#i drew this around 3 years ago but colored them like last week

[nannichuan]

finally getting around to posting these here too please enjoy the 6 main characters from my story Ready! Set! Drop! but in crop tops

#artists on tumblr #original character #character design #traditional art #ready! set! drop! #my art #character names top to bottom left to right: #ozzy #rosa #zero #ella #jack #kai #i drew this around 3 years ago but colored them like last week #oc posting #i did a bad job editing these zero kai and ella are all supposed to be darker

[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 11: "Last to Know"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 6.9k

a/n: This is another longer installment that brings us through season 3 (I'm planning a different angsty fic to really focus on season 3) and begins to bring us closer to the end of angst...but we're not quite there yet. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks

Sitting across the table from Foggy and Karen, you drew your steaming latte to your lips for a drink. You were partially listening to Karen discuss the new article she was working on for the Bulletin, the newspaper she'd inevitably started working for shortly after Matt had disappeared and Foggy had disbanded their law firm. He had taken a job over at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz so he could continue to pay his bills, unable to continue to afford to work at Nelson and Murdock with the other half gone. You had recently thrown yourself into your own work over the last few weeks, gaining a new position with a pay raise and the ability to work from home for your company. Which had proven too convenient because you usually rolled right out of bed and stayed in your pajamas all day, showering after work just to throw on another pair of pajamas. 

It had been almost two weeks since you'd stopped going to Clinton Church now, too. You barely left your apartment anymore since you didn’t need to leave for work. Oftentimes you lost track of time and had been clocking in hours and hours of overtime at your computer. You’d had nothing else going on and you didn't want to think, so you’d found yourself hyperfocused on coding. Your boss had certainly been praising your initiative.

This morning was actually the first time you’d left your apartment in days. You hadn’t even left for groceries, having ordered them and had them delivered to your apartment a few days ago for convenience. Foggy and Karen had been worried about you, frequently telling you as much over texts lately. Which was why you'd eventually caved and met them for coffee this morning. But if you were being honest, you weren't mentally fully present with them. 

Your attention had shifted outside the window as Karen continued on with her animated conversation, Foggy just as enthusiastic as she was with whatever they’d been talking about. You’d unintentionally lost your focus as you often did outside of work lately, your eyes absently lingering on the place outside the window just above Karen’s shoulder. The sidewalk outside the coffee shop was busy with the usual Saturday morning foot traffic and you blankly watched as a multitude of colors swam by. You weren’t sure how long you’d sat staring out the window like that before you realized Karen was snapping her fingers in front of your face. Blinking a few times, you snapped out of your daze and focused back on her and Foggy. Worry was written clear across both of their faces as they stared back at you.

"What?" you asked.

"I was trying to ask you how you liked your new position," Karen said. "I asked you like four times now."

"Sorry, I uh, I was distracted," you replied, sitting up straighter in your chair as both of your hands wrapped around your warm coffee cup. "It's good. It's going good. Working at home is–is good."

Foggy leaned across the table towards you, concern still clear in his eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked gently. "Because you've been distant ever since…"

"I'm fine," you answered automatically, forcing a smile onto your face. 

Foggy and Karen turned and exchanged a look with each other for a moment, your eyes narrowing as you watched. The strained smile on your face was quickly growing uncomfortable. When Foggy focused back on you, he shook his head slowly. 

"No," he disagreed, "you're not. You haven't been fine for a long time. What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," you replied defensively. 

From across the table, Karen sent you a sympathetic look. You knew the one. You'd seen it plenty of times now. 

"It's because of what's been popping up in the news, isn't it?" she asked. "The little rumors."

Your head tilted to the side as you eyed her curiously. "What little rumors?" you asked back. 

Karen's gaze flickered to Foggy before it returned to you. Her fingers began drumming on her coffee cup nervously. 

"About the man in black?" she said, voice lowered. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, your back straightening further in the chair. Hope filled you instantly as your eyes searched Karen’s face for answers.

"Matt?" you whispered. 

She opened her mouth to speak but Foggy raised a hand, waving it firmly in the air between the pair of you. The gesture instantly cut her off before she'd even begun.

"It's not Matt," Foggy stated sharply. "Hell’s Kitchen has become ground zero for all kinds of copycat vigilantes lately. It's not him, so don't go giving her false hope, Karen."

Your eyes further narrowed at Foggy. "How do you know it's not him?" you challenged. 

Foggy’s expression softened, a hand running across his forehead. "Because," he answered softly, "if it was Matt, he'd have reached out. Told us he was alive. You know he would. It's been just over a couple of months now, he's had plenty of time to reach out to tell us he survived Midland Circle and he hasn't." He sighed deeply, shaking his head at you. "You need to accept it. He's gone."

"Foggy," Karen gently reprimanded, "that's not–"

"No," Foggy countered firmly, his focus shifting to Karen. "She needs to hear this. She needs to accept it and stop doing what she's been doing to herself! And whatever this bullshit in the news is–it's not Matt." Foggy’s attention returned to you, his eyes pleading. "You have to let this go. You need to accept the fact that Matt–” Foggy winced, “–he's dead.”

Your throat felt like it was closing up, tears welling in your eyes. How could Foggy just accept that as fact so easily? How could he just give up on Matt like that? He had been both of your best friends for so long. Wasn’t there any part of him that had hope?

“Foggy, that’s a little harsh,” Karen chastised. “You’re being really unsympathetic here.”

Foggy shook his head, once again rounding on Karen. “She’s been denying the facts for almost three months now!” he exclaimed. “And look at how she’s been doing! She’s clearly not handling it alright. It looks like she’s barely sleeping and taking care of herself. Every time we see her she’s barely present. And she’s been paying for his apartment for months now!” 

His head spun in your direction, startling you at the abruptness. Your lips were quivering as you sat there, feeling like you were about to break down in the middle of the coffee shop with everything he was saying. 

“You can't keep paying for his apartment and holding onto his things. It's not good for you," Foggy stated sharply. “It’s not sustainable for you to pay for two rents, either. You need to let this go!”

“Foggy–”

“ No !” Foggy growled at Karen. “I’ve already lost Matt, I’m not losing her, too!”

Sniffling loudly, you swiftly rose from the table and wiped the back of your hand across your tear stained cheeks. Both Foggy and Karen’s attention shifted to you instantly. Karen mouthed an apology as Foggy’s face fell beside her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Home,” you croaked out.

Ignoring Foggy’s pleas to stay, you quickly turned and left the coffee shop with your coffee clutched between both hands. You did your best to duck your head, trying to hide your face as you silently cried the entire walk back to your apartment. 

What a shitty past few days it had been. 

While Matt had been out last night, he'd been stopped in his tracks the moment he realized his hearing had fully come back to him. He could hear the sirens of ambulances approaching where he’d just stepped out onto the street, the sounds of the city around him, the buzz of a neon sign nearby, and the commotion in front of the hospital he’d just exited. He had been stunned, a wave of gratefulness washing over him in that very moment because he could fully hear again . But what were the first words he’d heard in the commotion around him when God had finally decided to restore his hearing?

The FBI had let Wilson Fisk out of prison.

Could God have been laughing at him any more than he already had been? What a fucking cruel joke to restore his hearing just in time for him to hear that Fisk had been released. Matt had been furious . Even more furious at God than he had been lately. But despite his rage since that moment, he knew there was something he needed to do tonight.

If Fisk was free from prison, in any capacity, he knew he’d be seeking revenge on himself, Foggy, and Karen for having put him away. And while Matt Murdock was safe from his vengeance because he was supposed to be dead, Foggy wasn’t. And neither was Karen.

Which was why Matt had donned his winter coat, the baseball cap, and some sunglasses before making the long trek to the bar he knew Foggy frequented near his new place of work outside of Hell’s Kitchen. Despite wanting to have his friends continue to think he was dead, knowing it was safer for them, Matt had admittedly kept tabs on Foggy on and off for weeks now. He didn't let himself ponder the reasoning, though.

But it had only been Foggy he’d checked in on. He couldn’t bring himself to see what you were getting up to. He’d known you’d stopped visiting Clinton Church not too long ago. The last few times you’d visited he’d heard you from the church basement. You would always end up softly sobbing to yourself before you left. And each time you had, Matt had curled up on the basement floor just beneath the pew you’d been sitting in, just to feel some semblance of being near you again, and he cried with you. When night had fallen those nights, he’d immediately gone out as the man in the mask and let the Devil take over, not wanting to feel anything. 

But he hadn’t gone anywhere near your apartment. He couldn’t bring himself to.

And now he was standing outside the bar Foggy was sitting inside at this exact moment. Matt could tell Foggy was upset by how much he’d already had to drink, having known the amount because he’d been standing outside in the alley from the moment Foggy had first showed up and stepped inside. He’d been struggling to get up the nerve to go inside and talk to him, to warn Foggy about staying away from Fisk and letting him deal with things. Because clearly the law wasn’t going to achieve anything on its own at keeping Fisk where he belonged, so it was up to Matt to make things right.  

He knew it wasn’t going to be easy going inside and talking to him, though. Just standing in the alley and knowing he was about to go in there and reveal to Foggy that he wasn’t dead, that he’d been lying and would need Foggy to yet again lie for him–to people both Matt and Foggy cared about– hurt . 

Matt needed to keep his distance to keep you all safe, though–now more than before. Fisk was dangerous, and he was certainly going to come after Foggy and Karen, so Matt needed to make sure both of them stayed out of Fisk’s way. He certainly didn’t need Karen to go chasing after him as the reporter she’d become and further put herself on Wilson Fisk’s radar. She didn’t need to end up like Ben Urich. And he didn’t want Foggy going after Blake Tower for signing off on the FBI’s decision to release Fisk for information–that would certainly garner Fisk’s attention.

But you–Fisk didn’t know about you. You weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock. Fisk had no reason to know about you, which meant you needed to stay far away from Matt and the Devil so your name would never cross Fisk’s lips.

Which was why he could only go to Foggy. He knew he’d keep the secret in order to keep his friends safe, even if he would absolutely hate Matt for asking that of him. 

And he also needed to steal Foggy’s wallet for his New York State Bar Association license for what he planned to do tomorrow. 

With a sigh, he pushed off of the wall and forced himself to turn the corner and enter the bar. It wasn’t very busy for a Tuesday evening, so Matt easily made his way over near where Foggy was drinking at the counter. He paused when he was just a few feet behind him, nerves twisting in his gut. Foggy was entirely oblivious to Matt’s presence, though, still swirling the alcohol in his glass absently. Squaring his shoulders, Matt steeled himself for the emotional pain that he was about to inflict on both Foggy and himself.

“Fog,” he called out softly.

Matt heard the way Foggy’s head slowly turned towards him, his brows having drawn together in confusion. For a moment Foggy just stared at Matt in perplexed silence. Matt could practically hear the moment when Foggy realized who was standing before him in his slightly intoxicated state. 

“This isn’t real,” Foggy said. "You're not really here."

Matt’s teeth ground together as he gave a single nod at him. “It’s real,” he said softly.

He could hear the way Foggy’s lips drew into a big smile, the only one that had been on his face in the hour that Matt had been standing outside. The bar stool Foggy had been sitting in slid back on the floor as Matt heard Foggy rise to his feet just moments before he felt his friend embrace him in a tight hug. Instinctively Matt’s hands flew up, hugging Foggy in return. He could smell the salt of his unshed tears in the air.

“Hey, Fog,” he greeted quietly.

“How?” Foggy asked in disbelief, still clutching Matt tight. “Where? We thought you were dead!”

Foggy abruptly pulled away from Matt, clearly taking a moment to scan him over. Matt’s hands returned to his cane, fidgeting nervously with it as he practically felt Foggy’s eyes roving him. Seconds later, Foggy said your name and Matt’s heart felt like it shattered instantly. 

“Does she know you’re alive?" he asked. "Does Karen?” 

Pressing his lips tight together to keep from crying, Matt reached a hand out and gently grabbed Foggy’s shoulder.

“Take a seat, Fog,” he ordered.

Foggy did as directed, returning to the bar stool he’d just been seated at. Matt slowly lowered into a stool near him. He braced himself for what he was about to have to say and do now.

“I’m not back,” Matt told him firmly.

Matt heard the smile once again spread across Foggy’s face and the joking tone when he spoke next.

“Well I know I’m not drunk enough to be hallucinating quite yet,” Foggy teased.

Matt shook his head once. “I’m not back,” he repeated. “Matt Murdock isn’t going to be a part of me anymore. I’m…leaving him behind. He isn’t who I am.”

The smile quickly fell from Foggy’s face. “What?” he asked.

Swallowing hard, Matt tried to keep the waver and emotion out of his voice. “The only reason I came here was to warn you and Karen about Fisk now that he’s out. You’re both in danger.”

“Dude–”

“I’m going after him, Foggy,” Matt continued briskly, cutting him off. “I’m going to bring Fisk down. But I can only do that if I know that you and Karen are safe.”

“Hang on, hang on,” Foggy said, waving a hand. “I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re here. Alive .”

“I know that you and Karen are going to want to get involved,” Matt told him, his foot tapping lightly on the bar floor. He needed to get out of here soon before he lost his resolve. “To try to fight him in some way, but I’m telling you that I need you both to stay out of it and leave it to me.”

There was a brief pause after his words. Matt heard the way Foggy slowly shook his head in response. 

“No,” Foggy told him.

“No?” Matt asked in disbelief. 

“No,” Foggy replied more forcefully. “You don’t get to show up after months of me–all of us–thinking you’re dead, say something like that to me, and then just–just expect me to be cool with it. You’re my best friend , asshole!”

Matt’s heart tightened in his chest at the hurt in his best friend’s voice. Foggy’s words stung despite how much Matt knew he deserved them–truthfully he deserved a bigger verbal lashing. But he needed to end this and get out of here. Now.

“I was wrong to become your friend, Foggy,” Matt told him, ignoring the way his own heart beat irregularly at the lie as it left his lips. In time he'd make himself believe it. “I put you in danger and it was selfish of me. While I can’t change the past, I can stop making the same mistake. We’re done, buddy,” Matt said, quickly rising from the bar stool. “It’s over.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you,” Foggy snapped, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, I know,” Matt agreed, once again fighting the emotion from creeping into his words. "Just stay clear of Fisk. Tell Karen to do the same," he ordered. "And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her you saw me.”

Matt turned to go, desperate to get away and attempt to control his own emotions. He felt close to tears himself and was grateful for the sunglasses hiding his eyes. He managed two steps before he heard Foggy once again call your name after him. Matt winced at the sound of it, his feet inevitably coming to a stop as his back remained turned to Foggy.

“What about her, huh?” Foggy asked. “You know she’s been a mess since you’ve been gone? She refuses to believe you’re dead, Matt. Am I just supposed to let her continue thinking that now that I know it’s a lie?”

Behind the sunglasses, Matt’s eyes clamped shut. He felt a tear escape and he tried to hide wiping it away as he ran a hand over his mouth. Exhaling a shuddering breath, he tried to keep his voice steady when he answered.

“Yes,” Matt replied, voice softer. “She can’t know.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Foggy roared at his back. “You’re going to do that to her? Make me do that to her?”

Matt sighed, shaking his head but still refusing to turn around. “Fog, she can’t–”

“She’s paying your fucking rent, man,” Foggy spat bitterly. “For months now she’s been paying it. She thinks you’re still out there. Alive. That you’re too injured to find a way to reach out and that’s why it’s been months of us not hearing from you. But no,” he continued, anger clear in his voice, “you’ve been intentionally letting us think you’re dead all of this time.”

Matt couldn’t speak, his throat feeling like it was closing up on him. His hands gripped his cane even tighter. You were paying his rent?

“Why?” he managed, the word breaking.

“Why?” Foggy repeated in disbelief. “Because she cares about you, you idiot! She misses you! You’re one of her absolute best friends, man. She doesn’t want to believe you’re gone.”

Matt tried to swallow but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his own mouth, the gesture feeling near impossible. Fuck, he didn’t want to do this to you. He really didn’t. But he didn’t have a choice, he needed to keep you away from himself to keep you safe from Fisk. From whoever it was that came after Fisk if Matt survived this. It was for your own good.

“Tell her to stop paying for the rent,” Matt told him.

“ I have ,” Foggy ground out. “And you know what she did? She ran home crying and hasn’t answered my calls in days because of it.”

A grimace pulled at Matt’s face. Why were you holding on so tight to him like this? Why couldn’t you just let him go? He wasn’t that great of a friend. He was nothing special. Why couldn’t you just mourn him and move on?

“She–she can’t know,” Matt repeated. “She’ll find some way to get involved or Fisk will figure out she’s close to us and she’ll get hurt. Right now, Fisk doesn’t know who she is, Fog. She can’t know I’m alive.”

“So that’s it?” Foggy asked defeatedly. “I just continue to lie to her for you?”

Matt felt like he couldn’t stay here any longer, he could feel the dam holding his own emotions in check about to burst. He wanted to turn back around and embrace Fog, to apologize and tell him he was wrong for everything he’d done since Midland. He wanted to run to your apartment and beg your forgiveness on his knees for making you think he was dead. To feel you wrap him in your arms and tell him everything was okay and that you forgave him. 

But that couldn’t happen.

“I–I have to go,” Matt muttered.

Without further hesitation, Matt made his way out of the bar, ignoring the way Foggy was shouting his name after him. He hurried down the alley he’d initially been hiding in, pausing at the end of it when he didn’t hear Foggy pursuing him. 

Burying his face in his hands, he sank to the dirty ground and broke down in tears. 

Opening the door to Matt’s apartment, you stepped inside and were instantly hit with a chill. You shivered as you shut the door behind yourself before bending down and picking up the stack of mail that had been shoved under the door for this week. You frowned when you saw a few more overdue bills. Even with the raise you’d received, you were starting to really struggle under the weight of two rents and all of your own bills. 

With a sigh you made your way into the empty apartment, heading straight to the coffee table where you’d neatly organized Matt’s mail in separate piles. Taking a moment, you sorted the mail in your hands into the appropriate stack before you unbuttoned your coat. You slowly slipped it off of yourself before draping it over the arm of Matt’s leather couch. 

The emptiness of Matt’s apartment was only further making you feel the weight of loneliness you’d been experiencing lately, your eyes dancing across his sparsely decorated and overly spacious apartment as your eyes watered. Foggy and Karen had been avoiding you lately, always too busy with something to make time for you. They’d been acting strange for the past few weeks and you didn’t understand why. And it had only added to the hurt you'd been experiencing after everything with Matt.

Foggy had suddenly decided to run for District Attorney, which you’d been shocked about but excited for him nevertheless. But he was always claiming he had something to attend and he’d get back with you later. Karen had been saying she was busy with some story she was following, never having time to even chat on the phone. Though recently you'd heard she had been fired after the attack from a fake Daredevil killing people at the Bulletin–and that in itself had further confused you, but both of them had said it was something to do with Fisk and wouldn’t tell you anything more.

You’d been so lonely you’d finally called Adam back up and eventually gotten together with him for drinks last week. He’d been understanding all those months ago when you’d ended things because of Matt’s supposed passing, claiming you just couldn’t focus on a relationship after the unexpected loss of one of your closest friends. Though now it felt like Adam was all you had left.

And Matt’s apartment. Empty as it always was.

You stepped around the leather couch, your fingers running along the red plaid blanket neatly folded over the back of it as you walked. Stomach sinking as your grief once again hit you, you continued your usual tour of Matt’s place, the same as you did when you stopped in every week to collect his mail and check on the bills you needed to pay for him.

You always started in the living room first, pausing to appreciate the obnoxious billboard you’d grown fond of outside of the windows. Then you’d make your way into the kitchen, marveling at how little he actually had in there. Though you supposed it made sense that he hadn’t cooked much with what he spent his evenings doing. Eventually you’d make your way to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway and wondering what it would be like to be standing there in your pajamas in the morning, a cup of coffee in each hand. One for you and one for Matt. Imagining him waking up in his bed, his hair a ruffled mess and a sleepy smile on his face just for you as morning light seeped in through the windows.

Your heart twisted at the thought and you quickly pushed the mental image away, continuing on. You made your way to his closet where his suits were still all neatly hanging, fingers running along the braille tags on each hanger. With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave the room, but your eyes fell on Matt’s dresser. Coming to a stop, you paused as you eyed it for a moment. As if your feet were moving on their own, you made your way over, pulling open one of the drawers. A handful of neatly stacked, neutral colored shirts met your eyes. Fighting back the tears threatening to spill over, you ran a hand over a worn, dark gray tee-shirt on top. It was incredibly soft.

You didn’t know what it was that came over you, but you found yourself pulling the shirt out of his drawer and bringing it up to your nose. It still smelled like him–that clean detergent scent you loved. A choked noise fell out of you as you buried your face further in the material, wishing it was on Matt’s body and not just crumpled between your desperate fingers.

It was a few minutes before you'd managed to regain your composure and collect yourself. But as you closed his dresser drawer, you still held onto the worn tee-shirt in your hands. And even as you slipped your coat back on in the living room before exiting his apartment, locking it up behind you, you never parted with it. 

You'd spent so much time going back and forth on whether or not you would attend the mass for Father Lantom’s funeral this afternoon that you'd ended up showing up just as people were milling out of the church afterwards. You'd felt bad for having missed it, even if you'd only had a few conversations with him after Matt's memorial service before you'd stopped going to Clinton Church entirely. From your brief time with Father Lantom, and from what Matt had always said about him, he sounded like an amazing man. What had happened to him–whatever it was that had someone attacking a church –had been absolutely horrible. 

But you knew there was a wake being held at Foggy’s family's butcher shop nearby from the announcement you had read in the paper. You hadn't spoken to Foggy or Karen in almost a week now, but you figured you'd end up at least running into one of them there. As you neared the shop, you wondered if they'd continue to ignore you like they'd been doing for weeks now. 

Their silence had only opened a new wound for you, causing you even more pain in Matt's absence. You'd ended up growing closer to Adam over the weeks since they’d been avoiding you because of it, often spending a few evenings a week together. He didn't have answers for why your friends had been ghosting you and cutting you out of their life, but he at least offered the much needed comfort you'd been craving for months. 

Outside of Nelson's, you spotted a few people lingering on the sidewalk talking in small groups. They were dressed in all black and had clearly just come from the mass for Father Lantom at the church. You slipped around a group outside, offering a soft apology as you reached for the door handle beside them. Pulling it open, you stepped inside and immediately side-stepped out of the way of a couple who sent you friendly smiles. As your eyes scanned the busy shop around you, you eventually spotted Karen and Foggy at a table nearby with drinks in their hands laughing with–

Eyes going wide, you swore your heart entirely stopped beating in your chest. You couldn't breathe. Even your brain felt like it hit reset at the sight before you.

Foggy and Karen had been sitting at the table laughing and having drinks with Matt as if he hadn't been missing and believed dead for the past few months. 

Entirely frozen on the spot, all you could do for a moment was stare in shock at Matt laughing at something Karen had said. Mouth dropping open, you watched as all three of them raised their glasses as if in a toast before clinking them together. 

That's when the tears came. Watching all three of them sitting there as if they'd known Matt had been alive for longer than five minutes. As if they were celebrating something. 

And you'd been entirely left out of whatever it all was. 

Heart beating harder in your chest, a small, strangled whimper fell out of you. At the table, Matt's head immediately darted in your direction, the smile falling from his lips as his focus landed on you. Karen and Foggy’s attention soon turned towards you next, curious as to what had caught Matt's attention. Abruptly you turned and pushed the door to the shop open, hurrying out onto the sidewalk.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you felt the tears steadily falling as you darted away from the building. You ignored the groups of people outside curiously eyeing you as your breath came in fast and sharp. Vaguely you heard Foggy calling your name as you briskly walked down the sidewalk and headed away from Nelson's. Your pace didn't slow as he continued to call after you.

Matt was alive.

Matt was alive .

You had been right. All this time and you'd been right. But why the hell had Karen and Foggy been so adamant about him being dead–wanting you to let him go–when they knew he wasn't? How long had they known and not told you? How long had they known and just continued to let you grieve? To let you keep paying for his apartment? To keep scouring the news about the man in the mask? They’d been telling you it wasn’t Matt despite you noticing the strange fake Daredevil in the news in relation to Fisk’s prison release. They’d made you feel like you’d been going crazy.

And why had Matt not let you know he was alive? Why had he let you continue on thinking he was dead but not Foggy and Karen?

Did you mean so little to him?

Foggy’s voice loudly shouting your name broke through your thoughts and you stopped, spinning on the spot towards him as your tears continued to fall. Foggy caught up to you quickly, his own face filled with guilt and shame. Behind him, you could see Karen escorting Matt, the pair of them rapidly nearing where you'd both come to a stop.

"How long?" you asked Foggy, voice cracking. "How long did you know?"

Foggy winced at the question, his face growing even more solemn. "A few weeks now," he answered softly. 

Your eyebrows rose up onto your forehead, eyes once again widening. Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you tried hard to search for words. 

"You–you knew?" you breathed out. "You knew for weeks? And you just didn't tell me he wasn't dead?" 

"I wanted to!" Foggy replied in a rush. "Believe me, I did! But it wasn't safe for you to know!"

"Are you–" you paused, pinching the bridge of your nose as a multitude of emotions fought to rise to the surface. Anger and relief were fighting at the forefront. "I don't fucking care if it wasn't safe!" you eventually roared at the three of them, Karen and Matt stopping beside Foggy now. "You let me think he was dead for weeks when you knew he wasn't! You both ignored me for weeks!" you yelled, fresh, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. "Left me to grieve the loss of Matt and my friendship with the both of you on top of it!"

"I–"

"No!" you raged at Foggy. "Do you know how much that fucking hurt? To feel like I’d lost all of you? And then I come here and see you all just laughing and having fucking drinks and I'm still in the dark about everything ?"

"We were going to tell you today!" Karen cut in quickly, her voice catching your attention. "We were dealing with Fisk’s release. That was why we knew Matt was back–and he had been a very closed off asshole, too, for the record,” she told you, Matt frowning deeper beside her. “But we were trying to keep Fisk from learning that you were connected to any of us. To keep you safe from him." 

"What?" you asked her.

"Fisk wanted revenge," Matt said.

Your eyes flew directly to him. His voice, after months of wondering if you'd ever hear it again, managed to slightly calm you. For a moment your eyes took in the sight of him standing there–something else you’d thought would never happen again. He was wearing one of his nice suits and his usual red glasses, which meant he must have stopped by his apartment at some point. The one you’d been paying the bills for him for. There were a few cuts bandaged along his face and his knuckles looked torn and bruised, but he was alive. 

He was alive.

“He tried to kill me when he realized I wasn’t dead,” Matt explained. “Tried even harder when he learned who I was. He was trying to go after Foggy, too–which was why he ran for the D.A. position, to make him more of a public figure. And he went after Karen.”

“The Bulletin?” you asked, eyes darting to Karen. “That was…?”

Karen nodded. “And what happened at Clinton,” she told you.

“It wasn’t safe,” Matt said, taking another step towards you. “I only told Foggy because I wanted him and Karen to let me handle Fisk. But he didn’t listen to me and told Karen.”

“Because she was in danger and needed to know,” Foggy snapped at Matt.

Matt’s mouth twitched at Foggy’s words but he didn’t respond to him. Instead he kept his focus on you as he spoke.

“But you weren’t a part of Nelson and Murdock,” he continued, shaking his head. “Fisk never knew who you were. I wanted to keep it that way. Initially I wanted to let you all think Matt Murdock had died so I could go out and be Daredevil without worrying about putting any of you in any more danger. But…” he trailed off, sighing as his shoulders dropped. “I couldn’t do it. I–I need you all. As my friends. To keep me from losing myself to that other part of myself.”

Wiping the heels of your palms over your cheeks, you tried to wipe away the tears. A few were still falling as you stood there. Admittedly you were still pissed–at all of them. Karen and Foggy for keeping his secret even if it was to keep you safe, and you were pissed at Matt for letting you spend months wondering if he was dead or not. 

“I’m sorry,” Matt said softly.

“I’m sorry, too,” Foggy added quickly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I hated every second of it. You have to know that.”

Swallowing hard, your eyes flew over to Karen when she spoke up.

“I didn’t want to lie to you either,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, too. We really were going to tell you today. After Father Lantom’s wake. We just wanted to make sure the threat of Fisk had passed first.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Matt assured you.

Foggy’s arms raised, opening wide towards you as he shot you a hopeful look. “Can you forgive me, bestie?” he asked. “Hug it out?”

Chewing your lip, you took a step backwards. Collectively all three of their faces dropped at the gesture. Slowly, Foggy’s arms lowered to his sides.

“I just–just need a bit to process this,” you muttered. “I can try to understand why you did it but–but it still hurts.”

Both Foggy and Karen nodded, but between them, Matt’s frown somehow continued to deepen. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, committing the sight of him alive and breathing to your memory before you turned and made your way back down the sidewalk. You wanted to go home and cry before you tried to make sense of all of this. It didn’t help that your body’s reaction was confusing you. You were overjoyed and grateful, but also incredibly pissed and deeply hurt. You wanted to scream at Matt but you also wanted to hug him and never let him go.

You’d barely made it a few steps before something had latched on to your wrist and you froze, head turning to glance down at what it was. Matt’s large and battered hand was encircling it firmly, clearly not about to let you go. Pressing your lips tight together, you tried hard to refrain from crying as your gaze slowly made its way up to his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. After that building fell on me and I somehow still woke up alive…I’d lost almost all of my senses. I was in a dark place. And when my senses came back, Fisk had been released and I found myself in an even darker place.” He sent you a sad, apologetic smile. “I didn’t want to lie to you. Didn’t want you to keep believing I was dead. I swear I didn’t. It was just to keep you safe.” 

Your watery gaze tried to focus on Matt’s eyes behind the red lenses. You could feel the tears once again getting ready to spill over in your own eyes.

“I visited Clinton Church every day for weeks after you disappeared, Matt,” you admitted softly.

“I know,” he whispered, that sad smile still on his lips. “I was recovering in the church’s basement that whole time.”

You winced at his words. He’d known? He’d known you’d been there crying over him all this time? Day after day praying he’d come back to you? And he’d been there this whole time? Fresh hurt and anger burned in your veins, another wave of tears spilling out of you.

“You knew that too?” you breathed out. “You were right there and never said anything?”

He nodded slowly, shame and guilt written across his features. As the tears fell yet again, you finally gave in to the mix of emotions fighting inside of you to reach the surface. Your hand slipped out of Matt’s hold before you reached out and pushed against his chest roughly. For a moment he looked taken by surprise at the gesture, but his surprise quickly vanished as he stood there and allowed one of your fists to weakly slam onto his chest.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you cried out in a broken voice. “Fuck you for making me go through that knowing how hard it was on me.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his own voice breaking.

Your fist slammed onto his chest again. “Fuck you for hurting me like that,” you continued. “For making Foggy and Karen hurt me like that.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

“How could you?” you wailed. “I thought I mattered to you!”

Matt’s hands were on your shoulders, gripping them firmly as he tried to pull you towards him. You tried to shake him off, struggling against his hold, but he only held on tighter as your fist slammed down onto his chest again, tears endlessly streaming from your eyes.

“You do matter,” he croaked out. “More than you know. You do matter.”

“Fuck you,” you sobbed, your fingers grasping onto the lapels of his suit coat. “Fuck you, Matt.”

Matt’s hands released their hold on you, his arms swiftly wrapping around your shoulders as he drew you into himself. You didn’t fight him this time, burying your face into his dress shirt and tie and letting yourself break down against him. Relief and heartache and love and anger all poured out of you simultaneously as you clung to him, your body shaking with your sobs. Matt had buried his face against the top of your head, clearly crying himself as he clung to you just as tight. You could feel his tears dampening your hair and hear the muffled sounds of his own choked sobs filling your ears. 

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” you begged, shaking your head against his chest. “Don’t make me go through that again.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “I won’t ever leave you again.”

[END NOTES]

I'm leaving end notes this time because I feel like they're needed (but if you read my fics over on AO3 I always give quite detailed end notes that I don't usually share on tumblr because it's just extra time I don't have trying to get two posts together).

So much happened in this installment though because we practically sprinted through season 3! This fic isn't meant to delve into that season though, but I wanted to include the angst of it in here (don't worry, I have another angsty fic planned for season 3 for another day). Reader was clearly struggling with the loss/absence of Matt for the months he'd been gone in this one. She was also the one paying for his apartment and his bills because she didn't believe he was dead. But she was also the last one to know he was alive--hence the title of this installment! And shit did that hurt when she didn't know why Foggy and Karen were pushing her away for weeks, which only led her back to the attractive vet tech, Adam (in case you didn't catch that). And then she didn't find out Matt was alive until she saw him at Father Lantom's wake at the Nelson's butcher shop. Despite being able to understand why they kept her in the dark, she's still pretty hurt and pissed. Especially at Matt. But clearly, Reader will never stop loving Matt.

I have a couple more angsty things up my sleeves that are getting closer to punching you in the gut next, so be prepared, friends! The angst isn't over even if the confession of feelings draws nearer... I currently don't have a title name to tease for the next installment yet either because this almost 7k beast of an installment took up all my brain space for two days, but I'll share a post about it when I do.

Feel free to scream at me now 🙃

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil

[lilliancdoodles]

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know" - AA Milne, Winnie the Pooh.

Happy (belated) Birthday to the original eggs!!

Click for better quality. Design notes/details below the cut.

I started this on April 3rd but im really bad at staying focused so here it is 3 days later :). I got the idea for this from an old Aphmau fanart I had saved in pintrest ages ago. It got deleted at some point and i didn't notice, but oh well.

The base idea is the one year old kid talking to their day 1 / first week self. I wasn't in the fandom at that point, but I have rough ideas on what each egg did early on and based it off of that.

Chayanne: - My first idea for this had Chayanne in the 'Smarter' position. I tried to match up the kids to what I thought was least likely. I eventually switched this. I thought Chay would fit better in the 'Braver' spot as I imagine that older Chay would encourage his younger self knowing what was coming. He was really excitable at the beginning, but over the last year, he has realized that he is braver than he thought. - I gave baby Chay an iron sword because early on diamonds weren't allowed. Older Chayanne has a diamond sword to show the growth and changes in Quesadilla island and himself.

Dapper: - Dapper was originally in the 'Braver' position. I changed them to the 'Stronger' position, but they could work for either. I imagine after having like 7(?) kidnappings Dapper wants to tell his younger self that he's strong. - Baby dapper his holding his first pet slime. I don't know what its name is, but I know that Dappers first pet was a caged Slime.

Leonard@: - Leo was originally in the 'Loved' position, this was changed cause I thought that Ramon would be better there. - baby leo is holding the camera they used a lot at the beginning of the server - I personally just really like how I drew older Leo. They give off cool older sibling energy. - Personal HC for Leo: Leos eyes change color depending on which parent they were around most recently. Foolish: Green Vegetta: Purple Both: sectoral heterochromia with both Green and Purple This is why baby Leo's eyes are both green and purple, cause they were around both of their parents at that time. While older Leos eyes are green because they've only been with Foolish for so long.

Ramon: - Ramon was originally in the 'Stronger' position. I changed this cause of how much love has to do with Ramon and his story (I am biased I apologize) - Baby Ramon is holding a Nautilus Shell. This was the first gift Fit ever gave to Ramon. - Older Ramon showing Baby Ramon a firefly because fireflies remind them of Fit. - a TINY detail that you can barely see, but older Ramon has pac-man shaped irises.

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #qsmp eggs #qsmp chayanne #qsmp dapper #qsmp leonarda #qsmp ramon #LCDoodles #I tried to be more extreme with my shading for this piece #Also tried to do some weighted line but I don't know if it worked or not #I like how it turned out but I need to experiment more

[herotome]

Special Informal Devlog

Hi-ho, Wudge here! Aaaa. I missed the update last week... as we crawl closer and closer to release, it's become harder for me to write devlogs. I'm making progress every single day, and that makes me so frustrated that it isn't done yet, you know? 😭 Something something curse of perfectionism...

Anyway.

I thought I'd try something a little different with this post by chronicling a specific screen I've worked very hard on, from start to finish!

(Pictured: a preview of where we're gonna end up)

It all began on... August 2021?! Yowza, two years ago! When I posted a poll on tumblr and on itch about how I should handle flirt indicators. The votes were split 50/50 between two popular options, and I was able to surmise that yall would really, really love an option to toggle between the two.

It didn't take me long to figure out how to implement the toggle itself.

The following year (September 2022), I came up with the idea of putting in an illustrated tutorial on how my flirt indication system works - after all, poll participants had told me that they loved the idea and had never seen it before in other games. I was on a treadmill at the time, so I quickly doodled the idea on my phone. It looks like this:

Then when I got home, I did a rough pen draft to solidify the idea...

I worked on the digital version over the next 2-3 weeks, and asked my friends for help with editing the text to ensure clarity.

.... Then I took a looong break from the infographic to, uh.... write, edit, playtest the game, draw expressions for Griffin CG, draw expressions for the landlord, work on a new Clammy Lady sprite, playtest the game again, make all the characters blink, make the first glowing animation for Jade's powers, code in Griffin's CG expressions, stress about paypal making changes in my country, do concept art for upcoming npcs, write some more, playtest some more, draw a birthday picture for Dart, write devlogs every single week, make sure all my files were safely transferred to my new laptop before my old one completely died... etc.

So it was February 2023 by the time I came back around to try implementing the infographic in code :')

... It was functional, but no matter what I tried, I didn't like how it looked with everything crammed into one page.

... Then I got really sick... but after I recovered and did some more work (drawing, writing, playtesting, etc) I came back to the infographic with the intention to learn how to code pages in renpy.

Still didn't look phenomenal, but there's a whole lot more breathing room! This was in April 2023.

I took another "break" (worked on a million other things) and then... FINALLY... in late August 2023, just a few weeks ago, I had an art breakthrough!

I had garnered a better understanding of color and poses, and as a result my chibis became a LOT cuter! I was able to redraw most of them without too much hassle - whereas when I first started, it would take me all day to draw a single one.

I also drew custom heart icons (a plain heart, a golden heart, and a broken heart), figured out how to make text buttons look more fun and intuitive..

And here's where we're at now!!! I still need to draw eyes for Dart.... but I researched and absorbed a lot about screen compositions, and had a rather late realization that I could re-use backgrounds and assets I already have in the game.

That's it for the special edition. I'll update with more soon!

Stay safe and keep warm,

Wudge.

#herotome update #herotome highlights #interactive fiction #indie game #oelvn #otome #visual novel #otome game #english otome #indie #chibis #anime

[fangirlshrewt97]

Come Rest Your Weary Head (Part 4)

All right, this section was one of the main reasons I wrote this fic, but ultimately the scene turned out very differently to what I had originally envisioned. The main detail is still there though, so I think the scene is still nice. 

Also, I’m a little sick still so I did my best to proofread, but apologies if I missed any egregious mistakes. 

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 5) (Part 6)

///

“Anna!” came Malli’s voice from the thicket of trees.

“Malli?” Bheem called out, face splitting into a wide smile when the young girl emerged, followed by Ram.

They had arrived back in Bheem’s village a couple weeks ago, and for some reason he could not figure out, Malli had gotten over her apprehension over Ram and stuck to him the whole time. It amused Bheem how much Ram could maintain a stoic face in front of the most brutal type of violence but panicked whenever any child not from his village approached him.

Bheem climbed down from the tree post he had been sitting in, meeting them at the base as the pair came to a stop. “Well, what a lovely surprise. What are you guys doing out here?”

Ram sputtered before looked away shyly. Malli beamed at him, and nudged Ram’s side.

“We came to see you Anna! Ram Anna has a gift for you!”

“A gift?” Bheem asked, confused. When he looked at the man in question, his cheeks were several shades darker.

“Yeah!” Malli shouted in excitement. And then when Ram did not add anything elbowed him hard enough to make him stumble.

Ram scowled at Malli, but Malli glared at him, which immediately cowed him. Bheem bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the exchange.

Clearing his throat, Ram came to stand in front of Bheem, hesitating as he removed a small parcel wrapped in an old cloth from his waist. “For you.”

Bheem accepted the gift with a wide smile, a similar blush coloring his own cheeks as he became aware of how closely Malli was looking at the two of them. “Can I… can I open it now?”

Ram nodded stiffly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He was nervous. Bheem gave him a side glance as he opened the small ribbon tying the package together. He gasped as the cloth fell away to reveal a delicate little wooden flute in the center. A peacock feather in Malli’s style adored one end of the flute.

When Bheem looked up at the pair, both were looking at him eagerly, though Malli with anticipation, and Ram with something akin to fear. “It’s stunning Ram. How did you know I used to play the flute?”

“I uh… I overheard a conversation last time we were here, but then things got so busy I couldn’t ask you. So this time when we came to visit, I asked Malli, and thought I would try to make one myself. She was a big help, I’d never tried to make a flute before, and I think it turned out decent in the end.”

Well that explained the girl’s change in behavior. Wait …”You made this?”

Ram blushed further somehow. “I’m not an expert or anything but I used to help my dad with repairing the wooden practice weapons, and learned a little woodcarving from there.”

Bheem looked at the gift with new perspective, feeling warmth overflowing in his chest as he clutched his gift to his heart.

“Anna, will you play us a song?” Malli asked as she came close too, hooking her arms around Bheem’s bicep and giving him her best pleading eyes.

Bheem laughed and bent to nuzzle noses with her, making the girl giggle. “For my little Malli, who drew such a lovely design for me? Of course I will. But it has been several years, so I am very out of practice.”

Ram smiled at him. “I’ve heard music is just like dance, the body remembers even in the mind takes a minute to catch up.”

Bheem raised an eyebrow at him. “The body remembers, huh?”

Ram’s eyes widened, jaw dropping as his eyes darted in fear at Malli who was looking between them confused.

Bheem let Ram’s panic continue for another few moments before he laughed, making the other man scowl again and lightly hit his shoulder. Bheem darted forward to press a kiss to Ram’s cheek. “Sorry, Bangaram, I couldn’t help it.”

When he moved away, Ram mumbled something but he was red again, so Bheem figured he was forgiven.

“Why don’t you two come up with me to the post, then I’ll play you something?”

Ram looked at the wooden rungs tied with sturdy rope and the flat platform that made up the post. “Wait, but if you play music won’t it alert whoever might be coming there is a guard?”

Bheem looked at him in bewilderment before laughing. “Ram, we are in the forest, these posts are more to ensure no dangerous animals come too close to the village. If a human were to find their way here, it will be because they are lost or they knew exactly where to come. Either way, playing music would be a good thing.”

“Oh.” Ram replied sheepishly.

Bheem bumped his shoulder good-naturedly. “Ok Malli, me first, then you, lastly Ram.”

Malli and Ram nodded, and soon enough all three were comfortably seated on the blanket Bheem had laid out of the platform.

Ram inspected the post, the hip height railing that ran its perimeter, the small alcove in the tree filled with horns and some basic potions and pastes.

“Up to your standards, Bangaram?” Bheem teased.

Ram scratched his head at being caught but nodded. “It’s sturdy, and the height means you have the advantage. Plus it’s surprisingly big compared to what it looks like from below.”

Bheem nodded. “We build them to be able to hold three grown men if need be. During the night shifts, we guard in shifts of two. See there is even a tarp that can be unrolled for the rainy season.”

Malli having grown tired of the conversation poked at Bheem’s arm. “Anna! Play something!”

Bheem ran a hand over her head. “Sorry Malli. I’ll play now. Will you sing with me?”

The girl pursed her lips as she thought before shaking her head. “Another day?” She yawned. “I’m tired.”

Bheem laughed and conceded. Satisfied, the girl laid down, her head essentially pillowed on Bheem’s stomach, and closed her eyes.

Patting her side once, Bheem unwrapped the flute fully, running his fingers across the instrument. He closed his eyes as he drew in a large breath before he brought it to his lips.

///

Ram closed his eyes as the first gentle notes started to sound, fingers mimicking the tune against his thigh. It had been such a fanciful thought, the idea of creating an instrument. His hands which had only known violence and hurt, designing something so delicate? So beautiful? For someone like Bheem?

But his heart had persisted, and then Malli. And so, under the little girl’s supervision, and Peddaiyna’s direction, Ram had finished the flute. Which Malli had insisted needed to be made pretty and immediately stolen it away to draw a few designs on.

Of course he had also then immediately stolen it back and hidden it away among his clothes, clueless as to how to present it to Bheem. Malli had been persistent though, and could be very scary sometimes. Basically pushing him here today when she realized he had still not given Bheem the gift. There may have also been some threatening about not to let him sleep peacefully unless he gave Bheem the flute.

The way Bheem’s eyes had shone when he had seen the gift had been worth all the anxiety though. Ram had felt so light, like he would float away from the joy. Now here he was, surrounded by the trees that had raised Bheem, listening to Bheem play gorgeous melody after gorgeous melody. Beauty aided partially by something Ram had created.

When the song Bheem had been playing stopped abruptly on a discordant note, Ram’s eyes popped open, he sat up a looked around for the danger. But nothing caught his sight, and when he looked at Bheem, he was watching him with sadness. Malli was peacefully slumbering on him.

“Bheem?”

“You’re crying.”

“Cry-?” Ram asked, bringing a hand to his cheek, only to find tears falling. Oh. When had he started crying?

“What happened Ram?” Bheem asked softly as he lowered the flute.

Ram shook his head as emotion lumped in his throat. “Nothing. Please don’t stop playing.”

“Ram…”

Ram sighed, “I never thought I would be able to make anything beautiful. Or that my hands knew how to do anything but hurt and destroy and kill. But somehow, I was also able to make this flute from which you are playing such beautiful songs. I am happy. That’s all.”

“Oh Bangaram, come here.” Bheem called out, holding out his hand. Ram took it, letting himself be pulled close till Bheem had him laying down on the opposite side of Malli, head cushioned on his lap.

Ram fought to quiet his sobs as Bheem ran tender fingers through his hair. The last person who had touched him so tenderly had been his own mother. Bheem did not say anything as Ram turned to bury his face into Bheem’s hip. Just switching to stroke the length of his spine.

When Ram finally stopped shaking, Bheem shifted slightly and then the music resumed.

Ram fell asleep like that, pressed close enough to hear Bheem’s blood rushing under one ear, and the beautiful melody Bheem was playing from his instrument in the other.  

///

Guys, please let me know with even just a word if you like it, your feedback is 90% of my motivation to keep writing and publishing. 

Tagging (Please please work, Tumblr I beg you):  @rambheem-is-real @budugu @bromance-minus-the-b @kafkaesquebestie @hissterical-nyaan @obsessedtoafault @hufhkbgg @yehsahihai @rorapostsbl @bluesolace1 @fadedscarlets @alikokinav @chaotic-moonlight @rambheemisgoated @rambheemlove @jaganmaya @adikavy @burningsheepcrown @lovingperfectionwonderland @rosayounan @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @thewinchestergirl1208 @dumdaradumdaradum @ronaldofandom @jjwolfesworld @percikawantstoread @kashpaymentsonly @jeonmahi1864 @zackcrazyvalentine @stanleykubricks @ronnoxandlumoss @m3gs1mps4a @tulodiscord

#rrr #rambheem #rrr fanfic #rambheem fanfic #ram x bheem #alluri sitarama raju #komuram bheem #malli rrr #my fic #my writing

[pbandjesse]

What an excellent day off. I had a great time just resting. But it was also a productive day.

I was really happy to be home. I had a great weekend in Philly but it's not the same as being home. And waking up with James is always really good.

I actually slept really well. Waking up was hard but it was okay. I felt kind of gross. I am still upset about cutting my bangs to short but I'm trying to not let it upset me. Though it is.

I got washed up and dressed. I had pulled this dress out of my dresser back at my parent's house. Felt nice and colorful. And it helped me feel a little nicer.

James had been doing the laundry. And was finishing up getting the clothes form the dryer. Which allowed up to really jump into our practice packing for the honeymoon.

I was really looking forward to this. I love packing and honestly it went so well. My list I made a few months ago really helped streamline the whole thing.

James would run around and grab everything that was nonclothes. And once that was all gathered we would both pull out clothes. I had made a list of types but I'm still not sure exactly which pieces will be coming with me. But that's alright. I had the size and amount. And so we were able to figure out which packing cubes we each needed. What bag is holding what things. And we did such a good job!! I had so much extra space in my backpack! I'm thrilled.

James said it was really a good idea to do this. Because they didn't know how their clothes were going to fit in the suitcase I gave them and now they have a better idea and really I just had fun.

Once we were done that we both put stuff away. I spent some time picking outfits for the week and then picking outfits for camping with Jess over Easter weekend. Which was hard only because I have so many good fleeces now. But I figured it out and I'm very happy with my choices.

James would go for a bike ride before it started raining. And I just enjoyed my time alone. I decided to finally start my next embroidery project. James got me this white bag last year. And it's just such a good open space to work on. So I'll fill it up. And it will just be a continuous project like my puhtok bag is.

I would do that for a while. And soon James was home. And it started to rain soon after that.

James would have lunch and get a shower. I was just chilling. And then it was time to go get groceries.

Which was a bit demoralizing. Everything is just so expensive. Yogurt was $3. The rice I like was $4! A two pack of peanut butter was $20!! It just felt bad. We both made guess for the total and James guessed only $1 off. But it didn't feel like we got much.

We drove over to the Walgreens to see if they have the magnesium I wanted but no luck. Though James thought it was interesting that they had krill pills.

We made one more stop at the fancy grocery store to get the vegan shrimp I like. And then we went home. After James put the groceries away I would get to work reorganizing our snack basket and the freezer. While James would work on the other room cutting bears out for my workshop this weekend. James is the best.

It was nice just organizing. Making things feel a little less cluttered. And once I was done I would have a snack and start working on my tablet.

James would come and lay with me for a bit. We watched tiktoks and just chilled until they made us dinner. I had a quesadilla and drew for the rest of the night.

Mom asked me to update the bear I made of her. Change the color to more of a periwinkle and give her better bangs. It took a while to get the color right but we got it! And then I spent the next few hours drawing the entire solar system. Which I am absolutely thrilled with. I learned some new stuff about the brushes I have and mixing colors. I was just having a ball.

Making them all on one sheet was also fun and a challenge. Trying to make them relatively in scale took a whole. It's just a really nice project.

I took a shower and washed my hair and now I am chilling in bed with James and Sweetp and I am going to dry my hair a bit and get ready to sleep.

Tomorrow I am at the museum. And it should be a good day. I hope I have good kids. I hope you all have a great night. Sleep well and be safe!!!

[vinylwriter1]

Weird people and a murderous two year old

I like weird people. They make the world a more interesting place.

People, who despite everyone telling them to stop, search for the  barriers of this world and tear them to shreds.

I like weird people, I like dreamers. And I proudly say that I am one of them. This is the one egoistic act I choose, counting myself to the dreamers.

While as adults probably the most interesting and fascinating people you will ever meet, childhood is a whole different cup of tea. Hell, a whole different beverage.

My parents recently told me old stories about me as a kid. And in hindsight I am surprised they didn't drag me to a psychologist. The two stories that stood out to me both happened around the time I was 2 years old.

The first one happened after I developed an obsession with an old pirate movie from the 50s. I don't think anyone now has ever heard of it, but it is called „the crimson pirate" it got released in 1952 and Burt Lancester, one of the stars of the golden age of Hollywood, played the main part of captain Vallo. It's a really good movie and I still to this day enjoy watching it from time to time.

Anyway, it may not be the kind of movie you want your 2 year old kid to watch. I was so obsessed with the movie I stared to act out scenes of it with my lego and playmobil figurines. To paint the scene, imagine walking into the living room and seeing your 2 year old say „we have a rope, and a guilty man!" and then said kid proceeds to hang the figure with an elastic band.

Yeah... that was the moment my parents decided I shouldn't watch the movie anymore. But apart from hanging my poor toys I was a very pacifistic kid.

The other story isn't as murderous, but the same summer I went on holidays with my family and to shut 2 year old me up they had coloring books and a watercolor set with them. And small me had a favorite color. And every. Single. Page. Of my coloring book was full with this one color. Yes, it was black.

Now black alone might not be that unusual, however, that was also the time I was obsessed with ghosts. So what I did was I drew black ghosts all over my sketchbook. At two years old. Black screaming monsters, ghosts. Basically the stuff the creepy kid in horror movies does.

My mum remembers that while I was doing that a random lady came up to us, took a look at what I was doing, turned to my mum and just said, „you should take your child to a psychologist!" and then just left.

That's me, making strangers question my sanity at two years. I don't think my mum had the heart to tell her that just weeks before I was trying to murder my toys. Can't blame her.

Anyways I doubt that other weird people had the same stories about their early childhood, but I do believe that around the time we all started school we started to walk down the same path.

Now I was never a popular kid in school. I mean I had my 3 close friends, but I was never popular. I just kind of existed. In primary school (the school you go to from age 6 to 10) I had 3 close friends, we are no longer in contact, happens.

When it came to middle school (ages 10 to  14) I had a lot of friends by my standards. People I also no longer consider friends as they made my life a living hell in the last year of middle school.

In highschool I finally had people in my life that got me. (Not going into too much detail as of now, because I don't want people that know me to find this)

But being weird in school isn't easy. In the media the underdog always gets portrayed as the silent hero who gets superpowers. But this isn't a tv show or a book. This is the real life. And for anyone still in school who also classifies themselves as a weird person. A dreamer.

I can just say it gets better. I already graduated from highschool some time ago and while it took me some time I can truly say, life after school gets better. You will find your people, You will find yourself And you will notice that you are probably weirder than you thought you were.

#childhorror #movie talk #rant #thoughts #thecrimson pirate #old hollywood #playmobil

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Coming Undone - Sevika x Reader

The Reader works at the Last Drop and Sevika is a longtime patron. When things escalate late at night, secrets come to the surface.

Masterlist ~ Read on AO3

CW: alcohol, shimmer, smoking, harrassment, canon-typical violence, lesbian smut, hurt/comfort

Word count: 7.4k

Notes: This is my first time writing for arcane, I couldn't resist the butch bicep any longer. In one scene The Gaudy Side of Town by Gayngs plays, it's available on spotify and youtube. If you want to listen along, just start the song whenever it starts in the fic (or right away, I can't tell you what to do. it's a great song)! This fic is my love letter to stone lesbians <3

“Five beers and a round of the Moonshine Special, please.”

You looked up from the bottles you were storing under the counter and barely managed not to flinch at the sight of the man ordering the drinks. He was marked by Shimmer, dark red tumors ravaging half his face and swelling his right eye shut. His left fixed you as if daring you to make a comment.

“Coming right up.” You quickly pulled the beers into milky glasses and pushed them over the counter, then you dropped ice into aluminum cups and poured in two fingers of the thick luminescent liquid your colleague had invented. You’d never tried it since he wouldn’t give up the ingredients and you weren’t about to trust him blindly, but it had been one of the best-selling drinks for the last few weeks.

The disfigured man passed the drinks to a hooded figure behind him and banged a handful of dirty punched coins on the counter. You counted them in the blink of an eye, a skill acquired through years of working at the bar. Before the man could step away, you snapped his arm with a dishtowel. He whipped around, a furious glare in his healthy eye.

You put your hands on your hips and stared him down. “You’re three short.”

He pulled his lips between his teeth, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. The growth on his face darkened in color, almost reaching a deep purple now. His cloaked friend slid three more coins toward you and nodded, then he pulled the other man away.

Shaking your head, you put the coins into the till and continued unpacking this week’s liquor order until a familiar smell made you pause. The smoke of a particular brand of cigarillos, way too expensive for most residents of Zaun, surrounded you like a greeting hug. Instinctively, you drew a deep breath and smiled before turning to the newcomer at the bar.

There she was, wrapped in her dark red cloak that only let through a hint of the hard, dark leather vest you knew she wore at all times. It let on nothing about what she was really hiding underneath. You knew about her arm, knew that her old wooden prosthetic had long been replaced by something far more valuable and far more deadly.

“Sevika.” You slowly stepped closer, careful not to seem overeager. The favor of Silco’s right hand was something you had acquired over a long period of time and it still felt fragile, as if any misstep would put you right back into the dust under her combat boots.

The broad woman leaned her free arm on the counter. The almost unnoticeable twitch of her mouth was more of a smile than anyone else in this bar would get from her. The magical scars she had gotten during the great explosion years ago shimmered like turquoise crystal underneath the olive skin of her cheek. You longed to touch them, just once, to see what they felt like.

“Y/N. The usual.” She stubbed out her cigarillo in an ashtray on the counter. If she was anyone else, you’d have asked them for the magic word just out of principle. But Sevika didn’t ask for things. The word please was not something you’d ever heard her say.

You turned to pour her some of your expensive whiskey, taking one of the glasses you had polished earlier - just in case. When you faced her again, her eyes rested on your hips for a split second, then quickly darted back up to your face. For a moment, you stood frozen in place. Sevika struck a match with her thumbnail and lit another of those small cigars without releasing you from her piercing gaze. She sucked in a breath through her golden mouthpiece and exhaled two puffs of smoke through her nostrils, then she extended her hand toward you.

You lurched forward and realized just in time that she was asking for her drink. When you gave it to her, her fingers brushed yours. They were dry and calloused, leaving your skin tingling where she had touched it. Sevika nodded toward the two silver coins she had put on the counter. “One for the whiskey, second one’s for you.”

Before you could thank her she had turned and left for the back room, where she was awaited by at least three of Silco’s lower men. You sighed and threw one of the coins in your bag, entertaining the often recurring thought of just barging into their room with another bottle of whiskey later. But you knew you wouldn’t have the guts. The back was off-limits as soon as any of Silco’s confidantes were in there and you had only entered the room once. After a long night of celebrating her birthday, Sevika had ordered you to bring those who were not yet passed out on the floor a round of your best whiskey. It was then you had seen her arm for the first time, her cloak discarded on the back of the leather sofa.

You had yelped when her metal fingers had closed around your wrist on the way out and her men had laughed at you. Sevika had not. She had loosened her grip ever so slightly, her mechanical thumb brushing over the inside of your palm.

“Not a word to anyone. Don’t make me regret letting you in here.”

You had swallowed hard and nodded at her, trying to keep your composure. “I was never here.”

“Good girl.” The words had been too quiet, too low for anyone else to hear. You had ducked your head and left the room with shaking fingers and a racing heart.

Now more and more customers were pouring into the bar, making you wish for backup as orders were yelled at you from all sides. You hadn’t anticipated this much of a crowd today, so you hadn’t put anyone else on the schedule. Damn it. Working at your highest speed, leaving the beer tap running while you shoved glass after glass under it and whirled around to pour ice and moonshine in the few seconds in between, the next few hours flew by in a blur. One time, one of Sevika’s men came back with her glass and asked for another one. Slightly disappointed, you took the silver coin he gave you and poured him a generous amount.

The live music was booming, chairs were scraping over the concrete floor, and roaring laughter accompanied the whines of the electric guitar as the beat of the drums became one with the pulse in your ears. Your hands were working on their own while your head ran through all the orders and prices you needed to keep in order. Shimmer-face graced you with his presence again, his eyes glowing purple from a fresh hit. His hooded friend came for the next round and you got a look at the almost black veins on his arms, pulsating with the drug.

You had never tried it; too great was the risk, too horrible the faces you saw every day, too tragic the fate of those who succumbed to it. You knew that most of the bigger fish in Zaun relied on it for themselves, but they were smart and wealthy enough to work with precise dosages and the clean drug. On the streets, it was a different story. People were mixing Shimmer with other substances, stretching it with water or alcohol to make it last longer, or remaking horribly contaminated versions to sell it for profit. Those who bought it would wear the proof on their bodies soon after.

When you finally got a free minute between orders, you gulped down two glasses of water and wiped your face with a towel. The floor beneath your feet was wet and sticky with spilled drinks, the entire counter was swimming. The till was overflowing and completely disorganized. After stretching your back and cracking your neck, you began cleaning up. Slowly, the orders came less frequently and the first tables cleared. The band began a messy jam session in which the last remaining patrons were able to make suggestions for lyrics. Smiling to yourself, you placed dozens upon dozens of still wet glasses back on the shelves and then crouched down to begin sorting out today’s profits.

A knock on the bar made you get up, groaning as your knees protested any more movement. It was the Shimmer guy again, grinning gruesomely as only half of his face obeyed the movement. The other side just twitched and turned a deep red again when his eyes wandered down your body. “Why don’t you give me another round of moonshine, moonshine.” His laugh sounded like a saw cutting through metal.

“Why don’t you speak to me with some respect, Shimmer-face.” You glared at him and all laughter drained from his face. Nervously, he ran his tongue back and forth over his front teeth.

“Alright, lady. Three moonshine specials, please.”

You nodded. “See? That easy.”

He grunted but said nothing else as you poured him the drinks and exchanged them for more dirty coins. As soon as he had left for his table, you furiously scrubbed at your hands in the sink, feeling as if his eyes were still on you. Loud voices made you look up and you saw a few of Sevika’s men leave the private room, surrounded by a cloud of smoke that made it impossible to make out anything inside. The smell that wafted over to you was a small comfort.

Soon after, the band wrapped up for the night and the rest of the patrons left until only one table remained. Of course, it was Shimmer and two of his friends. You began wiping down the other tables and putting the chairs up for the night, hoping they would get the hint and drink up. They paid you no mind, however, and soon enough you arrived at your last table right next to them. Behind the door to the back room, it was strangely quiet. Maybe Sevika had decided to sleep on the sofa; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey, moonshine, what’s the hurry?” Shimmer asked, tipping back his chair and balancing himself with a hand still holding on to the table. “Why don’t you have a drink with us?”

You were too tired for this. “We’ve been over this. Speak to me with some respect or shut the fuck up.”

All three men laughed, making ooooh sounds in mock intimidation. The cloaked man hit the tabletop with his flat hand and asked: “Or what? You’re gonna throw us out? Beat us up?” He leaned forward. “You’re all alone here. So I say you bring us a round and sit down with us, huh?”

“In your dreams, asshole.” You put up the last chair and made to walk past them back to the bar. “Bar’s closed, go home.”

Just as you had passed the table, a hand suddenly came down hard on your ass. You whipped around, pulling out a knife from your boot and snapping it open in one fluid motion. You pointed it at the three of them.

“Who the fuck was that?” Your voice was quiet now, but your heart was beating out of your chest. Shimmer didn’t look impressed. “Come on,” he drawled, crossing his hands behind his head and balancing on the back legs of his chair again. “We’ve been waiting all night for you. Don’t be stupid, now.” There was a slight edge to his voice. You tightened your grip around the wooden hilt of your knife.

“Out. Now. If you come in here again, you’ll lose the other side of your face, too.”

The hooded man snorted. Shimmer narrowed his eyes at you, slowly reaching into his pocket. You forced yourself to stay where you were. With a triumphant smile, he pulled out a small handgun.

“Sit down, moonshine.” He accentuated every syllable, gesturing with the gun. It rattled quietly. You held your breath and lowered the knife, then you slowly took a step forward. You weren't stupid enough to think you could fight your way out of this without getting hurt. Calm down, recover, make a new plan.

Suddenly there was movement. You hadn’t even noticed the back door opening, but somehow it must have because Shimmer crashed to the floor on his back and the gun went off just as Sevika smashed the faces of the two stunned men still sitting down right into the tabletop. Debris rained down on you from the ceiling where the bullet must have hit and you took a step back, dropping the knife and shielding your head with your forearms.

The hooded man was unconscious on the floor while the other tried to stand up. Blood was pouring from his nose and dripping onto the table. Sevika’s metal fist crashed into his jaw and he went out with a grunt. Then her boot connected with Shimmer’s hand and it made a terrible noise as the gun went flying and clattered to the ground on the other side of the room. He screamed in pain and tried to sit up, but she placed her foot on his throat and he began to choke, frantically grabbing at her leg with his uninjured hand. Finally, she looked over to you.

“Your choice.”

You needed a moment to grasp her meaning. By now, Shimmer’s face was turning a concerning shade of blue. Slowly, you walked closer. His eye bulged out as he stared at you, lips forming pleas for mercy as slowly fading gasps left his mouth. Then his head lolled to the side.

“Enough,” you said quietly. Sevika immediately took her boot off the man’s neck.

“You okay?” Her eyebrows were drawn together so close they almost touched, her mouth was a straight line. Her healthy arm jerked forward and she took your chin between thumb and digit, turning it left and right to check for damage. You couldn’t take your eyes off hers. They were steel grey, flashing sometimes blue, sometimes green in the dim light. They were beautiful. Sevika’s thumb brushed along your jaw and suddenly something changed in her expression. Her knitted eyebrows slowly returned to their normal place, her forehead smoothed out and your eyes flitted to her mouth when she ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip.

A cough from behind you made her spin around. The hooded man raised his hands above his head. His cheekbone was already swelling.

“I mean no trouble. Apologies. We didn’t know that this place… That she…”

“What?” Sevika’s voice was fire and ice at once. She towered over him. “Belongs to Silco? Everything does. Belongs to me? She always has.”

Your heart was in your throat. You tried to swallow it.

“Take your friends and get the fuck out of Zaun. If I ever see one of you again, I’ll skin you alive.” She spat on his chest. You watched, completely entranced, as it left a white stain on his black cloak for a moment, then absorbed into the fabric. Then the man picked himself off the floor and kicked his friend in the side, who woke with a groan.

“Let’s go. Help me with him.” They half crawled, half limped over to Shimmer and grabbed him by the arms, then they dragged him out of the bar. As the door closed, the bell rang one last time. The sound traveled eerily through the empty room. A movement in the corner of your eye made you turn.

Sevika stepped closer, holding out her hand again. You instinctively reached out and found that she was handing you your knife, snapped shut again.

“You dropped this.”

This time, your fingers brushed over her knuckles as you took the wooden hilt. Suddenly, Sevika’s metal hand closed over yours, holding it between both of hers, warm and cold, rough and smooth. Your breath caught in your throat as you admired the fine details, the tiny golden plates and wires, the wheels and ornaments that buzzed with low static.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Sevika dropped your hand and made for the bar.

“I want another drink.” You smiled at her back. Always so demanding. You were happy to oblige.

“I’ll have one, too,” you sighed as you took out the last polished tumblers and the bottle of golden liquor. “This one’s on the house.”

You clinked glasses and shared a look over the brims as you drank. You winced as the alcohol burned your throat and Sevika’s mouth twitched again. She was wearing her signature aubergine lipstick. Following a sudden bout of courage, you leaned forward onto the counter, putting your head in your hands. Sevika’s face was carved in stone, but her surprised exhale betrayed her, warm air brushing over your cheeks.

“I don’t know how that situation would have ended if you hadn’t jumped in.” You clicked your tongue and she narrowed her eyes at you as if she was trying to figure out the answer to something important. “I like to think I can take care of myself, and I probably would have left them pretty banged up, but I can’t say I wouldn’t have taken a few hits. Guess I need to start training again.”

She nodded ever so slightly. “I didn’t think you were helpless. But a gun’s a gun.”

You smiled ruefully. “And a knife’s just a knife. Thank you. I owe you one.”

She took another sip of whiskey, turning her face to the side to avoid hitting you with her glass. When she set it down, you could smell the liquor on her breath, accompanied by a hint of tobacco. As if she had read your thoughts, she dug a metal cigar case from her pocket and flicked it open with her prosthetic hand. Then she opened a tiny hatch in her forearm and produced the golden mouthpiece she used to smoke. You grinned at her and she just raised an eyebrow as if to say, i get it, okay? Before she could reach for her own, you had pulled out a pack of matches from the countertop and struck one.

She moved in closer and you watched as the tobacco began to smolder, crackling into the silence. When she inhaled, you could feel the heat of the burning end on your cheeks. Sevika’s healthy fingers closed around the cigarillo and she held it next to her shoulder before slowly blowing the smoke to the side, right past your face. You inhaled deeply. It smelled like reliability, like safety, like being certain that a certain person would be there almost every night protecting you from a distance, like a silent understanding for the other.

“You smoke?” Her voice was dark molasses.

“Not often.” Yours was only a whisper. Sevika took another drag through the golden mouthpiece and the sound of the burning tobacco tickled the back of your neck. You looked down at her fingers holding the cigarillo. “These smell like they taste amazing after a long day.”

“Hm.” She cocked her head to the side. “Wanna try?” Smoke escaped through her teeth when she spoke and you found yourself leaning even closer, as if pulled by an invisible thread. You opened your lips and exhaled shakily, knowing she would feel it.

Slowly, she bowed her head to meet yours until your foreheads almost touched. Looking down, she blew out the smoke in a steady stream and you sucked it into your mouth, letting the thick, wooden taste roll over your tongue until your lungs were filled and you felt lightheaded. You held your breath. Then those silver eyes met yours and you knew you were lost.

Without pulling away, Sevika carefully laid the cigarillo into the ashtray next to her, then she raised her hand and brushed her knuckles over your cheek before placing her palm on the back of your head and closing the distance between you.

Her lips were so much softer than you expected, pressing gently against yours as if waiting for something, for you. You sighed the last remnants of smoke into her mouth before her lips enveloped yours again, tasting of whisky and tobacco, of something dark and dangerous, but oh so tempting. You wanted more. Your hands went to the collar of her leather vest, pulling her - or yourself? - closer, crashing your mouth into hers and whimpering as she dragged her teeth over on your bottom lip.

You climbed onto the counter, Sevika’s arms pulling you up until you sat in front of her with your legs on either side of her chest. You bent down to her as she stood to meet you for another fierce kiss. Her mechanical arm was tight around your lower back while she held onto your jaw with her other hand. You parted your lips for her and her tongue pressed inside, fire and smoke and molten gold. A moan escaped you and you rolled your hips forward against her waist as hot flashes raced over your skin.

“Back room,” you mumbled against her lips, and she understood immediately. With one swift motion, she pulled you down from the counter and held you close with her prosthetic arm. It pressed hard into your spine, but you were too taken with need to care. While Sevika carried you over to the private room on steady legs, you crossed yours behind her back and lowered your head, tasting the skin beneath her jaw. It was hot and slightly salty, and her hair smelled of soap and ash. You thought you might lose your mind at her scent. You bit down hard on her neck and she hissed as you sucked on her skin, wanting to taste her, to be closer, to be inside her, to have her inside you, more, more, more.

She closed the door with a precise kick, then she sent the card table sliding against the wall with another, just missing the old jukebox that had been replaced by a bigger one in the main room, before turning and sitting down on the leather sofa. Catching your breath, you both took a moment to just look at each other. Sevika peered up at you under heavy dark lids. Her mouth hung open and the scars on her face shimmered as if magic was dancing right underneath her skin. You lifted a hand and, after giving her a second to stop you, ghosted your fingers over her cheek. The scars felt like satin beneath your fingertips, cool and smooth, slipping and shifting under your touch as if pushing forward and pulling back at the same time. Sevika’s breath came in short pants now. Her pupils were completely blown. You had never seen her so unraveled before, so completely off guard.

Slowly, you traced the line of her jaw, brushed your fingers over the scar on her bottom lip, down to the bruise you had left on the side of her neck, onto the leather brace that fastened her prosthetic to her shoulder.

“This okay?” you murmured, using your other hand to free her hair from the elastic band that held it back. It fell forward like black silk, shining in the low light. You ran your fingers over her scalp and she hummed, closing her eyes. “Go on.”

Turning to the prosthetic again, you touched the copper of her shoulder, feeling the low buzz underneath. The mechanism for the Shimmer vial was beautiful, glowing faintly through the small cracks between the metal pieces. Underneath the protective plate was a complicated clockwork of wheels and motors that you didn’t dare to touch. Further down came the smooth, hard gold of her upper arm, then the delicate mechanics of her elbow. In her forearm there was potential for power, you knew this was where she could generate extreme momentum into her punches. You thought you also saw a sharp blade hidden right in the middle of it. Finally, you took her hand between both of yours, turning it this way and that, and she indulged you by opening her fist and closing it a few times. You brushed a finger through her palm as she had done so long ago and she shivered. Your eyes snapped up to hers.

“Do you feel this?”

A longing, bittersweet expression flickered over her face before she nodded.

“But not the way you do.” She opened your palm and brushed her thumb through it. “It’s hard to explain. I need to feel in order to fight, but I don’t feel pain in it or the… nature of a touch. Just that something is there.”

“It’s beautiful.” You lifted her hand to your face and pressed a kiss to the smooth metal on the back of her hand. Both of you watched as the imprint of your lips faded slowly until there was only the polished golden surface again. “Who made it?”

“I did.”

“Oh?” You hadn’t expected that. There were a few gifted inventors in Zaun, people who made weapons for Silco and everyone else who could pay. “I didn’t know you were this gifted. I thought you just…”

“What? Beat up enforcers and play cards?” There was no offense in her voice. “I do what is expected of me. And this… I just do for myself. No use in telling everyone. And I don’t - Silco doesn’t want people to know about my arm. The best weapons are kept secret until the moment you really need them.”

“This is not just a weapon, though.” You let your hand wander up her arm again until it rested on her shoulder. “It’s a work of art.”

Sevika leaned back against the sofa, seemingly at a loss for words. Then the corners of her mouth lifted, hesitant and slow, but genuinely. You almost could not believe your eyes. Before her smile could fade, you lurched forward and captured it, committing the sight and the feeling of it to memory. Who knew if you would ever see it again. She hummed into the kiss and grabbed your hips, pulling you closer. You slowly rolled them forward against her and both of you exhaled in delight at the sensation. Then her tongue pushed into your mouth again, strong and demanding, and you buried your hands in her thick hair.

Her hands wandered under the hem of your shirt, warm fingers brushing over your stomach while cold ones fluttered over your lower back.

“Off,” Sevika rasped, her gaze fixed on your chest. You lifted your arms and she pulled the shirt over your head, leaving you in your threadbare sports bra. Her metal hand continued stroking your back while her fingers caressed your shoulders, your collarbones, along the seam of the bra and down, making you gasp lightly when she brushed over your nipple. She continued her exploration, dragging her thumb down your stomach along the faint line of tiny hairs there.

Then she took your hand in hers and began kissing every fingertip, every knuckle, gently biting the inside of your palm before licking the inside of your wrist. You had never known the skin there to be so sensitive, but now the warm touch of her tongue shot daggers into your core, making your hips buck forward again.

Undisturbed by you practically melting in her hands, Sevika continued to press open-mouthed kisses to your forearm, the velvety skin in the crook of your elbow, your bicep. Your head fell back when she scraped her teeth over your shoulder before finally reaching your bared throat. You arched your back, only held up by the steady press of metal beneath your shoulder blades as her other hand massaged your thigh, thumb so dangerously close to where you longed for her touch, then moved further back and grabbed your ass hard. She began guiding your hips into a slow grind against her while her mouth moved feverishly hot on your throat, nibbling at your earlobe before licking a stripe along your jaw.

“Please,” you whispered, trying to catch her lips with yours, “please.” You grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her head back. She moaned, jaw falling slack as she looked up at you from heavy-lidded eyes and dragged her sharp metal fingers down your back. You cried out and fell forward against her, crashing your teeth into hers and sucking her tongue into your mouth. Within seconds, she had pulled your bra straps down over your shoulders and began kneading your breast, swiping her thumb over your nipple again and again until you broke the kiss to gasp for air.

She immediately took the other nipple she had neglected in her mouth, sucking harshly and burying her teeth in the soft flesh around it. You whined and pulled her hair again. “Fuck, Sevika!” She growled and you clenched your thighs around her waist, trying to get closer, closer, closer.

Her hands worked on your jeans, opening the button and almost breaking the zipper in her impatience. You laughed breathlessly into the top of her head. Soap and burning wood and motor oil. It was intoxicating. She tapped your thigh. “Up.”

You managed to untangle yourself from her and stand between her legs, suddenly almost shy under her burning gaze. She opened her knees a little wider and leaned back, spreading her arms over the back of the couch. “Take them off. All of ‘em.”

Slowly, you hooked your thumbs into both jeans and underwear and began pushing them down your thighs. You blushed as the drenched fabric slowly peeled itself from your dripping core. Looking up, you saw that Sevika had noticed it, too. She bit down hard on her bottom lip. Her hand twitched on the backrest, but she didn't move. You bent down, brushing your temple against her knee, then you took off your heavy work boots and stepped out of the jeans, kicking them to the side. Next, you crossed your arms around your waist and slowly peeled the sports bra upward over your head. Sevika's eyes consumed you, devoured every inch of freed skin, caressed the places you had only shown to very few people before.

Following a whim, you turned and went over to the old jukebox in the corner. You could feel Sevika’s eyes boring into the backs of your thighs and you shivered despite the warm, stuffy air inside the room. This machine had songs you hadn’t heard in over a year. When the new jukebox had arrived, you had been delighted not to listen to the same twenty songs anymore, but now you felt a strange nostalgia as you touched the dusty buttons. Sometimes Silco’s men would play their own music in here, but the past few days the band had been too loud outside to allow for a private party. You found what you wanted, a song that you had used to listen to over and over when you swept the floors after a long night.

The Gaudy Side of Town. Was that Piltover with its flashy style and golden gates, you had often wondered, or was it Zaun, drenched in neon light, bustling and beating, never sleeping, eating itself in pursuit of a dream of something more? You pressed down the button and the first sounds, breathless clicks of the singer’s tongue and electric buzz, filled the room.

When you turned around to Sevika, she was watching you intently. She beckoned you over with a copper finger. Belongs to me? She always has. You didn’t feel shy anymore. The dusty concrete floor was cool beneath your bare soles as placed one foot in front of the other until you stood between Sevika‘s knees again. When she made no move toward you, you climbed into her lap, kneeling on either side of her hips.

You played with the top button of her leather vest. “May I?”

She nodded and you pushed the golden button through the worn leather. It was tight around Sevika’s ribs, probably made to protect her from knives and knuckles. The second button was even harder to open and your fingers strained against the pull of the unyielding material. You scooted closer, grinding down on the bunched up front of Sevika’s dark cargo pants. “Fuck,” you whispered, then you undid the last button and her chest was free. She wore nothing underneath. And suddenly you understood what else she was protecting.

A web of gleaming blue scars stretched from her shoulder down her ribs, wider and deeper than those on her face. You ran your hands over her shoulders, her chest, her stomach. Beneath her breast, there was an oval scar the size of your hand, the flesh torn and jagged at the edges. It looked like a pool of azure, glittering crystal light that danced under a smooth surface. When you placed your palm on it, Sevika sucked in a breath and her copper hand snapped to your wrist. You stilled but didn’t pull back.

“Does it still hurt?” you whispered.

“Sometimes. I…” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Sometimes I get phantom pains so bad I can’t speak. It's like being attacked by a great, vast nothing. But sometimes I wake up and forget that I lost the arm. That I’m like this now.” Her nose twitched, then she looked up at you. You could have sworn that you could see the faint glow of magic in her eyes. Slowly, you stroked her side, feeling the different textures of skin and scars under your palm.

“How does this feel?”

Instead of a reply, Sevika leaned forward, kissing you gently. The kiss didn’t stay sweet for long; soon her hands were everywhere as she devoured you, swallowed your moans, and barely gave you time to breathe. You rocked into her, growing so desperate you thought you would lose your mind if she didn’t touch you soon. Your fingers grabbed the front of her pants, but she caught your hands and shook her head, mumbling “No, love. This is about you.”

“Okay. Okay. Sevika…” you whispered, “I need you. I need you.” You bit into her bottom lip and pulled. She made a warning sound and you released her again. “Please, I can’t wait any longer.”

Her warm hand moved down your back and squeezed your ass before dipping lower. You whined into her ear, drinking in her smell, pressing your open mouth to her neck. “Please, Sevika, please…”

You were so wet that when her finger gently entered you, you almost didn’t feel it at first. Then she curled it inside you and you went limp.

“There’s a good girl,” she mumbled, velvet and smoke. “So wet for me.” She slid in a second finger and sank deeper, still excruciatingly slow. You were distantly aware of your spit running down her collarbone, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

Copper fingers grabbed your jaw and pulled your face up to hers, forcing your mouth open. Sevika began thrusting into you harder, faster, her tongue fucking your mouth as she held you up with strong arms. You felt yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm and your legs began to shake as you lifted yourself from her lap to allow her to go deeper. You felt it all at once, the hot skin beneath your hands, her magic tingling against your stomach, a third finger entering you, your own moans competing with the singer’s voice, the fire inside, Sevika’s mouth sucking bruise after bruise into your neck, your sternum, your breasts.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna…” Her fingers left you and you cried out in frustration, falling back down onto her lap and grinding forward furiously to chase the high you’d lost. She stilled your hips with a cold, hard grasp that was sure to leave marks. You watched, hypnotized, as she held up her fingers to her face, still slick from your juices.

“Your scent…” she rasped, “it’s better than everything I’ve ever known. I sometimes think I’ll lose my mind when I’m too close to you.” She dragged the tip of her tongue along the back of her digit and hummed in satisfaction. “I always feared that if I tasted you once, I’d never be able to stop.”

You took her wrist and lifted her glistening fingers to your face, spreading the wetness over your own lips before sucking two of her digits into your mouth. The music stopped. Her eyes widened and metal fingers dug deeper into your hip. You swirled your tongue around her fingertips, cleaning them thoroughly and tasting yourself, salty and slightly tangy. You felt almost feral with want.

Letting her fingers go with a small pop, you pressed your forehead to hers, knowing she would smell you on your lips. “So don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

Before you could understand what was happening, Sevika had flipped you on your back on the sofa, her hips pressing between your legs as she put her full weight on you, ravaging you with her mouth. You felt wonderfully crushed beneath her, only breathing in small gasps, safe and warm and oh. Her hips thrust into yours, strong and heavy. It was pure bliss.

Far too soon, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees, leaving you caged in and writhing beneath her. You threaded your fingers into her hair. “Sevika, please…” She crawled backward, sitting back on her heels and finally throwing her vest to the side before letting her hands roam your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You yelped as she pushed your knees up to your chest and left you completely exposed to her. You promised yourself never to forget the expression on her face as she looked down at you, running her tongue over her swollen lips, lipstick smeared and hair wild.

Then she dove down and took you into her mouth. Her tongue lapped at you as if you were a mountain stream, then danced over your clit like the flutter of wings. You arched your back off the sofa and bit your hand to keep yourself from screaming. Sevika’s steel eyes met yours and her metal hand snatched your wrist, pulling it down between your knees. You thrashed and moaned, but she kept your knees and arm pinned, leaving no room for you to release any tension, and soon you were at the brink of orgasm again.

“Oh god, please, Sevina, I’m close-” She pulled back and bit the inside of your thigh instead. You wriggled beneath her steel grasp even though you knew it was futile. “Please, Sir, I need it so bad,” you whined and she groaned into your thigh. Encouraged, you dragged the fingernails of your free hand over her scalp and purred: “I’m begging you.”

“And what do you need, love?” Her voice came out choked. She rested her forehead on the damp curls between your legs and inhaled deeply.

“Your fingers, please. ” You took a shaky breath as she finally released your knees and dragged two fingers through your folds before sinking them into you, just to the first knuckle. “More, please,” you murmured. “I want you to fuck me.”

“What was that?” Sevika’s thumb gently circled your clit. “I didn’t hear you.” Her eyes were hard, but her mouth curled into a devilish smile.

“Fuck me.” Your voice was louder now, growing into a desperate cry. She just lifted an eyebrow. “Fuck me, Sir. Please, please, make me cum.”

That seemed to be enough for her. You watched the muscles in her back dance as she buried her fingers inside you and pressed her tongue to your core again. “God, yes, ” you cried out, faintly noticing a tear roll down your temple, “yes! ”

Sevika fucked into you at a relentless pace, drawing obscene sounds from both your mouth and your throbbing cunt. Your vision went white when her metal hand reached up and closed around your throat, not squeezing but holding you in a firm grasp. “So close,” you panted, “please, Sir, please!”

This time, she didn’t deny you. Instead, she curled her fingers upward and kept shallowly thrusting into you. Her tongue pressed down roughly, sucking your clit into her mouth and you couldn’t stop your thighs from clamping down around her head like a vice. “Yes, Sevika, oh god, I’m coming, I -” A scream left you as heat exploded between your hips, leaving your entire body convulsing and shaking as if you had been shocked.

You weren’t granted a single moment to gather your bearings. Sevika never stopped her fingers even when you tightened impossibly around them, never stopped swallowing you down even when you begged her to give you a break, just one second, wait, wait, she was unwavering. The only response you got was a third finger stretching you open and an encouraging grunt from the woman between your legs. When you stopped struggling, she slowed down and her movements became more gentle. You rested your thighs on her shoulders and buried your fingers in her hair again.

“See? That’s not so bad,” she said, resting her cheek in the crook of your hip. You felt the hum of magic on your skin.

“You’re undoing me,” you whispered into the heavy silence. “I’m coming apart.”

Another tear rolled down your temple. Sevika pressed soft kisses to your stomach, up your chest, your neck, before gently kissing the corner of your eye. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she mumbled, “so good for me.” Her thumb found your clit again and warmth began slowly pooling in your stomach. She didn’t stop plastering your face with kisses, soft like butterfly wings on your skin. You smelled yourself on her chin, sticky and sweet.

“Closer,” you whimpered, pressing your hips upward to meet hers. Her chest was warm and sweat-slick against yours. “I need to be closer.”

You wrapped your arms around her back and felt her hard muscles flex under your palms as she slowly lowered her body onto yours, trapping her good arm between you and never relinquishing the steady pace of her fingers. In the places where her scars were pressed to your bare skin, it felt like you were becoming one with her.

She kissed you lazily, dipping her tongue inside your mouth and enveloping you completely. You felt like you were swimming in an endless well of magic, of Sevika’s musk, of hot skin, of pleasure. Gently, gently, she brought you close to the edge again.

“Come for me,” she breathed against your lips, “please.”

You did. This time, it didn’t feel like an explosion, but a wave rolling freely onto your shore, swallowing you up and birthing you anew. You whispered her name over and over, a confession, a plea, a secret, a promise. She eagerly accepted every single one.

Afterward, you lay entangled together, your torso pinned down under Sevika's until the sweat on your skin made goosebumps appear on your arms and legs. Her head rested next to yours, her nose digging into your cheek. “Sevika?” She sighed but didn’t move a muscle. “I’m a bit cold.”

Immediately, she sat up and pulled you to her chest, rubbing your back with her warm hand. “Do you have blankets here? Or…” She regarded you for a moment, then a hesitant smile appeared on her lips. “Do you want to come home with me? My bed is far more comfortable than this old couch.”

You cradled her face in your hands. “I’d love nothing more.”

After getting up first and dressing quickly, you went out into the bar to clear the last table. Had that really happened tonight? Just hours ago? It felt surreal. You put the chairs up and collected your bag and jacket from behind the bar. On the counter, Sevika’s cigar lay forgotten still. You placed the mouthpiece between your lips, feeling as if you were doing something forbidden, and struck a match.

The door to the back room opened and Sevika emerged, looking much more put together than minutes before. She had wrapped herself in her cloak again, hiding all her magic from view. Her face immediately softened when she saw you taking a drag from the cigarillo. In a few strides, she had crossed the room and pinned you against the bar. She smelled of sex. It was glorious.

You lifted your chin and she got the hint, leaning down to capture your lips. You blew the smoke into her mouth and she inhaled deeply before grabbing your waist and kissing you longingly.

“Wanna get out of here?” You jingled your keys and offered her the cigarillo. She took it and stuck it into the corner of her mouth, grabbing your hand instead.

“Let’s go.”

#this is my gift to all the sevika simps #please come over to my inbox and lmk what you thought!!! #reblogs mean a lot since tumblr apparently isn’t showing this to everyone #arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #arcane x reader #arcane imagines #sevika x f!reader #sevika x female reader #arcane netflix #sevika arcane #wlw fanfiction #sapphic #lesbian smut #smut #lemon #sevika lemon #sevika x reader

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Strawberries and Peaches

Pairing  ::  Eric Northman  x  fem!Reader

Warnings  ::  Angst, Smut, Mentions of Blood, Bloodplay(?idk he’s a vampire so-?), Death

Word Count  ::  3,588

Summary  ::  Eric thought he had lost you centuries ago, and yet here you were again.

A/N  ::  Takes place between season 3 and 4

When you walked into Fangtasia a few nights ago, with an old acquaintance of Eric’s, he thought he had seen a ghost. The last time he laid eyes on you, you were crying. The last time he held you, you were dying. 

-

Nearly several hundred years ago, Eric first met you, a humble girl in a recluse village. Your people warned you not to venture off into the woods, and more importantly, to never speak to the people who walk only during the night. You were kind-hearted though, and so, when a blond man walked up to you after nightfall, begging for help, you couldn’t say no. You more than happily helped him and welcomed him into your home. You treated and cared for him as if he were your own family. 

Eric had never received such kindness from a human before, whether they knew he was a vampire or not. You always gave him a smile, even when people began to warn you about him. He found himself drawn to you. Your scent was like none he had ever smelled before. Strawberries and peaches, with a dash of rose petals. Whenever your fingers touched him, he swore he felt his freezing body warm-up. For the first time in his life, he found himself falling for someone, and slowly, you did too.

Perhaps your feeling for him clouded your judgment, or perhaps you truly didn’t care. When Eric had confessed to being a vampire, you hugged him and told him you’d love him no matter what. Godric tried to warn Eric that starting a life with a human would be dangerous, especially since you weren’t ready to be turned. The thought of being immortal horrified you, however, with Eric it didn’t seem that scary. Still, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to the sun. All he could do was support your decision and wait. His compassion is what killed you, and he blamed himself every day for it until eventually, you were a fleeting thought in the back of his mind. 

There were times Eric had to leave because Godric needed him. Unfortunately, on one of these trips your village, though recluse, was not impossible to find. You were attacked right before sunset by a neighboring kingdom that had recently declared war against yours. Men, women, and children died, homes were burned to the ground. Your home was spared. You were not. Eric returned shortly after the attackers had left, finding the ruins of your village. If his heart was still beating, it surely would’ve stopped. He found you in your home, laying in a pool of blood on the floor with a large slash across your torso. Your breath had stopped long ago, and your warm touch now is just as freezing as Eric’s. He fell to his knees, holding your limp body in his arms. He could see tear stains on your face, and he couldn’t help but wonder what your last thoughts were. Were you waiting for him? Crying for him to return? He’d never know, but he’d make sure he’d have revenge for your death.

-

Time went on, and Eric began to grow unsympathetic. He never allowed himself to get close to another human again as he did with you. He had the occasional flings, and there was Pam. She was a companion and received a different sort of love from him than you did. There was also Sookie, whom he felt drawn to, but he never felt the love for her he felt for you. What drew him to Sookie was the fact she was a fae. What drew him to you, he never quite understood.

You may have become a distant memory, but he’d always remember your sweet scent. Strawberries, peaches, and a hint of rose petals. He hadn’t smelled that sweet aroma since the day you died, that was until a few nights ago.

You walked in with Bishop, an old acquaintance of Eric who knew him long enough to know you. You wore a pastel yellow sundress, not knowing you’d be going to the vampire bar. All Bishop told you was to wear something nice. Hell, the man didn’t even tell you he was taking you to Louisiana. You lived on the west coast in a small apartment as a writer. Ever since The Great Revelation, you had been attempting to speak to as many vampires as you could so you could share their stories with the world. Most were hostile or rude when you questioned them, and the few that would agree had either odd demands you’d have to refuse or were clearly lying. Then, one night, a vampire showed up at your front door, claiming he knew a vampire over a thousand years old who’d tell you his story. Shortly after, you found yourself on a plane and now in a bar called “Fangtasia”.

Bishop told you to wait near the front, which you gladly did, not wanting to walk further in. You stood out like a sore thumb, and all you could do to avoid the gazes you were receiving was look at the wall of shirts they sold.

Bishop walked up to Eric’s throne, a small smile on his face. “Hello, Sheriff-”

“Stop,” Eric said in a cold tone. He narrowed his gaze on the man.  “What do you want?”

Eric and Bishop had a complicated relationship. They had known each other for centuries, but they weren’t friends. Their paths only really crossed when one needed something from the other, typically Bishop needing something from Eric.

“Have you always been this hostile?” Bishop let out a sigh. “I don’t want or need, anything Eric. I came to bring you a gift.” Eric was silent, letting the man continue. “I know you smell her, and yes, it really is her…”

Eric’s gaze moved over to you, standing by, looking at the shirts. You looked exactly the same, besides your (h/c) hair being a bit different now. His eyes softened for a moment, watching you giggle at some of the little phrases they put on the shirts. 

“...or at least, another version of her.”

Eric’s focus snapped back to Bishop. “What?”

“She’s one in a billion.”

Eric knew some people could be reincarnated, but thought the chances of that were slim to none. Godric had only encountered two reincarnated people in his life, and Eric none, until now that is. 

Without another word, Eric approached you. You were so into the silly phrases on the shirt, you nearly missed the tall man approaching you. You turned to face him, a large grin on your face as you extended your hand.

“Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Northman. I’m (f/n) (l/n), but please, call me (y/n).”

“Only if you call me Eric.” 

Looking down at you, the corner of his lips were curved upward. Reaching out to shake your hand, he felt the same warmth he felt centuries ago when your hands touched. You tilted your head touching his hand. Yes, it was cold, but, you felt an odd sense of safety holding his hand, even if it was for a brief moment.

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head lightly. “I’m sorry, but, do I know you?” You couldn’t help but be forward. You’ve never felt this sense of security before.

Eric, for once, didn’t know how to reply. Technically he knew you, a different you though.

“Possibly, I’ve been around for a long time. There’s a chance our paths have crossed before.”

You hummed in response, before continuing on to tell him about why you had traveled all the way to Shreveport, Louisiana. Eric absentmindedly listened to what you had to say. In all honesty, he was just happy to see you again and agreed to any pitch you gave him. As long as he could be close to you again. Even though Bishop was constantly telling you on your journey here that Eric would say yes, you were still surprised and grateful when he agreed. The agreement was for you to come to Fangtasia each night, sit next to Eric, and he’d tell you his story.

He was one to come up with the arrangement, yet it seemed he cared little about telling you his story. You went several nights in a row, standing out due to your brightly colored clothes each day. Everyone stared at you as you sat next to Eric, except for one of the employees named Pam. She didn’t seem to care a single bit about who you were. The night usually went one of two ways. One: You’d ask Eric a question, he’d give a vague answer, and then quickly shift the focus on you. Two: Men and Women would spend the entire night trying to grab just a sliver of Eric’s attention before he snapped his fingers and Pam came to pry them away. There was one night he almost kicked a man who made a comment as to why you were so special you got to sit next to him, Eric held back. He didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable than you already were in the bar.

Tonight was the second kind of night. So far, the blond had already rejected two women and one man. You couldn’t wrap your head around why people would throw themselves at him. Admittedly, you found Eric handsome, and always wanted to see him smile for some odd reason. Still, you’d never throw yourself at him like these people would. At least, you’d hope you never would.

You were usually patient, however, it had been nearly a week and you still hadn’t gotten a thing from him. You were beginning to grow impatient with him, not to mention tired from your daily schedule changing so much thanks to him as well.

“Hey, Eric, I think I’m gonna head back to my hotel early tonight,” You told him as you began to pack up your things.

Eric looked at you with confusion, brows furrowed. “Why? What’s wrong?” He didn’t want to show it, but he was worried something was wrong.

You stood up, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Nothing, I’m just tired is all. Have a nice night.”

Walking out of Fangtasia, for the first time ever, you saw a large group of Christian protesters standing a short distance away from the entrance. Usually, you showed up right before sunset and left at the crack of dawn, so you had never seen such a large group. You wouldn’t have cared much if not for the fact that you had to go through the crowd to get to your car. They shouted at you as you walked through, calling you a “fang-banger” and “vampire cunt”. You ignored them, wondering why they had nothing better to do than this. Tonight was one of their rowdier nights though, and you were shoved to the ground. You scraped your hands and knees, tearing the white tights you wore under your blue dress. You began to pick yourself up, and that’s when you noticed the crowd had gone silent. You looked up, curious, seeing Eric now standing right at the front of the crowd, Pam right beside him. He was giving them a murderous glare, daring for one of them to do something so he could rip them apart. 

Once you stood up, Eric turned to you, walking over in a few steps. He grabbed both your wrists, eyebrows knitted together. “You’re bleeding,” He muttered, looking down at the scrapes on your palms. Letting go of one of your wrists, he led you back inside. “Pam, deal with these people,” He ordered right before he walked in.

Briskly, he walked you back to his office, not wanting any of the other vampires to get a whiff of your blood for too long. You had never been in the back, and you didn’t get a very good look around with Eric rushing you into his office.

“Sit on the desk,” He told you as he began rummaging through one of his cabinets for the first aid kit. It was rarely used.

You moved a few of the items on his desk aside so you could hop on. Silently, you looked around the office, waiting for Eric to walk over. After a moment, he found the kit and began cleaning one of your hands. His cold hand held your warm one gently, almost as if he were afraid he’d break you if he wasn’t soft with you. You were closer to him now than ever before, with only a foot of distance between you. You winced when he cleaned the wounds, but as he bandaged them up, you couldn’t help staring at him. You took note of his perfect, still pale, complexion, his blue eyes, and his slightly tense jaw. Little did you know, it was causing a great deal of pain for Eric to hold back and not start licking the blood that came out of your wounds. Your scent was much stronger than before and his mouth was watering, remembering the sweet taste of your blood.

When he was done with your hands, he paused for a moment, looking down at your knees. “I need you to take off your tights.”

You were confused, until you looked down, seeing your ripped tights. “O-oh, right,” you stuttered.

You hopped off and took your little blue heels with ease. Then, you reached up the skirt of your dress and pulled down your now ruined tights, tossing them right next to your bag. As you did, you could feel his intense stare on you, causing your cheeks to heat up. You were about to sit back on his desk until he told you to stand instead. He knelt down to clean the scrapes on your knees, one hand holding the back of your leg. Quickly, he wrapped it up and moved on to clean your other knee. 

Now, you don’t know why you did, but without thinking you questioned Eric. “Why’d you lie and agree to tell me your story?” You covered your mouth right after you asked him. Your mother always did tell you that you had the problem of speaking without thinking.

Caught off guard, Eric looked up at you with wide eyes. “Excuse me?”

Realizing you couldn’t take back what you said, you continue on. “You haven’t told me a thing about you. Why’d you lie to me about telling me your story?”

Without hesitation, Eric replied, “Because I wanted you to be with me again.”

Now you were caught off guard.

“You’re almost an exact replica of someone I cared about and lost a long time ago. You don’t have her memories, but besides that, you’re exactly the same,” He began to explain, “You look like her.” His grip on your leg tightened, “You feel like her.” He moved his head closer to the now clean wound on your knee and took a sniff, “You smell like her.” He licked the fresh blood that was coming out, “You taste like her.”

Eric watched you squirm a bit under his hold, a faint blush spreading across your face. You gripped the sides of your dress, your brows turned downwards and your lips formed a small frown. You thought he was teasing you.

He let out a small chuckle. “You even act the same as her.” He licked your leg again, your breath now shaking.

“S-stop it,” You barely managed to whisper.

You could hear the sadness in his voice and it made your heart hurt. Your eyes began to sting. Your chest grew tight. You couldn’t understand why you felt so sad for him, even though you barely knew him. Finally, he let go of your leg and stood up, towering over you. 

“What if I don’t want to stop?” Eric asked you, eyes peering down into yours.

Your heart was racing now, though you weren’t sure whether it was from fear or perhaps excitement. You knew one thing for sure, with him staring so intensely at you, you could feel a heat beginning to rise up inside you. 

He brought a hand up to the side of your face, stroking his thumb gently across your cheek. Slowly, he began to lean his head down.

With his lips brushing against yours he asked you, “What would you do?” right before pressing a soft kiss onto you. 

You leaned into the kiss, closing your eyes and gripping his black shirt. As it continued on, the kiss began to grow rough, Eric nibbling your bottom lip with his fangs. His hand on your cheek was gentle, but the hand that held your hip was tight. Feeling a small pinch on your lip, you let out a gasp knowing full well he had bitten your lip. It was enough for Eric to shove his tongue in your mouth though, and both of you tasted your metallic blood.

His hand on your hip moved lower, gripping your thigh. He pushed you back against the desk, lifting you so you’d be seated again. He pulled away from your mouth, moving down to your neck. He licked a few spots, before finally biting down and piercing your skin. You let out a soft cry, hands moving to wrap around his neck. You gripped his hair, feeling him suck the blood out of you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your whimpers.

When he pulled away, you felt light-headed now. Your eyes fluttered open, feeling his hands come off only to swiftly pull your dress off. After pulling off your bra as well, his hands began to roam around your body. You shivered against his touch, your skin feeling like it was burning against his cold hands. He grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it lightly before leaning down and biting the upper part of it. This time, he sucked to leave a mark rather than to drink your blood. 

A hand of his moved down, in between your inner thighs. He began to rub your clit with his thumb roughly, a moan finally escaping you. He pulled away from your breast, a bloody smirk on his face.

“Well how about that, you sound just like her too,” He teased.

“Sh-shut up,” You stammered.

You moved your hands to pull at the bottom of his shirt. He pulled away his thumb, allowing you to take off his shirt, and see the bulge that had formed in his pants. 

He leaned down to your ear and whispered, “I want you to get yourself ready for me love.” He then grabbed your hand, leading it down to your panties. 

Once he let go, you began to rub yourself through the thin fabric, feeling how wet you already were. You began to rub harder and faster, watching him undo his pants. His briefs went down with his pants, allowing his hardened dick to spring free. With one hand he grabbed the hand you were using to rub yourself out, and with the other, he ripped off your panties, causing you to yelp. Then, he guided you to put a finger of your own inside you, along with his. 

“Eric,” You whimpered.

He continued to guide you, moving your hands together in and out of you at a slow pace. “Shhh, I need to get that tight little cunt of yours ready for me. Okay?”

He stuck another of his own fingers inside of you and all you could do was nod your head quickly. He took out your hand and began to pick up his pace with his fingers. With your moans, and grip on his shoulders, he could tell you were getting closer, begging for a release as you arched your back.

“Eric, please,” you mewled out.

“Please what?”

“I need you, all of you,” you begged.

He pulled out his fingered and positioned himself right at your entrance. “Alright, but only because you begged,” He said with a wink. 

Slowly, he began to push himself inside of you, cursing under his breath at how tight you were. Your nails dug into his shoulders and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Eric gave you a moment to adjust to his size before he began to move, thrusting at an unbearably slow pace for you. You attempted to move your own hips, wrapping your legs around him. Knowing you needed more, Eric began to pick up the pace almost instantly, causing you to cry out loud. He slammed his mouth against yours, muffling your cries and your moans.

He was finally giving you what you needed, and you knew you’d be undone soon. You almost cried when he pulled out of you completely, until he slammed back into. You let out a loud scream and Eric groaned, feeling you tighten. He continued to pound into you, going harder each time until your body tensed up and you moaned his name loudly, finally hitting your high. Growing close himself, Eric’s thrust had a rhythm before, but now they grew ragged. Soon after you, he hit his climax, cumming inside of you. He proceeded to ride himself out in you and your breath slowly began going back to normal.

Pulling out of you, he placed a quick kiss on your lips. “I hope you know I’m never letting you go now,” He muttered.

“That’s fine because there’s no one else I want to go with.”

#eric northman #true blood #true blood eric #erik northman #alexander skarsgard #eric northman x reader #eric northman smut #eric northman angst #eric northman imagine #eric northman fanfic #eric northman fanfiction

[consumeconstantly]

Who Are You (and what will you become?)

1(you are here)| 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: “Over the years, I have found that blood means very little.” 

The ice clicks against the glass almost inaudibly, condensation dripping down the side. 

“So tell me, M. Wayne, why do you think I should even begin to consider you my father?” (all biodad bruce can be read as stand alone but are posted in chronological order)

__________________________________________________

At the tender age of nineteen, Marinette Dupain-Cheng has already become a jaded woman. It doesn’t shine through very often, hidden behind a carefully crafted facade of Parisian-brand carefree attractiveness and pigtailed youthfulness, but there exists, in Marinette, a certain bitterness.

“For a vigilante, you’re not very secretive,” Marinette remarks, keeping her tone measured, almost playful, so as not to draw attention to herself. 

“Marinette.” Bruce inclines his head and allows the bartender to serve him a whiskey sour. He doesn’t drink alcohol because it alters his mental state in ways that are unpleasant, but ordering a drink helps him fit in, and with Marinette, the person he wants to talk to, right at his side, he can’t have his normal ginger ale substitute. “It’s good to see you.”

“Mmm.” She takes a sip of her French 75, playing up an interest that Bruce knows is a lie. “M. Wayne, you say that as though we’re familiar with each other.”

“Sabine and I were close,” he says. 

Sabine is one of the few people who knew about his existence as Batman that didn’t live in Gotham. Many years ago, they were friends. Colleagues. (More.) Of course she told her daughter about who he was. How could she not have? 

Sabine is-- she was--

“Close, you call it,” she says with mock awe, words slurring together. “Closer than close, really. Too close for comfort— at least, too close for you.”

When Bruce and Sabine’s paths crossed all those years ago, he was struggling trying to raise Dick. Sabine was equal parts a mother and a mentor to Dick in all the ways that Bruce couldn’t be. When she left for Paris so abruptly after the two of them parted ways, Dick didn’t take it very well. Even moreso when communications halted permanently. The fact that the radio silence coincided with Marinette’s birth is something only Bruce is privy to.

However awkwardly he and Sabine left off, it doesn’t change the facts. Bruce’s lips thin. “I’m here to offer you a home.”

Swirling her French, Marinette taps at her phone, swiping away at a few messages that she’s not interested in. “I’m nineteen and more than capable of taking care of myself. Though I suppose it stands to reason that it would be difficult for you to know that, what with how busy your extracurriculars keep you.”

“I’m not doubting your capabilities.” He’s looked into what Marinette has been up to over the past nineteen years of her life. He’s never been particularly concerned with her upbringing, not with a woman like Sabine at the helm of her childhood. Bruce was right not to be worried; Marinette has grown into a multi talented, extremely well connected entrepreneur based on her own hard work. Judging by the crowd that she runs with and the multiple charities that she supports both financially and with her own time, she will be a force to be reckoned with in a few years; Tim regularly extols the virtues of the brand MDC, and if he knew that he was sisters with the designer, he’d never stop raving about her. MDC is already being compared to the likes of Dior and Gabriel when they were first starting out. Her finances aren’t anything to scoff at, and at a few galas and charity parties that he’s had to entertain, anyone who's had the privilege to wear an MDC original talks about how sweet and kind the head designer is while complimenting the CEO’s business savvy.

Bruce has to admit that he’s impressed by how she manages to keep her identities separate. No one suspects the head designer to also be manning publicity and business. 

He’s been watching her for the past day, and he has to say, for somebody whose parents just died, she carries herself with remarkable ease. If not for the red around her eyes and line of shots on the bartop, Bruce would believe that Tom and Sabine’s death didn’t phase her at all. 

“There’s a but, isn’t there?” Marinette says bitterly.

She’s right in that assumption. As skillful as Marinette is in her field, she has no practical combat experience. A brief stint in fencing and martial arts but nothing beyond that. Even if she practiced martial arts for years, that wouldn’t be enough to convince Bruce to let her go off on her own. Martial arts as a hobby is an entirely different game than fighting for one’s life. 

Marinette is simply not the kind of person who can face down a League member and come out of it alive. 

“It’s for your safety.”

For the first time since entering the bar, Bruce sees a flash of true emotion cross Marinette’s eyes. It’s hard to see the color of her eyes in the dim lighting, but it’s impossible not to see Sabine in how her eyes narrow. Perhaps the dim lighting makes it easier to; in the light of day, Marinette’s eye color— it’s too similar to the shade he sees in the mirror. 

“My safety? What about my parent’s safety?” 

At that, Bruce internally cringes while keeping his face carefully blank. Tom and Sabine… their end wasn’t pretty. Not the most gruesome deaths he’s ever seen, but it was up there. Bruce never thought the League would do something as cruel as desecrating the corpses of the people they murdered. They may be assassins for hire, but most times, they do have some sort of morals. 

The worst part about it is that their death is most likely a result of Sabine’s past relationship with him. Last month, a tabloid that drew comparisons between Marinette and Bruce. It didn’t take long for another person to dredge up pictures from when he was still with Sabine. Tom and Sabine didn’t have enemies well-off enough to hire the League. But Bruce? Bruce did. 

“I’m not interested in any protection you have to offer me.” Marinette shakes her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not like you. I won’t become a vigilante out of rage or as a coping mechanism. I’m not going to go chasing after the League in a foolish pursuit of misguided justice.”

But Marinette doesn’t understand. She has a target on her back with her newfound association to him.  

“I haven’t been active in your life--”

“Understatement of the year,” Marinette mutters.

“--but I’m not going to let you die when I can prevent it.”

Downing the rest of her French, she takes the Moscow Mule away from Bruce’s hands, eyeing the liquor up on display. She drinks the cold alcohol and revels in the burn that slides down her throat. Marinette swipes on one of the notifications she’s received on her phone in order to respond to it. “You’re a good man, Bruce. But your desire to protect me— what does it stem from? What do we have in common? Why would you use your time and effort on what’s essentially a stranger?”

Bruce has no good answer for this, but he has an obvious one. As soon as it leaves his tongue, it feels wrong. “We share the same blood.”

He can’t bring himself to call Marinette his daughter. That means that he would be her father and he’s not deserving of that title.

Marinette pockets her phone, eyes trained on a set of unusually shaped glasses on the shelves. “If that’s your answer, M. Wayne, let me tell you something. Over the years, I have found that blood means very little.” 

The bartender comes around and tops off the whiskey sour. The ice clicks against the glass almost inaudibly, condensation dripping down the side. Bruce can’t tell whether the bartender knows Marinette or not, but he certainly looks concerned enough to, with how his eyes shift between Marinette and himself rapid fire. When the bartender’s gaze settles on Bruce, mouth turned downward, clearly suspicious of his presence, Marinette just waves him off with a gentle smile. 

Her smile turns up the same way Tom’s did. She’s right; family is more than blood. 

“Your answer to why you want to protect me is that we share blood, but you speak nothing of our relationship. Shouldn’t that have been the first thing you brought up?”

Bruce shifts uncomfortably on the bar stool. Marinette just laughs at his apparent awkwardness. “Talking of blood relations seems to be something you don’t enjoy, and yet the entire premise of your protection rests on it. Tell me, M. Wayne, do you think I should even begin to consider you my father?”

Even as inebriated as Marinette must be, she brings up points that he himself wondered on his way to Paris. Wanting to see Marinette safe goes beyond a simple duty to morality and virtue. Though Bruce is known for adopting kids with tragic backstories, it simply isn’t feasible to adopt every single one he comes across. To bring Marinette into his family at this age, to expose her to the life he lives would be beyond cruel. In essence he’d be replacing two parents with a ticking time bomb: himself. 

“Don’t consider me a parent, just a guardian. It’s in my best interest to see you safe, and the best way to do that is to have you move to Gotham, where my colleagues and I can assure you around the clock protection.”

At first, he distanced himself from Sabine and Marinette because he didn’t want to disrupt her current relationship with Tom. Even if the two of them insisted that he could still be part of Marinette’s life, it just didn’t feel right to have the title of father when he wasn’t the one to put in any of the hard work. Then, as Tom and Sabine grew more comfortable in their life together, settled down and opened up a bakery, he was blindsided by Jason’s death. As his daughter grew older and older, there were just too many things in his own life for him to ever hope to kindle a relationship with Marinette.

Marinette laughs, but it’s really more of a bark. Her voice is too hoarse for it to come out any other way. Bruce can’t imagine how much she’s cried this past week. “If you wanted to keep me safe, where were you a week ago? Where were you two years ago? Where were you when I was thirteen? M. Wayne, I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you throughout the years, and I’ve always brushed them off as nothing more than tabloid gossip. But perhaps they got one thing right about you: you’re a liar.”

Marinette stands, swaying slightly.

“This— if you truly want me to uproot my life, I need more than you saying it’s in your best interest. I need—” Marinette reaches up to her earrings and allows her eyes to flutter shut. She needs more than a distant guardian. She needs someone to confide in. Someone she trusts. “It was nice meeting you, but I don’t need your pity. Not now.”

As she weaves through the crowd, Bruce can’t help but wonder whether he made the right decision all those years ago to not be apart of her life.

@biodad-bruce-month

Late to the game as always. This will be a multichapter fic but all parts can be read as one shots (and also as always anything posted to tumblr is never checked for accuracy and stuff so whoop)! They’ll be released in chronological order. If you want to get tagged in all things maribat, instead of commenting it under a fic, I’d appreciate an ask or a dm instead! I haven’t been able to go back through all the previous comments and create a taglist yet but perhaps. eventually. 

#bio!dad bruce wayne month 2020 #first meeting #maribat #bio!dad bruce #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #referenced character death #aged up! marinette #miraculous ladybug #dcu

[shootthemessenger]

the delicate art of a criminal mind [a.m-r. ; b.d.h.]

ally mayfair-richards x fem!reader x billie dean howard

summary: two of the FBI’s most wanted, two convicted felons, and a policeman’s daughter make for one hell of a love story

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, brief adultery, short-lived angst

I’m so sorry that this sucks, I had a fucking AMAZING version of it that got deleted due to technical difficulties (me, im the technical difficulty) also this is an edited version of a story I wrote YEARS ago so if some of the names/third person editing are/is wrong I’m sorry

gif belongs to @valenthatgurl

Billie’s eyes traveled slowly down your body, mind drinking in your figure as a delicate smirk probed at her lips. “Have I ever told you how much I adore you, sweetheart?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that tumbled from your throat or the smile on your face. The blonde moved carefully behind you, letting her hands fall against the curves of your hips where they rested gently. She liked to hold you between her two hands.

“Often.” You replied simply which only caused her to let out a breathy chuckle and press a chaste kiss to the base of your neck. Billie locked eyes with you through the mirror in front of you, eyebrow twitching in amusement as she watched you adjust your earrings carefully.

She had bought you them last week, in a small shop in Miami, refusing to show you the price tag even after she bought them. It was often that she showered you in small, expensive gifts. Afterall, she believed she had to pay you back for kidnapping you in the first place.

It wasn’t planned, necessarily. Your mother was a police chief in the small town you lived in who had been hunting after Billie and her team for months. As crazy as it seemed as you stood there so intimately with her, she was a criminal and had been for most of her life.

It started when she was younger, stashing trinkets into her backpack from stores and gifting them to her friends. Then she moved on to bigger things, clothing and electronics from the mall that she would keep just for the thrill of knowing she had them.

Then came the bank heist. She had gathered her team, team being her good friend Misty and Misty’s girlfriend, Cordelia. They forced their way into the bank and forced the money into the bags as swiftly as they could.

By the time they got outside, they was surrounded with bags upon bags of cash tucked in her team’s hands. Completely drowning under the police presence, they had no choice but to shovel into the police car closest to them and pray they were capable of getting away.

What Billie hadn’t accounted for was the fact that you would be sitting in the passenger seat of the car she rushed, waiting for your mother to return and finish, what had started off as, your ride-along for the day.

Nevertheless, she had no time to think before she was barreling down the road and hoping she could figure out what to do with you once she was out of such traffic.

In the beginning the two of you hated each other but the more time you spent together the more you fell for one another.

Eventually, you started dating and had been growing strong since then. Now you were here, the four of you had been on the run together for 3 years and had covered most of the U.S..

You were the current occupant of an old, run-down hotel in LA. Tonight, you were headed to a new club that had just opened up downtown.

Billie called it “hiding in plain sight” but really it was just an excuse to get you into the black dress she had loved so much and grinding up against her into the late hours of the night.

"I love you so much." Billie’s voice was low and raspy, the way she knew you liked. "I love you, darling." You returned.

Weird looks were shot to Billie from her two partners, they had never seen the woman be so affectionate towards someone so openly.

It was easy to say that Billie had never been affectionate to anyone until you came along.

Billie was the leader of the three; easily the brains of the group. She was cunning and persuasive and intelligent; all things you'd think a criminal would have to be to do the things that they would do. She was damn near a loose cannon and not many people risked getting too close.

Cordelia and Misty were the only friends Billie really had and she didn't mind one bit. She worked better alone.

Never get in Billie Dean Howard’s way; everyone knew that by now.

Misty was what most people would call the muscle of the group, though all three of them could easily take down someone on their own. She was tactically trained and she could easily rough someone up.

She always wore a set of thick leather gloves around her slender fingers, which meant that she was ready to start swinging anytime she might have needed to. It kept people from messing with Billie and Cordelia and it got them whatever they needed and wanted.

Cordelia, on the other hand, was more of the beauty of the group. Not that she couldn't rough someone up if it came down to it, but there was something about her that drew people in. She was incredibly beautiful and she had no problem using that to her own advantage. She could get anything with a bat of her deep brown-colored doe eyes and, of course, her habit of biting her lip didn't hurt when added to the mix.

She was irresistible, especially in the type of clothes she was wearing now; a short black dress that hugged every delicate inch of her body. She had the perfect hips to fill in a dress like that. She was the team's biggest distraction.

“Uh...B?” Misty interrupted, her eyes scanning over her phone screen. “Maybe we should just stay here tonight.” She proposed, glancing up at the blonde.

Billie cocked her eyes, hesitantly pulling away from you to sit on the end of the bed. “Why’s that?” She pulled a cigarette between her lips and lit it, watching glancing between her two partners.

"Ally is in town and by the looks of it, she’ll be in the exact same place we will.” She turned a phone around to display a text sent from her from one of her former accomplices, it read “look who i just ran into” with a photo of the woman attached.

“We need to take her out.” Cordelia piped up, moving to sit on the dresser across from the bed. “Tonight.”

Ally Mayfair-Richards was another criminal, just as the three girls were. She was the only woman or man who had ever dared to step up towards Billie’s authority. When it became two much, the three girls parted ways with Ally and decided to stick together without her.

Since then, they had all been rivals and avoided each other at all costs in fear one party would cause harm to the other or worse; they’d all get caught together.

Billie knew that all she needed was to get the cops and Ally in the same place and let the law do it's job to rid her of her rival. It wasn't like they wouldn't know her from her face, they'd been chasing her for almost seven years now, but it wasn't like they didn't know Billie’s face either.

“How are we supposed to take her out and go unnoticed? That’s fucking impossible without getting our own asses caught.” Billie huffed as Misty began to pace in thought.

It was silent for a moment until Cordelia’s face lit up, a look that had caused Billie trouble since the very beginning. It was never good when Cordelia gave that look. “Y/N!” She suddenly blurted out, face curling into a cunning smirk.

All three of you made a weird face at her, “What about her?” Billie questioned cautiously. “We can use her.” Cordelia answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “shes smoking hot and everyone knows Ally is a sucker for an attractive woman.”

Billie’s eyes widened as she rose to her feet before narrowing at the woman across from her, “Don’t even fucking think about it.” She hissed, hand already balling at her side.

She moved in front of you, blocking you from Cordelia’s view, “Get that thought out of your thick skull because it’s not happening.”

Misty sighed, “Come on B, all she’s gotta do is a little bit of grinding and a lot of distracting and we can handle the rest.” Everything was quiet as Billie glanced between Cordelia and Misty, “No.” She mumbled harshly.

Misty huffed, “It’s our only option, B. Ally doesn’t know what Y/N looks like and by now, she’s grown so much she could easily hide from the cops. It’s perfect!”

“It’s Ally to prison or us, you choose Billie.” Cordelia added, causing Billie to huff and glance at you.

“I don’t mind.” You finally spoke, playing with Billie’s fingers gently. “I’ve always wanted to help.” You pouted, knowing Billie had a weak spot for your eyes.

After a moment of silence she sighed and stepped towards the two women across the room, “Anything happens to her and I’ll send you both to prison myself, whether I have to join you or not.” Cordelia and Misty both grinned as they murmured their enthusiasm and disappeared down the hall to their own room.

Billie turned to you as soon as the door clicked closed, pinning you against the mirror you had been getting ready in. You offered a sheepish smile to which she shook her head, “ That’s not going to work this time. Anything goes wrong and I swear you’ll never get to help us again, do you understand me?”

Her eyes watched you, fueled with fire. You gulped and nodded as she pressed her lips to yours firmly, gripping your hips with a new kind of power she had not had a few minutes ago.

By exactly eight-thirty, the four of you rolled up to the club. Lights and loud music from inside were already screaming at you and you could feel the music vibrating against the concrete. Billie was starting to get nervous, all thought she’d never openly admit it.

Cordelia turned from her place in the drivers seat and glanced at you in the back, “Alright chica, all you’ve got to do is dance. There’s a cop down the street and we’ll get him on Ally’s trail. We’ll all be keeping an eye on you. You’ve just got to keep her attention long enough. Just be sexy, that’s all you have to do.” Billie huffed in protest at the last part, her grip on your leg becoming tighter.

Once Misty and Cordelia had scurried out of the car, Billie turned to you and pressed her lips against your ear, “I’ll be watching you, little one.” She watched the shiver rack your spine before jumping out of the car and disappearing into the club.

You let out a heavy breath before getting out and making your way inside. Immediately, you were met with the sexual tension suffocating the room as bodies moved against one another.

You located Billie across the room, settled at the end of the bar and the other two women situated in a booth across the room.

You locked eyes with Billie and winked descretely before settling into an open seat and ordering the strongest drink you could find; you were going to need it.

No more than ten minutes past before you could feel someone standing behind you, a hand brushed against your hip as they sat down and you jumped slightly.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” The woman mumbled softly as she settled into the seat next to you with her arm rested on the bar. “Let me get you another drink.” She offered.

Her voice was quiet and thick as she leaned into you, a strand of her hair brushing against your shoulder.

Looking up, you locked eyes with her and caught a blush that began to spread across your face. You nodded softly, regaining composure as you stuttered something along the lines of “sure” and allowed her to lean into you as she laughed, “No need to be nervous, beautiful.”

“I saw you from across the room, no woman as beautiful as yourself should sit alone.” Mentally, you rolled your eyes at her cheesy confidence, watching closely as she licked her lips before ordering two drinks.

You were so caught up in staring at her that you couldn’t even catch what she was talking about. That was, until her fingers snapped in front of your face and you had to force yourself into reality, “Huh, what?”

She shook her head and laughed, “I asked you your name.” She repeated, leaning in so that you could hear her better. “Y/N. Yours?” You answered softly, taking a sip of your drink.

She licked her lips once again, “Ally.” Your eyes widened before you quickly corrected your face. She propped her elbow on the counter as you glanced at the clock nervously. Now that you knew it was her you were talking to, you were growing nervous.

“Would you like to dance?” You questioned, shaking of the nervousness that probed at your stomach. She simply smiled and pushed herself onto her feet, allowing you to stand. She followed you out onto the dance floor, waiting until you were situated before letting her hands find the dip in your waist and pulling you to her closely.

As you started to roll your hips into her, she leaned in until her mouth was lingering against your ear, “You really are a sight for sore eyes. You were having trouble concentrating as her lips began to trail down your neck.

“T-thanks.” You let your eyes flutter closed, almost finding yourself enjoying the feeling of her lips on your skin until the thought of Billie popped into your head and your eyes snapped open again.

Ally was surely leaving a hickey on your neck, and the eerie feeling of someone watching you was bubbling in your chest though you couldn’t figure out which direction it was coming from.

One again, you let the feeling of Ally pressed against you and the base rattling your tipsy brain take oven. “You’re enjoying this just as much as I am.” Ally mumbled from behind you, fingers digging into your skin.

You couldn’t deny it. You had Billie, you would never be able to deny the love you had for her. But in that moment you craved Ally.

And you couldn’t stop it. It was eating you up inside but you let the alcohol pumping in your veins control you and simply nodded and turned to face her.

You couldn’t help but notice she smelled like honey. As you took a deep breath, a fire ignited somewhere within you. It was very different from the strawberries and cream smell you were used to with Billie.

Your little bubble with Ally was burst as the door to the club swung open and a cope stepped in, his eyes glancing around the room as if he was already looking for someone.

You felt Ally tense beside you, before your eyes met and her face spread into a mischievous grin. “You’re coming with me.” And with that she was tugging you out the back door.

Billie felt a heaviness in her chest, one that made it heard to breathe and made her heart feel as if it was beating so hard in on her chest that it was rattling her bones.

Her eyes had turned a violent black color as her fingernails dig into her palms so persistently that she created crescent shapes in her skin.

She could have killed someone right in that moment.

She was only brought out of her state by someone clearing their throat from beside her and turned to meet her partners, who both look d so nervous they could faint.

“We lost her.” Misty squeaked out, they had all taken their eyes off the dancing girls for a split second and by the time their narrowed their attention, they were gone.

Billie’s eyes visibly darkened and Cordelia gulped nervously as Billie backed the two of them into a wall, “Find her. Or so help me God, you’re dead.”

Back outside, you and Ally slowed down next to a car you assumed to be hers. You could see the outline of two bodyguards through the tented windows.

Ally smirked, pressing you against the passenger door as her lips ghosted against yours; neither of you leaning in enough to fill the small gap.

“I-uh-“ you mumbled underneath the taller woman, who let her eyes open again and pushed back slightly. “Come with me.” She stated quickly, taking your hand into hers, “we can travel all around the world and stay in fancy hotels; honeymoon suits for just the two of us everywhere we go. I can spoil you and make you mine. I can care for you. I want to.” She was rambling.

She took your silence as a cue to continue on, “I know you just met me and there are so many things you don’t know about me. There are so many things you deserve to know about me. I want to learn about you and let you learn about me.” She talked so quickly that she was having trouble catching her breath.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, “Ally, I can’t.”

You were thinking about Billie.You were thinking about all of the memories you shared. All the moments you shared. The moments filled with hatred, the moments fueled by love, the times you went wild in towns you’d never traveled to before and probably never would again, the words you’d exchanged, the intimate moment where the whole world melted and it was jus the two of you. There were the times you made love, when Billie really took her time worshiping you and your body. Then there were the more rough times, usually fueled by anger or Billie’s raging jealousy. Just an hour ago you couldn't have fathomed the thought of doing any of those things with anyone else. But here you were, possibly going to run away with a woman you’d not even known for a full half hour.

“I have someone and I love her, I really do. She’s given me everything I’ve ever wanted and I can’t possibly betray her. She’s my soulmate.”

"You can't. Not if it's not me. I want you...I crave you...I need you." Ally’s voice was weak and she looked like she was ready to cry. Her chest heaved as she spoke, her voice wavering. "Please."

Your eyes locked with her, lip quivering as you a pressure in your chest.

A voice broke the two of you from your staring contest, "What the hell is going on here?" You could see Ally’s jaw lock as she turned towards the woman. "What do you want, Howard?" Ally moved between you and Billie, squaring her shoulders.

"I want what you took from me." Billie furrowed her eyebrows, training her eyes on you. You started to panic; on one hand you wanted to leave with Ally. Because you were attracted to her the moment you started talking. You couldn’t explain it, like you had known her forever and you were only catching up. It was like those cliché movies with the high-school sweethearts that loose touch and then reconnect. But on the other hand, you had been with Billie for so long and you loved her with your whole heart. You loved Billie so much it scared you. Billie was the type of first love that never went away. So you just stood there, looking between the two in agony.

"I haven't taken shit from you." Ally huffed, her eyes shooting daggers at the three girls in front of her. Misty and Cordelia stood tall at Billie’s sides, their eyes fixated on Ally.

Ally’s eyes flickered to you then back at Ally and you could see Ally tense even more. As Ally turned around, you could see the tears starting to pool in her eyes. "She's your..." Ally let out a deep sigh as you nodded.

Ally was sure you could hear her heart breaking in her chest. "Darling, come here." Billie said gently, motioning you to come to her. You hesitated for a second before slowly making her way over to her. You could just barely feel Ally’s hand brush against her wrist.

Billie quickly pulled you into her arms with a tight squeeze, "Thank God, you’re okay.” She breathed into your hair. You nuzzled your face in Billie’s neck and let the tears fall.

You had chosen Billie, you had chosen your home. You knew that, even if you had left with Ally, Billie would always be on your mind. You were in love.

The sound of Ally’s car pulling away caused both of you to let out a breath. Billie pressed your lips together before the sound of rapid footsteps and policemen shouting broke your moment. Billie pulled away, her face breaking into a wicked grin. "Run."

Taglist: @mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl , @sapphicpaulsxn , @its-soph-xx , @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k , @paulsonix , @madamevirgo , @saucy-sapphic , @kikaykimkim , @billiedeansbottom

#billie dean howard imagine #billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #ally mayfair richards x reader #ally mayfair richards imagine #ally mayfair richards #sarah paulson imagine #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson #wilhemina venable imagine #wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #sally mckenna imagine #sally mckenna x reader #sally mckenna #cordelia goode imagine #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia goode #misty x reader #Misty imagine #Misty day #mildred ratched x reader #mildred ratched imagine #mildred ratched #american horror story au #au imagine #lesbian imagine #wlw imagine #american horror story #Billie Cordelia Misty

[adorehs]

changing your tune

Hi I just wanted to mention that a lot of this might be inaccurate. This is based off of my time in my city's youth orchestra so while I’m sure some things transfer, but not everything. Kinda bad at the end per usual <3

Summary: Classical Musician!Y/N has created a simple life for herself consisting of herself, her music, and the boy she loves. Friends to lovers. (15.6k words)

Warnings: mostly fluff, slight angst, mentions of smut, minor character death. 

“I just think I need to have a fuller tone to really get the dark undertone of the music. Like, it’s so clearly meant to be this dark, horrible travesty but if I can’t get the tone right then it’s just this light and airy travesty. But I can’t bend the note just right, my air is, like, gone,” you vent out. 

Harry watches you intently from where he sat in your study with a hand holding his chin up and an elbow on his knee, “I think it sounds great.”

You look at him unimpressed, “It’s all chalumeau. Of course it sounds good, it just doesn't sound right.” 

“Right, so it’s in the lower register,” he mentally reminds himself, “What’s it supposed to sound like?” 

You let out a sigh and pick up your clarinet from the stand it rested on, “It sounds kind of different without my custom, but the r13 will work for now,” you mumble, adjusting the reed and ligature on your mouthpiece, a nervous tick you picked up in school. 

Your eyes flicker up to Harry, waiting for his glance of approval before you start. Your cheeks expertly swell and decompress in size as you circular breathe through the measures, your mind concentrated on the smooth transitions between rhythms and the registers, cutting the triplets short as you’ve written them. 

The soothing noise of your clarinet fills the large room immediately, your forte becoming all too loud to process any thoughts. The victorian-styled room had low hanging lights that streamed a warm orange tone over the patterned chairs and built-in bookcase that held hundreds of music books with etudes you’ve mastered since your youth. 

Though the warm tones made the room feel homely, the curtains were drawn back and the windows were opened ajar allowing a short breeze to flow in every two minutes. You knew better then to turn on a fan around your hand-crafted instrument. You understood the fluctuation it would cause if the temperature changed drastically day by day. This is why you were careful to turn the air conditioning off before you opened the window, keeping the temperature relatively steady through the day. 

Harry watched you in pure concentration- he was truly enamoured by the way you lost yourself in music. He wanted to understand what you were saying but it was hard- he enjoyed music but was completely deaf when it came to describing the mood of a piece. 

He worked with numbers, and loved it. A born accountant in your presence, watching you play your clarinet with what seems to be ease. But you seemed so distant from him. A whole world away. And how was he going to sweep you off your feet when he can hardly understand your career? 

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as the technique became more difficult, effectively making you let off your clarinet and huff a breath of disapproval. Your heart was clearly pounding after the page you played at full tempo for effect, but you tried not to show the effect the music had on your body. 

You reached for your pencil before erasing a note you had written and writing another one in, a higher register G#. The graphite smeared on the yellow-tinted manuscript book that sat on the music stand before you, everything shaking lightly as vigorously colored in the line and drew in a staccato articulation above the sixteenth note. 

Forgetting Harry’s presence, you picked up your clarinet once again and played the same measure in sets of five, increasing the tempo by four beats each time, before deciding it is satisfactory for now. 

Your face only showed a slight upturn, as you wrote in a new measure, testing how the chord would resolve with some soft air and incomplete vibrations through the wooden block. Minor chord or major? you asked yourself.

Harry’s eyes watched yours as they darted across the room from your clarinet, to your manuscript, to your metronome, which was silently flashing a red light at a tempo of 180 and a subdivision of eighth notes. 

He wondered who taught you so harshly- he’d never seen someone so critical of their own work. You liked to make everything very perfect in a meticulous way- you knew just when to linger on the seventh of a chord to leave an uneasy feeling in the pit of one;s stomach and you were stellar when it came to expressing a story and emotion through your music. At least that’s what Harry thought. 

“So where does your tone need to get fuller?” he asks again.

You looked up at him, slightly shocked. You had forgotten he was there, “When I get higher, like, near the F#. It has no depth to the note and it sounds like a playground piece,” you explain softly, watching as his eyes furrowed in confusion.

“So you want it to sound darker when the octave goes up?” he confirms one more time.

You nod, “Yeah. Want it to sound more emotional and thoughtful. It also makes me sound like a stylistically competent player,” your eyes flicker back to the page in an instant. 

“I think your style is good. You have a good variety in the symphony, too. They’ll like this one. Get the solo down and then ask some people to come and play with you,” Harry comments, rubbing his hands on his corduroy pants as he sits back further in the chair. The heavy fabric makes a dissatisfying pulling noise as Harry moves around in the chair, resting his hands on the dark wooden arms with ornate carvings on the ends. 

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “They haven’t taken my last three. If I can just make one good one, I can take some more risks and possibly compose a whole symphony,” you pause, making eye contact with Harry again, “But that’ll take years. Probably only when I retire from the orchestra.”

“They are good,” Harry argues weakly. He doesn’t know how to convince you because all he knows is that he likes it. 

“Well clearly they’re not as good as you and I think,” you counter with a huff, picking up your clarinet once more before playing the same piece from the beginning. 

//

After an overextended work week, Harry was excited to go out and have some fun with his friends. He was still a ripe twenty-six year old, working long and hard hours as a starting budget analyst, hoping to be promoted higher within the job and lighten his workload- at least that's what everyone promised will happen. Nevertheless, he still enjoyed the simple pleasures of going out and celebrating his friends. 

It was an all too familiar setting- a sticky, trashed bar with little to no care given to the seats that were falling apart at the seams. He found himself thinking of the frat parties you had described to him when he asked what Greek Life was. 

But, he was there to celebrate one of his colleagues' birthdays. It was her twenty-fifth, so he found himself understanding the want for a big party. The bar might have been trashed but it was large and suitable for the hundreds of people she seemed to invite.

And among the hundreds, he only viewed one. You. 

You wore a dress that you pulled from the back of your closet and hadn’t seen the light of day since you were in college. You wore it to special events and networking parties, but you found it all too nice to wear to most other situations you found yourself in.

Harry had definitely forgotten your connection to his colleague, or better known as your sister. He watched as you greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek, an awkward side hug was exchanged as everyone around you both cheered in excitement. You were pretty loved. 

“Happy birthday Mon,” you repeat for the second time that day, “Hope the year treats you well.” 

Your sister smiled in response, “Off to a great start,” she eyes the party reviving behind you, “I’m glad you could make it. Thought you’d have a performance tonight.”

You shook your head, “Nope. Requested this day off a year ago. Couldn’t miss my favorite day of the year!”

Your sister glances at you with a look of amusement, “Happy Monica day is your favorite of the year?”

“Yup, love happy Monica day,” you reiterate. 

Monica opened her mouth to reply but was swiftly cut off by a deep British accent, “Happy birthday Mon!” you hear from behind you.

You turn around quickly, side stepping to allow Harry into your conversation. He leans into your sister before granting her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “How are you?” he asks, replacing your spot in front of her. 

You smile at Monica and halfheartedly wave a goodbye as you slowly make your way over to the bar to order some food. You decided a year ago that you were going to stop drinking. At first, it was a hard choice to make. You were used to having a drink in most social situations, especially being a young adult working with people of all ages. It was a common scene to find you in- an after party with hundreds of musicians having a glass of champagne or white wine in celebration. 

You sat yourself on a deep crimson stool, swirling slightly as you waited for your sliders to be given to you. Watching as people met and reconnected was isolating for you. You knew very few people Monica worked with and found yourself just shy of saying hi to someone who looked friendly every time you were at a gathering such as this one. 

Nodding a silent thank you as your sliders were placed in front of you, your attention shifts. It was the loud talking and blaring music that made your brain want to go into overdrive, never quite getting used to noises you couldn’t control. 

“Hi, Y/N,” you feel a body slide into the seat beside you. You couldn’t exactly pin whose voice it was at first listen so you shift your body towards them and slide the plate between you two as a peace offering. 

“Hey,” you reply, making eye contact with one of Monica’s friends you met when she first started working at the firm. 

“How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“I’m alright, Louis. And yourself?” 

“I’m quite alright. Been working a lot. Itching to get promoted,” he lets out a small laugh, “But who isn’t.”

You shoot him a grin, “Not sure, I love my job.”

“When’re you playing next? Love to come see you play. Haven't been to the new show yet,” he leans in towards you and takes a slider before leaning back again. 

“Play Thursday to Sunday every week until November. Then we switch to Christmas ballets,” you tell him with a grin, “I recommend Thursday or Sunday, though. Best prices and best crowd.”

He nods in confirmation, “I’ll have to take Harry with me, know he’s been bugging me to go with him for a while.”

“Yeah, bring him! It’ll be fun, we can all go out after too!” you counter, dismissing Louis' comment about Harry’s insistent nature. That was just him, you thought. 

“Definitely,” he agrees, “Plus it’s a nice way to unwind. I’ll definitely see if I can come soon.”

“Oh, please! I love seeing a familiar face. Feel like I play better,” you laugh, “Still get nervous, but Harry always tells me I’ll do amazing.”

“Harry’s good at that,” Louis agrees, “Always makes sure you don’t undersell yourself. And he’s right! You’re amazing.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, “Thank you! He’s definitely everyone's biggest cheerleader,” you joke. Turning around entirely in your stool, your eyes sift quickly through the crowd in search of Harry. “See, there he is,” you chortle, “Hyping up Niall as he chugs a,” you squint.  

“A beer, probably,” Louis completes for you. 

You both laugh and watch as Niall shoots up from his spot on the ground in victory before immediately falling back onto the ground with great dramatics. The room roars as Harry helps his friend stand back up and walks him over to the bathroom before swinging the door back open, “Ladies and gentlemen,” he pauses for effect, “The boy lives!” 

The room once again falls into a unison form of laughter as Niall appears behind Harry moments later, “Where’s the beer?” he shouts over the laughs, which quickly turn into cheers at his sportsmanship. 

While Louis lets out a loud laugh at his friend's antics and moves towards the crowd to see more clearly, you looked up towards Harry. He dressed himself impressively well considering his lack of knowledge in the arts. Though he wore a simple outfit consisting of a red button up and black jeans, his confidence soared higher than anyone else’s you’d seen in a while. 

His smile was infectious and seemed to fill his whole face and as his eyes raised to meet yours it grew to a tenfold. Speaking with his body language, you somehow sensed that he wanted you to get up and join him. 

You shook your head with a smile and mouthed ‘I’m fine here!’ only to receive a ‘What!?’ in response. You shook your head in defeat and stood up, mouthing the same phrase only slower. 

Harry replied with a look of realization and instantaneously, a pout replaced his smile. You frowned at your effect on him, not wanting him to feel upset because of you of all people. 

You stood up and slowly started making your way over to him, allowing the smile to rediscover its place on his lips. He was watching you near him, when his head suddenly snapped towards a high pitched scream coming from your sister, “It’s midnight!” she shouts. 

Harry chuckles at her dramatics and smiles when he feels your body press up against his side. He didn’t have to look to know it was you, he could smell your distinct perfume as you neared him and he was happy knowing you found comfort around him- though that should’ve been clear from the nights upon nights you spend together, him listening to your music and you listening to his rants. 

Monica was handed a bottle of champagne and she stepped into the middle of the corner you all occupied, people filing in suit around her and forming a circular crowd. 

“Hey everyone! Uh- thank you so much for coming- I mean it. It means a lot to me to be surrounded by a bunch of people I love on my favorite day of the year!” She jokes, earning some light laughs and a few words of endearment thrown back at her. “No, seriously, thanks a lot, and,” she trails off, her thoughts too blurry for her planned speech, “Here’s to twenty five!” she cheers, shaking the champagne bottle, allowing it to pop and spray all over. She quickly spins in an attempt to spray everyone, but the champagne bubbles over and only gets half the group. 

You and Harry both laugh, shaking your hands to get the sticky substance off your bodies. “She tries every year and never succeeds,” you tell him.

He chuckles in response, “She gets too drunk to remember.” 

“Or she just thinks that she’s sober enough to get it this year,” you laugh back. 

Harry laughs and nods, “Definitely. She thinks she’s perfectly fine,” he points at Monica who is going around the circle and hugging everyone in thanks. “To be fair she looks okay,” he adds. 

“She always does,” you agree with Harry.

The two of you fall silent and you stand back watching your sister make rounds. Harry’s hand creeps onto your back as he steps closer to you, bringing you in front of him. He hums along to the song you couldn’t remember the name of that was blaring on the speakers and he basks in the glory of being in your presence. 

Soon enough, your sister had made her way over to the two of you, hugging you both and exchanging her thanks for coming and just as quick as she came, she left you two alone. 

“So, uh,” Harry starts.

“Hey, um, I’m gonna leave. Got an early start tomorrow,” you tell Harry, pointing at the door. 

“Oh, yeah, definitely. Yeah, you should go,” he stammers.

You smile at him, “Okay, cool. I’ll see you later?” you asked, stepping towards Monica to say a final happy birthday and goodnight. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he nods in confirmation. 

You wave before finding your sister and saying goodnight, then driving yourself back home. 

//

Harry was sitting in bed with his laptop on his lap and a blanket covering his legs. He was doing some research in an attempt to find books that could teach him about music theory. 

He told himself he wanted to be more involved in his friends' lives and further his education in one of his weakest subjects- music. But in reality, it was clear to those around him that he wanted to impress you and be more involved in your life and yours only. They had never seen him pick up a book on physical therapy or take a quick online course on python- he was doing it all purely for you. 

He was contemplating if he should invest in a book or just take a free online course, both seemed like viable options but he wanted to optimize his time. He wanted to make it click faster. 

He decided he’d try the online course and take his chances and if he still didn’t understand he would invest in a book. 

So there he was on a Tuesday evening sitting in bed with his headphones in learning how basic chords were made. He wrote notes as if he was still in school and studied them after each lesson. He wasn’t fully immersed in the world like you were, but he felt as though he could carry a bit more of a conversation with you about music, especially when compared to before. 

Harry was learning slowly but surely and in about a week he could, in theory, explain how to develop a minor chord from it’s major among various other basics (that you would probably think were common knowledge) but he had no recollection of learning. 

As per usual, he spent every Monday and Wednesday evening with you. On Mondays, you would have movie night and on Wednesdays, he would get some work done in your office while you played. It never truly distracted him, either. Honestly, it made him feel very peaceful and he found that the routine was more about being in the presence of each other rather than making memories. 

One Wednesday, he had completed his work early and as usual, he would sit and see what you had composed to help give his limited input on your compositions. 

Typically, he would sit and listen silently with a slight tilt to his head while he thought up a thoughtful comment about your playing. You would always sit there anxiously, with your posture beginning to slouch since you were not playing anymore, waiting for a comment that you both knew would be neither helpful or negative. 

Harry was good at that. He was good at making you feel like you were doing good with absolute sincerity and not a single waiver of his voice. His face would stay straight and he would find the good in it all. It was probably your favorite part of the man who sat with you on the particular day. 

This time, unlike the last, your window was shut tight and you were trying your hardest to keep your hands steady. You couldn’t make the piece sound right. It sounded okay but that would not get you signed. It needed to be calculated and perfect in a theoretical standpoint. It also needed to be simple enough to split into parts for larger groups but difficult enough to have solo excerpts from each instrument- in case a full orchestra didn’t work. 

And that was difficult to accomplish. 

Harry knew that and he agreed- how could one person who hadn’t ever been signed make such an elaborate piece? He thought it was absolutely absurd that to maximize your chances you had to make the piece a combination of just about everything. 

You sat with the same face as you usually did, one pleading for some sort of advice or criticism. What you weren’t expecting was for Harry to deliver. 

“Think if you made it a minor chord instead of a major and ended on the seventh it could bring some edge,” Harry eventually says. 

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion, “Yeah, uh, let me try that,” you stammered. 

You covered what you had written with a sticky note, drawing on the new scale. You showed Harry the note and asked him if that was what he was thinking, to which he replied yes. You nod lightly and play the piece once again from the beginning, swaying slightly as you approached lyrical bits and narrowed your air stream to control your volume. 

Harry nods along with your playing, pausing slightly in places he could tell you didn’t like much. Eventually, he watches as you play what he had suggested, anxiety rising up his throat in fear of not being accepted. 

“Think I like it. But I need to fix some of the other stuff too,” you told him once you finished. “It would definitely feel right that way.”

Harry nodded and stood up. He rounded the long desk and joined you where you sat by the window in an uncomfortable chair made to help keep your posture near perfect. He crouched down so he could be eye level with your music and furrowed his brows.

You watched as he read the notes carefully, taking his time as he took in each technically challenging measure and the lyrically soft measures in contrast. You grew anxious for his approval so you busied yourself by taking the sticky note off of the manuscript and erasing and redrawing the notes for the new scale Harry advised you to add.

You took your time, slowly coloring each eighth note, the graphite crumbling down the page, leaving a light smear as you wiped it away with the side of your hand.

Harry looked up at you, “I think you should change this,” he points, “Make it flat and get rid of this note entirely,” he spoke slowly. You watch as his finger indicates each note and you nod along softly.

“Okay, I’ll try,” you agree.

He nods in response and rests his hand on your thigh, you hardly notice the action that felt natural in the moment.

You temporarily wrote in each suggestion and played the piece again from the beginning, a process the two of you were becoming increasingly annoyed with. As you approached the measure he had pointed out, your mind wondered: how did he know all this and why didn’t he mention any of it before?

Your air slowed down as your mind wandered and your fingers followed closely after, a ritardando, Harry noted. He hadn’t mentioned tempo but he found that bringing the piece down to cut time brought a new feeling that he couldn’t put his finger on.

Abruptly, you stopped, and Harry knew you didn’t realize. You both sat in silence for a moment before Harry stood up and moved back over to where he was sitting previously. He cleared his throat, “I’m gonna head out. Good luck Y/N,” he rushed out. 

You shook your head in disbelief. You truly didn’t understand what just happened. But, you shook it off and tried again, keeping the ritardando. 

Harry on the other hand, was in a state of panic. He had realized what he had done and he thought she did too, resulting in her abrupt stopping point. 

Harry had begun to understand that he was in love with you. And he didn’t know until just then. But he had done everything just for you. 

//

The following Sunday Harry finally managed to drag Louis out of his city apartment and downtown to the Meyerson Symphony Center where you were to perform Mendelssohn’s Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Neither Harry or Louis have seen you perform this particular show so they were late to learn that you had auditioned for and successfully got the clarinet solo in a particular piece from the Symphony named Scherzo.

You had explained to Harry your appeal to this particular symphony- you found it to be unique of all the others that accompanied Shakespeare's work. Instead of relaying a difficult emotion or putting a satirical spin on a human issue like his other works did, you found Midsummer to be a pure romp into romance and the abnormalities of love. 

And though you hadn’t been in love for a while, you found yourself feeling the emotion wholly through both the piece and music in it of itself. 

Harry had read midsummer before- in fact he had seen it live with his mum and sister when he was younger, but he never understood the effect the music had on the play. He never looked into the contextualization of the play, let alone the deeper aspirations of it. 

He understood music theory but he still had trouble analyzing music itself. He couldn’t pinpoint moods by just listening- he needed to see it written out which he believed hindered his ability to enjoy music to its fullest extent.

Needless to say, Harry entered the theater with Louis with a thought of determination. All he wanted was to find a way to understand the music and appreciate it as you did. They were both clad in matching suits, a simple black and white for the symphony, and made their way to the middle where their tickets directed them. Harry sat in the aisle and Louis sat right next to him, whispering in excitement of the show. 

“I fucking love this story,” Louis says.

Harry lets out a quiet laugh, “I hardly remember it.” 

Louis joins Harry in laughter and shrugs, “Oh well, it’ll still be good.”

Harry nods in agreement and turns away from Louis as the curtains open and the lights dim.

It wasn’t the first time he had seen you on this stage, but he found himself mesmerized as he found you with his eyes. He watched as you scanned the crowd quickly, your eyes jumping past him and Louis a few times before you recognized your friends. You shot them each a relieved smile and sat up straighter in your chair. 

The conductor cast a smile at everyone before beginning the first piece, the Overture making its debut in the room. Just as Harry was used to, the melodic sounds filled the room to the brim, every last corner feeling the pure emotion that was put into the piece. 

Harry couldn’t describe the feeling but he knew he was proud. He understood that watching you in your element is probably the worst thing he could do for himself, but he had to. It was pure torture to watch you fall in love with something that wasn’t him, but he loved the way it happened.

You lost yourself so easily and he felt as though you were the loudest in the room. He could hear your sound over everyone else's, your instrument being isolated from all the others in his mind. Harry could swear he had never been so proud in his life to see someone do what they love. 

As the overture came to a close, his hands met in applause and he felt the need to stand up just so you would know how much he loved it. But as quickly as he started, he stopped his applause and the next piece was beginning. 

No. 1 Scherzo. It was the second piece on the track and your personal favorite for reasons you would not disclose to Harry. He had heard you practice it a few times before, nodding along as he recognized fragments of the piece. 

It was around three minutes into the piece when Harry learned why it was your favorite. Because it was just you. You were the only one playing- your solo bringing tears to his eyes. It was just that moment when you looked up and made eye contact with Harry, him nodding with a large grin on his face with reassurance, you’re doing amazing, it read. 

When you looked back up at your music, your eyes narrowing in concentration, you failed to notice the look on Harry’s face. His phone had buzzed and he found himself confused- he was sure he put it on silent. The feeling that was elicited was nothing but good, so he decided to go check just for some peace of mind.

He stood up, pointing at his phone when Louis questioned him silently, gaining a nod of approval as Harry exited the theater in a rush. 

The second he exited the room that was beginning to become overly stuffy and constricting, he took a deep breath and told himself you’re probably just overreacting. 

Harry was anywhere from overreacting. It was that exact moment that he had received a text that was pushed through do not disturb. The text was from his mum and read nothing but horrible news. The five words that found themselves on his screen that illuminated his face as he stood right next to the door called him a coward. They read: This contact has dialed 999.

Harry understood the severity of the situation but he didn’t know what to do. All he knew is that she called- he didn’t know why or where she was. He didn’t know if he had to book a flight back home or not. 

Just as Harry was getting up and leaving for his own agenda, you had finished your solo. You looked up once again, hearing the applause and searching for Harry once more. But this time, you found Louis sat alone with a large grin creeping across his face and his applause filling the space next to him. 

You had never felt as hurt as you did in that moment. He had left you. Harry, the man you now realized you love, found something more important than you and your aspirations, and there was no physical way that it wouldn’t sting. What you didn’t know was that as your heart was breaking, Harry’s mum’s was. 

//

It had taken two hours for someone to answer the phone. Two hours for Harry to spend most of his savings on a red eye to the London airport. Ten hours for him to touch down in London. Three to make his way to the hospital next to his childhood home. 

He was distraught to say the least. 

He had left without mention of what was happening, his phone exploding with texts from Louis and Monica making sure he was okay, but not a word from you. He felt betrayed, but he understood. You had things going on too and he wasn’t the center of your universe. 

The hospital looked sterile, not a single thing out of place. The walls were coated in a pristine white color that nearly blinded Harry’s bloodshot eyes, and he spent a few minutes catching his breath before he asked where his dad was. 

He walked sluggishly onto the elevator, the weight of reality crushing him as he waited for what seemed like ages but really was hardly forty seconds for the elevator to jolt to a stop. When it stepped off, he saw what he imagined to be organized chaos.

People were walking quickly up and down the lengths of the corridor and he found himself passing by far too many crying people to think anything good could ever happen in a hospital- not revival nor birth. 

He walked the length of the corridor in silence, taking in his surroundings. He was in shock- he could hardly even process that he was in England, let alone why he was there. It was only when he stopped shortly at the sight of his mum and sister sleeping, their heads resting on each other's, that he realized the severity of what was happening. 

And so, with a deep breath, he sat down on the floor before them, resting his back lightly against the leg chairs and he rested his forehead on his knees. It didn’t seem like his life that he was living- he felt like this was all a vivid dream, but it wasn’t. It was less than twenty four hours ago that he was with Louis watching your performance and now he sat with his family outside of his father's hospital room praying he would be okay. 

Harry was one of hopeful thinking and that was made apparent when a doctor exited his father's room with a stack of papers.

Harry was the first to stand, followed by his mother and sister, who were unsure of when he had arrived. He shook hands with the doctor, who he learned was named doctor Wilson. He was clad in the same scrubs as every other doctor but Harry found his to be a special type of unattractive- or maybe that was his subconscious distracting himself from the situation at hand. 

Doctor Wilson cleared his throat as Anne made her way next to Harry, Gemma shielding herself from the news from behind him, “So,” he cleared his throat “Mr. Styles came in about a year ago to have his lungs screened, as you may know, and he was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer,” he nodded. 

“Well, Mr. Styles seems to have,” he left a pregnant pause in his sentence, “He seems to have the cancer cells spreading rapidly. We would like to put him on a self contained respirator and monitor him closely to give you some more accurate information about his cancer and give you some answers within a few hours,” he says slowly. 

Harry shook his head in disbelief- his father had never mentioned cancer let alone a screening. 

“Thank you doctor,” he heard Anne speak from behind him. He sent a last glance at the broken family and moved back into the room. 

//

It was the first you had heard from him in about half a week. He had called you on Wednesday after not answering your messages asking if he will make his way over on Monday for your movie night. 

“Hi,” you answer softly. 

“Hey- uh,” you heard some shuffling, “Hey.”

Your eyes furrowed in confusion, “Are you coming over?” 

There was a long pause on Harry’s end and you just about opened your mouth to confirm that he could hear you when he replied, “No,” he said shortly. “I- uh- I’m at home.”

“Do you want me to come over?” you asked in confusion.

“No, like, I’m in the UK,” he quickly corrected you.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, leaving a pregnant pause on your end, “Oh,” you replied. 

“Yeah, I-” you could hear a few other voices in the background and you imagined they were his mum and sister, “My dad- he’s not doing so good. He has stage four lung cancer.”

“Oh,” you let out again. “I- uh- sorry, I really just don’t know what to say right now.”

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, which you could tell had bitter undertones, “That’s alright… don’t exactly know what to say myself.”

“I- uh- I’m really sorry,” you tell him sincerely, “God I feel like such an ass,” you expressed. 

Harry’s eyes furrowed in confusion and he looked up at his mum to ensure she wasn’t listening, “No need, I promise it’s fine you don’t have to say anything.”

“I just- I was so mad at you for leaving and not saying anything and ignoring me. Thought I did something wrong or you were mad at me,” you explain. “Didn’t know what was going on and I was scared that I lost you.”

“Couldn’t lose me if you tried,” Harry laughed softly, you joining his laughter momentarily. 

“Are you still mad I didn’t tell you I was going?” Harry asked after a long moment of silence.

“No- not at all. Was mainly just worried,” you reassure him, “I totally understand,” but you didn’t. How could he not tell you? Did he not think you deserved to know why he left when you were playing for him?

“I’m really sorry. Kinda just fell off the face of the Earth for a few days. Was anticipating the news and trying to stay strong for my mum and Gemma,” he explains. 

Before you could reply, Harry starts again, “Hey, uh, we’re going back to the hospital so I’ll talk to you later, alright?” he says quickly before hanging up and leaving you alone in your study, clarinet in front of you. 

You truly didn’t know how to cope with what just happened- it felt like heartbreak on two spectrums- family and lover. But he was neither, which hurt even more. 

You picked up the piece of handcrafted wood that sat in front of you and tried your hardest to pour your heartbreak into the piece- adding pain, edge, and suffering to the nearly- done piece in an attempt to exert your feelings into something productive. 

It worked like a charm, which was something you felt bad mentioning. You found yourself falling in love with the piece, fractures of your heart making up every line and the composition falling right into place as your muse fell right apart across the world.

It was the next morning when you received the message from Harry: He’s gone. In his sleep. I’ll be home in a week. Gotta sort some things out. -H

//

Harry arrived home that following Tuesday and he was exhausted but grateful to be back to his tiny townhouse in the middle of a city with his friends surrounding him. 

He felt as though coping wasn’t an option anymore- he had taken up a whole week for that and in this moment in time he felt as though he had already done enough coping. 

There was a memorial service the weekend after his father died and to say Harry’s family were crushed would be an understatement. 

Anne, Gemma, and Harry each had prepared a speech for the service and none of them felt as though they could do the senior Styles any justice. He was a good man and they couldn’t even begin to explain that to everyone there. Nobody could understand the pain in the same way as they did, so they did their best to remember him in the best light. 

Harry was mainly happy for one thing- the following day was Wednesday. He had taken off the rest of the week so he could recover from any jet lag and start the new week back with a fresh start, so he knew that tomorrow would be a great day to catch up. With work and with you.

He hadn’t seen a single person since he was back but upholding the tradition was important to him. He favored you over most all his friends anyway, so when he parked his old car in the driveway of the large house you inherited from your grandparents, he was excited. 

He knocked twice and rang your doorbell once,queuing you to open the door in shock less than a minute after. “What are you doing here?” you ask confused, pulling Harry into a long hug. You had missed him on his ten days of abstinence from you. 

“Got back yesterday, can’t skip out on tradition,” he shoots you a smile, letting go of your warm embrace. You took a moment to look at him before deciding he wanted a distraction from everything going on in his life. 

You open the door further, beckoning him to come in, “Well come on, I need your opinion on my piece,” you gesture towards your office dramatically. 

Harry chuckles and bows in thanks, “After you,” he says with a posh accent. 

You both laugh, heading inside to where your things were set up and ready to go. He sat down in the same chair as he always does and you round the desk to sit where your clarinet was standing and your manuscript laid. 

“Okay, so I added, kind of a lot, while you were gone,” you warm him. 

He nodded and gestured for you to play, “Well go on then. Show me what you added,” he crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. 

You glanced at Harry and your music a few times each in an attempt to correlate the two in your mind- this was your Harry and he would never hurt you. You began to play the piece that you had become sickly familiar with but Harry found himself utterly perplexed at the sound of a new beginning. You had nearly changed the entire beginning and Harry loved it.

He found it to be oddly comforting to listen to you for what felt like the first time ever but in reality it was just another sense of stability in the world you two had created- the world that was exclusively Harry and Y/N. 

The moment you reached the end, a bit he had helped you with, you found yourself stumbling over your composition, making Harry's brow furrow together. You were a perfectionist when it came to music- you loved the control that came with being able to play flawlessly and change how it all came together and he found it odd that you of all people were messing up something you had written in for weeks. 

“Sorry,” you let out a huff, running a hand through your hair, “I’m really stressed and it’s really making this all worse.”

Harry nodded in understanding, “You should take a break,” he tells you with full seriousness. 

You look at him with a blank face for a moment before bursting out into laughter, “You can’t be serious.”

Harry looked at you confused, “I’m serious.”

“Harry this is my job. This is equivalent to me getting a promotion. I can’t stop!” you explain harshly.

Harry nodded, “I understand. Just-” he paused, “Just come with me, okay?” 

“No, Harry, I can't, I have to do this,” you stood your ground. 

“Y/N,” he spoke firmly, “If you hate this and want to kick me out for a week and let you compose on your own after this, you can. Just come.”

You let out a sigh and deliberated your options, “Fine. But there is a high chance you’re not showing up at my door for a week,” you point an accusatory finger at Harry.

He raises his hands in defense, “Okay, noted. Let’s go slowpoke,” he teased. 

You flashed him your middle finger and a toothy grin before packing up your clarinet and setting it on your desk. You follow Harry out to his car and get in the passenger seat as he starts the car and makes his way out of your neighborhood. 

“Can I ask where we are going?” 

“Patience is a virtue,” Harry replied, making you roll your eyes dramatically. 

“You’re so annoying,” you reply. 

“You love me,” he states smugly, making your eyes grow the size of saucers. 

“Not right now I don’t” you tease once you recover from your previous state of shock. 

Harry shakes his head and says, “Home Depot. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

You wondered why he could be taking you to Home Depot of all places- not getting food or going shopping to find another piece of clothing you don’t need. 

Harry parked easily before exiting the car, you follow after him in a haste. You have to job to catch up with Harry who seems to be walking a mile a minute to get into the building, “What the fuck are we doing here?” you ask again. 

“We,” Harry says, pointing at the two of you, “Are going to paint that white wall in your office,” he says with a smile.

Your face mirrors his, a grin of your own making its way across your face. You had mentioned to Harry months ago that you were itching to paint the room but you never made the time for yourself to do that. 

This time, it was you who took the lead, teasing Harry for taking too long to make his way into the store. You find your way to the back of the store where you see a few employees mixing paint for customers and you find your way to the pantone swatches, Harry immediately picking up a brown one, “I think it’ll match the wood, no?” 

You laugh and shake your head, “No I want it to be your hair color.”

Harry’s mouth opens in realization before grabbing another strip. He squints, reading the name aloud, “Werge,” he says confused. 

You fall into a fit of laughter before moving down the wall to look at the blues, the color you were actually hoping to get. 

With Harry’s unwillingness to be serious and your contagious laughs, it took you forty five minutes to find the color you had seen online a few months ago and had screenshotted on your phone. 

You make your way over to an employee and ask for a gallon of the deep navy color, paying and making your way back into Harry’s car within a few minutes. 

Your knee was bouncing in anticipation on your way home and you didn’t realize until Harry rested his palm on it, asking you, “What’s got you so nervous?” to which you reply:

“Not nervous, just excited.”

Harry chuckled and kept his hand there for the rest of the ride to your house, which you found to be far too close then you wanted it to be. 

You both found yourselves in your garage loading your arms with painters tape and tarp to ensure your room is painted to perfection and not too messy afterwards. 

You spilled some paint into the tray and used a roller to begin putting the fresh paint on the middle of the wall. Harry gasps when he sees the color in contrast with the wood that covered every other wall in the room, “It matches so well,” he comments, using a smaller brush to begin on the bottom strip of the wall where the painters tape stuck.

He sat on the floor, his legs crossed beneath him, and you stood a few feet to his left, the paint sitting between the two of you. 

You nod, “I know, it compliments the wood really well.”

Harry shakes his head, “Not the wood. I meant it matches my eyes,” he draws out. 

You roll your eyes and let out a shut up before looking at him. 

“Seriously,” he persists, setting his head next to the gallon that sat on the floor. 

You raised your eyebrows and nodded slowly, dipping your roller back onto the tray, allowing the residue to fall off before you rolled a bit on his face and shirt. 

“What the fuck?” he laughs, sitting up immediately. 

“I had to check!” you exclaim innocently. “You know, now that I look, I think you’re right. It does match, we should use more,” you conclude. 

“Now that I look,” Harry starts, with an evil glint in his eye, “I think this is the color your shirt is missing,” he concludes, flinging his brush in your direction allowing the paint to fall on your face and shirt. 

“Oh my god!” you shout as Harry doubles over in laughter.

You bring your brush into the paint once more, taking a threatening step towards Harry. He flinches, making you chuckle and redirect the paint onto the wall again, making him breathe a sigh of relief. 

He begins again on the bottom edge and before you could think you're safe, Harry gets paint on your ankle from where he sat on the floor. 

You let out a loud gasp, “This is war!” you exclaim. 

“Or you can just admit that you needed a break,” Harry shrugs, “It���s quite simple.”

You narrow your eyes and look at him, “I am going to cover you in paint. It’s quite simple,” you mock him childishly. 

He shakes his head with a laugh before painting the rest of your ankle, making a ring around your foot. 

It had taken two hours to complete painting the wall and to complete your paint war. You and Harry found yourselves in your backyard while your sprinklers were spraying the grass. 

“Best way to clean,” Harry breathed out. 

“You say you’re one with nature but what are you going to say when my grass is blue?” you ask him as you scrub at your legs to get off the paint. 

“I’ll say part of me is really with nature this time,” he says shaking the water out of his hair as he walks towards the hose that was attached to the side of your house. 

You shake your head in disbelief, “I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say, looking at Harry as he walks towards you with the hose gushing water out. 

You step towards him and let him spray you down and you watch as the paint falls off your skin and into the grass, your shirt clinging to your body. 

Harry tries to keep his attention on your face and not on the black bra that begins to show from your wet shirt that stuck to your body like a second skin. 

You fiddled with the fit of your shirt, trying to make sure you were comfortable, before scrubbing your arms and legs clean. 

Harry and you had decided after the first hit that you would do your best to avoid each other's faces just to make everything easier when it came to cleaning. 

You rinse your hair fully before deciding you're as clean as you’d get without using a proper shower (which you didn’t want to turn blue from the paint), so you stepped towards Harry with your arm extended towards him. 

“My turn,” Harry says softly, handing you the hose before spreading his arms out and letting the water hit his entire body, “This feels nice,” he comments. 

“You’re crazy,” you reply. Harry shakes his head and takes his shirt off in an attempt to get everything off and you almost look away instinctively- you weren’t supposed to see your friend like this. 

He allows the pressure of the hose to get most of the paint off his body but he seems a bit carefree about the cleanliness of his body at this point- you’re assuming this is the distraction you both needed from your mundane lives. 

Harry finishes off with the hose and you run inside to grab the two of you towels, opting to stay outside for the rest of the night. 

You both sit outside on the back porch swing that sat in your yard, wrapped in towels so you don’t get too cold in the autumn air. “You were right,” you mutter, leaning your head onto his shoulder. 

“About?” Harry edges you on and you can practically hear him smiling through his words. 

“I needed a break.”

//

What felt like a year was only two months and in those two months you had accomplished what you had been attempting since eighteen. You finished what seemed to be the perfect piece from a technical standpoint. 

It told a story of betrayal and heartbreak and it included a plethora of twists in tone and changes in tempo and unresolved keys to add edge and lead the listener on. The piece, in theory, was among the most perfect ones written. 

At least that's what Harry told you and that's what you tried to tell yourself. 

You had just finished the process of getting it all recorded, recruiting some of your friends from the orchestra to take home your manuscript that you wrote in harmonies and new melodies to. 

You spent a week editing the music together, sending recordings back, asking for retakes, and adjusting volumes, tempos, and tone before you were satisfied with the music. 

All in all, it was a musically complex and fundamentally difficult piece that could be extended into a show or turned into a series of simpler solos- whatever would get your music sold to a publisher, you were willing to do. 

You had contacts from your previous attempts at selling your compositions, contacts that rejected you but told you to come back if you had something new. You did not take the suggestion lightly. 

You had mastered an email with your pitch- stating your name and your credentials, attaching a file of the piece, along with the score which separated individual parts and showed their dynamic together. It was your life's work and a story you were excited to sell, and that is why you were particularly excited when you received an email back the following week.

The email, in short, explained that a publisher would like to meet with you and is interested in helping you publish the music and help you get on the radar of a symphonic orchestra. 

You were a giddy mess leading up to your meeting, your leg shaking in anticipation and your heart beating so loud you swear you could feel it in your throat. So, when it arrived it felt surreal. 

You stepped into the tall building in a haze, your hands clutching onto your score and your body clad in your favorite orchestral dress that you find to be the one you wear to the majority of your auditions. You call it your good luck charm. 

The receptionist was short and directed you to the fifth floor and gave you strict instructions to wait to be called in by Flynn Bradford’s assistant. You sat in the waiting room with a warm overcoat covering your body in the meantime. 

When you got called up your hands began to sweat. You find your way into Bradford’s office and with a nervous step forward, you take your jacket off and sit down on the small chair before his desk.

“Hi, I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduce yourself with a handshake, Bradford immediately recognizing your name. 

“Flynn Bradford, a pleasure,” he returns with a friendly smile. 

He was a middle aged man with a few silver hairs peeking through, but he wore a friendly smile and seemed very composed nonetheless. He took your score and opened it immediately. He looked over it in silence for a few moments, you sitting on the edge of your seat. 

“I do have to say, Ms. Y/L/N, I was waiting to meet you so I could go over this with you. I think you’re a brilliant composer,” he speaks slowly. 

You swallow harshly, “Thank you so much,” you gush, “I’ve been at it since I was a kid so I’m glad you liked it.”

He nods again, sifting through the pages, “And I have to say I’m impressed by the tone in the demo and the overall markup of the piece. I think there are a few minor changes that we’d like to see done but all in all I think it’s good.”

You nod your head quickly, “Of course and I was expecting to do so. I- uh- how many changes are we thinking about here?”

“Well it’s still your piece, so quite minor ones just to increase your chances of having it sold to a school or a symphony. Or, you could keep it how it is but that might not be the easiest to sell.”

“Right, so hypothetically, if I get all the changes done and we’re satisfied within a few weeks, it can go off to you?” you ask in shock.

“It seems to be that way, yes. I’ll send you a contract and some markups once I get to talk with my team about this. It would be best to get your own lawyer to look over this for copyright purposes and to make sure you’re alright with all the fine print,” he advises. 

“Yes, I will definitely do that, yeah. Thank you so much,” you reiterate. 

He hums a reply and hands you back your score with a tight lipped smile, “So this meeting was a bit quicker and the other might be too depending on what you like and want. Remember all the corrections we send are suggestions so you do what you want and we’ll be alright with whatever you choose to do,” he reminds you. 

You nod and shake his hand once more, leaving the building with bright eyes and a winning score in your hands. 

The first instinct you had as you sat back into your car was to call Harry but you were so overwhelmed with excitement you decided that going to see him at his house would be a better idea. 

After all, he deserved to be the first person to know because he helped you so much when it came to the composition of this piece. 

You were smiling incredibly wide as you made your way over to his townhouse in the city. His complex was very modern, a clear juxtaposition to your victorian styled home, but you welcomed it warmly. You enjoyed the prospect of having a place to go that is more minimal in comparison to your cluttered property. 

It was hardly fifteen minutes before you parked outside of his home, your car finding its normal spot in the driveway of his garage. 

Your legs carried you faster than you could have imagined, rushing you to the front of his house and your hand pounded against his door with a sense of urgency.

Harry took his time making his way downstairs, a towel around his waist and an impatient girl he had hardly met waited in his bed upstairs. 

He opened his door slightly, allowing his head to peek out of the small crack he created, “Hey!” he exclaimed when he realized it was you. 

“Hi! Can I come in?” you ask excitedly. 

“I’m not exactly decent,” his hand scratches the back of his neck, “Can you wait down here as I get some clothes on?” 

“Sure, take your time,” you nod in understanding, allowing Harry to make his way back upstairs. 

“Who’s at the door?” the girl asks from her spot on his bed as Harry changes quickly into some sweatpants and an old t-shirt. 

“Just a friend, she should be gone soon,” he replies. 

“You sure? She seemed really excited to see you.”

Harry lets out a sigh, “Logan, I promise she's just a friend. And what does it matter anyway?”

“Well I don't want to be the other woman,” she pouts, “But if you say she’s just a friend then I believe you.”

“Thanks,” he called over his shoulder briefly as he made his way back downstairs to where you were waiting on his sofa. 

“So whats up?” he asks, “Want anything to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. I have some news, though,” you say, enthusiasm raising once again. 

“Okay, lay it on me,” Harry joins you on the sofa. 

“So I met with Flynn Bradford today,” you lead on, hoping Harry could understand what the news was. 

“No way,” he exclaimed after a moment of silence. “He picked you up? That’s amazing holy shit! Congrats!” 

“Thanks! You helped so much, I thought you had to be the first to know. And on Wednesday you can help me decide what corrections to add, too. This is all so exciting! It’s happening so fast!” you ramble quickly, standing up and pulling Harry into a hug. 

“No you did that all on your own! I knew they’d pick you up, too. So fucking talented,” he mumbles, returning your embrace. 

“Thank you oh my goodness! Okay, I just wanted to come over quick to tell you that. I have to work on some audition music so I’ll head out in a few,” you say. 

Harry opens his mouth to reply when you both hear his bedroom door open. Harry’s eyes widened in realization and your brows furrowed in confusion. 

“Harry?” you hear an unrecognizable voice, “You done?” 

You feel tears begin to well up in your eyes as you start to realize what was happening. He was with someone. He found someone and it wasn’t you. 

She walks down the stairs and your head immediately turns in the direction of the girl. You inhale sharply, trying to keep your tears in the ducts of your eyes as you see her in a t-shirt you know Harry absolutely loves. 

“Hey, uh Logan. This is Y/N,” he trails off lightly, waiting for you to introduce yourself. 

“Hi,” you smile falsely and extend your hand for her to shake. 

“Hey, I’m Logan. You’re Harry’s friend?” she presumes, looking at the two of you. 

“Yeah, we’re pretty close,” you pause, “Sorry, I didn’t know H was seeing anyone. This was kind of unexpected.”

“Oh that’s alright, I was going to leave soon anyway. Have to meet some friends for dinner,” she shrugged carelessly. 

“No, no, you can stay. I feel bad. I can be out in a few minutes,” you tell her with a soft smile.

She looked at you and Harry intervened before she could get a word out, “That’s alright, you can both stay if you want?” he suggested. 

“I really do have to go,” Logan trailed off. 

Harry quickly jumped at this, “Oh! Sorry, love. Yeah, go ahead, don’t mean to keep you here if you need to be somewhere.”

“I’ll just grab my stuff,” she smiles at the two of you and heads back upstairs to where you assume she was staying in Harry’s bedroom.

You and Harry stand in silence for a moment, “Sorry I should’ve asked to come over. I’ll go, you can spend some time with her before she leaves,” you finally stammer with a slightly wavering voice. 

“No!” Harry exclaims a bit too loudly, making you flinch at his tone. “You can stay,” he whispers. 

“That’s alright, I have to practice anyway,” you say in a rush, leaving his house at once without looking back at him.

// 

It was two days later when Logan showed up at Harry’s house with a soft smile on her face and her eyes filled with lust. 

Not only two minutes after Harry opened the door, his lips were on hers and they were making their ways upstairs to his bedroom. Logan had come to Harry’s for a quick fuck and Harry was there to provide. 

It had taken them a few weeks to get into a flow and get a general idea of each others bodys and needs and now that they were getting good sex, they didn’t take many moments to stop and catch their breath. 

There were a few moments, though where Logan knew she fell short of your company. She could tell with a quick glance at Harry that he was a lovesick puppy when it came to you and it became more and more apparent the more time they spent together. 

When they weren’t fucking, he spent most of his free time talking about you. The girl of his dreams and the funniest, prettiest, nicest, person he’s ever met. 

She had her hands in his hair and he had his hands tugging on her waist when his phone began buzzing from his bedside table. 

Logan sat up from where she laid, straddling Harry’s lap. He let out a soft groan and ran and hand through his hair as he checked who had called him.  

His lips fell into an effortless smile as he answered your call, leaving Logan breathless and unfulfilled. She resulted in getting up from his bed and walking out of his house once she realized it was you he was talking to. 

//

That following Monday, you watched as Harry made his way into your home, an uncomfortable silence encompassing the two of you as you sat on your sofa. 

“How was your date with Logan?” you ask eventually. 

“Oh, it was- it wasn’t a date,” Harry tried to describe, leaving you confused. Harry wasn’t one for casual hookups. 

“Then what was it?” you ask timidly, hoping for an answer you can understand. 

“Just meeting an old friend from college,” he coughs. 

“A friend?” you ask confused. 

“Yeah, uh, a friend,” he emphasized. 

“Oh,” you let out softly, “Why’d you get back with her?” you ask. 

“I don’t think the girl I like likes me back, so I wanted a distraction” he replies vaguely, turning on your TV in search of a new film to watch on Netflix.  

You swallow the lump in your throat before replying, “I don’t see why she wouldn’t.”

Harry looks at you for the first time that day, “Well she doesn’t act like it at all, so I think I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like me.”

“I think you should tell her how you feel,” you shrug, “What is there to lose?”

“A person who I value a lot in my life,” he replies almost instantly. 

You didn’t reply after that, allowing the film Harry chose in a haze to begin and you sink further into the sofa. 

//

It had been an eventful week. You had sent back your manuscript twice between today and your original week and yesterday you had auditioned for the live orchestra for the annual Nutcracker production. 

This had been your fifth year playing in it- you were very confident in your ability to get a spot in the orchestra- but it was the solo that brought you grief. Every year, each section had a competitive fight between musicians for the solos that are littered through the production. 

You found that the busy week that had followed you around became the main reason you were able to get your mind off Harry. No matter what you did he meandered his way into your thoughts and you were beginning to feel pathetic that your mood relied on him. 

It was when you came home from auditions on Tuesday evening when you got a phone call from Harry. You hesitantly picked up the phone and allowed him to speak first. 

“Y/N? You there? Can you talk for a second?” he asked. 

“Yeah, what’s up,” you reply. 

“I need your advice. I think Logan wants to start seeing someone but she won’t admit it to me so I don’t know what I should do because I don’t want her to hold back on it just because of me,” he pushes quickly. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Well why wouldn’t she admit she wants to see someone? She probably likes you, H, don’t worry. She’ll talk to you if she likes someone else.”

You heard a heavy sigh come from Harry’s end of the line as you picked up all your belongings from your car, your phone sitting between your shoulder and ear. “Yeah, I just- I don’t think she wants to tell me for some reason.”

What you didn’t know was that Harry was trying to prolong this call in an attempt to see if you would tell him to cut it off with Logan. It had only been a few weeks, and to be fair he hadn’t hooked up with her more then three times.

He knew he loved you but he needed confirmation that you liked him back. Logan insisted that you did but he didn’t trust her judgement as much as he trusted his own. 

As you learned through numerous conversations with Harry, he is a charming man, but he is also a confusing one. He isn’t direct and he seems to beat around the bush when it comes to serious things in his life. 

“Okay,” you say, confused, “Well just tell her that if she can’t be honest then she’s never going to be able to break it off with you. And if she says the same thing and you still don’t believe her just cut it off,” you advise selfishly. 

You wanted to help Harry, you truly did, but you were also a human. You were selfish and needy and you wanted Harry to yourself. So, you did what a selfish, and jealous, girl would do and you hinted at breaking it off. 

“Thanks,” he let out a huff of air, “Sorry, I have to sort some stuff out and I’m really stressed so I wanted your opinion about this,” he apologizes. 

“It’s alright. Let me know how it goes, yeah? I gotta run some errands but I’ll see you tomorrow?” you confirm. 

Harry hums in agreement and you hang up first, leaving him with the dial tone on his phone. 

The first thing you do when you get in your office is check your email. You were waiting on a reply from Bradford- you had just sent in another round of corrections and asked him for minor technical critiques to finish off the piece. You were proud of where it was and you were thoroughly in love with it. 

Just as you opened your laptop, you saw the taunting icon saying you have an unread email. You attempted to calm your nerves before opening it, preparing yourself for almost all senders. 

But calming your nerves turned into a loud scream. Bradford had replied and informed you that he loved the piece and accepts it as your final draft. He also mentioned that he will fax over the legal documents to look over before meeting with him officially and signing all the necessary contracts. 

Just as he said, later that night you received a thick stack of papers to sift off to your parents to help you look over and make sure everything was alright for you to sign. 

You bind all the pages together with a few paperclips and make a quick drive into the suburbs to give your parents the good news and ask them to help you find someone to look over all the papers for you. 

Your parents weren’t the most enjoyable people to live with but they were great to see in moderation. It was a large showcase of love every time you or Monica came home- they cooked, cleaned, and helped with just about everything you asked. 

So, when you arrived home, you got the full treatment. Your mom had cooked a nice dinner for you all and your dad helped you look over the contracts in their entirety as you waited for dinner to be served. You deemed the papers safe and the three of you decided you could sign on them as soon as possible and get all the proper licensing. 

You were overjoyed on your drive home and the moment you arrived back, you sent Bradford a quick email from your phone saying you can meet anytime to sign and that you had looked over the contracts. 

The following morning, you had gotten back a response stating he was free later that afternoon and you took him up on his offer to sign on the fine Wednesday. 

You met him back at his office, similar to the first time, and you had brought all the papers he had sent you, giving him a solid rundown of what you were expecting and negotiating royalties. 

You had taken half an hour to settle on a final deal and Bradford had gotten the contracts readjusted for you to sign. 

It was nerve wracking but exciting to be holding the pen in your hand and you signed page after page, ensuring your music could be sold and would be given proper care and proper copyright laws. 

“Last one right here, Y/N,” Bradford encouraged you. Your wrist grew tired but you refused to complain considering how much you wanted this and how long you waited. 

“Okay,” you grunted, signing your name sloppily and allowing Bradford to pull all the papers out from under your hold. 

“So, what this all ensures from our relationship standpoint is that we are the primary distributor and we will be helping with copyright and making sure you get your money's worth,” he briefs with a chuckle. He straightens out the stack and stands up with a smile on his face. 

You follow in suit and stand up at the desk, straightening out your pants, “Thank you so much,” you gush. 

“Thank you for thinking to work with us,” Bradford countered, making you shake your head. 

“Of course,” you say kindly, “And I appreciate all you’ve done for me these past few weeks. Been a huge help.”

“Oh it was our pleasure, Y/N. You're a wonderful artist. I think we all enjoyed working with your piece.”

You shake Bradfords hand and exchange pleasantries as you exit his office with a smile on your face.

It was the rush of relief that went through your body that helped you realize the gravity of what just happened. Your music has been sold and now has the opportunity to be in music shops, orchestras, and played all across the globe. And that was a great feeling. 

It was indescribable, to say the least. It had taken over a year to compose the piece and you had multiple failed attempts prior to this one. The piece you named Domicile was quite literally a love letter to your life. 

The piece went through the ups and downs of love. Domestic love, platonic love, romantic love. It was all encompassed in the piece you titled home. 

Written from the back of your mind, you had no idea how to articulate how proud of yourself you were. It was self expression and it was beautiful. 

Later that evening, Harry arrived at your home as he usually did. He held a small calculator and his laptop in his arm as he abandoned his car in your driveway and made his way up to your door. 

He knocked before opening it, knowing you always forget to lock it when you came home from work, and he followed the noise of soft jazz down the hall and into your office. 

The paint smell had finally vanished the room and he  found you sitting comfortably on the floor with your legs folded beneath you. “Hey, how was your day?” He asks, walking in and sitting across from you on the floor. 

“Really fucking good,” you grin, making eye contact with him. 

“Care to explain?” he asks with wide eyes and an encouraging smile. 

“Yes,” you say dramatically, “I, Y/N Y/L/N, am officially,” you pause for effect. 

“Oh come on,” Harry groans in anticipation. 

“I am officially a signed artist,” you squeal in excitement. 

“No fucking way,” he says softly, “No fucking way!” he yells. “I knew you would oh my goodness! This is amazing! We have to celebrate-” he rambles on. 

“Harry!” you exclaim with a giggle, “No need to celebrate this is enough!” you assure. 

“No, no, no,” Harry says, “We gotta do something. Even if it’s just a dinner with Mon and I. We gotta.”

“No,” you reiterate firmly. 

“Fine,” Harry says, “But you’re coming with me,” he says standing up. He extends his hand out and helps you stand before leading you to your living room. 

He gently tugs your arm towards him and he presses his chest up against yours. “Play it on the speaker, love,” he whispers. 

“Okay,” you say softly, pulling back and using your phone to play the symphony over your speaker system per Harry’s request. 

Harry smiled at you and gently put his hand up to yours, interlocking your fingers and holding you tightly. “Dance with me?” he asks with a cheeky grin. 

“Of course, sir,” you tease, stepping into his hold, his arms wrapping around your waist and your hands draped over his shoulders lightly. 

“I’m really proud of you,” he whispers, swaying back and forth. 

“Thank you so much,” you hum, “Seriously, you helped with so much of it. I really appreciate it.”

Harry ducked his head in a bashful manner, unsure of how to reply to your high praise, “I’d do it again if I had to.” 

You shake your head, looking out the window next to you two. The sun was setting and the sky was a painting of oranges and pinks, “God, Harry.”

“What,” he chuckles, following your gaze.

“I cannot believe you’re real,” you whisper, you hand moving to meet his jaw. You graze your thumb over his skin in utter disbelief. 

“Harry?” you call out softly. He was zoned out, staring at your profile. 

“Yeah?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Course.”

“Can I kiss you?” you breathe out timidly. You don’t know where exactly you got all the courage that consumed your body at that current moment, but you were thankful for it. 

Harry swallowed thickly before his eyes met yours, “Yes please,” he whispers back at you.

Your hand that rested on his jaw caressed the skin for a moment before you leaned into his warmth. Your lips met his lightly, you pulling away too quickly for his liking. Harry looked at you once more before leaning forward and allowing his lips to meet yours heavily. 

You smile into his mouth, absolute joy coursing through your veins as he kissed you so carefully but so harshly. Your bodies stilled into the kiss, your mouths moving in sync slowly, absorbing every inch of each other. 

Harry lets out a small groan as you grind slowly against him, his head threatening to roll back if it weren’t for your hand holding his head still. 

His hands moved along your back comfortingly making your body melt into his expertly. You pull away again, Harry looking at you with dimmed eyes, you completely out of breath, “Songs over,” you whisper. 

“So restart it,” he replies with a small grin. 

//

Harry ended up seeing the full performance of Midsummer the last night it was performed at the theater. He apologized profusely and insisted he’d see the last of the show if it was the last thing he did, so you let him come and sit right in the front as he wished. 

Just as the first time, he sent you smiles of luck before your solo and a few more afterwards to show he was proud of you. Just as you anticipated, he is the best person to cheer you on during a performance. 

You knew Harry would be waiting for you in the lobby, so you held off on putting your overcoat on and allowed yourself to step out of the backstage area with your black dress and short heels, your clarinet and jacket in hand. 

He held his arm out for you once you became close enough for him to wrap his fingers around your waist and you walked into his hold, “I got something for you,” he tells you. 

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?” you ask with a smile creeping its way onto your lips. 

Harry smiles at you before handing you the flowers that sat in his other hand. It was an assortment of long stem red roses, what he read to be the traditional rose to give after a performance. 

“Thank you,” you whisper in awe, your eyes meeting his as he looks at you. 

Harry hums in response and tugs you closer to his body before leaving a quick peck on your lips and pulling away just as fast as he approached you. 

You and Harry were confused to say the least. You had both confirmed you liked each other the night you got signed but you found it difficult for the two of you to label what was going on. Harry wanted it to be exclusive and you wanted to give it a trial run to see how it would work. And though you did give it a trial run, the two of you were yet to discuss what was going on. 

You assumed this would be like any other relationship you had been in- after a few months and a handful of dates, you’d consider yourselves partners- but this was vastly different. You have known Harry for a few years now and he has always been a part of your life. So what counted as a date and what was as normal?

Well, tonight constituted a date. Harry had told you before he arrived that he would be taking you out for a nice dinner after your show and to be ready for the best night of your life. You rolled your eyes at his antics and humored him by showing him the outfit you had picked out- the dress you found yourself wearing every Sunday- and a different jacket then you usually wore- this one more flattering for the body.

Harry nodded in approval at this and made his way to the theater, you asking one of your friends to give you a ride so you could go home with Harry later that night. 

Now you sat in Harry’s car with his hand resting on your knee, your hand covering his as he drives you both to dinner. He was clad in the same suit he wore the first time he saw you and it subtly matched the black dress and white coat with pleats that you wore next to him.

Harry informed you when you got in the car that he would be taking you to his favorite (fancy) steakhouse in the next city over. Before you could protest her told you it was in celebration of your final performance and being signed, therefore your protests would only further encourage him. 

“Will these flowers be alright sitting in the car during dinner?” you ask him.

“Not sure,” he chuckles, looking over at you, “I’ll get you new ones if they aren’t.”

“No!” you’re quick to stop him, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well what if I want to? You gonna stop me from fulfilling my inner desires?” he asks you teasingly. 

You roll your eyes at him and look out the window. The soft sounds of Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac fill the silence as Harry exits the highway and turns into the parking lot of Del Friscos, the steakhouse. 

Harry exits the car first, rushing to your door so he can open the door for you. You smile at him as you step out of the car and walk in the building hand in hand.

The restaurant was dimly lit and had high, round booths around the perimeter of the room, tables with pristine white tablecloths among the center. Harry met the host with a small smile and a, “Styles, party of two,” before being led to a corner booth with you in toe. 

You smile at Harry as you slide into the booth, your hands making their way to the hem of your dress and tugging on it, “This place is really nice,” you comment your voice laced with insecurity. 

“Yup, that’s why we look really nice,” Harry reminds you.

“I feel like this is normal,” you chuckle, “I wear this every Sunday.”

“My girl looks this nice every Sunday and I never knew? Might have to make a pit stop Sunday nights too,” Harry compliments. 

You feel the heat rush to your cheeks, “I’d be alright with that.” 

Harry smiles at you as a waitress comes over and asks what drinks you’d like. 

The dinner was filling and well-made, you found yourself laughing harder than you ever had and eating the best food you’ve had in awhile. 

Harry held your hand as you left the steakhouse and he opened the passenger seat door for you, rushing to the other side to turn the heater on for you, “One more stop before I bring ya home,” Harry tells you. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “Alright, where?” 

“Oh, Y/N, you should know by now that if I don’t tell you it’s a secret!” 

“Well it was worth a try,” you shoot him a smile, your hand finding its place in his. 

Harry hums in agreement, “Just know if I want you to know, you’ll know.”

You let out a laugh at his stubbornness, “Alright sir,” you say in a posh accent. 

Harry lets out an exaggerated hey before saying, “That’s what I sound like when I talk to my boss.

You burst out in laughter and Harry goes on to tell you an embarrassing story from the first time he met his boss. 

When Harry’s car reverses into a spot, your eyes shoot up in surprise at your arrival at the hardly-built riverwalk in your town. It was a new location and half the restaurants were still in the process of being built but it was still a nice place to go. 

You catch the door before Harry can, you send him a smug smile and take his hand as he tugs you gently towards the ice cream shop he seemed to be eyeing. 

The location was dimly lit with blue tinted lights and a few wall sconces that gave a warm orange glow. 

“How did you know I wanted to come here?” you asked him finally, coming to a stop and stepping inside the building. 

“It’s just about the only thing you’ve talked about for about two months,” Harry teased you with an accusatory finger. 

Your lips curve upwards as you exhale a laugh, “Okay, you got me there.” 

Harry smirks at you as you look at the menu before you, stepping up to the teen worker who looked far too tired to be awake, “Can I get a scoop of chocolate? And he’ll have,” you point at Harry. 

“Uh- I’ll have a scoop of vanilla with graham crumbs please,” Harry gives the worker a cheeky grin and wraps his arm around your waist as you wait for your cones. 

You smile in thanks as Harry pays, heading out of the building almost immediately to be met with a gust of wind and a lit up river beside you. 

Harry stays by your side as you both walk in silence taking in the scenery, eating your ice cream peacefully. It was a really nice way to spend your evening and you found yourselves enjoying each other's presence more than each other's conversation.

“Okay,” you swallow the last bit of your ice cream, “What’s your dream travel destination?” you ask.

Harry's eyebrows raise in amusement, “What, did you look up first date questions?”

You stifle out a laugh, “Maybe, I didn’t know if it would be awkward.” 

Harry lets out an exaggerated, “Ha!” before redirecting you back in the direction of his car, “That’s cute that you care so much.” 

“What and you don’t care?” you tease. 

“I care just not enough to google first day questions,” he pokes your side playfully. 

You laugh out a “Fine!” and redirect the conversation to your performance from earlier that night. 

// 

It was a full week apart from Harry and you were excited to reunite with him. Your week had been full with auditions for different parts in the Nutcracker every day so you found yourself unavailable to spend your Monday and Wednesday with Harry, having little to no time to yourself. 

Now, the following Sunday, the only thing between Harry and yourself was your front door. 

Harry was officially invited to your orchestra’s gala in celebration of completing Midsummer. You both had decided that Harry would arrive promptly two hours before you needed leave and you two would get ready together. 

He was lying down on your bed as you leaned over your bathroom counter in an attempt to perfect your eyeliner, “Don’t know why you bother with that,” you hear him grumble. 

You let out a chuckle and stood back to decide if it was even enough, “Me neither it’s too fucking hard.”

Harry lets out a snort, “That's what she said.”

You rolled your eyes and looked at him through your mirror, “You sure you’re not fifteen?” 

Harry smiles, “You sure The Office is only for fifteen year olds?” he shoots back.

Your face matches his and you lean into the mirror once more to perfect your eyeliner before moving to your closet to change into your dress for the night, prompting Harry to begin getting into his suit as well. 

Today, for the nicer event, you wore a nude dress with navy accents towards the bottom and a leg slit Harry thought made you look absolutely ravishing. And, in perfect coordination, Harry wore a navy suit with a white half-buttoned shirt underneath and his favorite red boots that reminded him of an old western movie you’d watched a few months back. 

He held your hand as you stepped out of your closet and let out a dramatic “Oh damn!” at first sight before spinning you around so he can get a full idea of your outfit. 

You fall into a fit of giggles and collapse into his hold and he sways back and forth, “I really like you,” he whispers.

“Yeah?” you reply with a grin, “I like you a lot back.” 

“Well how lucky am I?” 

“So damn lucky,” you tell him as you let out a silent giggle, “Come on, let's head out.”

The drive to the theater seemed all too short for the both of you. You were sitting in a comfortable silence enjoying each other's company on the way there, stealing a few kisses at a red light or a longing glance while Harry was concentrating on changing lanes during rush hour.

When you arrived at the hotel the gala was held at, you both found your way inside and to the tables that were set up with your names on small place cards. You both sat there in soft chatter as you awaited the arrival of your friends who were to sit at the same table. 

Eventually, you were met with a crowd of people around your table and your voices raised in volume and excitement. It was merely 8:00 when your ears were greeted by the sound of a disconnected microphone. 

“Hello, everyone, I’m Jordan Pennington, the conductor of the Midsummer Night’s Dream orchestra performance and I’m here to recognize each performer for their outstanding work over the course of these past months,” his voice cut through the room like glass. 

Jordan then went on to state each performer and his favorite memory with them through the course of the orchestral production. 

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Jordan introduced, an image of you as a baby and you now making their way onto the screen behind him, “Y/N is a strong clarinetist we are blessed to have in our group. She works very hard in the theater and outside and has recently been signed as a composer so I’m hoping I’ll be conducting her work soon,” he paused as people congratulated you. You didn’t publicize your signing, so a lot of people were in shock and impressed. 

“She’s been with us for a while so we have a few good memories with her at this theater but I think everybody's favorite is just about any time Y/N brings lunch,” he pauses as everyone starts laughing. You bury your face in your hands as Harry looks at you with a confused smile.

“When Y/N brings lunch she without fail trips on one of the steps and spills something,” Jordan informs. You let out an exaggerated groan, eliciting more laughter and Harry covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter. 

“Can we move on?” you call out.

Jordan lets out a laugh and obliges, moving onto the next person on his list.

You glance at Harry who is taking a sip of wine and you raise your eyebrows at him, making him nearly spit out his drink, “Sorry, love,” he coughs out, bringing you in for a hug, “Just sounds so much like you it’s impossible,” he tells you. 

You roll your eyes at him and continue to listen as Jordan goes through the rest of your orchestra. 

When he finishes, your food is devoured and the middle of the room is opened to allow people to dance. You glance at Harry and take his hand, reminding him of the night you first kissed, “Come on,” you mutter. 

He allows you to take him to the center of the room where some of your colleagues have begun to conglomerate and dance slowly to the tune of Ed Sheeran’s Thinking Out Loud, you two joining in the mass.

Unlike last time, you knew exactly how to act, your arms immediately finding a home around his shoulders and pulling him close so your flesh is against his. 

Harry smiled at this and squeezed you at the waist as a silent way of saying I love you, his head leaning in towards yours and your foreheads resting against each other. 

“How is it that we always end up dancing?” he asks you. 

“Not sure, I was never good at it either but here I am,” you chuckle a reply. 

Harry’s eyes shoot up in disbelief, “There is no way you weren’t a good dancer.”

“Swear on it,” you say, your lips tugging upwards to make a smile. 

“No. I refuse to believe that, you’re so good,” he says, his eyes shooting down to your feet and then back up to your eyes making you giggle. 

“Nope,” you say confidently, “Just found you and you were good. By association I’m good.”

“So what you’re saying is you found the right partner?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You fall into a full belly laugh at his antics before agreeing, “I found the right partner.”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shots #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic

[queenofspades20]

Date Night

Y/n had been have a rough time at work, so Frankie plans a special night out.

Pairings: Frankie Morales x Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some angst (light, stressed about work, nerves, nothing crazy)

This is something I’ve always wanted to do. Just need to get a boyfriend and a truck with an open bed. So, just two things. 

Y/n had been struggling at work lately and Frankie could see the exhaustion in her face. She had been coming home late every night for two weeks, working on a project that was supposed to be done Friday. Though she wasn’t talking much about the stress, he knew it was a matter of time before it was going to overwhelm her.  

It was ten at night on Thursday when Y/n came home from work. She felt the weight of the world on her shoulders. The project she had been working on was due to be finished the next day and she couldn’t wait for it to be done. She saw Frankie sitting on the couch, watching a show. He turned to her as she walked into the room. Seeing how tired she was, he just opened his arms and she climbed onto his lap and hugged him.

“You okay?” Frankie asked as he rubbed circles on Y/n’s back.

“I will be when this project is done tomorrow. I’m so tired,” she mumbled into his neck. She was as close to him as she could be, finding comfort in being in his arms.

“What do you say we feed you, because I’m assuming you skipped dinner again, and then we can go to bed?”

“I’m too tired to eat. I’ll eat breakfast. I just want to go to bed with you. I’m assuming Izzy is asleep already?” Y/n asked about Frankie’s daughter. Y/n and Frankie started dating when Isabella was 9 months old and her mother was no longer in the picture. At 4 years old, Isabella was a little spitfire. She had Frankie and Y/n wrapped around her little fingers. Y/n felt guilty for not being around as much the past few weeks and she missed spending time with Izzy.

“Yeah. She tried to stay up and wait for you, but fell asleep about an hour and a half ago.”

“Damn.” Y/n felt herself start to break down. Her tears started to fall onto Frankie’s neck.

“It’s okay. She doesn’t quite understand  what you’ve been dealing with, but she knows you love her.”

“It’s not okay. That little girl means the world to me and I’ve barely been around for weeks. How would she know I love her when she never sees me?” Y/n started to cry harder.

“Hey, look at me,” Frankie said as he shifted Y/n so she was looking into his face. “She knows because you make her lunch every day and you draw the little cartoons and pictures for her to enjoy. She knows they’re from you. And your late hours aren’t going to last much longer. Tomorrow the project is done. Why don’t you come home early, we can do dinner with Izzy. I’ll call Pope to come over and then you and me can go out for a bit. He’s always happy to watch her.”

“I should be done by 3.”

“Come home right after that then. It’s Friday and you’ve put in more than enough hours over the past few weeks. Start your weekend early. I’m off until Tuesday anyways.” Frankie stroked the side of Y/n’s face. She leaned into his touch and looked at him with watery eyes.

“I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, Hermosa. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Be perfectly fine because you have Izzy.”

“I wouldn’t be fine. I love Izzy, obviously, but you make our family complete. You’re always doing things to make sure we know how much you love us. You bring so much light into our lives. We’d be lost without you.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” Y/n sniffed. She moved forward and kissed Frankie. “Let’s go to bed, my love.”

Y/n moved to get off Frankie and helped him stand up. After making sure everything was turned off or locked, they made their way to the bedroom. After brushing their teeth and getting changed, they climbed into bed, Y/n snuggling close to Frankie.

“I love you, Frankie.” Y/n sighed as she got comfortable.

“I love you, too.” Frankie kissed Y/n’s brow. They fell asleep in each other’s arms.

 The next day, while Y/n was at work, Frankie called Pope to see if he could watch Izzy.

“Of course, Fish. I never turn down time with Izzy. Do you need to me to sleep over?” Pope said over the phone. Frankie was in the kitchen, assembling snacks for his plans for Y/n that night. Izzy was on the floor next to him, coloring.

“Probably. I’m going to take Y/n out in the truck to that area where we can watch the stars. I’m going to fill up the bed with blankets and pillows and we’re just gonna lay out there. It’s supposed to be clear tonight.”

“You know, this would be the perfect time to give her that ring,” Pope suggested. Frankie had made the decision to propose to Y/n, wanting to say vows in front of their friends and family that he intended to spend the rest of his life with her.

“I was thinking that too. Which is why I’m asking you to plan to spend the night. Then we can hopefully go out for a celebratory breakfast tomorrow.”

“There’s no way she’ll say anything other than yes, Fish. She loves you and Izzy.”

“I know she loves us and we’ve talked about marriage, but I’m still nervous.”

“It’ll be fine. And I think she’ll love your surprise for her. So, what time should be I over?

“Well, Y/n is coming home early. Why don’t you come around 5ish and we can all eat dinner together? Y/n loves seeing you too.”

Izzy held up the picture she had drawn. “Look, Daddy!”

Frankie smiled at his daughter. “That’s beautiful, Izzy. Who is it for?”

“Mommy!” Izzy smiled up at her dad.

“She’s going to love it. Your Uncle Pope is going to be coming over later. Why don’t you draw something for him next?”

“Yay, Uncle Pope!” Izzy quickly grabbed another piece of paper from the stack Frankie had put next to her to draw on.

“She’s going to draw something for me?” Pope almost sounded as excited as Izzy.

“She does love you.” Frankie laughed.

“Well, I’m her favorite.”

“I think Y/n is her favorite.”

“Fair. I’m her favorite uncle, then.”

“I’ll give you that. So, I’ll see you around 5?”

“Need me to bring anything?”

“Nah. I’m just going to order in some food. I’ll see you later.”

“Later.”

Frankie ended the call and turned to his daughter. She was happily drawing her picture for Pope. “Izzy, what do you say we move all this to the living room and wait for Mommy to get home?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Izzy picked up her paper and the crayons she was using. Frankie grabbed the rest of the art supplies, putting the picture Izzy did for Y/n on the kitchen counter, and the two made their way into the living room. After he got Izzy settled, Frankie ran around and grabbed as many blankets and pillows as he could to toss into the bed of his truck. He also blew up the air mattress and got it placed, so they would be comfortable. Y/n had mentioned wanting to do this for some time, but they just hadn’t made it happen yet. Frankie was determined to give her a night to always remember.

Around 4, Y/n came through the door with a tired smile. The project was done without any problems. Her boss had let her leave early and told her to take Monday off as well as a reward for all her hard work. “Hello?” she called out as she toed off her shoes.

“Living room!” Frankie could be heard.

Y/n smiled and walked over to where Frankie and Izzy were sitting on the couch, watching Izzy’s favorite show. Frankie nudged Izzy, who looked up and saw Y/n. She smiled widely and jumped up.

“Mommy!” Izzy ran over to Y/n and wrapped her arms around Y/n’s legs.

“Hi, Baby! Did you have a good day?” Y/n reached down and stroked the top of Izzy’s head.

“The best! I drew you and Uncle Pope pictures and Daddy and I watched some movies.”

“That sounds like a great day.” Y/n smiled at Frankie as she picked up Izzy. She made her way over to the couch and sat next to Frankie with Izzy being settled between them.

“Hi,” Y/n said, looking at Frankie with smile.

“Hi.” Frankie leaned over and gave Y/n a quick kiss. “Good day?”

“Yeah. Project’s done and I’m off til Tuesday. Jack gave me Monday off in recognition of my hard work.”

“Good. So, what shall we order for dinner?” Frankie slung his arm across the back of the couch, his hand reaching forward to stroke Y/n’s shoulder. “Pope will be here for dinner.”

“So, pizza?”

“Pizza works. I’ll call in a little bit.”

Y/n stood up from the couch. Frankie looked at her quizzically. “I’m going to change. What are we doing later?”

“It’s a surprise. Just dress comfortable, that’s all I’m going to give you.”

“So jeans?”

“Jeans and tshirt works,” Frankie confirmed.

“Perfect. After having to put in extra hours and wearing nothing but professional clothes, I’m happy to be casual. I’ll be back.”

While Y/n was getting changed, he called the pizza in. Pope got there around the same time as the pizza. After dinner, Frankie and Y/n hung around for a little bit longer. Y/n was getting caught up on what was going on in Pope’s life. While they were talking, Frankie made a thermos a hot chocolate. When he was done, he walked over to where everyone was sitting.

“Ready to go, Y/n?”

Y/n looked up at him with a smile. “Let’s go.” She turned to Izzy. “You be good for your Uncle Pope, Izzy, okay?”

“I will, Mommy.” Izzy moved closer to Pope and hugged him. “I’m always good for Uncle Pope,” she said, innocently.

The adults started laughing. Y/n went and kissed Izzy’s head. “Love you, Izzy. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Frankie went over and gave Izzy a kiss goodbye. He looked at Pope. “I’d give some rules, but you ignore them anyways. Just don’t do anything too crazy.”

Pope smiled at them. “You know me well. Have a fun night, you two.”

Frankie led Y/n to his truck, distracting her from looking in the back. He had loaded up the blankets and snacks shortly before she got home. He was happy she didn’t notice the blankets missing from in the house. Frankie put a blindfold over Y/n’s eyes.

“I want this to be a surprise.”

“This doesn’t end with you killing me and dumping my body in a forest, does it?” Y/n asked with a smile. She didn’t need to see him to know Frankie was giving her an unimpressed look.

Frankie sighed. “You’d think I would anticipate your jokes by now, Hermosa. But no, I’m not going to kill you.”

Frankie put the truck into drive and directed the truck towards the field he was taking her to. It was about a 45 minute drive, well outside city limits, so that they would have a clear view of the sky. Thankfully, the weather channel was right about the weather and the skies were absolutely clear. When he got to the field, he put the truck in park and had Y/n stay seated while he set up the blankets and pillows. After everything was set up to his satisfaction, Frankie felt in his pocket for the ring and took a big sigh. He helped Y/n out of the truck and then gently removed the blindfold.

“I thought we could look at the stars,” Frankie said, gesturing to the bed of the truck and to the sky.

Y/n felt her eyes tear up. “Frankie, this is perfect!” She moved her arms around his torso and pulled him close. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

“I remember us talking about it once. I thought this would be a good way to wind down after the stressful weeks you’ve had.”

“It is. Thank you.”

Frankie led her to the back of the truck and let the tailgate down. He helped her jump up on the bed and she got settled on the air mattress. Frankie followed her up and closed the tailgate. The night had a bit of a chill to it, making the blankets a perfect addition. Frankie and Y/n were propped up against the back with the pillows, so they could sit up while drinking the hot chocolate Frankie made. They talked about everything and nothing, at some point just being quiet while looking up at the stars. The silence was comfortable and Y/n hadn’t felt this relaxed or happy in weeks.

“I love you, Frankie,” Y/n whispered, not wanting to disturb the peace they had created for themselves. Her eyes stayed on the stars and she had a soft smile on her lips.

Frankie shifted, reaching into his pocket for the ring. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He felt his heartbeat pick up pace and his palms started to get sweatier. He cleared his throat and looked down at Y/n. Y/n felt the nerves radiating off him and looked at him questioningly.

“I love you, too, Y/n,” Frankie rushed out, realizing he hadn’t responded to her in a few moments. He fumbled with the ring in his hands, trying to not let Y/n see it until he had asked her his question. “There’s actually something I want to ask you.”

“You can ask me anything, Frankie.”

“I, uh, I…” Frankie had prepared a whole speech, but in the moment, his nerves got the better of him.

“Take your time.” Y/n reached up and stroked the side of Frankie’s face. She smiled at him encouragingly.

Frankie covered her hand with his own, the ring in his other hand. He took a steadying breath and smiled down at her.

“You are the light of my life. When we met, I didn’t think I deserved another chance at a relationship. I had Izzy and I thought that would be all I could ever have. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as amazing as you, but I’m so glad I did it. You are my best friend and you have become the mother of my child. You brought love into our lives and I couldn’t be more thankful for you.”

Y/n started to tear up at his sweet words. “I’m the lucky one,” she said softly. She didn’t want to interrupt Frankie, but she couldn’t hold in her feelings.

Frankie smile at her. “Y/f/n, would you do me the honor of marrying me and officially adopting Izzy? You are her mother in every way that matters and nothing would make me happier than to be your husband.”

Y/n couldn’t stop the tears falling down her cheeks. She pulled Frankie into a heated kiss. She smiled at them as they broke apart.

“Is that a yes?”

Y/n let out a watery laugh. “Of course, it’s a yes. I would love to be your wife and Izzy’s mom. Are you sure you want to go through the adoption process?”

“Yes. Izzy already clearly considers you her mother. I just want it to be legal.” Frankie took Y/n’s left hand and slid on the ring.

“Frankie,” Y/n said in awe. “It’s perfect. I love it.”

“I’m glad.” He pulled her close and kissed her. “You just made me the happiest man alive.”

“Well, as you just made me the happiest woman, I think we’re even.”

They settled into the blankets, holding each other. They spent the rest of the night out under the stars. Frankie texted Pope that they were going to camp out under the stars and that they would be having a celebratory breakfast in the morning.

#frankie morales x reader #Frankie Morales #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #triple frontier #frankie morales fluff #In need of some serious fluff #catfish morales #frankie catfish morales

[usuallyamazinglyaverage]

Side By Side [Ethan x MC]

Hey there, ya lovely people!

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and got to celebrate the season of giving with your family and friends. To end this year properly, I’m back with a bit of writing :)

I’m not gonna lie, the two months before the holidays were really rough and I had to sort so much shit out. It just kept me from most things I love doing in my free time, including talking with my friends and writing. That’s why this one took me a while to finish.

(Nevermind the fact that I rewrote this fic like two times, but that’s a story for another day)

I’ll most likely take a break from OH oneshots for a while (unless inspiration strikes me), but I am still working on stuff, inluding one or two AUs and fics for some other fandoms. I hope a breather to get my muse back on track is alright with you all ;)

I wish you all a safe journey into the next year - let’s pray it’ll be a better one <3

As always, I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Please enjoy!

Summary: Big steps in a relationship are always difficult - this one is no exception.

Warnings: Just some light teasing and a bit of language - this is mostly cheesy fluff <3 (I know, I’m surprised as well)

Note: MC of the fic is Annabelle Dawson. I created the header myself, hope it’s pleasing to the eye :) This is set a few months after the end of Book 2.

Taglist:  @perriewinklenerdie @andromedasinclaire @radlovedreamer @amillionmoonsred @hopelessromantic1352 @cordoniaqueensworld @paisleylovergirl  @fangirlingmum @bucket-harrington @lu-ciq @fairyrink @princess-geek @cyb3r-kat​ @whenyourheartskipsabeat @lady-kato @queenof1000days @sunflowergirl05 @jlpplays1 @tacohead13 @the-soot-sprite  @chasingrobbie @padfoot0415 @desiree-0816 @togetherwearerapture @thisperfectmemory @furiouscloddonutpeanut @tabootheunicorn @rookie-ramsey @theroseduelist @drakewalkerfantasy @lapisreviewsstuff @jooous @aworldoffandoms @edgiestwinter @inlovewithrebels @topsyturvy-dream @cerisesayeed-ramsey @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @marywitchjane @adrianrainesworld @zodiacsign1 @silverlitskies @trappedinfandoms @sherlockedmcu @drethanramslay @awhmilkywey @htgawparksandrec @theeccentricbibliophile @mvalentine @desmaranj @schnitzelbutterfingers @colourmeshy @mal-volaris @kaavyaethanramsey @riverrune @honeyandsunfl0wers @humanpokemon @ethandaddyramsey @lilyvalentine @mrsdrakewalkerblog @openheart12 @bellcat2010 @datynasuha  @caseyvalentineramsey @ethxnrxmsey @squishywizardhq @custaroonie @beckaroo @colossalpainintheass @takemyopenheart @justanotherrookie @honeyandsunfl0wers @maurine07  @grandnachoconnoisseur @dr-ramseys-rookie @myusualnerdyself @mrs-raleighcarrera @akshara16 @wingedhairstylemusicweasel​ @alookseeblog​

Song: If You Love Her by Forest Blakk

Ethan tried very hard to not look like he was running – and was failing spectacularly.

Some of his colleagues had to dodge out of his way as he strode through the hallways, white coat fluttering behind him, hands stuffed into the pockets. Slipping into the stairwell, the attending took two steps at a time, reaching the bottom floor quickly.

The atrium was packed, lit by the bright gray sky beyond the ceiling windows - reminding him that he was supposed to be busy in his office right now. Christmas was just around the corner, and after Edenbrook’s reopening, the paperwork had simply piled up, barely giving him time to bring some distance between him and his desk.

He dreaded going back already - but there was something he had to take care of first. Something that felt pivotal for his motivation right now.

Turning his head, Ethan let his eyes wander through the spacious room, from the stairs to the entrance and back again. Finally, he spotted a mess of golden locks, tucked into the usual practical ponytail.

She was with her friends, Trinh and Varma, already dressed in her day-to-day clothes, the strap of her bag slung over one shoulder. The two other women gave her a hug, shooing her along.

Ethan couldn’t help but feel silly when her bell-like, resounding laugh made his heart lurch in his chest, lifting his mood immediately.

Anna turned on her heels with one last wave and headed towards the doors, tucking up her scarf and the lapels of her jacket to ward off the oncoming cold. He waited until her friends went back to their conversation before following her, maneuvering through the crowd and catching up with the younger doctor in the light snowdrift outside.

His hand on her shoulder coaxed a tiny yelp from her, hazel eyes looking up at him with a gratified sort of wonder.

"Ethan? What-"

The older doctor cut Anna off by directing her against the wall framing the entrance, cupping her chin and gently tilting it up for easier access. The kiss was rougher than he would have liked, muscle memory taking over as he nipped on the corner of her mouth.

His former intern, however, didn’t seem to mind, parting her lips with a soft sigh.

Sliding his hands to the back of her jaw, he drew Anna closer, the sugary taste of her dissipating the rest of his stress. He smiled when she grew boneless against him, delicate fingers twirling his tie.

Eventually, they had to come up for oxygen, both drawing away with barely audible hums. Anna’s thoroughly addled expression filled him with an odd pride, her lashes fluttering against her reddened cheeks.

"Is it my birthday?“ she breathed. "Did I accidentally invent the cure for cancer? There must be something I did to deserve this."

"Actually, I just... wanted to wish you a good day," Ethan murmured, tucking a lock behind her ear. "We barely saw each other the past few days. I feel like I can’t catch a break at the moment."

Tenderness seeped into her gaze, liquefying the color to a point where he wanted to drown in it and never come out again.

"Did this help?"

He chuckled. "More than you know."

"Well, feel free to do that anyti-"

"Anna?"

Ethan jumped away from her, whirling around.

This is what you get for leaving your office, a perfidious voice nagged at the very back of his tumbling thoughts.

The tip of his ears flushed hot and he had to force himself to not look away from the woman standing a few feet from them, a grin plastered on her face.

"Hi, gran," Anna offered weakly, pushing herself off the wall. "You, um, you remember Doctor Ramsey?"

Greta Dawson gave them both an impish wink. "Hard to forget this one, right?" She looked between the two for a moment. "You don’t call him 'doctor' usually though, do you? Not that I’m one to judge."

Jesus.

Ethan rubbed the flushed back of his neck, desperately trying to find his dignity among the thick snowflakes swirling from the sky.

He had met Anna’s pint-sized grandmother a little over a year ago, after assisting in an operation that had ultimately saved her life. She was a cheeky, terrifying force of nature, intimidating in a very specific way. Mostly because meeting her had felt substantial – even then. Greta was the only relative Anna had left and as such, the older doctor didn’t want to make a bad impression.

Which he probably just did. Wonderful.

Straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat, he offered his palm. "It’s nice to see you again, Greta." The old woman chortled, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. "Likewise, Doctor Dreamy.“

Next to him, Anna groaned, burying her face against his chest. "Please take me back to work." Despite his still burning ears, Ethan frowned down at her. "Absolutely not. You worked the longest shifts this week." The blonde answered his frown with one of her own. "Traitor."

Her pout was distracting and painfully cute, his Adam’s apple bobbing at the sight. "Go," he urged after a moment of indulgence. "Spend some time with your family.“ The jig was already up, so he leaned down to press another gentle kiss to her lips, this one far more modest than he would have liked. "I’ll see you on Monday."

"I have a better idea," Greta interrupted cheerfully, twiddling her fingers at the two doctors. "How about you join our dinner tomorrow?" Opening and closing her mouth, Anna glanced at Ethan while shuffling her feet. "I mean I... I like that thought. We're making lasagna?"

There was that coyness of hers again, making him wonder if she really didn’t know how utterly charming she was – and that there were very few things that he wouldn't do for her.

"I like that thought too,“ he said, his voice quiet but certain, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze.  “Call me when you get home?“

"I will." Anna brushed her thumb along his scruffy jaw, smiling hesitantly.

"Have fun, Rookie." His blues flicked over to her grandmother, who was watching their exchange with obvious curiosity. "And, ah, you too, Greta."

The old woman winked once again. "We’ll see you tomorrow, Ethan."

“Damn.”

Anna stared into the mirror, grimacing at the smudge of mascara, just below her left eye. Sighing, she slipped the tiny brush back into the silver tube, exchanging it for q-tip to correct the mistake.

Her fingers were still shaky.

Wiping the black from her skin, she tried not to think about the man waiting for her in the kitchen – a hard thing to do when there were reminders of him all around her.

Her toothbrush rested next to his in a tall cup on the spacious sink.

Her towel occupied a shelf next to the shower.

His cologne and her perfume both permeated the air.

Reminders of him – reminders of them. All things she never would have thought possible half a year ago. Usually, the sight of shared commitment was a beautiful, giddiness-inducing facet of their relationship for her. Tonight, she couldn't help but wonder if Ethan was feeling smothered by it all.

Dinner with her grandmother was a step Anna hadn't even considered until she had caught them red-handed yesterday. Greta knew about Ethan, knew about the chaotic circumstances that had brought them together at last, but she had never expressed the wish to meet him in an official capacity.

Just one of the many firsts that he had been a part of.

Taking a deep breath, the young doctor tossed the q-tip into the trash bin, smoothing her hands along the burgundy fabric of her casual dress and her black tights – a last effort to calm herself.

The hallway outside of the bathroom was much cooler, making Anna shiver as she made her way to the kitchen.

Ethan was leaning against the island, his crisp white oxford peeking through his unbuttoned coat. Tapping away on his phone, he uncrossed his legs, dark slacks rustling quietly. He looked a little bit unreal in the dim light. An apparition, summoned by the farthest reaches of her mind.

“You're staring,” he informed her, finally looking up and interrupting her ogling.

Anna tried her hardest not to appear embarrassed, but her traitorous face heated at the comment anyway.

“You look nice,” she muttered, casting her gaze to the ceiling for a moment before meeting his once again.

Ethan chuckled, pushing himself off the island and crossing the distance between them. “You just stole my line.” His eyes swept over the dress, the blue heavy and eager. “Though 'nice' seems very much insufficient.” Stopping a few inches away from her, he pressed a lingering kiss to Anna's cheekbone. “You're stunning.”

The warmth in his voice broke her heart just a little. Anna wrapped her arms around his waist, letting his scent wash over her. Ethan stilled, one of his hands finding the back of her neck and weaving through the loose golden curls there. He didn't say anything right away, granting this moment of respite.

“You're nervous, aren't you.”

Perceptive as ever.

She released a long breath and traced the pattern of his coat. “Not because of the dinner itself.” Lifting her head, she studied his face before pressing on. “I'm just wondering if you're alright. We've really picked up the pace.”

Surprised, Ethan raised his brows. “Are you asking me if I have cold feet?”

“I... suppose I am.”

“Anna.” There was a note of gentle admonishment in his voice, urging her to listen. “You're here every second weekend. Yesterday, I practically begged you to come over, because we're barely seeing each other at work. Does that sound like I'm questioning my decision to be with you?” His lips brushed her temple. “I'll admit that your grandmother terrifies me. But that doesn't mean I don't want to get to know her better.”

“Well, now I feel silly,” she murmured sheepishly.

Ethan huffed out a soft laugh, tickling the shell of her ear. “Maybe I like that about you.” He pulled away, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You and your busy brain.” Lacing their fingers for a brief moment, he nodded his head towards the door. “Ready to go?”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Anna sighed, letting him help her put on her jacket and lead her out of the apartment.

The drive to her grandmother's place felt far too short.

Her leg wiggled every time they passed another green light, forcing Ethan to rest his palm on it to soothe her. He did so wordlessly, keeping it there until he shut off the motor and offering it to her when they walked up the stairs to the second floor of the apartment complex. She took it, ever grateful for his quiet support.

The blonde fumbled with her set of keys when they reached the door, almost dropping them when it opened on it's own, revealing a her apron-clad grandmother.

“Gran,” she chastised, letting the old woman pull her into a hug. “Were you waiting by the door?”

“Nonsense, dear,” Greta sniffed, rubbing her back with a little too much enthusiasm.

Anna could practically hear the lie in her affronted tone, masking her pained sigh with a small cough. “Right. A preposterous notion.”

“Just as preposterous as denying me this view for past few months.” Her grandmother gestured over to Ethan, who had watched their exchange with a subdued smile. “The women in our family did always have an eye for the finer things in life, I must say,” she mused. “Come in, you two.”

Anna couldn't help but swallow as she watched Ethan hang up his coat and enter her childhood home. The furniture, the décor and even the comforting smell of chamomile and laundry detergent was the same, reminding her of days past.

With him in the middle of it all, it felt like two separate dimensions colliding and forming something she couldn't quite name. He looked both out of place and like he belonged as they followed Greta into the kitchen.

Handing her grandmother the expensive bottle of Château Monbrison the young doctor had chosen from his wine stash a few hours ago, Ethan rubbed the side of neck. “Anna told me this is your favorite. Thank you again for the invitation.”

Greta regarded him with amusement. “That's a very sweet gesture, Ethan. Tell me, how good is your cooking?”

“I -” At a loss for words, he looked over at Anna.

“He's great,” she affirmed hastily, flushing at her choice of defense. “I mean his cooking. It's great. Very good.”

“Wonderful. How about you help me prepare the rest of the lasagna then, my boy?” Her grandmother patted Anna's shoulder. “Could you be a dear and set the table? I've already left the plates in the dining room.”

“But-”

“Snowbell.” Greta brushed a lock out of her granddaughters face. “Don't worry. You'll get him back without even one hair out of place.”

On her way out of the kitchen, Anna caught Ethan's gaze, the two doctors exchanging a small, equally nervous smile before they were separated.

In the quiet of the dining room, the blonde took a shaky breath, trying to sort her thoughts as she moved plates, glasses and silverware around.

She should have expected this.

Anna trusted and loved her grandmother, dearly, but she could be a bit much at times. Then again, she had never taken such an interest in any of her partners. In Canada, she had been too far away to truly introduce her first long-term boyfriend and once she had finally returned to Boston, the relationship was already over.

And Michael – well. Nothing good had come of being with him.

Ethan was the most complicated man she had ever met by far – but he was her future. The thought strengthened every day she spend with him, every time she looked into his eyes and every time he held her close.

It was far too soon to tell him, however.

And that was exactly why she was nervous about the prospect of her Greta and Ethan alone together.

“You've been holding that fork for quite a while now.”

Startled out of her musings, Anna turned around, almost stumbling into the older doctor. He caught her by the elbows, gently prying the silverware from her fingers and setting it down.

“You're done already?” she wondered, blinking at him.

Ethan chuckled. “It's been a little over ten minutes. Lost in thought again?”

“...Can you blame me?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it wasn't as bad as you probably imagined. You're supposed to show me your room, by the way. Something about it being the prelude to embarrassing baby pictures.”

The blonde groaned, hooking her arm around his and pulling him back into the hallway. “Fine. But you better be gentle. It hasn't been renovated since I was sixteen.”

“I thought you liked it when I'm not gentle,” Ethan teased, earning himself a smack to his chest when they entered the room on the far end.

Closing the battered wood behind them, Anna watched nervously as he moved to the middle of the room, his height dwarfing the old furniture to ridiculous proportions.

His gaze wandered over the walls, the faded teal plastered over by posters and photographs. Taking a few steps closer to the scratched up vanity next to her bed, the older doctor plucked a picture from the frame of the mirror.

She fought to urge to take it from him, mashing her lips together.

Her twenty-year-old self in this particular photo looked like a textbook nerd, much shorter locks braided into two pigtails and clutching her acceptance letter for Boston's med school, while she and Greta grinned at the camera.

Ethan reattached the picture with another chuckle. Then, his gaze fell on her nightstand - and on the book sitting on it.

More specifically, his book.

The unassuming cover was well worn, some of the pages dog-eared. Picking it up, he thumbed through it, raising a brow at Anna.

"What?" she asked a bit too forcefully, cheeks burning.

His mouth twitched, eventually losing the fight against the complacent expression overtaking his features.

"Someone’s a fan," he hummed. "Want to me to sign this one too?"

"That depends," the blonde huffed, crossing her arms. "Do I need to undertake another ridiculous task before you do it?“

Grinning, Ethan tossed the book back and crooked a finger at her. "How about you come over here and kiss me, Rookie? You can decide after if that’s asking too much."

"You’re ridiculous," she murmured, walking up to him hesitantly and slipping her hands around his neck with a pout. Something utterly triumphant twinkled in his deep blues as he craned his head down, meeting her in the middle.

The kiss was soft, slow and warm, tasting faintly of toothpaste. Ethan wrapped his arms around Anna’s waist, lifting her from her tiptoes and setting her down on the bed, his lips never leaving hers.

There was a comfort in his body covering her own, the pleasant buzz of it all coaxing a faint moan from her throat.

Eventually, they had to come up for air, Ethan’s nose nuzzling her cheek.

"You know, you're the first guy to make out with me on this bed," she said thoughtfully and brushed her knuckles over his jaw, enjoying the texture of his beard against her skin.

The attending pushed himself onto one elbow, his free fingers mapping the curve of her hip. "I'm not sure how much more information my ego can take. I'm this close to begging for mercy."

"Oh my god." Anna pulled him back to her by his hair, their laughter mingling until they were breathless once more.

Eventually, Ethan rolled off to the side, facing the younger doctor on the mattress. It was oddly soothing, having him share the tiny bed with her. A peaceful little bubble, after the start of what was bound to be an eventful afternoon.

It gave her courage to ask the question sitting at the forefront of her mind.

“What did you and my grandmother talk about?”

Ethan's jaw tensed for a brief second, his palm lifting to find her face.

“She told me about the state you were in the week after I had left for the Amazon.” His calloused thumb drew a half circle. “And to be more careful with your heart this time around.”

“Or she'll put you six-feet-under?” Anna questioned weakly.

“No.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “No, she asked me while offering me a glass of wine. She's just worried, princess. And she has every right to be.”

“Ethan...”

“I can't ever take back what I did, Anna,” he sighed. “We both know that. You forgive me so easily every time I mess up and I shouldn't take it for granted. Even your endless patience will run out eventually.”

“You're worth it. You always were.”

Hazel and blue connected, both achingly soft.

“So are you.”

Unspoken words, unspoken emotions, enriched by the dim light falling through pale curtains, drowning the space in silence and contentment.

“Should we get back?” Anna murmured, careful not to disturb the tender moment with her voice. “My grandmother is probably waiting for us.”

“In a minute.” Forehead tipping down to meet hers, Ethan dragged her close, breathing her in. “In a minute, sweetheart.”

A/N: So cheesy. Was a lot of fun to write though :3

#ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #choices oh #open heart #open heart 2 #playchoices #choices: stories you play #my writing #can you tell I enjoy Hallmark movies and bad humor #probably

[puttingfingerstokeys]

First Kiss

Day 1 (day 2) (day 3) (day 4) (day 5)

So I've decided to participate in @subscorp-week YAY

Thermodynamic equilibrium obviously--ft smoke and Cyrax too WOO

Broken timeline

The snow fell heavily, straight down from the leaden sky, on the approach to the gates of the Lin Kuei compound. Scorpion’s horse held up well between his thighs, its breath rising like his own in steaming puffs. It was a sturdy little thing, his horse, blue-gray with gentle eyes, native to the area and bred for just this purpose. He held the reigns in one hand, the other resting on one leg, finger drumming with minute impatience. For the last three miles, there had been eyes on him, which he had expected—the Lin Kuei were not known for their warmth in any aspect, save the grandmaster himself, who was quite accommodating—but it still set off his internal alarms, especially because he was alone.

The obsidian-colored, forged iron of the gates were solid, made by ancient means. The knowledge of how to replicate this process was lost to the ages, but Grandmaster Hasashi was aware that his Lin Kuei counterpart had set about unearthing Lin Kuei relics, scrolls, and general history, dedicating an entire unit of his clan to doing this. It was admirable, fighting for a more noble past, especially since the most recent one was so bathed in dishonor and blood—his and the blood of his clan. The though still made his heart ache and his soul blaze with hellfire. He controlled himself, not wanting to scorch the beast who had so faithfully carried him.

Tossing a leg over her neck, he dismounted and patted her shoulder affectionately. She nickered and pushed at him, seeking treats. Digging about on his person and ever-mindful of the eyes still upon him, Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi of the Shirai-Ryu assassin clan produced a bag and from it, into his palm, he poured a pile of sugar. Offering it to the horse, he stowed the bag and scratched her forehead. It was at this point the gate guards chose to materialize, both cyberized Lin Kuei, one yellow and one gray.

“Grandmaster Hasashi,” they said as one. The grandmaster turned, the little mare’s lead in hand, eyes snapping first to one, then the other.

“Smoke,” he said, inclining his head, “and Cyrax.”

They both seemed pleased—as pleased as a couple of expressionless robotic shells could be—that he remembered them. Then again, how could he not? They were Sub-Zero’s favorites, after all. They were the most loyal to him out of the clan and, while not always Grandmaster Hasashi’s escorts, glad to be so when the opportunity arose. They, like Kuai Liang, believed an alliance between their clans was what would ultimately prove best for Earthrealm. Handing the lead to Cyrax, he spoke again:

“Be sure she is not ill-treated. Good work should be rewarded. She is a good beast.”

Both Lin Kuei nodded, appreciating his care for the creature. The great gates yawned open then and, walking three abreast with the horse following closely behind Cyrax, they entered. Within, the complex was quiet, as usual, the massive, fluffy snowflakes continuing to fall here, where their beauty seemed incongruous alongside the austerity of the Lin Kuei. Cyrax peeled off to one side, toward what Grandmaster Hasashi took to be stables and he was left with Tomas Vrabada, the cyberized ninja sometimes called Smoke.

“Please, allow me,” said Tomas, gesturing that he would walk with the grandmaster through the Lin Kuei complex. Hanzo held up a hand and shook his head.

“I know the way well, Tomas,” he said, “thank you.”

“But…”

“I know the way.”

His tone brooked no argument and then the Shirai-Ryu grandmaster began his journey toward Sub-Zero’s receiving hall. There were still eyes upon him, wary ones, but none were curious, he sensed. He had been here often enough to speak with the Lin Kuei leader over tea of the potential alliance between their clans. He knew Smoke had only been concerned for his safety, but he was Grandmaster of an assassin order; a simple walk would have to be very difficult indeed to break his stride, much less kill him.

As predicted, the walk was without incident, the bright yellow of his gi and the flashing silver and gold of his armor standing in stark contrast, even under the cloudy sky, against the colorless backdrop of dark buildings and virgin snow. He stretched out a hand to catch a flake and watched it disintegrate in his palm as the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster stepped out onto the porch of his receiving hall and called out:

“Grandmaster Hasashi, it is wonderful to see you again. Thank you for answering my missive. Please.” He gestured to the place where they always took their tea. Hanzo noted two Lin Kuei, these still flesh and blood, and very young, setting out the dishes silently. One stood back with a cloak of fine furs over an arm and no expression whatsoever on their face—none save a momentary flash of awe at the Shirai-Ryu warrior’s approach. It is as if they have never seen such color in all their cold, dark existence, Hanzo thought unkindly. He chided himself for this and made for his Lin Kuei counterpart first, clasping arms in a friendly greeting and then affecting a deep bow, which Kuai Liang returned.

“Where is Tomas?” Sub-Zero inquired, his scarred brow rising. Scorpion smiled wryly and gestured.

“I dismissed him,” he said simply. “I have arrived alone, leaving my soldiers at the village in the foothills and I will continue my journey to your doorstep in that same fashion, as a gesture of good faith.”

“Or as a display of your power,” Kuai Liang suggested mischievously, gesturing that Hanzo should sit. The grandmaster did, and suddenly the fur cloak was placed about his shoulders. He stiffened and shot a flinty look at Kuai Liang, who was settling across from them.

“What is this?” Hanzo’s voice was perhaps a little sharper than he had intended, but he held firm. “I do not require this, Grandmaster.”

“It is less about requirement and more about courtesy. Call it… My own gesture of goodwill,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, gesturing to the fine workmanship. “I would be honored if you would see fit to keep it.”

Grandmaster Hasashi’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. “Very well.”

Kuai Liang seemed delighted by this and began the arduous, traditional ceremony of grinding tea leaves, mixing them into the steaming water, and pouring them. All this was done in contemplative silence. Kuai Liang, it turned out, was a traditionalist—but using traditions established much further back than even the former Lin Kuei grandmaster’s lifespan, millennia ago, from their Edenian heritage. He did this for many reasons, for honor, for the restoration of his clan, and to display the unity between Shirai-Ryu and Lin Kuei, who shared common ancestry.

“We were cast from Outworld once,” he had told Scorpion years ago, when their meetings had first begun, “and so we must now stand united against that same power.”

There was no question in it. Kuai Liang had stated cold, hard fact, as was the way of the Lin Kuei. Hanzo admired him for this and for many other things. He noted, as the kryomancer finished the ceremony, Hanzo realized he had been studying him the entire time while his mind walked the echoing corridors of the past. Kuai Liang wore an understated, but ornate set of light armor. The gi was blue and black and made no pretense—nor did the armor—of covering much more than needed, which was only some of the man’s broad chest, none of his arms and nothing at all of his neck. Foolish and showy, Scorpion spat internally, at war with himself, as both an assassin and as a man who had long been without the gentle touch of another living being. His heart thumped hard in his chest and he calmed himself, hands placed demurely in his lap.

“Please,” Kuai Liang invited, gesturing to Hanzo’s cup and, only when the Shirai-Ryu warrior had picked it up, grasping his own and lifting it.

“To a unity so strong, Outworld fears the tread of our boots,” rumbled Scorpion.

“May they fear our name, whispered on the wind,” echoed Sub-Zero.

They drank deep of the tea—it was chamomile, Hanzo’s favorite—and watched each other for several long moments. Both men opened their mouths to speak, then both closed their lips and gestured for the other to begin. They had been doing this so long, it seemed as if everything had been touched upon, every detail hammered out. So what was the purpose of this meeting? Scorpion, ever the pragmatist, had wondered that on the entire journey, yet still he had come.

“I would set our alliance in stone, Hanzo,” said Kuai Liang quietly, using the man’s first name, an intimate gesture to be sure. But had he not earned this? Had they not been at least acquainted over thirty years and then some? They had even served Quan-Chi together, pitiful and uncomfortable as that memory was. They had seen facets of each other that no one else in the world ever had or ever would, if they had their way. “It should be more than your oath to be my protector.”

“I failed at that, if you recall, a-Liang.” Hanzo’s address was even more intimate, shortening Sub-Zero’s name in the traditional way of Sub-Zero’s people and adding not a little endearment, though is voice was still harsh. “You were made a machine, and then a revenant and I—”

“And you were powerless to stop it,” said Sub-Zero, standing and gesturing that his Shirai-Ryu counterpart should follow. “We cannot always take the weight of the world onto our shoulders, old friend; we crowd out the real concerns by doing so. Come, walk with me.”

Hanzo stood and, after a moment’s thought, kept the furs around his shoulders. They were soft and warm and, he had to admit, expertly made. Had Kuai Liang done this? While the kryomancer was not looking, he drew it close to his nose and breathed deep a scent he recognized on a primal level, though could not consciously identify. Sub-Zero, for his part, walked quietly beside Hanzo Hasashi, listening to the sound of his muffled footsteps on the stone beneath their feet. The path, Hanzo noted, had clearly been recently swept, perhaps while they were sharing tea, and led around behind the grandmaster’s receiving hall. He had never been back here, only to a few select buildings, the barracks, the training halls, and the mess—of course the stables as well—and so this tree-lined path, marked here and there with old, worn, stone statues was utterly new.

“I have begun researching the original form of these statues,” said Kuai Liang. A few, here and there, were possessed of an interior glow that was not a candle, but not electricity either. “The magic in them is Edenian, and quite old… some of them seem simply to have faded.” His voice was sad and Hanzo felt his heart squeeze a little at this sound of it. “Some were cruelly broken and if I knew the ones who had done it, I would have their heads.”

The truce with Kotal Kahn’s court and Outworld as a whole was so precarious, that asking for the assistance of an Edenian survivor such as Jade was almost completely out of the question. They had to focus, both men knew, on their own alliance first. Once they were united and strong, they could move to other connections, make other allies, strong ones. Special Forces leapt immediately to mind, and of course the Shaolin of the Temple of Light. Both men were uneasy with Lord Raiden, but they had to admit that he, being the god of thunder, would be a powerful ally indeed—and a truly terrifying foe. That being said, Scorpion, at least, longed to meet that particular deity in kombat. Perhaps one day.

They were coming upon a break in the tree-lined path which led to an open area and another set of gates. These were somewhat less imposing, though still of a dark material—if Hanzo had to guess, it was ebony. From behind it, great clouds of steam rose and lights played off the steam, low and gentle, clearly from braziers or torches of some kind. He halted and looked to his companion. “What is this?”

With a flourish, Kuai Liang stepped before his companion and gestured to the ebony gates, which swung open at the hands of two more silent students of the Lin Kuei, these just as young as those who had seated and served them. Beyond was a vista Hanzo had not expected so deep in the mountains and he found himself blinking and gape-mouthed—his sense of propriety halted this rather quickly, but Sub-Zero had already seen it—at what lay within. Kuai Liang offered his arm. Normally, Scorpion would bristle at such a gesture—it was too familiar by half—but his stupor overcame his better judgment and he took it, feeling he no longer needed the fur cloak as soon as they passed the threshold.

“The Lin Kuei’s best-kept secret,” said Sub-Zero proudly, “and one of my restoration projects. It is hardly finished, but we have already begun landscaping.”

All around them was a plethora of greenery, strange plants that were not of Earthrealm origin—tropical flowers and wide-leaved trees and bushes. The place was warm, too, like a sauna and, at the far end of what had clearly once been merely a stony grotto, lay the spring itself, steaming and smelling of rich, restorative minerals.

“Your complex is… powered by thermal vents?” It was an easy leap from natural hotsprings to such technology and Hanzo was pleased when Kuai Liang nodded. “Amazing. This is… What you have done here is beyond any dream your predecessors could have had.” Hanzo turned to face Kuai Liang. “It is astounding,” he added. “You are astounding.”

Sub-Zero’s grip switched to grasp the hand that had been wrapped about his arm and they stood quietly for several moments, eyes locked, breath strangely quick—surely it was the heat—and hearts pounding. Hanzo wondered if Kuai Liang could hear his thundering pulse. He did not realize the converse was true.

“Hanzo,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, voice low and somehow filled with reverence.

“Liang?” The response came swiftly, but tripping out between Scorpion’s lips, flushed cheeks and half-dazed expression making him look years younger.

“Will you forgive me?” The question was odd, seemingly without source and Hanzo grunted his bafflement. “I have been remiss,” Kuai Liang clarified, “in keeping this secret from you for so long… this and… other things.”

Still baffled, Hanzo shook his head. “No—that is… I cannot forgive that which has not harmed me.” All the while, their eyes stayed locked, Hanzo’s hand in one of Kuai Liang’s, the torches and braziers burning brightly all around them, the perfume of Edenian flowers and potent minerals creating a heady aroma of deep, warm sensuality. Kuai Liang leaned forward, gently, slowly but with no secret as to what he wanted. Their lips were inches apart and he paused.

“May I kiss you?”

Hot breath mingling with strange cold, Hanzo nodded, voicing no response save to press his mouth forward and meet the Lin Kuei grandmaster somewhere in the middle, one hand wrapping about behind Sub-Zero’s shoulders, crushing their bodies together. The kiss was long, fiery, heated, desiring more, so much more from the other man. It did not want to break. They fit together like pieces of an ancient puzzle and suddenly both were wondering why their clans ever fought in the first place. They parted long enough to regard each other—both fearing he had overstepped—only to plunge back in, redoubling their efforts and this time plying their strength against and with the other.

Their world shrank to the two of them and for several blissful minutes, nothing existed but they.

#subscorp-week #thermodynamic equilibrium #subscorp #subscorp week 2021 #cc #cw #mortal kombat

[tsauergrass]

Could you maybe please write a drarry thingy were Harry is photographer and he always takes photos of Draco

Hello! Thank you for the prompt! This strayed away a little bit, but still I hope you enjoy <3

***

It came as a shock. Harry Potter, rising photographer and charming darling of the photography field, had returned after a seven-year journey that spanned across the globe and was back in London, the first stop in the world tour for his gallery. The seven-year trip had begun right after his university graduation, and now he was one of the youngest photographers to ever had had an international exhibition of his own. The world doted on him; was fascinated and charmed and crazy about him. Award-winning photographers from all over the world complimented his photographs weeks before the exhibition even opened, the praises on the brochure awkward in translation but shining through with pride and awe.

In a way, Draco wasn’t surprised. He had noticed all the signs, as though taking them in from peripheral vision: Weasley’s and Granger’s tweets, a local interview with Ginevra, the brochures flying all over the streets, posters covering blocks and blocks of walls in London as though the sky had fallen in patches. Still it wasn’t until Pansy told him the news during lunch that it hit him full force like a train wreck. For a moment his mind blanked. Then, careful not to show emotions on his face, he picked up the remaining half of his Panini.

“Oh,” he said.

“Oh,” Pansy echoed. She was examining her nails. “What news.”

The silence was labored with building tension. Finally Draco snapped. “It’s been seven years. I’m not—I’m not effected anymore.”

“I didn’t say you were, darling.”

“I’ve changed.”

“I know, darling.”

“I don’t—I don’t fancy him anymore.”

“No,” Pansy agreed, “I’m sure you don’t fancy him.” She squeezed his crumb-covered fingers and pushed herself up from the booth. “Finish your lunch, dear. I’m going to the loo, and then we’re leaving.”

She disappeared into the corridor. Draco finished his Panini—not because Pansy told him to, but because he meant to—and wiped his hands on a napkin, waiting for Pansy. He cleaned his fingers one by one, carefully, taking care of the thin gaps between finger pad and nail.

A figure slid into the seat across from him. Draco raised his head, ready to tell Pansy to—

It was Harry Potter.

They stared at each other. It is rude not to greet, Draco’s mind supplied helpfully. What an opening.

Instead he said, “How much did you pay her?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“How much did you pay Pansy for this?”

Instead of flushing, as he would have done seven years ago, Harry just looked steadily at him. “A week of Starbucks with her drink of choice.”

Draco scoffed. Too cheap; she was better than this.

“Draco.”

“Enough,” Draco said, briefly shutting his eyes. Seven years and he was still as pathetic. He started gathering his belongings. “Excuse me, I have to leave.”

“I haven’t even started.”

“There is nothing for us to talk about.”

“There’s plenty, actually.”

Draco pushed himself out of the booth. “Oh, shut your—”

A warm hand grabbed his wrist. Draco, shocked into silence, stopped. Harry tightened his grasp, firm enough to keep Draco from leaving but gentle enough not to hurt.

“Draco.” He swallowed. “Stay.”

Draco let out a laugh. “Oh, the irony. Seven years ago I said those exact words to you. I should throw your words back in your face.”

“I—”

“Shall we play it out, hmm? Parts reserved? Do you want to beg me the way I begged you? I’ll make it more theatric, I promise. This time I’ll leave right in front of your eyes instead of sneaking away in the middle of the night like a coward. Then again, maybe you enjoyed it, watching me get more and more pathetic until you can kick me off like a stray pup.”

Harry gritted, “Enough.”

“I bet you thought this was a grand plan, didn’t you? Come back and Draco Malfoy will leap right back into your arms like the slut he was. Bet you thought you were going to get a good fuck afterwards, didn’t you?” Draco smiled icily. “Do you still remember? Do you need a reminder, hmm? Near the end you always lost yourself. Draco, Draco please, please, I can’t—”

Harry was going to punch him, he could see it in his eyes. Draco raised his chin and braced himself. Instead he was tugged down, violently, which caught him by surprise—and fell back onto the chair with a hard thud, pain exploding in his bum.

“Stop riling me up,” Harry gritted, painfully tugging him close. “That’s not going to work. I’ve changed.”

“Ah,” Draco said. “See, I’ve changed, too. And now I don’t want you anymore.”

A flinch, a dimming in the burning green eyes. It was almost enough for the way his chest tore at the lie.

“If you think coming back will change anything,” Draco continued, “you’re wrong. I’ve moved on.”

Harry stared at him. For seven years Draco had not had the chance to look at him; now he couldn’t help but notice that his hair was longer, his shoulders were broader. His skin was darker, tanned from walking over the world under the sun. Harry looked like a man instead of a boy just out of his teenage years, green and knobby, which was how he had looked when they had first met. Clever, kind, wearing his emotions on his sleeves. Still a little shy. Good, a heart like gold.

Draco still remembered how good Harry was.

“I understand,” Harry said. He loosened his grip on Draco’s wrist. No, don’t go. “I suppose you don’t want the invitation. It was my mistake. I won’t try to find you again.”

He slammed a piece of paper onto the table—blue, blue like the sky had fallen in patches—and pushed himself out of the booth, and left.

Draco stared at the empty space in front of him. Then, numbly, insanely, he touched a finger to the paper on the table, clearer than the sky itself.

*

It was a card. An invitation, Harry had said.

The card was smooth, the wide expense of blue softer than the London sky. To The End Of The World And Back: Photography Exhibition. Harry was smiling at one corner, his hair ruffled just so—one hand raising the camera in front of his chest.

Draco traced the large, loopy letters, then traced Harry’s face, then traced Harry’s smile.

Harry had written on it. For all that he’d changed, his hand writing was still just as illegible. It was a good thing he could take photos, Draco thought distantly. No one would understand a thing he wrote.

FREE. Then, in smaller letters, show this to the guards, they’ll know.

The exhibition was to last four weeks. Afterwards it would depart to Belgium, to the Netherlands, make a loop around Europe and then head towards Asia.

Draco touched his fingers to the address, the time. Then he touched his fingers to Harry’s smile again.

*

It was even larger than he’d thought it would be.

The gallery was spacious, a whole floor cleared out for the photographs, partitions stationed in the center of halls, between tall walls and wide corridors. The afternoon light streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows and flooded the grey walls. Aside from the natural brightness, only small exhibition lights were illuminated, a warm, golden hue reflected off the glass encasing the photographs.

It was quiet. People were wandering at leisure; it was close to the end of the exhibition, and the crowd had dwindled. Here and there, murmured talks and soft gasps of awe echoed in the large space between the walls.

Draco didn’t know where to start.

He had never been to a gallery before. For two hours he had picked his clothes; at last he’d settled on a simple shirt, opened at the collar. It was suitable for summer. The exhibition could be toured in many ways: by continent, by timeline, or by theme. The brochure suggested three different routes, looping around the halls and overlapping, three colors condensing into one.

Draco swallowed and just started with the nearest one.

He would not lie and say he did not know why he was here, but he would be honest and say he did not know what he was doing here. He didn’t know what he expected. Find Harry and then—what? Apologize? Leap back into his arms and wail? Harry might not even be here.

Draco swallowed and walked along the hall. There were pictures of mountains, of seas, of a sky flaring into color; of old houses, a stray cat with its face buried in a can of fish; there were pictures of old men, two middle-aged women with their arms around each other’s waist, young boys grinning and little girls blowing bubbles out of a straw. All the places that Harry had been to; all the people that he had met. They had breathed, briefly, the same air as Harry had breathed. Walked the earth that Harry had walked. Exchanged smiles as Harry would have smiled at them, bright and earnest.

It was suddenly too painful. Draco drew a sharp breath.

Then he saw the photograph.

It took up the whole wall in front of him. A young man, walking along the British coast. He was half in turning, his face hidden, but still there was a hint of a smile in what little visage he showed. His blond hair was bright against the gloomy sky. There was something about the way he held himself, the way his one foot, submerged in the shallow waves, lifted slightly in the motion of turning, that said he was completely at home. That said he was content, perhaps even happy.

Home, said the silver plate underneath. To which you always return.

“Do you like it?”

Draco turned, dizzy. Harry walked close, closer, and at last stood beside him, looking at the young man in the photograph.

Draco said, “This wasn’t taken on your seven-year tour.”

“No,” Harry agreed.

Seven years ago, their first trip to the beach. Draco had been so happy, that day. He didn’t think it was possible for someone to be this happy. For it to well, for it to brim, for it to spill and to submerge, as gentle as the sea. He had been so young. He hadn’t known it could drown, as well.

“How can you say this,” he asked, touching a finger to the silver plate, “when you are the one who left?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. His voice caught in his throat. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“No. I couldn’t keep you.” It was suddenly difficult to breathe. Draco inhaled deeply. “No one could. You cannot keep a bird that is destined to fly. You had to leave, and I was selfish for wanting to keep you by my side.”

“Draco.”

“And now?” Draco turned, looking at Harry as though for the first time. It hurt to see him, hurt to think that for seven years Harry had laughed and cried and grown into the man standing in front of him, and that he had missed that, that he had not been by his side. “When are you leaving again?”

“I’m not leaving.”

Draco paused. “What?”

“I’ve just come back.” Harry shook his head, turning back to the photograph. “I’m not leaving for a long while.”

“But your gallery. Isn’t it a world—”

“My photos are leaving, not me.” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m tired. Seven years, and I enjoyed every minute of it, but I miss home.” He smiled ruefully at Draco. “There was not a moment that I didn’t miss you. Every place I went, everything I saw, I thought—I thought, if only I could show it to you. If only you could see it now. I wanted to—I guess I thought—I guess I thought that if I came back, then everything would be…”

“Harry.” A whisper.

“God.” Harry shut his eyes. “I missed you calling my name.”

Tentative, dazed, awkward, Draco touched Harry’s arm. Drew him close. A series of steps in a dance that he’d known, that he hadn’t taken in years—folding Harry into his arms, Harry’s face tucked into the nook of his neck. Harry sniffed. He was warm and solid against Draco’s chest, under Draco’s hands, filling a space that had been empty and aching.

“Draco,” he murmured, voice thick and muffled. “Am I too late?”

“No,” Draco whispered. He pressed his mouth to Harry’s hair; his fingers tightened their hold on Harry. “You are just in time.”

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #fanfic #my fic #it is a little over 2k so I put it under a keep reading! #Pansy is of course better than a week of starbucks #she's just seen poor Draco suffer long enough #seven years! #if she's going to see that moping face again on their anniversary she is going to jump off a cliff #she's used her long long cold glances on potter already when he came and practically begged her for this #she's having way too much fun with it tbh