#it is a tapestry in my studio for now :)

[dead-rabbit-comics]

made some weaving cards

here are some favourites (sorry ski champ sponsored by roland zwieback you deserved better)

and do you see how the tongue of the little choco characters turn into something resembling a nosebleed through (un)fortunate hole placement?

#entertaining myself to distract from the sadness about giving up my studio space #weaving cards #tablet weaving #there are some positives though #like #how i don't have space to put the loom for the ugliest tapestry ever and can't POSSIBLY continue working on it now #whatever shall i do #hehe

[omgeto]

☆ COVER UP — tattoo artist!GETO SUGURU

summary: all you wanted was a cover up tattoo to replace the name your ex left on you. you didn't think you'd be leaving the tattoo shop with a replacement for your ex's tattoo and a replacement for him as well.

wc: 3k

cw: afab!reader, geto gives you backshots, he's kinda obsessed w/ your ass here, unprotected sex (since I forget condoms) BUT he's a gentleman pulls out </3 your kinda a meanie. he's kinda a meanie so light angst (?) but barely. MDNI

an: haven't posted a longer work in a hot minute, but here is how you meet tattoo artist boyfriend!geto soooo give this one a chance big fanks to my lil twat @kazushawty for helping me out and reading bits of it.

as you push open the heavy glass door of ‘cursed ink studios,’ a subtle bell chimes softly, announcing your presence. instantly, the atmosphere inside crackles with an electric charge. the air is thick with the intoxicating scent of ink, mingling with the sterile bite of antiseptic. the walls are adorned with vivid flash art form a chaotic tapestry, while the rhythmic hum of a tattoo gun echoes through the room.

and there he is, geto suguru – a tall, enigmatic figure with jet-black hair and sleeves of mesmerising tattoos that seem to tell stories of their own. he sits at his workbench, surrounded by an array of ink bottles and tattoo machines, his piercing eyes never leaving the art he's creating. a carefully curated playlist of music plays softly in the background, punctuated by the occasional buzzing of the tattoo gun.

he glances up from his intricate work as you enter, his gaze slowly travelling up and down your form. there's a hint of curiosity in his eyes, as though he's wondering why you, of all people, have ventured into his sacred space. his expression, however, suggests that he's far from thrilled about the interruption.

"need something?" he asks, his irritation evident.

"i need a cover-up” you swallow your nerves, holding your head high, your voice steady, ”my ex's name."

geto raises an eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by your request. "ex's name, huh? you people never learn."

your jaw clenches at his condescending tone. "well, i'm here now, so can you do it or not?"

he continues to scrutinise you, his gaze feeling like a judgmental weight. finally, he nods, albeit reluctantly. "fine, show me."

with a sigh of resignation, you turn around, your heart pounding as you pull down the waistband of your jeans just enough to reveal the offending name covering your left ass cheek. it's a constant reminder of a relationship gone wrong, and you're more than ready to be rid of it.

"this won't be easy," he mutters, his fingers cool against your skin as he traces the outline of the name. his touch lingers, just a little too long, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. his fingers, skilled and confident, continued to trace the inked letters of your ex's name on your skin — almost toyingly. and you could feel the chill of the tattoo parlour's air-conditioning contrasted by the warmth of his touch.

his voice, though still gruff, held a trace of disgust "who did this?" he asks, not looking up from the tattoo.

you hesitate, your memories of that past relationship flooding back. "my ex-boyfriend," you reply tersely.

geto's fingers stop their tracing, and he lets out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. "you let your boyfriend do a shitty tattoo on you, and you let him make it his name," he mutters, more to himself than to you. "you practically let him brand you."

“is it your job to be such a bitchy artist?” you snap, already fed up by his comments. you’ve heard it from your parents, your friends, ever since you got that trashy tattoo. but couldn't disagree with that sentiment — you knew it was a shit tattoo. “i thought i was paying you for your artistry, not your smart mouth.”

"listen," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "you walk in here with that god awful mess on your skin, and you've got the nerve to criticise my attitude? if you want to be rid of it, you'll do well to keep that attitude in check, sweetheart."

you bite back a retort, realising that you've indeed crossed a line with your comment. there's a palpable tension in the air now, a simmering anger beneath the surface, and it seems that geto has no intention of backing down.

with a deep breath, you swallow your pride and offer a reluctant apology. "i'm sorry," you mutter, a touch of remorse in your voice. "i shouldn't have snapped at you."

he continues to hold your gaze for a moment, his expression still stern, before finally nodding. "apology accepted."

you didn’t actually have an idea of what you wanted for the cover up, you just knew you needed it gone. geto was a highly sought out cover artist so you had no doubt that he’d be able to do you good. with your initial meeting being heated, you thought it was best to leave him to do his thing.

with a sense of relief that the confrontation has subsided, you decide to give geto some space to work his magic. "i'll leave you to it," you say, your voice quieter now, and you turn away from him.

"good," he mutters, his focus fully on his ipad as he starts to sketch, not even looking as you leave the shop. 

geto usually was quick to draw up tattoo sketches for clients, but when it came to you he was stunned — too busy thinking about how your ass looked rather than what he was meant to tattoo on it. from the moment you stepped in his shop, he was intrigued, you didn’t see the type to get work done by him and the marking stretched on your ass didn’t seem like it would belong to someone with an attitude like yours. 

his mind was anything but focused on the design. he couldn't help but replay the encounter with you in his thoughts, your brashness and the way you'd stood your ground, even under his scrutiny.

"why the hell did she get that shitty tattoo?" he mutters to himself, his fingers deftly working his pen. the sketch was beginning to take shape, but his mind kept drifting back to the curve of your ass. he couldn't deny the attraction he felt, and it frustrated him. he was supposed to be a professional, detached from his clients beyond the art he created on their skin. but something about you had thrown him off balance.

“so you ready to get this tatted on you?” is the first thing he asks when you return the following day. you inspect his sketches in awe, of course you never doubted his talent but you didn’t think he’d be able to draw something you wanted without you even having to say.

“well it seems you do live up to your reputation,” you comment with a neutral facade, but you both know that you were downplaying your excitement — you were pleased. and like with any client, that made geto satisfied that he was doing his job correctly. but when he saw the way your eyes lit up when he initially showed you the sketches, it was a sight he wanted to see again. “i guess we can start the tattoo.”

“okay i’ll get my stuff set up, get rid of those,” he says nodding towards your jeans, “and lay down when you’re ready.” you slip yourself out of your bottoms, leaving the itty bitty thong that you knew you’d need for the appointment and that a small part of you hoped he liked.

he pauses when he sees you laying down on the seat in his station, your head resting in your arms, your ass slightly raised.  ‘this is gonna be a long session,’ he thinks to himself as he smirks, shaking his head as he works his way to his seat.

as he sits down, he places the stencil over your ass, and you berate yourself for getting giddy at the feeling of him rubbing over the design to make sure it was in place — wishing that his hand stayed for longer. 

“how are you with pain?” he asks, and from the way you were laying you weren’t able to see the way he was gawping at your ass.

“what type of pain?” you retort.

“y’know the type of pain where someones drilling into your ass for hours,” he comments as if it’s obvious but you both knew his words were hinting at more than just the tattoo.

“choice words there,” you muse, “but any type of pain i’m alright with, so give me your best.”

geto's needle hovers just above your skin, poised for action. "you sure about that?" he murmurs, his voice low and suggestive.

a coy smile tugs at your lips as you respond, "I can handle it if you can."

with a deliberate, almost tantalising slowness, he lowers the needle to your skin. the first touch is a sharp, stinging sensation, but you refuse to flinch. you're determined to hold your own, to meet geto's challenge head-on.

he continues to work, the needle dancing across your skin with a practised precision. the room is filled with the rhythmic sound of the tattoo machine, creating a hypnotic backdrop to your growing tension.

as minutes turn into hours, you find yourself lost in a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. the pain is undeniable, but there's something oddly exhilarating about it. you steal a glance at geto, his intense focus on his work, and you can't help but wonder if he's enjoying this as much as you are.

"still doing okay?" he asks, his tone a mix of concern and something more primal.

you bite your lower lip, suppressing a moan that threatens to escape. "i told you, i can handle it."

geto smirks, his gaze locked on your ass as he continues to tattoo. "you've got quite the threshold for pain. impressive."

“is it really? i'm sure you’ve worked on a lot of other clients with higher thresholds for pain.”

“but none of them have had an ass like yours though,” he mumbles to himself — but you hear him loud and clear, a grin forming on your face at the confession. “anyways, we’re all done now, go ahead and look in the mirror.”

you stand in the full length mirror, your head slightly turned at an angle as you gawp at your ass. your eyes widen seeing what was once your shitty exes name, now turned into a piece of true art. 

“so what d’you think?” he asks, and you didn’t even notice him coming to stand behind you until you felt his breath on the back of your neck, “this shit is hot right?”

“you can say that again,” you agree, keeping your eyes focused on the tattoo, trying to ignore the quickening of your heart beat at the presence of him, “this is really great though, like i couldn’t imagine my ass could look this good after having that tattooed on on it all his time.”

“well no need to imagine anymore,” geto’s face forms a smiling grin, you can tell he was admiring way more than just his artwork, “you mind if i take a picture… for my instagram?” he says, barely asking as his phone is already out of his pocket and is in his hands, he looks up at you for permission and you give a slight nod before he’s snapping away at your ass.

“are you sure this is for your instagram,” you tease, as he continues to take photos crouched down, as he circles your ass with his phone, “or is this just for your personal wank bank?”

“would you like it to be?” he retorts back swiftly, there wasn’t even any mischief in his eyes as he looks up at you, just pure lust.

“um i–” you stutter, only now feeling exposed — as if he hadn’t been working on your ass already for the past six hours.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he coos, standing up to face you head on, “y’gonna let me finish off making you forget that ex or yours or what?”

“be my guest,” you respond, trying to come across as nonchalant, but the eager look in your eyes gave geto all he needed to know. 

he pushes you softly, as he commands, “hands against the mirror and spread your legs.” and you do just that, as he comes behind you, fitting in between your legs perfectly. his hand forces ur back down, deeping the arch of your spine before both of his hands grab onto your ass.

geto really rubs and digs his thumbs into your cheeks, biting his lip at the sight at the way his fingers mould into your ass. “fuckk man,” he groans out, he’s not even in you yet and he was already obsessed with every inch of you. 

he frees his dick from his pants, and pumps it quickly before sliding it across your already gushing slit. you hiss at the contact, a pleased smile working its way on your face as the tip of his dick edges into you.

“s-shit,” you stammer, as he inches himself into you deeper, “w-what about the rest of the shop?”

“what about them?” he shrugs, “you don’t want them to hear naught you’re being right now? HEY GUYS—”

“oi,” you hiss out, your eyes widening as you turn your head to look directly at him.

“i’m just playing, i’m not ready to share you quite just yet,” he retorts, his dick moving in you at an achingly slow pace, “now, keep your eyes focused on the mirror, and you better not let those hands slip.”

before you can respond, he thrust his hips into you as deep as he could, his dick slamming into you. you moan out at the surprising force, trying your best to keep your palms flat on the surface of the mirror, as you stare straight at him — watching how he works his hands from your ass to your hips so he can drive into you with all of his force. 

“this pussy is s-so fucking good,” he praises, the sloppiness of your cunt making it easy for him to slide his dick in and out of you. “oh and this ass,” he continues giving a hard spank on your ass cheek, to emphasise his point, “c’mon throw your ass back on my dick, i wanna see it bounce.”

you fuck him back, doing exactly as he says, your ass meeting his hips with the same amount of force. his spanks encourage you to be quicker, to give him everything he wants. his repeating, strong strokes, have you feeling weaker, your hands slipping as you try to stay up right, when all you want to do is collapse and cum everywhere. 

“f-fuckk it’s too much,” you whine, as he drills into you.

“nah,” he says, shrugging his head, “it’s not enough,” he lifts up his legs, his digits pressing into your deeper, as he now angles his strokes even further into your pussy, hitting your spot with ease. “give it to me harder, i know you can” he encourages, another two swift spanks landing on your ass.

with his continuous contact of your ass and his hips, and the way his dick pushes into you deeper, you felt like you were splitting in two. but you kept going, thinking back to your earlier conversation, you didn’t want to prove him wrong, you wanted to show him that you can handle it, handle him.

geto was practically beaming, licking his lips feverishly at the sight of your fucked out face through the mirror as he watches himself plough into you, your body rocking forward with every thrust. his eyes concentrate on your ass, as he says, “d’you see how your rocking my work on you now?” and you nod dumbly, too busy trying to reach your climax to string a sentence together, “so fuck that ex of yours and his shitty ass tattooing, from now on you only can me on your body, you got that?” he asks and you nod again, but he shakes his head, his hand moving from your waist to your chin as he grips it making your eyes stay locked on his through the mirror, “i said do you got that?”

“ahhh s-shit yet i do, i do,” you say, mirroring his words, “i will only have you on my body, ‘promise.”

“good girl,” he approves, giving your chin a squeeze before letting go, “now cum.” 

with those simple words, you release all over him, your stance getting weaker, as you shoot out cum all over his dick. he’s quick to pull out of you though, stroking his dick as he sprays his cum all over your ass, with a deep groan.

your hands are still on the wall, as you take deep breaths, trying to recollect yourself. but you turn around swiftly seeing a flash of a camera behind you, and geto is back to crouching down, with his phone out, taking pictures of your cum covered ass.

“you mind if i keep these in my wank bank forreal this time?” he asks, smirking as you nod, “i’ll take some more later, but i got two questions to ask.”

“and those are…” you say, prompting him to continue.

“first, let me take you out after this?” he asks with a smirk, already knowing the answer. after the way he just dicked you down, you’d be a fool not to let him wine and dine you, “second, y’gonna come suffocate my face with that ass of yours or not?” you couldn’t even answer the second question since he’s pulling you down to the floor with him, with a joyous grin on his face.

AN: IGNORE THE FACT THAT HE CUMS ALL OVER UR FRESH TATTOO. LIKE JUST IGNORE IT. just focus on the fact that you have a lovely ass and geto loves it too. but yes do you want to see more, I HAVE ENOUGH IDEAS TO EVEN MAKE A LIL MASTERLIST FOR IT. I love tattoo artist boyfriend!geto so so much, like when u guys become an established relationship it actually gets so good. BUT I DONT REALLY LIKE THIS ONE, BUT IF U GUYS FW IT I PROMISE ILL ACTUALLY WRITE AND POST THE ONES I LOVE. BUT I FELT LIKE I HAD TO WRITE THIS FIRST SO YOU COULD SEE HOW U AND GETO STARTED. LMK UR THOUGHTS

#stampedwithanE★ #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

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

Part Two

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You? You would probably just wilt.

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

"What kind of dog?"

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

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

"And you named him Buddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A party?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really? No one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You've never been?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Finally?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Y/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

"See anything you like?"

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

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

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

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

"You decided, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hayden?"

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

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What's this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's for my brother, slut."

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

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

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

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

"I think so."

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

"I should explain—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

"His family—"

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See you tomorrow!"

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

*.*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lunch sounds perfect."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you working on over there?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Harry?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What makes you say that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"When?"

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

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

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*.*

"You should come with me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"W—What about Buddy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles angst #harry styles album #fine line era #fine line album

[casiia]

༉‧₊˚. — simon 'GHOST' riley; deep breath.

warnings .: x reader, afab! reader, suggestive (just a kiss but still), mdni 18+, piercer simon, use of y/n, unedited.

.: masterlist.

the rhythmic hum of tattoo machines and the faint sound of chatter filled the air as you stepped into the studio; ghost canvas. you had booked an appointment with simon riley, intrigued by his work. known for his painless piercings and intricate fine-line tattoos, making him very well-known in the industry.

you had originally booked an appointment for another ear piercing, a helix that would go with the other assortments of jewelry already shining your ear. excitement and nervousness mingle through your stomach as you glance around the studio.

an ambient light flickers around each furniture corner, keeping the place dim and allowing natural sunlight to filter in through the sunroof. the walls were adorned with vibrant artwork, most of which are messy and clean-looking oil paintings. various band tapestries also hung from the walls, rock bands; nirvana, metallica, and deftones being a majority of the decor. 

you settled into the waiting area after checking in, and the receptionist behind the counter shot you a kind smile and let you know that your piercer, simon, would be ready soon. you had been a little late for your appointment, struggling to find parking, and he had taken another client waiting for you.

you shifted in your seat, the leather cool against your bare skin. you pulled the hem of your skirt down, before winding your hands in your lap. your eyes wandered around the room, and you couldn’t help but admire the diverse clientele that flowed in and out of the studio. each person was leaving or coming in with a unique mark, a testament to simon’s expertise. 

the longer you waited, the more nervous you began to feel. you had gotten piercings before, but each time you found yourself chewing on your lip in anticipation. pain was never your friend, and your tolerance for it was always low ever since you were a kid. tears would well in your eyes with every papercut you got, even now as an adult. 

“y/n? simon’s ready for you.” the receptionist calls out, guiding you into another small room. she looks at your fidgeting fingers and gives you another reassuring smile. “no reason to be nervous. just sit tight for a second, and he’ll be here to show you our selection of jewelry.” she encourages before shutting the door behind her and leaving you in the small room. 

it’s decorated very similarly to the lobby, except instead of oil paintings, there’s a various amount of skull decor littering the room. paintings, sculptures, and in a glass case on a counter sat a small dinosaur skull.

you felt a chill run down your spine; there was almost no color in the secluded room. everything was dull black and white, and the walls were even painted a dark gray. the only thing that stood out was you, sitting on the large black chair in your bright little pink skirt. 

you’re pressing your thighs together, your legs absentmindedly swinging as you wait for simon. you had heard about him from instagram, the wild comments that raved about his work while some raved about his looks. curiosity got the best of you and with his studio only a couple blocks from your place, what was there to lose?

“are you my two o'clock?”

you hadn’t even realized that the door opened, a tall man stepping inside and shutting it with a soft click. even with you sitting on the elevated chair, he loomed over you. his tall build complimented with muscles that bulged out of his tight-fitting black shirt. 

“i am. y/n, it’s nice to meet you.” you look up at him with a friendly smile, sticking your hand out for him to shake. when he does, you find yourself biting the inside of your cheek.

romance comedies always made you laugh; you never believed in love at first sight or a spark that ran between the two lovers when they first touched. but you couldn’t help but like how your hand fitted in his, his palm warm and much larger than yours. you could feel his calloused fingers squeezing your soft skin, an intimate touch that made you want more.

“simon.” the corner of his mouth barely turns up, but he’s looking down at you with a cocky look. he squeezes your hand again, and you're reminded that you should have let go by now. 

a blush paints your cheeks, causing you to look away from him and down at your lap. he clears his throat, and you can tell he wants to laugh, which only adds to your embarrassment.

“what kind of piercing are you planning on getting today?” he asks, going over to his jewelry display and bringing it to you. your eyes flicker into the clear box before looking back at him.

“just an ear piercing, a helix.”

he nods, reaching over and pushing your hair back. he looks at your ears, already littered with piercings, and he only nods again. “let me know which stud you’d like, and i’ll get it sanitized for you.”

as you continue to look through the assortments of jewelry, a frown forms on your lips. not to say that you were picky, but nothing seemed to catch your eye. the various amounts of gold and titanium all the same, dull in color, and wouldn’t match the theme of your ears. 

simon glances over your features as you’re focused on the display in front of him; you are beautiful and unlike any of his other clients. 

“i think i may have something that you’d like,” simon says, his voice sounding softer than before. he almost grins when you look up at him, your head tilting to the side in confusion. 

he’s kicking himself for wondering why you’re making him all comfortable; he was never one to want to be close to his clients. he’s leaning into you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear and tilting your head with his thumb. his eyes linger on your lips, and he wants to push his thumb into your mouth, just wanting to see how you’d look. although quickly, he turns his attention back to your ears, noticing the array of star and moon jewelry that piece together perfectly. 

“i knew i was saving this for someone,” he mumbles, pulling away from you. he steps back over to his cabinet of jewelry, putting the clear case of boring studs back before grabbing a new one. “do you like any of these?”

your attention flickers down to the mini box he held in one hand, the case no larger than a ring box. inside sat a small star stud, its coloring a soft rose gold. instantly a smile finds your lips, and you’re nodding up at him with thankful eyes. “i love it.”

“great, give me a second, and i’ll get it cleaned up for you.”

as simon turns around to sanitize the stud, your gaze is glued to his back. the way his muscles flex under his shirt with every subtle move or the intricate tattoos that litter over his arms. it doesn’t look like he has any piercings, his face, and ears completely untouched. makes you wonder why he’s also taken in the profession of piercing; from just a glance, anyone can tell he’s much more into the art of inking. 

silence fills the room as you patiently wait; only the muffled sound of rock music from the lobby eases your nerves. he turns back to you, snapping black gloves onto his hands. “how is your pain tolerance? are you prone to fainting?” he asks, his tone almost monotone as he repeats the same precautionary questions that he has to ask every day. 

“i never faint, but i’m not too good with pain.” you reply, your hands now gripping the edge of your seat beside your thighs. “kinda why i booked with you, heard you make ‘em painless.”

he gives you a reassuring smile, pride starting to swell in his chest. “s’that why you booked with me?” simon couldn’t help but feel grateful that you’d made an appointment with him because of his skill and not his looks. most of his clients booked with him because of his reputation of being attractive, and even if you silently agreed with them, the fact that you didn’t voice it and belittle his career surprised him pleasantly. 

you nodded, swallowing thickly when he took a step closer. he’s telling you to relax, that he’s just gonna mark you, but you only find your breath hitching when he invades your personal space. he knocks your knees apart, making you spread your legs for him as he stands between them. he has your chin held between his fingers in one hand while the other is pushing your hair back again and pressing the tip of the toothpick into your skin, leaving a dot of purple ink at the top of your ear.

you can feel his warm breath fanning against your cheek, and your thighs try to close together, squeezing his hips. you have one hand on his chest, balancing him in an attempt to distance yourself. your other hand is gripping at the hem of your skirt, pulling it down as it rides up from your spread legs. 

“tell me if you like it.” simon whispers right by your ear, seeming to forget about the proximity. and just like before, he’s pulling away from you. allowing you to suck in a shaky breath. 

you didn’t think that this would be so intimate, and you wondered if simon was always like this or if he just liked the way you trembled beneath him. 

he hands you a small mirror and motions for you to look at the mark, “i wouldn’t recommend moving it, it would clash with your other jewelry.”

you agree with him, handing his mirror back and shifting once more in your seat. as much as you wanted him to lean into you again, to feel his breath across your face, you wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. your attraction towards him is growing far too fast.

he hums, stepping towards you again, in the same spot between your legs. “lean back for me, sweetheart.” he mumbles, pushing you down into the seat. he’s bending over you and wiping your ear with an alcohol wipe, a cocky smirk on his lips when he feels your thighs squeezing into his hips again. 

the nickname catches you off guard, and now with you stuck underneath him, your nerves begin to eat at you. not because you’re worried about the pain or the piercing but because he’s playing with you now. 

“alright sweetheart, you’re only gonna feel a pinch. are you ready?” simon’s pulling back and looking at you, his eyes tracing your expression and looking for any sign of regret or hesitation. 

“i’m ready,” you mumble, your palms pressing into your stomach. you’re a little nervous, but you don’t find yourself running away. he’s tilting your head again, pressing into you with a babble of reassuring statements. 

“deep breath in for me.”

before you know it, the needle glides through your ear with minimal discomfort. it’s been your most painless piercing yet, and you understand why simon has the reputation that he does. 

“good job, love. did so good.” he praises you, sliding the jewelry into place and leaning back to look at you. his adoration fuels an ache between your legs, and you whine just under your breath. 

simon pulls off his latex gloves and presses his hands into your seat, dangerously close to your thighs. “how’d that feel?”

“amazing, you’re really good at what you do,” you say, sitting up in your seat. you tilt your head with a smirk, realizing that he still has you caged into the cushiony chair, unable to maneuver away.

he grins at your words, his tongue pushing on the inside of his cheek before he licks his lips. the ball of his tongue piercing, shining in the light only for a second. “thank you.” 

you don’t even register his appreciation, your mind clouding with the thought of his hidden piercing. “did it hurt?” unable to resist the urge, you voice your curiosity. 

“hm?” simon hums, a chuckle spilling from his lips. “when i fell from heaven?”

you snort, shaking your head. “no, your tongue piercing.” 

simon riley’s eyes meet yours with a mischievous glint; he flashes you a confident smile. his lips parted slightly, revealing the small but distinctive piece of jewelry. you find yourself leaning closer to him, watching as he teasingly slides the ball of his tongue piercing against his teeth. the sound, a gentle click, echoed in the intimate space.

“no,” he mutters, lifting your chin as you lean into him. his free hand going to your hip, squeezing it softly. 

“w-what does it feel like?” 

he hesitates momentarily, seemingly torn between professionalism and the impulse to share a more personal moment. he knows that his attraction is not one-sided, the way you’ve been eyeing him was an obvious sign. you didn’t shy away from his extra touches or the nicknames he whispered in your ear.

“want to find out?” he’s leaning in impossibly closer now, his lips ghosting over yours. and when you nod, he smiles, pressing his lips to yours. 

his grip on your chin tightens, his tongue pushing past your lips and into your mouth. you gasp softly, the feeling of his cold piercing rubbing against your tongue a feeling you’ve never experienced before. you moan into his mouth when his large hands travel down to your waist, tugging you into his chest; your legs wrap around his waist, and you shamelessly swallow his tongue as he shoves it down your throat. 

a knock at the door pulls the two of you apart, breathy gasp and panting quietly filling the room. simon still has that cocky smirk painted on his lips, his chest heaving as he pulls away, “that’s what it feels like.”

he answers his door, leaving you a flustered mess; you quickly gather your things and grab your bag from the floor. you can hear his receptionist telling him that his next appointment is here, and you feel so stupid. reality knocking the air from your lungs, you had just kissed simon, a stranger that you’d only met a couple minutes ago. you shouldn’t expect more, he merely answered a question that you asked. 

before you can push past him and out the room, he grabs your wrist, his grip tight. “wait,” simon sighs loudly, pulling you back into him before sliding his business card into the waistband of your skirt, “call me if you have any…questions.”

AN: republishing this with no changes because oh well, i also love being delusional cuz i lowkey fell in love with my piercer.

#[ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ — 𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒. ] #idk how to feel abt this #love it and hate it #i posted it alr but i was very delusional at the time #( 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 ᡣ𐭩 ྀིྀ ) #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader, White Wolf x f!reader Word Count: 4k Summary: You meet Bucky while you're in Wakanda and you just can't resist his wolfish charms! Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, dirty talk, role-play, oral sex, fingering, biting (mild) Author's note: This is a gift for @samodivaa, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!

You had seen him long before you ever spoke with him. He worked the Alkama Fields on the borders of Wakanda, long strands of brown hair strewn across his face, a small sash tied across his muscular chest. The children called him White Wolf, at least that is what you had overheard. Initially, the adults didn’t speak much about him, preferring to hush you with dismissive gestures.

Your multiple doctorates in anthropology and linguistics had made you one of the top choices to visit the advanced society that had been kept so carefully hidden for so long. King T’Challa had allowed you to visit his kingdom where you would spend a year learning about their culture, languages and history. As soon as you had settled into the guest living quarters you’d been offered, you had gone shopping, wanting to fully immerse yourself into the Wakandan lifestyle and fashion.

It hadn’t taken too long before you had been fully accepted into their society, your cheery demeanor and your willingness to be of assistance to anyone you saw granted you access to places where others may have been shunned as an outsider.

The Dora Milaje had immediately fascinated you, the all-female special forces for Wakanda. They had kindly allowed you to observe their training and you had befriended a few members of the elite squad, including Ayo, Yama and Nomble. It was through them that you learned more about Bucky Barnes. It was only after you heard his name that the memories of the Winter Soldier swam to the forefront of your mind. 

The only reason you had met him was because Ayo had suggested you learn one of the native languages by attending one of the rural schools. You had entered sheepishly and been introduced to the class, who had responded with smiles and waves. It was only when you were directed to a seat in the back that you noticed the supersoldier hunched over and squeezed into a desk in the corner.

He watched your hips swish slightly as you weaved your way between the little bodies dispersed throughout the room. You were wearing your favorite red dress and soon enough it became Bucky's.

*

"I don't normally do this, you know," you smiled shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky held down the button which opened the door to your humble living space, letting you enter before following.

"Do what?" he teased. "Never take strange men home?"

You rolled your eyes and let out a dramatic sigh, nudging him slightly with your elbow as you spoke. "I never let stray dogs into my home. Maybe I ought to put you back outside."

"Out in the cold?" he pouted.

"It doesn't get cold here," you scoffed.

"Well you never know," Bucky shrugged, then flashed you a mischievous grin. "And even if you did, you'd spend all night listening to me scratch and whine at the door. You wouldn't get much sleep."

In Bucky’s mind, the most beautiful sound burst from your lips as you laughed at his words.

"Maybe my puppy dog eyes will work better on you? But be warned, they are pretty powerful," he tilted his head down so his gaze was looking up at yours, lips pouted a little.

"Oh I'm done for now," you feigned a swoon. "Reign it in there buddy, the White Wolf should be using his powers for the greater good."

"I couldn't think of a better cause than being here with you."

You turned around to slip off your shoes while Bucky gazed around at your studio apartment, furnished with some classic Wakandan sofas and woven tapestries adorned the walls. It was beautiful how well the traditional and technological aspects of the culture meshed together.  

"That dress looks pretty special on you, Red."

"Red? You think I'm Little Red Riding Hood?" you asked incredulously.

Bucky shrugged.

"And I suppose that makes you the Big Bad Wolf?"

That made Bucky laugh, a deep unrestrained guffaw. It wasn't a sound you'd heard from him and you wanted to hear it again.

"You think I'm bad?" There was a twinkle in his eye when he voiced the question but there was a touch of hesitation in his voice.

You walked right up to him, until your face was inches away from his, your eyes gazed directly at his lips for a moment or two before you looked up at him and batted your eyelids in a coquettish manner. “I think you can be,” you purred seductively. “You can be big,” you pushed your hand lightly over his crotch, “and bad.” You bit your lip waiting for his response. Every fiber of your being told you that the White Wolf had a wild side, but it was one he kept restrained out of fear of his past. You hope he would trust you to explore it with him.

Slowly but surely, a smile spread across his lips. Bucky tilted his head down to look at you through his eyebrows, a mask of menace painted across his face. “And what brings you to my forest, Red?” he growled.

“I’m sorry for intruding. I was on a little field trip and I think I might be a little lost.” You turned a little to glance around the room in a mock survey of your surroundings. “Do you think you can help me, Mister Wolf?”

Bucky took a step to the side, silent and graceful, creeping around you in a circle, like a predator stalking its prey, sizing you up like his next meal - the curve of your ass, the swell of your breast, the way your throat was highlighted by the neckline of that blood red dress you wore. He was vigilant of your vulnerability, your exposure, his own hunger and desire - the urge to reach out, to touch you, to hold you, to fuck you, was overwhelming.

“You’ll have to pay the price for trespassing in my neck of the woods.”

“But I have nothing to give you, Mister Wolf,” you puffed out your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“How about that pretty red dress you’re wearing? I think that will do very nicely.” Bucky licked his lips, the salacious intent audible in his tone.

“But this is my favorite dress,” you whined.

“Give me the dress, Red. Or I’ll eat you up.”

Bucky took a step forward, towering over you. Even with one arm missing he had a presence, a presence which made your heart flutter uncontrollably. Your breath hitched as you caught a whiff of his scent, his own earthy musk mingled with a hit of sweat from having worked on the fields all day. You could feel your body responding to his proximity as beads of sweat erupted from your skin and the space between your legs throbbed with a desire to be filled. It was as though you craved his touch. He took another step closing the remaining distance between you.

You were so distracted by his closeness that you almost missed him repeating his question. “The dress, Red. Or would you prefer I eat you?”

“What’s to stop you from eating me even after I’ve given you my dress?”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

You spun around slowly, allowing Bucky the time to admire your curves. You bit back the moan that tried to escape as his fingers brushed your hips as you turned. He slid them across your waist, trailing them up your back until they landed on the zipper on the back. He pinched the tiny pull between his fingers and tugged it downwards but it barely moved. He tried again with little success. His nose was so pressed so close to your ear that you could hear the quiet growl of frustration in his throat.

“You need help back there, Mister Wolf?”

“No!” he barked, taking the zipper pull between his teeth, while his hand supported the lacy material.

The top of your dress fell from your shoulders in an instant exposing your back and bra. The rest followed with ease, pooling to the floor in a shimmering heap. Bucky smiled, the way your muscles flexed in response to your exposure. He couldn’t help but noticed a dark patch on the front of your panties and how you pushed back into him as he came up behind you.

“You have my dress now, Mister Wolf. Can I go now?” you whimpered.

Bucky wrapped his hand around his waist. “I want more, Red. I want your body.”

It was almost involuntary, how your body responded to his words. You pushed back into him, grinding onto the swell in his pants. Bucky ached, for you to kiss him, for you to let him devour you. He held you closer.

You hummed, “what big arms you have.”

“The better to hold you with.” He covered your breast with his giant palm, kneading your flesh with a longing that had you clenching involuntarily. 

He nibbled your ear and you couldn’t hold your moans in any longer. “Ohh Mister Wolf, what big teeth you have!”

“The better to eat you with.”

You squealed loudly as Bucky’s arm enveloped your waist and lifted you clean off the ground. He practically threw you onto the large round beanbag armchair, your landing softened by the multitude of cushions which cradled your fall.

“No more teasing, Red. You’re going to have to pay with more than that sexy dress.”

He straddled your hips, hovering over you, trapping you. Your body’s instinct was to struggle but it was in vain. His weight had you pinned helplessly to the couch, his throbbing cock pushed against your core. Soaked panties, wet lips, grinding hips. His fist was in your hair as he held you up to his chest. He kissed you, hard - long and deep. It felt like he was sucking the air right out of your lungs. 

“Please, Mister Wolf.” You had no idea what you were begging for at this point, words strewn with lust. “What are you going to do to me?”

The way you looked under him had Bucky seriously testing his control, his cock now painfully hard and straining against the tight material of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in you, to stretch you out, to hear you scream his name. That animal instinct that he had buried deep inside was clawing its way to the surface, you’d woken the beast and it was hungry after all its years of slumber. You had freed the wolf and now you would feed it.

Bucky grinned at you devilishly. “I’m going to eat you. As stunning as your lips taste, I have my eyes on something sweeter.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he trailed his tongue down your neck, stopping around your breast to suck and nibble at your nipple. Your whole body tingled under his ministrations.

You moaned loudly, no restraint in conveying your pleasure. "More."

"What was that, Red?"

"I want more, Mister Wolf. I've been a bad girl."

He breathed in your perfume, it permeated his nostrils, but he had caught another scent which had attracted his attention, the scent of your arousal. Suddenly he was on his knees on the floor with a grip on your waist, firm but not painful. And the way his fingers curved under your pelvis and pulled you down with ease had you writhing desperately. You lifted your hips expectantly and he ripped off your skimpy panties, exposing you to his salivating mouth. His teeth grazed his lower lip, tongue coating them with the product of his ravenous appetite.

“Please?” you whispered. A hint of uncertainty in your voice as he hovered over you with the stillness of a dangerous predator waiting to pounce.

He smiled, the lecherous glint in his eyes replaced with one of kindness, almost affectionate. He took your left ankle in his hand, lifting your leg, guiding it up and out until he had room to hook his shoulder under your knee. He glanced up at you and nodded his head at your other leg indicating that he wanted you to do the same. You didn’t need to be told twice and matched his actions, linking your feet together on his back.

Immediately his mouth was on your lips with a yearning of a man starved of passion. He licked the full length of them with his broad tongue before pushing his nose between them, nuzzling your pussy with the growing stubble on his chin. He blew against your clit.

“Fuck Bucky, what was that?” you cried, breaking from your character. Impatience and frustration dripped off your words. “Eat me, damn it!”

“What’s the matter, Red? You sound desperate.”

“Please,” you whispered. It was a thinly veiled plea and for once, Bucky was happy to comply.

One last look into your lustblown eyes and he lowered his head, attention focused on you. You tasted of salt and honey with a hint of lemon. He pushed a finger between your folds, tantalizingly rubbing it along the length of your slit before pushing it deep into you. With each thrust he added another digit, testing your stretch.

“Tongue,” you mumbled.

“Mmmm?” Bucky hummed.

“Use your mouth,” you enunciated.

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned.

“Talk less, lick more.”

Bucky pried you apart and planted his lips firmly over your clit, sucking your sweet nectar into his mouth. His tongue lapped you as he slid his fingers in and out.

“Yes, yes, just like that,” you closed your eyes and moaned, tilting your hips to let his fingers push deeper inside you. 

He pressed his face closer, wanting a taste of every part of you. Finally withdrawing his fingers when he couldn’t quite fit both. You barely had time to whine about feeling empty as he grabbed your hips and pulled you right into his face, licking and sucking as though his life depended on drinking every drop of your precious elixir.

You moaned - it was so long and sensual that Bucky felt it inside him. He felt the wolf inside him rising to the surface. He had spent years watching; relentless, trying to find his way inside. You had let him in and now he finally felt alive. He growled, a deep guttural sound which filled you as he devored you. His head undulated as he tried to encompass you with his mouth, upper lip covering your clit as his jaw stretched and tongue pushed inside you. He ravaged you until he had no air left in his lungs.

Bucky’s cock throbbed as he felt the way you clenched against him. He slid his fingers back inside you, his other hand pulling apart your lips and exposing your clit to a fresh assault from his tongue. He could feel your clit pulse, your walls close in around him as he curled his fingers upwards to match the beat you had set with your heart. He was playing you like an instrument and the whimpers and groans that left your lips was music to his ears.

You pushed yourself on him and he ate you like a ravenous creature until-

“Oh Buck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna - Buck, Buck!” Your voice rose in a crescendo. Legs shaking as you tightened and clenched around his thick fingers. “I’m coming, Bucky, I’m coming! Now!”

Bucky watched you as every single one of your muscles contracted and relaxed as waves of pleasure crashed through you, eyes rolled back and mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

As you finally came down from your high, you opened your eyes, locking your gaze on his. You lay on your back, limp and naked and tingling all over. Sighing, as the aftermath of your climax finally ebbed away. You lifted your legs off Bucky’s shoulders and patted the space beside you. There was no hesitation as he crawled up beside you.

"That was kinda intense," you smiled at him.

"I wouldn't mind seconds," he smirked, eyes wandering over your face.

You sat up and for a brief frightening moment, Bucky thought you had had enough. But you stretched your arms and arched your back slightly before turning to face him. “So, you think I can take the Wolf for a ride?”

You placed your hand over his still covered cock, rubbing your hand over the tent in his pants making him gasp at your touch. Reflexively, his hips bucked into your hand. “Maybe I should get my pants off first?”

“Sounds like a good plan,” you answered, not taking your hands off him.

Bucky sat up so that his face was inches from yours. “Just need a moment, Red.”

He was up in an instant, lamenting the loss of contact of your hand on his crotch. He unbuttoned and dropped his pants with ease, before turning to face you. The sharp breath you took as you came face to face with his fully freed cock did a lot to stroke his ego. He reveled in the brightness of anticipation in your eyes.

“You really like your Wolf, huh?”

For the first time a blush crossed your cheeks and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Bucky took a step closer so that there was nowhere for you to avert your gaze. 

"May I?" You looked up at him for permission. 

He nodded, heart pounding from the thought of your touch.

You wrapped your hand around his shaft, feeling him jump with excitement. "That feel good, Mister Wolf?" A sudden surge of confidence had you feeling aroused again.

"Need more, Red."

You didn't need to be told twice. His already leaking tip looked too tantalizing and you were eager to taste your Wolf. With the same enthusiasm, you took him into your mouth, starting with a few soft licks, before sucking hard. Bucky thought he was going to come right at that moment.

“Red, w-wait!” he stuttered as the waves of pleasure encompassed him.

There was a faint popping sound as you released him from your mouth, looking up at him with an all knowing smile. He sat down beside you, spending the next few moments in an intimate silence with light touches. As his breathing became less ragged, you placed your palms on his chest, pushing him down onto his back. You climbed over and straddled his lap so that your entrance brushed over the base of his cock.

You leaned down and whispered in his ear. "So is my White Wolf going to let me ride him?"

Bucky's pupils dilated so fast that the image of you blurred slightly. It was only when you came back into focus that he was able to growl out the words. "I want you."

He held himself up as you lined your entrance up to his leaking member, slowly sinking down and basking in the stretch you felt. So much more than what his fingers had given you, you wondered if he would tear you in half. After a few careful thrusts, you picked up the pace, riding him with vigor.

"Fuck, Red, you feel so good!" Bucky looked up at you.

You were a sight to behold, flushed with strands of sweat coated hair strewn across your face. But it was your eyes that had him mesmerized, the way you looked back at him with voracity laced with a tenderness he hadn't seen in years.

"Harder!"

You complied with his request, matching your bounces with a thrust of his hips. Bucky admired the way your breasts followed your movements, unable to resist the urge, he reached up to squeeze your left nipple. 

After several minutes of energetic thrusting, Bucky caught you slowing down. He slipped his hand down to your waist in an attempt to stay your movements. 

"Can we try something different?” you asked, breathing heavily as you leaned forwards to pull air into your burning lungs and ease the pain in your aching thighs.

“Just gimme a few more. ‘M close.”

“Trust me, Mister Wolf? I wanna give something else a try.”

He removed his grip from your waist, watching as you climbed off his lap and crawled over to the arm rest and planted your hands firmly on it. You looked over your shoulder and wiggled your ass at him.

"Mount me, Mister Wolf."

Bucky didn't need to be told twice. He splayed his fingers across one cheek of your beautifully round ass and kneaded the muscle as you pushed back towards him, waiting with anticipation for him to enter you. But Bucky’s inner wolf had been freed and he let its spirit guide him. He leant forwards and sank his teeth into your other cheek, deep enough for you to yelp with pain but not enough to break your skin. He proceeded to cover the area with his lips in an attempt to kiss it better.

"You want to mark me?"

"You're mine, Red. All mine. Got that?" He rubbed his cock against your leaking lips.

“Yo-”

Before you had the chance to finish giving him an answer, he was inside you. One swift thrust. The cry that left your lips was much more pained and Bucky worried for a moment that his strength had been too much for you.

"It's fine, keep going. Fuck me, please."

Bucky was a little more careful on the second try, but each trust made him more confident, aided and abetted by your lusty moans and encouraging words.

“Bucky-”

“You sound so pretty like that,” he pushed into you repeatedly. “Whining and moaning my name.”

“Bucky!”

“What happened to your Wolf?”

"Please… Bucky… please, I need you,, you know I'm aching for you to take me, to pull me apart, whatever pleases you, just… please just don't deny me!”

It felt so fucking good, having Bucky’s cock inside you. Your brain was nothing but mush, focused solely on just how good he felt inside you. You shuddered, your hips pushing backwards as Bucky presses against your clit. His fingers smooth out around your folds, pressing into them slightly, as if holding them open so he can push into you better. You felt your arms going weak at the stimulation, it was getting harder to support yourself as Bucky pushed deeper and deeper inside you.

“Faster!” you cried, but you could barely hear your own words over the sound of skin slapping together, the wet sounds of Bucky’s cock thrusting in and out of you.

“Fuck, Red, I’m getting close…”

"…Ohhh fuck, please," you gasped out, instinctively. "Buck… I need you. But… I'm yours, all yours…"

Your legs trembled as Bucky’s words had you teetering on the edge of your orgasm, your juices covering his cock, his thrusts were passionate, wild, frenzied.

“That’s right. Mine! I’m going to fill you up. That’s it, Red. Come on my cock. I want to hear you come.”

Raucous moans caught in your throat, your eyes closed as you took in all of Bucky. Your vision clouded and your body felt limp as he pushed you over the edge once again. It felt as though the world had ceased to exist except for the two of you, together, as one being. Bucky held you close as you squeezed his cock triggering his climax. With a howl, ropes of white hot cum shot from him, filling you until it was dripping out of you and down your leg. He fell into you and you both collapsed onto the sofa, heavy breathing was the only sound to be heard in the room for several minutes.

Finally you caught your breath, recovered some semblance of feeling in your limbs. Bucky’s arm was still wrapped around your waist in a powerful embrace and he hadn't made any moves to extract himself from inside you.

"I should probably be getting back," Bucky mumbled regrettably after a long silence.

But neither of you made a move to free yourselves from the other's arms.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #kinktober #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #white wolf

[amhrosina]

The Artist and the Sea (Namor x f!Reader)

MASTERLIST // JOIN MY TAGLIST

Requests are open - slowing working my way through them!

Part 2

A/N: Hello Nonnie! Thank you for requesting! It inspired me, and I couldn’t not write it as soon as I saw it. Also, let's pretend we can't see the spears being pointed at Namor in this gif lol. (Again, if any of the Yucatec Maya to English translations are off, please let me know!)

Request: tbh it's my first time requesting something regarding the marvel fandom but can i request a namor x fem reader where they meet at the beach when the reader is painting the landscape of the ocean? if you don't understand or don't want to write this, it's okay &lt;333

Summary: You meet a stranger on the beach who takes an interest in your paintings, which somehow puts you in the position of painting the King of Talokan’s portrait. 

(Warnings: not a lot?, the kisses gets a little steamy, Namor is a little touch starved, WING TOUCHING!!!!!, no smut (nonnie didn’t specify and I didn’t want to deliver hardcore smut to someone who didn’t want it lol), reader doesn’t speak Namor’s language but loves the nicknames anyways, I think that’s it???) 

Translations:  

ki'ichpam artista – beautiful artist 

pétalo – petal 

ch'ujuk ch'úupalo' – sweet girl 

princesa – princess

The light reflecting off the ocean was a blinding blue, and you had been trying to blend your paint together to mimic the color for 15 minutes already. You grunted with displeasure as your paintbrush stained three shades too dark. Today was a day for painting. The wind wasn’t blowing too hard, the weather was the perfect mix of cool, but not too cold, and the tides were relatively consistent. When you’d walked out onto your back porch earlier this morning and laid your eyes on the little slice of the beach you owned, it almost felt like an invitation.  

Now, you were regretting your decision to lug all of your paint supplies out of your tiny studio and down the beach. You rolled your eyes, tossing the palette down onto the old blanket you used to keep any stray paint from spilling onto the beach. You dipped a clean brush into the tan color you had mixed earlier and began working on creating the right texture for the sand.  

The beach was mostly empty today, but even during tourist season, there wasn’t much foot traffic this far down the beach. Your grandmother’s house was a small, but cozy cabin-like home, nestled in a small cove that only locals knew about. You had spent many summers here, tucked away in your little slice of heaven, painting anything and everything you saw. When your grandmother had passed away, the deed of the house was transferred to you, and suddenly you were a homeowner.  

You had transformed the inside after moving in, turning the office into an art studio, and transforming the bedroom into a library. Your bedroom, if you could call it that, was actually the living room with tapestries hung up as makeshift walls. You didn’t mind, and neither did anyone else. Or they wouldn’t, you thought, if anyone happened to come by.  

You sat back on your stool, looking between the sand around you and your canvas. The texture was coming along nicely, and you grinned at your work. Landscapes had never been your forte – most of your commissions were oil portraits – but you had been working on expanding your skills over the last few months.  

“You are an artist?”  

An unfamiliar voice startled you from your concentration, and you furrowed your brow at the intrusion. You weren’t one to hog the beach, but you’re clearly a busy woman that didn’t want to be bothered. You leaned around the canvas, intent on staying silent and ignoring the man, but did a double take when you made eye contact with the man.  

He was undoubtably beautiful, and definitely not a local. His body was adorned with beautifully carved artifacts draping across his chest and shoulders, and the only actual article of clothing he wore was a pair of green shorts. You glanced down at the light flutter at his ankles, which had small wings sprouting from the sides of them. You brought your eyes back up, not wanting him to catch you staring, but the stranger hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you’d acknowledged him.  

“I’m a...what?” You asked, blinking. You’d been so distracted by his sudden appearance that you’d forgotten the question he’d asked.  

“You are an,” he nodded to the canvas in front of you, “artist. Yes?”  

“Yes.” You nodded, standing from your stool. “But I am not very good at landscapes.”  

He walked around you, facing the canvas and looking over it with a prompt shake of his head.  

“This is beautiful. You are very good.”  

“Oh.” You mumbled, ringing your hands together. “Thanks.”  

You could feel your cheeks heating at his compliment, and you didn’t want to know why his compliments were getting such a rise out of you. This man was a complete stranger, and his opinions on your art should not have gotten that reaction out of you.  

“You are not reacting to me the way I thought you would.”  

You stared at your half-finished canvas harder, refusing to look in his eyes again, as you mulled over his statement. Yes, this was definitely the strangest encounter you’d ever experienced, but you lived in a universe where Avengers seemed to be popping up in every city, so the idea of a man from the sea appearing on your beach wasn’t as farfetched as it sounded. He was clearly a powerful being, but you weren’t afraid of him, or his power for that matter.  

“How did you think I would react?” You finally asked, peeking at him in your peripheral.  

“I am not sure. This is my first time approaching a surface dweller like this.”  

“Surface dweller?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze.  

He had a small smile on his face. “You dwell...amongst the surface. Do you not?”  

“I’m assuming you dwell amongst something else?” Your eyes flicked towards the sea and then back at him. 

“You assume correctly.” He dipped his head in a nod, adjusting his stance to face you. “I am Namor.”  

You tested the name on your tongue, repeating it under your breath. Your gaze ran across his broad chest, trying to gauge the colors of paint you would mix to paint the golden-brown hues of his skin. 

“Can I paint you, Namor?”  

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. He was just so pretty, and the artist in you couldn’t deny how beautiful the painting would turn out.  

“You want to paint me?” He furrowed his brows, but the grin on his face grew slightly.  

“Yes,” you responded quickly, nodding your head with vigor, “I would like to paint you.”  

He was silent for a few moments, before shrugging his shoulders in a very human motion. “Okay, ki'ichpam artista. You may paint me.”  

- 

Your portrait of Namor would take you a few weeks, maybe even a month to complete. You wanted to highlight his strength and the unbridled power he possessed, but you also wanted to emphasize his beauty. Namor would have to visit you many times for you to get every detail just right, and the thought of that sent an excited flurry of butterflies through your stomach. You thought about taking a photo of him, to speed the process along, but quickly decided against it. It’s not every day that a girl gets to sit with a God, let alone paint one. 

The first visit was mostly a sketch session, and you spent the vast majority of the time studying Namor’s features, sketching a few lines, and then erratically erasing different areas of the canvas. Namor sat patiently, watching you mumble under your breath as you captured the angles of his face. He wasn’t used to being studied so closely but being under your careful eye didn’t make him uncomfortable.  

“Why did you become an artist?” Namor asked as you looked between your canvas and his face.  

“Because I love art.” You murmured, squinting at the line you’d just drawn. 

Namor smiled, and you ignored the fluttery feeling in your chest.  

“I know that pétalo. I meant, why do you love art?” 

You glanced up at him, studying the way his lips curled when he smiled. You began sketching again before you answered him.  

“Art brings people together, you know? That’s super cliché, but I guess it’s true.” You shrugged. “Languages are complex. They cause confusion and barrier us from other cultures. But art is a form of communication that doesn’t have those boundaries. Everyone can look at a painting and understand it at its very core, even if they interpret it differently.”  

Namor nodded, leaning back on his hands in the sand. You had a sneaky feeling that not many people got to see Namor in this relaxed state and took a mental picture of it so you could sketch it later.  

“You have a very pretty way of saying things pétalo.”  

You blushed, focusing on the angle of his pointed ears on your canvas.  

- 

It wasn’t until your third session with Namor that he began opening up about his home in Talokan. He told you about his people, and how most of the world didn’t know of their existence due to his vigorous efforts to protect them. You had an overwhelming sense that Namor’s pride lay in the ruling of his people, and that he would do anything to protect them.  

While he described his homelands to you, you snuck another peek at his ankles. You’d have to ask him for a closer look eventually. The only way you could do them justice in your painting was by touching them, but you didn’t know how to ask. 

“You can...touch them, if you need to, pétalo.” 

You looked up, stiffening with guilt. You didn’t know what to say to that.  

“You cannot hurt me. I promise.” He nudged his foot out, urging you to touch them. 

You nodded slowly, softly setting your paintbrush down and standing from your seat. You kneeled down beside him, leaving a trail of featherlight touches along the inside of one of the wings. The texture was unlike anything you’d ever felt before, and you couldn’t help the second stroke you left across the back of the wing.  

Namor inhaled sharply and you pulled your hand away, looking up at him with concern.  

“Did I hurt you?” you asked, squeezing your hands together. 

“No, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. They are very...sensitive.”  

“Oh. Oh.” You stood up, swiftly turning to walk back towards your canvas, when his hand lightly wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.  

“It’s okay, pétalo. No one has touched them in many years. It was a feeling I had forgotten, that’s all.” His eyes shone bright with ease, and the soft smile on his lips was comforting.  

You nodded, returning his smile. You noticed that he hadn’t let go of your wrist, even though it was clear you weren’t moving away from him anytime soon.  

“Were you born with them?” You asked, looking up at his tall frame.  

“Yes. And these, too.” He pointed at his ears, and you couldn’t help it when you reached forward, running a fingertip along their edge.  

“Beautiful.” You murmured under your breath, leaning in to get a closer look. Everything about him was beautiful, and you were finding it harder and harder to breathe when you were this close to him. 

Namor stumbled back, facing the ocean with such speed that you stumbled forward in his absence.  

“I must go. Something is not right at home. I am sorry to leave so quickly. It was just getting good. I will see you again, next week, pétalo.” 

You watched him walk back into the water, washing away with the tide, and just like that, he was gone.  

- 

The fourth session you were supposed to have with Namor was nearly ruined by a terrible storm brewing on the coast. You’d startled awake to the loud clap of thunder and watched through your window as the ocean violently responded. The rain came soon after, and just as you convinced yourself you wouldn’t be seeing Namor today, his powerful body trudged out of the water and onto the beach.  

You met him at your front door, ushering him inside as the storm raged above his head. He stood in your foyer/living room/bedroom and looked around. You froze with the realization that this was the first time he had entered your house. It was strange, you thought, seeing someone so ethereal surrounded by the familiar, but common, walls of your home. You hadn’t done the dishes the night before, and your bed was unmade, but his attention had been snagged by the light coming from your makeshift studio.  

“In here, then?” He pointed, gaze returning to you. 

“Yeah. I’ll be in there in a minute. I just have to get my sketches.”  

As soon as he rounded the corner, you bolted forward, straightening the covers on your messy bed and throwing dirty laundry into a pile in the corner. You ran your fingers through your hair, and finally joined him in the room a few moments later.  

He was hunched over, looking at the dozens of sketches you’d drawn of him. You face palmed and internally groaned as you realized that you hadn’t put them away before inviting him inside. This was an embarrassing secret, to say the least, but you couldn’t stop drawing him. Every time he sent you a new look or moved his body in a way that captured your attention, the urge to draw it in your sketchbook wouldn’t leave your mind until you finally gave in and sketched it out.  

“You are very talented, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'.” he said, standing to his full height. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled through your hands, trying to hide the fact that you were blushing, again. You shifted your focus to the painting, which was nearing its completion. “I’m almost done with the painting. I think after today I’ll just have to do minor touchups.” 

“That is...wonderful, pétalo.” He plopped into one of the chairs you had set up around the room. You moved toward him and reached your hands out, intending to turn his head the way you needed it to finish the painting, but you hesitated. Your arms were frozen, stretched out in front of you as you met his heated gaze.  

He shifted forward, keeping his gaze on you as he slowly leaned into your outstretched palms. Your hands curled into hair, and he shuttered, eyes closing as he forcefully pushed his head further into your hold. You tried to ignore the butterflies his slight movement had spurred in your stomach, but the soft groan he let out as you ran your fingers through his hair ruined any chance you had of controlling your blood pressure. 

“It has been...a very long time since I’ve been touched so gently, princesa.” 

You swallowed, unsure what to do next, but he was quick to hoist you into his lap. You traced his jaw and couldn’t help but glance at his lips as you met his gaze. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tugged you closer to his body.  

“I did not mean to fall for you so entirely, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo', but you have not left my mind since I saw you painting on the beach.” 

His voice was soft, but his hands tightened around your waist as he spoke. He had to physically restrain himself from pulling your lips down to meet his. But he would wait, a lifetime if he had to, for a sign of consent from you before crushing his lips against yours.  

“I finished the painting last night.” You revealed, choking out a laugh. “I just wanted one more day with you before you left.”  

Namor let out a deep laugh, throwing his head back against the back of his chair. “What were you planning on doing all day, princesa?” 

You groaned, resting your forehead on his shoulder. “I was going to pretend to paint for a few hours before showing it to you.”  

“If you wanted to spend more time with me, princesa, you only had to ask.” Namor was grinning wide, running his fingers along the curve of your waist.  

“Don’t you have important kingly things to attend to?”  

“Yes, but nothing that can’t be rearranged, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. You are also important to me.” 

You smiled, cradling his face between your hands. His expression turned molten as you leaned into him, parting your lips in anticipation. He cupped the back of your head, pulling you the rest of the way down to meet his lips. The kiss was both sweet and lustful. His tongue dominated yours, begging for more as he ran his hands over your waist.  

He pulled away from you abruptly, squeezing your waist. You were about to crawl off of his lap and begin profusely apologizing to him, but his words stopped you.  

“You said you finished the painting. Can I see it?”  

“Of course.” You jumped off of his lap and ran to the closet you’d hidden it in, suddenly excited to reveal it to him. You’d been keeping it a secret until it was finished, and to say you were eager to hear his thoughts on it was an understatement.  

You set it on your canvas stand and stepped back, allowing him to fully see the painting. It had come out better than you’d hoped, and you’d known by the time you were halfway finished that it would be your best portrait yet.  

He leaned in, marking the tiny details you’d spent hours polishing, and smiled.  

“Ch'ujuk ch'úupalo', I have seen many paintings of me over the years, but none come close to this. You are so talented, princesa.”  

“Do you really like it?” You asked, clutching your hands into your chest.  

“I love it, my ki'ichpam artista. If I could take it with me and hang it for all my people to see, I would.” 

“Really?” You squeaked, trying not to tear up at his declaration.  

“Do you like it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I think it’s my favorite painting I’ve ever done.” You breathed, glancing at it. 

“You should keep it, ch'ujuk ch'úupalo'. Hang it in your home as a reminder of me, for when I have to attend to those kingly duties.”  

You thought it over for a moment, and then smiled. “Okay.”  

Parting with that painting was something you’d been dreading since you’d started it, along with the idea of not seeing Namor on a regular basis, but he’d just relieved your doubts in one sentence. You got to keep the painting and you’d be seeing him again. 

“Okay.” He repeated, pulling at your waist until you were situated in front of him. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your lips, and you finally gave into those damned butterflies, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

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[hometoursandotherstuff]

This home in Los Osos, California is a case of rich people not knowing what kind of decor they want. Zillow calls it a “Mediterranean Castle.” Whatever. It’s $2.9M and is a study in ostentation. You’ll love it.

Firstly, I wouldn’t want to climb all these steps to get into a house, no matter how they’re illuminated. 

This is outrageous. Who intentionally builds a house w/stairs like this? Where’s the mailbox?

Anyway, let’s imagine that we climbed up to the front door, I’m needing oxygen, and we’re hitting the intercom button on the right. (My house had that same intercom and it was so dated, people made fun of it.)

As soon as we enter the foyer, we can see how confused they are. There’s a big medieval soldier with a serene Zen motif, neither of which is Mediterranean. 

Notice the tile work, the columns (still no Mediterranean) and the bright red carpet.

I’m so confused. The fireplace has gryphons and I thought it was Egyptian, but it’s painted bright red. I give up w/this house, already.

Persian rug, Italian or French statue. 

The Buddha and a Chinese dragon, plus a statue on a Greek column that bears a resemblance to Puss in Boots. Also, more stairs just to get up to the kitchen.

The backsplash isn’t Mediterranean, or is it? I’m so confused.

The dining room. This decor is a League of Nations style.

Now, they tell me there’s an elevator.

Going down more stairs, we pass by some kind of a balcony.

And, out to a very Zen meditation room. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hot tub w/so many jets. I’m afraid of it.

Here’s a bathroom- is that a horse in a coral in the ceiling light? 

Look at the closet doors. Are those posters?

Family room, maybe?

This is the balcony we saw before. There’s a French tapestry.

So, this would be the main bd. 

And, the en suite.

Looks like a home office.

And, a shower.

Another office?  Look at this fireplace. I can’t even.

Well, right about now in the tour, I feel like I need a drink.

WTH is this? 

Wine room? With a stage?

Maybe a guest room.

A studio? 

I guess the rough terrain doesn’t allow for a yard, so there’s a deck. I hate this house.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2743-Rodman-Dr-Los-Osos-CA-93402/15447453_zpid/?

#mansion #tacky decor #ornate decor #WTF decor #rich people's taste #long post

[warabidakihime]

Vicious Deceptions

Character: Actor!Toji Fushiguro x Actress!Reader | hollywood au Synopsis: Cunning minds entwined, weaving a web of treachery and desire. In a world of secrets and hidden intentions, their love became a tapestry of vicious deceptions.

Content warning: adultery, smut, profanities. minors dni.

- The news of their movie's blockbuster success spread like wildfire, the anticipation for the sequel soared to new heights. You, a renowned actress, and Toji Fushiguro, a fellow confident and cool-headed actor, found yourselves in the midst of a script reading session with your co-stars in preparations for the shooting that will be commencing in three days.

As you delved into your script, you couldn't help but feel a flush creep up your cheeks when Toji, sitting beside you, subtly scooted closer. His mischievous grin hinted at something beyond the innocent facade you both presented to the world. Toji, holding his own script, pointed to a particular scene, one that seemed to spark a glimmer in his eyes.

"It seems we have a rather steamy shower scene coming up," Toji remarked, his voice laced with boldness and anticipation. He knew precisely how to push your buttons, and he relished in the playful banter you shared.

Your eyes widened momentarily, betraying your own interest in the intimate scene. You quickly composed yourself and responded with a clever retort, your voice dripping with a mix of innocence and intrigue. "Quit acting as if this will be your first time doing a shower sex scene."

Toji chuckled, his gaze locked with yours. "I'm not. If anything, I'm expressing my excitement. I can't wait to shoot this scene with you, Y/N. Can't wait to smack that ass of yours in front of everybody."

"Focus on your script," you say, and for some reason, that was enough to satiate your big brute of a leading man.

Your exchanges danced on the fine line between professional camaraderie and subtle seduction. Only the two of you were aware of the charged undercurrent, concealed from your co-stars, the staff, and the prying eyes of the media.

As the script reading continued, you and Toji found yourselves engaged in insightful conversations that seamlessly intertwined with your characters' dynamics. You traded witty banter, your words carrying double meanings that hinted at a deeper connection. Your interactions sparked curiosity among those around you, whispering of an off-screen chemistry that exceeded the boundaries of your roles.

In the midst of the script reading, your gazes would occasionally meet, exchanging unspoken promises and shared secrets. The tantalizing prospect of bringing your hidden desires to life on the silver screen left both of you eager for the upcoming shoot.

As the script reading session came to a close, the bustling energy of the studio began to subside. The other cast members bid their farewells, disappearing into the corridors one by one. With a gentle smile, you excused yourself, knowing that a whirlwind of magazine shoots and interviews awaited you.

Slipping away from the crowd, you found Toji Fushiguro waiting, his expression a mix of mischief and anticipation.

Glancing around to ensure no prying eyes lingered, you approached Toji with a knowing glint in your eye. "See you later. Text me."

Toji smirked. "So bossy."

You rolled your eyes in response to his teasing, and that earned you a chuckle from him and a resigned sigh, "I know, I know. You know where to find me anyway; I gave you the passcode to my other penthouse, right?"

Now, he earned a chuckle from you, a sultry one at that: "Of course you did. Now, good bye. Let's talk later."

With one last lingering gaze, you both went your separate ways, diving headfirst into the demands of your bustling schedules. The weeks flew by in a whirlwind of commitments, each day bringing you closer to the highly anticipated live premiere of your movie.

The red carpet was rolled out, leading to the magnificent entrance of the premiere venue. Cameras flashed incessantly, capturing the glamorous affair that unfolded before them. And there you stood, resplendent in an elegant yet alluring gown that accentuated your every curve. Every step you took exuded confidence and grace.

Toji, on the other hand, exuded an air of dashing charm in his impeccably tailored suit. His shaggy hair, tamed and styled, gave him a ruggedly handsome appeal. As the crowd caught sight of you, whispers of admiration rippled through the air. It was impossible to ignore the captivating presence the two of you emanated.

Walking the red carpet together, your co-stars joined you, each person radiating their own unique charm. As the cameras flashed, interviews ensued, capturing the excitement and anticipation surrounding the film. The atmosphere was electric, pulsating with the combined energy of the cast, the crew, and the devoted fans.

Among the crowd, your husband stood by your side as your plus one, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by Toji. A hint of disappointment, jealousy, and annoyance flickered in his eyes, swiftly masked by a dashing smile. You promised Toji that you would divorce your husband to finally be with him, but due to both of you and your husband's schedules and other personal commitments, it's taking you quite a while to fulfill your promise.

Engaging in light banter with your husband, you navigated the sea of well-wishers and photographers, stealing occasional glances at Toji.

Toji, ever the charmer, mingled effortlessly with the guests and media alike. His charismatic personality seemed to magnetize those around him, leaving a trail of smiles and laughter in his wake. The whispers of his irresistible allure danced through the air, amplifying the excitement surrounding the film's premiere.

As the evening progressed, the time came for the cast and crew to take their seats inside the opulent theater. The anticipation grew, building up to the moment when the lights would dim and the film would grace the silver screen.

Taking your assigned seat, you found yourself seated next to Toji, the proximity creating an intoxicating tension. With a hushed voice, he leaned toward you, his words barely audible above the hum of the crowd. "It's a shame, isn't it? Our characters share such undeniable chemistry on screen, yet the same can't be said for our off-screen circumstances."

You turned to him, meeting his gaze while subtly grabbing his hands and intertwining your fingers together. With a charming smile on your face, you gave Toji a reply, "Patience, Toji. In the eyes of the public, I may belong to someone else, but between us, I'm yours and only yours."

Toji pouts uncharacteristically, but apparently, when he's with you, he keeps on discovering new sides to him that he didn't know existed. "Divorce the doofus already."

You chuckled, "The movie's on. Let's enjoy the fruits of our hard work for now, shall we?"

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the film. As the familiar opening sequence unfolded, the tension between your characters came alive on screen, fueling the excitement and anticipation of the audience. And as you watched the story unfold, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you and Toji, both on and off the silver screen.

The film captured the hearts of viewers, transporting them into a world of magic, danger, and forbidden desires. The undeniable chemistry between your characters reverberated through the theater, leaving the audience captivated and breathless. It was a testament to the dedication and talent of everyone involved in the project.

After the exhilarating premiere, the theater was abuzz with excitement and celebration. The cast, crew, and industry insiders mingled, reveling in the success of the film. Among the crowd, you caught Toji's gaze, his eyes glinting mischievously.

With a smirk on his face, he leaned against a nearby wall, watching as you excused yourself from the group. Your husband, caught up in conversation with your co-stars, remained oblivious to the brewing storm between you and your leading man.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness as you reached out to grasp Toji's hand. "Toji, I need a moment. Come with me," you whispered, your voice laced with a hint of urgency and desire.

He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? And just what the heck are you up to?"

Not really having the time to beat around the bush, you pulled him towards you rather assertively, saying, "Just come with me."

With your hand firmly in his, you guided Toji through the maze of hallways until you reached your dressing room. The anticipation hung thick in the air as you stepped inside, the door closing behind you, except you failed to close it all the way.

So whatever moment you'll be having with Toji, it can be easily detected by anyone who passes by the area.

Without wasting a moment, you settled on top of your vanity table, your gaze fixed on Toji with a sultry intensity. His eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and excitement dancing within them, as he realized the intent behind your actions.

You beckoned him closer, your legs wrapping securely around his waist and drawing him in. The intimate contact sent a jolt of electricity through both of you as you felt his arms encircle your body, his touch both possessive and tender.

In the charged silence, Toji's voice broke through, filled with a mix of anticipation and mischief. "What if somebody walks in on us?"

He says that, but he's already leaning toward your inviting lips while his other hand is holding the zipper of your gown. Wasting no time, you wrapped your arms around his neck and reeled him in for a heated kiss, holding little to no regard to the possibility of getting caught. Of course, Toji was more than happy to oblige and responded to your advances enthusiastically.

In that intimate space, you both embraced the reckless abandon of the moment, knowing that the world outside those walls could never comprehend the intensity of your connection.

"Toji--" you moaned in his mouth as you felt his grabby hands caressing your sides and squeezing your supple skin. In return, you slide your hands up and down his sturdy chest, shamelessly feeling his abs through his silky dress shirt.

Toji's husky voice contributed to the music being made in that tiny room as he spoke, "You picked this skimpy dress to tease me, didn't you?"

"Did it work?" you responded cheekily, which earned you a dark chuckle from him.

"I wanted nothing more than to bend you over and take you right there and then, the moment I saw you emerge from your limousine."

"What stopped you?" You asked him

"Your husband killed my boner. I didn’t even know you were bringing him along."

You let out a sultry chuckle as you began to grind your hips against his, purposefully tempting his flaccid cock to spring back to life. "We can't have that now, can we?"

A wicked smile played on Toji's lips, reveling in your audacious nature and feeling his desire grow stronger. "Absolutely not."

In the dimly lit room, Toji and you shed your clothes with an eager urgency. Every garment fell to the floor, revealing your naked bodies to each other. Your eyes locked, filled with desire and longing. You closed the distance between you, your bodies pressing together.

The heat of your skin ignited a fire within, intensifying the need for each other. There were no inhibitions, only the raw passion that enveloped the room.

Your hands explored, fingers tracing every curve and dip, igniting shivers of pleasure. Each touch sent waves of electricity through your bodies, heightening the intensity of your desire. Time seemed to stand still as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull between you.

Breathless and desperate for more, you locked eyes with him, pleading silently for him to take you to greater heights of pleasure.

"Please, Toji," you whimpered, your voice filled with need.

Toji's lips curled into a mischievous smile as he reveled in the power he held over you. His voice dripped with playful teasing as he responded, "What's the magic word?"

The teasing only fueled your need, making the anticipation unbearable. But you knew deep down that the wait would be worth it and that Toji's mastery of seduction would lead to a culmination of ecstasy unlike anything you had experienced before.

"Toji~ I don't have time for this."

The man towering over you could only chuckle in amusement, "You're such a brat."

Despite what he said, he immediately adhered to your request and placed his throbbing cock at your entrance, and then he slowly let himself in, filling you nicely and snugly.

Each thrust felt more incredible than the last. The sensations overwhelmed you, evident in the sounds of pleasure escaping your lips and the expression of bliss on your face.

You continued to cling to Toji as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. Moans, profanities, and loads of skin-slapping filled your tiny dressing room. You were so lost in your little world that you didn't even notice your horrified husband watching from outside.

Normally, you would have been filled with a sense of horror and embarrassment, but an unexplained boldness washed over you. Instead of feeling shame or shock, you met your husband's gaze with a cold, unwavering expression.

Toji was right. It’s high time you end things with your husband and finally be with him. You made a mental note to yourself that, after this, you would deal with your husband once and for all. Time seemed to stretch as your husband continued to look at you and Toji, his eyes widening with surprise, and you could've sworn you saw tears stream down his face.

Obviously heartbroken by your blatant betrayal, but you remained undeterred, focusing solely on Toji and continuing to lavish him with your undivided attention. With a mischievous glimmer in your eyes, you even went so far as to put on a captivating display.

Toji, relishing in the audacity and allure emanating from you, embraced the opportunity to escalate the intensity of the moment.

A sly grin spread across Toji's face as he relished in your pleasure, his voice dripping with seduction. "Tell me, Y/N, who's making you feel good right now? Hmm? Answer me." Your response was a fervent moan that escaped your lips.

"It's you."

A teasing glint danced in Toji's eyes as he continued to ravish you, his voice laced with desire. "And what's my name, darling?"

"Toji," you moaned, your voice filled with a mix of desire and anticipation.

Toji rewarded your response with a playful smack on your behind, eliciting another intoxicating sound from you. "Good girl."

That was the last straw.

With a shake of his head, your husband left the scene, but none of you were in the mood to care as the both of you were so invested in each other.

Toji's voice was filled with desire as he commented, "You're still so tight for me. Fuck."

You were unable to form coherent words in response, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Your focus was solely on the sensations coursing through your body, leaving little room for anything else.

He ran his hands along your sides, igniting shivers and goosebumps along your skin. "You're doing so well," he praised, his touch adding to the intensity of the moment. The pleasure was building rapidly, and then finally, that hot coil you've been feeling from within shot throughout your body, sending you into overdrive.

To enhance your climax, Toji increased the pace, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. Every movement brought you closer to a mind-numbing state of ecstasy.

-

Later that night, after a few more rounds of fucking like bitches in heat, Toji drove you home, a satisfied and triumphant smile adorning his face. The energy between you two was still electric, and the intensity of the night lingered in the air.

Upon entering the house, you were met with a somber sight. Your husband sat on the sofa, hunched over, his body language reflecting the weight of his emotions. It was clear that he had been drinking and crying.

For a few seconds, you observed him, your expression carrying a hint of nonchalance, almost bordering on cruelty. The weight of your decision lingered in the air, as you knew what you needed to do.

Without uttering a word, you made your way to your bedroom and retrieved the divorce papers, carefully tucked away inside your side of the closet. Each step you took echoed with determination, your mind resolute in your course of action.

Returning to the living room, you stood before your husband, holding the papers in your hand. With a deliberate motion, you tossed the document in his direction, the papers fluttering through the air like a final decree. Your voice carried an air of finality as you spoke, "It already has my signature on it. I trust that you will have it signed by tomorrow. Good night."

With those words hanging in the air, you turned away, leaving your husband to grapple with the weight of your crumbling marriage.

#warabidakihime #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji smut #toji x you #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk headcanons #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagine #i guess you could consider this as dark content?

[weirdkpopgirl]

Falling Again | Jaemin Imagine #5

Title: Falling Again

Genre: Fluff w/ slight angst

Warnings: none, really. unless you count cheesy romance

Word Count: 345

Author's Note: Just another thing I never published until now. This short story was supposed to be a part of another group's reaction to 7Dream. Regarding that, my useless brain couldn't come up with ideas for the other members. So I thought, the least I could do was post this as its own thing. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this lil Jaemin imagine. My infatuation with him is a serious problem 😅.

P.S. I have been working on my story for Haechan which I optimistically plan to finish by next month? And I have something for Mark Lee too because I need more of him on this blog lol.

∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘

Outside your apartment, the sky was gray and raindrops cascaded down the window sills. Despite the melancholic atmosphere, Jaemin and you embraced the cozy ambiance of your delightful at-home date. The original plan was to go to Hongdae for some street food. But in all honesty, being forced to stay in tonight was a mutual preference for the both of you. 

That’s how the two of you sought solace in the comfort of your apartment, nestled together on the sofa. You had persuaded him to watch a Studio Ghibli film, specifically Grave of the Fireflies. Once the movie started, the two of you were instantly engrossed in the captivating animation. Few words were exchanged as you tuned into the poignant tale that weaved a tapestry of emotions.

As the final scenes unfolded, a faint sound of sniffling caught your attention. Turning your head in slight disbelief, you then noticed the tears silently streaming down your boyfriend’s cheeks. Concern etched on your face, seeking to console him through a gentle nudge on the arm. His watery eyes met yours, their depths reflecting the intensity of his emotions. 

With a heartfelt tone, he mumbled, “This is an incredibly sad movie.”

Half expecting you to tease him, a soft smile graced your lips instead. He was caught off guard when your small hands cupped his face. You used your thumb to wipe any stray tears.

“It is sad,” You quietly agreed. Tilting your chin upward, you planted a gentle peck upon his lips, a gesture of comfort and affirmation. After doing so, you snuggled closer to him which was a rare display of affection from you.

Jaemin’s gaze lingered on you who refocused on the movie. Pure adoration and gratitude swelled within him. Despite your tendency to act reserved and closed off with others, your genuine care shone through the more time he spent around you. The type of care that drove you to nonjudgmentally wipe his tears when watching something sad. Yet, another perfect moment that allowed him to fall for you all over again.

∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘°∘♡∘

#nct dream #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin scenarios #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream drabbles #nana #kpop #nctzen #czennie

[riddler-green]

Could I request a riddler/ reader w/ a reader who likes to draw him pls 🙏🙏 like as a gift or even just keeps and he finds them in their studio and realises his face is littered along their portfolio like a thoughtfully crafted tapestry and testament of their love or something corny like that I love the idea of a reader who’s just awe strikingly in love and him the same it’s so sweet WAAA but u can do whatever w/ the idea of artist/riddler ur so cool Ty <333

Mi musa.

Summary:  you are an artist with your own habits but you never forget who your true muse is.

A/N: hey hiii! it's me again! thanks so much for the request! I really appreciate it! and I hope you enjoy it, I love that Riddler/ artist concept too!1 ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚

Warning: possessiveness on the part of both, fluff!

Words: 1500.

Art can be a means to convey what you want to say when you don't have the words to get them out of your mouth, you have never proclaimed yourself as the best artist in the world, but for as long as you can remember others have recognized your talent, you are grateful for the compliments of others who find charm in your work when you only find things to improve.

Perfectionism is something that tortures you when you look at your own work, you know there are things to improve but somehow when you draw the man of your dreams it's the opposite. Sometimes they tend to be simple doodles on yellow post-its, sometimes you draw portraits worthy of hanging in renowned museums, when it comes to Edward, you always find solace. A calmness in painting is like a therapeutic remedy.

Edward couldn't stand the itch in his nose, he had to sneeze covering his nose with his shoulder, you stopped painting and looked at the palette in your hand "Sorry" Edward apologizes in a low voice but you can hear him, you move away from the canvas to look at him "No need to be completely still my love, it's okay" you inform him mixing different shades of brown to paint his hair.

Edward kept as still as possible even though he is only sitting on a chair with a dark blue background, he couldn't help but think that when he poses for you it reminds him of an ancient king asking his star painter to do a portrait of him to show his greatness and power. But he knows he is not a king, he is still a little incredulous how someone like him managed to date someone like you, someone who looks at him with so much admiration, so much love that lasts for hours, even when you are out of your studio and he is at his most unfavorable moments you still look at him with great esteem.

"I think I will have to add more red to your cheeks, they are too red" you joke behind the canvas, Edward laughs at the comment, maybe in the past he would have refused to even have his picture taken, as he didn't like the way he looked, but now, he poses in front of you naturally as it is not the first time you paint him.

He doesn't mind that your studio is full of paintings, sheets full of drawings of him, he found it beautiful and wonderful, he started to love himself with your paintings, he sees the beauty that you see in him "Some day you should draw yourself too" says Edward calmly looking everywhere in the studio without turning his head.

"I don't know, self-portraits are hard to do" you reply placing a brush in your mouth as you use a palette knife on the canvas "Although it's not impossible either".

Edward remains satisfied with the answer and is silent again, he feels so excited with the result of the painting, you always make it a masterpiece at the end in his opinion. He scribbled sometimes on his accounting sheets and on his crossword puzzle, he drew question marks, and sometimes he drew you, or well, a caricature version of you, when he showed it to you, you cried, without you knowing you already started sobbing, it's different when they draw you.

Edward catches a glimpse of a rather large picture with all the drawings he has given you as a gesture of love, all the drawings placed as a big collage and protected by glass, under the picture, there was a signature "Eddie's Drawings".

His cheeks ache for he adores that you appreciate him too, it never crossed your mind to judge his drawing skills, you always received the little pen doodles with love "I'm almost done" you speak to him and he makes a happy humming sound, for you, you could be posing for days if you wanted to.

Again he thinks again, deep in his heart he loves it when you proclaim that he is your only muse, not Bruce Wayne, not another rich guy who pays for your paintings, Edward Nashton of KMTJ brings out your creativity to make paintings non-stop.

"I hope it comes out well in this painting," he says and you switch brushes "You always come out beautiful Eddie" you assure him as if it's a no-brainer.

Edward stretches his legs a little when he notices you are putting down all the brushes "More than the plain Mona?" you laugh at his question "More than the plain monkey" you reply and call him over to come to see the painting.

"wow" is the first thing he says when he sees it is him with various mixtures of paints that make it look great, he stays a few minutes fascinated with the work while you finish putting away all the paints and utensils.

"Do you want to take it home?" you ask taking off your Machado apron of various paint textures and Edward nods his head buzzing with delight as he takes your hand.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

"Is it a cow?" you ask looking at the paper in front of you, when they came in from your study day Edward wanted to show you a drawing he did on his break from work "It's a dog" Edward clarifies pointing to the somewhat deformed figure of the dog "it's you and me and the dog we saw in the park" he explains his drawing as you look happily at the drawing, so proud of him.

"It's so cute!" you squeal with happiness placing the drawing on one of the walls of the room "I think I'll put it in my next collection" you speak to him lovingly as the two of you embrace, Gotham nights are usually cold, but when you're next to Eddie it seems like the whole apartment becomes warm.

"I would like you to attend my next Exhibition will you go, right?" the two of you look at each other face to face Edward keeps his eyes closed completely in love with the position they are in "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The presenter looked at you with respect, he was sitting next to you with several question cards waiting for the program to start, all the time your facial expression was serious.

When the program started the presenter began with a charismatic talk about your works "So, tell us, who is that man who is always in your paintings?" he let out the question with a curious tone the cameramen pointed to your face looking for a surprised expression from you, instead you answered naturally.

"He is my partner, Edward, we have been together for several years and I always fell in love with his way of being" you start talking with a formal tone "When I see something I love, I want to capture it in my paintings so it can be immortalized" you settle back in your seat placing your elbows on armrests.

"Before I was looking for perfection in my art, but now I achieved it without realizing it" the presenter remains static before your speech "perfection is when I look at the effort I put in each work and that it was worth it" you look at the camera in front of you "sometimes art can hurt us, but I decided to be happy painting the love of my life".

The presenter you forgot his name gave a few admiring claps as you took a sip of water. God, you just hope Edward watches the show.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

The man in clear glasses leapt towards you to hug you both standing outside the program set, the stoic countenance disappeared when you noticed your boyfriend, he squealed with joy for the program "God, how I love you!" he proclaims and before you could respond he kisses you on the lips, you close your eyes to enjoy the moment.

"Me too Eddie" you reply kissing him again, you remember hearing about Edward's past, you wish the people who hurt your muse would suffer the consequences of their actions.

"I think I have inspiration for another painting, but this time I need to buy a darker green" you comment smiling at him, Edward gets excited "what kind of green?".

"Mmmm" you pretended to think making a thoughtful sound "What color is the Riddler mask?".

Edward almost choked on his own saliva, in a few times you have painted him as the Riddler and that makes him get more excited "I um, I think, I can tell which gree-en it is" he stutters nervously.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

There were nights when Edward tried to draw you with canvas, and you happily posed while Edward mixed different tones that you could easily make a rainbow vomit, still, it was a dream for you to see him like that, you swear he looks so cool behind the canvas, you seriously consider buying him a beret to match his beautiful eyes.

When Edward finished he proudly showed you the artwork, someone else would say it was a perfect Picasso with the drawings barely repeatable but for you, it was the masterpiece of the century.

Thank you very much for reading! And sorry for the mistakes!

#paul dano x reader #edward nashton x reader #the riddler x reader #riddler x reader #dano riddler x reader #requesthermosoprecioso!

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Kidnapped (Part 6 - The Old Me Is About To Be ERASED, Forever)

The tattooing of my body had begun and I was elated. This is what I’d truly wanted since my teen years, but I had always hidden from. Bill and Jack told me I would need to return quite a few times in the next month or so to ensure my body art was completed as they had been instructed. Oh, and there will be more piercings but that will be decided for me, after my meeting later.

“See you for your next session,” Jack shouted. I was heading out of the room when my skinhead captor ordered me to stop. “Take a look at yourself boi! Finally, this is YOU, it’s what you are. It’s what you’ve always been: a pierced, inked, skinhead. Doesn’t it feel great” 

I stopped. There was a full-length mirror near the exit. I could sense broad smirk appear on my face in anticipation of looking in the mirror. The reflection evidenced the transition of my pale white virgin skin into a tapestry of ink. The modification of my body was unstoppable now.

I sensed my skinhead captor and the tattooists nodding in approval.

Staring at my face, I could see the reflection of the tattoo studio lights in my septum ring. I smiled and opened my mouth to see my tongue piercing. I had rings hanging from each earlobe and steel barbells in both nipples. I looked down to see my Prince Albert sticking through the cage that was still locked on my cock. Just then I shivered. I was so focussed on my reflection that I hadn’t noticed my skinhead captor approaching me. I could feel the warm breath his breath and then he put his tongue in my ear whilst simultaneously pinching my right nipple. A shiver went up my spine and my cock strained in its confinement. He whispered, but the words were more of a statement than a question, “This is what you wanted boi,” and he grabbed my balls. 

I could smell his smokey breath. Electrical sensations were going off all over my body. I turned towards him, smiled and was about to say something, but before any words could come out he stuck his tongue in my open mouth. Now I could taste his smokey mouth. I responded, it was the first time I’d not only snogged a man, but better than that it was the first time I was snogging a skinhead. He pulled away from me, “you like that boi?” My cock was not only straining but it now leaking in its cage so it was obvious to both of us what the answer to that question was. I simply nodded.

After that short distraction I felt compelled to turn back to the mirror. Under the supervision of my skinhead captor, I lifted my hands to my face, there on the back of each hand was a colourful swallow. I clenched my fists, on my knuckles, the words S-K-I-N and H-E-A-D had been tattooed. On my upper right arm the word “Oi” had been inked, together with a pair of boots underneath and on my elbow was a spiderweb. I turned to my left to see a half sleeve from my shoulder down the arm to my elbow. 

I wanted to touch my new ink, but it had all been carefully wrapped by Bill and Jack. Touching my new body art would have to wait for another time. The skinhead within me was in charge of my body, or so I thought. Then, out of nowhere I got that sick feeling of regret. I thought I could hear a tiny voice at the back of my mind, “why did you let them do this to y.. 

My skinhead captor had been watching me closely. The BoSS had trained him to know that even towards the end of my processing to become a skinhead there was a strong chance that my old self would still try one or two final attempts to fight back and regain control. So before I could take any notice of the small voice, my skinhead captor quickly approached me. He had a cigarette in his mouth and was holding one of those handheld mirrors you see barbers use. He held it in such a way that I could see the tattoo on the back of my head, “SKIN4LIFE.” A contorted grin came across my face, and words started emanating from my mouth, “I’m a skinhead,” I said out loud. “I’ve been inked, I’ve been pierced and....”

“...you’re a smoker”, he quickly interrupted. He took his cigarette out of his mouth and placed it between my lips. Instinctively I inhaled the smoke into my lungs by taking a deep breath. In no time I’d finished the cig. “C’mon lad, this way. What are you?”

I followed my captor muttering to myself “I’m a skinhead”. 

“Tell me what you are, boi?” The tone of his voice demanded a response.  

“I’m a skinhead: I’ve been inked as a skinhead, I’m a skinhead: I’ve been pierced, I’m a skinhead: I smoke.” I kept repeating this mantra. Before I knew it we were back in the room with the huge TV.

“In the chair boi,” my captor ordered.

I sat down immediately. He didn’t need to restrain me this time. I was a skinhead now, so I why wouldn’t I comply with a superior skin?

“Here”, he handed me a cigarette. I put it in my mouth and he held out a lighter and I inhaled. After taking a couple of drags, I turned to my captor and spoke, “When do I get my big boots with white ladder laces? When do I get my ass tight bleachers and braces? When do I get my Fred Perry shirt and an MA1?”

“Very soon lad. There’s just a couple more things that need sorting out first boi. Now, you to watch the screen whilst I make the final preparations.” With that he pointed the remote control at the television. In a split second the screen came alive. The moment my eyes fell on the television everything was lost. The thought of closing my eyes melted away as soon as I saw the dazzling display on screen, spiralling away into infinite depths. The dazzling display filled my vision, it was all I could see. 

Spirals interspersed with words caught my attention I think I remember video clips showing skins marching together, skinhead bands performing in dark clubs and the crowd wildly jumping up and down, skinheads ‘putting the boot in’, skinheads shaving their heads and getting geared up. But mixed in were pictures of skins in what could be described as ‘intimate situations’. I’m pretty sure I remember seeing skinheads snogging, getting fucked in a sling, scenes of skins pissing, cocksucking, rimming and more. I was so focussed on the screen that I failed to notice my skinhead captor and the BoSS had paid several visits to the room. Having seen my progress they knew there was no going back for me now. 

Meanwhile back at my house...

Whilst my mind was being ‘adjusted’ for the final time, 'the police’ paid a visit to my home address. My wife happened to be working at home when they turned up. They informed her that a male matching the description given to them when she’d reported me missing had been found ‘in Peterborough’ and was at a police station in the town. They asked if she would be willing to accompany them in order to confirm the man was indeed me, her husband. Clearly shaken by the news, she readily agreed.

Little did she know there was no police station, it was merely a ruse set up by the BoSS. If she had known at that point what had been done to me, and that I would show no interest in her, then she’d probably not have bothered to travel all that way. Once in the ‘police car’, the other ‘police officer’ sat himself along side her in the back seat. “CLICK”  the central locking engaged at which point he pulled out a wet handkerchief from his pocket and forced it over the my wife’s face. Before long she had submitted to the chloroform soaked into the hanky. 

Next thing my wife was aware of was being 'manhandled’ into a building by the two officers. They ‘walked’ her down a corridor into a room, and dropped her into a chair. In front of her was a huge glass window, which had a closed curtain on the other side of the glass. At that moment the curtain began to open, and the speakers came alive.

In the next door room my wife could see a naked man, with a shaved head, tattoos, piercings and a chastity cage...

In walked a big, burly, hunk of a man, maybe two or three years older than myself. If I had to conjure up my fantasy skinhead, he’d look a lot like this alpha-male. He was a good six inches taller than me and weighed in at least 14 stone. That said, he was in great shape. His head was shaved, one arm was completely covered in tattoos, but the other only had ink on his bicep. He was wearing a white t-shirt, on top of which were red braces clipped onto a pair of tight bleachers. He wore the shiniest black boots, with steel toe-caps and white laces.

[Thank you for patiently waiting for this update, the next chapter will bring this series to a close. You will find out what happens between this ‘skinhead god’ and myself].

#kidnap fantasy #brainwash #skinhead #boots #tattoos #piercings

[indndwnshead]

Amalgamation: Part IV - When you meet... Jimin

Pairing: Min Yoongi x (f) Reader

Chapter tags: developing relationship, meeting the bro, jimin dancing cause he misses performing for army :)

Series summary:

Now that you are a permanent fixture in Min Yoongi's life, it's inevitable that you meet the rest of BTS.

Each encounter with the rest of the group becomes a unique thread in the tapestry of life, gradually integrating disparate elements into a harmonious whole and seamlessly weaving into the fabric of your joined world.

A/N at the end to avoid spoiling the story! Let's be friends and stan Yoongi together on twitter @itsdndwn 💜💜

---

Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

Also read on: AO3

---

You were hanging out late into the night at Yoongi's studio. With a new drama shoot beginning, you rarely had time to hang out during the day. This late-night hangout was perfect for both of you, as Yoongi had also started working late to finish producing songs for the new album.

In the middle of the night, you wanted to go to the bathroom and stretch your stiff legs. You tapped Yoongi softly on the shoulder and let him know that you'd be back soon. He was too preoccupied and only hummed in response. You smiled fondly at him, admiring his dedication.

The staff had already become accustomed to your presence in the building. Initially, your frequent visits might have caused some raised eyebrows, but everyone was discreet and professional. Nobody had let any information slip to outsiders about just how much time you'd been spending with Yoongi or about your new relationship. It was almost like a well-kept secret within the building, which allowed you both to enjoy your time together in peace.

As you took the longer route back from the bathroom, you could hear music from one of the practice rooms – the one Yoongi had mentioned that his members liked to practice in. Since all the staff had already gone home at this late hour, you were curious about who might be using that room. The door was slightly ajar, so you decided to take a peek.

Inside, you found a man practicing his dance moves with a captivating passion that was hard to miss. It was Park Jimin and the song he was dancing to was ‘Butterfly’. Jimin's incredible skills and the passion he poured into each move left you in awe. Each movement seemed to portray his emotion that fit perfectly with the song, the fear of losing something you held dear.

At the end of the song, Jimin turned to face you with a playful smile, twirling his finger through the air as he said, "I caught a little birdie spying on me."

Startled, you didn't expect him to notice you quietly admiring his dancing. "Sorry," you replied, "I passed by the room, not expecting anyone to be here, and got captivated by your dance instead."

Jimin smiled, his interest piqued. "I haven't seen you around. Are you new?"

You laughed and answered, "Something like that." Technically, it wasn't a lie, as you were a relatively new addition to the situation, attached to Yoongi's presence.

Jimin continued with a flirtatious smile, "Would you like a private dance lesson, my dear?"

Desperate for a good stretch, you decided to take him up on the offer, but you quickly warned him about your lack of dancing skills. "Fair warning, I'm not a good dancer," you admitted.

"Nonsense," he dismissed your worries with a confident smile, "With me teaching you, you'll master the routine in no time."

Jimin proceeded to show you some of the dance steps for 'Butterfly', displaying incredible patience and dedication as a teacher. He guided you through the moves, dancing alongside you, mirroring the steps, and providing gentle corrections with a warm smile.

Time seemed to slip away as you got lost in the dance. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi had become concerned about your prolonged absence and began searching for you. Imagine his surprise when he found you trying to master the dance routine to ‘Butterfly’ with none other than Park Jimin.

Yoongi stayed quiet for a moment, allowing you and Jimin to finish dancing to the first few bars of the song. When you completed the last step, Jimin paused the music and turned to you with a triumphant smile. "See, I'm an excellent teacher," he boasted.

You couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, Jimin-ssi," you said, grateful for the impromptu dance lesson and the warm welcome you'd received from the talented dancer.

Yoongi knocked on the mirror, signaling his presence. You and Jimin turned to face him in surprise, not expecting to see Yoongi there. Jimin's face lit up with excitement as he sprinted over to greet his hyung, and the two of them exchanged enthusiastic greetings. 

Yoongi turned to Jimin with a critical look. "Jimin, why are you still here so late at night? We have a group practice tomorrow morning, you need to rest."

Jimin rolled his eyes at his hyung. "Says the one who had been working late all week."

Yoongi grunted in agreement. "Well, we all should head back soon then.” He playfully nods toward you. ”Ah, but I see you've been busy."

Jimin's eyes widened with excitement as he remembered your presence in the room. "Right! Hyung, this is... um..." He hesitated as he realized he didn't know your name. "I'm sorry, I never asked for your name."

"It's okay," you said with a laugh, "I'm _____. Nice to meet you, Jimin-ssi.”

Jimin seemed relieved by your introduction and turned back to Yoongi to present you. "Hyung, this is _____."

Yoongi wore an amused smile as he replied, "Oh, I know."

Jimin's curiosity peaked. "Oh, you've seen her around?"

Yoongi couldn't help but slyly play along, "You can say that."

You felt your cheeks flush as Yoongi's words and the sly smile he shot your way made your heart race. Jimin, on the other hand, was now thoroughly perplexed. He stared intensely at you, trying to remember how you knew his hyung.

After a brief but intense moment, Jimin concluded, "You’re the actress in Hyung’s drama! That’s why you look so familiar!” Jimin grinned, satisfied with his conclusion. Seconds later, his grin dropped, replaced with a frown of confusion. “But why are you here in the middle of the-” Jimin trailed off.

He looked back and forth between the two of you, his mind racing to connect the dots.

“OH!” He exclaimed, a look of realization crossing his face. "Bagelandwine?”

He was met with your playful confirmation, "The one and only," and your shared laughter.

“Yahhhhh! Hyung, how could you hide this lovely face behind a book?” Jimin playfully scolded Yoongi, referring to a recent Instagram post on Yoongi's private account.

Yoongi chuckled good-naturedly in response. The three of you continued to converse naturally. Jimin expressed his excitement for your new relationship. You and Jimin discovered that you both are in talks to work with the same fashion house.

“You know, you guys just made me 100 dollars richer. And more importantly, the right to gloat for the next couple of months at least. So, thanks!” Jimin said with a sly smile.

You raised your eyebrow at his words. He basically confessed that he had placed a bet on you being Yoongi’s girlfriend.

Yoongi chuckled. “What did you bet on, exactly Jimin-ah?”

“Where’s the fun if I tell you now? This is only one part of it,” Jimin said with a wink sent your way.

You chuckled at his tone, not taking his words too seriously. Jimin was known for his playful banter. You and Yoongi soon part ways with Jimin. The older man playfully threatened to drag the younger back to his apartment if he didn’t stop practicing soon.

As you and Yoongi made your way back to his studio to get your belongings, he couldn't help but express his surprise. He took your hand and twirled you gently, saying, "I didn't know you were quite the dancer."

You playfully scoffed, "Please, if not for Jimin's perfectionist traits, I'd be flapping around like a fish out of water."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad.” Yoongi laughed and then grinned mischievously, ”You know, if you ever want to learn some BTS choreography, you can just ask me. I'll show you my moves."

You smiled at the thought, "I'll hold you to that promise, Min Yoongi."

Your playful banter continued as you walked hand in hand, sharing yet another memorable moment in your relationship.

---

A/N: I can see Jimin secretly practicing, pushing himself to be 'perfect'. And the song Butterfly could be one that he'd choose because deep down he's scared he'd lose army, lose his talent, during the break🥺

#min yoongi #agust d #suga bts #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #bts reader insert #yoongi imagine #suga imagine #bts suga #bts suga fanfic #suga x reader #suga x you #bts imagines #park jimin #jimin & you #park jimin & you #bts jimin #jimin #yoongi & jimin #jimin imagine

[flametrashira]

Here's a snippet of my biggest project currently in the works ^^ CW: Descriptions of violence, blood, and character deaths. Please take these into consideration.

“A filthy worm like you isn’t even worth my time.” The demon hissed, a new pot appearing in his hand, this one orange with blue swirls of varying shades decorating it. A tendril of water shot out and charged at you at breakneck speed, slashing the side of your abdomen, ripping a scream of pain from you as you collapsed to the floor, the water splitting off into two tendrils and slashing at your arms before they dissipated, a scoff following. “Even your screams have killed my appetite. How disgusting, you absolute ape.” He spat before all went quiet in your humble home, a new voice calling out to you, calling your name. “Are you here? Please tell me if you’re okay, your front door is busted open!” Mikami. “Get the medical supplies! Help me!” You screamed, a small pool of blood forming around you, the copper scented liquid smelling acrid against your nose, the pain agonizing. Your friend shrieked as she came across you, following the sound of your voice. Mikami didn’t waste time in following your instructions. You couldn’t be more annoyed and agonized after getting bandaged up. Who was that freak? Why on earth was he connected to a vase? What was his weird enthrallment? And what the actual hell was that thing he showed you?! The faces on the pillar were horrifyingly familiar to you, the scent of iron now hanging in the air in your home, the smell being at its peak in your beloved studio. It would take ages to scrub the hideous crimson stains that soiled your floor, time you could sink into other things, things far more important than having to wipe away gross iron liquid. Mikami was shooting questions at you, her warm amber eyes filling with worry as she spoke, you looking at her with a stern glare before you shoved the onigiri towards her. Your patience was frayed, and you honestly wanted your friend to be quiet so you could think. “What-” Mikami sputtered, looking at you in confusion, your name twisting in confusion on her tongue. “Shut up. Eat. You do that when you’re stressed, so shut up, eat and let me think.” You huffed, narrowing your eyes at her. Mikami gaped, but reluctantly picked up a rice ball and began munching away. Your mind honed in on that pillar that the peculiar being, that disgusting monster had showed you, the faces being present sharpening. Your eyes shoot open, your complexion paling. Those were the Gishiwara siblings. He used the siblings you practically treated as your own in that monstrosity he dared call art. He used the people you considered closest to you and twisted their limbs, braiding them together like some sort of grotesque tapestry. Tears filled your eyes as the gravity, the tremendous agony of what happened to you finally began to take hold. “You did really well on these,” Mikami complimented before her eyes moved to you again, your trembling form greeting her, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.”Hey, what’s wrong?” “H-He killed them…” You breathed, voice cracking as sorrow gripped you in its iron fists. Mikami abandoned the meal you had set out for her just on the off chance she’d swing by to see you, rushing to your side again. “He killed them…Yuri, Joto, Kaiyo, Hinari, Tetsuki, all of them…” You repeated, hands coming up to clasp at your head as you let out a wail, a scream leaving your throat and echoing into the night.

Oh my goodness, Glitch! This is amazing and I can't wait to read it when you're done! Your writing is always incredible 💖💖💖

#flamey's 1.3k followers event

[boonesfarmsangria]

Basement alchemy: Yannis & The Yaw sees Foals' Yannis Philippakis and Afrobeat legend Tony Allen forge a treasure with 'Walk Through Fire'

The lead track from YANNIS PHILIPPAKIS’ posthumous collaboration with Afrobeat drumming legend TONY ALLEN captures the electrifying spark that ignited during their global musical meeting, weaving a tapestry of sound that reflects the cultural touchstones of Lagos, Paris, and London. Read our latest Dork Mixtape cover feature now.

Words: Martyn Young.

Photos: Kit Monteith, Rishi Salujah.

“It’s about serendipity and coming together with someone.” There’s always something amazing when you get to meet your heroes, but for Foals frontman Yannis Philippakis, the opportunity to not only meet but work with legendary Afrobeat pioneering drummer Tony Allen was a truly special experience. Tragically, Tony passed away during the pandemic, leaving the work that they started in flux, but seven years after they first met, Yannis has now put together a beautiful EP documenting their time and the music they made together as a special project under the name Yannis And The Yaw. ‘Lagos Paris London’ is a reflection of a moment in time and two generations meeting and creating a little bit of magic.

With Foals riding high on the wild success of their fourth album ‘What Went Down’, a call offering an intriguing opportunity came following two years of hard touring. “I got a call when we were deep in a Foals tour. We were touring ‘What Went Down’ so it was quite a few years ago now. I got a call from a mutual friend who said, do you want to go and write with Tony Allen in Paris?” says Yannis.

The mention of Tony Allen’s name immediately conjured excitement as he remembered the pivotal role Tony and his work as drummer for Fela Kuti, as well as his long and winding career, played in the genesis and evolution of Foals. “A lot of our formative musical years were spent listening to Fela Kuti,” he explains. “Especially this one compilation of Tony Allen’s that I think is just called ‘The Best Of’. It’s a quadruple vinyl. We used to hammer it when we were writing ‘Antidotes’ and ‘Total Life Forever’. I was a huge fan.”

He was immediately hooked on the unique skill of his drumming. “Another song that we loved that he played on was ‘La Ritournelle’ by Sebastian Tellier; that was a song we all obsessed over. His drumming is a huge part of why that song is great.”

While the opportunity sounded exciting, a “no brainer”, as Yannis explains it, the reality of actually making it work became more of an issue. “I got home, and I hadn’t been home for a couple of months, and I collapsed into a puddle the moment the keys were thrown on the table. I was like, fuck, I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to get up and get to Paris the next day,” says Yannis as he describes his exhaustion after a punishing Foals tour. “I almost put it off, but my friend at the time encouraged me and said, look, you’ve got to go there for two days. It might be the experience of a lifetime, then you can come home and rest.”

For the experience of a lifetime, Yannis recounts the details in a refreshingly simple and down-to-earth style. “So, I trotted off with my guitar to the Eurostar and I got there in the morning,” he begins. “It was a basement studio. Very French and very 70s. Full of cigarette smoke and bad carpet and mirrors in weird places. It was basically Tony’s home, in a way. His drums were permanently set up in the live room.”

For the music icon that is Tony Allen, he had seen and experienced everything there is to experience and had worked with a who’s who of musical legends, “What was funny about the first encounter was he wasn’t particularly phased or that excited that I was there. He was just in his own vibe,” laughs Yannis. “I don’t think he knew of my work. It was set up, and he was in a place where he was very open to collaborating with people. He was doing some stuff with Jeff Mills. Tony, in general, collaborated a lot. He approached it like a jazz drummer. The producers and the other musicians that were around Tony knew me; they helped me set up and were very welcoming.”

Was there a sense of trepidation, though, and having to prove yourself and prove your musical chops? “It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t welcoming, but he was waiting to see what it was going to be like. Who’s this little punk?” he laughs.

Almost instantly, though, the musical alchemy bubbled up, and from their first jam together came the project’s first track with the heavy groove of ‘Walk Through Fire’. “It’s a simple song,” he explains. “It largely revolves around this one riff. We played it round a couple of times, and some of these other French guys in the studio who knew Tony played along and were either helping out on bass or percussion. We kinda had it there. The moment that that had happened we were getting on like a house on fire after that. The room changed.”

As they played more and more, Yannis discovered at close quarters what he loved about Tony’s artistry and even discovered new things. “I was surprised at how quietly he played,” he says with deep reverence. “Coming from proper big arena rock shows on this Foals tour and playing songs like ‘What Went Down’ and ‘Snakeoil’ was a total pivot into this much more deft style of playing. Just being in a room with him and hearing him in the moment playing his drums that I had become so familiar with, the texture and the rhythm of the way he played and that being on something that I was writing live on the spot and that we were inhabiting the same moment of creativity together in a room was just electrifying.”

‘Walk Through Fire’ was the spark that ignited the whole project. “It was the first thing. It’s immediate in the same way that it was immediate in the room on that day,” enthuses Yannis. “The lyrics are pretty resonant with the time we’re living in. Tony encouraged this in me. He wanted the lyrics to be engaged with the social fabric. A lot of Tony’s music, and the lineage of Fela Kuti and Afrobeat, is often very political with protest songs. In discussing with Tony about the lyrics, he wanted it to mine the social discord. It resonates today. It’s got this fresh energy. It feels like a more garagey or bluesy song. It’s quite rough and freeing and fun. It was a good entry point to the project but also makes sense chronologically.”

The jamming session in Paris was intended to lead to work beginning on a full album, but events got in the way firstly with scheduling issues and then Covid before Tony’s sad passing, which ultimately gave Yannis the impetus to turn those special moments into something real and tangible. “Covid really scuppered us because he was based in Paris. It was impossible for so long,” he explains. “As is the way with collaborations, once you’ve captured the lighting in the bottle, sometimes you don’t complete it when you should. You know that it’s there, so you get slightly complacent about it. I had a lot of stuff with Foals and he was busy as well doing The Good, The Bad and The Queen. He was really busy, and between us we couldn’t get together. Sadly and tragically, he passed away during Covid. It strangely was a massive motivation to try to finish it. Largely out of guilt that we hadn’t done it while he was alive and realising that it had been such a special experience in my life creatively, but just as a person, it was such a unique moment for us to have not completed it and played shows together. Out of bittersweet guilt, I really wanted to finish it. We needed to put them out to do it justice.”

The EP is a beautiful tribute to the enduring legacy of Tony Allen and the creative spirit he represents. “His music will live on forever,” says Yannis passionately. “The drums will play on. He had such an incredible and unique style of playing. He was the originator. He was the source. There’s an untappable well that will continue to inspire people for generations.”

The record is also an example of his dexterity as a musician and willingness to still try new things. “This release is an interesting perspective on Tony’s writing,” says Yannis. “It’s definitely a different project than Tony’s worked on before. It’s the heaviest stuff he was involved in. For me, it’s obviously the most inspired by jazz and Afrobeat. For people coming to the EP, it’s an interesting prism that we were both put in and thrust together to write this.”

Even more remarkable is that it almost never happened. “Had I not gone to Paris that day and further along, had we not kept it up and had we not finished it, through these chance meetings and happenings, you can end up with something that’s precious and is permanent,” he continues. “When so much of life is impermanent, that’s a really important lesson that I learned. I feel protective over the record. It’s a treasure and a document of two people who came together. He was in his seventies when I met him, and I was in my twenties. There’s something amazing about two people from different cultures and backgrounds and generations being thrust together unknowingly without knowing each other and through music very quickly bonding and forming and creating something that will last.”

This collaborative project comes at a time when Foals are able to take a pause and reflect on a triumphant couple of years following their euphoric 2022 album ‘Life Is Yours’ which cemented them firmly at the top of the UK band pantheon after almost two decades of innovation. “We’ve been smashing it for so many years; it’s been such a constant focus of our lives,” says Yannis, explaining the band’s desire to take stock. “It has been incredible to devote yourself to something so absorbing, but I think every now and then you just have to come up for air and remind yourself what life looks like above the parapet. For self-preservation and the preservation of the band, it’s important to occasionally stop and assess what exactly we want to do next rather than just automatically make another record without consideration. This time, we want to think about what we’re going to do next, and I think that’s natural after having put out quite a few records; it’s important for us to decide what we want to do.”

In the meantime, Yannis And The Yaw offers the opportunity to have some fun and do something a little different. Certainly not a solo project, but just a different kind of creative expression. “I’ve left it open-ended,” he says excitedly. “The idea behind the Yaw part is that it could be a rotating collaborative project. The title, ‘Lagos Paris London’, is the cultural touchstones for the EP, and it’s a musical postcard from these locations. If there was to be another project with the Yaw again, it would be three different locations and a different cultural mix. It’s not meant to be a solo expression. This EP is an archive of time recording with Tony and French musicians Vincent Taeger and Vincent Tuarelle, who were really important and produced it. I would imagine they might be part of the Yaw. It’s important to make the distinction. If I were to do a solo record, it would sound a lot different. This is led by Tony and the group of his musicians in France. If I was to do another one, it would sound quite different. There are no plans for that right now. I want to leave it open-ended and let this EP have its time in the sun, and let’s see what happens later on.”

With the EP arriving at the end of the summer, there’s a tantalising opportunity for perhaps some gigs as Yannis looks to continue to honour the legacy of one of his all-time heroes. “I think we will,” he smiles when asked if he’s planning to bring these songs to life on stage. “Not an extensive tour, but a couple of shows to give the record a good release and a good send-off and honour Tony.”

#yannis philippakis #yannis and the yaw #y&ty #interview #actual reading

[thegroovywitch]

Michael Winner about Jimmy Page

Jimmy Page and Michael Winner at the Death Wish II premiere, 1982.

“They already had Isaac Hayes to do the music in Hollywood. There’s nothing wrong with Isaac Hayes, he’s very good, but I thought how dare they choose someone without consulting me? And he was doing it for nothing, I’m not sure why, and giving them a percentage of the record… But I’d lived next door to Jimmy for many years, I’d never seen him, never spoken to him. So I rang up the number, got onto Peter Grant, and actually Peter Grant was very clever because although Jimmy wasn’t paid anything, it was a very bad down period for him – the drummer [John Bonham] had died, and he was in a very inactive period. Jimmy was in a down period, bless him.

And he rang the doorbell, and I thought if the wind blows he’ll fall over. Ha ha! he might possibly have been on substances, shall we say, at that time…. He’s clean as a whistle now, he doesn’t even drink! He was running around the block the other day – he said “Don’t tell anyone I’m running, it will ruin my reputation.”

He saw the film, we spotted where the music was to go, and then he said to me “I’m going to my studio” – at the time he owned a studio in Cookham, it was later bought by Chris Rea. He said “I don’t want you anywhere near me, I’m going to do it all on my own.” Well, my editing staff said this is bloody dangerous! We’d normally expect to see a sample of music at least, and he’s never don a film! And I said, well, I trust him, that’s what we are going to do. I trusted him – just as I trusted Herbie Hancock for the first Death Wish, and Gato Barbieri for Fire Power. I’ve used a lot of these people who film companies don’t usually use.

Anyway, Jimmy then turned up with the score, and it was absolutely magical. Not only was it a great score but you know, filming is done to a 24th for a second, there are 24 frames of film go through every second… and everything hit the button totally! It was one of the most professional scores – well, I’ve never seen a more professional score in my life. On his own – we gave him the film, we gave him timings, and he did it all on his own. I personally edited the film and I laid the music on the film, and I’ll never forget, it was in my attic here in the house next to Jimmy’s – I put the two together, I put his start mark against our start mark, and I said “Fuck me! This is absolutely fucking incredible! Great music and its hits every fucking thing its meant to hit at the right time to the 24th of a second!” I was flabbergasted… he hit everything! You know, Herbie Hancock was adorable but he didn’t hit everything… Herbie was great, don’t get me wrong, but Jimmy was immaculate.

Then we made Death Wish III…. I cut up the music from Death Wish II and laid it against Death Wish III, and it fitted just as well. So I rang Jimmy one evening and said “Jimmy darling, do you want another film credit and you don’t have to do anything at all?” I recut the music, I used them differently, I chopped bits out the middle… I said “You come and see it Jimmy, it’s fucking perfect…” Jimmy said “I must give you new copies of the music from the original masters, I said ‘Well Jimmy I’ve got the masters, it’s perfectly alright…” he said No no. That’s how meticulous he is. “You want me to lay the whole thing again, lay every single cue by hand again?” I said “Jimmy, of course we will.” Hahaha! So he got two films for the price of one…

He was the ultimate professional, he was extremely gentle, extremely gentlemanly, I was asked to all his strange girlfriend’s parties – Charlotte, she’s now head of the church in Bray. He knows all the restaurants around here, recommends them to me now. He’s a great neighbour, a great person and a great expert on Victorian art – a serious expert on Victorian art. I went around all the painters and I didn’t realised then he’d been at art school. He’s got a fantastic collection of Victorian art, Byrne Jones tapestries and things.

Yeah, I once said to Jimmy “What’s all this about the occult and black magic?” Oh, he said, it’s all nonsense… well I’m sure it wasn’t nonsense, bless him, but he’d grown out of it by the time I’d met him. A lot of people had a period of lunacy, it didn’t matter – in his case particularly it didn’t matter, because that great talent was never affected by it.

I don’t think [Led Zeppelin] are going to reform. It’s well known that he has a kind of one off love affair with Robert Plant. One minute they love each other and the next they don’t… I think it’s 50/50 at best. Jimmy doesn’t need the money. What I admire about Jimmy is he is always working – I say “What are you doing Jimmy?”, “Well, it’s the 30th anniversary of something, I’m making a video, were redoing the film, re-relasing it…” He’s always doing something. I don’t know, I don’t want to get involved in asking impertinent questions because he’s a friend, you know? I’m quite happy to read about it in the papers.”

full interview: x

#i love how he says ‘bless him’ a million times lmao #have a read if you have time! this interview is so wholesome #as was their beautiful friendship 🥺 #jimmy page #michael winner #1980s #1982 #eighties #led zeppelin #classic rock #rock #hard rock #rock n roll #rock music #80s music #80s rock #80s vintage #80s retro #by dee dee 🌺🕯️

[mischiefandmedicine]

Very Full - Chapter 9: Wasted on You

Summary: Loki remembers Melara recording her demo.

Word Count: 2,767 words.

Chapter Warnings: More angst and anxiety.

Soundtrack Link

This Chapter's Music Inspiration:

Wasted on You by Evanescence

Very Full MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter

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“Your mother,” Loki began, his voice a soft echo amidst the cosmic symphony, “she asked for space, and I had to respect that. She needed time to process the whirlwind that had become our shared existence. I watched her from afar, hidden amidst the throngs at the music festival. Her performance was a beacon, her voice a siren’s call amidst the cacophony of life.”

He paused, his eyes reflecting the myriad paths of reality. “I kept my distance. Yet, in the sea of faces, I was there, a silent guardian veiled in the mundane. It was important for her to stand on her own, to embrace her destiny without my shadow looming over her.”

Saoirse listened, her gaze fixed upon the god before her. “And then?” she prompted.

“Then, she soared,” Loki replied with a hint of pride. “That performance, it wasn’t just a triumph of her talent; it was an affirmation of her strength, her resilience. It led her to record something called a demo, a collection of songs, many of which echoed our…encounters.”

His voice trailed off as he mentally conjured an image of Melara in the studio, lost in her art, translating emotions and memories into melodies. “In her music, she wove a tapestry through which I saw our story. I saw the love, the pain, the beauty of what we shared in the short time that I had gotten to know her. Even as I remained a specter in her world, her songs kept me tethered, a ghostly presence in her life.”

Saoirse leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity and a touch of sorry. “And what did you do?”

Loki’s smile was tinged with melancholy. “I listened, I watched, and I loved. In her music, I found solace, and in her newfound success, a bittersweet joy. For even as she moved on, part of her remained with me…and I with her. Our story was suspended in the timeless realm of memories and melodies.”

There was a pause between them before Saoirse broke the silence. “Why do I get the impression that you are not telling me everything, Loki?” she said with a furrowed brow watching as her father shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You should know by now that I can read you like a book. Tell me what you’re hiding, Loki…,” Saoirse demanded.

Loki smirked knowingly, “You are your mother’s daughter…and certainly mine as well.” He laughed awkwardly before continuing. “I visited her.”

“No shit…,” Saoirse scoffed.

***

In the dim light of the studio kitchenette, Melara sat alone, her thoughts a whirlwind as she prepared tea with honey to protect her throat and vocal cords while on break from recording one of the songs of her demo. Each movement was punctuated with a huff, an unspoken dialogue with the emptiness around her. All she could do was stare into the swirling vortex of hot water as she stirred the liquid in her mug. A few moments passed before she spoke, without averting her gaze from the drink, her voice cutting through the silence. “I know you’re there, you don’t have to keep hiding. It's creepy and only pissing me off.”

At her words, Loki’s projection materialized, a faint golden shimmer before fully appearing. “How did you know?” he asked, his voice tinged with both surprise and concern.

“I just did,” she replied, not bothering to mask her annoyance. “I thought I asked you to give me some space.”

“Melara…” Loki began, but his words trailed off, lost in the chasm between them.

“What could you possibly want, Loki?” She demanded, her voice sharp.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted, stepping closer.

Melara gestured to the empty space around her, anger punctuating her movements. “As you can see, I’m just fine,” Melara countered, her tone cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the tea she clutched.

Loki paused, searching for the right words. “Melara, I…”

Melara’s frustration was palpable as she faced Loki’s ethereal projection in the dimly lit kitchenette. “Loki, I don’t know what to say to you. I have said it so many times. How is this even supposed to work? You’re basically a ghost.”

Loki’s form, shimmering slightly, responded earnestly, “But you know that I am here.”

She sighed, her voice laced with a bitter understanding. “You’re not even in a tangible realm of existence right now, Loki. This thing, it’s not you.”

Loki, attempting to bridge the gap between them, insisted, “But this is me. It’s like a complete duplicate of who I am. One who could exist in your realm…on your timeline. Interact with you…,” he paused to close the distance between them. “See you. Feel you. Smell you. It’s all the same.”

Melara’s gaze hardened as she backed away. “It’s not all the same, Loki. I know the difference. I’ve felt the difference.”

A mischievous smirk played on Loki’s lips, only to be met with Melara’s sharp rebuke. “Stop that!”

Loki’s laughter echoed softly, his voice filled with his characteristic charm. “’Lara, you know I cannot help it.”

Her expression softened, yet the stern tone in her voice remained. “Ugh. I’m being serious, Loki…”

In the tense stillness of the kitchenette, Melara suddenly cut off her words, her face turning a ghostly pale. With a swift motion, she pushed past Loki’s projection and bolted into the adjacent bathroom. The sounds of her distress echoed through the room, followed by the rush of water. Loki, a mix of concern and confusion etched on his spectral face, hovered near the door, awaiting her return.

When Melara emerged, her composure somewhat regained, Loki was there, in the doorway, blocking her path. “What’s going on, ‘Lara? Really. I want to hear it from you. You know I will find out,” he pressed, his voice laced with a combination of worry and insistence.

Melara, avoiding his gaze, remained silent, her eyes darting around as if seeking an escape. Loki persisted, his tone softening, “’Lara, please. I just want to make sure that you are okay,” he paused, thinking of her screams the night he found her in the hospital and the way the excruciating pain had twisted her body and nearly stopped her heart. “I can sense that you’re not, so at least be honest with me.”

She moved past him back to the kitchen, her movements betraying a nervous energy. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he noticed a subtle change in her silhouette, a detail that had not registered until now. “Mmmmmm…I think something is wrong with your stomach. It’s bigger,” he observed, his voice reflecting his surprise.

Melara whirled around, her anger flaring. “Oh my god, Loki. That’s not something you say! What the fuck?!” she snapped, her voice scolding in a mix of outrage and shock.

As Loki reached out to offer a consoling touch, Melara reacted with unexpected agility and strength. In an instant, she seized his wrist and flipped him over, sending him crashing to the floor. His groan of pain and surprise filled the room.

Melara leaned over him, offering a hand with an embarrassed laugh. “Don’t touch me without…”

“Without your permission,” Loki finished for her, pain etched on his face as he struggled to comprehend the situation, feeling the pain stretch back across the expanses to his corporeal being seated on the throne. “What in the hell is this?” He dusted himself off, standing up and looking at her with newfound wariness. “You told me that you weren’t a witch…or a Valkyrie.”

Melara straightened up, a smirk playing on her lips. “A lot has happened since I last saw you.”

“I can see that,” Loki said dryly, his gaze fixating on her now-exposed ever-so-slightly rounded belly. The revelation dawning on him brought a mixture of astonishment and curiosity to his expression.

As the hushed confines of the kitchenette encircled the pair, a profound realization sank in. His once playful yet concerned demeanor faded, replaced by an intense solemnity. As he eyed Melara, a constellation of emotions flickered across his face, what little color he had in his usually pale face gradually drained away.

“’Lara, is it…are you…?” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with questions. Hesitation laced his every word, betraying a vulnerability seldom seen in the god of stories. He moved cautiously, a respectful distance maintained, yet his eyes, wide with a mix of astonishment and concern, never left her form.

With a tentative step forward, he sought silent permission, his hand hovering in the air, an unspoken request in his eyes to bridge the gap between them. The air seemed to thrum with the gravity of the moment, a pause in time where the potential of new life hung delicately in the balance.

As Melara gave a subtle nod, Loki’s hand gently, almost reverently, came to rest near her belly. The contact was light, yet it carried the weight of countless fears. In that touch, the realization fully settled within him – the possibility that life might be growing within her. His gaze shifted, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice carrying a tentative note, carefully choosing his words.

“’Lara,” he began, his tone gentle yet tinged with an underlying uncertainty. “This…what you’re facing now…it’s… extraordinary. But may I ask…?”

Melara paused, a hint of a coy smile playing on her lips, held his gaze a moment before speaking. With a subtle knowing smile, she said, “Let’s just say, some encounters leave more than just memories, Loki. Sometimes they leave…echoes of themselves in the most unexpected ways.”

Loki, taken aback by Melara’s cryptic response, pressed for clarity, “I…beg your pardon?” he asked, voice laced with cautious curiosity. His eyes searched hers, seeking an answer that lingered between them. The complexity of their situation, coupled with the gravity of what Melara implied, hung heavily in the moment, a testament to the unforeseen consequences of their singular union at the end of time.

“Loki, I have not been with anyone since you,” Melara clarified with a shy smile, feeling her skin redden.

The air charged between Melara and Loki was palpable, a mix of revelation and hesitation hanging like a mist around them. As Loki’s ephemeral form stepped closer, he captured her lips with a kiss as chaste as moonlight on water. It was a moment of tenderness amidst the turmoil, a pause in their storm of emotions. But Melara, ever the flame to his moth, gently pushed him away, her voice a soft but firm whisper, “This doesn’t change anything. I’m still lost at sea, Loki, and I’m not ready to find shore yet,” she paused to choose her next words carefully.

Loki smiled hesitantly, brushing her hair aside, longing to express his love for her once more, thinking better of it, given the precarious nature of Melara’s feelings towards his duplicate. He settled for cupping her face with his hands as he watched tears well up in her eyes.

“I…Loki?” her words, though spoken with a gentle smile, were edged with the sharpness of her inner conflict.

“Hmmm?”

“Does this superhuman strength come with carrying the child of a god?” she asked with a hint of seriousness mixed with worry. The silence hung between the two before they both laughed at the absurdity of the question before a hush fell over them both.

Brushing away a tear, he replied with a smile, “Darling, I don’t entirely know how to answer that.”

She blushed once more, thinking before jokingly responding with a giggle, “Well, I would call you if I do figure it out, or once I have an answer for you about anything, but I don’t think you’d get cell service at the end of time.”

Loki’s response was immediate, a soft offer laced with hope, “You know exactly how to get in touch with me, ‘Lara. I do have one request though.”

“What’s that?” she asked softly.

“Let me stay with you while you finish this recording session. Then, I’ll be out of your hair until you need me,” he said cracking a half smile.

“Oh shit, the session! I have to get back,” she finished softly, caressing his face with her hand. “You…this seems different. I don’t know what it is. But you can stay for this session. Just stay out of the way.”

As their epic story unfurls before them, Melara, carrying the revelation and the newly discovered connection with Loki, finds herself back in the recording studio, the warmth of the lights above fusing with the warm burgeoning within her psyche. Loki’s projection, now a silent observer, held space in the shadows, watching as Melara greeted the band and approached the microphone.

The air is thick with anticipation; the engineers and producers in the studio exchange knowing glances, aware of the magic Melara is about to weave, recording another take of her live arrangement. She introduces the final song of the session commanding the room to fall into a respectful hush as she finds her starting note. Her voice is tender yet haunting as she begins, meeting Loki’s gaze.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

In a tender exchange of glances, Melara and Loki felt the background melt away as she sang. They were the only connected souls in the room as the music flowed like electricity, connecting them both.

Love, don’t you remember? We were the ones, Nothing could ever change. And love, it’s easier not to believe we have broken everything, But here we are. Numb my head ‘til I can’t think anymore, But I still feel the pain.

            Loki gasped as the band’s percussion picked up.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

Melara imagined herself and the life she had experienced before Loki stumbled into her bar and found himself at her feet as she sang. Her voice was strong then, but now it was airy, conveying the juxtaposition of points in time. She was lost without Loki, but still yearned to find her own way through the darkness, navigating her new tasks: motherhood and a burgeoning musical career. She had grown beyond the woman who happened to enjoy singing karaoke, finding opportunities to appear as a guest with local bands.

Once this was a garden, This was our world, And all of the nightmares stayed in the dark. A little too much time by yourself, And you became the enemy, Just look at us now. Drowning slowly, Just to stay true.

As she repeated the chorus again, she thought of the promises he had made. He would lay waste to the universe to protect her, but what good would those vows be as a hollow image of himself? She thought of the child possibly sensing that he was not a true form, but a nearly perfect copy, a duplicate meant to take his place. A placeholder for someone who had to fulfill a duty to the universe. That damn multiverse, she thought.

Will I ever be the same? Am I strong enough to change? Is it in my blood? Shield my eyes to face the day, Come too far to slip away, But it’s killing me to go on without you.

But Loki could not stay, even if she wanted him to. She watched as her words hit him and his face contorted with the emotions, he felt the impact of her words. She conveyed that she was, “just fine”. Just like that, Loki’s duplicate shimmered into obscurity, concealing that he had lost control of his own emotions and begun sobbing as she sang her song. He had to stay out of the way. He was to let her realize her dreams without his interference.

I don’t need drugs, I’m already six feet below, Wasted on you, Waiting for a miracle. I can’t move on, Feels like we’re frozen in time, Wasted on you, Just pass me the bitter truth.

With deep breaths to calm herself after the final notes of the song that had spoken to her over the weeks since meeting Loki, Melara resolved to stay strong for the sake of her own sanity. Loki was gone once again and she did not have the power within herself to tear apart the multiverse to claim him as her own.

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Tags: @mischief2sarawr

#loki masterlist #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki marvel #loki #loki series #loki x reader #tva loki