#this is so nice to see i kept it in my inbox for a couple days just to look at it and go 🥰🥰🥰

[lokislytherin]

jus wanna say ure my favorite lookism writer 😊 ty for the food

i. that makes me so happy idk what to say

thank you so much more fics to come <3

tysm for reading my fics please continue to eat well! hope you have a nice day anon remember to hydrate or diedrate!

[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.

[shiftingparadise]

I don’t know if your busy rn but there is a shortage in FEITAN x readers books and ya girl is dying. I know your inbox is like huge probably but anyways.. IF YOU DO TYSM AND IF YOU DONT TYSM FOR READING ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️😻😻😻🥲🥲🫶🫶🫶🫶

Sorry it took so long. I hope you like this :) In this story, Feitan is similar to my others works. So he isn’t particularly very kind in the beginning. I’m working on your requests now, so if you have one don’t be afraid to send me a message or to ask one! Keep in mind that I have a couple left to do, so I’m only asking for some patience :3.

If you enjoy my stories it would be really great if you could buy me a coffee with the link in my bio 😇. HOWEVER DON’T FEEL OBLIGED TO DO SO. I’m only saying this because someone did a week ago and it felt really nice 🥹. I really enjoy writing for you guys either way 🤍✨

PS: I wanted to write another part of this, let me know if I should :)

Warnings: smut and angst.

Word count: 3455

“Be careful, don’t let your heart fool you”, my father took another sip from his coffee, “You’ve got to be sure he isn’t after our money”. “How can you say something like that?”. “I only want what’s best for you. You know that”. “I know him. He would never do anything to hurt me”, you slowly stood up. For some reason, your father’s office never seemed so small before. “Fine”, my father sighed, “Invite him over for dinner”.

You closed your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks as you remembered the conversation with your father. You didn’t know. You really didn’t. How could you know that he was a Spider? That he was only playing a part? Right, in hindsight everything did seem a little fishy. The way he was suddenly there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. Or the way his name didn’t seem to truly ‘fit’ him. Jacob. He didn’t look like a Jacob at all. How could you be this dumb? Life isn’t like the fairytales and you were an idiot to think it could be.

“Where is she?”.

You couldn’t help but shiver. That voice used to be so familiar. So warm and soft.

“Boss told us to keep her in here”, the blonde that stood in front of the door answered. “It’s nice in there, Fei. She has a nice bed and lots of books”, a misguidingly soft voice answered.

The girl seemed so sweet, with her big glasses and her soft eyes. You couldn’t understand how she could be part of a gang like this.

“I don’t care”, Feitan coldly replied before walking past his comrades.

Your stomach started to turn. You couldn’t look at him. You wanted to keep your memories clean from any stains; to remember him the way you knew him. Kind and soft-hearted.

“Look at me”. “No”, you softly answered as you kept your gaze locked on the ground. “I said look at me”, his hands roughly grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t want to”, you almost whispered as you tried not to cry. “Look at me”.

You flinched as you felt the tip of his knife against your cheek. The same place he used to kiss you before wishing you goodnight.

You looked up at him with glossy eyes, not daring to say anything. “Are you scared?”, his cold eyes pierced through your skull. “Yes”, you softly agreed while studying his face. He was nothing like the man you used to know.

His facial features were so cold and distant. As if he was frozen in ice for hundreds of years. You couldn’t see half of his face, as it was covered with the coat he was wearing. It was decorated with a skull, making him even more morbid.

“Good”, he roughly pulled away as he lowered his knife to your throat. “Why are you doing this?”, your chin high. “Why?”, he repeated the question while once again lowering his knife. Letting the cold metal rest just beneath your collarbone. Your breathing got heavier as fear’s grip tightened around your body.

You didn’t know he wasn’t the head of this organization, that this wasn’t his plan. To you, he was the man with all the answers. The one who planned this whole scheme.

“If you want money-“, you were cut short by the back of his hand. “Only speak when I tell you to”.

He wasn’t that tall, but the way he hit you made him seem like the devil. Even though you couldn’t see, you knew there was this cruel grin on his face. You could tell by the way his eyes narrowed.

“Too hard”, his thumb grazed over your cheek. “Or you’re just too fragile”, he lowered his collar to lick up the drop of blood on his thumb. “Don’t cry”, he kneeled before you, “We’re going to have a lot more fun than this”. “Fei?”, the sweet-looking girl suddenly stood next to him. “What, Shizuku?”, Feitan sighed before standing up again. “Boss said not to hurt her, remember?”, her finger resting on her lip. “Tsk”, he clicked his tongue before leaving. “Don’t worry”, the girl cheerfully smiled, “We only need some kind of code. I’m sure your father will give it to us soon”. “Code?”, your eyes widened, “H-he won’t give it!”, you hastily got up from the bed you were sitting on. “Huh? He won’t?”, the girl widened her eyes.

You knew your father. He would never risk the nation’s, no the world’s, safety. Not even for his own daughter.

“You’re after the code for the nuclear weapons, right?”. “I guess… I don’t remember to be honest”, she looked down at the ground. “Listen, my father will never give that code. J-just ask our president-“. “But only your father knows that code, since he’s head of security”, the girl happily smiled, causing you to shiver. “Yo, Shizu”, the blonde angrily yelled from the door. “Huh?”, she looked behind her. “Shut up before you tell her our whole plan”. “Oh right”, she giggled before leaving.

——

“Get the girl, Phinks”, Feitan coldly sighed from behind your door.

You tucked your knees even tighter to your chest. You didn’t know what was going to happen. Were they going to kill you? Torture you?

“Get up”, Phinks roughly grabbed your arm and pulled you from the bed. “Let go!”, you tried to struggle, to break free from his grip. “You want me to get Feitan?”, he gritted his teeth. A threat he didn’t have to make twice.

You hastily stopped struggling, now following him into the main room of the abandoned building. The stones underneath your feet felt exceptionally cold, and the nightgown you were wearing didn’t really help to keep you warm.

“She’s freezing”, a voice too soft now greeted your ears, “Put this on her”.

You looked up to a tall figure. His hair was pitch black and there was this kind of cross tattooed on his forehead. He was an exceptionally good-looking man, but somehow his skin was just as cold-looking as Feitan. It didn’t match his kind voice at all.

“Here”, Phinks threw the coat at your feet. “I said put it on”, the dark-haired man smiled, “She can’t put it on when her hands are tied, can she? “Tsk”, the blonde picked up the coat before throwing it over your shoulders.

You scanned the room. There were about 10 people in the room. Some of them just looked evil, but others looked as innocent as a child. Especially a blonde-haired guy with big, green eyes.

“Your father won’t give us the code. Do you-”, the soft voice broke through your thoughts. “Who are you?“.

“Huh?”, you froze in fear as Feitan’s knife was once again pressed to the soft skin of your neck. You didn’t see him move. It felt as if he had just teleported to you.

“Tsk”, his eyes found yours, “How dare you interrupt boss?”. “Come now, Feitan”, the man now walked towards you, stopping before you. Without any warning, his fingers glided over your cheek, “You couldn’t contain yourself before, but you have to now”. Feitan immediately stepped away from you, discontent hidden in his eyes. “Feitan has a hard time holding himself back from… Fun”, the man smiled, “But it seems he did his best with you. I rarely get to see a hostage without any cuts or broken fingers”. “Lucky me”, you sarcastically answered while holding eye contact. “Yes, but keep in mind that luck doesn’t last forever”, he chuckled. “I’m Chrollo. Head of the Spiders”, he walked back to the stairs he was sitting on earlier. “My father isn’t going to give up the code. Not even for me”. “Yes, he made that very clear”, Chrollo replied. “Let me go and I promise my father will give you a generous reward”, your heart racing. “We have more than enough money. Besides, we can’t let you go. You know all of our names. Well… you’ll get to know them”. “What does that mean?”, you took a step back. “Feitan wanted you as a reward during this mission. So whether we’ll get the code or not, you’re not leaving”, Chrollo’s eyes glittered in the dark. “I-I don’t want to”, you started to panic. “Don’t care”, Feitan’s voice was only fuel to your fear. “From now on, you belong to Feitan”, Chrollo signaled Phinks to free your hands. “Keep the coat. I don’t think Feitan cares if you’re cold. You’ll be at least warm that way”, Chrollo spoke as if Feitan wasn’t there. “Right”, Feitan smirked. “At least get her some proper clothing, Fei”, Chrollo coldly looked at his Spider before dismissing everyone.

——

“Here”, Feitan threw a couple of bags on your bed the next day. “Proper clothes”, he leaned against the door.

After Chrollo dismissed everyone, Feitan took you with him to the house he was currently living in. It was a big and luxurious house. It wasn’t really decorated with furniture, only the necessary things like a couch, a dinner table, some paintings on the wall… And the room you were staying in was just as empty. There was a bed, a luxurious bathroom, and a big, walk-in closet that was empty of course.

“Proper clothes?”, your brows pulled together as you pulled a dress out of one of the bags. “This is a Prada dress?”. “I want you to look pretty”, Feitan looked up at the ceiling. “I’ll get you clothes every week. They won’t last long anyway”, his eyes now darted to yours.

Your stomach turned. You could only imagine what he was going to do to you.

“Wear this one for now”, Feitan slowly walked to your bed before handing you another bag. “For dinner. Hired some chef”. “I’m not hungry”, you clenched your jaw. “I don’t care”, he once again grabbed your jaw, “You’ll do as I say. Got it?”, his lips hovering next to your ear. “I’ve been kind until now, haven’t I? I behaved, so you’ll behave too”.

You didn’t answer, you just nodded in response.

“Good. Now put it on”, he leaned back. “N-now?”, you looked up at him with fear in your eyes. “Yes, want to see your body one last time before I have fun with it”. “What do you mean?”, you tried to keep your voice steady. “Put it on”, his cold gaze let you know his patience was running thin.

With shaking hands, you pulled out the nightgown you were wearing from when Feitan kidnapped you. You weren’t wearing anything underneath it, but that didn’t faze you. Feitan had seen your body many times by now. He used to place kisses all over it, making you feel like no one ever had before.

“This one?”, you covered your breasts with your arm. “Yes”, he got closer. You pulled out a beautiful, black dress from the back.

It wasn’t especially short, but it wasn’t long either. The fabric ended just above your knees. It was a tight dress until your belly, where it opened up like a flower. It was a beautiful dress, no doubt about it.

“I’ll close it”, Feitan guided you to a mirror before his hands glided along your waist.

His touch didn’t seem rough at all. It felt just as before.

“You like it?”, he took a step back when he zipped up the dress for you. “Hm”, you nodded in agreement. “Dinner’s at 7”, he cleared his throat before leaving you again.

——

You couldn’t eat. There was this lump in your throat that made it feel like you’d throw up if any kind of food entered your mouth.

“I thought sushi was your favorite”, Feitan was sitting on the other end of the table. “It is”, you hastily picked up some food, fearing what might happen if you didn’t eat. “It’s really good”, your eyes widened.

You didn’t realize how much your body needed some kind of fuel. You didn’t eat for at least 2 days now, and you only realized now how hungry you truly were.

“One of the best sushi chefs”, Feitan looked at the kitchen behind him where the chef was preparing more food. He seemed in distress, probably because Feitan made sure he wouldn’t tell a soul you were with him.

After dinner, Feitan guided you back to your room.

“Can I go to sleep?”, you softly asked as you sat down on your bed. “Sleep?”, he tilted his head, “No, it’s time for me to have some fun”. “Fun?”, your breathing started to fasten. “Fun”, his eyes lit up before roughly grabbing your arm and pulling you to another room.

There was nothing in the room except for a chair and a bed. Without any warning, he threw you on the bed and tied your wrists to it.

“What are you going to do?”, your eyes already glossy. “Whatever I want”, a knife in his hand as he slowly crawled on top of you. “I’ve wanted to take you like this since the first time we met”, his nose taking in the scent of your hair. “You know how hard it is to hold back when you’re this pretty? It was almost hard for me to finish at times because you were so boring… Always begging me to kiss you, to take you slow, … I hated it”.

You didn’t answer. There was nothing for you to say. Even when he showed some kindness earlier, you should’ve prepared yourself for this.

He swiftly cut the straps of your dress with his knife, causing it to slide down just beneath your breasts. “Stay still”, his knife firmly pressed against your throat as he noticed you were starting to kick your legs. “Please”, tears streamed down your cheek as he licked up a drop of your blood. “Don’t worry, you’re going to like this”, he looked into your eyes before cupping your cheek, “I’ll be rough, but I won’t be a monster. I know you’re body and when it’s ready for me. Even though you won’t admit it, I know you’ve been craving my touch. I saw it earlier when you were undressing in front of me… Your legs were rubbing against each other when I zipped up your dress. You only do that when you want me”.

Yes. No. Maybe. You knew he was right. Earlier… You wanted him, but you tried to push those thoughts away as much as you could. He wasn’t the man you knew. He was a psychopath, how could you want someone like him?

“Now, stay still”, his nails dug into the soft flesh of your waist as he pulled up your dress with the other. “Feitan, please”, another tear was streaming down your cheek. “Say it. Tell me you want me to stop”, his knee pushed your legs open as his digits hovered over your most sensitive spot. “I’ll stop if you do”, a devilish smirk in his eyes.

But you didn’t want him to. You didn’t care if he was going to be rough, or if he was even going to hurt you. You wanted him.

“See?”, he chuckled at a lack of answer. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You’ve never been this wet for me”, he softly bit on your shoulder. You closed your eyes as you were still trying to fight yourself. “I asked you a question”, his hand wrapped around your throat as he bit your shoulder again. Only harder this time. “S-shit”, you cried out in pain. “I’m going to cover you in bitemarks for ignoring my question”, he loosened his grip around your neck while his fingers slowly entered you. “Fuck”, you arched your back as he left bite marks on your body.

You couldn’t deny it any longer. He made you feel good, better than he ever did.

“Tsk”, Feitan frowned when you came undone around his fingers, “Wasn’t expecting you to enjoy this”. “I-I’m not”, you avoided his gaze as your cheeks turned red. “Liar”, he softly hummed while undressing himself.

Your eyes were glued to his body. Now it was clear why he never took off his shirt.

“Who did that to you?”, you quietly whispered as you noticed his scars. For a second, his eyes widened while his lips were slightly parted.

There was this short-lived moment in his mind where he wanted to let you in and where he wanted you to care for him. An unwilling memory of your arms wrapped around him flashed before his eyes.

“Shut up”, his eyes went dark again, “Don’t talk”.

Afraid of being enchanted by your warm voice again, he thought it better not to hear your voice at all.

He didn’t ask if you were ready for him. It was unnecessary. By now, your legs are already wrapped willingly around his waist. “Feitan”, your eyes closed as his forehead was pressed against yours. “Don’t”, Feitan grunted as he got even rougher, “I don’t want you to enjoy this”.

That was a lie. He wanted you to, more than anything. It wasn’t his intention for you to enjoy this, and he surely didn’t want to leave you so perfectly. In his mind, he wanted to hurt you, to make you bleed, just as he did with all those before you. That’s what he enjoyed. Torture. Not this. This wasn’t like him, and it made him mad but there was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to hurt you, more so, it would even make him feel bad about himself.

“Sorry”, your lips pressed against each other as a whisper left your chest. “Fuck”, he grunted in agitation.

He didn’t know what to do, but this didn’t feel right.

“Tell me”, he clenched his jaw at the realization of how soft he had gotten for you. “W-what?”, you looked to the side. “Tell me you want me, please”, his eyes were glued to a bitemark he left.

He couldn’t lie. The bruises looked so good on your body, but only because you enjoyed it. If he did something like that while you were crying, begging him to stop…

“I want you, Feitan”, your soft voice melted something inside him as if a fire was lit inside his heart. “Even now? Even when you see who I truly am?”.

“Even now”.

Without thinking twice, he cut the rope that was holding you down.

“Touch me. Like you used to”, he softly grabbed your wrist before placing your hand on the back of his head.

You obeyed as you softly tugged at his dark hair.

“I don’t want to take you slowly like I used to, Y/N”. “You don’t have to”, your legs tightened around his waist.

That was all he needed to hear. Without any hesitation, his lips crashed against yours.

“You feel so good”, your breathing got heavier as you could feel he was getting close. “Yeah?”, his voice low, “Want me to breed you?”. You hastily nodded as you could feel yourself getting closer to your own climax. “Really?”, he chuckled, “You never let me come inside you before. Always crying about being scared to get pregnant”. “P-please Feitan”, you arched your back. “Don’t worry. I’m going to fill you up this time, whether you want me to or not”.

Your legs now started to shake as you came undone around him.

“That’s it. Good girl”, Feitan grabbed your jaw, “Now look at me and beg”. “P-please Fei, want you to come inside me”. “Want me to put a baby in you? Making you mine forever?”. “P-please”.

Feitan couldn’t contain himself any longer. With heavy breaths and low grunts, he let his head rest against your shoulder.

“Never felt so good”, he slowly pulled out, before placing a soft kiss on the bitemark he left on your shoulder. “Hm”, you happily smiled.

He didn’t know why he decided to act cold again. Honestly, he hated himself for it, but there was something inside him. A feeling he never felt before. Was it fear? Was he scared that you were going to leave him? No. You couldn’t leave him. He kidnapped you and you had nowhere to go. It was something else. He knew you weren’t going to leave, but he was scared you were going to hate him for what he did. Or rather, for who he was. You didn’t know the real him.

“Don’t think this will happen again”, he coldly got up, “You won’t enjoy this next time”.

You lowered your eyes as you watched him put on his clothes.

“Can I-“.

“Go to your room and shower. I don’t care what you do for the rest of the night”, he clenched his jaw before leaving you alone.

[mysticmellowlove]

Yan x fem reader who just hates everyone. She wants to make the world a better place for humanity but at the same time just hates how everyone is at this point in time. I mean she just stays in her big ass house because every time she goes out she just gets drained from everyone’s energy. Except for him- she loves him he is her life she wants to see him everyday spend all her days and nights with him. She needs him to basically filter her air. She lowkey(highkey) fantasies about him asking her to not leave the house for long durations of time because she doesn’t really want to anyway lol

note; some nice little fluff as i sit down to tackle my inbox

warnings; fem reader, little risque towards the end lol

You sighed as you flicked through the channels on the television, your heel hanging onto your foot by a mere inch. It had been a long day of working hard and if you were being honest it was getting a little tiring. Sure you loved your job but there was something about the people you worked with. The constant fights for promotions, the snide chatter and the secretive plans to usurp others. It was exhausting.

The only reason you kept working to secure a good future was...

"I'm back!" A chipper voice called out from the door as it swung open without much struggle. A small and content smile rose to your face. He was home, your boyfriend since high school. He was like a ray of sunshine truly, always happy to see you and hang out.

"You want help or something?" You hummed as you peeked over the side of the couch. In his arms was a plethora of groceries, nearly eight bags at least.

"Of course not, you had a long day so just relax there while I get this sorted out." He said as he waddled his way to the kitchen. You couldn't help the small smile that rose to your face. He was always attentive, ready to lend an ear... or a hand.

He made quick work of the groceries and soon found him sitting next to you, his head in your lap as you played with the strands of his hair. He was soaking up the affection you provided him with, a content look on his face as he shut his eyes.

"You know, I think I like the whole working from home thing." He mused as he turned his head and lifted the end of your dressing gown. Slowly he pressed his lips to your skin, his breath hot as he trailed faint kisses up your leg.

"It gives me a bunch of time during the day to just relax you know." He continued as he bit gently into your firm thighs, a nearly imperceivable shiver racking through his body. You lightly wrapped his hair around your finger, tugging it just to hear that delicious little whimper leave him.

"Maybe I should take a couple of rest days here and there." You sighed as you relaxed into the cushions of the couch, he was trailing his head upwards towards your cunt, his hot breath puffing against your skin as if he was already drooling at the thought of getting to indulge in you.

His nose nudged your clit, a pleased sound leaving him in agreement at your choice to forgo underwear.

"I think I can make that happen." You could feel his grin as he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your cunt as you let your head rest against the back of the couch. A small yet satisfied smile graced your lips, if only you knew...

[awrkive]

hey hey!! congrats on almost 1k and 2k for cn&bl <33 here i am again obsessed w the cn&bl couple! could i please request a drabble for them! maybe something super fluffy and a dash of smut 🫣 anything along the lines of them out in public or whatevs hahah

jk and oc’s relationship a secret no more LOLZIES (jk being completely down bad and being teased but in a friendly way??) any setting and time of the day! excited for anything you come up w, tysm!! <3

summary: cnbl!oc brings cnbl!jk lunch after his bb practice

wc: 1.8k

note: no smut but its super cute ))))))))))): this ask has been in my inbox for so long im really sorrry for only getting to it now 😭 nonetheless i hope u guys enjoy

‼️FULL FIC HERE

The tuna sandwich you made two weeks ago surprisingly became a favorite of Jungkook, which you didn't see coming, because he was a good cook (he truly did prove you wrong) and you were a shit one in comparison. To be fair, making a sandwich isn't totally cooking but you still season the tuna and that was cooking in your opinion but anyway, Jungkook loved it so much he kept on asking you for it whenever he came over.

Never had anyone validated your cooking before, only Jungkook, and you couldn't lie and say it didn't boost your ego whenever he ate it almost rather enthusiastically, and then kissed you sweetly (albeit smelling like tuna) and saying thank you with that adorable smile of his.

So today, you may have accidentally made five tuna sandwiches and bought way too much Chinese food that is anything but for individual consumption. Because today, you may be going to the gym to get lunch with Jungkook on his break.

[12:30pm] You: It's your lunch break, right? Are you still practicing?

[12:32pm] Kook🐰: hi baby we finished just now it'slunch break i go to class at 2pm

[12:32pm] Kook🐰: have u eaten should we get lunch together

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: i got starbucks coupon yesterdat👺

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: yesteeday

[12:35pm] Kook🐰: yesterday

[12:35pm] You: I'm coming to the gym

Turning off your phone after that brief exchange, you tiptoed a little to spot the gym.

It was almost crazy to think that once upon a time you've never stepped a foot in there, but nowadays it has become almost like a routine, no thanks to constantly hanging out with Jungkook. And it wasn't just you going to his "thing", either, it was also him fetching you from the publication office or bringing you food there.

It's a rather big shift from keeping your relationship a secret to everyone else from… effortlessly flaunting it to everybody. But no, you wouldn't really call it flaunting. Flaunting meant you have every intention to make everyone know, but that wasn't the case for you both. Not at all. It was more of like: "They see us, then they see us. Who cares?" and personally it was hard to not care the first few weeks, especially when you would hear your name from the girls' gossips in the women's comfort room. But the talks died down eventually and finally, no one cares now about the girl Jungkook's hanging out with.

Anyhow, it was nice to not… hide anymore. Or pretend that you didn't know each other in the hallways. Jungkook liked it as much. You think.

As you reach the gym, you see Taehyung near the entrance door. It looks like he just changed out of his jersey, his fringes wet.

"Hi," you greet, waving at him.

"Oh, __, hey," Taehyung looks up from his phone to look at you then grins. "Jungkook's inside." He says, gesturing with his thumb. His eyes train to the lunch bag in your hand and the familiar plastic bag of a Chinese restaurant across the street. Wiggling his eyebrows, he teases, "Is that for him? Sweet."

You immediately roll your eyes at that. "Shut up, Tae."

Additionally, one of the big shifts in your life the past few months was finding a close friend in Jungkook's friends. Taehyung and you have been getting closer these days, enough for you to comfortably exchange sarcastic remarks about each other. Turns out, he was an extremely fun guy to be around and get this, he knows Letterboxd. How cool is that! (Though he still really holds that time you didn't show up at your coffee hang against you. He brings it up every single time and you'd have to treat him to a cafe some weeks.)

Taehyung laughs and brings his hands up, jokingly surrendering. "Kidding, kidding. He's waiting for you inside. Gotta go, though. 1pm class."

You nod. "See you around, Tae."

You thought he was gonna go scram but he looked at you one last time and said, "Don't do anything funny in there."

Heat goes through your body, settling to your cheeks. Taehyung really gets on your nerves, it makes so much sense that he was close friends with Jungkook.

"Shut up, I hate you and Hyerin deserves so much better." You say spitefully, referring to the woman he's been going on dates with recently, rolling your eyes once again as Taehyung just laughed his ass off, walking further away.

Ugh. You really wish he didn't walk in on you and Jungkook three days ago. To be fair, Jungkook forgot to lock his room (again!) when you were fooling around and Taehyung was a neanderthal who didn't know how to knock. So cue Taehyung joking about it whenever the opportunity came.

"Hey!"

You turn around to see Jungkook jogging towards you, still in his jersey with a towel hanging around his neck. Some of his team mates are also hanging around the benches. As if just having noticed you as well, they wave at you and say a chorus of "Hi"s and "What's up, __"s which you returned with a smile and a greeting back.

Jungkook greets you personally with a wet kiss on the lips.

"Hi, pretty."

"Hey, you," You greet back, swiping his bangs off his forehead. You quickly retreat. "You're so sweaty. Wipe your forehead."

Jungkook does it so. "Done." he looks down at the things you've got in your hand. "You brought me lunch?" He says, a grin plastered all over his face.

You hold your arms up with the bags. "Yeah. Chinese and tuna sandwiches. I thought we could eat here or something."

His grin only spreads wider at your words, and you can only mirror his smile. He was so smily today.

"You mean your tuna sandwiches? Fuck, I could kiss you right now. Thank you." He says enthusiastically, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you to the bleachers.

You followed him and you settled on your usual spot where you've eaten one of your lunches before. It was quite far away from the area where the other guys were seated.

"It's nothing. I made a lot this morning because my classes got canceled." You say, unzipping the lunch bag with the sandwiches in it. You give him one and open another yourself, taking out the pack of mayo to put it in between the bread.

"Hm, fuck, these are so good. Seriously. You should start a food business." Jungkook comments, munching on the sandwich.

You chuckle. "No, what the hell. I need to have a variety in the menu if I start something. I just can't sell sandwiches."

Jungkook shrug. "Eh, it could be like a special thing. __ Sandwich Exclusive Cafe. Something like that. Or just post these online, I'll go tell my friends about it and you'll get rich in a week. I have a celebrity friend."

Your laughter becomes louder, shoulders moving up and down.

"You sound like a crypto scammer that way. You should've started with, "Are you open-minded?" and that would've sold me."

Jungkook snorts at that, grabbing another sandwich from the bag. You take a dumpling from the take-out and extended it to his mouth, which he opens to take the food you offered him.

"If dad cuts me off completely I'll be one of those crypto dudes on Twitter, so you're not totally wrong."

You both laugh at that, with you pushing him slightly on his bicep.

"Well, I'll help you scam people, then. I'll be the one commenting on your tweets and vouching for your legitimacy."

Jungkook nods, pretending like he was thinking about it. "Hm. Or I can start an OnlyFans if it fails so that I can still give you your boba everyday."

You can't help but giggle.

"You know I always appreciate your sacrifice. Maybe we can start a Pornhub channel if I couldn't get admitted to law school."

Jungkook lets out a "tsk!". "Don't say that. With the way you study, you'll be overqualified." It was his turn to give you a dumpling then, which you ate just as quickly as he offered it. Jungkook smiles as he watches you chew on it. "But if it counts, I won't be opposed to us starting a Pornhub channel."

You search through the Chinese take out bags again to find your fried rice. As you did so, you opened it, not forgetting to reply to Jungkook and looking at him as you say, "Well, I'll have to practice my porn moan for that."

And just as soon as you said that you knew he already had something dirty to utter, and he doesn't fail you.

"Maybe we can practice tonight…" He said, voice intentionally going octave deeper.

You chuckle at his predictability.

"I knew you were gonna say that."

Before he could deny how predictable he was or brag about how quick-witted he was, you heard a bunch of footsteps on the court.

"Hey, Jeon! We're going!" Says one guy, looking at you both.

Jungkook turns to look at them and shouts back, "Yeah, see you around, Mingyu!"

"__!" They call you.

When you looked at them, they nodded, ready to leave, announcing their departure so you wave at them goodbye.

When they were out of sight, you asked Jungkook, "Hey, what's that about your Starbucks coupon?"

As if remembering something, Jungkook's eyes widened a little as he takes his phone from his pocket. "Oh, yeah I got one yesterday. Here." He looked inside his phone case and took out a card.

You leaned down to study it curiously, reading the benefits of the card holder getting a $50 token.

"Ohh, that's amazing! How'd you get this? I want one too."

Jungkook let you take the card and looked at it with you. "I don't really know, the barista just gave me this after I got some latte."

Oh. Hm. Interesting. You bet it was a woman barista.

"Hmm."

Jungkook shrugs. "It's probably because I gave her the exact amount of the payment in cash. I don't know."

Her. Exactly. She was probably the same barista who always looked at Jungkook funny whenever you two came there. She had an obvious crush and you couldn't really blame her. But it was funny, that Jungkook thought it was because he gave the exact amount of payment in cash the barista decided to give him a gift card. You would think his lowkey fuckboy ways would tell him that a woman likes him, but he was so clueless sometimes. If you were honest to yourself, you'd admit it was cute.

"You can be so clueless at times, Kook." You say, patting his shoulder.

"Huh?" He looks at you with that wide eyes of his, and boy, he really doesn't suspect a thing.

You shake your head. "Nothing."

You pat his head and Jungkook squints his eyes at you. You laugh at the little exchange and Jungkook's hand extends up to hold yours up his face and you tried to pull back, giggling, thinking he was gonna do something gross like bite your hand but he only presses his mouth to your palm, holding it against his face.

You smile. Soft and gentle.

"Dinner later at my place?" Jungkook says.

You nod.

It was hard to deny someone who makes your heart go all weird when he looked at you like that.

"Sure."

all rights reserved © AWRKIVE , 2023

[wings-of-ink]

Hear ye, hear ye!

All of you who have been anxiously awaiting Chapter 4 can send a big thank you to the Microsoft mayhem that happened on Friday. Because of it, I have had two entire, unprecedented, days off of work during which all I did was write and edit chapter 4! Stuff like this never happens to me either, so I ate it up. My work computer is still super broken too, so who knows what will happen tomorrow, lol.

So, chapter 4, barring anything disastrous that I do not yet foresee – is coming very soon. Like, any day this week soon. For now, I am looking for bugs and other errors until I feel comfortable getting the update loaded. I will also be updating the warning list and some things on the itch page. I keep feeling like I'm forgetting something I wanted to do, and am having a hell of a time remembering what it was…

Anyway, if it interests you, more details below!

In going through some of the Google Error Reports, I had a couple that I either could not resolve or find.

It was reported that checking player stats in chapter 1 would not work – that it would flash only for a moment. I could not recreate this. If anyone else has seen this, please let me know.

In the end of chapter 2 where there are multiple ways to spend your time there seems to be some issues with how choices become unselectable after certain clicks and it just doesn't seem to function correctly. I have fixed the issues I have found, but could not recreate all of the instances that were reported. This section may get an overhaul in the future since I understand the coding a bit more now.

It was also reported that fonts are not changing. There is definitely a weird issue with this and it will take some time for me to sit down and hammer out. The fonts do change for me, but notably, I don't think they are switching to the correct font types. They don't even appear to be the same fonts from when I first starting this project, lol. This issue is on hold for now.

The last 2 bonus segments for the end of chapter 3 are being pushed aside for the time being. I kept finding myself feeling like I was hammering them into the chapter and it was a little exhausting. If I force it, it will be less enjoyable to read. The segments that are missing are the ones for hanging out with Zahn and Nathanael. Zahn's is easy to wiggle in elsewhere at least, but I'm not sure if Nathan's will make it in or not. We'll see, my motivation was purely for chapter 4, so now that it is ready to go, I'll have another crack at it before I drop or move them completely. They aren't super important to the story, but are just for fun (and if Oswin got his, it's only fair that Zahn gets theirs too). That last section of chapter 3 ended up way too long, so it may get adjusted later anyway.

As with any work in progress, I can't guarantee that your old saves will work. That's probably how we are going to have to roll for a bit until I really get things nice and smooth. Eventually, I will add an option to start from a later chapter and go through and make the (MANY) relevant choices to skip ahead. This may be implemented when Chapter 6 is ready to go since all the ROs will be available.

I also want to figure out how to implement named saves to make it easier for you to sort. I appreciate IFs that feature this, but I do not yet know how to do it, but I'm going to research. I like to play through with several MCs, and I'd like to offer enough info in the saves and/or Stats Menu that you can do this and easily know who you are playing as. Let me know what you would like most in the Player Stats Menu too. Note, that some options do not appear here until you choose them in the story.

Coming up…

Since Chapter 4 is down, I will soon be posting a big poll about future IFs. I've been compiling info for it here and there for a couple weeks on possible options for me to write in conjunction with God-Cursed. So, stay tuned for that in the coming days.

I will FINALLY get to my inbox in earnest as well! I will keep reaction asks paused until further notice since they take me the longest to answer. Feel free to still send in comments or quicker questions. If your question is too spoilery to answer, I will not be able to post about it.

Anyway, hope you are all doing well! I can't wait to see what you think of chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it. I'll get it out just as soon as I feel comfortable enough with it. ^_^

[kennedyism]

(last bobby confession anon)

i would GLADLY take a fanfic (x reader or no) about that, if you would be so willing 🙏

I GOT YOU ANON!!!!

Favoritism.

Bobby Kennedy x Secretary!Reader

Summary: You’ve been a secretary for Bobby for quite awhile, but you’re thinking about quitting. What does the senator have to say about that? (Takes place in 1967)

Warnings: Don’t take this fic seriously, this is mainly just for fun. Don’t come for me lol.

Taglist: @quietamericans @jackiesgirl @obsessedwithjohnjr, @fortheloveofjos, @melancholicstation, @rocker-chick-7, @bleatngheart (tell me if u wanna be in my taglist dm me or send it in my inbox and i’ll add you! sorry if i forgot anyone :()

author’s note: slightly inspired by the song favorite by isabel larosa ITS SUCH A GOOD SONG BRO

Bobby sits in his swivel chair, tapping his fingers on his wooden desk, he then sighs. It’s too late for him to be here, but here he is! He then looks at the box of campaign posters next to him. God, he looks awful in them, but then he remembers the moment his secretary brought them to him.

“Senator Kennedy, I got those posters you ordered.”

“Open them up, lemme see.”

He then opened the box.

“Christ, is this how I look to people? Get these out of here.”

“They’re not that bad, Senator. I think they’re rather nice.”

He kept them obviously. He’ll get used to them. He then looks at the clock, listening to it tick. The senator is then taken from his train of thought when there’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” He says, straightening himself up in his chair, but he puts his feet on the desk which makes it more of a casual appearance. It’s a bad habit, really.

You then walk in, your purse in hand and hat on your head. “Senator, I’m heading out for the night, but can I talk to you about something?” You ask, leaning in the doorway, looking at him. Being Bobby Kennedy’s secretary is amazing. He’s a great boss, but you don’t get home until late, you hardly have time for your own life… it’s time to resign, as much as that hurts you.

Bobby motions for you to sit down. “Yeah, what is it?” He asks, looking at his shoes on his desk, then you. Perhaps he shouldn’t sit like this in front of a lady. That doesn’t cross his mind until a few seconds later and with that, his feet are the floor and he folds his hands in front of him.

“I want to quit.”

You feel the silence strike you two for about 30 seconds before you begin to talk again, realizing how much you probably just offended the senator. “Not—Not because you’ve done anything!” You say, a blush painting you cheeks, trying to find the words as he stares at you a bit confused.

“I didn’t think I did.” Bobby shrugs. He still acts like he did when he was attorney general—a bit cold. He doesn’t mean to, it just his nature. He then sighs, growing more confused. He tries to think on the reasons you would even want to quit. “Is there a reason why?” He asks you, getting more comfortable in his chair, his foot tapping the wood underneath.

You then take in a breath. “I don’t have time for anything else but being here. I’m constantly having to turn down friends and family to be here.” You explain with a soft sigh, then you look at him. “I just think there’s better opportunities out there for me.” You finish, feeling a bit guilty. It’s been amazing here, but you have a life… kind of. You then look at Bobby who’s silent for about couple seconds.

“I’m not going to hold it against you.” He says, rubbing his temple, before looking up at you with a slight smile. “I can understand how that can get in the way.” He says, but he’s truly a bit sad that you’re leaving him. He’s never had anyone like you. Work wise and friend wise.

You then click your tongue. “Well, there’s plenty of others wanting to work for you and they would kill to, you know.” You tell him, staring to slowly wonder if this is the right choice—Nope! It is. No turning back now. You then watch his lips curl into a slight smile.

“Yeah, but you are my favorite.”

Favorite.

That word leaves an indent on in your soul. He called you his favorite. You then blink, trying to shake it off. “Senator, I just… I want to stay here, but I can’t.” You tell him, his sentence playing over and over in your mind. How does he do it? He leaves such an impression on others… you included.

Bobby stands up, going behind you, one of his hands touching the arm of the chair. “I want you to stay.” He says, looking down at you, and you look back up at him. Wow, what a view. He then moves over to the door, opening it. “But I can’t force you to stay.” He sighs, feeling defeated as he crosses his arms and waits for you to stand up.

You then stand up, purse in hand, walking towards the door, looking at the senator. Both of your eyes meeting. You watch Bobby put his hand on the frame, looking at you, and you feel guilty. You don’t want to leave him. You’ve had many great memories, but it’s for the best.

“Still gonna visit me, right?”

“Senator, I’m not moving to Europe, obviously I will.”

“Just thought I’d check.”

You two then stare at each other. Bobby has very pretty eyes. They’re so gentle to look into. It unfortunately has to be this way though. Bobby then reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, looking at the ground, then back at you. You’ve always felt somewhat of an attraction to the senator, even if you’d rather die than admit it, but he isn’t making this easy at all.

You then feel yourself getting closer to him, and he isn’t moving, so you assume he’s into this. You then kiss him, softly and then you feel his hands move up to cup your cheeks, leaving soft feather like touches on your skin. You truly are his favorite.

“I told you were my favorite.” Bobby mutters to you, gently pulling away, looking at you. Then he moves some of your hair out of your face. His touch is lovely to witness and bear. You feel lucky to receive such touch from him.

“I wanna keep being your favorite.”

“So you’re gonna stay?”

“I’m gonna stay.”

[be-my-ally]

Crash Landing

(aka Big Bunny 4)

Wheeew, only 6 months later than I intended! it's 4am and somehow, despite spending forever on this, I fear the grammar may be janky - so apologies for that. This follows directly from The Lisa-Marie, and the masterlist for the series is linked here!

This is the last of the planned ‘main’ chapters, but there are some time jumps in this and the last chapter, so if anyone has any requests for any bunny/elvis one shots pop them into my inbox and I’ll see what I can do. I have a few little plans to fill out some of the gaps, but no promises on when they might appear. 

warnings: 18+, some mild sexism, p in v, oral (v receiving), afab!reader, skiing, allusions to poor health, Elvis is swearing like… a lot in this chapter. Make of that what you will. References to drug use. THIS ENDS IN JULY 1977 - AUGUST IS IMPLIED. wc: 14k I don’t know what to say - there was meant to be a brief skiing interlude and then all of a sudden I’m 10k in and they’re still in Colorado. 

Early 1977  

Linda is gone for good, finally some of the guys would say, and you couldn’t totally say that you disagreed. It had been stressful - the ups and downs of their relationship, being caught in the crossfires. You had enough experience to know it wasn’t really specific to her but nonetheless it had still been somewhat difficult to witness. It had been hard to face her on the jet, knowing what Elvis was saying behind her back; how adamant he was for them to be over. On the way between stops in the October tour he’d sat on the couch on the plane, glistening with the sweat from the show and still dressed in his white jumpsuit with red flames jumping up his chest, he’d tugged you over, uncaring of the others in the room. Telling you that you were the only girl he could trust to have his back, that he didn’t even know why he kept her around. He didn’t seem to remember, and you didn’t care to remind him that he’d told you the same thing back in June too. Every time she’d suddenly reappear - his desperation to be looked after superseding any desire he may have had to say goodbye to her. Why you couldn’t be enough for him you didn’t know. 

Then, almost immediately after Linda’s gone - and, admittedly, briefly before she was too - you’re meeting this new girl, Ginger, albeit rarely. Elvis for some reason putting her on the Jetstar with her family more than with him. In some ways it helps - the fact that she’s not there all the time, in others it makes you feel awful — his rush fiancee and her family seemingly not even willing or wanting to travel with him. It’s mostly a slow season over the winter though and for some reason Georgia is getting more hours than you and so, you’re forced to say goodbye to your examination of the inner workings of his private life until after the New Year break. It ends up being early February before you get a call to come in for one of his vacation whims.  

It feels like it’s been an age since you last saw Elvis even though it had barely been a six weeks, and you felt guilty that it had felt so nice to relax a little. It was hard when you spoke to your friends, and all their careers or mothering sounded so stressful all the time, they were all jealous of your ‘easy’ job, the extra benefits sounding all too impressive.  Where else would you get a new wardrobe paid for? A shiny new car sat outside for you, or an apartment rented? But it was hard to explain without giving away too much, how it was impossible for you to ever really turn off; how you thought about him all the time, worried about him all the time, even when you were at home.  

He hadn’t been difficult to manage the last couple of months of the year, at least, not as bad as the middle and start of the year, but his moods had turned almost overwhelmingly blue, and it had been tricky to level your tone and actions to appropriately comfort him. You’d started feeling on edge every flight, worried and insecure. So, the break had been nice. It had given you a chance to re-evaluate, take a breather and consider what was best for you to do.  

Elvis himself called to wish you a Merry Christmas, he’d been sweet and kind and promised you a gift even as he made small talk that you knew he disliked, even if he was good at it in that southern way, and it had made you hate him just a little. Your chest aching with the feel that he was treating you like a total stranger. It hadn’t improved when you’d returned to your Memphis apartment from your parent’s house and discovered a card had been delivered in your absence. “Season's Greetings, Elvis and the Colonel and Friends.” You’d allowed yourself the briefest of cries staring at yourself in the mirror while the blotchiness crawled up your neck. You were still an ugly crier despite your best efforts. It’s the final straw, you thought to yourself as you stared at your wild eyes and messy hair where you’d tugged your hands through it. You’ll see it through the summer. Then you’re done. That’ll be just enough time to work out what to do next - maybe you’d go back to school. You dried your eyes, patting yourself on the cheeks. That’s it. Decision made. You refused to give it any more thought. Especially, about why you didn’t just quit immediately if you were planning on it later anyway, not willing to admit to yourself you wanted to give him another chance more than anything else. It was just altogether too much, being the girl on the side of the girl on the side, having to balance being his friend, employee and lover. But you’d had your moment, and you were using your trusty technique of just not. thinking. about. it. anymore.  

You were nervous as you tied your little necktie and pulled at your hem from where you were sure your dress had shrunk over the past month, preparing to greet the men loading onto the plane. It was informal, as it normally was, and you looked back somewhat fondly to your days on Big Bunny, where everything was written and handbooked out with the proper procedure for every situation. Now it was just up to you to decide what to do for every eventuality. In this situation you made the brave decision to hide. So, you tuck yourself away in the galley on the other side of the little half wall, waiting until enough of them have boarded that you’ll be forced to peek out and say hello. There were more people loading on than during the last tour, and despite the extra numbers you knew you were handling this mostly alone - Georgia had been unable to come in under such short notice; something about a grandmother. So not only were your nerves shot worrying about when you should tell Elvis you were quitting and how it felt like you were harbouring some awful secret, you were also having to steel yourself to be overworked and run down by the time you were able to get off the plane. When you peek out around the partition you get the first glance of him and you’re a little embarrassed at how you can feel a flush start to rise just from that look.  

He looks not dissimilar to how he did that first day on Big Bunny - open collared shirt and jogging jacket on - this time a navy blue with a baby blue stripe down the shoulder and arm. He looks good - like you could just burrow into him, and you’re relieved that the sudden demand for your appearance isn’t for something panic-inducing from the way he’s smiling and chatting - laughing with Charlie and Joe. You’d been a little concerned that the rapidity of the request was hiding a more sinister origin after a similar call had preceded a rush to the hospital last summer. But he was looking good, really good actually. Somehow his face had lost some of its puffiness it’d been holding onto and he was a far better colour than you’d gotten used to - perhaps a high from the success of his New Year’s concert as he’d been pleased with the reaction and reviews or maybe even just high off the excitement of his, apparently, serious relationship with Ginger. Although, evidently not altogether that serious since she wasn’t joining them; you’d already decided you’d keep your thoughts about that to yourself. You shyly watch him from across the plane where he’s already sat himself down, comfortable in his own space and leaning against the back - his legs spread wide, retelling some story you’ve already heard once before. You take a deep breath before heading around the little partition, fully intending on acting as if you had an important job to do by the door. You managed to keep the ruse up long enough to shut the door and let Ron know you were all set to go, long enough to hand out drinks and cigars and let them all settle in,  but you couldn’t pass directly by him again without him noticing you, and his arm shoots out, grabbing your wrist as you go to walk past. You barely have a chance to notice his hold on you before he’s pulling you in, forcing you to bend over in order to accept a kiss on the cheek in greeting. You can’t explain why you’re so nervous, but you find your tummy flipping at the close proximity to him. With anxiety or excitement, you can’t quite tell. In some ways it’s slightly more forward than you’d expected from him for having not seen him in a month, but perhaps you had just gotten used to him ignoring you in the months prior.  

“Good evening, Elvis.” It’s a fine line between polite and aloof, and you can already tell you’ll be reliving this interaction all night. His eyes are bright with amusement at your formality when he gazes back at you, his thumb still gently stroking over your wrist.   

“Well, it is now.” He grins as you visibly cringe at his cheesiness, “Good evening to you too, honey.” He looks you over as he lets go of your hand, allowing you to stand back up, and eyeing your hemline, “‘re you ready for the cold?”  

“Hopefully it’s not gonna be too cold on the plane,” You stumble over your words in nerves, “but I can always turn the heat up a little - “Elvis shakes his head, 

“Nah, I’ll keep you toasty, hon, snug as a, as a bug.” You struggle to regain your composure as your mind flickers with images of just how he could be keeping you warm.  

“Hmm, I suppose you’ll have to since someone makes me wear this. But I’m pretty well covered anyway.” You grin in response to his smirk when you gesture down at your stockinged legs.  

“Well, that’s real good doll,” He runs a hand through his thick hair, letting a hint of the grey around his temples show as he pushes it back, and you find yourself missing the steadying warmth of his grip, “but you know - we’re stopping in Vail.”  

You pause, unsure how to put it politely, “Mmhmm, that’s what Elwood tells me.” He frowns, leaning back and settling even further into the seat, arm spreading across the back rest and he shifts so his thighs are encasing you.  

“Alright then miss know-it-all, tell me what I was gonna say next.” He stares at you, and it makes your insides twist even as you can feel heat pooling in your stomach.  

“Uhhh,” You struggle, to try and think of what to say that will maintain the teasing playful tone, feeling like you’ve been called on daydreaming in the middle of class with everyone’s eyes on you and simultaneously totally distracted by the feel of his legs against yours. He smirks as you flounder, “Well, perhaps, that you uh,”  

“You can say you don’t know.” He sing-songs it, “Silly little girl like you can’t know everything, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the frustration rise at his teasing,  

“No. I suppose not.” He smiles crookedly, pleased he gets to tell you the next part, even as he explains it like you’re a little slow.  

“I was goin’ to say that I hope you’ve got a coat somewhere…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “since you’re comin’ with us.” Your brain goes blank.  

“Me?”  

“Why not?” He straightens a leg, it, perhaps inadvertently, knocks against yours and you immediately feel your gaze pulled to it, the heat of his thigh against your knee making your head go fuzzy. “Been a while since we’ve been off this plane together.” He’s looking at you hopefully, eyes wide behind his shades and you can feel your insides fizzing with excitement - even as you feel the need to protest,  

“Oh well that’s very kind but -”  

“C’mooon, honey - it’ll be fun! Hot cocoa, and, and skis, and playin’ in the snow.” His leg moves again, the soft cotton blend of his jogging suit catching on your nylons, “Dashin’ through the snow…” Your mouth opens, about to make a Paul Anka joke but one look at his encouraging smile puts you off,  

“Oh, well, like I said, that’s very kind - but I don’t, I don’t have any clothes or coats or boots or -” He cuts you off with a tut, rolling his eyes and shaking his head like you were being particularly stupid.  

“I was only kidding before.” He sounds a little petulant at the suggestion, “You don’t needta worry ‘bout that - we’ll get you sorted out.” He nods, as if you’d already given him your agreement.  

“That’s very generous Elvis, but I don’t know how to ski.”  

“Don’t worry I’ll teach ya!” He seems overwhelmingly confident considering you and he both know he doesn’t know how to ski, “You can just be - hey!” He sits himself back upright in his excitement, knocking against you enough that you shift on your feet, “You can just be my little snow bunny, can’t ya?” He laughs as he says it, and his laughter is infectious - you find yourself giggling along with him,  

“I suppose that would be fitting.” 

“ ‘Sides what else were you gonna do while we were out?”  

“Well…what I normally do - fly home or stay in whatever hotel I’ve had booked for me.” He looks curious for a second, “Sometimes I visit people if we’re close to someone I know.”  

“Do I book ‘em?”  

“Uh. Well. I think maybe your daddy does? Or, whoever’s organising everyone on your behalf yeah, sure.”  

“Oh…” He looks contemplative, before with a frown, “Are they nice?”  

“They’re fine El - it’s normally the same place the band is.” It’s sometimes a shithole but you’re not about to tell Elvis that.  

“Would you - why… did you not wanna come with me?” He half-whispers it and your brain stutters to a halt,  

“What? That’s not, that wasn’t ever an option Elvis.”  

“Well. It is today. Come with us.” He holds out a hand, serious for the first time in the conversation and with his eyes looking at you like that even if you’d wanted to refuse you couldn’t. You nod in agreement, acquiescing to his demand. 

 “C’mere then.” He tugs you down against him and you wriggle into place on his lap, the fabric of his trousers catching on your nylons as you settle against his sturdy thighs. He rubs gently at your calf, his thumb and forefinger encircling your ankle and you feel yourself relax out of your self-consciousness to enjoy the closeness.  

You laugh at a terrible joke at Joe’s expense and Elvis’ legs shake underneath you as you collapse against him in a fit of giggles. Your giggles taper off as you feel him twitch against your thigh. You school your face but can’t stop yourself turning to look at him in surprise, and more than a little excitement. His expression is unchanged, and you wiggle almost imperceptibly, come out, come out and play. It twitches again, and Elvis shifts as if in discomfort, you glance around but no one else seems to be paying you any attention - already distracted by something or someone else so you feel comfortable you’re not about to get caught as you try to wriggle your hand down to him. He immediately clamps an arm around your waist, holding you tight in place - your arm caught between you both. He looks down at you amused and you bite your lip - a pretty pitiful attempt at seduction,  

“Shh.”  

You indicate to the bedroom, more than a little disappointed when he shakes his head. “Later baby.”  

He keeps you trapped on his lap, making it impossible for you to go and do anything, making the boys make their own drinks even when they try and ask you. Even when you try to whisper that you need to get up, he holds you there, gently soothing you back into compliance with a press of his lips, a whispered promise, a stroke of his fingers.  

“Elvis I really hafta get up - we’ll be comin’ down soon and I’ve gotta make sure - “ 

“It’ll be fine baby, don’t worry ‘bout it.”  

“Well, we can’t just sit here forever - at the very least I’ll have to go and open the doors.”  

“Shit baby, Ron or Jim or God, I’m sure even fucking Elwood can manage that. No offense doll but I think they might even be more qualified at it than you. Besides I ain’t payin you to open doors.”  

You push off his chest, turning to face him and interjecting before he can even continue that thought,  

“You sure as hell aren’t paying me to keep you ‘company’ either.” He rolls his eyes,  

“We’ve been through this, I don’t give a fuck about the plane or anything else. Your job is to care for me.” His eyes burn behind his shades, and the intensity of his frown takes you a little by surprise. You stroke the wrinkle on his brow,  

“‘m sorry but look - I have a couple of things I have to do and anyway you’re gonna have to put a seatbelt on in a second, because it’ll get bumpy - and if you hit your head, I’m not being responsible for it.” You wag one of the heavy gold seatbelts at him and he sighs,  

“Well, fine, but you’re mine soon as we land. No excuses then.” His hand strokes your thigh, and your tummy flips,  

“No excuses. I’ll be yours as long as you want me.” There’s a hum, and you both suddenly realise Larry has come a lot closer than before, “Your hostess I mean.”  

——————————— 

Ron patted your arm as you disembarked with the others. “Remember we’ll be there soon too,” He looks at you, “We’re staying at Betty’s aunt’s place, but I’m sure we’ll be invited round.” You nod, reading between the lines and you smile, 

“I’ll bear that in mind.” 

“You do that. Have fun.” He winks, disappearing back into the cockpit and you take a breath before rejoining the group dispersing into a collection of cars.  

“What’s she doin’?” The whisper travels as you climb into the car, Larry and Joe start to reply but Elvis jumps in before either could get their words out too.  

“Goddamnit,” He kicks the seat in front although it certainly wasn’t Joe who had piped up, “She’s coming too - so shut yer fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”  He shouts out the open door and slamming it shut. He slides across the bench seat to be pressed close against you, his hand curling over your thigh.  

You smile shyly, pleased when Shirley turns around to smile at you, you weren’t her biggest fan - she’d never been overly friendly, but at least she was now acknowledging you.  

A whirlwind shopping excursion ensued while Elvis sent the other car to scout out where he wanted to stay. You were a little taken aback, but not altogether surprised, that he’d demanded the trip on such a whim that he hadn’t even secured proper accommodation, but he did a fairly good job of explaining himself while you were being sent back and forth from different stores for the appropriate clothing.  

“The thing is …” You kind of zone out while he talks, the story leading from one to another, before returning to the actual point he was trying to get to, but you appreciate the rumble of his voice and the gossipy tone that makes you feel a part of his exclusive little group. You manage to capture the gist though; that he was pretty sure they could stay at the same lodge as last time, because it was a friends but he hadn’t actually asked - since the decision to go away hadn’t been made until yesterday, and that he couldn’t see any reason why not - but if they had problem with it there was surely other, bigger better lodges to stay that would be overjoyed to host him.  

You were tired by the time he decreed that you finally had a suitable wardrobe and he looked over the collection of bags with satisfaction, although - despite the three other coats he bought you, he still felt the need to lament that it was a; 

“Damn near trav’sty,  none of these backwater stores have white fur. Can’t be a proper little snow bunny,” He sighs, “Joe - make sure we order her one for next time.”  

Your chest glows at the nonchalant way he says it - like he just expects you to be there again. Like it’s no big deal. The other car returns with good news, and they all filter up to the same lodge as the year before. 

“I reckon Ron and Bob’ll regret being such fucking, well, they’ll regret it anyhow now - once they see this and know they could’ve been here too.” You don’t know what to say, so you stick with saying nothing and Elvis tuts and shakes his head, shifting to stare out of the window, although he doesn’t pull his hand away from where you’re making little circles on his palm.  

It’s dark and late outside, and yet Elvis demands everyone get suited up to go and play in the snow, and everyone is in high enough spirits not to protest. You’ve not yet had a lesson though, and as you pull on your brand-new ski suit you playfully refuse to even entertain the prospect of heading anywhere on actual skis - Elvis doesn’t seem to be disappointed, grinning at you under his mask and gesturing for you to clamber onto the back of his snowmobile.  

Despite his promises on the plane, things never did, that first night, progress past heavy petting in the bedroom - but it was something just to have his thick weight next to you in the bed, laughing and joking as he pressed kisses down your face and throat. His little huffs of laughter as you returned the favour tickling his chest made you feel the same pleasurable contentment as if he’d decided to fuck you for hours.  

It was rare, recently, for him to be in such high spirits and still lucid - and you couldn’t help but wonder whether Dr Nick had managed to work out the exact right combination of drugs to keep him perfectly stable, or if he was contributing more placebos. Either way, you weren’t privy to their intimate conversations, nor allowed to witness his daily dosing. The most you saw was the little pills he put into his palm, twice as many as he tipped into yours, before bed and in the morning alongside the occasional couple that he nonchalantly explained them away simply as “Jus’ a little painkiller.” Shrugging his shoulders.  But either he was being a lot sneakier - and you weren’t sure you should be viewing that as a good thing - or he was finally listening to concern and easing himself off a little.  

It felt like it had in those first few weeks after you’d met him - carefree and fun. And somehow you felt yourself relaxing from the tense feeling you’d had since the start of last year. The worries falling off of your shoulders. You spent the first two days joined at the hip - not even really partaking in the snow sports on offer; snuggling up on the snowmobile and then taking yourselves off to curl up in the lodge instead.  

The third day, or really night - since as always with Elvis you soon found your days and nights flipped around - he was ecstatic about the fresh, perfect snow and clear weather and you’d all been sent out to play.  

It felt like a long night by the time Elvis was happy to let everyone return to the house. He hadn’t even joined you on the slopes properly, instead choosing to order everyone about from the comfort of his snowmobile.   

“C’mon fellas - get into a line! Go on! I’ll chase ya!”  

“For god’s sake Billy, move it along! You nearly made me take your whole damn leg off!” A pause, before raucous laughter ensued, “Again!”  

Still, you hadn’t minded this turn of events since it meant you hadn’t had to try and remember your rushed and hurried lesson on the nursery slopes that afternoon. Instead, you’d given it one go accompanied by his shouts of laughter at your falling,  

“How’d a dancer get to be so goddamn clumsy?”  

“I wasn’t a dancer!” You’d protested from your position flat on your back in the snow.  

“You danced real pretty for me though doll.” You rolled your eyes, scrambling back to your feet, trying not to pout as you brushed yourself off, he shook his head laughing once more before shouting back at you.  

“Aw now darlin’, that ain’t a pretty sight. C’mon, better hop onto the back of here, it’ll be a bit safer for you.” He’d said it through giggles, and you felt the determination to get down by yourself rise up again,  

“That won’t be necessary!” You attempted to take off again, and just as you were attempting to straighten your skis, about 12 feet from where you had last fallen, you were on your side again in the snow. Elvis didn’t give you a choice this time, angrily killing the engine completely and storming over as best he could through the thick snow, yanking you up by your arm and dusting you off himself.  

“‘S not the time to be stubborn, C’mon now.” You can’t see his facial expression, obscured by his layers and the dark but you can hear that his annoyed words would be accompanied by tightly knitted eyebrows and a frown. 

“I can do it.” You angrily pulled your arm out of his grasp, the momentum immediately making you start to lose your balance again, and Elvis catches you before you could fall for a third time. 

“For heaven’s sake,” You can practically hear his eyes roll, accompanied by a sigh as he tries to change tact, “I’m sure you can, but it’s dark, and you’ve already tripped twice.” You frown, and he placates, a soothing hand rubbing down your arm, “I just, I just worry about you baby, c’mon, let me look after you - you’re liable to break - no no no, don’t look at me like that,” His hand comes up to cup your face, “I just care about you s’all, don’t want you to get hurt.” He says it so honestly and affectionately that you find yourself nodding in agreement, and truthfully, despite your obstinance, you couldn’t have agreed more - you probably would break a leg if he’d let you go on. He grins at you, “There we are, you know it makes sense, don’t you - there’s my good little bunny. C’mon then, hop to it,” He pats your ass encouragingly, although the padding makes the action redundant, and you slowly make your way over to the snowmobile. 

You climbed onto the back slightly awkwardly, almost reluctant to be too close in front of all the guys, despite your cuddling the days before - they’d always been a little more distracted by their own activities to spend much time assessing yours. But Elvis yanked your arm around at the first possible chance, patting your hand where it lay against his padded stomach and tugging you to press yourself against him. You were getting a little bored, and nervous, of all the commotion so you found yourself totally content to curl against his body for warmth and tuck your chin into his shoulder. Despite your brand-new base layers, and soft down ski suit, there had still been enough of a chill in the night air, and from laying in the cold snow, that you were eager to be as close as possible. Elvis’ figure was more padded than you were used to feeling him, his coat also puffy and filled with down. You took immense pleasure in squeezing him tightly enough that you felt the padding compress, eager hands trying to find his body underneath. You found yourself considering, as one hand came to play with the little hairs escaping his mask and goggles at the base of his neck, that it was a damn shame you were both so covered up, since you couldn’t smell him. If you’d been less love-drunk on him you’d have been amazed at yourself; at thinking it was a damn shame, you were unable to smell an undoubtedly sweaty man.  

You have no idea how long you spent on the back of the snowmobile, hands roving all over him; only that you quickly lost all sense of self-consciousness and instead felt a rising feeling of possession. A dangerous feeling if ever there was one, but enough that you felt your manicured hands staking their claim, rubbing over his arms and back. Elvis seemed to be enjoying it, shifting to be closer to you whenever you moved away, and patting at your arm.  

When he finally, at speeds far too reckless for the early morning night sky, drove you back to the lodge he barely said a word to the rest of the group grabbing your hand and pulling you straight to the master bedroom. It was exciting and, whilst you were almost reluctant to get your hopes up too high, your thighs had been clenching of their own accord for the past hour and you could feel the dampness of your underwear against your warm delicate skin - it was impossible not to; you’d been on edge for hours.  

He’s sweaty from his layers, his red face revealed when he pulls his ski mask and goggles off, there’s a hint of stubble coming through and his face looks alive, cheeks plump with his grin. You were happy to be back in the comfort of the wood-panelled bedroom, although its cozy feel belied the chill that seemed to remain in the air of the wintry cabin. Elvis doesn’t say anything as he concentrates on taking off layer after layer until he’s mostly down to his bare, pinkened skin. You smile when it’s revealed he hadn’t backed down from his childlike refusal to wear proper base layers, silk shirt coming into view but at least you can tell from the sweat patches and his damp skin that he’d certainly been warm enough. You feel like you’re melting from the inside out from the sheer fondness overtaking you until he tugs it over his head, an unusual lack of care shown to it.  You meet his eyes in pleased surprise, and you’re further taken aback at how he manages to make his eyes twinkle so much, playfully glittering in the low light of the room. You can see his smirk growing as your eyes travel down his bare chest, an involuntary noise spilling out of your mouth. It’s been so long since you had the chance to stare at him like this. Elvis gestures at you, disrupting your intense focus, and you suddenly realise you’ve been standing still staring at him for almost too long, so you rapidly start to unboot yourself. You don’t get any further than kicking your shoes off before Elvis is suddenly in front of you. He brushes your hands off of yourself, fingering at your zipper himself. He twirls it between his fingers, ever so gently with one hand - the other coming to distract you from the anticipation by cupping your face, drawing you around to look into your eyes.  

Elvis’ hair has always been long enough for you to run your fingers through, but it seems to have grown almost thicker, and you inch even closer to stroke his cheeks, pushing back his hair - frizzy from its woollen containment. Despite Larry’s accompaniment on the trip when you brush back the hair at his temples you can see the same hint of grey starting to show through as before, and you can’t resist stroking the strands there.   

He smiles at you, pulling you into him to kiss you, making you breathless. As soon as you were distracted, he was unzipping the jacket of your snowsuit, shoving it off your shoulders and down to your waist. It falls to your feet by itself and you immediately pull off your under layers. It simultaneously feels frenzied but also slower than before; like both of you couldn’t wait even though you knew you had the chance to take your time. You lean back so he can tug your undershirt over your head, barely breaking contact with his lips. He pulls back, grinning, after fiddling with your bra clasp, the straps falling from your shoulders. Soon you’re practically nude, your naked chest pressed against his.  

He feels solid against you; it’s been a long time since you both had the opportunity to take your time like this, and his body feels slightly different than before. He still had that uniquely Elvis feel but he was sturdier, and though you doubted it could possibly be true, it felt as if his soft carpet of chest and stomach hair had grown larger, trailing down into the swell of his stomach like a tantalising arrow. He’s surer of himself than he was the last time you found yourself naked with him, reminding you of how he was back on Big Bunny, his broad yet slender hands firmly spanning your sides. You couldn’t help but wonder if you were finding him so attractive because it had been a while, or if it really was just that he always looks good. Any thought was swept from your mind though when he recaptures your mouth, his lips soft and firm against yours, and his tongue insistently presses past yours in a way that could only be described as eager.  

The movement of your chests against each other is enough for you to gasp against him - desperately moving to be closer, trying to practically become one with him. You can feel him smile at your desperate noises, before he moves a little. One of his hands slide down to rest at your waist, the other encircling your wrist. He holds it at your side, your other arm is trapped between you, and you whine at him between gasping breaths that it’s not fair, “C’mon El, that’s unfair, let me touch you,” He grins against your cheek, his spare hand moving to palm up at you.  

Elvis presses a kiss against the side of your mouth, and as you start to voice your protests at his movement he mutters, “I just need - let me light the fire, hon.” against your skin, the vibration of his voice causing you to shiver. He pulls away with a final tug to your bottom lip, and you find yourself pouting at the loss of his heat. You fold your arms across your chest, a little self-conscious now he’s moved away and besides it was slightly chilly, but you couldn’t bear to let him leave you - besides weren’t you about to warm each other up? Although, maybe you were more ready than he was; as he was soft still, and the thought of him tending to the fire - the domesticity of the combination made your stomach clench perhaps more than if he’d been hard and ready to go. But still, you were reluctant to allow him to move away.  

“I’m sure I’m hot enough,” He shakes his head, kissing your hand as he lets go of you entirely, “Honestly - we-we’ll be under the covers in a moment anyway, and I’m, I’m already burning babe.” But he’s already wandered over to the fireplace; thankfully it had been left pretty well set-up, and all that really has to be done is the physical lighting of the kindling already in place and you console yourself with the knowledge that it should only take a few seconds.   

“Not gonna let my bitty baby bunny get cold, hims gotta take care of herses.” He mutters seemingly mostly to himself although he was more than loud enough for you to hear. It does the job he intended it to, and you can feel yourself start to melt in response. He glances back at you as he crouches by the fireplace.  

“Hadta do this in the army baby,” You start to laugh at his tangent, “Yeah I did!” He ardently refutes your chuckle, “- with none of these fancy tools,” He’s holding up a box of firelighters, “No siree, just two sticks and a rock and I could light anything up.” You giggle, finding the situation all the more amusing when you notice he seems to be struggling to light it now. He keeps trying with the book of matches from the side, but for some reason they just won’t seem to take and he huffs, swearing, standing himself back up from his kneeling position to storm over to his jacket, fumbling in his pocket for one of his lighters. Your jaw drops as you watch him reach inside the fire to hold one of the crumbling firelighters in his hand, and he lights it to the accompaniments of your shrieks and admonishments;  

“Elvis! Oh god put that down! You’ll set your - oh lord, you’ll set your chest on fire doing that!” He turns to grin at you, before swearing as the fire licks his fingers, throwing the flaming chunk into the fire, and finally - finally watching as the kindling starts to flicker.  

“Told you, honey, no problem at all.” He shrugs his shoulders, but your heart rate hasn’t yet levelled back out and you can’t help but continue to scold him.  

“Jesus, what would I have told everyone! I swear -” He stands up, away from the fire now crackling to life, holding his hands out placatingly,  

“No, no, no,” He grins, “No sweat, baby, I knew what I was doin’.” He’s got that boyish glint in his eyes, happy as only a man who has achieved a stupidly primal action like lighting a fire or setting off a firework can be, and when you continue to scold him he suddenly rushes at you, knocking you off your feet and sending you tumbling together onto the bed. His broad arms come around you, holding you like a movie starlet swooning in his arms.  

“Shhhh…. honey, bunny, I knew what I was doin’ ok? You see, I was just foolin’ around, pretendin’ I couldn’t light it - you know, just messin’ with you a little, just - just for fun.” You snort in disbelief, although you’re quickly distracted as he kisses the crook of your neck, following an invisible line down to your shoulder and back up to your neck, one of his hands coming to hold the back of your neck while the other traces circle on your stomach. You gasp, and you can feel his grin against you.  

“El—vis, oh - god, you can, let me get these off - please,” and you wriggle out of your panties, shoving them to your knees and kicking them off, when you manage to flick them off of your ankle  your legs return to the bed, slightly more parted than before, desperately inviting Elvis to do more.  

“You believe me don’t you honey?” His fingertips dance over you,  

“Wha-” He repeats the question, 

“You believe me, right, bunny? Y’know I could’ve lit it in seconds?”  his fingers trace below your belly button.  

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course - who needs firelighters! Not Elvis!” He grins at you, and the sight of it makes you tease further, “Boy, you could, you could,” You giggle breathlessly, “You could make it a part of your show, you know - what can’t Elvis set on fire?!” You do a jazz hands gesture for emphasis. Elvis throws his head back in laughter, his head hitting the pillows and you wriggle in pleased amusement next to him for a moment before he sits back up,  

“Oh ho - you take that back, little girl,” His fingers prod into you, tickling your sides and you scrunch up as you giggle more,  

“I take it - oh! I take it back! You did, you did an excellent job.” He nods in self-satisfaction,  

“Now,” his hands soothe the pinkened skin from where he’d jabbed into you, “Let me make you feel good, baby.” Elvis leans up and over you, cupping your face to pull you into another, deep, kiss while his hand finally travels down past your navel, brushing over your inner thighs. Your hips jerk up, as if offering yourself up to him. You can feel his arousal growing against your thigh, twitching like the little bunny nose he claimed you had. 

“Lord, bunny, you’re so soft, can barely feel ya, s’like silk down here I swear to god.” Your eyes slip closed, your back arching at the feel of his soft pads sliding through the silky wetness of your folds, and your legs opening a little wider of their own accord in invitation, begging him to go lower or higher or something. When all of a sudden you feel a chill at the loss of his presence as he moves away. Your eyes flutter back open to see him, bare ass on show, bent over and poking at the fire - adding an additional log that immediately crackles and spits, onto the top.  

“El-Elvis.” The situation catches you by surprise; to be abandoned in favour of fiddling with a fire could be seen as a little offensive in some ways, but it tickles you and the giggles overcome you before you can ask what exactly he was playing at.  

“Ah, sorry honey, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging’ there but it was in danger of goin’ out.” He runs his hand through his hair as he stands back up, his hands falling to just below his hips for a second while he surveys the fire - making doubly sure he’d gotten it set up.  He stretches, and you admire the muscles in his back as they move with his arms for a moment. He turns and stalks back over to the bed - immediately jumping beside you, bouncing you up before he gathers you back into his arms. His hand reaching across you to cling you to him, arm over your waist, finger barely brushing a nipple.  

“You should worry about me going out at this rate -” He laughs at you, rubbing his thick fingers down your sides.  

“Ohh-ho, but baby, bunny, I thought you were burnin’ for me? “He does his famous lip movement, somewhat self-deprecatingly, “just a...” He moves his hips next to you, “burnin’ love. Uh-huh? Bunny love?” You bite your lip at him - it was funny, but more than anything you can feel the arousal growing again in the pit of your stomach. He smiles at you, not expecting a response before he shakes his head, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before flopping back to stretch out on his back. You roll with him, lazily kissing his chest. It’s the most relaxed you’ve felt with him in months, maybe even in the past year.  

He slides his hand back down, one of his long, thicker but still fundamentally slender, fingers preceding the others. You’re more than ready for him, and while your hips move in response to him pressing it past your entrance it’s not enough for the desire burning inside you.  

“’S no good - can I - are you, are you ready for me?” He looks at you a little surprised,  

“Yeah, sure, just - how d’you want the pillows.” He makes as if to get up and move himself off of his back, but you stop him with a hand to his chest. Your fingertips tweak his nipple, just the tiniest bit and you take pleasure in his open-mouthed reaction; perhaps a little surprised at your initiative and he looks wide-eyed when you tell him,  

“Well, maybe I could…uhh..y’know,” You gesture vaguely towards his cock, he blinks at you, “Climb on?” His mouth stays open for a moment before he seems to remember himself, remember that such an offer shouldn’t seem a surprise to him. If you had the brain power to think you would consider it a little sad; the confidence he’d had on Big Bunny in comparison to now. He shakes his head, even as he settles back against the headboard, seeming to recollect himself, smirking.  

“Sure thing, honey, I just thought women didn’t like doin’ any of the work.” You roll your eyes, not bothering to mention that this wasn’t even the first time you’d ridden him, but still, you swing your leg over him and with a helping hand from him to position himself you settle down, your thighs straining over the breadth of his lap. You immediately regret your decision to face him when you realise it means he’s watching your face almost too closely, and you say a silent prayer of thanks that you had had enough experience with him that you weren’t overly intimidated.  He holds himself steady, letting you sink yourself down onto the sturdy length of him. His own face screws up, falling back onto the pillow behind him at the feel of the warmth of your wet heat pressing down onto him. You struggle for balance for a second, before your hands find their way onto his shoulders for a moment while you adjust to him. It’s been a while, a fact Elvis points out as he gasps at you that,  

“Oh - lord, Jesus, honey, you been waitin’ for me? Ain’t - God, takin’ me so goddamn perfectly; feels just right for little Elvie, such a good little bunny, all for me.” Your hands scramble down his chest to his, admittedly thicker and softer middle, to push back and hold yourself up.  

“Elvis - you feel, oh, I, I’ve missed this,” You shudder around him,  

“Can tell,” He huffs as you start to lift up on your knees, “Can tell you’ve been so good for me, huh baby,” He grips your hipbones, “just a itty bitty baby bun bein’ good for me, holdin’ on jus for me.” You moan at the feel of the different angle he hits inside of you from this position, and as you find your momentum rising up and rocking yourself back down you feel your confidence growing.  

“Oh, uh-huuh, good girl, oh lord that’s sexy…” You moan in response as you lean backwards a little, encouraging him to come up to play with your breasts. It amuses you how he still tweaks and pulls like a teen in the back of his daddy’s car, yet somehow, he manages to get the pressure just right, grinning at you knowingly as he licks his fingertips before bringing them back to your nipples twisting them just enough that the combination sends a rush of wetness. It’s a distraction for a second, but mere moments later and your thighs are screaming at you. Unlike on Big Bunny though this time you’re determined to see it through, and you blink through half-closed eyes at him, his own sweaty face staring back at you, mouth-open. Your hands paw at his chest, struggling to find something to grip to get the leverage you need, fingertips scratching at his chest hair, and Elvis eventually puts his hands back to your waist, his own hips moving to help you bounce on him.  

You can no longer bring yourself to care about how you look - entirely lost in the sensations - groaning a little in annoyance as your hair falls over your face and into your eyes. You struggle to try and brush it away while still keeping your balance and momentum but quickly you feel Elvis’ hands move from your waist, one large sweaty paw coming up to push your hair off your face, his thumb stroking down your cheek after it’s tucked back. You let him slip it past your mouth as you rock onto him, moaning against his soft skin. His mouth stays open watching you with heated eyes,   

“C’mon now, mama, finish the job.” You nod rapidly, his thumb tumbling out of your mouth, and he trails the spit-soaked digit down to rub along your thigh, letting his hips jerk into you, rolling with the movement. His hand sinks down, and your hands come to his shoulders as he starts to roll his thumb against your clit, his hand resting on the joint of your thigh and his other coming to back down to clutch at your hipbone. You’re almost there when you feel his hand suddenly pause as his hips thrust up more aggressively than before - more like how he used to perform and you’re about to shriek in protest, tell him off for stopping you right at the precipice, until you see his face screwed up, perfect lips open.  

“Oh - Oh, fuck, fu-fu-uck.” He stutters the word, relief palpable, as if releasing after an immeasurable time. His hand moves back to play with you, his thumb moving rapidly, rubbing exactly over the right spot and it’s almost too much, the overstimulation making you lose your words as he slips and slides it back and forth. You’re begging him for something, although you’re not sure what and he praises you as you grind against him.  

“That’s it, that’s it,” Elvis is breathless still as he encourages you, “C’mon bunny, you can give it to me baby, c’mon baby, c’mon.” He’s growling in your ear and you fall forward, his softening cock rubbing wetly against your folds as you land against his chest. His voice is enough to tip you over the edge, and you find yourself rutting against him, gasping into his collarbone before going stiff, stomach muscles and thighs convulsing as you twitchingly hurtle through an orgasm.  “Shit.” He swipes his thumb over you again and you flinch away, but he pulls it away himself, shushing you before he pats his other hand onto your back and you jolt at what amounted to a an unintentionally heavy thump, his thumb stroking and soothing you back to quiet. His lips press against your shoulder blade, I love you it feels like he whispers against your skin, and you shout it back to him in your mind.  

The next day you think to get ahead of Elvis, sending him to go and play with the guys while you rush back into the house, claiming a headache and a desire for an early night. You’ve lit the fire by the time he gets in and while you’d debated waiting for him naked and ready, you’d grown too self-conscious in his absence, so you were tucked under the covers; supposedly reading his book he’d left on the nightstand although you’d done more listening out for their return than actual reading.  

You can hear him shouting to the boys on his way through, no regard for the idea that you might be asleep. He comes bounding through the door, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of you. The door falling closed behind him with a clunk.  

“You waitin’ up for me, bunny?” You swallow, trying your best at seduction, shoving the covers off to unveil your lingerie clad body,  

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “Waiting and waiting just for you.” He grins, unzipping his jacket and starting to stalk towards you. The fire crackles and he pauses, his head turning to look at it.  

“Oh. You lit it without me?” Your mind runs in circles as you try to work out his tone,  

“Um, yeah - it was cold, so…” He frowns, looking back at you, huffing as he shoves off his jacket entirely, you come to the realisation that he’s actually a little annoyed, “I, I, just thought it would save you a job - you know, it would all be done, and you could just…” You gesture down yourself. He doesn’t respond, finishing stripping himself off and collecting up his pyjamas to take them into the bathroom with him. 

“Elvis? You’re not, don’t be mad at me - I really was just trying to be helpful.” He shakes his head,  

“I’m not mad, baby.” Elvis disappears into the bathroom leaving you to squirm on the bed, your tummy in knots. You’ve put his book back on his nightstand and have tucked yourself back under the sheets, feeling too exposed to stay as you were, by the time he comes back out clearly ready for bed himself. He throws back the sheets, climbing in,  

“I-I like doin’ it honey, honest -” He opens up his arms for you to curl into, “I know the place has proper heat and all, but it just feels more, uh, atmospheric, doesn’t it?”  

“I know El, that’s, that’s why I lit it?” He hums against the top of your head,  

“I know sweetheart, uh, thank you, but I like taking care of you.” You nod in understanding, trying not to be too disappointed that your attempt at doing something nice seemed to have derailed your night. “So, what did you think?” He nods towards his book, 

“Oh, I- I barely got a chapter in, I didn’t wanna lose your place,” You settle against his chest, 

“Oh no, honey, I’ve - I’ve read it over and over, not got a place to lose - you go right ahead.” You mumble a thank you, but make no attempt to move, “Or I could read it to you?” His hand strokes your back, and you nod your head against his chest,  

“That would be nice - yes, thank you.”  

“Did you like it?”  

“Mmhmm…. what, what do you like about it?” He never picks the book back up and you happily drift off to the sounds of his deep voice rumbling on about his spiritual conclusions from the text.  

——————————— 

The next morning you find yourself waking up much earlier than everyone else, and you end up unable to fall back to sleep. You eye the bottle of pills on Elvis’ nightstand, but you would be too nervous to take something without waking him up and he looks so peaceful, gently snuffling beside you. Instead, you end up pottering about in the kitchen, making yourself a drink and curling up onto the couch in the living room with his book. An hour or so later Billy stumbles across you on his own hunt for a cup of coffee, and it’s almost awkwardly silent for a second as he stares at you from across the room. You’re just about to ask if there was something he wanted you to do when he breaks the silence first,  

“You know…he’s really going for Ginger.” He looks you up and down, “But, you could - well, what I mean to say is that the boys like you.” You’re taken aback, unsure what he even means by that, and you stumble over your response,  

“Oh, I don’t - I don’t wanna step on anyone’s toes or anything, you know I’m just - I’ve never been skiing so Elvis asked and -” He cuts you off mid-sentence,  

“Look I’m not saying you’ve gotta go around acting like you’re off the streets, but just you know. If you wanted,” He gestures in the general direction of the hallway and Elvis’ bedroom. “I’m sure… well I know I wouldn’t protest.” You swallow hard as you try to consider the correct response.  

“That’s very kind of you to say. I appreciate it.” You’re a little nervous this is a test and while part of you wants to bombard him with questions about what the issue is with Ginger - and does he really think you have a chance with Elvis? Like his girlfriend? You’re not sure how much will get back to Elvis and you’d rather be painted as cold than desperately vying for Ginger’s spot.  Part of you cringes at the implication that all the guys were out discussing his relationships; that they all thought they knew best, on the other hand the little you’d seen of Ginger did little to change your perception from the same as theirs. She seemed nice enough, but Elvis certainly seemed a lot more hot and heavy than her. Even if there hadn’t been a lot of hot and heavy lately - except, apparently with you.  

Later, when everyone but Elvis was up and despite everyone else’s protestations (and Billy’s attempts) you stayed firm in your resolve not to let them light the fire in even the main room. If Elvis wanted to do it and liked doing it, you were going to be damn sure it was there for him to do. It was storming quite heavily outside, and while you waited for Elvis to wake up, you’d all decided it was best to hang around inside.  

You settled down on the floor by the coffee table to set up some cards, pretending to be nonchalant about where you’d placed yourself even as you hoped your position would put you exactly by his legs, and the perfect distance for optimum warmth from the, soon to be lit, fire. Elvis chooses that moment to walk in from the bedroom, in yet another strange silk shirt and tracksuit combination.  

“Hi doll,” He bends over to press a kiss the top of your head, and you lean up into it. He rubs his hands together in an exaggerated motion as if for warmth when he stands back up.  

 “Shit. It’s fucking freezing in here.” He looks around, “Why’d no-one light the fire?” They all turn to glare at you, and you start to explain, stumbling over your words.  

“Yesterday! Yesterday - you, you were offended, when I - I just thought you’d enjoy it!” You protest, and Elvis stares at you, eyes narrowing as if you were the white witch putting the cabin into permanent winter. 

“Offended! Lord, the whole goddamn world will be fuckin’ offended when I can’t sing for shit b’cause I’ve caught pneu-neu-monia and my throat’s scratched to all hell!”  

“Oh, I didn’t - I mean, the main heat is on - I didn’t think…” He ignores you to plop himself down opposite to where you were sitting, miles away from where you’d been planning and anticipating for him to sit. Elvis angrily gestures towards the fire and both Ed and Dick rush towards it, making sure it was lit quickly. You can feel the other girls look at you sympathetically, even as you desperately try to avoid everyone else’s eye, annoyed and upset at being publicly scolded. It’s bad enough for Elvis to be pissed off with you in public, you didn’t need their pity too. It felt like you were being judged for not knowing how to deal with him like this, you can feel some of them - Joe and Shirley for sure - rolling their eyes at you, but you didn’t know better; every time he’d been annoyed in the past you could escape with the excuse of needing to get something from the galley or you were alone in the bedroom together - and you could use other methods to soothe him. But to be in this situation in public was completely unchartered territory, and though you knew everyone there had to be aware of your relationship and situation, it still made you uncomfortable to be having an argument out in the open. At the first opportunity you have you excuse yourself, claiming another headache and shaking your head at Dr Nick’s offers of painkillers you head off to the bedroom. 

Elvis comes barging in an hour or so later, and you flinch at the bang of the door against the wall, already bracing yourself to be accused of sulking or some other continuation of the argument but you remain where you lay in bed, on your side facing away from the doorway and try to concentrate on the words on the page of his book again. He sighs, and just as loudly as he’d opened it he slams the door closed. He makes his way over to you, sitting on the other side of the bed and looking over at you.  

“My little bunny isn’t mad at me is she?” His tone is almost contrite, and you immediately roll yourself over to look at him. He’s got a boyish look on his face and you can feel yourself starting to melt, but you’re not entirely ready to forgive him yet.  

“I’m not mad at you Elvis.” He frowns, titling his head like a confused golden retriever. He lets his head flop into his shoulder as he peers at you.  

“Come on baby, you know I didn’t mean it.” You hum back at him, trying hard not to be swayed by his expressive blue eyes. He clambers up onto the bed, to cuddle into the side of you, running a finger down your arm, “Oh you can’t be mad at me, bunny can’t be mad at him - not when he yuvs her so so much,” He curls his arm around you to tug you closer to him, and you struggle not to smile as he continues baby-talking you, “not his bitty bunny,” He presses a kiss into your arm, shifting himself to place several leading up the back of your neck, and then leaning over to press them against your shoulder, he murmurs against your skin, “she wouldn’t ever be mad at him, his bitty, baby, bunny who he yuvs…” Your heart clenches. You know he’s manipulating you, and you’re still embarrassed, but he sounds so sincere. Even if he’s only saying it so he doesn’t have to outright apologise Elvis suggesting he loves you in any way is enough to make you forgive him.  

“I’m not mad at you, I promise.” You roll around to look at him, staring into his eyes, “I swear Elvis - I’m not. I’m sorry for trying to control the situation.”  

“Nah, nah you were just, you were just tryin’ to take care of me - I see that, let me, let me make it up to you baby,” His fingers glide over your stomach and sides, toying with the waistband of the corduroy trousers you were wearing. He looks deep into your eyes, searching for something, and he smiles a moment later, “C’mon bunny, lemme make you feel good. Let hims make it up to hers.” His fingers wriggle under the waistband while the other pops the buttons and you lift your hips to allow him to take them off.   

He presses his lips to yours, ever so briefly, and you try to chase him even as he pulls away, his palm holding you down while he moves his mouth down your neck. He sucks a bruise onto your collarbone, and you shift in his grip, rubbing your thighs together as he laps at the little maroon mark. He sits up, settling himself between your legs but keeps his hand on your stomach, its wide span pinning you against the bed. No rings this time to dig into your skin, just the intimate feel of his fingers flexing against your abdomen. He brings his other to pat your legs apart. You flop onto your back, unable to stay in a crunch staring at him, the look on his face as he stares at your pussy too much to take.  

You’ve been tense waiting for him, and though you feel yourself automatically relax into his thick hands you still worry momentarily that it’s going to be hard to get you to finish. You don’t want to disappoint him, and you open your mouth to tell him as much when his rough tongue laps at your soft folds, twirling around your clit. His tongue has lost none of its finesse, and he has no difficulty, with the help of two of his fingers to bring you to the brink within a few minutes.  He laps against you, sideburns tickling your inner thighs, for what feels like forever and you’re struggling to keep your legs open and not wrap your thighs around his head, contenting yourself with tangling your fingers into his hair, holding him into place with the little strength you could muster. He’s not quiet when he does this - Elvis never is, uttering his own pleased little hums that seem to harmonise with your own, much louder moans and curses, the vibrations rebounding around your core. It’s not long before he sits up, mouth glistening - clearly ever so pleased with himself while you pant away the white spots behind your eyes.  

“There’s a good girl now.” He pats at you, “C’mon back out now - ‘s no good sulking in here.” And though you never were sulking you find yourself tiredly nodding at his instruction, more than willing to do whatever he asks of you, boneless and biddable.  

——————————— 

It’s strange when you get back home - It felt like you’d been away for months, wrapped up in your little Elvis vacation bubble, and yet it had scarcely been two weeks. It’s absurd that it’s such a struggle to adjust again. You’d let yourself get so close during the trip that it was painful to have to force yourself to watch and listen as he calls Ginger before you take off on the way home, or to be totally ignored as they all clamber out of the plane when you hit the ground in Tennessee. The trouble with Elvis, you thought to yourself as you finally sunk back into your own bed, was that he was everything. More than everything - everything revolved around him, like planets orbiting the sun and it felt near impossible to escape his gravitational pull. You knew your mother would say, “Baby, finish on a high; keep the memories.”  The issue with that is that now you’ve had a little you want more. There’s no way in hell you can quit now. Not before you’ve had just a little taste more, just one more fumble, one more heated look from him, one more whispered I love you into your neck. But you have no idea if the desire is reciprocal; it’s hard not to read too much into it when your presence is conspicuously absent in March. You didn’t even know they were going to Hawaii, or that they had gone until Georgia told you about it while mentioning their rushed return home. Did he think you’d have a problem flying him and Ginger somewhere? Or did he think you wouldn’t be able to be discrete; a laughable idea since you’d been proving yourself in that department for the past three years. Elvis doesn’t mention it to you, so you keep quiet too, and almost immediately after regular service seems to resume.  

You weren’t pleased for long, when it became clear that while he hadn’t looked much worse for wear after the apparent ordeal in Hawaii, and his voice sounded as good as before - none of this was to last. The monotony of the road, the easy habits of most of a decade immediately flooding back to him.  

Despite having spent as much, if not more, time with him than a girlfriend would have done in the past three or four years, the long days and nights spent together you can feel him drifting. You had been there when other girls were there, there when they weren’t - watched over him awake and asleep. But you weren’t. You weren’t his girl, you were, at your core, essentially an addition to his jet. An amenity. So, when you get the call that a couple of tour dates were cancelled and that your services weren’t needed, before an almost immediate redaction and urgent request for your services, to get him ostensibly home, and in reality, quickly to the comfort of a hospital. You were at once concerned - you weren’t allowed to be worried, that was for family and friends - for Ginger and Vernon to pace back and forth in a waiting room. Your job was to remain calm. Professional and calm, even if you knew that had he been more conscious he’d have demanded your presence. He’d said as much after Linda had left - that you were his first choice. Maybe not just an amenity after all. That you would have been the one with his head in your lap, dabbing at his forehead - rather than Ginger’s hesitant pats to his arm. But it’s not you, and you have to simply take a deep breath, hoping that you’d at least get an update. 

There were, by May, so many signs that things are going wrong, even to your untrained eye. Maybe because you saw him less and less, the flights short between tour stops, the requests to see you at the hotels suddenly lacking, that it doesn’t feel like a gradual change in the way the men describe it to be. The paranoia, the fear, and the sheer absurdity of his behaviour all seem to hit you all the more because you were able to directly compare to when he was doing alright, to how, mere weeks ago, you’d been having a grand time in Vail together.  

The guns. The guns had become a symbol of his sheer level of turbulence. He’d threatened you before, at a time where it had seemed so out of the blue it was laughable - now, if he’d done the same thing you’d be more worried - he wasn’t as careful as he had always been. You weren’t a pilot, you didn’t have the same responsibilities, but even so the guns at Binghampton had almost cost you your job and would have certainly cost you your reputation had it all gone south. Had Elvis not somehow, despite his state, been able to effectively charm the officer in charge into forgetting his apparent oversight; although how, considering the guns had tumbled out right in front of them, was anyone’s guess. The ramifications were awful though, you and Ron and Elwood stressed about the ‘cargo’ on the plane, while Elvis shouted to anyone who would listen that he could do what he goddamn liked, waving his narcotics badge at anyone who tried to tactfully protest. You hated it.   

It’s a long flight, at the end of a long week. It’s been trying for all involved, although Elvis has spent a lot of the time that you’ve seen him in a half-asleep state, desperately trying to recover from the strains and stresses of the brutal tour schedule he’s been put on again. You’ve corralled him into the bedroom on the Lisa-Marie, it’s a six-hour flight - not nearly long enough for him to recuperate properly, but enough that you actually have a fighting chance for once. He’d been playful and handsy the day before, the way he was sometimes - likely having taken one too many uppers, but you could tell from the lines and bags under his make-up that, though it’s been ages - to try and tease or play with him now would be borderline cruel. Instead, you focus on making him comfortable, tucking him up with you under the soft covers of the large bed, petting him exactly as he likes it. He’s just starting to calm himself down and you continue to murmur to the top of his head when he suddenly starts talking,  

“I don’t, don’t wanna marry-marry her.” His speech is slurring, and you can’t be sure if it’s from sleep, or the effects of the palmful of pills he’d taken an hour ago, or some combination of it all. Oh, so maybe that’s why he’s gone off the rails?  

“You don’t, - you don’t have to El- if you don’t want to,” You murmur back to him, acknowledging internally that he must be both absolutely exhausted and feeling miserable if his immediate response wasn’t to tell you to mind your own goddamn business.  

“I’ve gotta take care of it - get the boys to take care of it…. Daddy'll do it for me. He should.” He nods to himself, but his eyes stay closed.  

“Elvis, sweetheart,” You whisper to him, “you can’t make your daddy do that for you, you’ve… gotta do it yourself.” You pat his back, and he burrows his head further into your lap, your fingers finding their way into his scalp, curling around and into the hairs at the nape of his neck as you gently stroke his head and back. “She’s, she’s a reasonable girl - I’m sure she’ll understand-”  

“That’s…” There’s a long enough pause as his breathing evens out that you’re fairly sure he’s asleep, but then he mumbles back, “’S not her ‘m worried about…’s her, her folks.”  

You try desperately to reassure him, muttering about how no-one could judge him for making a sensible decision, and better to cool it off now than later, but it’s too late, and the only response you get back is the sound of him snuffling in his sleep, his eyelids and forehead relaxing as he curls his legs into you, snuggling against your warm heat, tucked against the thick gold comforter.  

You try to relax yourself, but your mind is whirring at a thousand thoughts a minute; all too many of which were imagining poor Vernon being gifted with the unfortunate task of breaking up with his son’s girlfriend.  

You feel sorry for him, you never believe when the husbands of your friends make jokes about how they’ve been ‘trapped’ - it’s a man’s world, and it seems absurd to suggest that someone’s womanly wiles were solely the root of their relationship crisis and yet, his description of his relationship is starting to sound less like young fun and more like a calculated entrapment. For perhaps not the first time in his life. You sigh again, and jump when Elvis pats your arm,  

“Shhh, s’ok, s’ok baby, I got you,” He’s fast asleep, eyes twitching being their lids — but still, his hands swipe over your side as he clumsily pats at you, shushing you while he does. The notion makes your eyes fill with tears, how could he still be so utterly sweet and dependent? 

The next morning he made no reference to the night before, or his whispered confession and you dressed and continued on as normal. Your mind though kept floating back to the words Billy had said to you back in early February. Should you attempt to make a move? Or at least, make sure Elvis knew you were totally available? Before you have the chance to act on any of these impulses though there’s a rumour spreading across the group - that Elvis wasn’t coping, that he needed a break, that the tour was going to have to be cancelled. You’d pushed it out of your head, hopeful he’d just need a decent rest that would be enough to rejuvenate him to get through the tour. But tragically, the rumour had turned out to be true and you’d delivered him home to Memphis amidst cancelled shows and runs to the hospital. He’d looked terrible when you’d left him, looking back at you at the top of the plane steps. You want to turn up, check he’s ok, check that he’s sure about Ginger, that if he’s not going to end things then that she knows how to take care of him. That she’s doing the best she can.  

It had been radio silence since that last flight and perhaps you should be assuming that no news is good news, but you find yourself thinking about him most days. Worrying and waiting. You wonder if he would let you in if you went to Graceland to see him, or if that was altogether too presumptuous, hell you’d heard all about how he hated girls that were too forward. But he loved to be taken care of - you supposed it all came down to control, and though you were desperate that he be well looked after, and you wished you could supervise that yourself, you were otherwise happy to let him take the lead – it was just altogether too scary to do anything else.  

——————————— 

Finally, in the middle of the third week of July you get a call reminding you of the upcoming tour, and then, almost immediately after you agree, an unusual call from Elvis himself. The phone ringing insistently less than 5 minutes after you’d agreed to the tour details.  

“How’re you doing baby?” He’s talking in that slow drawl he does when he’s sleepy, worn out from the day - from rehearsals maybe, or just life in general. “My bitty baby doin’ ok, huh?” 

“I’m just fine,” You’re impossibly hungry for details, but reluctant to sound too eager, 

“My yittle bun-bun lookin’ after herself?” You’d basically already told him this, but the wording makes you blush, and you don’t mind repeating yourself for him, “Of course. I’m ‘cited to see you.”  

“That’s good, well, that’s reeeall good honey, because, uh, you see,” His voice takes on the explanatory tone he so enjoys, both didactic and gossiping, “I don’t know if you’ve heard… or I suppose you wouldn’t have yet, but uh, Ginger’s not, she’s not coming on this tour with me, we’re, uh, we’re well…” He trails off, and there’s little breathy noises down the phone to you, which lets you picture the way he would have just taken off his glasses, rubbing his fingers along the bridge of his nose.  

“Oh,” What else is there to say? ‘Oh Elvis, I’m glad you’ve ditched your fiancee?’ Hardly.  

“She was just, just a lil too young, jus’ a baby, not, she just - it wouldn’t be right to make her settle down with me right now. Not, not when I don’t know if she really…well you know.” You don’t know what to say, and Elvis waits only for a brief second before filling the silence himself,  

“The thing is - I wasn’t sure, I don’t know if you’d heard, I’ve uh, I’ve been, well, I’ve been real sick to tell you the truth. Weren’t sure I were gonna make it out to this tour and we thought for sure we were gonna have to cancel but well, here we are.”  

“You’re not… you’re feeling better?”  

“Yes ma’am.” At least that sounds confident, “Got myself a new doctor, and ‘m, uh, on some new, uh, treatments and uh stuff.” He pauses, “Playin’ a lot of racquetball.”   He sounds slightly sheepish, and while you’re endlessly curious you don’t press the point.  

“Were you just ringing to confirm I’d be around?”  

“Well, here’s the thing, the thing is, honey, the thing is - I know you’ve already had a call, but you see, I was sorta hoping maybe you’d be happy to cancel them plans?”  

“Oh. You don’t want me on the plane?” There’s a moment of silence before he swears to himself, muttering down the phone that he’d learn to have some balls one of these days.  

“No, No, you misunnerstand - I want you on the plane, and off the plane - I just want you to come with me.”  

“Oh.”  

“If you can’t, well, I understand.” He sounds resigned, and your heart breaks a little, “But, I want company baby, and I want yours.” You twist the phone cord around your fingers, breathless in your excited agreement, 

“I want yours too! I’ve been - Billy said, well I’ve been hopin’ for months El, I miss you so much when we’re at home, and oh, I’d love to.” Somehow you can hear him shaking his head through the phone,  

“That meddlin’ shit.” You giggle back at him, and he laughs in response before he keeps talking, “So - pack your bags, honey, and I’ll send a car to get you at the usual time?”  

“So, am I - like working?” He huffs at you, 

“No - no, not workin’ for me no more - just being there for me. Want you to be my girl baby - be good just for me - not chasing down the other guys to make ‘em drinks.” You shake your head, brain skipping over the important part of the statement to the last part for a moment.  

“I don’t believe I’ve ever ‘chased’ the other guys,” He huffs down the phone,  

“Well lemme tell you they’ve been chasin’ you, wolves chasin’ their lil bunny,”  

“Hmm, there’s only one wolf I want to eat me though Elvis.”  

“S’that right?” 

“That’s right.”  

“Well then, I’ll have it all ready for you, s’probably easier, y’know this late notice and all,” You read between the lines that Ginger’s still at Graceland, “that I’ll uh, you’ll be waitin’ for me on the Lisa-Marie?” You cringe, but he does sound more like himself than he has in weeks, and hopefully - unlike with Linda and Ginger he’ll keep to his promise and actually get rid of her before you get on board.  

“Mmhmm, that should be fine.” You hear him move away from the phone for a second, talking to someone else for a moment,  

“Right, honey, I’ve - I’ve, I’m bein’ told I’ve gotta go now - got a meeting in a minute, but don’t be afraid to call - anytime, you’re to be put straight through to me, y’hear?”  

“Yep, Elvis, I hear,”  

“Alright then, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks, then - you take care of yourself baby,”  

“You too El,” You’re about to say something stupid, like I love you, but with one last,  

“Ok - buh-bye.” The line’s gone dead.  

——————————— 

TAGLIST:

i’m just gonna tag anyone that’s specifically msged me about it and/or anyone who commented/reblogged the last three chapters -

@lookingforrainbows @ooihcnoiwlerh @ellie-24, @whositmcwhatsit, @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @doll-elvis @18lkpeters @prompted-wordsmith @richardslady121 @meetmeatyourworst @marriedtopresley @steph-speaks @a-literal-no-name @elvisabutler @precious-little-scoundrel @eliseinmemphis @iloveelvis @literally-just-elvis-fics @livelaughlove-talia @angelborn1 @amydarcimarie @peskybedtime @shakerattlescroll @i-r-i-n-a-a @saintomie @literally-just-elvis-fics

[dragon-queen21]

Hey I don't know if requests are okay or not but I have a request,baby Aether and dada Diluc hcs, again I don't know if requests are open for not if not then so sorry

Regressor Aether + cg Diluc Headcanons

Request are most certainly open! (as long as the inbox buttons says “requests” feel free to send me some :D same goes for any thoughts or ideas that you have. I tend to answer those a bit quicker just as an fyi)

Onto to talking about my favorite characters!!!

~~~

~Aether who’s a first like “I don’t regress that small” and normally he doesn’t when he’s with his sister.

~Only he didn’t take in account how stressed he’s been since coming to tevyat and how nice it is to finally be looked after by someone.

~First time Diluc takes care of him: Instantly baby space

~Aether has so many stuffed animals all in an attempt to keep the regressor from carrying Paimon around like one

~If he’s not being carried Aether will simply follow around Diluc like a baby duckling. Something that was definitely pointed out to the two of them when they went out to the city

~Diluc absolutely puts his foot down to Aether taking on commissions when he’s regressed.

~I like to think that in Mondstadt it isn’t uncommon to have people regress in public and when out a couple of times people have come up asking a favor of Aether who is clearly regressed and Diluc just loses it a little. Because really, can’t people solves their own petty issues?

~Diluc trying to teach the little one boundaries and learning how to say no. Simple things like choosing what to have to eat or what activities he wants to do. Because Aether really will go along with anything, and while adorable as it is his caregiver is aware of just how much Aether says yes to on more serious matters that wear aware at his health.

~Aether comes back from Liuye with a makeup pallet the consequences of which lead to Diluc going to work with red eyeshadow and sparkly eyeliner because he promised the little one he wouldn’t take it off for the rest of the day (He totally drags Kaeya into being Aether’s next ‘victim’ when his brother kept teasing him)

~ Aether working himself up into a near panic attack once because he wants to ask Diluc to be his caregiver because sure he hangs around Diluc small but it’s not like the man is his ‘official’ caregiver or anything. He is so scared of rejection. Which he would understand why Diluc would say no, because obviously he's hardly ever in Mondstadt, and the few times he is doesn't mean that Diluc would want to deal with a mentally two year old, let alone see him at all, and he realizes he is a lot to handle and his regression isn't always pretty and...(insert Aether spiraling for the next however long)

~Diluc meanwhile who just, already assumed he was Aether's caregiver. Just kind of took upon the role without asking. Like, he watches over the boy whenever he's around, has a box filled with toys and custom made pacifiers. Does... does that not count or...?

[invidiia]

yandere poe and ranpo (together and platonic) with a teenager reader who had a bad childhood and coping it by being a girly girl ( getting they nails done, having a bunch of stuff animals, wears pink, love’s makeup, etc btw this are just examples because girly girl can mean many thing you know? SO SORRY if this is too much)

❐ - platonic yandere!ranpo and platonic yandere!poe (together) with a teenage reader into girly things

note ; first off, i'm sorry if this wasn't what you expected! i usually give my own interpretation of them as yanderes, and i usually just do what i thini would happen unless someone gets specific about it. on the other hand, i'm so glad to be getting into this request!! i've got over 8 requests in my inbox about platonic yandere ranpoe and i'm just??? y'all must like them a whole lot!! but yeah, if anyone has any other fics like this, then i wanna see, because i've never seen anyone do this?! i love ranpoe and platonic yanderes, so i'm glad to be combining them!! enough from me, onto the hcs!

prompt ; ranpo and poe are supportive of their traumatized little teenager!!

warning ; platonic yandere themes, stalking, kidnapped reader, gender neutral terms used but implied fem!reader, romantic ranpoe

masterlist - rules - previous

RANPO and POE are incredibly supportive of their teenager! they just think it's the cutest thing ever, their child being into all the girly things. the two love it!! they think it just suits you so well!

if they kidnapped you, there's a really good chance that they already knew that you enjoyed such girly things.

ranpo already knew, obviously. if you didn't open up to them when they brought you there? no need - ranpo pretty much stalked you and found out pretty much everything about you before you even knew you were going to be living with him!

the detective shamelessly stalked you, conveniently appearing in the same places as you, no matter where you ended up. the candy store? he liked candy, too! the clothing store? he was shopping for a lady-friend! although he never outright said he was following you, he just had a reason to he in the exact places as you, all the time.

and so did poe. when you happened to bump into the reappearing detective while you shopped, the taller man was right next to him, joining ranpo while he happened to be in the same place as you. every time you met him, he had a raccoon on his shoulders, the animal's tail swinging while you smiled at it.

sometimes, he even offered to pay for your stuff if the two of them walked up while you were paying. poe would conveniently look at your wallet with just barely enough money to pay for what you were about to buy, both his and ranpo's eyes catching the cute charms and accessories that hung off the purse.

of course, you always smiled at them and declined. sometimes, ranpo and poe just insisted, and you gave in, allowing them to pay for what you bought. it was just so nice of them! at first you thought nothing of it, maybe it was just the couple wanting to do something nice for a teenager who barely had enough to pay for their bag? but as it kept happening, you got confused, and began to think a bit more. you even asked them at one point, but the taller of the couple just waved his hand and spoke, "we just felt like it, don't worry."

so when you woke up in a strange place away from the comforts of your pink-decorated bedroom, you didn't expect your kidnappers to be the nice couple that you bumped into fairly often when in public.

upon finding out about your childhood, ranpo and poe are just absolutely compassionate. they felt horrible for you. coos of sympathy and pity were heard every time they noticed something new, like the colorful bracelets on your hand, your painted nails, your pink clothing, hairclips, everything. you'd grown used to it after some time, but the couple just couldn't help but get a tiny bit sad while they were reminded of the reason why you were the way you are.

some time after opening up just a bit more, ranpo and poe gladly allowed you to do what you pleased. they happily went shopping with you, following behind you while you skipped through the store, picking out nail polishes and looking at the couple as a way of asking if you could get it. the answer was never no, as they were happy to get you what you want. sort of as an apology for just taking you! it's okay to take advantage of that, poe was rich and felt bad he kidnapped you, so might as well 🤷‍♂️

when you got your nails done, ranpo sat with you while the manicurist took a file to your fingers. if you had a free hand, he held that during the process if the worker accidentally hurt you while doing your nails.

sometimes, even poe tagged along, sitting on the other side while you spoke, while karl jumped off his shoulder and climbed onto yours. you flinched a bit every time, while the person working on your nails sighed in annoyance at the movement. but it didn't matter, because you had ranpo and poe, and those were the only two you needed to be happy with you.

[harringtonstilinski]

Always The Babysitter - Chapter Twenty-Six: The Hellfire Club

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Steve Harrington x Olivia Henderson(OC) Word Count: 3,303 Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! I can't believe we're on the last season!! Buckle up, friends, 'cause it's a lot this season!! If you like this chapter, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

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The phone ringing startled me awake as I sat up straight in the bed. Looking at the clock, I tried to count three hours backward from the time shown, slightly struggling before jumping to my feet and rushing to the phone, answering with a groggy and breathless, “Hello?”

“Can I read this to you?”

I sighed at the sound of El’s voice before answering, “Of course, sweetie.”

She always read me her letters that she wrote to Mike, asking for my advice on whether or not it sounded good enough. “Okay. Here it goes. ‘Dear Mike, today is day 185. Feels more like 10 years. Joyce says time is funny like that. Emotions can make it speed up or slow down. We are all time travelers if you think about it. For example, this week is going very fast. I think because I am so busy. I have to make something called a visual aid. I hope Mrs. Gracey will give me an A. Some exciting news; Joyce got an amazing new job. She gets to work at home. She says she loves the freedom. Will is painting a lot, but he-he won’t show me what he’s working on. M-maybe it is for a girl. I think there is someone he likes. Because he has been acting… weird. Jonathan is acting weird, also. I think he is just nervous about college. He is still waiting for his big letter. I hope he and Nancy get to go together. But I don’t know how he’ll ever get to college because his car is still broken down. His funny friend Argyle has been taking us to school. His hair is longer than mine. And he and Jonthan like to smoke smelly plants together. Jonathan says the plants are super safe because they come from the Earth, but to not tell Joyce. Me? I’m twice as happy now. You were right. It just takes time. I think I have finally adapted. At first, I missed all the spring flowers, but now I find it pretty here, too. I even like school now. I am still best at math, but my grammar is good now also. Thanks in part to Olivia back home. It helps that everyone is so nice here. I have made lots of friends. Even so, I am ready for Spring Break, mostly because I get to see you. I am so excited to see you, it is hard to breathe. Are you excited, too? I think you will love it here like me. I think we will have the best Spring Break ever. I hope my spelling was better this time. Miss you. Love, El.’”

She breathed deep on her end of the phone, silently asking me what I thought. Taking a drag from my cigarette, which I rarely ever do, I nodded my head before saying, “It’s good! But the part about friends? I’m not sure that should be in there.” El’s kept her word on telling me every detail when she calls me. This bitch Angela bullies her to no end, and it pisses me off to the point where I want to get in my car and drive to California to beat the shit out of this girl… but I can’t since she’s a minor and I’m 19 years old. “Maybe just tell him the truth?” I took another drag, holding it for a moment as I said, “The truth–” I blew the smoke from my lungs. “Is a lot better than having to cover up your lies in front of him when he’s there in a couple days.”

“Livvie! Are you smoking again?” Mom hollered.

“Shit,” I whispered, dabbing my cigarette.

“Steve will be here soon!”

Holding the mouthpiece of the phone, I hollered back, “Okay!” Sighing and shaking my head, I removed my hand, saying into the mouthpiece. “Listen, get ready for school, do the finishing touches for your visual aid that I know you’re gonna kick ass on, and have a good day at school, okay? I’m sorry this phone call is short.”

“It’s okay,” El said. “Can I call you tonight?”

“I’ll be at Steve’s, but sure,” I smiled. “You can call.”

“Okay. Argyle is here. I finished my visual aid before I called you.”

“Okay, sweetie. Have a good day at school.” “I will. Bye, Olivia.”

“Bye, El.” I hung up the phone, yawning after I did so. Going into the kitchen, I made myself a cup of coffee, adding my sugar and cream into it before taking a sip and walking back into my room.

No, Steve’s parents didn’t come home last night. Dustin needed help with something for school, so I told him I’d come for the night to help him. My plan was to go back to Steve’s, but I ended up falling asleep on Dustin’s bed, him waking me up to kick me out of his room. As I entered my own room, my phone was ringing, so I walked to it, picking up the receiver, answering with, “Can’t I just enjoy a cup of coffee this morning?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Steve said.

Sighing, I said, “Oh. Morning, baby.”

“Hey, listen. I’m gonna leave here in a few minutes to come get you and then pick up Robin, okay? So, be ready this time.”

I chuckled. Last time he had to come get me from my house I wasn’t ready for work. He and I had had… a night and I was super tired the next day, so I didn’t wake up with my alarm. We were late for work and Robin was late to school that day.

“Okay, I’ll be ready.”

“Promise?”

“Promise! I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I hung up the phone, taking another sip of my coffee while looking at my closet door. I set my mug down, walking towards the door when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. “What?”

“Liv, I need you to stall Mom,” Dustin said.

“And why, pray tell, do I need to do that?” I asked, turning to look at him with my arms crossed.

“I’m talking to Suzie and I need you to not tell her what’s going on behind my door.”

Scrunching my face in disgust, I said, “Dustin, I don’t need to hear you two have radio sex.”

“We’re not! It’s something about school,” he exclaimed.

Sighing, I said, “Fine. Whatever. But you owe me.”

“Thank you!” he said, running back across the hall to his room, sliding his door closed.

I turned back to my closet, finally able to go into it to pick my outfit for the day; a graphic tee, comfortable but tight-fitted jeans and my Converse. I’ve been working with Steve and Robin at Family Video since October and I have to say I quite enjoy it. Not the whoring out my boyfriend part, but everything else about the job, aside from Keith, is awesome!

Once I was dressed, I heard talking on Dustin’s Cerebro, that he somehow installed in the house, so I poked my head in to see what was going on.

“That’s a negative, Dusty-bun,” Suzie said.

“Son of a bitch,” Dustin said, pressing a button on his radio. “Try tigers86.”

“Tigers86, copy that.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, walking into his room, sliding his door to a crack.

“Liv, not now,” Dustin said. 

I sighed, “Alright. Oh! I can’t pick you up tonight. Steve and I are going to the game and then I’m going back to his house.”

“Fine, whatever,” he said, going back to his radio.

“Jiminy Crickets, Dusty,” Suzie said. “I’m in.”

“Holy shit,” he said.

“Wait, is she… is she hacking into the school system?” I asked.

Dustin and I jumped at the sound of hearing pounding on his door, Mom’s voice ringing on the other side, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late.”

Mom went to open the door just as Dustin shouted, “Don’t come in! I’m naked!”

She shut the door before saying, “Oh, Livvie! Steve’s here!”

I said, “Shit!” at the same time Dustin said into his radio’s mouthpiece, “Running out of time here!”

I walked out of his room as I heard Suzie tell him to hold on. Walking past Mom in the hallway, she told me to grab a slice of toast on my way out, which I told her I would, grabbing it and a banana before rushing out of the house, hearing Steve honk his horn. “Alright, Harrington! I’m coming!”

Opening the passenger side door, I tossed the banana at him, my piece of toast hanging between my teeth. As I buckled my seatbelt, he backed up out of our driveway and started towards Robin’s house before he sighed out and said, “Good morning, Henderson.” “Harrington,” I said, muffled through a bite of toast. I shook my head while taking the toast from between my teeth, saying, “Ew. No.”

He chuckled, handing the banana back to me. “You’re lucky I let you eat in my car.”

“At least I brush the crumbs off my legs when I get out of the car.” I finished my toast by the time we got to Robin’s house. Getting out of the car, I brushed the crumbs off my jeans, turning to go back in the passenger seat when Robin called out, “I need the front, Henderson!”

When I turned to face her, she shoved her shako into my hands, the yellow and white plume sticking out of the top. Yes, I know marching band lingo, shut up.

As we started driving, Steve was telling her about our date we had the other day when we had the day off. “And then we went to Enzo’s and had an amazing dinner–”

Leaning between the seats, I interrupted, “I literally thought he was going to propose, it was so freaking romantic.”

“And then we went back home and watched a movie–”

“Cuddling on the couch before I fell asleep to the movie.”

“What, no sex?” Robin asked.

Chuckling, I said, “No. Not that night. The next morning, however…”

“Gross.”

“You asked!” I exclaimed.

“Liv, I’m not fully awake yet. It is 7:00 in the morning, we have this stupid pep rally, and I woke up looking like a total corpse.” She pulled her face back after fluffing her hair a little bit.

“Oh, you’re worried about a basketball pep rally?” Steve asked. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Newsflash, Steve, you were in the pep rallies, remember?” I said, poking his cheek.

“Yeah? So?” Robin said. 

“We all know what this is about,” I said, looking at her profile. “He’s not buying any bullshit. This is about Vickie.” I smiled at her as she turned her head to look at me. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, it is, and you know what else I think?” Steve said.

“I don’t care–”

“I think you gotta stop pretending to be someone else when you’re around her.”

“You just gotta be yourself, love,” I said.

“You’re both quoting me to me, you do realize that right?” Robin said.

“Well, maybe you need to listen to yourself,” Steve said. “Ever think about that, smartypants? I mean, I listened. Look at me. Boom. Back in business.”

Looking at him, I deadpanned, “You’ve been in business, Steve. For over a year!”

“It’s not the same thing,” Robin said. “And Liv’s right.”

“Plus, when you asked out girls, they all said no,” I said. “Big deal. Nothing happened, other than your ego getting bruised–”

“I ask out the wrong girl, and bam, I’m a town pariah,” Robin added. 

“Yeah, I’d buy that, except Vickie is definitely not the wrong girl,” Steve said.

“We just don’t know that, do we?”

“She returned Fast Times paused at 53 minutes, 5 seconds. Do you know who pauses Fast Times at 53 minutes, 5 seconds?”

Silence.

“Oh, my god,” I breathed. “People who like boobies, Robin!”

“Ew, don’t say boobies!” she said.

“I like boobies, Steve definitely likes boobies, you like boobies! Vickie definitely likes boobies,” I said.

“Wait, you like boobs?” they both asked.

“We’re not talking about me.”

We got to the high school, Robin and I getting out before I handed her her shako hat for the pep rally. We hugged before she ran off with her friends, chatting and walking them as she met up with them.

“Were we like this?” I asked, leaning over a little bit.

“Yup,” Steve said. 

I looked at him, our eyes meeting. I smiled as he leaned in closer, our lips meeting for a second before I heard kids through the opened windows saying, “Get a room, Harrington!”

We pulled apart as I groaned, resting my forehead on his shoulder. “Get me off this campus before I beat the shit out of these sophomores.”

He chuckled, driving off to our day job that helps with the bills… metaphorically speaking.

~~~

I was standing with Steve on our side of the counter when the phone rang, and because I was standing by the phone, I turned around and picked it up, answering it with “Family Video, this is Olivia speaking. How can I help you today?”

“Liv, I need you tonight for Hellfire.”

Chuckling, I said, “No way, Dustin. Not tonight.”

“What?! Come on!”

“I don’t even know how to play! Plus, I’ve got a date with Steve tonight.” I turned my head over my shoulder, watching Steve help out a female customer. 

“Just move your date this one time! Come on.”

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie? I’ll pass this time.”

“What about Steve?”

“Negatory, little brother.”

“He’s just jealous because I have another older male friend.” 

I heard the smug little smile on his stupid little face. “Yeah, I don’t think he feels the same. Besides, Steve and I really dig each other. I think that he could… well, I know he’s the one.” I watched as some girls walked into the store. “Oh, I got– well, Steve has customers. I’ll call you back.” I hung up the phone, faintly hearing Dustin say that he’s at school.

Turning my head over my shoulder, I whispered, “You're on, babe.”

~~~

Once we were done with our shift, Steve and I went to grab a bite to eat before heading to the basketball game. I said hey to Nancy as we walked in and gave a small wave to Lucas with a thumbs up. He slightly smiled back at me, going back to his warm ups.

After Steve and I found a spot in the bleachers, I turned into him after he put his arm around my shoulders once we sat down. I looked up at him, asking, “Baby, would it bother you if we won this game after we’ve graduated?”

“Interesting point,” he said. “Thanks for bringing that up, babe.”

I chuckled, wrapping my arms around his middle while still looking at him. He looked down at me, giving me a chaste kiss on my lips. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, a smile ever present on his face.

The principal came up to the microphone that was in the middle of the gym, asking, “Everyone now please rise for our national anthem.” You could hear everyone standing, collectively. “Singing for us tonight, we have a very special guest. All the way from Nashville, our very own Tammy Thompson!”

I clapped while looking confused at Steve as he looked over at Robin, a confused look on his face as well. Tammy started singing, the microphone giving feedback as she did.

“Told you,” Steve whispered. “Muppet.”

“Oh, my god,” I whispered, trying to hold back my laugh at either Steve calling her a muppet or her singing, I couldn’t decide. Maybe a little bit of both.

“Okay, she does sound like a Muppet,” Robin whispered.

“Oh, my god, totally,” I heard Vickie agree. “She sounds like Kermit.”

“I was thinking it was more like Miss Piggy.”

I snorted, turning my head into Steve’s shoulder, his hand coming up to rest on cheek from my shoulder.

When the game started, we got two baskets right off the rip. I honestly didn’t get basketball, I just knew the basics from what Steve had tried to explain to me over the years. But everytime he got to what he thinks is interesting stuff, I would always fall asleep. 

I swear I was getting whiplash just watching the boys run up and down the gym, shooting baskets, colliding with one another, almost getting into fights with other team and the ref.

Seeing movement from the corner of my eye, I looked in Lucas’ direction, seeing him running onto the court. “Oh, my god. He’s putting Lucas in. He’s putting Lucas in!” I exclaimed, jumping in my seat, happy that one of my kids is actually playing.

I knew three of them were on school grounds with Hellfire, so I wasn’t worried about them. I wasn’t worried about Lucas either, moreso happy for him that he’s finally getting to play.

Steve was enthusiastic as ever, standing and shouting at our players to shoot the ball, to pass it, to not travel with the ball. I swear to god, seeing him in this element turned me on like no freaking other.

Steve and I were standing, the ball being passed and dribbled around before he said, “Shoot it!” as one of our players got the ball, making the basket.

A few more points in and Jason, the captain, called a timeout. The team huddled together as the drumline started to play a cadence. I secretly did band throughout middle school and freshman year of high school. I quit once Steve became King, not wanting him to be associated with a “nerd.”

Once the game continued, Jason got the ball, and from what I heard from Dustin, Jason’s a cocky motherfucker who thinks he's the top dog of the high school just because he’s King. No one will ever meet up to Steve as King.

Jason shot the ball, not making the basket at all. Ha ha! That’s what he gets. Lucas grabbed the ball as it bounced off the rim, breaking out of the huddle to run a few feet from the basket, turning around to make the shot as the buzzer went off.

You could hear everyone collectively stand again as the ball flew through the air. I could feel Steve behind me as we watched the ball bounce off the rim to the backboard and into the basket, giving us the Championship win!

Steve and I jumped, excited for Lucas and excited for the win. He wrapped me in his arms, giving me a kiss on the lips as the players and cheerleaders ran over to Lucas, chanting his name.

We had waited outside for the team to come out after hitting the showers, Lucas spotting us right away.

“Oh, my god,” I exclaimed, giving him a big hug. “Congratulations!” 

“Thanks, Liv,” he said. When we pulled apart, he kept his hands on my shoulders. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course!” I said. “I wouldn’t miss my little brother playing for the world!”

He smiled before looking at Steve, giving his thanks to him as well. Jason and his small crew came out, calling Lucas over to them. He walked with them as Steve and I started our own journey to his car. 

I stopped him as I watched Dustin and the rest of Hellfire walk out of the school. He spotted me, raising his hands in the air. “Liv!” Dustin shouted. “We won!”

Giving him a smile, I raised my thumbs out to him, letting him know I was proud of him.

Steve and I went home that night and celebrated with a movie and popcorn, clothing optional.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! pls be kind and reblog! it really helps us content creators out <3

Additional Note:

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24​​ @stixnstripesworld​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​​​ @quanticobae​​​ @mischiefandi​​​ @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​​​​

Steve Harrington Taglist: @madaboutjoe

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

All characters, story lines, and plot aside from y/n and her storyline & plot, are all of the work of The Duffer Brothers.

*These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited.

No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

Posted on April 22, 2024

[ofmermaidstories]

merms i wanna SCREAM now that the shoto fic is finally here!!!!! but i am also sad that it is the last installment of the series :((((

but anyways knowing you it will always be kept alive somehow, and i'm getting sappy and emotional bc it's been Four Years (4!!! what a big number!! that's a whole CHILD) since i started reading your stories and i'm just so grateful that i found you when i did!! a whole treasure trove of stories about the characters i so wholeheartedly adore.

thank you once again for being the amazing writer and person that u are!! i'm a firm believer that one's character really comes out in their writing (being an english major, it's hard to miss) and i can see how that is expressed in yours, with how careful and thoughtful and beautifully you write your stories. i hope you know that you're one of my most favourite writers ever!!!! and i'll probably never forget you in my life!!!! thank you for bringing so much color into my days <3333

four years!! oh my god. that’s like… full-sentences-whole-child old. we need a cake next year for number five. 🥹 idk hansy i’m like, kinda sad—a lot of what kept holding me back from finishing the first chapter was like, the sudden realisation that this was the beginning of the end LMFAOOOO—but i’ve been trying to keep in mind anon who slipped into the inbox and was like, [let’s] be excited before [we] get sad. because it’s true!! we’re at the beginning of the end—but it’s still the beginning!!! 🏞️✨ and if it’s any consolation, realistically it’ll take me like at least a year to finish this fic, lmfao, and i also wanna do my surrender one-shot collection this love (is ours), which is what i think of as the trilogy’s true ending (the epilogue is set a few years after shouto’s fic finishes), so we’re on the ride a little longer. 🥹 you’ll have to put up with me for a while yet.

idkidkdidkdidididkdddkkkdk hansy. earlier this year i kinda went through a bout of like, that preemptive grief where i just kinda came face-to-face with the fact that yeah, for the past four years this has been The Hobby, you know? like. this has been what i do for fun. and that’s a (relatively) long time and a lot of energy to spend on one thing, and it threw me into this period where i felt really isolated!! i felt silly, like, oh mermie it’s just a couple of fanfics, why are they making you sad you silly girl—and i desperately wanted reassurance that like, it was a normal part of an intensive creative process. and quite frankly i couldn’t find it LOL, i would trawl through the AO3 and fanfic sub reddits and like, try and find people who’d finished or were close to finishing long-standing series or whatever, but if i did find a couple of relevant posts they were years old, and mostly just celebratory (“I just finished my 1,000,000,000 word-long series!”). and then that fed into the, oh my god no one else is talking about this, i’ve taken too long to get to this point and now i’ve emotionally stunted myself this is terrible everything is terrible oh my god etc etc LOL. but!!! i mean, sometimes the best thing for those kinda wobbles is to just start regardless, right? get up and stumble on. 💀 PLUS the biggest thing, actually, was that i like actively reminded myself that no matter how daunting or bittersweet it was to reach the end, i wanted the satisfaction of getting us there. getting to the end of the shouto fic is getting to grab hold of that trophy……. and then we’ll get back in the car and do a victory lap with the last two one-shots in this love LOL. 🍾🏆🎊🏁

anywaysss, enough dumping LOL. hansy we have been in this together for four years. 🥹 and part of what’s gotten us this far along is the nice things you always find to say. 🥺 the race ain’t over yet but once we’ve swept up all the confetti and someone’s cleared away the champagne bottles i want you to know that i’ll remember you as apart of it, for as long as that’s a thing for me to hold. 🥹🌷

[arvensimp]

You writing is amazing, you capture the character personality so well.

I found an secret beach while playing pokemon scarlet and I was wonder what will a beach date with arven look like? What swimsuit will he wear? Reaction to our swimsuit? What activity will arven and reader do?

Thank you! Also, ooh! Where is it? I found a secret lil cave by the ocean just between the glacedo mountain and the orange foresty area north of the lake that I thought was pretty cool. Is the secret beach the one north of the lighthouse on the west coast? Also forgive me for not replying to a comment if you leave one! I check all my posts for tags and comments constantly, but since this is a side blog, I'm not able to reply from here. Just know that I love everything y'all say!! If you ever want to chat my inbox is open. :)

-

Beach Episode

Arven x reader, no gendered pronouns

--

When you excitedly tell Arven about the secret beach you've discovered and offer it up as a potential date destination, he is delighted. You can count on him to take care of all the planning. Truth be told he's happier that way. "Too many cooks in the kitchen," as it were. You just need to worry about driving the lizard in the right direction and picking a nice bathing suit.

When you arrive, before you even start unpacking together, he examines the area and whistles, fists on his hips.

"This is pretty nice! Not that I doubted you, of course, but usually an untouched beach is way less sandy and much more rocky and uneven than this, I'd think. Good going!"

From there, the two of you set out a massive beach blanket, big enough for both of you and a few pokemon to lounge about on. Next come the umbrellas to provide a bit of shade, as well as the folding table to house the snacks and coolers.

Arven really goes all out when he has time to prep.

Once all the set up is done in terms of the "picnic site," Arven goes ahead and changes into his swimwear. He wears just basic trunks, nothing terribly fancy, but they do have a floette print similar to that of his phone case.

He doesn't outwardly make a huge deal out of anything you wear, not thinking it's appropriate, but he's really happy to see you in your swimsuit.

Before you rush into the water, he does get a little blushy. "We need to make sure we get some sunscreen on before we get into the water, okay? I-I can help you, if you like? Not to be weird or anything."

You, of course, happily accept his help, and squirm and giggle at the cold sensation of the cream before he rubs it into your back and shoulders.

You also help him apply his own sunscreen. He pulls his hair out of the way for you, and you get to basically give him a little mini back massage as you rub him down. Arven sighs and relaxes against you as you work...

Once you're all SPF'd up, you release your pokemon from their balls, and it's basically a free for all! You spend as much time playing in the sand and surf as you like.

Arven basically plays along with whatever games you're down for. He didn't really get to play much in the water as a kid, so he's happy to learn how you did it when you were little.

You also build a couple of sandcastles together with your pokemon, being careful to respectfully knock them down before you abandon them, just in case they turn into sandyghasts.

As with any date with Arven, the main event is the food.

Your man has packed all the best for your little group of Pokemon, and then for the two of you he has fresh squeezed fruit juices, along with some pastries, sandwiches, and a surprisingly delicious pasta salad that kept super well in his new cooler that he has been really eager to try out!

The date does eventually end around the time it gets dark, but you're able to spend a nice amount of quality time snuggled up on the blankets, cuddling and exchanging soft kisses before you go.

[wanderingmoonmen]

Hi! I just wanted to come here and gush about how much I love your half doomed and semi sweet series real quick! I binged it all in two days and you guys have done such a good work on it. I honestly think the first installment is probably one of my favorite pieces of fanfic ever just due to how great the mix of character interaction and action is within the fic. I also just adore how Mary is handled with James and how he realizes that Mary wouldn’t say a lot of the stuff his hallucinations are saying but also it’s still overwhelming and hurts despite this! I’ve also been enjoying the lot more day to day ness of the sequel fic too, where issues still come up but it’s also not, running from monsters all the time (unless those monsters are silent hill remnants/bad thoughts, sorry James!).

I don’t know if it’s ever detailed anywhere, but what exactly inspired you to write the sequel fic if you don’t mind me asking?

aaaaa this has been sitting in my inbox for a bit because I saw the nice words and it makes me melt into a puddle and I want to take time to properly answer your question. Thank you ❤️

I ended up writing way too much in my answer so the tldr; I have way too many thoughts and ideas and with @fly-rye 's encouragement and participation we're now in a place where there's a whole timeline and already drafted events still out there to do.

My ramblings and more detailed explanation under the cut

I think in the preface to Promise, or somewhere, I've said that literally all of this started as a joke. I'm also going to keep to my guns of coming up with it back in 2018 (albeit a joke that I kept to myself lmao). I had sort of kept my 'joke' meeting in some sort of filing cabinet in my mind. And honestly if @fly-rye wasn't a super cool and amazing friend and didn't indulge my bullshit we wouldn't be here (also I'm pretty sure that DBD audio of Leon sounding very......... y'know affected it too. I also started a playthrough of RE4 on Oculus at the same time. Also also this literally started I swear a couple months before remakes were formally announced.) ANYWAY this isn't an answer to your question, I just like rambling.

Now that sort of plays into what inspired the sequel, I think I am a 'too many thoughts head full' type of person and just have too much to say sometimes (and perhaps also too much imagination). I also like trying to explain things so the in-fiction lore makes sense (like... extensively thinking about how to actually for real explain how James got to Spain or What Is The Scientific Explanation For Silent Hill etc etc. I just like to make things Work in my head, idk how to explain it).

When Promise turned into a project, there was more serious thought into how their relationship worked and how to explain Leon's character changes in future media. Then it was a thought of 'how could things be better for the both of them?' Or 'what if they were allowed to heal and grow as people' and whatever else that can be narratively satisfying about seeing hurt people finding each other and helping each other.

Then that turns into 'let's put that thing into a situation.'

Which, of course, there are A Lot Of Situations considering Leon has... 4 movies and 1 game he's in after RE4.

There's also the interest of exploring the mechanics of Silent Hill and exploring how SH3/SH4 can become entangled with the mess.

There's then the flip side of the domestic life and living as """""normal"""""" people.

So to fill the gaps between Situations we've brainstormed a Lot of timeline stuff and certain relationship beats that should occur (yknow like their gay wedding, spoilers). I'm also trying to show how James integrates with the rest of the RE crew and with Harry and Heather.

So... Basically I've thought... a lot about how to make their ship and this universe integrate into all the canon events and have some random drafts for it (of course much credit goes to @fly-rye to a) indulging me b) getting sucked into this c) being super supportive d) brainstorming the Situations with me) because there's just so much potential!!

Now, this is kinda where I get stuck and why there hasn't been more posted, if you're wondering

I like to be thorough and in my head I think I need to explain and show character development in detail because, again, in my head, I think it'll then be viewed as 'bad' or idk, 'not well written' or 'not making sense' (as if any of this makes sense). So I feel like I need to show how these relationships develop so it's more convincing or whatever. I think about how some media is panned or criticized for bad relationship writing, ie 'we've been best friends for 10 years and he really helped me out, right bob?" Like who says that.

So in starting PE I wanted to try and thoroughly and logically explain how we get to the current point.

Obviously this is also literally fanfic and [insert meme here] it's my AU and I can do what I want [just tell you This Is How It Is]

But... I'm not great at writing fluff or character interaction stuff just for the sole purpose of development. I thrive on hurt/comfort and angst stuff (if that wasn't obvious) whereas trying to come up with story beats for a beach trip or something is much more difficult for me. So I've struggled to move forward because it's just not my forte and it takes practice and patience...

Unfortunately, I can be rather impatient.

It's really annoying when you're trying to be thorough! So even when I've got a plan, I just get annoyed with my writing because I just wanna get to the good stuff!!! Why can't I write this out faster!!!! I need to beam my thoughts into a document!!!

I keep on feeling like I'm making empty promises, but I do really wanna keep writing and posting. I am trying and I think about sitting down and writing a lot, but between all those other hangups and not having time, I just haven't.

I know a lot of this isn't exactly what you asked, but I hope it answers your question and then some. Thank you again for reaching out it means a lot to hear from readers!!!

[thedisablednaturalist]

what is your favorite aquatic invertibrate?

THIS is a loaded question. I've kept this in my inbox for a while cause there's SO MANY it's hard to choose. I'm most interested in mollusca and crustacea but those are still large categories.

My favorite mollusk is Dirona albolineata, the frosted alabaster nudibranch. Absolutely gorgeous and come in my favorite color.

I pretty much love all nudibranches though. My second favorite would have to be sea butterflies, they're so weird!

And of course the animal crossing famous Clione limacina or sea angel

Academically, I'm currently researching freshwater mussels for our reintroduction project. Mussels may not be as flashy as nudibranchs, but they are extremely important for improving water quality in freshwater habitats. It's hard to choose a favorite, but one I've researched the most and have grown fondly of is Alasmidonta varicosa, the brook floater. We are hoping to eventually reintroduce it to it's previous native range. Fun fact, when you pick them up out of the water, they stick their "tongue" (foot) out.

I literally had the species name written on my giant whiteboard in the office for a few months so my boss would keep seeing it since I really wanted us to use it as a flagship species to design our reintroduction project around. Fast forward and we've gotten a grant and things are progressing nicely.

Anyway on the crustacea side that's an even harder choice. I'm always excited to see aquatic isopods and scuds. I'm probably most fond of Malacostraca (amphipods, isopods, decapods, etc.) and Branchiopoda (clam, fairy, and tadpole shrimp, and water fleas). Do not make me pick one I am unable to. I will say I have a particular soft spot for crayfish as they are the organisms I've had the most one-on-one time with (I literally have a pet crayfish named Mr Pinchy). I just love anything with pinchers (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）≧〔゜゜〕≦

First crayfish I ever held doing it's little defensive stance of Shake Em Like You Just Don't Care. Just take a look at it's mouth! The mouthparts are so cool! I love watching Mr. Pinchy eat.

My favorite macroinvertebrate would hands down be Corydalus, aka Hellgrammites, which are the larval form of Dobsonflies. I have yet to see an adult dobsonfly in person, but have been told they're terrifying and not very nice. We shall see about that. Hellgrammites are simply angry pathetic overdramatic babies and while people say they bite I've held plenty and never been bit. They will absolutely go for the other bugs in the tray so you do have to keep them in a separate container. We've lost a couple of caddisfly larvae to the jaws of the mighty hellgrammite.

Just look at it! Here's a video where I'm trying to get a good shot of it's gills (those frilly things on its underside). They roll into a defensive ball which is so endearing. I also love anything that can curl into a ball. I think they're absolutely adorable but most people tend to disagree with me ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ

TDLR I love all aquatic invertebrates so very much. I didn't even get into shrimp or coral or starfish! They make me so happy I actually have to limit how much I read about them in a day because my emotions get too big and cause me to become hyper (which is a bad combo for fibromyalgia). I'm not great at remembering information so I get to constantly relearn and rediscover things which is a blessing and a curse. This also makes taxonomy especially hard for me so let me know if I messed up somewhere.

[piracytheorist]

hiiii. this is kinda random but just wanted to say I'm starting to understand you going anime only for SxF. I watched S1 blind, then bcs I craved more I read the manga. Now bcs I know what happens, watching S2 has less exciting effect for me (?) Don't get me wrong I'm still so excited and the animation/voice is stunning, but it would be nice to experience the story for the first time again. anyway it's impressive you got to stay committed to anime only! sorry for rambling in your inbox ;-;

Hi, and no worries, I appreciate the message! Ramble in my inbox whenever :D

And yeah, the feeling you describe is exactly what I fear I'll feel if I go manga first anime second. It even happened with the bullet in butt date episode, since I'd read the chapter already, it impacted my enjoyment of it a bit. I ended up comparing it a lot to the manga and this interfered with my immersion. Funny thing is, any time I read a chapter that I'd already watched in anime, this didn't happen. I was able to enjoy anime and manga both, without interference.

That said, the one other chapter I'd already read before it was adapted was the one where Nightfall visits the Forgers for the first time. While once again I ended up comparing the anime to the manga a lot, after a couple months that feeling went away and now I can enjoy rewatching the episode without making any comparisons. So I'm hoping that after a while I'll be able to enjoy the bullet in butt date episode on its own merit, and maybe it will feel the same for you!

I think it's a testament to the quality and heart of the story, that we want to experience it for the first time all over again. If you're caught up with the manga it'll probably take a few years for the anime to catch up, but if you want to also go anime-only I will probably be here for... well, a long time 😂 one of the worst parts about being anime only is that I have next to no-one to talk about it, and I can't search for posts here or anywhere else because most fans read the manga and avoiding spoilers is impossible, even when you tell people you're avoiding manga spoilers. I'm pretty sure a few of my followers here secretly want to nudge me to catch up with the manga 🤣 So yeah, one of the things that kept me an anime only was the hope that I may provide some company to a fellow anime only 🤣

And look, I totally get you. I'm honestly surprised myself I made it all the way here and only indulged myself once, and only for a couple pages from a certain chapter after I saw some spoilers. When season one ended last December I actually expected I'd break and read through at least a couple arcs into the manga. So the temptation certainly isn't small!

I would say, find the way that makes you enjoy it more and take that. I enjoy the story told through anime more, but not when I get a ton of spoilers here and there, so I have to accept that I will have very limited interactions with fellow fans for years on end, as I don't see the story ending soon, and the anime will need one to two years (if not more) to catch up once the manga ends. So that's something to consider. On the other hand, keeping a distance from chapters you've already read may help you enjoy the respective episodes more. Like, the more time passes from a manga chapter you've read, the more immersed you may be by the adapted anime episode. Idk if you wanted advice, but I thought I could share some thoughts XD In any case, feel free to share with me whenever! I love talking about everything sxf <3