinks with your overprotective brother, all of it. You hadn't wanted someone this much since—well, since forever. Harry just made you so happy, and you wanted to chase that feeling, not hide from it. You spent way too much time hiding from life, from love.

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your fingers curling around the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Harry backed you against the door to your apartment, the hum coming from his chest once your tongues brushed together reverberating through you. His cheeks were cold as you held them in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to haul him inside and never let him leave. But he had to be up early tomorrow and had to go back to his cat. You would make sure he'd regret leaving, though.

Eventually, you let go of him, your hands smoothing down the knit sweater he wore. You'd spent ages on the phone with him as he freaked out over what to wear. One coat was too flashy, but that t-shirt said he wasn't putting in any effort and didn't care about meeting a member of your family. On and on until you eventually made him turn the camera around to face his closet and pick something out for him. Black jeans and a black sweater with colorful depictions of the solar system eventually convinced him to finally leave the house. It was a little silly, but you appreciated how much effort he wanted to put into meeting Andrew, who absolutely would have reported back to Hayden and Evan what Harry wore, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"I don't want to be scared of feeling good anymore," you whispered. "I don't want to feel guilty for chasing something that feels right. Please tell me you feel the same."

"I do," Harry murmured. His forehead rested against yours as his hands found the perfect place on your waist, finding the sliver of skin revealed between your halter top and your jeans, and the look in his eyes was something so comforting, a safe assurance you hadn't felt in a long time.

Harry made you feel safe. He made you smile and knew things about you no one else did, not even your brothers, and he didn't seem put off by it. He understood your creative process, gave you space when you needed it, and was there for you when needed someone but didn't know how to ask.

You were still perhaps too scared to even think about the word love, but looking up at Harry then, you thought there might be a day where you felt brave enough to tell him how you really felt.

*.*

The club was packed tonight, bodies surrounding you on all sides. As someone bumped into you from behind, you gripped Mitch's arm on instinct, determined not to fall over or get swept up in the sea of people waiting for the band to start their set.

"Remind me why we're here again?" you asked, shouting over the crowd and thumping bass.

For a moment, you worried Mitch hadn't heard you, but then he shouted back, leaning in close so you could hear him. "Because they asked us to be here. We heard their demos, and you said they had potential. And—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I just didn't think there'd be this many people."

"Kind of a good thing though, isn't it?" a voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you couldn't help the wide grin that took over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mitch give you a pointed look, but you ignored it, throwing your arms around Harry. "You found us!"

"Course. I could spot my two best friends from a mile away."

Being regarded as Harry's friend made your stomach tighten despite knowing he didn't mean it that way, especially since you were around so many people. And yet, it had you overthinking.

Don't be stupid, you thought, blinking those thoughts away. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you let go. "Did you get into the venue okay?"

You, Harry, and Mitch talked to—talked at, more like—each other before the show, huddled together and trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Because of the packed venue, you and Harry were able to stand relatively close to one another, your hands brushing occasionally. With Harry so close to you like this and unable to kiss his cheek at the very least, and you could tell he was having the same struggle. He was pressed up against your back, at one point, then his arm was draped over your shoulders, and when the lights finally dimmed as the set began, he was as close as he could be, his arm wrapped around your waist as you watched the band perform.

The band played music that was loud, full of heavy base lines and guitar riffs and drum solos that had the crowd jumping and jostling around. Harry was a steady force at your back until you eventually joined in with the audience, dancing along to the music beside Mitch.

In the few weeks you and Mitch worked on writing Cam's album together, you'd ended up spending more time outside of the studio as well. It was almost always music related, the two of you going out to see live performances in some form or another—local bands, shows at the Troubador and the Whiskey, performers just starting out in dive bars. It was something you typically did on your own, a good way to discover new artists and experience different sounds, and Mitch was more than happy to join you, showing you a couple of his favorite haunts, ones that he played in from time to time.

It was nice to get out of your apartment, to hang out with someone who appreciated discovering new music as much as you did. Mitch had helped you expand your horizons and had even taught you a thing or two about playing drums after you were particularly enthralled by a grunge band. It had become part of your routine as much as writing in the studio had—going out once or twice a week to find new talent and sometimes meeting up with the artist or band afterward to see if they were interested in collaborating. That wasn't always the goal, but there were moments when you couldn't help yourself.

"You were right. They do have potential," Mitch said. Both of you were buzzing after the performance, talking animatedly about the band and their set.

"I know! And I really liked their sound. There was something so nostalgic about it, but not in a gimmicky way, you know?"

Harry walked a couple paces behind you and Mitch as you ambled down the sidewalk toward where you'd parked. He'd been quiet coming out of the show, but you didn't think anything of it.

You kept talking to Mitch, promising to stop by the studio for another drum lesson when you had the chance, or when he had the chance, more like. Now that Harry's album was less an idea and more a fully realized project with a release date, Harry and Co. had been pretty busy lately. And once the album finally came out...well, you'd cross that bridge eventually.

When Mitch was gone, headed home in his car, you walked a little further to your side-by-side with Harry. You leaned in close, not really caring if anyone saw. Even through the layers of his heavy coat, you could feel the warmth that he emanated naturally. You loved being tucked into his side or curled around him, or just being as close to him as possible, an alarming amount. The word "love" fluttered through your mind every now and again, but you swatted it away every time. It was much too soon, and while you'd made many strides, there were still parts of you that remained afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if you got too attached and things ended, afraid of the distance rapidly approaching once Harry's album came out, afraid of your inner saboteur. It was all there, lingering, waiting to strike at any moment.

"Good show, right?" you said to Harry, eager to shake off the dark turn your thoughts had taken. "Mitch and I have been wanting to see them for ages."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes remaining on the street ahead. Then, "I...I didn't realize you spent so much time with him while I was gone."

"I honestly didn't expect to, but he was still working in the studio. We made quite the team."

Because you were so close, you felt Harry's whole body stiffen. A split second too late, you realized your poor choice of words.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Y/n," Harry said, and he didn't sound mad at all. Maybe just a little hurt, but you had a feeling he was trying his best not to make you feel bad. "I can't be upset that you kept working when I left. That's silly of me."

"It's not," you assured. "I—You're kind of the reason I pushed myself to work with him, and others," you admitted.

"Really?"

Nodding, you said, "I've always worked on my own. Always. But then we started writing together and things just clicked, and when you left, I—I didn't want to deny myself the opportunity to make great music. I mean, you and your team were doing incredible stuff even before I came along. I guess I just wanted to be a part of something great in that way too. Mitch helped introduce me to a new artist and we collaborated on a project of our own. I didn't...I didn't want to go back to being alone again.

"But it isn't the same," you said, stopping Harry in his tracks. Looking up at him, you smiled, for no other reason than he was there and he was yours. "We...We work differently together. You have to know that."

Harry's responding grin was small. "It is quite magical, isn't it?"

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. The kiss was slow, gentle, a reassurance for the both of you. When you leaned back, yours and Harry's cheeks were flushed as you grinned brightly at each other.

As you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car, you said, "I can't believe you'd be jealous of Mitch."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "Oh hush. I was not."

"He's your best friend, H," you giggled. "Not to mention very, very taken."

"I believe I mentioned it was silly, didn't I?"

Taking his hand, you kissed the top of it. "You did."

Harry peeled out of his parking space, promising to make it up to you as he handed his phone over to choose the playlist for the ride home.

When you unlocked his phone, the home screen wasn't what popped up. Instead, the messages app was open, a string of messages that hadn't been replied to yet, going back a few weeks.

Can we talk?

I miss you. I miss us.

The silent treatment is childish, H.

Please call me.

Your hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, and Harry's phone nearly slipped out of them and onto the floor.

"Everything okay?"

Harry's voice dragged you out of whatever headspace you'd been launched into. Looking up, you mustered a smile, hoping the car's darkness would mask how flimsy it truly was.

"Yeah. Fine," you said, your voice not sounding like your own.

Quickly exiting out of the app, you pulled up his music, choosing a playlist at random before setting his phone down in the cup holder.

You felt like you were on one of those theme park rides, the ones that reach the heights of tall buildings just to fall straight down. You felt weightless, but not in a good way. It was as if you were falling and there was nowhere safe to land. That feeling in your stomach only grew until you were sure you were going to be sick.

Harry continued on none the wiser, chatting about this and that. You weren't exactly sure what he said, his voice was suddenly white noise. But you must've given him coherent responses because he didn't question your behavior. The only time he did was when you didn't invite him up to your apartment.

"I'm just really tired," you managed to say. "One too many margaritas, I guess."

Not putting up too much of a fight, Harry grinned and gave you a kiss. Despite the dread you felt, it still filled you with butterflies. You cared for him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself sometimes. And now there was...this.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, a sweet smile on his face.

He acted as if nothing was wrong, and it was convincing too. Almost to the point that you wanted to believe it too. Those messages were days old, save the most recent one, and Harry hadn't replied to any of them. That had to mean something.

Right?

*.*

After mentioning what you found to Sylvia, she demanded that what you needed was retail therapy. Shopping wasn't your favorite pastime, but you desperately needed a friend.

You met with her at an outdoor shopping mall, bundled up in your softest sweatshirt and puffy coat for comfort more than because of the weather. You hadn't wanted to go out at all today, or the last couple days since you saw Harry's messages. There had been an attempt to have Sylvia just come over so you could day drink together, but she wasn't having it.

So now you were wading through store after store, internally freaking out about where your relationship was headed. It was just getting off the ground, and now it was crumbling before your eyes. Harry was none the wiser, of course, but that was only because he was busy this week and you pretended to be busy because you weren't sure if you could keep it together in front of him. You needed a third-party perspective, a voice of reason before you sat down and talked to him about all this.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Sylvia asked gently.

One thing you liked about Sylvia was that she was bold and brash and didn't try to mince her words, but you appreciated her tone now. Friend of Harry's first or not, she was here for you, and seeing as there weren't many people you could turn to, you needed her now more than ever. You could talk to your brothers, but you didn't want them to come out and hurt him. You would go to them if there was something serious going on.

"I...I thought we were finally on the same page," you said, and then it all came spilling out of you. You replayed that night in Harry's car as you combed through a rack of dresses. Sylvia was quiet through all of it, not saying anything until you were finished. "I don't know what to do. Is he—I never asked because it wasn't really my business, but he was clearly torn up over their break up. Do you think it's possible that he's not over her?"

Because that was what kept you up at night. Before he left, Harry hadn't been ready for a relationship. You knew there wasn't an exact timeline for healing a broken heart, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and now all you could think about was him leaving you for his ex. The thought terrified you. It made you want to run before you learned the truth, spare yourself the trouble of looking like an idiot.

But you called Sylvia instead, knowing running was not the best option, even if it was the most familiar.

"Oh, babe," she sighed. "I'm not going to lie, Harry was in love with her. They were...there's no other way to put it. They loved each other."

The whimper that escaped your lips was an accident, and when Sylvia heard it, she pulled you in for a hug. "He was in love with her," she repeated as she ran a soothing hand up and down your back. "I truly believe he's moved on Y/n. Harry wouldn't do that to you."

"But what about her?" you said. "She wants him back, and he—he didn't tell me that she's been reaching out, and I just can't help but feel like their history will win out."

"I don't think you realize how happy you make him," Sylvia said. "Yes, Harry loved her, but they broke up for a reason. I don't see him giving things a second go, especially now that he's with you. He's happy, Y/n. He's happy because you make him happy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this. You just have to sit down and hear him out."

"You really think so?"

"He lights up at the mere mention of your name. You—You're like the sun to him," Sylvia promised. "So don't run from this, okay? Talk to him. Hear him out. Make him sweat a little for keeping this from you, but you owe it to yourself to hear his side of things."

You nodded, feeling a little reassured by what she'd said. You wouldn't feel a hundred percent until you talked things out with Harry, but this is a good start. At the very least, it kept you from wanting to run and hide from all this.

Laughing a little, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. "You know, when you said you were Harry's life coach, I didn't imagine you'd end up being mine too."

"It's what I'm good for," she said. "Now, let's see about doing a little shopping, hm? Ooh! And maybe we get our nails done."

Looping her arm through yours, she dragged you into the next aisle, feeling lighter with every step you took.

*.*

"Where is he? I'll kill him!"

This was the third time you'd heard that in the last couple of hours.

"Stand down, Hayden," you said from beneath your mountain of blankets. "He's not here."

Your brother's eyes widened as he looked in your direction, as if he didn't expect the pile of blankets to speak. He stalked over to where Andrew and Evan were standing in front of you, taking on a perplexed disposition. None of your brothers had ever really seen you this way. All the pranks, all the times they royally pissed you off when you were younger, you never really let it get to you. You could tell that although they wanted to be here for you, they weren't entirely sure how.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just let me know where he is, Y/n."

They were doing their best to help, and you knew you owed them answers. You did call them after all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. You called Evan, who proceeded to call Andrew because your younger brother was closest in proximity to you. And Andrew called Hayden because of course he did. It was sweet that they all dropped everything to come see you, but now you felt put on the spot.

And you knew Hayden would make good on his word, and your other two brothers would have no trouble helping him, and that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"I ended things with Harry," you said quietly.

"You said as much in your text, Y/n," Evan said. "But what happened? It seemed like you guys were really happy."

The thought of last night's events replayed in your mind, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. Taking a shuddering breath, you said, "I thought we were too."

It all started last night at this party Harry invited you too. Something about fundraising and live music and dancing, and he said it was the perfect opportunity to get dressed up and go out and not worry about being photographed. You agreed, wanting to put the text messages from his ex that had yet to be discussed far from your mind. You knew you should've said something, but you wanted to give Harry the opportunity to come clean himself. The fact that he hadn't kept you up at night, but you promised yourself—and Sylvia—that you would bring it up after the party.

"Just one more night of normalcy before we have this conversation," you assured her. It was all you wanted. Just one night where this cloud wasn't hanging over your head.

So you went. Harry picked you up in a sports car that usually sat in his garage, practically mauling you when he saw you in your dress. It was simple, but you felt great in it—a short black number with white ruffles at the top and bottom. With your hair blown out and curled to perfection, little pearl droplets hanging from your ears, you felt like a dream, and every time Harry's gaze fell on you to track your figure up and down, your entire body was filled with butterflies.

And the night carried on perfectly. You and Harry sipped on champagne and kept to yourselves most of the night. You didn't really know anyone, and he was perfectly happy to keep you all to himself, kissing your cheeks and neck whenever he could, his hand never leaving your waist for a moment. It was exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything that had been swirling around in your head the last few days. When Harry was dancing and spinning you around in and out of his arms in a corner of the event space, it felt like you were the only two people to exist. There was no way he had any lingering feelings for his ex when he was smiling so brightly and laughing as you spun him out and back into your arms.

And then...it all just fell apart.

"Harry?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Harry dropped your hand, coming to an abrupt halt beside you. You looked up, confused by the tension that suddenly lined his shoulders, but when you looked at the women who'd come up to your little corner, you just knew.

"H—Hi." Harry sounded breathless, his eyes never leaving hers once. All you could do was watch it all unfold in slow motion, all you could feel was the loss of his touch now that his hand was no longer in yours.

You cleared your throat when Harry didn't say anything. It was as if you had to pull him from whatever trance he'd fallen into at the mere sight of her. Dread filled your belly as he seemed to remember where he was, as he remembered you were there, blinking as he embraced his ex and introduced her to you.

"This is my friend Y/n."

His words felt like a sucker punch, all the air stolen from your lungs. You knew you and Harry hadn't put a label on your relationship, but to hear him refer to you as his friend right in front of his ex was devastating.

Your heart was glass, I dropped it.

Was this what it felt like? You never imagined you would be in this position, you never thought you would love someone enough to feel like you were coming undone at the seams at this kind of rejection. But perhaps that was just the universe coming to collect after thoroughly breaking someone else's heart yourself.

"I—I need some air," you heard yourself saying, not even looking to see if Harry noticed you leave or if he was too caught up in seeing his ex.

You didn't just get air, you Ubered home, unable to handle everything rushing through you. That was when you texted Evan, who merely responded with, I'm on my way, and twenty-four hours later, he was there, along with Hayden and Andrew.

You explained to your brothers what happened briefly, doing your best to not go into detail so you wouldn't start crying uncontrollably, though you'd be surprised if you had any tears left. You mostly just felt defeated, almost as if deep down you knew the happiness wasn't meant to last.

"He's an idiot, Y/n," Andrew said, resting a hand on Buddy's head to scratch him behind the ears. Your dog had been resting by your side since you came back last night, somehow sensing your despair. "Don't let him steal your happiness."

You nodded, but only because you had nothing else to say. You knew your brother meant well, but you just didn't believe him. This was par for the course in your eyes. Of course, when you fell for someone, they chose someone else. Maybe you were destined to be on your own, maybe love was overrated.

"Do you need anything?" Evan asked you, Hayden standing next to you. You could tell that they didn't really know what to do in this situation but that they wanted to be there for you. It was sweet, but there really wasn't anything to do.

"I'm okay," you said, convincing no one. "I think I might just take a nap."

"We can take Buddy for a walk. Maybe grab some food while we're out," Evan said. "Andrew, why don't you stay here and make sure she doesn't text him."

You rolled your eyes. "I literally just said I was going to sleep—"

"On it," Andrew said, hopping up to take your phone from where it was resting on your kitchen counter and slipping it into his pocket.

It was utterly ridiculous, but you were sure that was what your brothers were going for. The four of you weren't the touchy-feely type, you never had been. But one thing your brothers could count on was their ability to make you smile, make you laugh. And that was maybe exactly what you needed.

Making good on your word, you retired to your room, but you didn't sleep a wink despite how exhausted you were. Instead, you stayed up listening to records, shared favorites of yours and Harry's, the ones you bonded over together. It was hard to imagine that after such deep connections, the number of stories shared and late nights talking over bottles of red wine. Harry meant so much to you, and it killed you to think you didn't mean as much to him.

At some point, you must've dozed off—your eyes fluttering shut to the sound of Joni Mitchell—because suddenly you were jolting awake with a start. Muffled shouts could be heard through your closed door, which could only mean one thing.

Taking a couple minutes to wake up a little more and bolster yourself for unwanted confrontation, you finally stepped out of your room. The voices grew louder as you walked down the hall—Andrew kept telling Harry to leave while Harry claimed he just wanted to talk to you. You weren't sure if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was here whether you liked it or not, and it would probably be for the best before Evan and Hayden came back or the argument happening at your front door drew unwanted attention.

"You can let him in."

Your voice was quiet, but not unsteady, which came as a surprise to you. It surprised your brother and the person who would've been your boyfriend too, their argument ceasing immediately as they looked over at you.

"Y/n," Harry breathed.

For better or for worse, he looked about as awful as you felt. There were bags under his eyes, and he was in the clothes he wore to the party last night. His tan trousers were rumpled, belt missing; his satin shirt was heavily wrinkled, the buttons mismatched in the wrong holes. His hair was a mess too, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

You didn't like seeing him like this, hated it, in fact. This wasn't supposed to be yours and Harry's story. You thought both of you had experienced the heartbreak and had found each other on the other side of it. Now you felt like you were right back where you started, and you hated it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrew said, glancing warily between you and Harry. "Hayden and Evan will be back soon—"

"It's fine, Andrew. I promise," you told him, stepping closer to the front door cautiously, worrying that getting too close would ensnare you in Harry's magnetic pull. One whiff of his cologne might send you right into his arms, where your heart still thought it was safe. "Keep them occupied for me?"

It was clear that Andrew didn't agree with you on this decision. He stood there by the door for a long while, trying to assess your mental state. But he finally relented, taking a few steps toward you to hug you tightly. "Don't be afraid to give him hell," he murmured in your ear. Then, after passing back your phone, he left, but not before glaring murderously in Harry's direction.

When you and Harry were finally alone, your apartment was silent for the first time in hours. Almost too silent. Harry just stared at you with this broken look in his eyes, and you...you couldn't dredge up the energy to start this conversation. It was clear Harry didn't either. You watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but you had no desire to help him out.

"Can we sit?" he finally asked, his voice sounding tired and raw.

Unable to handle the look in his those devastated green eyes, you looked down at where your sweatshirt engulfed your hands. "I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Sitting meant forced proximity, and you were already pushing yourself to have this conversation. This distance between you and Harry would be where you drew the line.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Okay. I—I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n."

"For what exactly?" you asked, not expecting the bitterness in your tone.

"For making it seem like we were just friends in front of her, for freezing last night. I—She'd been texting me the last few days and I've ignored her, but I didn't expect to see her."

"I know about the texts," you found yourself saying.

It was clear Harry hadn't expected that. A look of confusion passed over his face as he asked, "Wh—Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" you said, unable to hide the hurt, the betrayal.

"It was nothing, and I didn't want to bring any attention to it. I thought if I just ignored her enough, she would stop, and she did eventually stop, but then I saw her last night, and I didn't want to make her feel worse by showing her I'd moved on—"

"But you haven't," you said. "You're...protecting her. Sparing her feelings while fucking me over. I—I could've gotten over the texts. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because you hadn't responded to her. But watching you call me your friend was such a slap in the face."

"I'm sorry, I fucked up. I know I did," Harry said, tears pooling in his eyes.

You could tell he meant it. You knew he realized what he'd done was shitty, but could you move on from it?

"I believe that you're sorry," you said. At that, something like hope flickered in his face, but you snuffed it out just as quickly as it came. "But I also think you still have unresolved feelings for her. And I—I don't want to be second to you. Not in that way."

"So that's it?"

You knew Harry like the back of your hand. You knew what the little quiver of his lip meant, understood the tight clench of his fists around the hem of his shirt. You could read every line of emotion on his face, and you wondered if he could pick you apart the same way.

"You know, all this time we've bonded over our respective heartbreak as if our pain was the same," you said, more to yourself than to him. "But what I'm realizing now, what I started to realize last night, was that mine stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, of never being enough for someone. I broke up with someone because I wasn't in love with them, and that devastated me. But you...no matter how the relationship fell apart or who ended it, you loved her, and she loved you. That feeling doesn't just wash away with the evening tide."

"Y/n—"

"And that's...that's okay, you know?" you continued. "You loved her. Love her. That's not a bad thing. But—But I'm in love with you too, and I can't—I'm not going to compete with someone who already has your heart. I won't."

Tears kissed your cheeks as you blinked. Your hands shook, but your voice was clear. Harry could deny it all he wanted, but you saw the truth laid bare before you. You weren't the only person occupying space in his heart, and after everything you'd been through, you didn't want to settle for anything less than what you deserved.

"That's not true, Y/n," Harry implored. He looked a little frantic now that he knew your mind was practically made up. "I fucked up, I know that. I saw her, and I froze. It was just—"

An instinct, a gut reaction, that was what he didn't want to say. "I don't want someone's initial reaction to be to let go of my hand," you said softly, wiping away a tear with a sleeve-covered hand. "I want—"

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet. That song you'd written all those months ago, the one that held your deepest regrets and insecurities, all the little things you'd run from. You didn't want to run from it anymore. You thought you found someone to run toward, but you were wrong.

"I don't want what we have to be over, Y/n," Harry pleaded.

I don't believe you, you thought, and you couldn't be with him if you didn't trust his sincerity. "I think you need more time," you said instead of voicing what you felt.

"There's no convincing how much I feel for you, is there?" he said, sounding resigned to the fate that had come to pass.

You shook your head, your heart begging you to hold onto him and not let go, to drag him to bed and sleep until you both forgot. But you didn't do any of those things. "No. Not right now."

Harry finally bridged the gap between you and him. He kept a sliver of distance, the only contact he made being gentle fingers tilting your chin so you'd meet his eye. There was so much emotion swirling there, and you longed to kiss away all the anguish and pain until only love was left, but that wasn't in the cards. Not today, or in the days that would follow.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave again," Harry said, his gaze unrelenting. Your brow furrowed, not recalling when he made that promise, but he continued before you could ask. "Not in the ways that count anyway, but I intend to keep that promise, Y/n. If you want space, I'll give it to you, but don't think for one second that I won't spend every single moment we're apart wishing we were together. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."

It was a surprise your body didn't turn to jello on the spot, that Harry couldn't hear the steady thump of your heart as it beat wildly in your chest. He said all the right things, every perfect word, but right now, that was all they were. And you didn't have it in you to believe him.

"I'm sorry that I did this to us, to you," he said. "I'll never not be sorry. "

Harry stood there, his fingers gingerly holding your chin, for a few moments longer. It was as if he was imploring you to read the message in his eyes, to understand everything he wasn't saying, but you just didn't have the energy.

When he finally left, one last promise that wasn't giving up on you and him yet on his lips before the door clicked shut, all the warmth in your body went with him. You briefly thought of all the times you clung to him to warm up, slipping his hands beneath his shirts and sweaters and nuzzling your face in his neck.

That last touch of Harry's fingers to your chin wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and now he was gone. The person you fell in love with, who knew you better than anyone else in the world, walked out the door, head held high as if this wouldn't be the last time you'd be standing so close.

You weren't convinced. Not when all your mind wanted to replay was his hand dropping yours, his dismissal of your relationship, and his disregard for your feelings to protect those of his ex.

*.*

You didn't see Harry in the weeks that followed, but you weren't sure if that had more to do with him working on his album. Sylvia kept you semi-updated, even though you insisted you were fine with not knowing what he was up to. It was a lie, of course, and she saw right through it, letting you know when Harry was gone for music video shoots, recording and producing music, album cover shoots, and meetings with his label.

Part of you was grateful he wasn't around because it made keeping your distance easier. After everything that happened, you convinced yourself Harry didn't know what he wanted, even if he claimed he was. The proof had been right in front of you, though, clear as day. There were unresolved feelings lingering in the corners of Harry's heart and mind, and he needed to deal with them or get back together with his ex, but you wanted no part of it.

That wasn't to say Harry wasn't on your mind. He was there constantly, taking up space and making you lose focus while writing or walking your dog. You'd never been in love before, and now that everything had imploded, you didn't know how to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

Blinking, you looked up to where Mitch stared at you, an acoustic guitar in his lap. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet with him for a writing session. You hadn't written much since everything fell apart, save the occasional depressing poem, but when Mitch reached out, you figured it was as good a time as any to get back to work and start writing again.

In theory, it was a good idea, but your heart just wasn't in it. It was thousands of miles away shooting a music video.

"Sorry, I thought this would be a good idea, but my head is just all over the place," you said, closing your notebook that only had a few disconnected lines written down.

"I'm sorry about everything," Mitch said. "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but he really does care about you. Like a lot."

"I know," you said dejectedly. "But he...he still loves her, I think. Or cares for her more than he lets on. Maybe even more than he realizes."

That night, you realized you had a losing hand. You didn't want to run like you'd done with Gavin, but you didn't want to fight either. You just felt...defeated, as if the fickle promise of love had bested you again.

"I can promise you he doesn't, but I know that's between you and him," Mitch said. Nodding to the journal in your lap, he asked, "Can I see?"

Shrugging, you handed it over. At this point, Mitch had learned a lot about you by being your writing partner, so you didn't mind him flipping through it. And honestly, there wasn't much to show anyway. A couple of measly lines did not a song make.

Mitch was quiet as he looked over the few things you'd written down, his expression gloriously passive as always. Since you started writing together, you'd struggled to read his expressions, not knowing what he thought until he voiced his opinion.

"Well, shit, kid," Mitch murmured on an exhale.

"What?"

Mitch looked up, one brow raised. Then, he began to read lines from your journal. "You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes...My hand's a risk I fold...Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never—"

"Hey wait a minute, that's not from today," you said, reaching for your journal. Mitch managed to land on one of your poems from a few days ago. That definitely wasn't meant to be part of today's writing session. "Give that back."

"This is good, Y/n. There's a song in here," Mitch insisted.

"Oh please. That's a terribly depressing poem fueled by a bottle of wine."

He pinned you with a stare, but you ignored it, and he eventually let it go. You didn't stay in the studio much longer after that, realizing that not much was going to come out of this session. And Mitch had to leave too, having to catch a redeye to London. "We're finishing up the album there," he explained.

It dawned on you then that you would be alone again. After becoming so used to having a partner of some kind while writing, too. It shouldn't have affected you so much, but it did. Somehow you'd grown to appreciate company while you were writing, and now your two favorite writing partners were leaving. They were the only two you'd ever had, but as history had shown, you weren't a huge fan of change.

You'd grown comfortable, but now the ground was shaking and crumbling beneath you. Though perhaps that should've been the familiar feeling.

"Can I keep the song?" Mitch asked on your way out of the studio. "I have an idea."

This time, you could read what was on your friend's face. And you could sense it, somehow. He wanted to show it to Harry. For the album, or because Mitch felt Harry needed to read the words. At this point, you were emotionally drained, and you weren't going to be there when Harry read your little poem, anyway. What did it matter?

"That's fine," you said, tearing the page out of your journal. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We can still collaborate over the phone or voice notes or whatever."

You thought that was where you and Mitch would leave things, but then he asked, "Do you think you'll ever write with him again?"

Harry was so much more than the person you were in love with. He was your friend, your first ever writing partner, someone you'd confided in. But he was also the person who made you feel betrayal and heartache. You didn't know how to reconcile those two people.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I hope so."

*.*

There wasn't a single moment where Harry didn't think of Y/n while they were apart. He'd done what she'd asked of him, gave them the space to heal and settle. Harry understood where she was coming from, and he knew that he'd hurt her more than he ever imagined he would.

Everything fell apart so completely, too quickly for him to even pick up the pieces.

He knew he should've told her about the texts the minute he received them, and he couldn't really pinpoint why he didn't. It was in no way to hurt Y/n, or to protect his ex; honestly, he should've just deleted them as they came, but he didn't, and things only went downhill from there.

Harry didn't want space, he knew what he wanted, who he wanted. But he also knew that what he'd done, how he behaved, gave Y/n every right to push him away and not trust him. All he knew was that he'd never regretted anything more than seeing the devastated look on her face when they ran into his ex.

He couldn't take back what he'd done, all he could do was try to make things right the second Y/n gave him the opportunity. Thankfully, recording and producing his second album kept him busy enough to give her the space she'd asked for. Had he liked being so far away from her, both physically and emotionally? No. Hell no, but he just put everything he was feeling into his music, let it fuel him as he and his team found the sound he was going for with this project.

It wasn't until weeks after they'd ended things that he heard from Y/n. Really, Mitch had passed a folded up piece of paper with song lyrics on it and said it was Y/n's, but Harry was so desperate to get something from her that he'd counted it. "I have an idea for it. I just need you to finish it," Mitch had said.

"Finish it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the paper.

To him it looked like a poem, but Mitch seemed to be convinced it was a song. He read over it briefly, then again, and again and again until he was standing in front of his friend for an awkward amount of time.

"She's speaking to you in this," Mitch explained. "It could be a kind of conversation."

The idea had perplexed him, and at first, Harry had said no. It wasn't until the next evening when he was alone in his flat that he considered the folded piece of paper. He thought about all the songs he'd written with Y/n, the thoughts and feelings they'd shared with each and every lyric and melody. This wasn't the same, not even close. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted to relive the moments where Y/n would sit with her guitar, her journal and his in his lap as they compared notes and ideas.

But this would have to do for now.

He didn't try to get in Y/n's head, to try to understand what she might've been feeling at the time she wrote the poem, though he had a pretty good idea. Harry merely did what Mitch suggested and responded to the lines already written down, adding them in where he saw fit.

"Put a price on...emotion, I'm looking for...something to buy," he murmured, quickly scribbling the words down before he forgot them. "I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

Writing this song gave Harry the opportunity to finally let go. Through it he was able to admit that he had been clinging to a crisp trepidation, a fear of giving all of himself over to Y/n with abandon. For a number of reasons—that things with Y/n would end up in flames like all his other relationships (check), that he didn't even know what love looked like anymore after so many failed attempts at finding it, that he wasn't good enough to be someone Y/n deserved, , that he was going to lose her forever if he didn't pull himself together enough for her.

By the time Harry was done, he felt dejected. The finished song was sad, too sad. It was about heartache and fear, it sounded finite. And that wasn't what he wanted his story with Y/n to be.

We'll be fine, he wrote before quickly crossing it our. Fine. Fine. Finefinefinefinefine—

"We'll be a fine line," Harry finally murmured.

He spent the rest of the night figuring out arrangements and melodies, all of it coming together in his head almost faster than he could write it all down. The album was pretty much in the final stretch. At this point, he and his team were finishing up recordings and working on the promotional aspects of the release, but he knew it down to every atom of his being that this song had to be on the album. It was the culmination of everything he'd experienced and felt, every emotion he'd embraced and shied away from. All of it crashed into each other in a blaze of horns and strings.

And maybe when he finally finished working through the main melody on his guitar, something soft and melancholic, yet soothing and hopeful, he should've gone right to sleep. He honestly should've been exhausted after the emotional whirlwind he'd been wrapped up in. Yet he somehow had his phone in his hands, his thumb hovering over a contact before he eventually hit the call button.

"Harry? What—Isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

Harry couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he heard Y/n's voice. He'd missed her so much it physically hurt sometimes. Part of him thought she wouldn't answer his call, but when she did, his entire body sagged with relief.

"I miss you," he said, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you, and you probably were just being nice by suggesting the whole space thing when you really want nothing to do with me ever again—"

"Harry," Y/n said, her voice gently but firm. "Slow down, love."

Harry could've cried at the softness in her tone let alone the term of endearment. All he'd wanted for the last few weeks was to just hear her voice, her his name on her lips in a way that didn't sound hurt or disappointed.

"You were right," he told her. "I—I was holding back from you, and that wasn't fair to either of us, but especially to you. Y/n, I—I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered. "I think...I think I just wanted you to want me as much as I did."

"I do," Harry promised. "I know I haven't given you much to believe me, but Y/n the way I feel about you is so different than I've ever felt about anyone, and I think part of me was scared of that too after such a tremendous breakup."

For a moment, Y/n was silent over the phone, her breaths filling up his ear and making him long for the moments they spent huddled up in bed together.

"I know...I know we've been here before, but do you think we could try things again?" he asked. He almost didn't want to know, believing that perhaps ignorance really was bliss. But Y/n had put herself out there so many times, had taken so many risks despite everything she'd experienced. He could be brave too.

"What if—What if we started over?" she said.

"Start over?"

"I think we need a clean slate. If you're really and truly over your ex—"

"I am. I swear, Y/n," Harry said, not wanting hope to spark to life in him just yet.

"Then we need to put all of this mess behind us and start fresh."

"I—I'd like that." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. When he called Y/n, he worried he'd come off a little crazy due to lack of sleep, but now he worried he might've fallen asleep in a songwriting craze and was now dreaming.

"I, um, I know you offered a few months ago, but if you were still looking for someone to join your band...maybe I could fill that spot?"

"You want to work for me?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but I guess technically yes," Y/n said. "I feel like you would pay a fair wage."

Harry chuckled, a satisfied sort of exhaustion taking over him now that he felt like his life was getting back on track. "I'll give you whatever you want if it means you'll join."

He just wanted her close, and if this was what a clean slate looked like to her, then he would oblige. Having her close, playing music together, being surrounded by their friends, it would be exactly what they needed to find their way back to each other.

"You should probably go to bed," Y/n said, breaking the content silence that had settled over them.

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, running a tired hand over his face. "So what have you been listening to recently?"

For a moment, he thought she would insist he get some rest. He supposed he'd be okay with it, finding peace in the fact things were finally looking up for them. But then she answered, and Harry was sure he'd never be able to wipe the smile from his face as he listened to his girl.

*.*

Months later

"Are you in love with Harry?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but you felt your cheeks redden immediately.

Sarah, who was much more quick on the draw than you would've been, smiled and said, "We all are, yeah."

You forced a soft laugh, unsure of where to direct your gaze. This whole interview had been one huge vat of chaos—and blatant misogyny—from the start, but Harry had conducted himself well so far, not balking or raising his voice once at the invasive and downright rude questions that were thrown at him. Perhaps you should've expected a question like this today, but you still struggled to keep your face neutral.

"So there's nothing going on romantically with Harry and the ladies?"

You suddenly found the keyboard in front of you incredibly interesting. What you really needed in this moment was a reassuring glance from Harry, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping your budding relationship a secret.

Attention from the public was still something you were getting used to. You'd gotten into songwriting because it was out of the public eye, but being with Harry would eventually lead you right into it. Not that you minded, you'd do whatever it took to be with him. But interviews like this one still left you feeling flustered.

"And who's back there on keys?"

Even though they were all your friends, you still felt your face flush as red as the leather skirt you wore for the interview.

"Y/n."

"That's Y/n."

"How are you doing back there, Y/n?"

"Fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a squeak.

Risking a glance at Harry, you met his gaze. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it bolstered your confidence the slightest bit. Just enough to get you through this brief conversation.

"Just fine? Does Harry make you nervous?"

"Maybe Y/n's the one who's in love with him."

"Or maybe she just wants to fuck him!"

An awkward silence fell over the room after the interviewers' comments and questions. You didn't even know what to say, or how you were expected to respond. Feeling the sympathetic stares from the rest of the band, you took a deep breath and tried not to cry, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Harry's jaw ticked, and you were pretty sure you were the only one who noticed. It was the first time he'd reacted to any of the questions asked today. And you could see it in his face that he was beyond pissed off.

This wasn't what you expected, and clearly Harry hadn't expected it either. But you also didn't want him to storm off and make a big scene. You just wanted to get through today and go home and rest with Buddy and Sweet Pea while you and Harry watched a movie together in bed. That thought kept you grounded, and you tried your hardest to convey to Harry that you were okay without saying anything.

"I, um, I met Harry in the studio in LA," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Y/n's a songwriter, but she's generously lent her fabulous keyboarding skills to us this year," Harry said.

"A songwriter?" You felt the interviewer's gaze sweep over you, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Another tick of Harry's jaw.

"Yeah. But I've enjoyed doing this too. Traveling and performing with Sarah's band," you said, a meek attempt at a joke.

"You must be getting laid a lot on the road as a proper rockstar now. You could probably get whoever you wanted. Well, maybe not Harry, but close to anyone. Are you taking advantage of being on the road with Harry? A new man every night?"

You swallowed thickly, the will not to cry hanging on by a thread. "I—I don't think my brothers be cool with—"

"Shut the fuck up, mate."

Shocked silence filled the room. Clearly, the interviewers didn't expect someone as laid back as Harry to speak up that way. A mix of relief and unease washed over you, unsure of how the rest of the interview was going to pan out now. But you couldn't say you didn't feel relieved that he'd spoken up.

"Harry, we're only—"

"You're being fucking disrespectful to the members of my band, and I'm not fucking putting up with it. Either ask me your fucking questions or let me go. My band and I aren't putting up with your bullshit."

Harry hadn't wanted to come here. He knew the reputation of the interviewer, but it had still somehow made it onto the list of interviews and appearances to promote the album. You'd watched as he grew more and more irritated with each question, but he seemed to take them in stride. But the minute they were directed at you, he'd snapped.

A brief break in the interview ensued, producers suggesting that a couple minutes to regroup would do everyone some good. When everyone was ready to record again, a stilted topic change led Harry to introduce and talk about the Peter Gabriel song they were about to play. The rest of the interview teetered between overly professional and awkward. You could tell by the tense line of Harry's shoulders that he wanted to be anywhere else.

At some point while Harry was talking, Sarah looked over at you. "You okay?" she mouthed, and you nodded subtly, giving her a tiny thumbs up from behind your keyboard setup. Everyone in the band knew about you and Harry. It was hard to hide your relationship when he was by your side whenever you weren't rehearsing a song, and like Mitch and Sarah, he was almost always facing you during rehearsals. It was sweet how he was always pulling you aside during lunch breaks and sitting beside you on the piano bench. One time, when Harry had a film crew film a performance of each song on the album, he asked if the recording of "Fine Line" could just be you and him. Both of you sat on stools with your respective guitars as you performed a stripped-back version of the song, your voice supporting Harry's with a soft harmony occasionally. It was a special moment for the two of you, especially because the song meant so much.

After that, there were no questions about what you meant to each other.

At the end of the interview, Harry was quick to leave, hardly sparing anyone a glance as he stalked out. You stayed back to break down your equipment like you normally did, your hands shaking a little as the desire to comfort Harry took over.

"Go, I got this," Mitch said, coming over to help.

"Really?"

Mitch nodded before bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You nodded. "Might have to be at my apartment, though. I don't think he'll be up for going out."

You left soon after that, walking out of the recording room where the interview had taken place. The green room was down the hall, and you entered despite the closed door. "It's me," you said quietly before entering, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry was already out of his blue sweater and green trousers, a pair of brown corduroys on as he shrugged into a yellow t-shirt. He looked up briefly, then looked back down again as he slipped a pair of Vans on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mad, upset, guilty," he said with a shrug.

"Why on earth do you feel guilty, love?"

"That never should've fucking happened," he seethed, but in Harry fashion, it just meant his voice was clipped and low as he tried to get a handle on his anger. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stood up for you."

"I...You did, H." You didn't want to say that it was okay, because obviously the whole situation wasn't, but you knew he wasn't to blame. The topic of him sticking up for you was a touchy one. "You were put in a tough position, yet you still put those assholes in their place. Let's just go home and forget about all this shit, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he still wouldn't meet your eye, which wasn't going to work for you one bit.

"Hey," you said, tilting his chin up with your fingertips. "Don't beat yourself up. Please? For me?"

For the first time since the midpoint of the interview, Harry grinned. He threaded his fingers through yours before giving you a kiss, his lips soft and familiar against yours. You felt some of the tension leave his body until he eventually pulled away and draped an arm over your shoulders, your hands still connected.

"Never fucking coming to this place again," Harry murmured on the way out, keeping you tucked closely to his side.

"Amen to that."

Harry looked down at you, the anger and frustration finally clearing from his eyes. When it came to you, to your feelings, he was very protective. And you were too, in your own way. You leaned on each other, supported each other, and spent time together without ever being sick of one another. There was no doubt in your mind that he loved you, and even though it might put him in hot water with his management or the interviewer, it meant a lot to you that he stood up for you the way he did. You didn't need him to throw punches or push people up against walls—honestly, that was what your brothers were for—but when it all boiled down, he put you and your feelings first, always and without question.

"I love you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of your hand.

"Even with my crazy brothers?"

"Even with your crazy brothers."

"Hm. Even when Buddy steals your spot on the bed?"

"Even then."

"Even in the mornings when my feet are cold and they brush up against your legs?"

When Harry didn't answer right away, you playfully pinched his side until he laughed and kissed the top of your head. "Babe, I'm gonna love you on your worst day, you know that."

And even though you did, your cheeks became rosy, your whole body tingling with warmth. "Good. Because I love you too. So much."

So much pain had been felt, so much devastation had been endured before you and Harry fell into a perfect rhythm. It wasn't easy, and if you were to look back at the girl who believed she was fucked in the head and incapable and undeserving of love and being loved, you would still think it was all worth it. You would endure it all again if it led you to this moment, if it ended up with Harry cradling your heart of glass in his hands and protecting it as if it was his own.

Hand in hand, you went home and didn't look back at the shattered glass you'd long since left behind.

[bloodbruise]

@croptopjames happy birthday to the one and only jfp <3

jegulus | 933 words | trans reg & themes of gender identity and transition

Regulus felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his daze and met James' eyes. He was wearing a knowing look, "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this," James declared, his smirk widening. "Especially if it gets this kind of reaction from you every time."

Regulus’ room was a disaster. James had finally coaxed him into sorting through his old clothes, only managing after he bribed him with promises of kisses and takeout afterwards. The closet had all but exploded, leaving piles of clothes scattered all across the room. With ‘yes’s,’ and ‘no’s,’ and ‘maybes’ occupying every available flat surface, Regulus was sure he hadn't seen the darkened wood of his floor in hours. 

Sat on his bed, he watched as James dug through his dresser for another shirt. He let out a thoughtful hum as he grabbed two, throwing one over his shoulder and holding up the other: an awful plum-colored blouse. His mother had bought it for him—form-fitting, smothered in ruffles, and, in her words, “the perfect blouse for a sophisticated young woman.” 

Regulus thought it was the ugliest fucking shirt he had ever seen.

“Ugh,” Regulus wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Absolutely not, that thing is a monstrosity.” 

James barked out a laugh, amused at the disgust evident on Regulus' face, before flinging the shirt into the rapidly growing ‘no’ pile. He grabbed at the one resting on his shoulder.

“And this one?” 

It was worn, fabric soft from years of wear. The dark green and gray had dulled, now just muted shadows of their original hues. The words printed on the front, cracked and creased, read ‘Hogwarts Women's Rowing’. It had been his favorite shirt for a long time. His parents had always been on him to join something– a club, a team, an honor society. If he was honest, he only chose rowing because it kept him out of the house the longest.

And he's so grateful he did, because it brought him Pandora. He suffered through early morning rows and long race days, soreness in his body and blisters on his hands. But every discomfort was worth it for the times he and Pandora would steal an extra hour to lie in the sun by the Great Lake, laughing until their bellies felt as sore as their arms. Worth it for the times Evan would cram them into his shitty jeep and drive them to their races so they didn't have to take the bus. Worth it, most of all, for giving him the first people with whom he could be honest—really, truly honest.

"I don't want to get rid of it," Regulus admitted, a hint of reluctance in his voice. "It was my favorite, but—I’m not ready to wear anything that might make people mistake me for a woman. Not for a while, at least.”

James nodded. He turned the shirt around, head tilting slightly as he considered it. “How about I hold onto it for you? That way it's not gone, just... repurposed.” He looked up at Regulus with a wicked grin. “I bet I could pull it off.”

Regulus couldn’t help but scoff as James began to pull on the shirt. “I’d like to see you try," he challenged, amusement evident in his voice. 

But as James stretched out his arms and did a little spin, Regulus wasn't laughing. Instead, he felt his heart swoop. A familiar mixture of fondness and arousal swirled in his gut at the sight of James. Glasses knocked a little lopsided from pulling the shirt on, pajama pants hanging low on his hips and socked feet– it was a picture that made Regulus go warm with affection. But, it was the shirt that really kept his attention. Visibly too small, the letters strained as they stretched across the width of his chest. The hem of it hitting right below his navel, exposing his hip bones and the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. Regulus felt all the breath leave his chest. “C'mere,” he said softly.

James shuffled over to him. “Good?” He asked, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

Regulus shook his head, he was in awe of James. “Better than good. It suits you much better than it ever did me,” he mumbled, voice low and distracted. Reaching out to place his hands on James' waist, he absentmindedly dragged his thumbs back and forth over his hipbones, eyes stuck to the sliver of skin peeking out from beneath the shirt. 

“My eyes are up here, love,” James gently teased, his voice laced with amusement. 

Regulus felt his cheeks heat up as he snapped out of his daze and met James' eyes. He was wearing a knowing look, "Oh, I'm definitely keeping this," James declared, his smirk widening. "Especially if it gets this kind of reaction from you every time."

“I lied,” Regulus deadpanned, “you actually look ridiculous.” But his face was betraying him, unable to fight the smile spreading across it. 

James hummed in response, the smugness in his tone unmistakable. He was clearly enjoying every moment of this.

"Oh, shut up," Regulus groaned playfully, his hands gripping the exposed skin at his waist to pull him down. James yelped in surprise before their lips were meeting in a kiss filled more with laughter than anything else. But then James was deepening it, and Regulus let himself be kissed breathless. After a moment, he gently pulled back, hand tenderly stroking through James’ hair.

"Thank you," he whispered, his hand tracing a path down James' neck, over his shoulder, and along the length of his arm until their fingers intertwined. "For being here, for—everything. Everything that you do for me."

James responded with a gentle squeeze of their hands, his eyes meeting Regulus’. "Always, love." His voice was soft but firm in promise. And there it was again, his heart swooping in his chest as James pressed a kiss to his temple. "Always."

[multi-fandomfuckboy]

Stranger Than Fiction

Part 24: Tension

Billy Hargrove x Reader (Slowburn)

Part 1,... (Masterlist)...Part 24, Part 25 (Coming Soon)...

AN: Hope you guys like this one! Word Count: 5,112 Warnings: Language, Suggestive themes, panic attacks

Friday morning you wake up with the violent urge to vomit. You move on autopilot, cooking, dressing, brushing your teeth, kissing your mom goodnight. You can’t bring yourself to eat anything, not trusting your stomach to hold it down with the way it's doing somersaults. 

It doesn't help that when you got home last night all you could think about was Billy. You had to force yourself to strip off his clothes and take a shower, hoping it would calm you down. It didn’t. Everytime you closed your eyes you saw him, how he had looked lying next to you, how he had felt under you, his body against yours, his arms around you, his smell, his taste…

Needless to say, you didn't get much sleep. But somewhere in the night your thoughts shift from Billy to the upcoming exam. You know that you’re not ready. You’ve been studying constantly but you have the sinking feeling that it’s not going to be enough. 

When Steve picks you up he’s all smiles, excited for the last day before winter break. He tells you about the ski trip he and his family take every year to Colorado, but everything he says goes in one ear and out the other. Your mind swirls as all the information Billy has crammed into your mind over the past week tries to organize itself. The twisting in your stomach only gets worse when Steve pulls into the school parking lot, you can feel the panic growing, humming in the back of your mind that just won't settle. 

“Hey, I’ve got to head to the bathroom before class, I don’t feel good.” You say, unintentionally cutting Steve off. His eyes turn to you, looking you over, his happy expression quickly shifting into one of worry. 

“Oh, okay. Are you alright?” He asks, clearly concerned. 

“I’m fine. I just need a minute.” you tell him, not even able to give him a fake smile as you quickly open your door. You climb out of the car taking a deep breath, letting the cold air penetrate your lungs, before you start towards the school. Steve follows after you, rushing to catch up. The two of you enter the school, other students rushing around you, idle chatter filling the air, only adding to your growing anxiety.

“You sure? Do you need anything? I can run to Malvald’s really quick and get you something.” He offers, gently grabbing your arm. For some reason the touch feels suffocating to you, and without thinking you rip your arm out of his grasp whipping around to face him. 

“Jesus! I’m fine Steve! I just need a minute, alone!” You snap. Steve’s eyes initially widen in surprise at your outburst but he quickly ducks his head, trying to hide the hurt you know is clearly written on his face. You immediately wish you could take it back. 

“Right. I’m- uh- I’m sorry.” Steve says, taking a slight step back, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Steve, no. I’m just-” you try to explain, taking a step towards him. He takes another step back.

“It’s okay, really. I’m going to get to class.” Steve says, taking a step around you. He gives you a small smile that looks so forced in your eyes. “I hope you feel better.” He says, before turning fully and walking away. 

You watch him retreat down the hall, you don't miss how he hangs his head rubbing at the back of his neck as he goes. You feel like such a jerk. Steve was just trying to help and you bit his head off. You groan, heading towards the gym you ignore the few pairs of eyes that follow you as you go, having seen the interaction. You didn’t mean to get upset like that, it’s just that this test feels like it’s life or death. To make matters worse you should have been spending every last second studying instead of daydreaming about Billy. 

You pace back and forth in front of the lockers between the bathrooms outside the gym, anxiously running your fingers through your hair. 

You’re going to fail this exam, and then history all together. No college is going to want you with grades like that. Then on top of all that, you just pushed away one of your only friends because you couldn’t get a grip. You feel like a psycho. The anxiety and shame mix forming a pit in your gut, all of it bubbling up inside of you causing your hands to shake. This is ridiculous! You’ve helped save the world twice, nearly dying in the process multiple times, but a history test is what threatens to send you into a spiraling panic.  

“Fuck!” You yell, a burst of anger shooting though you. Turning you slam your foot into the metal lockers, filling the empty hallway with a loud bang. It hurts your foot but you kick out again, denting the metal. 

“Whoa there, loca! Angry and destructive are my things.” Billy’s lilting voice calls from your left. You don’t respond, taking off your bag and pulling out his food for the day. He comes to a stop in front of you. “Don't tell me I’ve been a bad influence on you.” He teases, his white teeth flashing in his usual smug grin. 

You keep your eyes down, not wanting him to see the tears of frustration that threaten to blur your vision. You’ve heard his thoughts on feeling sorry for yourself and are not in the mood for another rant about how useless it is. 

When you don't respond, Billy’s smile fades. You can feel his eyes scrutinizing your every breath. 

“You okay?” he asks, the teasing tone in his voice gone.

“I’m fine.” you say, keeping your voice firm trying to even out your rapid breathing. “Just take the food, I have to get to class.” you say, holding out the containers to him, fighting to stop the shaking in your hands. 

Billy takes a step forward, reaching out to take the food. Instead of grabbing the containers he grabs your wrist tugging you towards him, causing you to stumble forward almost running into him. 

“Hey!” You protest, getting your feet under you again. Before you can say anything else Billy’s hand is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes are narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, looking over your face with such intensity you could almost confuse it with anger. But you’ve seen him angry and this is not that. 

“What’s going on? Why do you look like you’re about to be sick or burst into tears any second?” He asks. You’re surprised by the lack of judgment in his question but still you open your mouth to tell him that you’re fine. He cuts you off. “And don't give me any of that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit. We both know it’s a fucking lie so don’t even try it.” he tells you firmly.

You hate that your body's response to him looking at you like this, asking if you’re okay, demanding that you tell him if something is wrong, isn't anger. Instead more tears fill your eyes, blinking once they finally spill down your cheeks. 

Billy’s eyes widen momentarily. He lets go of your wrist and chin, using both of his hands to hold your face, wiping the tears from your cheeks. 

“I’m going to fail history!” You blurt out, pulling his hands away from you and taking a step back, wiping furiously at your face. 

“Is that what this is about?” Billy asks, disbelievingly. He shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“I’m serious Billy!” you groan, glaring at him. “I’m going to fail history because my brain is fucking broken or something!” 

“Hey! Listen to me crazy, you’re not going to fail.” Billy says firmly, stepping towards you again, placing both of his hands on your shoulders. He keeps his eyes leveled on you, his voice steady. “You’ve got this. Do you really think I would have put as much time and effort into teaching you if I thought you couldn’t nail this thing?” he asks, lifting a brow. “You’re cooking may be good but I value my time more than anything.” he tells you seriously. You keep your eyes on him, searching his face for the lie.

“You’re going to pass.” he says with such conviction, you almost believe him. “But you can’t do anything until you calm down.” He tells you, his hands tightening slightly on your shoulders. “Take a deep breath, count to ten, and keep telling yourself ‘I’ve got this’. Okay?” he instructs. “Confidence is 90% mental. Let me see you do it.” You know his eyes are on you even as you close your eyes, filling your lungs with air, counting silently in your mind repeating the affirmation. 

“Do it again.” he orders. You repeat the process, slowly feeling your pulse regulate and the panic slither back from your mind. You hear Billy chuckle. 

“Good. I think oxygen is finally getting to your brain.” Billy says, causing you to open your eyes and immediately roll them. But part of you thinks he must be right, you are still nervous but the paralyzing fear you felt is nearly gone. You wonder where he learned that. If he has ever had to use it himself?

“Thank you, Billy.” You say, hoping he can see how much you mean it. 

“Don’t thank me yet, loca. You can do that after you ace this test.” he says, another smirk flashing his perfect teeth. Letting go of your shoulders with one more reassuring squeeze he takes the containers of food from your hands. Without another word, the warning bell rings, both of you head to your respective classes. 

The rest of the day you continue to repeat Billy’s calming routine whenever you start to feel your panic rising up. You practice all through lunch while you study, unable to find Steve who must still be upset about this morning. You know you will have to see him after basketball practice, there is no way he is going to leave you without a ride home. 

You are actively counting to ten as you walk towards history. You don’t notice Billy fall into step beside you only glancing at him when you feel his hand slip into yours. It’s subtle and in the bustling hallway it would look like he simply brushed against you. Neither of you stop walking as he leans in slightly.

“You’ve got this.” he says firmly, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it fall, both of you entering the class. 

During the exam you focus on remembering all the stories Billy told you. All the long nights of putting the pieces into a cohesive plot. You recognize a lot of the material even though there are a few questions that stump you. You have to take a few deep breaths when your classmates begin to rise one at a time as they finish. You're not even halfway done as they set their completed tests on Mr. Willson’s desk, exiting the classroom. Billy is among the first to leave. You watch him confidently swagger to the front setting his test down. His eyes meet yours as he walks to the door, he gives you a nod and a quick wink before exiting. 

You don’t finish until the last minute of class, reading and rereading every question checking your answers. It’s only you left in the classroom as you rise taking a deep breath walking to the front. Mr. Willson watches you, one brow raised as you place your test in front of him. 

“Grades will be posted by the end of the day.” he says stoically, taking your test and placing it on the large stack to his right. You exit quickly, the urge to snatch your test back just to check one more thing is overwhelming. 

Slinging your bag over your shoulder you exit into the busy hallway. You notice the palpable energy that fills the air, everyone excited for the last class before winter break officially starts. 

You spot Billy leaning against the lockers ahead of you, casually scanning the hallway with his practiced indifference. You wonder if he’s been waiting all this time for you. You start towards him, hoping to talk about the questions on the test you weren't sure about. His eyes meet yours but before you can reach him someone steps directly into your path. You stop short, nearly running directly into Steve’s chest. 

“Hey.” he greets you, a hesitant smile already in place. 

“Hey.” you respond, taking a small step back. You aren't sure how to act after what happened this morning. You want to apologize but the words are escaping you. There is a pause as both of you look at eachother, students hurry past, breaking around you like a rock in a stream. 

“About this morning, I-”

“I’m sorry about this mo-” you both say at the same time. It manages to break the tension, causing both of you to chuckle. It lightens your heart seeing a more genuine smile on his face. 

“Sorry, you go first.” Steve says, gesturing for you to continue.

“I wanted to say that I’m sorry for what happened this morning. I know that you were just trying to help.” You say, keeping your eyes on him despite the urge to look at your shoes. You have lost friends by not saying what needs to be said, and you would be damned if you let it happen again. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that.” you say earnestly. Steve shakes his head at your words. 

“No, I’m sorry too. I know I can be a bit much sometimes. I didn’t mean to smother you or anything. I just want you to know if you ever need space I’m cool with that, I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything.” He apologies, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You smile slightly, feeling all the tension between the two of you dissipate. 

“Apology accepted.” you say extending your hand. “Friends?” you ask, lifting a brow. Steve glances at your offered hand, his smile growing. 

“Friends.” Steve confirms, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. You both smile at each other and despite the crowded hallway you let him pull you into a tight hug. He squeezes you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment causing you to laugh. “Does this mean you’ll go to the Christmas party with me tonight?” he asks, smiling brightly down at you. You scoff, pushing him away to look squarely up at him. 

“Really Steve?” you ask, lifting a brow. You had told him ‘no’ weeks ago when he first invited you to the big party taking place at Bobby Mathers house. “Are you seriously using my apology as leverage to get me to go with you?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve laughs, holding his hands up.

“I would never do something like that.” he protests, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s just, everyone is going to be there.” he tells you, his smile no longer reaching his eyes. You know he’s been self conscious about going to parties like this since everything with Nancy and Jonathan happened. Especially when it became public knowledge in the small highschool. “Don’t make me go alone.” he begs, giving you his best puppy eyes. 

Damn those brown eyes.

“Maybe.” you say. Steve’s grins ear to ear pumping his fist in the air in victory. 

“Yes!” He cheers.

“I didn’t say ‘yes’, Steve!” you say, shaking your head, reluctantly smiling as he backs away from you still grinning brightly. 

“I’ll pick you up at 8!” He calls, pointing at you before turning to jog down the hall. It’s less crowded now and you look around for Billy. He’s gone. 

The rest of the day passes quickly, hardly anyone paying attention to the last class of the day. When the final bell rings you can hear the cheers erupt around you, everyone rushing from their seats to the parking lot. You take your time packing your bag, instead of heading to the library to meet Nancy you head back to Mr. Willson’s room. You can’t leave until you know, for better or worse. 

When you reach his room, the door is open and you can see him seated at his desk, working through another stack of tests. You knock gently on his door, causing him to look up. He doesn't look surprised to see you standing there, setting down his pen as he watches you enter the room.  

“I thought you would be back for this.” He says, picking up one of the exams set aside. You hear him sigh as he looks over the front of the test. “I can tell you put a lot of effort into this.” he says, rising from his chair. Your stomach twists at his words. He looks so serious. Fuck. You failed. You knew it. You failed and he feels bad for you. You hold your breath as he extends the test out to you. Taking it, you slowly turn it over.

Your heart stops.

“Keep up whatever you’ve been doing and you might actually pass my class.” he says, a small smile almost imperceptible on his face. You could scream. You can't believe what you’re seeing, but right there, next to your name, in green ink, is a big ‘B-’.

You fucking did it.

Your grin is so big it actually hurts your face. 

“Thank you!” you exclaim, beaming up at him. You have to find Billy. Turning to leave you practically run for the door. 

“Hey! I still need that!” Mr. Willson yells. You stop, quickly rushing back to hand him the test before hurrying out. 

You’re absolutely buzzing with excitement. You rush through the halls, heading towards the gym. You feel the need to tell someone, anyone, about the test but there is one person in particular you want to share the news with. Reaching the gym you skid to a halt outside the double doors. Looking through the glass you see the basketball team scattered across the court getting warmed up for practice. You spot Billy’s curly blonde mullet almost instantly. You go to push through the doors but stop, seeing Steve stretching on the side of the court. 

If you go in there now to talk to Billy, Steve will freak out and knowing the two of them it will likely end in a fight. Your eyes turn back to Billy, he bends a knee tying his sneakers. Seeming to feel your gaze, he glances up. He looks somewhat surprised to see you standing there, his brows pulling together in confusion a beat later. 

You glance at Steve to make sure he hasn’t seen you at the doors before quickly gesturing for Billy to come outside. He nods once, confirming that he understands. He stands, saying something to one of his teammates before jogging across the gym towards you. 

You duck out of view moving to stand next to the bathrooms where you and Billy normally meet in the mornings. A minute later Billy exits the gym doors, he glances around a moment before spotting you and heading over. 

“Hey, what’s up?” He asks, looking you over, clearly confused by your presence. You’re practically bouncing with excitement, struggling to contain your smile. 

“I went by Mr. Willsons to see my grade, and guess what?” You prompt, biting your lower lip, losing the fight to keep your grin hidden. Billy’s expression loosens, rolling his eyes.

“You finally caught him shedding his lizard skin?” Billy asks, a small smile ghosting over his lips. The excitement bubbles over and you laugh.

“I passed!” You exclaim, your smile overtaking your face, impossible to hold back. Billy’s smile grows as he watches you bounce on the balls of your feet, the energy inside you needing a way out. “I mean I got a B minus but still!” you elaborate.

“You say that like it’s a surprise, loca.” Billy says. “Not to be that guy but, I told you so.” He teases. You laugh again, shoving his shoulder lightly. He catches your hand as you pull back, holding it in his. 

“One B minus doesn't mean you’re off the hook you nutjob.” He says. “You still have to pass the class and that means passing every other quiz and test before the end of the school year.” He reminds you. You nod, only letting that dampen your mood slightly. “There were a few things on this exam we didn’t get to cover, so tonight we’ll-” Your smile falters, causing him to stop short. “What?” He asks. 

“I won’t be able to come over tonight.” you tell him. It’s subtle but you see his smile fade, though he hides his feelings well. “Steve is dragging me to this party and-” The sound of voices approaching the gym doors cuts you off. More specifically, the sound of Steve’s voice.

Without thinking you grip Billy’s hand and pull him into the bathroom to hide. You hear a group come through the gym doors a moment later. You look around for a place to hide hearing the conversation grow closer. 

“Where the fuck is he?” 

“I don't know, he said he would be right back.” 

“Check to see if he’s taking a piss.” 

“I’ll go check the bathroom, you guys look around.” 

You mentally curse yourself. Of course they were just coming to get Billy. Why did you drag him in here with you? You turn to tell Billy to go but he drags you forward, ushering you into a bathroom stall.

“Stand on the toilet seat.” He orders. You do as he says, stepping up onto the toilet, bracing your hands against the wall for support. Billy stands in front of you, his hands hovering near your waist in case you fall. 

He doesn't look at you though. He keeps his gaze narrowed at the ground, his lips pressed into a firm line. The tension in his shoulders is obvious and from where you are positioned above him, you see the muscle in his jaw flutter as he clenches his teeth together. 

He’s pissed.

Looking at this objectively, you see why. You’ve just made it clear that you don't want to be seen close to him. And it’s glaringly obvious that you are hiding your connection with Billy from Steve. Your face burns. He knows you're hiding him. You try to tell yourself it’s for the best but part of you still wants to apologize. 

The bathroom door swings open, banging against the wall.

“Hargrove, are you in here?” you recognize Steve’s voice. You see the muscle in Billy’s jaw tick again before he responds.

“Fuck off Harrington!” He bites back. You hear Steve scoff, his sneakers squeaking as he walks further into the bathroom. 

“Trust me, I wish I could. But coach has us running plays and apparently you need to be there.” Steve explains, the irritation in his tone clear. Your pulse quickens as Steve’s sneakers come into view under the stall door. 

“Fuck.” Billy curses under his breath, shaking his head. You couldn’t have said it better yourself. When Billy doesn't respond after a moment, Steve only grows more irritated. 

“I swear to god if you're taking a shit! Hurry up!” Steve yells, pounding his fist on the stall door. The sudden sound makes you jump, your foot slipping from where you’re perched on the toilet seat, sending you careening towards the floor. Your arms flail out, banging loudly against the stall, as you try to catch yourself. 

Billy rushes forward, wrapping his arms around you to stop you from crashing to the floor. Your sudden weight threatens to take him down as well forcing him to pivot, pinning your body against the stall wall with his to keep you both upright. Your head collides with the metal, a pained sound escaping you, cut off by Billy's palm over your mouth. You inhale deeply through your nose, the throbbing in your head matching up with the pounding of your heart. 

“Jesus christ, Do you have someone else in there?” Steve yells pounding on the door again. Billy’s eyes meet yours. You can barely breathe with how his body has you pressed into the wall. Your legs are loosely wrapped around his waist, keeping your feet off the floor. The hand that's not covering your mouth is wrapped around your waist helping hold you upright. Your hands automatically clutch Billy’s shoulders, and from this position you are eye level with him. 

His eyes search yours for a moment then you see something click. He leans in, whispering in your ear, low enough that Steve can’t hear.

“Moan. Loud. Make it sound real.” He orders. Your eyes widen at the implication of his plan. You shake your head against his hand, your mind racing to come up with a different plan. You’ve never even kissed a boy! You don’t know how to moan like that, there is no way you can believably imitate-

Billy moves his hand from your mouth, sliding it over to gently cup the side of your face. You shake your head again, mouthing ‘I can’t, I don’t know how.” Hoping he understands.

He grits his teeth again, his eyes falling to your neck, you see his gaze darken. Before you can protest, Billy lowers his head, pressing his mouth to your throat. 

You can’t help the gasp of surprise at the sudden sensation. His mouth is open as he kisses down your neck. Your grip tightens on his shoulders as his tongue presses over your thundering pulse.

This is so different from the small kisses you gave him last night. This feels so much more intense, his touch spreading fire over your skin making your breaths come in short gasps. It’s like he’s going to devour you, and you want him to. You tilt your head into the hand that holds the side of your face. You feel his fingers slide into your hair, pulling it slightly, earning another gasp

Your body feels like it's vibrating, heat pulsing through your veins. His body presses you harder into the wall, his arm tightening around your waist as if he could pull you closer than you already are. When his mouth moves lower Billy sinks his teeth gently into the sensitive flesh of your neck. It’s all too much. Then using his tongue and teeth he pulls a bit of skin into his mouth sucking on it hard enough that it stings but in a way that makes your brain go fuzzy. A moan erupts from deep within your chest, your hands flying to his hair, either to pull him away or keep him there, you’re not sure. 

“Jesus christ.” you hear Steve grumble. You had almost forgotten what a precarious situation you’re in. To be fair, you can barely form a coherent thought as Billy finally pulls his lips off of you. 

“You going to stick around and listen to the finale, Stevie boy?! I didn’t think you were into that!” Billy taunts, sounding slightly out of breath.

“Alright, whatever! Just… hurry up!” Steve says, finally taking a step away. You listen as he quickly exits the bathroom. 

When he’s gone, the only sounds in the room are yours and Billy’s ragged breathing. His eyes search your face, his expression filled with something you can't quite place, but it stirs something deep in your gut.

What just happened?

His gaze flickers to your parted lips, the hand in your hair sliding down to hold the side of your neck. His tumb glides over the portion of your neck he had bitten into, you can feel him smear the remnants of his saliva as he moves over the spot, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Then he blinks a few times, rapidly, like he's just waking up. He takes a step back, his hands moving to your waist to steady you as your feet lower back to the ground. You keep your hands on his shoulders, not trusting your legs to hold you up with how they currently feel like jello. The darkness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something eerily close to fear as he scans your face. You know that you must be blushing like crazy but that’s the least of your worries given the circumstances. 

“That's all I could think of. Sex tends to make people uncomfortable enough to leave you the fuck alone, so I thought-” Billy explains.

“No, no. It was a good idea.” You say, finally finding your voice again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t fake it, I’ve just never-” You stop yourself from saying more. You feel his hands flex slightly where they hold your waist. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his eyes still searching your face closely. You note how tense he seems, concern still clear in his eyes. You get the sickening sense that he’s getting ready for you to snap at him.

How could you possibly be upset? You did the same thing to him not 24 hours ago, and the only reason he had to do that was because you dragged him in here because you were worried about what Steve would think. If anyone should be upset, it’s him. All you can really think about is the way his mouth felt against you and his teeth-

“I’m… good.” You lie. Every instinct inside you is screaming at you to press him against the wall and find out what else his mouth can do. You shake your head, like that will clear the thoughts from filling your mind. You lower your hands from his shoulders, resting them on his forearms, his hands still on your waist. 

His eyes bore into yours, still searching, still waiting. After a moment he must see what he needs because he nods. 

“Alright, I’ll go out first and make sure your guard dog is gone, then wait 5 minutes to be sure the coast is clear before you come out.” He tells you. You only nod. 

Then, like he has to force himself, Billy pulls his hands away from you, yours falling away from him as well. He turns to the door, opening it slightly and peering out to make sure it’s empty before quickly ducking out of the stall. Leaving you alone with your racing thoughts. 

What just happened?

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this one! Let me know what you thought of it, it's kind of new for me to write intimacy like this so please let me know what you think! Leave a like or a comment and you'll hear form me soon!

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[itjazzbicch]

Not Jealous

Pairing:  Hwoarang x Fem Reader 

First time writing for Hwoarang, so I hope I did well! 

Summary: It's supposed to be a friends' night at the club, but when the reader accidentally bumps into someone whom her best friend, Hwoarang, doesn't like, Hwoarang realizes something within himself that leads to the two connecting in a new way after the reader calls him out for acting jealous...

Warnings:  SMUT! (18+ ONLY! MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI! YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!) Some drinking, foreplay, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya tap it!) Public sex (in a closet) (Also, the 'guy at the bar' is totally not Jin 😂)

Word Count: 1.5k 

"Hey, I'm going to grab another drink. Want anything?"

"Yeah, my usual!" Hwoarang spat out, too busy laughing with the rest of his friends

He would always get the same drink, and I knew what I wanted, having to cram against the crowded bar. It was so loud that I had to lean over the bar top and yell my order to the bartender, accidentally bumping someone.

"Oh goodness, I'm sorry!" I hurried to apologize, finding a black-haired man in a biker jacket next to me, his eyes peeking through his bangs:

"It's crowded. Don't worry about it."

"Very crowded," I chuckled nervously, getting my drinks and smiling before I left, "You have a good one!"

"You too," He smiled back softly, waving as I left.

Returning to all my friends, they were still lively except for Hwoarang, who was staring at something with a scowl on his face as I held out his drink:

"Your usual."

He was hyper-focused on whatever he was staring at, leaning to get in his face and tease, "Want me to drink it instead?"

"Thanks," Finally taking his drink, he was still staring out to the crowd of people, so I asked as I sat next to him:

"What's your deal? What are you staring at?"

He ignored me, and more questions flooded my mind when I sat, and his arm went around my shoulders; trying to look in the same direction, I saw that guy that I bumped into at the bar, his eyes locked with Hwoarang's.

That's when it clicked in my head, nearly spilling my drink as I started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Hwoarang was confused by my laughter, and I kept things straightforward:

"Are you jealous because I talked to that guy at the bar?"

How his cheeks turned red with a sour look had me rolling, jumping at his hand falling and pinching my side, mumbling under his breath:

"Jealously is when you're upset about something you don't have. So, no. I'm not jealous."

Good thing I had my drink, taking a big sip for some liquid courage before asking:

"Oh, so you think you have me?"

Gazing past the orange strand of hair against his nose, we've never stared at each other so deeply, glancing at that guy still at the bar and then back to Hwoarang:

"Don't like the way he smiled at me or something?"

"I don't like that guy," That was obvious, glaring at him once more before turning back to me with a cocky smirk, hand latched to my hip and pulling me closer, "And yeah, I'm pretty sure I have you."

Why did I feel so hot suddenly? I didn't even realize how heavy my breaths were as he just smirked at me, beginning to lean closer, but both of us stopped as our friends made their presence known and teased:

"Geez! Get a room!"

So much embarrassment overtook me; a part of me wanted to kick their asses for ruining that moment for me. Hwoarang was about to kiss me, and that's what they do?!

"I'm gonna run to the restroom," I said quickly, standing and speedwalking off, but Hwoarang was right behind me. I heard him yell at our friends before speaking to me:

"Wait a second!"

I made it to the restroom area first, seeing a closet in the hall. Opening it quickly, there was just some cleaning supplies on some shelves against the back wall, keeping it open a little as Hwoarang came around, groaning:

"You're seriously running off because they said that?"

"No, they told us to get a room," Grabbing his hand, he knew what I was planning, stepping into the closet and shutting the door, "So, I got us one. Kind of."

"Haha!" He laughed at me, standing against the door, "You having an idea like this?"

"You're the one who was going to kiss me. What did you expect?" I shot back, his silence worrying me, "What? Were you only going to do it to show-boat for that du-"

I was rattled by the goosebumps that covered me, already gone into bliss as his lips smacked into mine, my back hitting the wall, snapping me back into reality, his voice low and deep as he found my eyes in the darkness:

"That guy only made me realize something. That's all."

I couldn't stand the seriousness anymore; all the actions that led us here had an obvious meaning, and a nightclub closet wasn't the place where I'd like to spill my heart out, so I grabbed him by the jacket, kissing him and playing around:

"Give me something good in here, and I just might take you home."

"Good one," He chuckled, pressing his lips hard, the metal clanking of his belt making me look down, his alluring whisper having me melt against the wall, "When I'm done, you'll be begging me to come home with you."

Squeezing the back of my thighs and rubbing his way up my shirt, I instinctively bit his lip the second his hands cupped my ass, squeezing then spreading apart for a finger to slide against my panties and feel their dampness.

"I think it's time to ditch these," He toyed, pulling at my panties. As soon as I wiggled out of them, I was moaning against his chest at the way his finger slid through my folds, finding my clit; my head quickly fixed upward against the wall as he kissed and nibbled at my neck, pumping his finger into me, "That's better."

"Hwoarang-" Biting my lip, I looked at the light peaking under the door, knowing that there was a chance we could get caught and in terrible trouble.

"You like that, yeah?" His arrogance went through the roof from the second I started moaning, adding another finger and pumping faster, burying every knuckle and wiggling to hit my sweet spot.

"Yeah!" I moaned louder, trying to get my point across as I found his waistband, feeling something hard and warm, looking to see his leather pants were already undone, his cock pressed against his briefs hard, desperate for escape, "If we're gonna do this, we'll have to be quick."

"Turn around," He knew I was right, tapping my ass as did as I was told, one hand pushing my skirt up to my hips, feeling the warmth of the other between us, hearing his leaking thoughts come out in whispers, "Knew this skirt would look a lot better like that."

"You were checking me out before?" Turning my head to smirk, my jaw dropped, a high-pitched gasp flying out, "Oh my gosh!"

"Oh my gosh, is right," Even with my eyes shut tight, I knew that his cocky smirk was fixed on me, stuffing my soaked cunt with his cock in just a single thrust, pulling back just a little and the flesh of my ass and thighs rippled when his hips smacked against me, "Can barely take me."

"Hwoa-" Pressing my hands against the wall as hard as I could, it was hard to fight gravity, back arching and perking myself toward him as he went faster and turned me into a sloppy mess, forehead sweating against the wall too, "Shit!"

My upper body started to dip lower and lower, hearing him groan pleasurably once I was at a certain angle, spanking me and smiling:

"There you go; take this cock, baby."

Standing was becoming a real challenge, trying to focus on all the good tingles I felt, how quickly the tip of his cock was hitting every right spot, but looking as there seemed to be a lot of commotion outside the door.

He noticed too, an arm wrapping around my chest to hold me upright, his free hand finding my clit, ruthlessly rubbing, and it sent me into a frenzy, squirming and my walls squeezing his cock hard as I squealed:

"Hwoarang!"

"I know you're gonna cum," He whispered in my ear, covering my mouth and ramming his cock faster, "As soon as we slip out of here, we'll leave, okay? Together."

I only nodded, eyes rolling back as screams muffled into his hand from how he was deep fucking me, panting hard into his hand, my heart beating in my head and seeing stars, but hearing his whispers echoed into the bass of the music outside the door:

"Oh yeah, baby. Definitely taking you home for round two."

His thrusts slowed but were still deep, needing to feel how hard I came around his cock, drenched and my legs shaking with an ache in my knees, finally getting the air I needed as he pulled back and moved his hand from my mouth.

"I n-need a second, Hwoa-" I breathed in deep, resting against the wall as I fixed my skirt, smiling at his hands rubbing my back, giving me the moment I needed, ready to sneak out, but doubling checking as I cocked my eyebrow at him and recalled, "So, we really going home for round two?"

"Hell yeah," He smirked and winked, "I still haven't gotten my fix. You're in for it." 

2023 © itjazzbicch — do not repost or translate my work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome 

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 2

“A party?” You give Ace your most suspicious look yet. Full-blown ‘Red is sus, vote him out’ energy.

“I will break this down for you in words of one syllable.” He even claps the words. “You. HAVE. TO. GET. US. IN.”

“Are you sure it’s not another weird insta rumor?”

Ace shakes his head fervently. “Nuh uh. Cater’s info is always good.”

Azul hasn’t mentioned a party. He isn’t the type to enjoy them as a guest, except the usual birthday things, since it’s the one day a year he gets whatever he wants without the hassle of making people work for it. During most parties at the Lounge, he waits in his office for the twins to shuffle prospective clients in and out during the cover of chaos.

Although, as usual, you are the exception to his rule.

“I guess I’ll ask.”

Deuce arrives as he usually does, skidding sideways into the booth like a one-man showing of Tokyo Drift. “Yooo,” he says as if he didn’t just crash into Ace, “are you guys ready for the test?”

“What, the one about octopuses?” Except Ace’s mouth is full of loaded nachos, so it comes out more like ‘offtofufef’ with a whiff of sour cream.

“God, I hate that word,” you add with a disappointed shake of your head. “What’s so wrong with ‘octopi?’ Or ‘octopods.’”

Deuce grabs the chocolate malt you always have waiting for him. “I thought it was octo-podes, like, toads.”

“As in, octopo-DEEZ NU-”

“Close, my guy.” Epel takes a handful of nachos. “It’s actually a Greek word, so it’s pronounced ‘oc-top-o-dees.’”

By the grace of god, Deuce manages to elbow Ace in the ribs hard enough to make him eat his words and choke down a glob of probably-cheese, with some fresh jalapeños for good measure.

You sigh. “I hate you all so much.” You figure you know the test material as well as you’re ever going to, so instead of cramming, you go find Cater’s instagram and tap through his story. He posts so often that it looks like a chain of dots across the top of the screen, most of them replays from whatever party he was at last night. But he does, in fact, mention a party at the Lounge. Tomorrow night, invite only.

You feel a twinge of pain in your chest at the idea that he wasn’t going to tell you about it, let alone invite you. But there must be a good reason.

“There is a good reason,” Azul murmurs into your lips, leaving behind a trailing chill. “I do not wish for harm to come to you.”

It’s hard to talk about business at a time like this, and not just because you’re still thinking about the venom.

“I figured.” This is all his fault, though, because he started it. You plant one hand into the couch cushions for support and kiss him more thoroughly. Actually, a lot of things are his fault. “But I also said I would ask.”

“Mhmm.” Azul tucks one finger beneath the strap of your tank top and caresses your shoulder blade. “I suppose if your friends were there, they could help look after you.”

You sit up a little, annoyed at him, even though he looks cute this way. “I don’t need looking after.”

He sits up beneath you and toys with a lock of your hair, curling and uncurling around his finger thoughtfully. He’s become so relaxed around you. He hardly ever wears his gloves anymore. “Of course not,” he says sweetly. “But anyone looking in from the outside would notice you far less in a group than if you were alone.”

You hook your arms around his neck and let your foreheads touch. “Am I going to be alone?” The question carries more weight than you intended for it to bear.

He notices, because he notices everything, but he pays it no mind. He wraps one arm protectively around your waist, hugging you close enough that his hip bones dent your inner thighs. “Never,” he reassures you. “Not as long as you are mine.”

Your next kiss turns deeply passionate out of nowhere. Yes, because he is exactly your type and you can’t believe this is real, but also because your heart swells every time you think about him, because the thought of losing him leaves you in the deepest despair-

You realize what you’re about to say too late to stop it.

“I love you.”

For once, Azul looks genuinely surprised. “Is that true?” Traces of his namesake color bloom through his skin.

“What? Of course it’s true.” You tuck his extra-long piece of hair behind his ear, as if the rest of it isn't thoroughly mussed from your makeout session. “I love everything about you.”

He recoils shyly, fending off a smile. “And here I was doing everything not to frighten you away by saying it first.”

You giggle and place both hands on his chest. You’ll take every opportunity to feel his muscles beneath the pads of your fingers. “You’re still allowed to say it.”

“Good.” He leans in close enough to speak against your lips again. “Because I do love you, my sweet.”

It feels like he’s pinching the skin on your back, though you quickly realize it’s not his fingers at all. His arm has shifted into that of an octopus from the elbow down, and the suction cups are clinging tightly to your skin. You wince uncomfortably at the feeling - not pain, exactly, but foreign and strange - but then he lets go just as fast and laughs lightly.

“Shall I take you shopping prior to the event?” he asks as if he did not just leave an octopus tattoo crawling from your shoulder blade up to your neck.

Your sigh is melodramatic. “I guess that would be okay.” You act like you’re going to kiss his lips, but you move to his neck instead. It’s only fair if you get to leave a mark of your own.

1 | {2} | 3 | 4 | 5

[little-emerald-snake]

Smutmas Day 15

“Come sit on my face and I’ll show you how much I missed you.” - Garreth Weasley X F!MC

🔥NSFW 🔞 MDNI

1,103k words

Warnings: face sitting, oral f receiving

Garreth sat at the little round table next to his old best friend Leander. They were chatting away while watching as more and more people poured through the doors. Many of his old school mates from their years at Hogwarts.

It was a reunion after all. It had been many years since he’d been in school and even after all that time, his eyes scanned the growing crowd just hoping that he would spot one particular familiar face.

They’d been good friends after all. Maybe a little bit more than good friends. He could still to this day vividly remember the feeling of being locked in a broom cupboard with his cock down her throat.

Perhaps his favorite memory of them was when they’d gone out together to find ingredients for potions and she’d inhaled spores from a plant well known in aphrodisiac potions.

She’d thrown herself on the grass and shoved her hand down into her underwear, not seeming to care that he was right there. It very quickly turned to her begging for him, agreeing to a long term friends with benefits situationship where they ended up hooking up rather often till graduation.

Even on graduation night he’d taken her to a sandy bank along the black lake and railed her into oblivion. So hard that she limped up to him the next morning to say her goodbyes and even kissed him, not caring who saw.

They hadn’t seen each other since but they had written back and forth for a while till her work got too demanding for her and she spent less and less time by her writing desk.

When he finally spotted her he jumped up and slid between the bodies of his classmates to reach her. She looked overwhelmed by the sight of all her old classmates crammed wall to wall inside of the Three Broomsticks.

When her eyes met the familiar curls of red hair she remembered so well, she smiled, making her way to him quickly. He embraced her, laughing happily as his broad shoulders wrapped around her.

As subtly as possible he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, pleased that she smelled the same as she did back then. Vivid flashes of their various nights together flashed through his mind which he tried to tamp down. “Hey you, long time no see!”

She flashed him a brilliant smile as he led her back to the table just in time for Sirona to set a round of spiked butter beers down, patting her on the back with a warm greeting to the hero of Hogwarts.

She grabbed a mug, sipping with a moan before her attention met Garreth again. “Yes, it’s been a rather long time. I’ve missed you, Garreth. You are my favorite potioneer after all.”

He beamed pridefully, sipping his own mug. His anxiousness melted away, pleased she showed up and even more pleased that she remembers him fondly all these years later. “Ah, well that’s good to hear that some things haven’t changed. How has your work been? I know it keeps you rather busy these days?”

She nodded, letting her eyes lift as she looked at the crowd. “Ah yes, searching for ancient magic has become my new life. But I do love it though. So much travel and beauty in my life I really can’t complain. How’s your shop?”

He smiled, taking in Leander’s raised eyebrows and glancing at her from across the table before turning his full attention to her. “It’s well! I make a great living with my shop and I love what I do. Still working on new brews quite often. Some are better than others.”

Her eyes rake over the increasing tightness of the crowd anxiously and he takes note. “Would you have any interest in taking a walk? Get some fresh air instead of being cramped up in here?”

She eagerly nods, finishing her drink as he finishes his. She waves at a few classmates as she follows Garreth outside. The actual reunion is being held tomorrow so she knows she won’t miss much other than drinks and light catching up tonight.

To Garreth’s surprise she links her fingers in his as they walk outside and proceed to stroll around Hogsmeade. “So, how have you actually been doing? You know besides work?”

She sighs and shrugs. “Honestly, all I do is work. It’s not what I plan to do forever but as of right now it is sort of my responsibility. How about you? Have you settled down?”

She asked this with a curiosity in her eyes that Garreth can’t miss. She genuinely wants to know what he’s been up to, if he has a lover. “No, I’m content for the time being with my shop. No opportunities have beaten down my door so in the meantime I’m content.”

She nods, seeming pleased with his response. “You know…I’ve missed you. Missed our time together in school. I have regrets of not going public. I often still think about all the sneaking around we used to do.”

Heat flares to life in his eyes and he guides her in the direction of the inn he’s staying at. “Does that mean you’d like to come back to my room tonight and see what we can get up to in a proper bed for once?”

Her eyes are also filled with heat as she nods that he quickened his pace. “I’d like that. Are we far from the inn you’re staying at?”

He shakes his head and takes her to the inn. The moment the door clicks shut behind them he wraps her in a tight embrace, kissing her passionately while laying her on the bed.

He lays down beside her and pulls her on top of him. She straddles his hips easily and grinds herself against his hardening cock. “Oh Garreth. I’ve missed the feeling of your cock.”

He grins, grabbing her hands and kissing each one. “I’m sure you’ve missed more than that, love. Come sit on my face and I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.”

She does exactly that, stripping down sitting fully on his face, knowing he won’t let her get away with a slight hover. His arms wrap their way around her thighs and she whimpers at the feeling of his tongue working inside of her. “Oh, Garreth.”

They spent the rest of the night wrapped up in each other and exploring the nature of their affections for each other. So many things brought forward that they even walked into the reunion hand in hand.

[thewritersaddictions]

Drabble: The Adults- New Years Kiss

Eddie Munson

The music filters through the speakers at the Hideout. Eddie promised to be with you for the New Year celebration, but then he got a call from the hideout manager. "Come with me to the hideout, and I'll be off the stage before they drop the ball in New York." Eddie had asked you. You mumbled it over in his arms. "Fine, Eds, but you better be right here when you're done." You told him. It's not til later when you crammed into his van with the others and all their musical instruments.

Their set goes perfectly with a large crowd surrounding the front of the stage. You sit at the bar drinking the horrible Christmas drink Hideout had added to their holiday menu. The speakers around the bar bring life to Eddie and his guitar. You watch him proudly as you keep your eye on your watch. The closer it gets to 12am, the antsy you get. Wanting him back in your arms, wanting that cigarette and pine smell back in your senses.

You're scared out of your wits when two large, sweaty hands come to grab at your waist. "See, I promised I'd be back with you before the end of the year." He says with a huff of his chest. He's surrounding you in the best way. His hair sticks up in odd places from the sweat on his forehead, and his hand is gripping your hip hard, but you don't care about the bruises. It will be left behind. "You did good." You tell him, and he bows, thanking you. "Come here, baby." He turns you in a flash, gently cups your cheek, and his thumb rubs over your bottom lip. "I never got my kiss for good luck." He says quietly. "You don't need it anymore." You tell him, Eddie shakes his head. "I still want it, baby." He tells you softly and pulls you to meet his warm and chapped lips. The kiss is a short one, one of the other bandmates coming over, pulling you both out of the wonderful little world you've both created.

Nancy Wheeler

You're climbing in through her window. Trying to get a private minute with Nancy with her parents and brother is hard sometimes, so Nancy almost always leaves her window unlocked for you to come in. She gasps and puts a hand over her heart. "Shit, Y/n, you scared me!" Nancy tells you, you wink at her. "I'm sorry, baby." You tease as you shut the window to keep the cold wind from getting in. "You could have called, you know," Nancy tells you, trying her best to keep a serious face.

"I could have, but what would have happened if your mother answered the phone?" You ask her; she rolls her eyes and pats the spot next to her on her bed. "So, are you here to give me a New Year kiss?" "Don't spoil it, baby." You answer her? The loud footsteps of Nancy's father echo through the house, and then a knock on her door. "Honey, we're doing fireworks if you wanna come down?" Her father says, "I'm okay, Dad. I'm tired anyway." There's a hum on the other side of the door. "Tired huh?" You say, smirking over at her.

With that, you grab at her hips and pull her into your lap. "Come here, baby." Nancy wraps her arms around your neck, and your hands land on her hips to keep her close. "You smell so good." You wiggle your brows at her. "Well, thank you. I always wanna smell good for my girl." You whisper to Nancy as you lean up to catch her lips. The kiss is long and sweet. No gnashing of teeth; instead, the taste of strawberry invades your senses.

Argyle

The van is filled with smoke from the weed you've both been smokin'. Neither of you are concerned with what's happening outside the small van. It had yet to start off like this. Argyle wanted to take you out to dinner, but everything was either packed or closed, so you both settled on gas station food and a good blunt or two.

Lovers Lake isn't crowded by any means. Most people are with their families or friends celebrating the end of the year and the start of the new one. You'd rather be here, though, with Argyle. Rather be in his lap, sharing a blunt between you. Instead, You'd feel his hand on your hip as he takes a long drag from the blunt and pulls you close to shotgun with him. How close his lips would be to yours, how all of his fills your senses. You let your breath go as you take the blunt from his nimble but long fingers. His eyes never stray from your frame. He watches you like a hawk, waiting for his prey to escape its underground hole.

The blunt wet from Argyle's lips wrapping around it, you take a drag and then hold it. Wanting to feel the full effect. "Come here, honey." Your voice echoes through the van. You lean forward, resting your hand on the van's inner shell. "Come here and give me a kiss." Argyle's voice is wrapped in a thickness you swear you've never heard before. You do as he asks, leaning forward, lips pressing together as smoke fills the space. "So pretty, baby." He says, and you can hear your heartbeat pulse a little faster as you kiss. "Happy New Year, baby," Argyle says to you. "That was three days ago, baby." he shrugs his shoulder and presses his lips back into yours, cutting off your giggle.

Billy Hargrove

During the Christmas holiday, you have received just a few gifts from your boyfriend. The best out of the batch was the tickets to a New Year's Eve concert. You had nearly jumped into his arms when you saw the tickets in the box. "Holy shit!" You shouted as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed his chapped lips. The ride in Billy's Camaro is a long one to the big city of Indianapolis.

You brought a suitcase full of clothes, not knowing what to wear to this concert. You had an idea of who was there, but Billy wasn't forthcoming with that information. The two of you got a motel not far from the arena. Billy even said he had given the both of you an extra day. "I just wanna treat you good, is all," Billy muttered as he pulled you into the motel bed.

The next day goes by in a blur. It isn't until the following day that you know that you've gotta make the best of the clothes you packed and get ready for the concert. "Come on, Y/n, we've gotta go before we are late for parking." Billy's voice echoes through the motel walls. When the car is parked, and the two of you walk hand in hand toward the entrance, you catch glimpses of what you are walking into. "Billy?" Your voice is small in the vast area. He hums, "You're the absolute best." You say truthfully as you pull him into your side and kiss his cheek. "Keep tellin' me that, baby, because this is your New Year gift." You get into your seats. "Well?" Billy looks over at you, "What?" "Don't I get a kiss on New Year's Eve?" He rolls his eyes but grabs you softly by your throat and pulls you in for a sloppy kiss.

Jonathan Byers

"Really?" He questions you as he continues to unwrap the Christmas present. You were supposed to do Christmas six days ago, but you're now at the Byers house, the day before the new year starts. "But they cost so much," Jonathan says matter-of-factly; you just shrug your shoulders. "Maybe, but you like takin' pictures, so I thought, why not. Do you not like it?" Concerned you got the wrong gift. Jonathan starts to shake his head, telling you your gift idea was good. "No, I love it, sweetheart." He tells you to put the box on the coffee table and reach over to give you a kiss on your cheek.

You exchange more presents. Having gotten some for everyone. Including Will, Mrs.Byers, and Hopper because he is also there more often nowadays. Mrs.Byers can't help but give you multiplied hugs during the night as a thanks for for coming over because, in her words, the gifts, but Jonathan seems better off now that you guys are together. The countdown starts, and before you know it the lot of you are counting down from five.

You don't catch Mrs.Byers grabbing the camera as Jonathan leans in, grabbing at your sides gently before whispering against your lips, "Three," "Two," and then "One." At one, his lips are on yours. Tasting of dinner and drink you had before you all sat down for the countdown to the new year. You don't catch the blinding light of the camera as Mrs.Byers snaps a shot of the both of you. Kissing, falling in love in one picture. She hands the film to you when you both release each other's hold. "Here you go." Mrs.Byers says warmly before setting the camera back on the coffee table.

Robin Buckley

The party is small, but it's got just enough people to make the event a little too hectic for Robin. The only reason she's there is because of Y/n. She brings such beauty that Robin can't help but follow her into the party. Only a few girls are sitting there painting their toes together, talking about the horror stories of the boys at Hawkins High. Yet all Robin can think about is Y/n. Sitting so close to her that their knees are bumping into each other. Y/n isn't adding anything to the conversation, nor is Robin, so Robin's conversation tries to have a conversation with her. "You're quiet; everything alright?" Robin asks Y/n, and when she looks over her shoulder at Robin, Robin swears her heart stops dead in beats.

"Is it that obvious?" Y/n asks Robin. "What do you mean?" Robin asks, "I'm only here because they invited you." Y/n clarifies, oh, like a slap to her face. Robin takes a moment to react to the words that have reached her ears. Y/n is there because of her, and Robin is only there because of Y/n. "Well, can I tell you a secret," Robin says, whispering. Y/n nods. "I'm here because of you, too." There's a light blush on Y/N's cheeks.

Robin and Y/n are unaware of the countdown in the background. Girls giggling together as they whoop and holler together. Instead, they are so wrapped up in each other. Robins's hands pull Y/n close by her hips and Y/n icy cold hands are pressed firmly into each side of Robins's cheeks. "I have to say this is a best new year I've had in a while." Robin squeaks out before Y/n shuts Robin up with a life-bringing kiss.

Steve Harrington

His parents were only ever home for a few days during the holidays. They had insisted on Steve bringing you to their New Year's Party. His mother was so excited when she learned that her son was finally dating again. She said Steve had been spending too much time with those kids. This party isn't really a party for young adults. It's meant for his father and mother to keep up with their appearances in Hawkins and get a more extensive social network.

So Steve pulled you away. His hand on your lower back towards his bedroom. A red solo cup filled with something of a mix, something that his father had no clue he was drinking. Steve shuts the bedroom gently to keep the sound of the light music out. "Are your parents always like that?" Y/n asks him. He shrugs his shoulders and sits down next to her on the bed. The conversation downstairs migrates outside towards the poolside. "You think they might all freeze out before returning inside?" Steve asks Y/n, and she giggles. "I'm not sure, baby."

The clock on the side table reads 11:58pm. Steve leans in. "You know you look beautiful today," Steve tells her matter-of-factly. They hum and lean in closer. They both can feel their breath from each other. The countdown to the new year is happening in slow motion as Steves's hand wraps around the back of Y/N's neck to pull them closer to his lips. When the flashes of bright colors come over through Steve's window after loud bangs of fireworks outside. He closes the gap between the both of them. A soft, meaningful kiss. One that becomes heated and addictive almost immediately. Y/n's hands are holding close, one on his chest feeling his heartbeat, the other resting on his slightly stumbled cheek. Steve pulls back lightly and whispers against Y/n's wet lips, "Happy New Year, baby."

Completed on: 12/23/23

Posted on: 01/03/24

The Adults-

[palmtreesx3]

A Girl Like You

Part two to: Seeing Stars. 

*Hot Tub Steve back in action*

Steve Harrington x FEM!reader

Summary: In the aftermath of the 4th of July Hot Tub Hookup, embarrassment and emotions are flying, tables turn and shit gets figured out. Read Part 1 to see how exactly we got here.

NSFW, angst, orgasms and hot tub play.

—------

It's been two weeks since the 4th of July and your little hot tub rendezvous under the stars with Steve, and you've thought about it approximately 50 times a day (at least) since then. At first you weren't sure what you were feeling about what happened. Your range of emotions went from irritated, to apathetic all the way to empathetic and apologetic. 

First, you couldn't believe that it was stolen glances and hot dogs crammed in his mouth with a side of bumbling idiot that made you break and want to actually jump his bones. Second, you couldn't believe that he thought of you like that. Like, at all. And third, you could not believe that with a few licks of your tongue and drags of your hips across his lap YOU made Steve Harrington - former King of Kings, chronic ladies man and serial dater, kingpin of one night stands - come in his pants in 2 minutes flat.

One minute you were both ready to give each other hell, the next your heart was melting at how he gave up all control and then you were there, bodies pressed together, hands soft all over and his chest hair scratching at the swell of your tits overflowing from your bikini top. All the while he was begging under you for some type of reassurance that everything happening was in fact, real. When you tilted his head up and he looked at you like that - not gawking like before but instead like you actually were the sun - things happened fast. 

Instead of sporadic grinds of your hips to distract him from his incessant apologies and rambling, you set a smooth but firm pace, reveling in the look on his face and the drag of his hardness between your clothed folds as you went. Your soft kisses moved on from his lips and instead traced the constellations of freckles and moles on his face, neck, shoulders. You stopped to latch on to a particularly pretty mark on his neck, just below his ear, when your grind caught you just right. Despite the layers of wet clothes sticking between you both, his hard tip caught your clit just so, and you let out a strangled moan. 

And that's the moment Steve Harrington lost his shit. Your moan was soft and pretty, but deep and dirty and he still couldn't wrap his head around how you so willingly perched yourself on his lap and started treating him so so good. A girl like you? Never… So when your tongue licked at that spot on his neck and you chased that feeling on your clit with another deep roll of your hips, he felt your fingers press into his back, another moan caught in your throat, and his eyes shot open. 

"A-h ah, ohhh my God, Jesus Christ." Steve says while panting and pulling away - eyes wider than a black hole and jaw hanging open like he just traveled through 3 separate galaxies. He grabs your shoulders to hold you back from him and the panicked look on his face makes you think he's finally come to his senses. Things would go right back to bites to your resolve instead of nips over sweet spots on your skin that you suddenly craved from Steve motherfuckin Harrington. 

So in a moment of self preservation, trying to play defense in the game of hardball you and Steve have been playing for years, you slide back to the other side as fast as you found yourself on top of him, arms now crossed with a glare "Man you should be an actor, Steve Harrington. I can't keep up with you. Where do you come up with all those lines you pull on the ladies? I can NOT believe I let a few lines of sweet talk and some soft eyes trick me into hopping on your lap."

Fuckin idiot, you mumble under your breath - actually referring to yourself - as you tip your head back laying it on the edge of the hot tub and look to the stars, trying to figure out how all of these wires got crossed so quickly. 

"No, n-no oh my God no. It's NOT like that at all. I just … " 

"Aaaand we're back to stuttering Steve Harrington. What? Did you forget your script? " You snap back. 

"Such a bitch." He huffs out softly, with way less bite than you're used to and a bit of a soft smirk. Is he fuckin laughing at you? "God, I'm just trying to figure out how to say this without saying 'I'm sorry' because I've already got my ass chewed out for apologizing too much tonight and I really don't want to hear it again. "

"Yeah yeah 'I'm sorry we should have never done that' got it. Great." you tut, standing up and letting the warm water drip down you - desperately willing your riled up, wound tight body to return to status quo. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart to your ass again, following the drip of water like a roadmap down your body. It’s like an automatic response just then. You can’t help but clench your thighs together. You don’t think he noticed, but you feel ashamed either way. 

"Fuck no. I'd do that a thousand times. I just… "

You turn back to look at him, your hip popped out in annoyance, his head tipped back, hands dragging down his face in absolute agony. This should be good, you think to yourself. 

"I just… need a minute. Y-you, got me all crazy, I swear to God… fuck! I just. Couldn't help it and…"

He looks at you, impatience growing in your scowl and he thinks that it's actually fucking adorable how angry he can get you even when he's trying to be genuine and a little sweet. " Stop looking at me like that! " He snaps out, " You made me blow my load in my swim shorts like a 13 year old, okay?! Fuck, it- it's fuckin embarrassing, is what it is." 

You're now stuck in place, feeling frozen like the ice cubes still laying in the bottom of the coolers from earlier today, but instead of the relief those cubes gave you just a few hours ago you are searching for it in Steve Harrington's eyes before your guard goes back up quickly.  "W-what did you say?" As you cackle out a laugh, loud and obnoxious into the now crisp and cool summer air littered with the distant pops and hisses of late night backyard fireworks.

—

After the initial irritation and mild embarrassment of your own, you grapple with self-doubt and some anger. You replay the aftermath about 100 different ways and you can't decide if your reaction crushed his soul and he hates you - like actually hates you now. If he was really being genuine with all that sweet talk, he definitely has to hate you because not only did you laugh in his face, you ran.

In response to your knee-jerk reaction down in the hot tub, a groggy Robin popped open the guest room window, strawberry hair literally sticking up left and right, and yelled down "Jesus Christ, I thought… I dunno what I thought… but you guys are impossible. Always arguing. Shut the fuck up, will you? It's late and I'm already feeling hungover, kay?" You both muttered apologies into the night sky while climbing out and shuffled your separate ways. You made sure you were gone and inside the bathroom downstairs before he could even shut off the jets. So yeah, he probably thinks you're an absolute bitch, laughing at him and then running away so you didn't have to look at his pathetic face. 

You weren't sure if you were angry at him or angry at yourself, but you were cold and salty at this point, and Robin called you out on it real quick while splayed out on your bed one afternoon hanging out with the radio on. "Something extra has crawled up YOUR ass lately, ya know? What's your deal?" You were mad about everything and nothing at all, really, and there was nothing to say. She told you that you need to get laid while sucking on a lollipop, feet swinging, devilish grin on her face. You huffed at her - she has no goddamn idea. And you're not bringing it up because Robin will get all flappy and make you question things even more than you already are. So you internalize, hyping yourself up to go toe to toe with Steve next time the group inevitably gets together, taking your game of teasing to a whole new league. 

But that energy lasted maybe for a total of a day before the group found themselves all together that same Thursday - late and loud, laughing and shouting over the booths they all occupied in the diner just outside of town. 

Going out for a bite with this group was always mildly chaotic. For some reason the waitress here, Jeanie, thinks you're all just adorable - reminds her of her group of friends when she was growing up, all close and honest and loud and youthful - so you find yourself here often. Jeanie puts up with the yelling and taunting from Dustin, the giggles and laughter from Max and El, Mike changing his order before changing back to the thing she knew he would want from the get go, and all the storytelling, heckling and seat switching between four booths of friends. 

After you slip through the door, later than the rest, you follow the loud cries of the group you know to be yours and plop down in the open seat across from Nance and Johnathan. You came ready, but your prepared indignation melted away the minute your hard glare met Steve's gentle eyes behind your other friends in your crowd. Where you expected a total grudge for the way you treated him in his moment of humiliation, instead he's looking at you all hopeful and sparkly, like those goddamn stars. 

You blink away everything running though your mind in favor of sustenance. You have a soft spot for Jeanie too, and she knows it, so you gather yourself and give Jeanie a smile and a nod, letting her know you're ready to order. She's there before you know it, sliding you a rootbeer float and a huge basket of fries already ready and hot, served just the way you like them. 

You're grinning, ready to thank her for being the literal best when she says "I didn't see ya, so I figured you weren't coming!… but that one there ordered for ya tonight, sweets. Just a few minutes ago, so your food was fresh and ya didn't hafta wait." She says as she pops her bubble gum with a smirk, jerking her neck towards the booth a few over where Steve is sitting in conversation. Your smile falters but when you notice Nance and Johnathan intently watching you, you take to shoving some fries in your mouth to deflect and start asking about what they're up to this weekend instead. You feel a bit like Steve shoving hot dogs down his throat in his backyard that day to avoid acknowledging the truth - the truth here is that he doesn't just like looking at you, he notices you.

And Steve, he can't help but notice you all night. It's different from the 4th of July - he's not trying to hide it but he's also not trying to will his half chub away in desperation. It’s not a distraction this time. It's a choice. He sees your smile falter when he's sure Janine outed him for ordering your food. He catches your glance through plates of half eaten food being passed around freely and now it's you who is playing it off like you're not looking at him. He laughs to himself and shakes his head, while he draws a long sip from his strawberry milkshake and Dustin decides he isn't biting his tongue any longer tonight. "You guys know you're fuckin idiots, right? Certified insane." 

"What are you saying Henderson? I thought we talked about the tone thing, buddy boy." He huffs out. 

"I'm leaving. You're insufferable" he grumbles as he slides out to dip in next to Will and Mike. Just as it always does, the musical chairs start once the food has been eaten and all the kids start bopping around talking amongst themselves rather than over everyone else. The kids start an animated discussion about their next D&D campaign - it’s their annual Memorial Campaign for Eddie, so they’re all abuzz about it more so than normal. Nance and Johnathan take the chance to slink out of the booth, wanting to make sure they get a good night's rest before they both have an interview with the city paper in Indianapolis tomorrow morning. Max takes the opportunity and hops next to you, laying her head on your shoulder and you settle in to a comfortable silence with one of your favorite girls "It's sweet you know? Right?" she finally speaks. 

"What's sweet? Your milkshake… gimmie. Lemme try it. " You say. Snatching the cup from the girl and taking a big swig. "Cookies and Cream. A girl after my own heart.” You settle your head back down on top of hers and she sighs. 

“You know, you’re like a sister to me?” She says. A little bit of a question, and a little bit of a statement. She can feel you nod your head. “Ok.” She says as she breathes in deep and you feel her slipping out of the booth on your left, while the right side dips below a new body weight. You know it’s him before you even turn your head, a familiar quality in the atmosphere caused by a stare that you’re feeling pretty used to by now. 

You don’t miss the silent exchange Steve and Max have with their eyes just then, and you know she’s got you right where Steve wants you. Because while you’re like a sister to her, you also know damn well Steve is like her brother. You’ve both been through so much with her. Just like there’s nothing in the world you wouldn't do for Max, she’d do the same for both of you. Her eyes glint and she smiles at you behind her straw as she assumes her position at the booth furthest away, scooting close to Lucas and caring very little about the cacophony still going on over D&D. 

It's the point in the night where everyone left settles into their own bubbles, the chaos dying down for more intimate moments between friends. It always happens, but this time you’re here with Steve alone in the booth closest to the door and neither of you are saying anything at all. He wordlessly passes you his cup, and you take it, slipping the straw between your lips and taking a sip. “You would order a strawberry milkshake, Steve Harrington.” You tease - a light and airy jab, before going back in for another sip anyway. He laughs as you pass it back to him as he takes his next sip. Both sitting there, backs against the plush seat of the booth, slumped down lazily and legs kicked up across from you on the other side. 

“I was definitely a bitch, wasn’t I?” 

“I mean, yeah but up until that moment, you were pretty much a dream.” he says, all vulnerable and honest, like it’s the easiest thing to say. And maybe it is. Because while you were all worked up and dramatic about it, he looked like he was seeing the world through entirely different lenses. Your eyes locked together and he took one last irritatingly loud slurp of his strawberry milkshake, the corner of his lips turned up in a smile - 100% on purpose to get a rise out of you. Without a thought, he leaves money on the table for Janine and says “C’mon. Let’s go.” so casually you don’t even think twice.  

“Leave it” he says motioning to your car, and your feet obey, following him to that stupidly iconic Maroon Harrington BMW. Yours staying tucked in the back of the now desolate parking lot of the diner to deal with later. You climb in the passenger seat, and before you know it, you’re on the road back home to Hawkins, windows down, radio playing “Radio Ga Ga” just loud enough to tap your fingers along and hum along to the chorus. “So where are you taking me, Harrington? Gonna finally throw me off the cliff into the quarry?” you ask. 

He laughs, sweet and absolutely no tease in it, “Not a chance, honey. I’ve got something else in mind.” And you blush at the name. You fucking blush at Steve Harrington calling you honey, while driving you like a passenger princess around back roads in Hawkins.  

When you pull up to his house, you go to speak only for Steve to cut you off, “Not now. Just shut up for a minute. Don’t talk, just….. Please.” He whines. He outstretches his hand and you take it, without hesitation. His palm warm and calloused yet soft all at the same time in your own, he leads you up the driveway and around the back of the house. He pulls you along until you're standing right smack in front of the hot tub. Back at ground zero. Wordlessly, he turns it on, then he takes off his shoes and socks. Before you know it, he’s stripping himself of his shirt and pants and climbing into the hot tub in his boxers, asking you “Aren’t you coming?” with the most serious look on his face. Like this is normal.. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Steve. You’re crazy. I don’t have a suit and this is …” 

“You don’t need a suit.” He says. It’s assured and direct. “Please, just…I- I just need one more chance. I wanna do everything I should have done that night. I wanna take care of you, show you I can be good for you, too. Please.” 

As he begs, that second Please falling from his lips, you decide that there’s no fight left in you. Not for your own internal struggle nor the little game the two of you have played together for far too long. You hesitate a beat before sliding off your sneakers slowly, an act of acceptance to the invitation. You peel down your shorts, showing off a pair of cheeky lavender panties Steve immediately groans at. “Perv” you shoot over at him, while he stands up and reaches out a hand to you anyway. You slip your shirt up over your head and off your shoulder quickly before gently placing your hand in his again making a move to help you up and into the place you left so abruptly two weeks ago. 

As you sink down into the water tonight, he wastes no time pulling you over to him, seating you right back on his lap like the last time, a tentative touch of his fingertips lingering on your sides. They tickle up your back, reaching your shoulder blades, not stopping there while one snakes up further to grab ahold of your ponytail. He pulls it back just rough enough to expose your neck to him like an offering. He sticks out his tongue licking up your throat, tracing your jaw and ending just in the dip below your right ear, pulling a startled and breathy sound from you without any effort. 

It’s involuntary, but you roll your hips chasing the feeling of arousal already brewed like a pot of morning coffee between your thighs. “Uh uh, honey. None of that shit again. I told you, I’m doing it right this time.” As he starts tracing the same path up the left side of your throat and jaw with his tongue, his hands find their way under the cups of your bra to rub gentle circles on the flesh of your breast. His lips latch on to your ear lobe at the same time his fingers creep up and find your nipples, circling them with his thumb and giving a cheeky pinch while breathing into your ear “So fuckin good for me.”  

You keen upwards at the sensation, giving Steve the opportunity to bite at your shoulder while he pushes the strap of your bra down and out of his way. He makes quick work of unsnapping the bra and tossing it completely aside, into the grass below. Ever a boob man, now that they're out on full display he sucks in a breath and hoists you further up his lap now almost straddling his tummy, hands under your ass holding you up high and bending down to get his mouth on those tits as fast as he can. He laps his tongue around your breast before sucking a pretty purple spot just left of your nipple before flicking his tongue over it repeatedly, finally pulling a sound from you that drives him wild. He pays the same attention to your other breast before working his way back up your neck and hovering his lips over yours. 

You're both there, sloshing around the hot tub water, breaths heaving into one another's mouths, foreheads touching and eyes locked. His lips chase yours and you pull back slightly before giving in and leaning back into a kiss made for the movies - hand reached around the nape of your neck keeping you close, tongue dipping in kissing you like you’ve never been kissed before, his other hand slides down your breast, your belly and then toys with the elastic band of your underwear at your hip. 

You nod, refusing to pull your lips from his and in a second his fingers are dipping down those purple panties, right into where you want them. Long and thick, he drags them through your folds back and forth before slipping his middle finger right in, deep enough that he flattens his palm against your clit and grinds against it with the pad of his palm. You buck your hips up at the motion, while he curls his finger forward, making you cry out into the open air of his backyard. With no effort, he slides a second finger in and pumps fast, rolling those fingers forward over and over again, hitting a spot inside you’re not sure anyone has ever reached before. 

It feels like only seconds until your legs start to quake, pulling away from his lips abruptly, you throw your head back gasping out a stifled moan into the dark sky. Your breath stays labored as you peer up to the heavens while Steve Harrington has his fingers in your cunt, mouth on your tits and heart on a silver platter. “Ohmigod, St-Steve, Jesus!” You cry out as your body shakes and you pulse around his fingers, still dragging them in and out of you slowly as you come back to earth. 

“Glad to see I’m not the only one coming quickly around here” He laughs out and you gasp a fake gasp, while slapping at his chest. 

"Can I get these off you? Honey, please. C'mon." He taps at your ass so you rise up on your knees as he shimmies your underwear down your thighs. As you slip your legs out one by one above him, he lifts his own hips to free himself from the boxers clinging wet and tight to everywhere that matters. 

There's nothing left between you now. No walls, no games, no hesitation and certainly no clothing. "I told you. A dream." He says as he looks at you, eyes boring deep into your soul, and for once you have absolutely nothing to say to Steve Harrington. Instead he speaks and as he does, you tumble, head over heels for this stupid, stupid boy. "Babe- baby please, I gotta get inside you. I jus- I wanna give it to you, so good." 

You can't hold back the moan you let out at his words, nodding desperately, whispering back "Make me feel it, Steve." Into the shell of his ear. And holy shit, he does. He slides into you in one swift movement, guiding you down hard until you're flush with his hips, friction already building from the soft patch of hair at his base. You both settle there for a moment and it's like you can feel him all the way in your throat. "Jesus Christ, Harrington what have you been packing?! It's like I can taste you, your so fuckin far in there, f-fuccckk."  With a chuckle he rocks your hips slow and steady, and this time around it's to shut you up.

He's leaning back, looking entirely too happy with himself when he snakes his arm under yours and around your back, slick with water and sweat, bringing you close to him - chest to chest. The soft rolls of both of your hips come to a hault suddenly when he uses all the leverage he has to slam up into you. You scream out, "O-oh my god, please just… fucking keep going" you demand. His fingers now grabbing your waist tight, he does as you ask, pulling you back down on him hard with each thrust up water quaking around you both. "So feisty. God, I can't get enough of you." 

It's a little wild for a minute, skin slapping beneath the water, waves crashing up and over the sides of the hot tub. Moans loud enough the neighbors could surely hear slipping from both of your lips as you bounce up and down on his length, no where close to pulling off him completely because he fills you up so good and so deep. Steve snatches your lips for a hot and wet kiss, forcing you both to slow down and bring yourselves back to reality. He adjusts and pulls out of you, and you cry out at the loss like a whimpering child. Days ago you'd be embarrassed that Steve Harrington's dick made you cry out like a bratty little girl, but here you were, pouting with your lip popped out at your empty pussy, missing the feeling of that idiot's cock buried deep inside you. 

Before you can actually get out any bratty banter, he swings you around, switching your position and pressing you forward, knees sliding back into the bench and hands bracing you against the edge of the hot tub. You feel him reaching around you from behind fiddling with something along the edge before he scoots you to the left. "Bingo. There it is." he says, so stupid, and you are about to roll your eyes at his quip but instead they hit the back of your head anyway as he slides your knees wider, pushes you down and the jet of the hot tub comes straight into contact with your clit. A gasp, followed by a cry, followed by a deep moan uncontrollably roll out of you as the jets of water fly through your folds and make your sensitive bud pulse. 

While you're completely distracted by the feeling of the water rippling through your core, he slots himself behind you and guides himself right back to where you want him most. His tip nudges at the edge of your folds, the pressure of the jet riles him up just as much. The floodgates open and he stars rambling. "So perfect for me. God, just what I need. Been here the whole goddamn time. " He whispers as he pushes past the jet and into your heat. You squeeze around him immediately, calling his name out into the edge of the darkness. Steve continues to slam into you, hitting that spongy spot way deep inside making you lose all control, jets still coaxing water over and around your bundle of nerves, warm and fast. 

He can feel you rhythmically pulsing around him now "Oh sweet thing, I feel you. C'mon, I feel you so tight around me. Jesus Christ. D-did I do good? Did I do good f'you, honey?" 

Through your haze of pleasure, you hear his words and they tug at you hard - a man, that used to be a stupid boy, still just looking for validation and wanting to find it right here with a girl like you. "So-ugh God yes, so good! So so good." Your heart has officially thawed for Steve Harrington and as you finally admit that to yourself, you feel your tummy wind up tight, tingles moving from your center all the way down to your toes, "Oh, God, please. Stevie, please be a good boy and give it to me." 

You brace yourself with your arms outstretched, arching your back into Steve as you come hard around his cock, shaking and panting as he rubs your back softly. Too sweetly for a man who is quickly approaching his own pent up release. You throw your head back to look at him as you regroup, his hair with wet tips wild and falling into his eyes, jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut "Goddamnit, you're so fuckin hot, I'm gonna - pffff" he huffs out a breath before you feel him retreating from you under shaking hands.

" No. No. I told you to give it to me, Steve. Give it all to me." And with one more hard thrust he does. 

You feel his warm release fill you up to the brim. Fingertips moving from the spots bruised from his grip, up your sides as he fucks his come deep inside you with a few soft and languid strokes. He finally stills, but stays inside you longer than you expected, rubbing circles on your skin the whole time again back in silence. You wiggle your hips a bit at him, and he slips out of you and back down into the water next to you. Now shoulder to shoulder, chests rising and falling with the same labored breathing, your heads both fall to the side to look toward each other with matching exasperated smiles. 

"I told Robin about the 4th." He says then. "I spent about a week feeling like an idiot, fully expecting to never talk to you again but I couldn't get you out of my head." You nod in understanding, remembering the stupid look she gave you while telling you you need to fix your mood by getting laid. What a snake. "She wasn't surprised, but she also wouldn't shut up about it after that." 

" Typical " you laught out. 

" Yeah. Well it was fine until she roped everyone else in. A bunch of em had a fuckin intervention the other day. Told me I had to get my head out of my ass and do something about it. Told me I'll never get what I want out of life if I never think I deserve it."

" And do you know what you want, Steve Harrington? " 

"Yeah, I do. It's pretty simple, actually." He says without hesitation and looking directly into your eyes. 

"And do you deserve it?"

"Shit, I hope so." 

And with that you let him pull you in tight, tangled and still bare under the bubbles in the water, ready to play an entirely different game with Steve Harrington. 

Hot Tub Fan Club: @willowherbal @superblysubpar @crappymixtape @sweetsweetjellybean

[blackroseguzzi]

The Girl Next Door Part 2

*This series will go back and forth between flashbacks, and I promise they all tie together to why the characters don’t talk anymore (but I think I might add in a few present day chapters along the way) 

Summery: Another flashback of your relationship with Kai. Angsty conversations over an Adderall deal.

Warning: Language, mentions of drugs

*Flashback* 

You slipped on your sweatpants and University sweatshirt, knowing that you had an entire night full of studying left. Caffeine was coursing through your body, but your eyes still felt heavy like sleep would be the only way to comfort you. That’s why your roommate had asked her boyfriend to hook the two of you up with his Adderall dealer. It was your last year of college, and you had to finish strong in all your classes. Of course, you had your fair share of partying and sex but you had never done drugs. A little wiggle room would be okay since you knew the only way you were going to stay up and cram for this test was to take something to keep you awake - Caffeine pills just made you shit your brains out.

“Lets go, he’s just down the street behind the 7/11. Robbie is going to drive us,” Your roommate, Sophie, called out. You checked your appearance in the mirror. You never went anywhere in your sweats, but you figured you didn’t have to dress up to go get drugs. 

“Geesh relax, I’m coming.” You both left the dorm and walked quickly towards Robbie’s beat up truck. You snuck in the back, cringing inwardly as the couple exchanged a wet kiss. 

“This dude isn’t some freak, right?” You asked as you watched the snow fall outside of the truck. Robbie’s laugh filled the air.

“I mean he’s eccentric but I doubt he’d hurt a fly.” 

“That’s what they said about Jeffrey Dahmer!” Sophie smacked her boyfriends arm playfully. They pulled into the 7/11 and Robbie pointed towards the back next to the dumpster and bathrooms. 

“Alright, He’s back there. Y/N, just knock on his window and he’ll give you what you need.” Robbie twisted himself in his seat to look at you in the back. You scowled at him, realizing they expected you to go by yourself.

You weren’t scared, obviously but you were annoyed. You gave them a tight lip smile, knowing the momentary alone time was going to be spend touching each other as much as they could.

You hopped out of the truck, the light dust of snow falling down onto your head. You pulled up your hood, and smashed your hands in your pocket where they $100 dollars in 20’s lay rolled up. 

You walked towards the back of the 7/11. There was one old black car with tinted windows. Before turning around and running away from this sketchy situation you found yourself knocking on the driver side window. You watched as the man opened the door, stepping out as he dug into his pocket and pulling out the ziplock bag of blue pills.

“Here. $100 for 6 pills.” The guy finally looked up and you felt your heart stop when you noticed his dark eyes and familiar low voice. 

“Kai?!”  You pulled back your hood, revealing yourself and staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. It had been three years since you’d last seen Kai. You two had an extremely rough ending to your friendship/relationship/friends with benefits or whatever you’d like to call it. 

“Oh wow, y/n,” Kai’ voice sounded different. He also looked nothing like the mental picture you always had of him in your brain. His hair was much longer and unkept, his eyes sunken in with dark circles around them and his clothes were much more baggy. What struck you the most was that his cheerful demeanor was replaced with seriousness. 

Speechless, you just reached into your pocket and handed him the wad of 20s. You wanted to get this interaction over as soon as possible.

 He looked between the pills and your money.

“Nah, I can’t do business with you.” He pushed your hand away, about to get back into his car. You let out a cruel laugh, grabbing his sweatshirt and twirling him back to face you. 

“Are you kidding me Kai? After four years you can get rid of the protective savior complex.” 

“Why do you need Adderall anyway?” Kai narrowed his eyes at you. He was used to your anger, especially when it came to his protectiveness over you. If you had been any other girl he would have taken that money without a care, but after all those years he still held you on some kind of pedestal, yet he’d never admit it after the way you had hurt him.  

“Isn’t your job just to take the money and give the drugs?” Eyebrows raised, you shoved the money back towards him. 

“Answer my question.” Kai growled. 

“I have a fucking test I need to study for and I’ve had a long week. I don’t think I can really focus unless I get something to help me,” You kept pushing the money at him until he grabbed your wrist. 

“You don’t need this, I’m not giving them to you.” He shoved your hand away and the money flew to the ground. 

“You’re such a fucking piece of shit, Kai. As shocked as I am to see that you’re a freaking drug dealer now, I’m glad you’ve sunken this low.” Your words hit hard, Kai’s face sunken with regret and pain as he watched you retrieve the wet dollar bills off the cement. The snow was sticking to your dark hair, and as you popped back up he could see tears brimming your eyes. You clearly still harbored the same pain as him.

“Jesus Christ y/n, just go back home. I don’t ever want to see you buying drugs again. I’ll make sure that nobody in this area deals a fucking thing to you either so don’t even try.” 

You slowly shook your head, a few tears now slowly falling from your eyes, down your cheek and onto the ground.

“Why after all these years do you still need to make sure you can control me?” You felt all your emotions over the last four years tumbling around in your stomach. Just looking at him made you an anxious mess, and it’s why you tried your hardest not to go home for holidays unless absolutely necessary, staying only a very short time without a thought of visiting the Anderson house. 

“ME, control YOU??” Kai let out a scoff and ran his hands through his long greasy hair. You wanted to know how he had gotten to this place in his life, your soul screaming that you were partially responsible.

 “Last I knew you made all of your own choices, without me.” You could see the anger in Kai’s words, his face twisted in a way you’d only seen a few times in the many years of knowing him. 

“Looks like I made the right choice,” You spit out, eyeing up and down his disheveled drug dealing state.

Kai walked up to you, his face inches from yours, his hands wrapped around the extra fabric in the shoulder of your sweatshirt. You wanted to push him away, but your body was frozen in fear.

“Like I said before..Go the fuck home. I don’t ever want to see you again.” As much as you wanted to break the stare between you two, you couldn’t help but watch his pupils glass over as his final words left his mouth. 

Everything in you wanted to retaliate, to breath out more hatred towards the man you once considered your best friend, the one who you’d grown to love, the one who you had clearly broke - but those famous words replaying in your head; “it takes two” had gotten you through a lot of guilt. It wasn’t hard to forget that he too hurt you just as much. 

You clenched your jaw as you threw the hood of your sweatshirt over your damp hair and marched yourself back to Robbie’s truck. 

“So?” Sophie turned to you, her eyes wide and her lips were tickled pink from the friction of Robbie’s.

“He ran out, said he only had Oxy and I can’t do that shit.” You avoided her glare, knowing it was disappointed.  

“What are you talking about, he said he was all good on the phone earlier,” Robbie questioned you further which deepened your anger.

“Fuck, I don’t know Robbie! I didn’t get the Adderall so please just drive me back to the dorms so I can start to study.” You pushed your head back in the seat and Robbie decided not to pry more, just turned up the radio and pulled his truck out of the parking lot. 

You were never going to be able to concentrate on studying after that interaction. 

[btsbabe7]

November Prompt 26: Blush

Words: 1.6k | Pairing: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory x reader

You grab your textbook from the top of your packed suitcase and climb in bed next to your best friend. You’ve spent the last seven years beside her at the end of every break, the night before everyone was set to return to Hogwarts.

If you didn’t spend the last night at Hermione’s, then it was usually spent at The Burrow with her, Harry and Ron. The last night had always revolved around the same conversation: your expectations, curiosities and anxieties that came with the start of a new year of school.

As you draw the blanket up and get comfortable, a small sigh slips from Hermione’s lips before she turns to you and props her head up on her elbow.

“Do you ever think of dating?”

“Dating?” You half laugh while opening the book where you’d left your favorite emerald, swallowtail bookmark she bought for you this in the summer from her favorite bookstore.

“This is our last year. Maybe we should try to engage in other types of relationships,” she states hesitantly. Both of your tired giggles fill the quiet air, followed by sighs before she continues. “I mean… don’t you have someone you’ve taken interest in?”

You glance down at the words on the pages blankly, skimming, but processing nothing. You’d thought everyone had realized the crush you had on the main boy in your friend group.

“Harry, I guess,” you reply flatly.

“Harry!?” She yelps and sits up. “I suspected, but never realized it was real.”

“He’s interested in Ginny anyways. I hardly stand a chance.”

“Oh, please! Harry mentioned having a crush on you just before summer.”

You have to admit that before this may have changed the way your heart beat in your chest, that those words alone would’ve made your breathing hitch, but now, nothing.

“It’s a dying crush, Mione. Harry is pursuing Ginny, they even kissed over the summer. Besides, being best friends complicates these kinds of things.”

She relaxes against the wall with another sigh, “I guess Ron wouldn’t be a logical choice either.”

“Ron?”

“Of course,” she breathes nervously. “I mean who else?”

“After ruining the Yule Ball for you, I figured he’d be last on your list.”

“As mad as it may be, it’s what moved him to the top,” she snorts, causing you to giggle as well. “And with his charm and witty comments, I can’t help it.”

“Our studies never fell us, but boys do. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

She tucks her wavy hair behind her ears, then crosses her arms over her chest.

“If your crush on Harry is dying, surely someone else caught your interest all this time? You haven’t studied much. Usually you’d finish reviewing your entire textbook before the first day. I guess I’ve been rather distracted as well.”

You glance down at the bookmark placed only a fourth through the book. Summer had been busy. You needed a lot more supplies than usual this year and the booklist had only grown in size as if the professors were trying to cram in the last of everything they could teach before you all left. You’d also spent most of your time with friends or your father, which meant less time to read and study. But you can’t deny that the season had allowed you to grow closer to someone else, someone you never would’ve expected in a million years.

“I uh…” you stumble and close your book in your lap.

As your best friend, you’ve always told her everything, but this, you’re nervous about. Nervous because he’s not someone that would be openly welcomed by your group of friends.

“Well, who is it?”

“It’s Draco,” you utter before swallowing dryly.

A cackle slips from her lips and she cups her hand over her mouth hastily. “It’s almost as if I heard you say ‘Draco,’ as in Draco Malfoy.”

She can’t seem to stop laughing, but soon stifles to silence once she realizes the seriousness in your expression.

“You can’t be serious, Y/n. Draco bullied Harry his entire first year. He’s vile, absolutely evil.”

“He’s not,” you defend. “I mean the part with Harry is true, but it’s only because he was jealous. And I know that doesn’t change anything, that it doesn’t excuse him, but I’ve gotten to know him and he’s changed. He’s different… and alone, he’s really caring.”

Hermione stares at you blankly before returning to her prior position, pulling the blankets up and lying back. She stares at the ceiling and stays silent.

“Mione, I think I might give him a chance, just like you should with Ron. It’s our last year and we shouldn’t let anything hold us back.”

“Dating Ron can’t possibly be compared to dating Draco. It’s implausible.”

“Promise to just give him a chance this year… for me?”

She quickly glances over at you and you give sleepy puppy eyes and a huge pout.

“I don’t even like puppies,” she breathes and slaps her arms at her side before letting out another laugh. “But I can’t possibly stay upset with you, Draco is another story. If you say things are better, then he’ll have to prove himself. He’ll have to gain our trust again, until then, I won’t tell the others about this.”

You smile contently and place the textbook on the nightstand before copying her position and staring up at the blank ceiling.

“I understand.”

“Just tell me one thing, before bed…” she whispers. “What do you like most about him?”

You inhale softly, thinking of all the ways you’ve interacted with Draco this past summer.

You could talk about your first kiss, but even that seems too uncomfortable to share at the moment. She’d be absolutely repulsed by the thought, even more if she knew how many times you’d met him at the Malfoy Manor for dinner with his family. They accepted you as his friend, though you knew his father wasn’t particularly thrilled with you also being friends with a Potter and the Weasleys, not to mention your best friend having muggle parents. But the visits were always for Draco, not his parents, and late night talks usually turned to snogging sessions and sleepovers as Hermione would describe it.

You think back to your last encounter with Draco. The two of you didn’t speak to each other, but somehow everything that needed to be said had been exchanged through a single glance.

He had sat with his father, and you with yours across the Ministry’s theater. The event was under invitation only, so you didn’t have the pleasure of bringing your friends along. The same went for Draco, not that Crabbe or Goyle would’ve made the cut under his father’s approval anyway. And in an event set to last at least four hours, with the orchestra playing for two and dancing and entertainment at the end, you’d have no time to really socialize with him unless the two of you were able to dance together.

And you weren’t.

A young and good-looking Cedric Diggory had nervously, but bravely asked your father for your hand in the dance. In which your father, being a former Hufflepuff himself, had happily agreed to.

Cedric was sweet and literally good on his feet. He’d swept you effortlessly across the ballroom, keeping your attention anytime you tried to steal a glance towards Draco. Draco wasn’t much of a dancer, but his father hadn’t given him much of a choice, throwing him at whichever decent-looking witch approached him for a dance. It had all been for work appearances of course.

With your arms tangled loosely around Cedric’s neck and his at your waist, making small talk only made you wish it had been Draco taking his spot. When you closed your eyes and smiled, for a moment, you’d imagine his platinum locks and icy eyes staring into the depths of yours. You’d blush anytime you thought of the weight of his hands at your waist or falling to your hips. You’d feel warm and fuzzy and think of all the times the two of you shared kisses and cuddled at night in his bed as your long conversations lured the both of you to sleep in each other’s arms. You’d think of Draco’s arms wrapped around you, not Cedric’s.

But when you finally opened your eyes again, Cedric was still smiling and talking about how amazing the orchestra was as well as a few compliments here and there about your flawless dancing. But he had lied, dismissing the fact that during the short time of you closing your eyes, you’d already stepped on his foot twice. Draco would’ve insulted your missed steps, only to insult his own immediately after, which would have led to laughter on both ends and a disapproving scowl from this father.

You tossed Cedric a soft grin and on the last dip, your eyes had finally met Draco’s. The glance had been enough to make your heart stop cold in your chest, even Cedric had asked if you were alright, but you couldn’t break the intensity of Draco’s stare. A bit of anger and jealously flickered in it, but a bit of sorrow as well.

You’d assured Cedric that you were fine once the music cut to an end and people shuffling out had become quieted enough to return to conversation. By the time you had answered and turned back, Draco was gone, leaving you yearning for just one more moment with him, even from afar.

“I guess the one thing I like the most is his intensity when he’s passionate about something. There’s a slight flicker in his eyes when he sees something he wants… when he sees me,” you whisper while turning your head towards Hermione with a soft grin following after the thought of him.

But your answer falls on deaf eyes and you realize your exhausted friend had already drifted to sleep before you could even answer.

Maybe this is something worth keeping to yourself anyways. You think to yourself and flip the lamp off before drifting off the sleep.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

[littlemissaddict]

Christmas Market - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: Steve takes reader to a Christmas market.

Word Count: 1653

When Steve had mentioned to her about them going to the city for the annual Christmas market, she had jumped at the chance. “We’ll probably end up with the kids tagging along but I thought we could make a date out of it” he’d said, a smile growing on his face when he saw how excited she was.

So that’s how they ended up one Saturday morning in December huddled up in Steve’s car, she’d sat up front with Steve much to the boys dismay as it meant they were crammed into the back like a tin of sardines. They didn’t hold back with the complaints either, “You need a bigger car” Dustin had grumbled, more annoyed than Mike or Lucas as he had ended up stuck in the middle of the two.

“Suck it up, it’s not like you’ll be there all day” Steve replied with a frustrated glance in the rearview mirror where he caught Dustin’s gaze. They were only fifteen minutes into the drive to Indianapolis and she could already tell that he was already regretting the decision to invite the kids along. She reached over to where his hand was resting against the steering wheel giving it a gentle squeeze of reassurance and a smile when he looked her way just to remind him she was there for him and after that his body seemed to relax a bit more. The small moment didn’t go unnoticed by the kids as the resounding groans and a mutter of ‘gross’ was heard in the back but the two of them just laughed it off.

By the time Steve had parked the car, he looked about ready to tear his hair out and before he even let the boys out of the car he turned to them, “You know the rules now repeat them back to me” he said sternly, almost glaring at each boy in turn as she sat back and watched the scene play out.

The resounding groans were silenced when Steve reminded them that he was serious and he would turn back around if they couldn’t tell him, “We stick together, no talking to strangers and we have to be back to the car for 5” they repeated back which seemed to satisfy Steve as he let them go telling them to have fun, “Okay mom” Dustin shot back as he climbed out of the car.

The unexpectedness of his reply made her burst with laughter and Steve turned to her with a pout, “sorry, sorry but he’s right you know mom’s and their rules” she chuckled softly, leaning over to kiss his cheek which she knew would always make him smile and he did. “It’s cute how much you care for them, you’ll be a good dad one day” she adds, as a funny look comes over him that she can only describe as somewhere between lovestruck and longing but before she can say anything about it, he’s opening the car door.

“Are you coming, we can’t let the kids be the only ones having fun” he smiles brightly, completely different to the frustration he was carrying when they first parked up,

She was quick to follow him out, wrapping her scarf around her neck as he linked his hand with hers as soon as she was in reach and pulling her along with him. They pass stalls selling all kinds of gifts, handmade crafts and lots of food stalls that all smell delicious, they stop at each and every stall that catches their attention whether it’s just to admire some of the craft work or if they bought something as a gift. She’s glad she brought a bag with her as it’s now full of little bits she and Steve had bought throughout the afternoon and when Steve looks at his watch he frowns a little.

“So we still have a little time before we need to meet the kids, what do you say we grab a hot chocolate?” he suggests, already leading the way to the stall they passed earlier. “Come on my treat” he adds, pulling her along and giving her no choice.

“Cream and marshmallows, just how I know you like it” Steve smiles, handing her the takeout cup and sitting next to her on the bench. They drink in silence watching the crowds of people weaving in and out of each other, smiling to themselves at the joy on the faces of people around them until Steve glances her way and chuckles.

“What?” she asks, confused as she turns to find his eyes on her.

“You got a little something, here” he says, still amused as he reaches a hand forward to wipe the cream off her top lip.

“Thanks mom” she laughs, referring to Dustin’s earlier teasing as Steve just shakes his head at her but he’s smiling. “What do you bet that they are going to come back with all the sweet treats they could find?” she laughs.

“Yeah, as if they need any more sugar, especially Henderson it's like the kid is on a sugar rush 24/7” he agrees, unable to hide the shiver that runs through his body. The air had gotten chillier since they had arrived and the jacket he had worn was definitely not enough to keep him warm.

“Are you cold?” she asks, not missing the way he shivered, “you know it’s usually you telling me off for not wearing a warm enough coat and now look at you” she giggles, not giving him a chance to answer before she’s unravelling her scarf, shifting across the bench so she’s sitting close enough to him that their thighs are pressed together and wrapping it back around the two of them.

“I don’t know if this is going to help but I’m not complaining” he smiles, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her even closer to him so that she is almost sitting on his lap. He’s also very aware of how close her face now is to his own and he’s debating whether or not to give in a kiss her despite the disapproving looks they probably get for being the ‘teenagers that can’t keep their hands off each other’ but she makes the decision for him, leaning in and pressing her lips to his.

His eyes flutter closed immediately as he allows himself to bask in the feeling of her kisses, soft but insistent as her lips move deftly over his own. They only part when a cough from behind startles them apart and they turn to find a mother with a stroller and a little boy clinging tightly to her arm, clearly wanting the bench they’re currently occupying and upon looking around they see just how busy the area has gotten.

“Sorry” she mumbles, standing up and pulling Steve with her so that he doesn't get strangled by the scarf still wrapped snugly around them both, so that she can have the bench. “We should probably get back to the car” she adds to him, cheeks flushed and he’s not sure if it's the getting caught or the cold that’s caused it but he nods.

He’s unwilling to let her go with the scarf just yet, wanting to keep it and her closer to him for as long as he can so when she goes to unravel it so that they can walk more comfortably he stops her, instead he wraps an arm around her waist again which pulls her into his side and allows them to walk a little bit easier towards the car. When they get there, she’s unsurprised to find that the kids aren’t there just yet, knowing that they’ll be trying to stretch the time for as long as possible.

Twisting in his hold so she’s facing him, she leans back against the car door, “you know I'm gonna need this back now so that we can get in the car” she smiles up at him with wide innocent eyes as her hands toy with the ends of the scarf. Though instead of unwrapping it like he expects her to, she pulls him in with it so that they’re as close as they were minutes earlier and he catches the shine of her eyes just as she pushes closer, her lips capturing his again. 

She can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses her, his hands coming to rest on her waist as their lips dance together in a way that has her groaning into his mouth. Her body heats from the feeling his lips give her, more than any scarf or coat could ever do and she knows he’s just as warm as she slips her hands under his jacket, then his top until they’re resting against his bare skin making him hiss at the contact of her icy touch.

“God dammit, really?” Dustin’s voice filled with disbelief reaches their ears, startling them apart for the second time in the past ten or so minutes.

“Did you even leave the car?” Lucas teases, pretending to ignore the fullness of the bag that's still hanging from her shoulder as Dustin and Mike snicker beside him. 

Steve rolls his eyes at their teasing as she bites her lip to suppress the embarrassed laughter bubbling up inside of her. “Yeah joke all you like, just wait until it’s you who gets caught” Steve shoots back waiting until they’re climbing into the car before he turns his attention back to her, “Let’s get rid of the little shit’s and then it’s just us” Steve smiles, both of them laughing when Dustin shouts that he heard that but giving it no more thought as he presses a kiss to her forehead before finally unwrapping himself from the scarf. Then they’re climbing into the car ready to head home with their spoils from the day and the need to warm up.

[colemorrison]

I was wondering if you could write Junkrat x Lucio where one of them gets fucked against a wall? Kinda rough but then loving at the end? Only if you're comfortable with that of course! Thank you!!

Junkrat had him pressed against the wall making it almost hard to breathe, especially with how his lips were pressed into Lucio's "ya're so pretty" Jamison mumbled moving to bite at the others skin. "Dude, give a man a second to breathe" Lucio laughed panting against the other who came back up just to stare at him. There had to have been hearts in his eyes, the way he stared at the musician, trying not to bite at the others lips.

Lucio was so pretty, unbelievably pretty "staring is a little awkward." The shorter smiled but groaned into the others lips when his head hit the wall, he went to complain but Junkrats flesh hand quickly went to the back of Lucio's head while he continued kissing him. He was rushed with his movements but the musician knew why, Junkrat was overwhelmed when he was with Lucio, so much feeling crammed into his skinny body made it hard not to explode like this.

His metal hand snuck under the others loose shirt, the coldness of it made Lucio move to stand on his tip toes "where do ya stand with.. blood" Junkrat asked feeling blush cover his cheeks. "I do look good in red," he mumbled smiling into the other as he locked their lips once again. Lucio moved his hands to the others already bare chest, then down to his shorts, unbuckling the belt and letting them fall down around the others ankles.

He groaned when he felt the taller break the skin on his lips, blood dripping between their pressed together lips "red definitely looks good on you Luc." Jamison quickly slid the others shirt off, and then moved to his loose sweats, "you're lucky you came over when I was dressed lazy." He smiled but it turned into a moan when the other bit over his thighs, it was weird seeing the junker so quiet, "I should have confessed way bloody earlier." Lucio moaned when he felt the others fingers messing with him through his boxers, Junkrat was warm, so unbelievably warm.

"Do ya have lube mate?" The taller muttered into Lucios soft thighs "yeah it's..." he started but Junkrat was already biting his inner thighs "it's in the top drawer in my room." Jamison was fast to come back to the shorter and strip him completely so he could spread his legs while his flesh hand that was now lubed could slide into the others hole and stretch him out. Lucio was moaning and panting above him while the bomber was watching him with a smile, his lips inched forward taking the musician into his mouth.

Junkrat watched the other arch his back against the wall, he thrusted his fingers faster, adding another and watched as Lucio's fingers gripped into his hair, "fuck Jamison, slow down." He moaned pulling the blonde strands harder than he usually would but now he was the overwhelmed one. He whimpered when the taller pulled away, spit dripping down his chin, "would it hurt ya if your legs were around me?" Junkrat asked biting at the others neck once again "just hurry up junker" he smiled watching as the other grabbed him and arranged them.

Jamison quickly put his tip against the other and moaned "we are doing this all the bloody time," he grunted barely giving the shorter time to adjust. They weren't going to last long but Lucio didn't think he could take this much roughness after not having sex for ages. The musician came first, over his stomach and chest while Junkrat took a tad longer and finished in the other making him groan in annoyance.

"You're going to be dripping out of me," Junkrat was quiet as he set the other down but quickly embraced him "I didn't hurt ya to much did I?" He asked making the shorter look up at him so he could press their foreheads together "no but next time I'm topping and were doing it in bed like normal people." Jamison smiled "so that means were doing it again?" "Yes Junkrat, that is what that means."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Theyre so bfs, love them.

[hearmyvoiceoftreason]

standing by and waiting at your backdoor | chapter 8

Bzz.

Bzz.

Pidge could’ve sworn she set her alarm to only wake her up on weekdays.

Yawning, she blindly pawed for her phone on her bed with one hand while the other reached for her glasses, pushing them up her nose as she turned on the screen.

         Keith: @Pidge i’m at your place

         Keith: your mom let me in

The cram session.  

Right.  

Letting out one more yawn, Pidge got off her bed and headed downstairs.

Mom was absently humming in front of the stove, her song accompanied with the sizzles from the pan and the burner, to which Pidge let out a contented sigh at the smell of frying bacon.  

“Morning,” Keith greeted from the table. In front of him was a stack of pancakes from which he took three of on his own plate, along with two eggs and a few strips of bacon.

“He said he didn’t have much for breakfast,” Mom said. “Lucky for him, I already finished the batter when he arrived.”

Keith only nodded at her as he chewed, then gestured to his head before swallowing. “You might wanna fix the bedhead.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but put her hair up with the tie on her wrist as she walked into the kitchen. She greeted Mom with a kiss on the cheek and grabbed a plate and utensils from the cupboards and the peanut butter jar from the fridge.

And even with Mom busy in the kitchen, it was still oddly quiet.

“Where’s Bae-Bae?”

“Matt took him with your father to the lab.”

“Traitors,”

Mom chuckled. “You know our boys,”

“Yeah, yeah,” And it was when Pidge sat down that she realized Keith was giving her a strange look.

“What?”

“You’re wearing earrings.”

“Yeah, had to reopen the piercings for prom.” She took four pancakes from the stack. “I thought you were gonna stop at Shiro’s first?”

Keith shook his head. “He didn’t reply so I figured he was in the shower when I texted.”

Pidge opened the peanut butter and put a generous dollop on the top pancake. “Don’t you have a spare key?”

“Yeah, but I had to drop these off here anyway.” He reached down to his feet and produced a six-pack of Red Bull which he set on the table with a soft thud.

“Holy shit,”

“Language,” Mom warned before turning around. “Are you going to consume all of that?” From the look alone it was clear she was hoping the answer would be no.

Pidge glanced over at Keith. “We’ll try not to?” she offered.

Her mother sighed. “Fine. But you know the consequences if I catch you awake and making noise in the garage at three in the morning again, young lady.” Then, facing Keith, she added, “Make sure to monitor her consumption?”

Pidge snorted, thinking back to the six-pack of Quintessence Canned Coffee she kept in a cooler at the bottom of her closet that matched the one Keith kept in his locker.

The boy only blinked. “I think I’m the last person you should be asking that.” He picked up a strip of bacon before adding, “Leave it up to Shiro. He should be here in a few.”

“Oh?” Mom asked, turning to Pidge with a raised brow.

“So are Hunk and Lance,” Katie said too quickly for her liking. “Grinding before the Championship and all that.”

“I see.” If Mom was disappointed with the answer, she didn’t show it. “What time are they coming over?”

Keith rummaged into his pocket to pull out his phone. “Lance and Hunk said they’re already on the way and asking if we want anything from Sal’s.” He turned to Pidge. “I’m guessing you want an iced latte with hazelnut?”

“Yes please,”

“How about you, Doctor Holt?”

The stove turned off just as Mom turned around. “I’ll get the same as Katie but hot. Oh, and tell Lance and Hunk everyone’s drinks are on me.”  

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Keith and Pidge said in unison, to which Mom only smiled. “And don’t forget to get something for Shiro. He should be over any time now, yes?”

She didn’t even bother being subtle as she glanced at Pidge with what was essentially signaling with her eyeballs.

Pidge heaved out a sigh but quickly polished off the rest of her breakfast before going upstairs.

Best friends or not, she did not want to be in her pajamas while they were over and risk any blackmail material.

(Right, like that wasn’t the only reason she wanted to get dressed for the day when all of her friends already had hundreds of blackmail worthy photos and videos from Junior Year alone.)

Pidge also hoped that by dressing for the day it would hype her up, both for the studying itself and the looks she’ll no doubt be getting from Mom while Shiro would be in their house for the first time in weeks after only showing his face to just Pidge.

         Shiro: Keith’s already there right?

Speak of the devil .

The sight of the private message notification on her screen made Pidge look out her windows and, sure enough, Shiro was standing in the middle of his room.

And, as if feeling her glance, he looked up and waved.

Pidge rolled her eyes and replied.

         Pidge: yep and he helped himself to breakfast

         Pidge: there’s plenty to go around if you want

         Shiro: sure, sure

         Shiro: just gathering my things. be at the door in five.

Pidge looked up to wave goodbye before closing her curtains and getting ready.

And without really thinking about it, Pidge ended up adding a few extra hairpins into the sides of her head as she fixed her hair, if only to avoid ending up with someone else brushing the stray locks away.

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.

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read the rest of the chapter here:  ♡♡♡