#the inspo came from me smelling a fucking body wash

[bestiesenpai]

serial killer getou

Quick thanks to my friend that sent me this when I asked for inspo💖 also spoiler I changed it up…the call might be coming from inside the house if you catch my drift

My google search history is fucked too lol. Warning this contains a brief graphic description of murder. Quite a happy ending tho and gender neutral hehe :) happy halloween

It was like clockwork, every night. Coming into his shift at the 24-hour cafe, Getou scoped out the customers. When he arrived at his usual time, 8pm, there were few people right for the picking. Couples, groups of friends - never anyone alone, and if there was, they usually got to-go orders. But as the hours ticked by, his selection got better.

Lone, sleep deprived students were usually the first ones to come in at around 11pm for a quick fix as they poured over their studies. Next were the people going home from a night out, sometimes too drunk to make heads or tails of themselves or what they wanted to order. And at the crest of the lonely hours, when there was only one person in the shop, that’s when Getou would be able to make his move.

It was truly a shame the cafe didn’t have cameras, that the owners were two old grandparents who could barely work a register anymore. They should be more careful, Getou always thought as he dragged his unsuspecting victim into the backrooms. He always got them the same way, drugging their drink of choice and watching them become delusional and weak.

Sometimes, he’d have to wait and work up to taking someone, learn their patterns and see what they did. Others, he was able to move right in and take them without even a single thought. And as the heavy door would close behind him, Getou would get a rush of adrenaline unlike any other.

The knife he kept tucked in his waistband would itch him like crazy as he stood over his victims, watching as they always tried to fight through the haze in their mind to stop him from what he was about to do. Liking to switch it up, sometimes Getou would slash their clothes off before dismemberment - maybe he’d cut out their tongue and eyes before slashing their throats.

Whatever he chose to do, it was always washed away and cleaned up before morning. Taking the body with him when he left, he would deposit the pieces in different dumpsters. Never dumping at the same place twice, he would leave the police stumped as to who was actually doing these crimes.

The familiar ding of the door as someone walked in at 3:30am immediately caught Getous attention. It was a slow night tonight, not that he needed to kill someone every shift, but it was a bit unusual. Seeing you saunter in with a slightly intoxicated swing to your hips and a confident look on your face had a smirk going across Getou’s face.

“How can I help you?” He let out a smooth drawl when you got within earshot, ear twitching with excitement when you slapped your hand on the counter.

“O-one chai latte!” A little hiccup caught in your throat and you giggled at it, sliding your hand away to reveal a crisp twenty. Getou could smell a light scent of alcohol on you and grinned even more; this would be too easy.

“Isn’t this a little much for just a latte?” He teased, ringing you up. His brow quirked up when you didn’t take your change.

“Keep it! Got more where that came from!” Pulling away one side of your jacket, you revealed a band of rolled up bills bound by a few rubber bands.

“Impressive.” Getou actually was impressed. He’d only seen money held like that in TV shows. Muttering something unintelligible, you nodded and took a few steps back, checking your phone idly. Pocketing the rest of your change, Getou set to work on making your latte, putting his secret ingredient inside as well.

“Here you are.” Sliding it across the counter at you, Getou smiled with his teeth showing as you took a healthy swig.

“This is really good! Who knew it’d hit the spot so late at night?” Giving him a thumbs up, you tucked your phone away and took another sip. “Hey, is it always this dead in here?”

“At 3 in the morning? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Right…” Nodding to yourself like you were deep in thought, you spun around in a slow circle and looked at all the decor. It was quite simple, very reminiscent of the people that owned the shop with muted colors and a lot of cushions everywhere. A few well taken care of plants dotted the space and some hand painted pictures in frames covered some empty spaces.

You and Getou made idle chit chat as you sipped your drink, talking about this and that and fluttering from topic to topic. Getou found it nice to talk to you; despite his sinister intentions, he thought you were pleasant, and maybe someone he could make it into a friend.

Oh well.

He watched you like a hawk for any subtle hints that the sedative was working. He knew the alcohol in your system would make it work much quicker and it was only a matter of time. The signs started to show before he knew it: slurred words, loosening grip on your cup and buckling knees. Walking around the counter, he put a delicate hand on your shoulder.

“Are you okay?” He asked, taking your cup and putting it down. Your eyelids fluttered as you looked up at him, and there was a no slurred into the sound you made. “Here, follow me.” Letting you lean against him, he guided you to the fated backroom. A sick smile washed over him as he opened the heavy door and let you in before he did. Flicking on the light, he stood before you with such glee his fingers shook.

“Where are we?” Leaning against a stack of sugar, you looked around, unable to focus on anything.

“Your final resting place.” Right as he untucked his knife, you completely snapped out of your stupor. Standing up straight and clearing your throat, there was an unnerving air of confidence around you that made Getou hesitate. “What’re you-”

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been trying to find you.” Giddily clapping your hands, you stuck one out for him to shake. “Name’s (Y/N), I’m a bit of a…” You giggled at what you were about to say. “A bit of a black widow.” The name the media gave you was so silly, you couldn’t help but find it funny.

“What the fuck.” Loosening his grip on the knife, Getou cautiously shook your hand, watching you bounce on your heels and laugh some more. “Who- what the-” This wasn’t how Getou imagined this to go at all. Looking you up and down, he wasn’t sure if this was real or he had somehow taken the drug as well.

“Don’t look so surprised! You’re not the only one that can kill people!” Playfully slapping his shoulder, you motioned to his knife. “Although, I prefer to do it a different way. Never was a fan of doing manual labor.” That made him snort and put the knife away; he never considered there’d be different classes of how to kill people.

“Yeah? How do you do it?”

“What’d you put in my drink? A few benzo’s, right?” Getou nodded, a little embarrassed he’d been found out so easily. Fishing something out of an inner pocket in your jacket, you produced a small bag of white powder. “Well this is what I use. Ketamine mostly, mixed with a few other things.”

“How do you even get that stuff?” He’d tried to get it, tried to make connections, but it proved too difficult for him. The bag you had was an impressive size, even though it was rather small. Getou’s mind raced with the possibilities of what he could do with it.

“I have my ways.” Winking at him, you tucked it back and flashed him your rolled up bills. “How d’ya think I got this?” Sharing a brief laugh, Getou opened up the backroom door, letting you out and going to sit down at a table. There wasn’t another soul in sight, the streets were starkly empty and there was a light fog in the air.

“So how many bodies do you have?” He asked as he took a seat.

“Take a look for yourself.” Pulling something up on your phone, you slid it over to him. There on the screen in big, bold letters, were the words ‘BLACK WIDOW CLAIMS 25TH VICTIM’. Seeing his brows raise made another laugh come from you, and you took your phone away briefly before showing him a set of photos.

“Woah.” Getou’s eyes were huge as he looked over them. They were all pictures of your victims, blue-gray tinge to the skin, no life in their eyes. Some were sitting naked in bathtubs, a few with half buttoned suit jackets face down on plush rugs - the amount of different scenarios was nearly overwhelming.

Sitting back in your seat, you had a smug look on your face. You showed him a few pictures of the things you’d taken as well: jewelry, clothes, designer goods and of course any cash they had. Resting his head in his palm, Getou was fascinated by you. It’s not every day you meet another killer, and one that was entertaining to boot.

“So where do I come into all of this?” Harkening back to your previous statement about trying to find him, Getou was interested in whatever plan you had up your sleeve. Instantly sitting upright in your chair, you fixed him with a deranged smile.

“Let’s partner up.” Your statement made him chuckle, but he didn’t immediately turn it down.

“How so?”

“Well, I’ve been looking to go a little further with my endeavors, if you catch my drift. A couple people have been hounding me about some silly organ trafficking business and I simply refuse to get my hands dirty.” Your face changed to one of disgust and a shiver went down your spine.

“What’s in it for me?” Leaning forward as well, the space between the two of you was dwindling.

“You get a generous cut of course! I’m nothing if not a good business partner!” You slapped a hand over your heart for emphasis. “They said if I can get them 5 bodies in a week they’ll give me 25,000 and split between the two of us…well, that’s just easy money if you ask me.”

“What if it’s not money I want?” Tilting his head, Getou watched your face change. It was true, he didn’t kill for any monetary gain; he killed because he loved it. It brought him an endorphin rush that had yet to be beat.

“If you think I’m going to sleep with you, you’ve got another thing coming.” Well, that’s not what he was expecting you to say. Getou’s hand slipped out from under him and his neck snapped up.

“What makes you think I want that!” He shouted in embarrassment, cheeks heating up a bit.

“Well what am I supposed to think?!” You cried back, laughing breathlessly. “With the face you were giving me, I didn’t know what was going on in that head!” Slapping his hands on his cheeks, Getous blush got worse at the prospect he might have been giving you sex eyes.

“I was just messing around!”

“Good! Cause as hot as you are, we just met! What if you’re some serial killer?” Laughing at your own joke, you laughed even more when Getou started to chuckle.

“That’s true, you’ve got to be careful of strangers.” Finally feeling his face cool down, Getou looked at you again. “Speaking of serial killers, how’d you find out about me?” He always worked alone and made sure to cover every square inch of his tracks. There wasn’t a single thing Getou left to chance.

“When body parts start to appear out of thin air, people get to talking. No one knew it was you, it’s all speculation out there, but if you know who to talk to you can find out anything. For instance, I was able to find out what the victims had in their stomachs before they died and went around a shit ton of coffee shops.”

“Is that how you knew I used benzo’s?”

“Mhmm! I was able to build up quite a tolerance too.” Having a police toxicologist wrapped around your finger certainly helped the matter. They were able to tell you a lot of other things, but you didn’t want to bore him with the details.

“So, when do we start?” Getou was eager to learn more, get more involved in this underground network.

“Enthusiastic, I like it.” Picking up your phone, you handed it to him. “Gimme your number and we’ll make something happen.” You didn’t have to tell him twice. Quickly punching in his number, Getou watched you take your phone back and put it into your pocket. Standing up slowly, you stretched and let out a soft groan.

“Leaving so soon?” Was it desperate to admit that he didn’t want you to leave?

“I’m tired!” Taking a quick glance at the clock, Getou saw it was pushing 4:15am. “I have to get home and take a shower, maybe stop by 7-11.” Following your lead, Getou stood up as well and walked you to the door.

“Get home safe, I hear there’s a serial killer running loose.” A proud smile spread across his face as Getou got you to laugh.

“Oh of course, thank you for the concern.” Stopping right before you stepped out, you turned over your shoulder to look at him. “I’ll give you a call later, probably around 2? And we can work out all the details then. Maybe grab lunch somewhere that won’t try to kill me.” Giving him a brief wave, you stepped out onto the street. “Have a good night, Suguru.”

“You too.” Waving you off, he walked back behind the counter, recounting the interactions you had. Riding on a high, something caught his attention that alarmed him greatly. He’d put his name in your phone as Getou, and that’s what it said on his nametag as well. “How’d they know my name is Suguru?”

#jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

[zinzinina]

Hi Sam! 💖 Congrats on 300, that is so incredible! I am loving your posts and fics so much, I am so happy I found you on here.

If you are up to doing another Rex, could I request these 2?

Dialogue #28 - Do you have any idea what you fucking do to me?

And

Theme #16 - Public fingering

Congrats again!! 💖🌟

J, it has been MONTHS since you sent this to me, and I am so sorry for the delay. I had a random burst of Rex-inspo today, so I really hope you enjoy what I came up with. Thank you for such an amazing prompt! 💕 x

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader Word Count: 2k Rating: Explicit 18+ C/W: Vaginal fingering, voyeurism, public sex, dirty talk, overblown fluff, Rex is a little bit prudish and I live to make the man blush, anything you think I’ve missed please let me know.

You’ve been restless all night.

Rex’s arm is stretched across the back of the booth just above your shoulders, the plasma-scored plastoid over his chest cool against your side. He leans back, a slight smile playing around the edges of his lips as he watches Echo and Fives at the bar. The twin ARC troopers’ heads are bent close together, their postures identical as though conspiring at something under the pound of music. You shift again, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you watch his face.

He looks…perfectly content. He’s absently stroking a gloved thumb across your knuckles, your hand enclosed in his own beneath the table. The simple intimacy of the gesture makes your heart ache; the unconsciousness of it, the familiarity. Sometimes you love him so much you can almost feel the weight of it inside you, like another organ.

You lean closer, close enough to feel the heat of his body against your own, and he glances down to catch you still staring at him. His dark eyes soften, a little bend of self consciousness to his lips. “Hmm?”

You shake your head, returning his smile. You can’t put it into words. And you won’t try; any attempt to do so would only wash out the potency of the way you feel. All you can do is stretch your neck up, tilting your chin toward him in the unspoken question he’s grown to recognise easily. He meets your lips with his own, leaning in to help you reach. Immediate warmth rushes under your neck, the close taste of his lips and the smell of skin grounding him in front of you. He’s here, actually here—not somewhere out on a cruiser above a war-torn system, not clambering frantic through waist-high mud, being shot at, hoarsely shouting orders. You know you don’t have long before he’ll be redeployed; he’s only here to finalise the reports issued for the last mission, liaising with GAR high command to determine what comes next.

But just for now, you have him as solid and real as the feel of your own body beneath your hands. It makes you push up towards him, your lips parting hungrily. His groan is a murmur, his brows furrowing slightly over his closed eyes. The sound is enough to drop a hard pulse of need right between your thighs, and you press your legs together around the clench.

Your body’s response to him has always been pronounced. The slightest tilt of his head sending a slow, blood-warmed ache to your centre. The simple sound of his gruff voice earlier tonight as he’d ordered drinks for you both raising shivers along the backs of your arms. So it’s no surprise that the feeling of his warm, dry lips against your own steals the breath from your lungs. Your heartbeat thickens in your ears as you let your tongue dance along the edge of his lower lip, trying to draw him closer.

And his response is no surprise either. Gently, he leans back, unwinding his fingers from your own to cup the base of your skull. It’s both a remonstration and a caress as he disengages from the kiss. He chuckles, looking slightly dazed. “You miss me that much?”

“Every time,” you tell him. His eyes are creased with affection, looking down into your face, but he shows no signs of wanting to continue the kiss. You try to mask your dejection, knowing it’s just him. He’s always been so…respectful. You’ve seen plenty of his brothers descend into messiness on nights just like this one, but he’s never so much as uttered a curse word in your presence. While he’s not shy about making you cry out as you gush onto his tongue in the privacy of your apartment, to the casual observer, his rigid propriety in public would suggest otherwise. It’s just one of the millions of things about him that simultaneously make your heart ache with softness while also making your hands itch with frustration. Sometimes, secretly…you wish he’d be a little bit…dirtier with you.

Relaxing back into the slightly sticky synth-leather of the booth, you breathe through your nose. The music has shifted to something brash and insistent, and the mood in the crowded bar seems to collectively heighten to match the change. Echo leans on his elbows, his back to the bar as Fives bends in beside him to say something to a short, curvaceous woman with bright pink hair. Even from here you can see the doubtful line in her eyebrows, Fives’ emphatic hand gestures clearly doing nothing in the way of convincing her to join them.

Nobody is paying any attention whatsoever to your dark corner. Even if they were, they’d only be able to make out your faces, shadowed under the haze. They wouldn’t be able to see the way your hand is curled back inside Rex’s own, or the uncomfortable way your thighs press against one another. It might be the two drinks you’ve downed in quick succession, or the fact that you haven’t seen him in weeks, or the sight of fresh blaster-scars on his chestplate—a reminder of the fragility of the time you have with him. It could just be him; proud and shy, tough and compassionate. But your want is suddenly painfully overwhelming.

You want every part of him inside every part of you. His breath in your lungs, his words in your ears, his tongue in your mouth. It’s indefinable, this want. The closest thing you have to understanding it is just…hunger. Animal and needing, uncaring of the means. It’s not that simple, of course, and it’s not only about the growing ache between your legs, but right now it’s the most urgent part, and it’s the closest thing you have to pinpointing it.

“Rex,” you breathe. His expression is guarded, like he can sense what’s driving your mood before you even speak the words. “Touch me.”

He doesn’t need any more explanation than this, his gaze drifting down to your posture, your spine curving as you lean toward him. “You want to go home? I’ll take you home. Back to your place.” He’s already shifting as though to slide out of the booth, hurriedly tipping the rest of his drink back in one gulp and reaching toward his helmet’s resting place in the middle of the table.

Your hand catches him and pulls him back down, and his eyes dart back to your face in surprise. “I don’t want to go home yet. I meant now.” Holding his gaze with your own, you pointedly bring your clasped hands into your lap. You slowly unwind your fingers from his and bring his hand lower, until it rests under the hem of your skirt. His dark eyebrows are nearly disappearing up into his pale hairline, eyes wide.

“Love, I…can’t. Someone’ll see you. The boys, or—”

You bring his hand higher, up to the softness of your inner thigh. “It’s dark here. And anyway, let them. They’ve done worse in front of you.”

He looks scandalised. You can guess what his response would be: that it doesn’t matter what the other men do, he holds himself to a different standard. He breathes rigidity; in the way he stands, the way he speaks. Even the way he maintains himself, hair kept perfectly short, face shaved clean.

Sometimes you wish he wasn’t so perfect.

Like right now, for instance. You want to see him blushing and stuttering. You want him to be disgusting with you, in this seedy corner of the bar, fumbling and graceless like you’d just met one another as strangers and been too overcome to deny yourselves.

He’s still staring at you, and you wait for him to remove his hand from your leg, maybe chuckle at you and caution you to be patient until you get back to your apartment. But then his hand on your thigh tightens, digging gently into the flesh and dragging slightly inward.

He glances back up across the bar, eyes skimming the loose groups of drinking, laughing men. The pink-haired woman is pointing her finger into Fives’ chest, looking thunderous. Echo is pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Nobody is so much as facing your direction, and he sweeps the space a final time with the searching, practised gaze of a soldier. With the quick thoughtlessness of a gesture repeated thousands of times, he withdraws his touch long enough to flick the catch at his handguard, detaching it. He shucks his glove, dropping both on the table beside the forgotten pair of half-empty durasteel cups.

Giving you a look that tries and fails to appear stern, his returns his hand to your thigh.

Your mouth falls open in disbelief. Is this…permission? Surely not, he wouldn’t, not Rex, he’s too—

His fingers catch at the edge of your underwear, pushing it slightly to the side, and his thick, blunt fingertip slides between the lips of your pussy.

Whatever restraint you may have had dissolves like the remaining fizz in your now-lukewarm drink. He leans his head down, his clean-shaven jaw at the side of your head as he murmurs to you.

“Gods, you’re wet.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I’ve been thinking about you all night. Thinking about you leading me to the ‘fresher and pressing me up against the wall. You could—” you break off into a hiss as his middle finger dips inside you, collecting your slick “—take me on this table if you wanted. That’s how bad I need you.”

He presses his lips to the place where your neck and shoulders join, withdrawing his thick finger to drag against your arousal-puffed folds. His voice comes hushed and rough. “That’s…that’s obscene, love. You’d let everyone watch you being fucked? Let them hear the sounds you make?”

You open your legs, letting your head loll against him as he gently circles your clit. “They’d all hear me…saying your name. Gods, you have any idea…what you…fucking do to me? Rex, oh, fu—”

He kisses you, swallowing the sound of your moan into his mouth even as his fingers work faster, applying more pressure. You slump against him, his plastoid cuirass cool against your neck, his free arm holding you curled close to his side.

“Shh,” he murmurs in a gravel against you. You writhe on the seat, overheating as his wet fingers  glide over your clit relentless and precise. “You might not care, but I do. I’m too selfish, love. Don’t want to share any of you with anyone. Want to keep you all to myself.”

If it weren’t for the music, you’re sure your high, gasping wail would be audible from the other side of the bar. You try to close your thighs as he drives you toward a peak so high it burns, grasping at his wrist, but he doesn’t even slow his movements. Heat shatters out from your core, and your orgasm snatches your breath, soaking his hand and the back of your skirt beneath you.

You’re sucking deep lungfuls of air as he kisses your temple when the clatter of armour on armour jerks your attention up to the opposite side of the table. Fives is scowling as he scoots back into the bench seat, mid-sentence.

“—she didn’t even give me a chance to finish talking, I was just gonna explain why I wanted her to sit on my—”

“Our drinks are finished, so we’re off, boys.” Rex is gently coaxing you to slide out of your seat, and as you stand, your legs wobble dangerously. You’re grateful it’s dark in here, and that your skirt is made from a thick polyweave. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment as he sucks his fingers, and you feel weak all over again.

“But sir, y’can’t leave yet! We need your help—sweetheart, please, surely you’ve got a friend you can introduce us to—”

Rex tucks his helmet under his arm, and you shoot an apologetic smile to Echo as you pass him standing at the edge of the table. “Be doin’ just fine if I was on my own,” he mutters quietly.

Rex claps his breastplate. “Try a different strategy next time. Good luck, trooper.”

He’s back to upright, immaculate Captain. His head held high as he nods to various officers on his way past, his hand at the small of your back, there’s no sign of what had just happened. No sign, except for the secret, slippery feeling between your thighs as he leads you outside.

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#captain rex x reader #captain rex x f!reader #captain rex x you #rex x reader #rex x f!reader #rex x you #captain rex smut #star wars fanfiction #captain rex fanfic #star wars fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #star wars smut #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars smut #zinzinina follower celebration prompts #captain rex fanfiction

[everythingharrypotterblog]

charmed [5]: ‘cycle’ (remus lupin x reader)

SMUT. professor! remus x professor!y/n. can be read as a one-shot, or as part 5 of the charmed series :) pls go show part 4 some love, and the rest of the chapters if u liked this! <3

brief summary: full moon approaching= horny as fuck remus. he can’t keep his eyes/hands off y/n, and after a whole day of being needy between classes, they ... ;) dom!remus, oral fem!receiving, fingering, size kink, ye

nsfw gifs for inspo:   x      x

a/n: i got rejected from my top choice university program today so if im gonna be unhappy, might as well make u guys happy and release parts 5 and 7

series summary: set in the prisoner of azkaban, including its major plot points. remus and y/n get hired by dumbledore last minute to teach at hogwarts, defense against the dark arts and charms respectively. not wanting the students to know they are married, they navigate the challenging year through hidden glances, hand holds underneath the table and loving moments in their offices. even with all their efforts to conceal their relationship, their chemistry does not go unnoticed by the student population of hogwarts, who grow fond of the pair as they offer them some of the best classes they’ve had in a while. their relationship as newlyweds is strengthened as teaching the next generation of wizards unlocks a sea of memories of their love story. for the second time in his life, remus holds hogwarts responsible for some of his happiest memories. he’s given the chance to create them with the love of his life, y/n, who has taught and continues to teach him that every part of him is lovable, remaining forever under her charm.

series masterlist here

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5. 

Remus’ life was lived in cycles, various phases of the moon commandeering partially how he felt. 

His sex drive was always pretty high; how could he not feel desire- when he had Y/N around him in his life. They had a great sex life, and Remus was definitely one to get ‘love boners’, where he would see Y/N do something not remotely suggestive but would get the desire to fuck out of sheer adoration..

When the full moon came close, however… it was on a whole other level. His body carried tension and almost an incurable itch on the days preceding his transformation. His senses flared like a wolf’s, like hearing, touch and vision. It was his sense of smell, however, that enhanced the most. For about 2-5 days leading to the full moon, his smell became much sharper. If Y/N had recently showered, her fresh scent would overwhelm his nostrils, or if she got sweaty too. The second she got aroused, Remus would be able to pick it up, and the urge to bury his face in between her legs would wash over him.

So, he 300% got way hornier during this period of time. Paired up with his senses on overdrive, all he could think about during those few days was sex with Y/N, the tiniest things she did would get him instantly hard. He’d be turned on all the time.

As the month of September came to a close, both Y/N could definitely sense her husband’s even-higher-than-normal yearning. Remus’ persona in public never revealed how much of a beast he could be in the bedroom, always calm, respectful, prudent. He treated Y/N with the upmost care, and once they got to Hogwarts, with the upmost professionalism. That quickly faltered in the last couple of days.

The second students were out of her last class, he had her pushed up against the wall, the door of the classroom safely locked. Y/N even had to cancel one Charms practice session, because Remus wasn’t able to keep his hands off her: pulling her close to him and rubbing her back while he buried his nose in the perfume of her hair. When they graded or read together in the evenings, he would bend her over the desk, then take her again in the shower that night. Every morning, Y/N would wake up in the best way possible, feeling Remus’ tight hold behind her and his already hard cock rutting up against the flesh of her butt.

This morning, however, the couple wasn’t able to squeeze in a nice wake-up shag. They had overslept, and Y/N who started at 9am while Remus at 10, had to to get to class. She hurried off, getting dressed and down for a quick breakfast, leaving Remus waking up alone, humping the sheets slightly.

His frustrations lasted all day, and definitely were not aided when he saw that Y/N was wearing his favourite pair of pants of hers at lunchtime. While the way they looked at each other always somewhat hinted at their romance, Remus’ gaze was especially obvious, like he was mentally undressing her everywhere they went.

He was presently in between classes, sitting at a table in the staff room and trailing his wand over the lines of a student’s essay he was reading. He lifted his head when he heard the door creak open, and Y/N walked in happily, carrying a stack of papers in her hands. His thread was almost thrown back as he caught a whiff of her, just pure her, mixed with a hint of… arousal? She was wet, Remus thought lewdly.

Spotting Remus, Y/N gave him a big smile, then turned towards a little desk that had some of her stuff on it. Remus gave her a cheeky wink before his eyes followed her, unabashedly fixed on how those pants fit her so nicely. Y/N bent down to store the papers into her bag, and Remus quickly had to look away, forcing his gaze on the window before he would get hard.

“Hi, my love.” He smiled gently as she approached him, turning his chair and pulling her onto his lap.

“Rem!” Y/N whispered, jerking her head towards Professor Sprout.

She was the only other teacher there, but to Remus’ greatest delight, she seemed to have snoozed off in her armchair.

“She’s asleep.” Remus whispered back, hands running everywhere on Y/N’s body as she settled herself comfortably in his lap. “Besides, I missed you.”

“Aw, pumpkin-“ Y/N giggled, accepting Remus’ kiss as he pressed his lips on hers. “I, missed, you, too” She murmured in between kisses.

Remus’ hands were getting antsy, as one went to go squeeze Y/N’s breasts and the other caressed over her butt, smoothing over the thin fabric of her dress pants. The kiss deepened as they both began breathing heavier.

“Don’t,” Y/N breathed in, breaking apart from Remus’ soft face. “Don’t you have class in like-“ She glanced at the clock. “5 minutes?!”

Remus peered over her head and groaned, shaking his tousled head. “And you do too darling, right?”

“Yeah, it’s my last one of the day.” Y/N frowned.

Remus’ gaze softened, nuzzling Y/N’s nose with the tip of his own, in a cute little Eskimo kiss- type action.

“I really love these pants, you know, I’m wondering if you wore these on purpose” He grinned, the hand on her butt petting the material softly.

“Maybe, I did….” Y/N smiled back, their faces centimeters away from each other’s.

Remus, ears full of Y/N’s voice, nose full of Y/N’s natural homey scent, didn’t register the door opening again and they both turned with a jolt, when they heard Professor McGonagall clear her throat.

Y/N jumped out of Remus’ lap, Remus smoothing his hands that were all over her body, over his robes.

“Hi, Professor McGonagall- I was just- we were just getting ready for our next l-lesson.” Y/N stammered, face growing hot in embarrassment.

“Yes, class, here- I’ll walk you to your class, darling.” Remus said, bowing his head and following Y/N out of the staff room.

“Mhmm.” Professor McGonagall hummed, peering at the two through her thin rectangle glasses. She didn’t bother reminding them they could call her ‘Minerva’, but as they shuffled out the door, her thin lips curled up in amusement. “Oh, Pomona, I’m sure you are very lucky to be dead asleep right now.” She whispered, to the Herbology teacher whose eyes were sealed shut.

In the hallway, Y/N and Remus burst out laughing once they got a safe distance away.

“I am never going to emotionally recover from that.” Remus choked in between gasps for breath.

“Please, I’m never going to look her in the eye ever again.” Y/N howled, wiping a tear with her wrist. “I mean, at least we were just sitting… and not actually doing.. anything.”

They walked along a couple stairways, their body language having adjusted to the busy Castle. 

“Thanks for walking me, you didn’t have to.” Y/N said, once they reached the Charms classroom. She stood back to the door, hands behind her on the doorknob.

Remus simply smiled courteously, eyes drifting down her. Then, quickly, he peered around them and into the classroom. Seeing it was empty, he reached behind Y/N, turned the doorknob and swirled her inside, pressing her up against the door.

“Oh, Rem-“ Y/N squeaked in surprise, but her voice faded into a soft moan as Remus kissed her, her arms going up to wrap around his neck.

“Sorry, my love, I just can’t get enough of you.” Remus chuckled when they finally pulled apart.

“Hmm.” Y/N licked her lips. Feeling Remus casing her in against the door like this, his big build towering over her, made her knees all weak. “Okay, you know the best part about these pants?” She inquired.

“Hmm? Tell me, sweetheart.” Remus mused, eyelids growing heavy as he stared into her face.

She rose on her tippy toes to meet the height of Remus’ ears, “The material is so thin-”

She spun around, facing the door and pressed her backside against Remus’ front, feeling him through his trousers.

Gasping as Remus’ large hands went up to squeeze both her breasts, further pushing her against the door as he pressed himself against her smaller body, she said, “-I have to wear a thong.”

Remus’ hands on her froze, his eyes growing dark. A low growl was ebbing up his throat but before he could respond, Y/N snaked out of his hold.

“Okay, bye honey- have a good class!” Y/N chirped, grinning widely as she opened the door to let a group of students in.

Remus composed himself in a fraction of a second, a hand raking through his hazel locks in attempt to comb them over.

“Hi, Professor Lupin!” Some students said, happy to see him, to which he answered with a polite and kind “Hello, hello!”, and “Hello, Dean!”.

Once Y/N’s class was over, she hurried up to her living quarters. After taking a hot shower, she climbed onto the bed, in nothing but a thong and one of Remus’ big sleeping shirts. She lied down comfortably, fingers toying with the collar as she waited for her husband. He had one other class after hers and should be finished soon.

Accurately enough, Remus’ figure appeared in the fireplace a few minutes later. His footsteps approached the bedroom and as he entered, his belt was already clinking as he was unfastening it with one hand.

“Oh, baby.” He hummed appreciatively as he took in the sight of Y/N, splayed across their bed, thighs balmy and exposed. “Is that my shirt?”

Y/N nodded, appreciating how Remus’ locks of hair had fallen on his forehead, as if he was constantly running his fingers through them- which he did, in attempt to concentrate when he was giving his last lessons of the day.

Gripping the hem, Y/N lifted the shirt off, exposing her naked chest. Remus made a guttural sound as he lunged forward, going to squeeze, lick and suck over her breasts. His hands wandered south, grazing the wet spot on the cotton stripe that covered Y/N’s mound.

“And whose pussy is this, hmm?” Remus snarled slightly, canines shining as his lips curled into an eager smirk.

Y/N licked her lips as she decided not to answer, her eyes had a glint to them when she stared back challengingly at her husband.

Remus raised an eyebrow, but kept an unfazed demeanour. He stepped back from the bed, taking a stand at the edge of it.

“Okay, baby girl, I see how you’re being. Turn around for me.”

Y/N looked up at him excitedly before slowly turning on the bed, onto her stomach.

Remus let out a small appreciative growl at the sight of Y/N’s ass covered only by a thin thong, right in front of him ready for him to ravage.

“Should’ve started with an easier question, kitten- who does this ass belong to?” Remus simpered.

He bent forward to squeeze both cheeks in his large hands, then went on to graze his teeth softly against the flesh of her ass. He could smell her arousal fully now, the scent of her wetness entering his nostrils and clouding his vision.

When Y/N merely arched her lower back to stick our her bum more prominently, wiggling it, Remus cursed. He roughly palmed the flesh before he lifted his hand and delivered a loud swat to it.

Y/N gripped the sheets in her hands as she yelped out of pleasure.

“You like that, don’t you, you wanted a good spanking from daddy, huh?” Remus hummed, rubbing over the spot soothingly. 

“Yes.” Y/N breathed out shakily. “Please.”

Remus kneaded the flesh in his hands and reveled in the way it would bounce after he spanked it a few more times.

“Oh darling,” he cooed, bending down to leave a slow trail of kisses up Y/N’s back. “Your little bum looks so cute marked up in pink by my hands.”

The skin had pinked, and a considerable area too, considering how large Remus’ hands were.

“Remus, I’m- I’m so wet for you.” Y/N cried, lifting her lower body weight onto her knees so Remus could see her pussy in the air. Glistening and dripping in arousal.

The sight sent adrenaline down Remus’ groin, his cock now painfully hard and straining against his trousers. He could in a flash, shed his lower layers and pound into Y/N’s cunt as his urges wished him to, but he had to get a taste first.

“Really?” He said as he kneeled down on the side of the bed, now eye-level with Y/N’s core. He peeled back her thong, throwing it further on the bed.

“Yes, oh God, please.”

Remus peered over Y/N’s legs to see her face, scrunched up in anticipation. His hands trailed over the side of her thighs, sending visible shivers down her spine. 

“Now, will you be a good girl and tell me… who this pretty ass and pussy belong to?” He said in a low purr, voice husky.

Y/N’s pussy clenched as she felt his face so close to where she needed him to be, his hands cementing themselves around her legs.

“Yours, Remmy, I’m all yours, now please-“ she begged, tears prickling at her eyes because of how much she ached for his touch.

Remus’ hands softly grazed down her back and pressed harshly once they got to the lower part where the curve of her ass began, and pulled her cunt straight into his face.

“Merlin, you smell so fucking sweet.” He swooned, inhaling deeply before quite literally diving into her cunt, his warm tongue stretching to lick against her clit.

Y/N’s eyes rolled back, her head pressing harder into the pillow. “Fuck…” She choked out. Her hips gyrated against Remus’ face, but his firm hold locked her in place as he devoured her.

They both moaned, Remus’ tongue running up her slit a couple times to lap up all the slickness and fully taste it. He gave her clit a quick kiss before sucking on it, taking it in between his lips. 

“Fuck, r-right there.” Y/N breathed out, finally feeling an ounce of her desire fulfilled. 

Remus licked sloppily at her clit, drawing wet circles with his tongue as his entire face was engulfed in her, her wetness dripping and coating his chin and nose. He sighed contently, closing his eyes as he ate her out, his own cock plumping at the feeling of her hips and legs trembling.

It was like meditation, the wolf inside him finally somewhat being appeased. He lapped at her cunt like it was the last thing he’d ever do, tongue running through the soft folds that were sopping and slick from the mix of her arousal and his spit.

“Oh, Rem, oh-“ Y/N moaned, face scrunched in pleasure. The coil in her abdomen wound tighter, she was getting closer and she pushed her hips back against Remus’ mouth. He groaned into her cunt, his hands squeezing her fleshy hips harder, desperately stuffing his face into her. He loved it. 

He maintained his rhythm, focusing on suckling and flicking his tongue on her clit until she came with a cry, hips shaking out of his hold. He flattened his tongue to run it up her labia, and ended by planting a tender kiss on her sensitive clit before pulling away, slightly more sated than before.

“Delicious.” Remus panted, standing up and watching Y/N languidly turn over onto her back once again. He wiped his mouth and the tip of his nose clean with the back of his hand, Y/N watching with her face hot.

Y/N scooted to sit at the edge of the bed, ogling him. He towered over her as he stayed standing, looking down at her through heavy hungry eyelids, covered by his brown hair that was getting slightly messier.

“Wanna taste you.” Y/N smiled, reaching behind Remus’ kneecaps to bring him closer.

Remus chuckled darkly, his long arm needing to barely reach to stroke Y/N’s jaw.

“You look so cute from up here, dove, makes me want to play with you and see you cum, all over again.” He said, voice low.

Y/N bit her lip, not breaking eye contact with her husband.

“So gorgeous.” He groaned as Y/N took his thumb between her lips, suckling the pad of the finger. “You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking.. of what I want to do to you, how much I want to take that body of yours.”

“Then take me.” Y/N exhaled, mouth letting go of his thumb and smiling devilishly.

Remus’ eyes, if possible, turned darker in desire and he bent down, kissing Y/N passionately on the lips as his hands travelled down her naked torso. 

“Hmm, you’re so small, kitten,” Remus hummed, eyes following his hand that went to cup in between her legs. “Look how small your little pussy is in my hand.”

His fingers curled to feel how wet it was, Y/N spreading her thighs apart for him to access easier. He used his middle and ring finger to lather up some of her slickness, then dragged them up to her clit and started soft circles on it. Y/N whimpered, legs closing from how sensitive her bud was from her previous orgasm.

“Now, now pet.” Remus tutted, pulling away.

He licked the tips of his fingers clean, then shrugged off his woolly cardigan, hanging it on the back of a nearby chair. The full moon approaching always got his body temperature hotter than usual, so he skipped wearing a cloak today, and was left in his white dress shirt and tie. He slowly rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off his hands as he did so. Long, mature fingers with metal rings adorning the base of each.

“Keep your legs nice and spread f’me, alright, as I stuff you with my fingers.”

Bending forward again, he leaned one arm on the bed beside Y/N as his other hand found her clit again. The thick pads of his fingers played with her clit, rubbing the spot as Y/N bit her lip, body firing up for another orgasm.

“So cute, button.” He mused, nuzzling the top of Y/N’s head. “Look at that, your clit feels so little under my fingers, don’t you think? And your cunt, ah-“

He dipped a finger inside her, sliding right in and quickly added another one. Slowly petting the soft spongy walls of Y/N’s pussy, Y/N mewled, rutting her hips for more.

“So tight, so full just of my fingers. Tell me darling, do you like my fingers?”

“Mhhm.” Y/N nodded as Remus sped up. “Love your fingers, your hands, they’re so b-big.” She choked out, head hanging back as he fingered her.

“You like that? You fucking love how I can get you off with just m’fingers, yeah? Lord, this pussy’s so tight how will my cock even fit hmm?” Remus crooned, watching Y/N adoringly as he was knuckles deep inside her, his rings feeling cold upon her entrance.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting Remus’ soft, scar-decorated face and turned her head to kiss him. Remus suckled on her spit-slicked lips, maintaining his fingers and bent his hand for the bone of his palm to press against her clit. Y/N gasped into the kiss, lips gaped apart as she whimpered into Remus’ mouth. Remus smiled, loving how flustered she was as she struggled to kiss him back, soaking in all her little cries and noises she made. 

His fingers inside her were going so fast, relentlessly hitting her g-spot over and over that his hard palm was grinding against her clit incessantly. Faster than the first time, she came, squeezing onto his forearm.

Fingers riding out her high, they slowed and pulled out, drenched in her wetness. Y/N collapsed onto her back, chest heaving.

“Oh, baby you are so beautiful.” Remus simpered, climbing on the bed and leaning over her to kiss her everywhere; her shoulders, neck, cheeks. “You think you got another one in you, bunny? Think you can let Moony bury his cock inside you?”

“Yes, give it to me please.” Y/N grinned widely, licking her lips and pulled Remus down by his tie, locking lips with him once more. “Need you inside me.”

“Oh, puppy. I am going to ruin you.” Remus said, this time in such a low murmur that had he not been an inch close to Y/N’s face, her ears wouldn’t have registered the tone.

Y/N sat up, helping her husband rid himself of his clothes. His bare chest exposed a few thin scars, which Y/N quickly smoothed her hands and lips over, routinely giving love to them, as she knew it was the part Remus couldn’t stand of his body.

Remus freed his hard-on, which was blushed an angry shade of dark pink. The bulbous head had been leaking of precum for a while now, and he exhaled a couple ragged breaths when he stroked himself, hand twisting around his tip. Y/N had leaned over to their bedside table to open a condom, and she replaced his hand with hers, pumping his long member before sliding it on. Remus already felt himself throb, and he knew that soon he’d be even more as Y/N’s pussy felt 100 times better than her hand.

“How do you want me?” Y/N breathed, backing up to the head of the bed as Remus went on his knees.

This was more of a rhetorical question, really, as it has been like this for years, that at every moon cycle end, their favourite was for Remus to take Y/N from behind. Y/N turned onto her elbows and knees, bending forward to prop her ass up.

“That’s it, good girl.” Remus licked his lips, lining himself up and pushed his cock slowly into Y/N’s warmth. 

He let out a loud hiss, face contorted in pleasure as he sank fully into her, his long, hard member stretching Y/N out to the fullest, filling her to the brim. “Merlin.” He said through gritted teeth, eyes dropping to where he disappeared into Y/N’s behind. “You always manage to stay so tight for me, darling- fuck, your pussy’s just squeezing m’cock so right, isn’t it?”

Y/N merely moaned, head dropping forward as she balanced her upper weight on her elbows, overwhelmed by feeling every single vein of Remus’ cock sliding in and out of her slowly. She clenched hard around him, causing his hips to tremor as Remus’ senses, including touch, were amplified tenfold.

He ceased momentarily, his cock just resting heavy inside Y/N’s cunt, his head deep at her g-spot. Y/N mewled, arching her back and twerked her hips, fucking herself back onto his cock. Remus growled at the sight, spanked her once, then his hands dived to grab the curve of her waist as he snapped, hips pounding into her now mercilessly.

“Oh God, fuck!” Y/N cried out with her head thrown back, as her elbows gave out from underneath her and her face sank forward into a heap of pillows. Her ass still up in the air, flesh slightly pink from Remus’ spanks delivered to it- it was a wonder how he didn’t cum from the sight of that alone as he fucked her from behind.

Remus kept up his quick rhythm, hips thrusting into her ruthlessly. They were both close, and Remus fucked into Y/N without an ounce or self-restraint left. He grunted loudly as she fell forward and her inner walls clenching down onto his member. His cock slipped in and out of her deliciously, as she had gotten so wet for him, sinful sounds echoing the room.

He bent forward, chest pressing against her back, their skin sweaty. 

“‘S that feel good, darling?” Remus said, lips ghosting over Y/N’s ear. She shuddered, his breath sending shivers up her neck as she felt him so close. His voice wasn’t his usual chesty, tenor honey-like. His words were uttered in a guttural one, his voice deeper, lower, sounding from the back of his throat. “You’re taking me so well- your pussy feels like heaven, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s ears registered the praise as music, living for it. He adjusted his hips slightly to accommodate the new angle, thrusting to make sure he was hitting all the spots in Y/N he knew she liked.

“Mphhhm, please baby,” Y/N moaned, voice slightly muffled into the pillow. She turned her head to the side to rest her cheek on it instead. “Please Remus, oh-“ her voice whimpered, a little more clearly now.

Remus’ large hands had been gripping onto the flesh of Y/N’s hips roughly, tightly. He moved one up to her breasts, grabbing it and massaging it. His breath was hot on her back. He was nearing his orgasm too, his breathing loud and shaggy. Heaving grunts echoed off the walls of the rooms, and Y/N arched her back to feel his chest rise up and down against it.

“Good girl, good fucking girl- taking my cock so well. Shit.”

Remus let out a growl as he felt his cock be swallowed up in her cunt, her ribbed walls enveloping it so nicely as he ploughed into her. 

“You’re close aren’t you, dove?” He murmured into her neck with the same low voice, placing wet kisses onto it. Her hair was out of the way onto the other side, and he tasted the slight stickiness of how sweaty their night’s activities had gotten her. 

“Yes, yes, ye-es” Y/N chanted in a strangled voice, her words getting split at her throat from Remus’ vigorous pounding.

“Can tell from how tightly you’re squeezing me- shit, not going to last long either inside you like this. C’mon baby, c’mon. Cum for me.”

It was all too much. Y/N shaked as she felt Remus pump into her a few more crucial times. He felt so thick in her walls, his girth filling her up like no other. Moaning, her hips grinded back into Remus as she started to cum. She felt his warm hand reach down her belly and down to between her thighs and with the added pressure from the circles he rubbed on her clit, she came with a shudder. Her body shook as her breath caught in her throat, a string of profanities leaving her lips. Y/N’s sounds of pleasure filled Remus’ ears, driving him further into ecstasy.

“Good girl.” Remus purred, hips jerking forward frantically. 

“Remus, fill me up-“ Y/N moaned, knowing Remus loved hearing his name fall off her tongue like that. She propped herself back onto her elbow, reaching one hand behind her to hold the back of Remus’ neck. 

Remus pressed the side of his face into Y/N’s neck, her hand keeping him close to her. He growled into her ear, the low sound vibrating from his throat enough to make Y/N’s eyes roll back. Driving his cock into her, desperately chasing his high, he rutted his cock into her walls. His entire body strained as all his muscles worked to relieve himself, needily fucking out his animalistic urges. He came with a gasp, his hips jerked harshly as he shot ropes and ropes of cum into the condom. 

Panting, he hunched forward as his cock kept twitching. 

His whole muscular body trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut in the pleasure of his long-needed release. His hand was grasped onto Y/N’s chest and she loved the feeling, tilting her hips forward to match the movements of Remus’ orgasm.

Wheezing slightly, Remus finally pulled out of her slowly, Y/N whimpering slightly as her pussy clenched around nothing. He threw the used condom and collapsed onto his back, chest still heaving. Y/N followed suit beside him, onto her stomach, body limp. The afterwaves of her orgasm still sent pleasure through her body and she knew she’d feel too sore to even straighten her legs.

“My love.” Remus turned on his side.

“I can’t fucking move.” Y/N chuckled, voice muffled by the pillow.

Remus hummed, eyes raking over her used body and sat up, massaging over her shoulders then down her back. His hands reached her hips, where he caressed extra soothingly and slowly closed them together. He bent forward, planting a kiss on Y/N’s cheek. She giggled as his locks of hair tickled her eyelid.

Languidly turning over, Y/N sighed in content.

Remus reached his hand, and pulled a strand of her hair out of her face, tucking it behind his ear. He felt warmth lower, as his body began to awaken for another round.

“We’re not getting much sleep tonight, huh?” Y/N giggled peering down at her husband.

It was a blessing that the Castle automatically out a Silencing charm on teachers’ living quarters, because anyone neighbouring them would have stayed up, hearing sinful, wet slapping sounds of skin all night.

part 6  and part 7 OUT NOW!!

tags @bicyhot1  @pink-hufflepuff  @legitlaughingflamingo @brod16  @gerardonmyway  @blueleonor  @suranne-doesstuff  @rxmusblxck  @spxllcxstxr  @littleemo477  @just12randomfandoms  @svnkissdd  @norrreee  @m4r13l3y  @jess6578  @rorysreallyrandom  @the-nightingale-not-the-lark  @archeve19  @wolfstarslovechild  @pan-pride-12  @x4kai4x  @chrrybmb-mp3  @reggieluna  @happyslittlekitten  @missemilygilmore  @all-things-fictional @strangefirething  @abitofeverythinggg  @yeahshewayout  @imfreeeeeee123  @harold-pothead  @lunnybunny12  @ellieblack11  @tugabooos  @joyfulbiscuit  @justonemorechapter07 @wonderwoman292  @skateb0red  @secretsthathauntus  @siriusblackswhoree  @sabonbonn  @untraveled-road  @annabeljareau  @valiantobservationkitty @diffbeanofbrand  @theeicedamericano​  @spencerreidlove  @flannellover67  @wishiwasdeadric  @becks7401​  @katsav17  @emmy-kitty13  @purritoqueen  @girl22334  @monicafebyana​  @talsiaa​  @sierrax023​  @axva03  @uhh-dk  @nataliahgrace​  

#remus lupin smut #charmed #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fanfic #professor lupin x reader #Professor Remus Lupin #professor lupin smut

[stargirlxstardust]

this is a tiny drabble. i like writing but i’ve never really posted anything on tumblr before but i just wanted to get my creativity out and put it on display (idk if that’s a good or bad idea yet) :D anyways, i’m putting a tw for dubcon (reader seems to be okay with it but she’s also kind of being taken advantage of emotionally so i still wanted to put a tw and put the drabble below the cut) and some degradation, rough sex, overall just mean dabi. but what else can be expected of dabi? 

also, if anyone wants to send an idea over to my submissions i would be dying to read and maybe write them. p.s. i got inspo for this listening to washing machine heart by mitski... in case anyone wanted to know... probably not... but, award for longest description ever goes to me, i’m so sorry

you swear you can fix him.

even when he finds his way back to the dingy, mangled hideout covered in the metallic, sickly-sweet smell of blood. even when he stalks to the bathroom- ignoring you the entire way- to wash the remains of innocent lifeblood off of his marred body without regard for the children he’s left orphaned or the partners he’s left widowed. even when he swats away your attempts to nurse him back to health in favor of throwing you on the bed face down, blood still rushing from the adrenaline of a fresh kill.

you swear you can fix him.

even as you watch what little hope he has for redemption fade away as his flames burn bright blue against the skin of an unnamed victim. even as he grows further apart from himself each day. even when he tells you that he hates you as you try to bring him back to himself. even when he says you’re the worst baggage he’s ever had the misfortune of dragging along. even when he sees the tears welling in your eyes and only laughs.  

you swear you can fix him.

even though the only time he truly acknowledges your presence is in the dead of night after he’s come back from a long day of… well, he never tells you- but he often smells like cigarettes and char. even when his cock is buried deep inside of you, fucking into you so hard, so fast that if his grip on your jaw loosened even a bit it might threaten to fall right off. even though you know the only thing he enjoys about this experience is the promise of pain he can bring you. even though you know he has no regard for how your heart will break when you wake and he’s no longer there. even though you know he does this every time, and he doesn’t care about you. not like you care about him.

you swear you can fix him.

even when you try to help him on missions, and he tells you the only thing you’re good for is “lying on your back.” even when he comes back smelling of liquor and cheap perfume. even when he comes back with a beautiful woman in tow. even when he yells at you to get out of his room as he takes his new muse to the spot where you sleep in your shared bed. even when you sit outside of the bedroom listening to her crooning and his groans. even when you hear the bed rattle and feel fat tears roll down your cheeks.

you swear you can fix him.

even when you wish you’d never met him. never looked into those eyes so blue they could make even the ocean go green with envy. even when he fucks you so hard one might think you were the source of his pain. even when you wake up with bruises around your neck and hips and no one to take accountability for any of it. even when you lay in the smell of the cheap perfume from the woman who came in the spot that you sleep in just the night before. even when he’s drained you of every bit of energy and robbed you of every last ounce of self-esteem,

you swear you can fix him.

#dabi x reader #mha dabi #mha #dabi x reader smut #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha #bnha smut #my hero academia #my hero #my hero academia smut #tw: dubcon #tw: rough #tw: degradation

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART ONE

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 19.5k (long boi)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG | PART TWO

a/n: IT’S HERE!!!! Cicely and Harry dropped into my head and have lived in there rent free ever since. strap yourselves in for a ride, my friends! this story is hugely inspired by Peaky Blinders, and i willingly admit that characters and elements of the story resemble parts of PB, including Cicely’s appearance (Grace). thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner,  and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. The Magnificent Ambersons is an actual book that was a bestseller in 1918. you can read it here. 

without further adieu, here is part one of ROSE COLORED GLASSES - come talk to me about it in my asks! pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

The cool spring air swept around Cicely like a cloud, the hem of her skirt ruffling in the wind. She was miles from home, the landscape around her having turned to just rolling hills of green, just the way she liked it. Here, she could finally breathe. At home, all she could smell was fear and secrets, while here, out in the open, she was anyone and everyone. It was just her and Joseph, her beloved horse, on the empty road.

Father had told her it was going to rain when Cicely pushed her way out of the house, stomping away from him in anger at the news he had given to her, but she hadn’t given it a second thought. She loved rain, loved being caught in it and getting drenched, not minding the weight of the water on her skin. If anything, it made her finally feel something, even if it was cold. In hindsight, she probably should’ve thought twice about going out so far in the rain, Joseph being a bit skittish as he got older, but now here she was, having ridden over halfway between her estate and the city, and she could feel the droplets falling onto her blond coiffed hair that her maid, Polly, had done this morning.

She sighed and looked up at the sky—it was grey and angry, the wind swirling around her. It was going to be a downpour, she suspected. Joseph stopped when she pulled on the reins, and she considered whether she should turn for home or find somewhere to ride out the storm. It seemed to be coming soon, after all. She glanced around and there was just open space of hills and trees, but none large enough to provide any sort of suitable protection. Plus, she was closer to the city than home, anyways, so maybe it was better to just keep on going the direction she was heading. She could stay with friends in town if need be.

So she dug in her heels and Joseph continued, her urging him to go faster as the rain began to come down harder around her. It was like a curtain, the combination of the rain and the dark skies making it hard to see very far in front of her. The water licked down her face, and her chiffon blouse was sticking to her skin, the one her maid had made her promise not to get dirty, as it had just been mended for the second time. But she could make no promises—it was her favorite one, after all. And now, it would most definitely be ruined as dirt road beneath her turned to mud and it splattered Joseph and her clothes. She held fast though, wishing now more than ever that her father let her wear the new fashionable pants to let her ride more easily because side saddle was simply not cutting it at the speeds she was urging Joseph to achieve.

All of a sudden, a crack rang through the clouds, bolts of lightening littering the path far ahead. But the sound was enough for her to tense and Joseph to whinny, his front legs leaving the ground, her hold on the reins slipping as she was thrown from the saddle.

The last thing she remembered was the sight of Joseph taking off into the rain, saddle empty and reins flying around his body.

Harry could barely see in the storm, the downpour causing sheets of rain to fall on the windshield, his vision completely obscured. So he inched along as slowly as he could without endangering his ability to drive—or the car, since it was a gift from Josiah—and kept the headlights on full blast. He was exhausted after a weekend of fights in the town over, ones that left his body aching in ways he preferred to ignore. But he had a pocket full of earnings and he knew Josiah would be happy with that, so he paid it no mind.

He was running through the fights, thinking about the missteps and wrong moves he had made, spots for improvements, when he saw a girl lying down on her back in the mud a few feet in front of the car. He slammed on the brakes immediately. What the fuck was a girl doing out in a storm like this? When she didn’t move as he sat in the car, surveying the scene, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was dead. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been killed on a road, left there to be found by the next car.

Slowly, he pulled himself out of the car, lifting his hand to shield the rain from his face. “Miss?” He called into the storm, eyes drifting over her body. She looked well to-do—her blouse seemed to be some type of lace material that the girls he knew were always fawning over, skirts bright and recently washed. What was she doing out here, alone and in the mud? And how had she gotten there?

He took a few paces closer to her, and she didn’t make a move when he brushed the hair away from her face. Hesitantly, he leaned down, an ear to her mouth to see if she was breathing—which she was, to his relief. She must be unconscious, although he could only begin to imagine how she had gotten that way. But Harry wasn’t the type to leave a young woman in need, alone on a dirt road in the middle of a storm. So he bent down, slid his aching arms under her body, and lifted her from the mud, cradling her against his chest as he walked back to the car.

She fit perfectly on his back seat when he tucked her knees in closer to her chest, blond hair draped over the seat. He grabbed his coat from the passenger side and draped it over her body, her skin cold to the touch from the rain. The thought crossed his mind of where he should take her—the police, perhaps? Or maybe a hospital? But Harry hated both of those establishments after years with Josiah. Plus, if she needed any protection, in town it was best if it came from Josiah anyway. The police were useless, a bunch of pompous assholes too big for their britches, Harry thought. And a hospital, Harry believed, was where people went to die not where they went to be healed. So he decided to take her to his flat, despite the fact that the prospect went against most principles he was raised on.

Although, everything Harry did went against his childhood principles.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was green peeling wallpaper. It wasn’t a wallpaper she recognized, and as she came to, looking around the room, she realized this was definitely not a place she had been before. Her heart seized as she inspected her surroundings. She was in a wire-frame double bed, a red duvet cover pulled around her shoulders, a soft light coming in the heavy curtains against a small window in the middle of the room. Clothes littered the floor—men’s clothes, from what she could tell—and a rug sat in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. An ashtray and the butts of cigarettes laid on the bedside table next to her, as well as a glass of water. Maybe it was a stupid choice, but her throat was raw and so she took the glass, gulping down the water without a second thought.

Faintly, she could hear the sound of a whistle. Tea, she realized. Someone was making tea.

Which meant she was not alone.

Her hands dove under the covers, inspecting the clothes on her body. Everything was still intact, her green skirt and the lace blouse she had put on,  every button done up exactly as she had left it. She didn’t have her shoes on, but on closer inspection, they laid on the ground next to the bed, but her stockings were still clipped to her garter at least. A sigh left her mouth at the prospect of some semblance of safety in this foreign place.

She tried to remember what had happened last—she had been riding through a storm after a fight with her father. Then, there was a bolt of lightning, she thought to herself, piecing together the memories in her fuzzy brain, and then remembered Joseph bucking her from the saddle. She couldn’t keep herself on, so she let go, knowing that was better than being dragged along. The last thing she remembered was Joseph riding away, her lying in what she believed to be mud.

Which would explain the brown marks all over her clothes.

Polly was going to kill her for the stains.

The whistle she had heard earlier suddenly stopped, and she heard the thud of something. Then, a soft hum of a song she recognized from the gramophone her father had in the sitting room. After a few beats, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wood floors, the creak of the footsteps growing closer and closer. Someone was coming. She was going to finally discover who had picked her up off of the road and where she was—hopefully it was some nice old lady and she was in their son’s room.

But instead, a boy about her age stopped in the doorway, a cup of tea in his hand, wide eyes at the sight of her sitting up in bed. His brown hair was tousled in soft curls across his forehead, and just trousers, a shirt, and suspenders adorned his body, his feet bare. His shirt sleeves were pushed up and she could see tattoos on his arms, something she had never seen in person before, just in photographs and magazines.

He was, she thought to herself as he stood there in shock, quite handsome.

“You’re awake,” he finally said, voice croaking in his throat. “I—uh, sorry, would you like a cuppa?”

Cicely considered the question for only a beat before nodding. He seemed nice enough, judging solely from his embarrassed reaction to the croaky sound of his voice. The boy disappeared and she waited patiently in the bed, flexing her toes to bring some feeling back into her limbs. She wondered how much time had passed—it seemed to be daylight out, so maybe not much time at all.

The boy returned, a second tea cup balanced in his other hand, his face more serious and put together than before. “Here you are,” he said, making his way over to her, his presence instantly changing the feeling of the room. Before, it was small, but not too small. Now, with his large frame and dark eyes, it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space.

“Thank you,” she replied, accepting the cup with cold hands. It was chilly in the room, probably from the draft coming in from the windows and her skirt which was still a bit damp in spots. The tea, though, was delicious on her tongue, plain, just how she liked it.

The boy grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it over to the edge of the bed before sitting down, eyes darting between the tea cup and her face. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

“Cicely.” She took another sip of the tea before resting it on her lap. “Is this your flat?”

“Yes,” Harry said, eyes glancing around the room. “My room too—sorry about that. It’s just me here, so I didn’t have anywhere else to put ya.”

So no wife or family then, Cicely thought, filing the information away for later. It was interesting, a boy of his age living alone. He must have moved away from home and made decent enough wages to get a place of his own, she decided, eyes fluttering around the room to see if she could pick up on any other clues about him. But she couldn’t find anything. “How did I get here?” She asked after leaving them in silence for a few moments, the curiosity getting the better of her.

Harry placed his teacup on the nightstand as he spoke, eyes avoiding hers. “Found ya in the road in the rain. Cold as ice and unconscious, all covered in mud. Didn’t want to leave ya out there, so I brought you here—thought I could take you home once you came to and all that. Call your husband.” He added the last sentence as an afterthought, and Cicely couldn’t help but smile internally at the thought of him thinking she was married.

Which she wasn’t. At least, not yet. And not for a while, if she had any choice in the matter. “No husband,” she informed him, thumbs brushing over the duvet. “How long have I been out for?”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and Cicely didn’t know if she had ever seen something so enticing. “Almost a day.”

A day? God, her father would have her head. He probably thought she was dead after she didn’t come home. Although it wouldn’t be the first time she had let him think that, her flair for escaping after an argument a reoccurring personality trait that her father despised. Which of course, was exactly why she did it. “I hope I wasn’t a bother,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Harry shook his head, and Cicely studied his face, the sharp angle of his jaw, the high rise of his cheekbones. He had a bit of scruff around his lips, which looked soft and pink and she tried not to think about what they would feel like. Cicely didn’t usually pay men all that much mind—sure she noticed them, but did she study every feature on their faces like she did Harry? No. She was intrigued by him, the rings on his fingers and the tattoos on his arms, the way he licked across his bottom lip. And perhaps that was why Cicely made no mention of needing to go, or that she should call her family.

“Are ya hungry?” Harry asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

At the concept of food, suddenly her stomach grumbled and she blushed, embarrassed at the sound, but Harry didn’t even react to it. “Yes, actually.”

He stood immediately, wiping his palms on his trousers as he did so. “I don’t have much here,” he said, taking their empty tea cups with him as she walked towards the door. “But I’ll put something together.” She watched him, unsure if he wanted her to follow. She was a bit curious as to what the rest of the flat looked like, she had to admit. “Ya comin’?”

Cicely scrambled to follow him, her stocking-clad feet nestling into the rug by his bed. Her skirt was crinkled from sleep and she straightened it as much as possible before sighing and exiting the room and into the hall. When he turned down a set of stairs, she realized that what she thought to be a flat was actually a little townhouse. When she reached the base of the stairs, she found that the rest of the home wasn’t much—dimly lit, only one other window in what seemed to be a small sitting room and a kitchen. A table was pushed to the side, two chairs tucked into it, a plate with crumbs on it sat on one side. The green wallpaper from the bedroom covered all of the walls of the home, and when she looked around, she saw a noticeable absence of most personal effects. He had only one photo up on the side table next to the couch, of what Cicely assumed was his family. Next to it laid another ashtray, a pack of cigarettes, an empty whiskey glass.

At the sound of a plate on the counter she turned to see Harry placing a slice of bread on a plate and tenderly spreading jam across it. Cicely tried to imagine her father even entering a kitchen and she had trouble with the idea, while here was Harry making her a slice of toast. The thought was actually quite endearing, despite the fact that Harry had not once smiled at her.

“Thank you,” she said when he set the plate down on the table, grabbing the dirty one and taking it to the washbasin in the corner. Harry didn’t reply, so she took a bite. The jam wasn’t quite as good as what she was used to and the bread was a tad bit stale, but it was food all the same, and she didn’t mind all that much. As she ate, she watched Harry wash the plate, dry it with a dishrag, and place it back in a cabinet that held a few dishes.

He turned around when he was done, eyes trained on her with an intensity she was beginning to grow accustomed to from him. “I have work in a bit. Can I drop you someplace before that?”

Should he? Yes. Did she want him to? Not in the slightest. She pushed away the plate, and tried to figure out how to say this. “Would it be a bother if I stayed?”

Harry blinked at her a few times, his face finally changing from the usual intense stare that he gave her to one that was more curious in nature. “Is home not safe for ya?”

Cicely tried to decide whether or not she should lie to him. He seemed kind, generous, probably understanding, despite his inability to speak to her for very long periods of time without stretches of silence. Maybe he would understand that her desire not to go home wasn’t because home wasn’t safe, but because the life that was waiting for her was one she despised. So, she decided not to lie, but not to tell all of the truth. “No, it is. I’m just not eager to go back right now.”

“Oh.” Harry twisted a large gold H ring around one of his fingers, contemplating her words, before looking back up at her. “If ya want to stay, ya can. Know what it’s like to wanna hide for a bit.” Before she could request more information, he came towards her, snatching the plate and taking it back to the sink. He seemed to be awfully set on a clean kitchen, despite the messy state of his room. “You’ll have to come with me tonight, then.” He still had his back to her, so she couldn’t study his face as he said the words that piqued her interest.

Most girls would have probably requested to stay home, but Cicely wasn’t most girls. “Ok,” she replied, pushing back the chair. “Could I—uh—wash up somewhere?” The prospect of a bath sounded utterly delectable, although on second thought, she didn’t expect him to have a bath quite like the one she had at home.

Harry whirled around, eyes looking everywhere but her. “Yes. Um, there’s a basin in the washroom. Don’t have the water for a full bath right now, but…”

Cicely realized what he was so flustered about—he was embarrassed. Perhaps he had realized that her social station was a bit higher than his, that in her home they didn’t have to go fetch water somewhere, that she could have a bath relatively whenever she liked. And when she did it, someone else filled it for her. “That’s fine. I’ll manage.” She stood and made her way towards the washroom, following his directions, and shut herself inside. It was dark in there too—far less than she was used to. A silver bathtub was on one wall, and a smaller basin on a pedestal, a toilet in the corner. It was simple, bare bones, but she didn’t mind too much. Her father had put in running water when she was an infant, so she had never washed without it, but she decided it wasn’t too much of a change.

Quickly, she undressed, making sure the door was locked, and hung her clothing over the lip of the bath so it didn’t touch the floor. She took a rag and dipped it into the water, exhaling softly at the feeling of the cool water on her skin. There was some mud on her skin from when she had fallen, although she thought that perhaps Harry had washed some of it off—there wasn’t quite as much as she thought. A small mirror allowed her to wash the crust of mud from her forehead, and by the end of her washing she felt rejuvenated, even if it wasn’t a proper bath. Slowly, she slipped back on her clothes and considered for a moment the idea that she might need to purchase some more. Her clothes were stained from the mud, and she imagined she wouldn’t quite be able to get it out.

Although it would’ve been convenient, she didn’t imagine Harry had extra ladies clothes lying around for just this purpose.

She ruffled her hair slightly, the curls unfortunately having dropped for the most part, and sighed before letting herself out of the washroom. “Harry?” Cicely asked, turning the corner into the kitchen, where he stood, holding a glass of what she thought was a whiskey, a cigarette between his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to have a set of ladies’ clothes lying about, would you?”

Harry furrowed his brow before taking the cigarette from between his lips. “No—why?”

Cicely gestured at her stained clothes. “Mine are a bit dirty, and I wouldn’t want to wear them to your place of work like this.”

The chuckle that left Harry’s lips surprised Cicely in more ways than one. One, that he was laughing at all, for she didn’t find it to be a laughing matter. She didn’t want to make a bad impression to whoever his employer was, especially if she was going to have to be there. Second, his laugh was sweet, syrupy, one that rocked his shoulders, and made her heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to. “You wouldn’t want to wear your Sunday best to my place of work, love,” he told her, tapping his cigarette in an ashtray on the table. “You’re fine the way ya are, but we can track down some clothes for ya tomorrow.”

Where would he work where her appearance would be adequate? But rather than question him, she just nodded. “Well, I’m ready,” she told him.

“Gimme a mo’,” he told her, tucking his cigarette back between his lips before heading out of the room. Cicely decided to check out the sitting room a bit more, investigate the people in the sole photograph in the whole home. She picked up the photograph and studied it, a man, woman, and young woman, probably a few years older than Harry, stood outside of a family home, a younger Harry nestled between them. It was curious to see him younger, his face less defined, an obvious softness to his facial features. But what stuck out to her the most was the uniform he wore.

He had been in the war. Of course. Her father had avoided it because of a years old injury to his leg, although she had secretly always throught he had gotten his doctor to make it seem more severe than it actually was. Many of the men her parents had set her up with, including the horrid one they were currently trying to force her to marry, were in the war, but when she asked them about it, they only talked about their medals, heroism, the beauty of France’s countryside. But she also knew most of them had been officers, their social ranks earning them a certain level of protection, and she couldn’t help but wonder what it had been like for Harry who had none of those privileges.

Footsteps came from behind her and she turned, dropping the photograph back to the table when she saw Harry in the hall watching her. He had changed while she was looking at the photo, a charcoal jacket over his shirt, a pin with a J on it buttoned to the lapel that she thought was a bit curious. He had a bag over his shoulder, and she wondered what was inside. “You were in the war,” she said, not acknowledging his appearance.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, his response a stark departure from how the men she knew would’ve replied. “Come on, we’re goin’ to be late.” She followed him out, wishing she had a hat or a small purse with her at the very least, but she had nothing but her dirty clothes and scuffed boots.

When they stepped onto the street, the sight of a wide and long street, row houses lining each side met her gaze. They were in working class Birmingham, she thought to herself as Harry locked the door behind him. Most men would’ve made to put their arm through hers, but not Harry—he just began walking, letting her catch up to him, struggling to keep pace with his longer legs. His bag swung at his side as they walked, and Cicely took in their surroundings, the silence stretching between them. It was dusk and women were calling their children inside, the games of football on the street breaking up. Two young children squabbled until their mothers separated them, tugging their little hands inside. Doors shut behind them and Cicely snuck a glance at Harry. His eyes were trained on the ground in front of him, most likely adjusted to their surroundings.

He didn’t want to talk, she understood from his body language, and she decided in a choice completely against her normal mannerisms, not to push him.

Cicely didn’t know what she expected from Harry’s place of work, but it was definitely not a boxing ring in an empty warehouse. She could hear the shouts and laughter of men from outside, and she had looked at Harry with confusion written all over her face when they approached the warehouse, but she followed him inside anyways. The smell of stale beer and sweat overwhelmed her immediately, and she had to squint in the darkness of the entryway. The ring had some lights rigged up around it, some chairs around it, but it was by no means someplace fancy.

So this was what Harry had meant by her not wanting to wear her Sunday best.

“You work…here?” She asked, turning to Harry, who stood beside her, watching her take in the surroundings. He nodded, offering no additional information. “And you box?” Another nod. “Is this legal?”

That’s when he gave another one of his chuckles, and then under his breath he said, “Doesn’t need to be, love. Josiah McClemmons runs it.”

Cicely may not live in Birmingham proper, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who Josiah McClemmons was. Everyone did. He basically ruled Birmingham, especially the working class neighborhoods, having built up his stronghold there. Her father complained about him at least once a week, about the violence and bloodshed in the city where his garment factories were. Although, Cicely had always thought to herself, her father probably shouldn’t complain too much because a dead husband meant a wife who had to work to feed her children, which meant a larger workforce for her father.

From the way Harry was greeted, Cicely assumed he was the reigning champion, the usual fighter here. Which meant that he was probably McClemmons’s payroll, if she had to extrapolate. “Do you work for McClemmons?” She asked when the few men who had come up to them walked away.

Harry adjusted the bag over his shoulder, and then nodded. “Could say that.” His eyes darted around the establishment, taking in the sight, before resting back on her. “C’mon, I’ve got to get changed and don’t want ya waitin’ out here.” He ushered her over to a man standing against a wall who wore a J pin on his lapel like Harry, which she now realized stood for Josiah’s name, a brand of who they worked for. “Tommy,” he said, the man’s gaze turning and settling on them. “This is Cicely. Keep an eye on her while I change?”

Tommy stood up straight immediately and when he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to it, Cicely couldn’t help but smile. “Pleasure to meet such a beautiful lady,” Tommy said to her, a wink gracing across his face.

When she turned to speak to Harry, he was already gone, a few paces away towards a door. “Is he good?” She asked Tommy, turning back to her new acquaintance.

Tommy’s eyes widened. “The best,” he informed her before taking a sip from a mug of what she assumed was beer. “You’re in for a treat if you’ve never seen ‘im fight ‘fore.”

Cicely agreed, the prospect of a sweaty Harry in the ring a bit more enticing than she perhaps wanted to admit. She was able to get some information on Harry out of Tommy, the combination of a pretty girl and a mug of beer not a combination meant for secrecy. He fought with Josiah McClemmons’s youngest brother in the war, the experience making them nearly brothers, and came back to Birmingham with them. No one knew where Harry was from, but people had a number of guesses, everything from London to Liverpool. Apparently before the war he had been learning to fight, and the war sharpened his skills, so when they came back it seemed natural that Josiah would use the rings as a way to make money, using Harry as his prized fighter.

She couldn’t help but think it made Harry sound a bit like the Spanish bulls she had learned about in a magazine, a caged animal. But Tommy assured her Harry loved it when she asked, so she tried to put her mind at ease.

“Who is he fighting?” She asked Tommy after refusing his offer for a beer of her own.

“Peters—a local bloke,” Tommy replied. “Harry’s expected to win.”

Cicely gathered as much from the grumblings of his name that she could hear when the betting started, money flying in the air. It was fascinating to her, and she thought that she also fascinated the men—she was the only woman in the room and she tried not to squirm against the wall she leaned against.

But then, she heard a cry go up, and Harry’s opponent came out of a door, trailed by two men. “He’s massive,” she told Tommy as she watched the man walk to the ring.

Tommy grunted in response. “Harry’s fast, though.”

She hoped he was fast enough. Peters crested the ring, pushing himself between the ropes. One of his men handed him some gloves and Cicely watched as he pulled them on, his massive chest glistening under the gas lighting.

All of a sudden, a louder cry sounded, whoops and hollers of Harry’s name, and her gaze flickered to the door she had last seen him go into. There he was, walking towards the ring, a determined look set on his face. Tattoos littered his body and Cicely realized the few she had seen were a mere teasing of the real deal. And seeing Harry without a shirt on, his broad shoulders and narrow waist, tanned skin in the light, she couldn’t help but think he was even more attractive than she had thought.

A man helped Harry into the ring, and when he stood up, she caught sight of tape covering where his nipples should be. What in the world? She turned to Tommy and pointed at Harry. “What is the tape for?”

Tommy guffawed immediately, beer sloshing in his mug. “He’s got ‘em pierced.”

“What?”

She expected Tommy to tell her he was joking, but instead he nodded. “Got ‘em done durin’ the war, apparently. Some dare from his mates. Now he’s gotta have ‘em taped up or they’ll get ripped out.”

Cicely truly didn’t have the words for a response to that. She turned back to the ring, eyes set on the two pieces of tape over each of his nipples, entranced by the idea of them being pierced. She had heard rumors from her friends of ladies getting them done, but men? Why on earth would they want them done? She had never understood it on women, but the prospect of them on men completely confounded her imagination. Although, her best friend had told her it made them more sensitive, so perhaps that worked on men as well.

The thought was tantalizing at the very least.

“Sure ya don’t want a beer, love?” Tommy asked.

She had grown to quite like his company. He was a bit crude, but for some reason she liked that he didn’t treat her like she was made of glass like most of the men she knew. Her gaze darted between Harry, standing in the ring, and Tommy’s mug. “You know what? Sure.”

Tommy beamed. He was overjoyed at the idea, and Cicely was as well. She had never actually had beer before, just sips of champagne and wine here and there when she snuck it from her parents or during parties. But nothing as normal as beer—she didn’t even think her father drank it, to be honest. Perhaps that was why the idea was so exciting to her. Tommy left her on her own for a few minutes and she tried not to let the stares that still lingered on her bother her. Instead, she watched Harry, listened to the announcer, some chap in a jacket and askew flat cap, read out their names and weights. The part about Harry being the reigning champion stuck with her.

Cicely had never seen a boxing match before. Sure, she had heard of them, but actually been to one in person? Never. And much less one that was definitely illegal and held in a warehouse, a bunch of drunk men betting and still in their work uniforms. It made her heart race and she liked the feeling—usually she just got it when she rode Joseph, who she hoped had gone home to her estate.

“Here ya are.” Tommy had reappeared, a full mug of beer in his other hand for her. “Got ya somethin’ my sister likes.”

Cicely took the mug. It was heavy, heavier than she was expecting. Would she even be able to drink it all? She stared at the murky brown liquid, the foam on top, and then up at Tommy who she could tell was stifling a laugh. Fuck it, she thought. And took a long sip. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. Sour, sure, but it was also refreshing. A bit heavy, and considering she had only eaten some toast today, that wasn’t a negative thing. “It’s not bad,” she told Tommy, who gave her a grin in response.

She was about to say something else when she heard a bell sound—she had been so focused she had missed the start of the match. Whirling around, the first thing she saw was Peters’ arm fly through the air. The breath knocked from her chest at the possibility of Harry getting hit, but to her pleasant surprise he ducked it completely, feet helping him to move away from his attacker. The crowd cheered and Cicely took another sip, the action of having the drink in her hand helping calm her nerves as she watched Harry dance around Peters, ducking at every punch. She could see the frustration in Peters’ eyes, and the focus in Harry’s eyes making her scream out his name along with the men in the room.

She could feel Tommy’s eyes on her as she did it. She didn’t even need to look at him to know that surprise was written all over his face. If Cicely was going to be at a boxing match for the first time in her life, drinking her first beer, she was going to enjoy it. And watching Harry take a swing—and make contact—at Peters was exactly the excuse she needed to scream his name again.

The match passed quickly, and by the end of it Cicely had reached the end of her beer and her and Tommy were laughing at the fear in Peters’ eyes as Harry’s punches landed. He was winning by a long shot, and she had to admit, she was proud. During the whole match she had barely been able to take her eyes off of him, gaze trained on the sweat dripping down his cut body, his broad shoulders and tattooed skin glistening. His hair was stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and for some reason she had the innate desire to twirl it off of his forehead and see what he did.

She also desperately wanted to see his nipples without the tape.

Desperately.

He was beautiful in the ring, his steps almost like choreography she had learned as a child to all of the dances she had to know for parties. Except Harry looked like a natural up there, his body moving before Peters made the move, as if he could read his opponent’s mind, his reflexes faster than anything she had ever seen before. She had a million questions for him the minute he stepped out of the ring, but the first thing she wanted to was clean the blood off of his body—blood which was a mixture of Harry’s and Peters’.

The end of the match happened so quickly that Cicely barely caught it. One minute, Harry was boxed into a corner, his arms up to protect his face, and the next, he was throwing a powerful punch to Peters’ face, the sound of bone crunching at Peters hit the ground so loud she could hear it over the men yelling in the ring. The announcer counted and she watched Harry’s chest rise and fall, his breathing ragged. Everyone else was staring at Peters, but her eyes were glued on Harry. And then, his lifted to her, their sight lines catching from across the room, and she could’ve sworn she saw him smile at her.

As much as she wanted to rush to the side of the ring as many people did, she waited where she was. She knew Harry would come find her eventually, since she was sleeping in his home, as weird as that sounded in her brain. So she turned to Tommy while she waited, her bones feeling light in her body. “He’s good,” she said, her words slightly slurring. Huh. That was weird.

“Told ya!” Tommy replied, taking her mug from her. “Forgot to ask you, love, how do you know our fighter?”

Her eyes trailed across the room to Harry, who she noticed was making his way towards them, a towel draped around his neck. “He saved me,” she said, watching his body flex as he moved. And her words were true, but in that moment she didn’t know quite how true they were. Only later, would she look back on the moment she met Harry and consider how he had changed her life by picking her lifeless body up on that dirt road in the middle of a storm.

Harry had fought the desire to look at Cecily throughout the match, and now that he was done he couldn’t stop. She looked so relaxed, leaned against the wall with Tommy laughing, her blond hair messy and her eyes bright. It was if his feet were carrying him towards her without a second thought, weaving through the crowd of sweaty drunk men in pursuit of the girl made of light. The closer he got, though, the more he noticed how she stumbled on her feet, how rosy her cheeks were, how loud she laughed.

Fuck.

Tommy had gone and gotten her drunk. Tommy might have been Harry’s friend, but that didn’t make him the smartest bloke in a room.

As he reached them, she took an uneasy step and Harry was there immediately. His hands fit around Cicely’s waist like it was the place he belonged, the lingering smell of perfume in his nostrils before he could clear the fog of his mind. “Ya okay, love?” The words slipped from his mouth, the pet name he had never called a single woman before just finding his way into his speech, as if his brain knew that she was special. He sure thought so.

Cicely turned her head, her gaze catching his and a smile broke across her face. “Harry! You were incredible!”

“Thank you,” he replied, gingerly removing his hands despite the fact that all he wanted was to hold onto her hips for the rest of time. “Tommy, did you give her beer?”

“He did,” Cicely answered instead, a hiccup escaping her mouth. She rushed to cover her lips, a blush creeping across her cheeks at the sound. “It was quite tasty.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, giving Tommy a hard look that Tommy only shrugged at. “I’ve got to change and get you home,” he told her, processing the situation here. Although he trusted Tommy with his life, in this moment he didn’t trust him not to give Cicely more beer.

Before he could say anything though, Cicely was speaking, her fingers brushing across his arm. The feeling sent sparks up his spine, delicate compared the touches he was used to, the ones he had just experienced. Her fingers weren’t callused, but soft, as if she hadn’t seen a day of work in her life. Which she probably hadn’t. “Can I come with you?” She asked, eyes on his, a slight pout on her lips that drew his gaze in no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.

“While I change?”

She nodded. “I’ve got some questions about the match that I want to ask you.”

Harry glanced at Tommy who he could tell was barely holding back a laugh, a grin on his face that told Harry he would never hear the end of this exchange. “Fine,” Harry told her, the word coming out gruff. “Tommy, I’ll see you later.”

Cicely slipped her fingers around Harry’s wrist as he stepped away, and he tried to resist the immediate urge that came over him to rip them off, the touch something he hadn’t experienced in ages. The feeling of a woman’s hands on him was one of the things he had not indulged in when he came back from France, preferring drink and alcohol to drown the memories in. The prospect of one of them experiencing him at night, while he slept, was enough to make him frightened enough to avoid the concept.

So when Cicely touched Harry, even in the simplest of ways, it stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. Something that he hadn’t experienced since before his life changed, since before he saw men die in front of him, his friends lose limbs and call out for their mothers in their final moments. He had always thought that his ability to feel had died on the battlefields of France, but with Cicely’s fingers on his skin, perhaps he was wrong.

She didn’t remove them, either, as they moved through the throngs of men. When they reached the hallway that led to the room where he got dressed, though, he had no reason to let her continue touching his skin. So he wrenched his hand from her grip, as much as he wanted to let her touch every inch of his skin if she could continue to make him feel something again.

“I need to wash off,” he said when he shut the door behind them. “Wait over there.” He pointed to a couch in the corner of the room. Usually it was an office of some kind, but for Harry it was his dressing room. A basin of water sat on a table, cold and full, and he was itching to wash his sweat-coated skin. Surprisingly, Cicely followed his directions, and so he turned to the basin, using a rag to rinse off his skin, the feeling of the cold water like heaven on his pores.

“When did you learn to box?”

His head perked up at her voice. He could barely see her in the dimly lit room, but the outline of her was enough, her legs thrown over the arm of the couch in a complete unladylike way. “I was sixteen.” He surprised himself with his honesty, but in the room with just Cicely, for some reason he let a piece of his past slip through.

“Do you like it?”

The question had Harry pause. Did he like it? He cupped some water and ran it through his hair, the sound of the water dripping into the basin filling the silence between them. “It’s a job,” he told her simply. It was the best answer he had. He didn’t really have the luxury of considering whether or not he liked his job. It paid the bills and earned him a reputation that meant no one tried to talk to him, which was all he wanted. After France, all he wanted was to be left alone, save for a select few.

He was focused on his thoughts and the murky water in front of him that he didn’t see Cicely move from her position on the couch. Suddenly, she was there, her fingers dancing across his back that faced her. “Hand me the basin,” she said, voice firm in his ears.

Harry considered fighting her, but his body exposed him. His body craved her touch on his skin, and so he slid the basin to the side so she could reach it. The rag was wrung, and then she was brushing it over his back, reaching the places he couldn’t reach. He could smell her perfume, the faintest taste of beer on her tongue as she breathed lightly in his ear, the traces of jam on her breath from the food he had given her hours before. It made his fists clench against the table and he hoped she didn’t notice.

They stayed that way, Cicely brushing the rag across his skin, wiping away his sins from the night. Her fingers brushed a cut once or twice and he hissed, stopping her in her tracks. She halted her motions each time and wrung out the cloth with fresh water, cleaning the wound with a delicate touch he had never felt. She murmured how they needed alcohol when they got home, how she needed to properly clean the wound. It was something his mother would’ve told him, he thought to himself, a thought he quickly pushed aside as he clenched his jaw.

“Turn around,” she said, voice so quiet he barely heard it above their breathing.

And Harry did as she said. She had made him pliant under her touch, his desperation not to let her stop clouding his ability to speak. His bum pressed against the table and his eyes caught hers in the dim lighting, the gaze that passed between them making Harry stop breathing for a second. But when she brushed the cloth over a bruise, the wince that fell from his lips drew him from his fog.

The rag criss-crossed his body, covering the area he had already cleaned, but he didn’t stop her. It was only when her fingers brushed over the tape across his nipples that his hand shot up, grabbing her wrist and halting her movement. But her eyes zeroed in on him, a determined look in her eyes that made him pause. “Let me see them.” Her words were gentle, but firm.

That made him release her hand, and he sucked in a breath and she pulled the tape from his nipples, the air on his sensitive skin making his stomach clench. He stood there under her gaze as she looked at him, the bars through each nipple that he had gotten on a dare. At first, he had been embarrassed of them, regretted them because they hurt like hell and scratched against his uniform. He considered getting them removed, or just ripping them out, but each time he paused. Paused just enough to let the thought pass, and his best friend’s voice entered his mind. “Who gives a fuck, anyways?” And that was the voice that made him keep them.

Now, it was too late to turn back. He was a boxer and the moment he stepped into the ring with taped nipples, it became something he was known for. The stories circled, tall tales that made Harry chuckle to himself, but he never told the truth. He liked the mystery around them. They became a sort of badge of honor, something that set him apart.

But he had never experienced a woman’s gaze on them, and he couldn’t help but fear her reaction. Would she be disgusted? Ridicule him?

Cicely, though, just looked at them, and then up at his face. “What do they feel like?” She asked tentatively.

It was a question he had never been asked before, actually. And one he didn’t quite know how to answer, because after two years with them they had become normal to him. “They heighten everything,” he replied honestly. It was about the only answer he could give.

This seemed to pique her interest. “Can I touch them?”

Fuck yes, his body screamed, desperate for her fingers on the most sensitive part of his body. His gaze zeroed in on hers, searching her eyes for a hint of a possibility she would ridicule him. But instead he found just genuine curiosity. And perhaps a hint of desire. So, he told her, “Yes.”

When her fingers grazed the bars, her warm touch on the cold metal that ran under his skin, he tried not to flinch, but it was difficult. Her touch was like a lightning bolt through his body, setting every one of his nerves on fire. Holding in the desire to moan was one of the hardest things he had done, and as she touched the other, fingers curiously exploring his skin, it became more difficult. And then she whispered, “I like them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped from where her fingers touched his skin to her eyes, and he found her already looking at him. He watched her lick across her top lip, the flush to her cheeks and wide eyes that stared at him making his body boil. It was too much. He pulled away, desperate for space, for something to allow himself to calm down.

Cicely must have sensed the change in his demeanor, because she immediately stepped back, the rag dropping into the basin of dirty water. Sweat, grime, and blood all mixed together and Harry thought as he looked at his reflection in the water that a mixture had never described him more.

“Let’s go, I need to eat,” Harry said, bending to grab the shirt from his bag on the floor.

Cicely didn’t reply with anything but a nod, and when he had laced his boots she followed him out of the room. The warehouse had emptied out, just some of Josiah’s boys around to help direct the cleanup. Harry knew he’d stop by the office tomorrow to get his cut of the winnings, so he didn’t bother to stick around. Instead, he pushed open the front doors and led Cicely out into the nighttime Birmingham breeze of coal and horse shit.

Cicely awoke to the sound of someone moaning and talking. Her eyes blinked to adjust to the darkness in Harry’s bedroom, her mind taking a second to gather her bearings and remember where she was. Then she heard the sound, something that resembled an injured animal, the edge of fear and pain that made her skin crawl. Last night Harry had given her one of his shirts to sleep in after she said she wanted to wash her clothes and leave them out for the night, and the cotton material bunched under her thighs and she swung them over the edge of the bed. She paused to see if she heard the sound again.

This time, a scream ripped through the house, and Cicely knew something was wrong. She pulled open Harry’s door and moved through the hall, eyes searching to see if she saw anyone, but it was empty. And then she heard it again, and this time without the barrier of a wall, she could tell who it was.

It was Harry.

Her feet didn’t bother to avoid the creaks on the stairs as she moved down the stairs to where he was asleep on the couch. The only light was the faintest bit from the moon, high in the sky, and it was just enough to make out the pained expression on Harry’s face and the thrashing of his body on the couch. He was talking to himself, something about the dark and the word No repeated over and over again, his voice cresting in panic.

It was a nightmare, she realized as she crouched next to him on the floor.

“No, please, it’s too dark, please—“

“Harry,” she said firmly, hands reaching out to grip his wrists to hold his arms to the couch cushions underneath him. “Harry, wake up.”

His eyes didn’t open though, and his body only trashed more under her. She didn’t know what to do, how to wake him up. The only thing she could think of was how when she was scared it helped when she felt safe. She didn’t know what made Harry feel safe, but for her, it was when her mother held her. So carefully, she lifted Harry’s shoulders, trying to avoid his arms trashing as she did so. Once she was seated on the couch she tugged him into her, letting her arms wrap around his chest and pin down his arms.

She murmured his name over and over again, softly in his ear to try and rouse him from the dream. “It’s Cicely,” she told him, “You’re safe, Harry, you can wake up. Wake up, Harry, you’re safe.” With their bodies this close she could feel his heartbeat, the way it raced in his chest. What was he experiencing? Where was he? She wanted to rouse him, pull him out of it and bring him back to her, but she was powerless.

After a few tries, she saw his eyes flutter open, his arms immediately trying to himself free from her grip.

“It’s me,” she said softly. “Hey, hey, it’s me.”

“Cicely?” His voice was rough from the screaming and it broke her. It was raw in a way she hadn’t heard from him, honest and open. Nothing protecting him from her.

She could feel his heartbeat slowing already, and the thought put her at ease. “Yes.”

He didn’t say anything for a few beats, and Cicely just ran her hand up and down his back, hoping to calm him as much as she could. His breath was ragged, big inhales of air and deep exhales, but it was becoming more normal as time passed. “I—I’m sorry,” he eventually said, voice small in the room.

But he had nothing to apologize for, Cicely thought to herself. The last thing he should do is apologize—it’s not his fault. “It’s okay,” she told him earnestly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That made him pull away from her arms, her skin immediately missing his. Her arms fell to her side and Harry sat up, swiveled, and laid his face in his hands. “No,” is all he told her, not even lifting his head.

She didn’t know what he needed from her in that moment, but she knew she would do anything. Somehow she had only known this boy for a day, and yet the sight of his pain made her heart break. “Do—do you want me to stay?” It was the only thing she could think of to help, and if it would work then she would do it.

But he shook his head. He didn’t want her there. And the last thing she would do is push him after what had just transpired, so she stood, the hem of his cotton shirt reaching an unladylike mid-thigh. When he finally looked at her, she saw that he noticed, his eyes falling to the place where the material ended and her skin began. She tugged at it, hoping he didn’t judge her—she didn’t exactly stop and think about getting dressed, she just moved. “I…”

“Looks good on ya,” he said, words reverberating in Cicely’s mind.

She stood there, as still as stone, trying to figure out what to say to him. No man had ever seen her like this, and she had always been taught that they shouldn’t. And yet, the idea of Harry seeing her exposed legs, her hair messy from sleep, her in his shirt, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. So she didn’t disguise the blush that she could feel in her cheeks, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Try and get some sleep,” she told him, and then she turned away, heading up the stairs and back to his room.

When she looked back from the third stair, Harry’s eyes were transfixed on her figure, gaze locked on her. For a moment, she held it, letting him watch her, but then she turned her head and went the rest of the way up the stairs, leaving Harry behind in the darkness.

Harry didn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

The prospect of having the dreams again (although he got them most nights) and Cicely waking up again was too frightening a thought for him to allow himself to go to sleep. Instead, he ended up having a glass or two of whiskey in the wee hours of the morning, smoking too many cigarettes on the doorstep, and thinking. His thoughts revolved around Cicely, weaving in and out of the snatches of moments they had spent together—of which there were few—and the bits he knew about her. Which was very little. He didn’t even know her last name, where she was from, or why on Earth she was out in the middle of a rainstorm, lying on her back in the mud. He hadn’t asked, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or push her to talk, because he had this feeling that she was more than some spoiled rich girl.

The fact that she was rich was an assumption on his part, but one he felt was probably right. First, there were her clothes, which were nicer than any he had seen a girl around here wear, boots that looked like they were new, unscuffed.  Then there was the way she looked at his neighborhood—as if she had never seen something like it before. When she had walked out of his room and into the rest of the house, he had had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should be embarrassed, and at moments he was. But as they spent more time together, he began to get the feeling that even though Cicely may not be used to the way he lived, she didn’t seem to care all that much.

It intrigued him, the way she looked at his world. The way she had watched him during the match, the feeling of her eyes on his skin something he couldn’t shake, the way she had adapted to Tommy like a chameleon, blending in with ease. The way she had slid into the booth at the pub last night where they had eaten a late meal, complete disregard for the fight breaking out in the corner, her focus only on him and their meal. He kept expecting her to fit into the mold he had created for her, but she continued to slip away. And he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Or the fact that she seemed to want to stay. When she had asked him if she could stay, and she said she didn’t want to go home quite yet, he immediately jumped to the worst of conclusions. That her father hurt her, that something had happened, and she was running from a past as dark as his. But then he reminded himself that she had money, wealth, status. Problems like the ones he knew didn’t exist in their world. Perhaps it wasn’t fair to cast her in a mold of wealth and opulence he had read about and encountered on a handful of occasions, people who used people like him and tossed them aside when they had had their fill. But the world wasn’t fair.

He flicked his cigarette butt into the street, the sounds of horses and distant rumble of cars, clap of house doors as men left for work telling him that the day was beginning. It was time for him to see Josiah and pay a visit to Nellie, who he hoped wouldn’t slam a door in his face. Inside, Cicely was still asleep—he couldn’t hear any footsteps from upstairs—so he decided to dart out while she was still sleeping. With any luck, he’d be back before she awoke.

The walk to Josiah’s offices was a well-remembered one, the row houses, shipyards and factories he passed old friends. He waved to the children he passed on their way to work or school, and nodded to the men he knew from matches or Josiah. He lived deep in Josiah’s territory, a requirement for what he did, and as a result every man was on Josiah’s payroll in some way. They all knew when to turn their heads, when to lock their doors, and when to pull out their guns. It used to unnerve Harry, but with time it became as normal as the nightmare that plagued his sleep.

He knocked on the back door as he was trained, a nod to Cyril when the door opened. People congratulated him on the match last night, and he didn’t respond. They all knew he was quiet most of the time, knew not to expect lengthy replies. Before France, he used to not shut up. Now, he preferred to think rather than talk.

Josiah’s door was ajar, his ankles propped up on the desk, the telephone stand in one hand, the handset in the other. His eyes darted up as Harry opened the door wider, shutting it quickly behind him. Josiah never changed much—a mustache on his upper lip, hard brown eyes that only lightened if he had enough drink in him, lips that curved into a smile when someone made a very bad mistake. He wore exclusively charcoal suits, saying black was too common, and he wanted to stand out, and a dark blue tie every day, a silver pocket watch chain tucked into his vest. Josiah had built his operations from the ground up, a man of barely 25 years of age when he came back from France, determined to make a name for himself and protect the community that had been, in his eyes, murdered by the British government for a war they had no business being conscripted for. His hatred for the government ran deep, deep enough to line the pockets of the police across southeast Birmingham, especially in Balsall Heath.

“Alright, but don’t fuck it up, ya hear?” Josiah said, nodding for Harry to sit in the leather chair across from his desk. It was the chair where Harry had sat during many conversations, both good and bad. “Yeah, okay.” Josiah hung up, resting the telephone back on the desk and running a hand through his longer dark brown hair. He picked his cigarette up from where it was burning in the ashtray, and swung his feet off the desk. “Heard ya won,” Josiah said, finally speaking to Harry.

Harry took the offer of a cigarette and nodded. “Peters wasn’t as bad as everyone said.”

“Mhm. I’ll tell Billy that when I see him.”

“He was Billy’s?” That was a surprise. Billy had been on the rise in the neighborhoods bordering Balsall Heath, his power growing to become something threatening to Josiah’s operation. So for Harry to be fighting one of Billy’s boys was unusual to say the least. Josiah didn’t usually like to risk the fights turning into something more—at least, not when they weren’t meant to be.

Josiah nodded, pushing aside a stack of papers and resting his elbows on the oak desk. “Newer kid. I was promised no trouble, thought I’d take the gamble.”

“Warn me next time, eh?” Harry wouldn’t have had Cicely within a mile of the warehouse if he had known his opponent was one of Billy’s. The prospect of guns coming out while she was in the room made his skin crawl.

But Josiah just chuckled and stubbed out his cigarette. “Goin’ soft on me, boy.” Harry hated it when Josiah called him that, but he always had. So he wasn’t going to start correcting him now, even though he was anything but a boy. “Heard ya had a girl there.”

Cicely. He knew Josiah would hear, but he had hoped he’d have a bit more time. “Yeah.”

Josiah wrenched open a door, reaching around for what Harry hoped was his pay. He wanted to get out of this damned office. Harry tolerated Josiah for Jack’s sake, but in truth Josiah had always been a bit too much of a wild card and a short fuse for Harry’s liking. But he gave Harry work, so he didn’t let his feelings get in the way. Plus, most men were short fuses after the war. “Where’d she come from?”

Harry chose not to answer, and thankfully Josiah didn’t push. He knew Harry didn’t like to talk, and most times he didn’t push too hard. “D’ya have the money from Manchester?”

Josiah didn’t reply, just pulled out a stack of bills, crisp and ordered, and placed them on the desk. “Manchester and last night,” he said and Harry took it, folding the bills over and shoving them into his pocket. It was more than most should carry, but Harry was anything but most people. “Don’t spend it all in one place, yeah?”

Unable to help it, he rolled his eyes, the tension in the room lifting. Josiah smirked and Harry pushed back the chair, the thought of getting back to Cicely making him eager to leave. “When’s Jack back?”

Josiah pulled a ledger from a drawer before responding. “Sunday.”

Harry nodded. Jack had been in London since last week, working on some deal that Harry didn’t have the status for the details on. “Tell him I’ll come by?”

“Sure.” Josiah didn’t look up as Harry took his leave, shutting the door behind him and giving Josiah’s secretary a nod. Next was Nellie’s, which he hoped would go smoothly, at least.

Unfortunately, he was not so lucky. Nellie stared at him when she opened the door, hair swept up on her head, clothes disheveled as usual. She cocked her hip against the door and rolled her eyes at him before asking, “What d’ya want, Harry?”

It had been over a year since he had rejected her, and yet she still treated him like he had broken it off with her after months. When in actuality, she had been the one to pursue him, and he hadn’t had it in him to tell her he wasn’t interested until she tried to kiss him. To say the least, things had been icy ever since. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Clothes for who?”

“A girl.” To her credit, she didn’t react to that news with anything but a sigh.

“What happened to hers?” She asked, opening the door wider. He stepped inside, the sound of children from upstairs wrapping around him, the sound making his body itch. It was too loud.

“Mud,” he replied simply, looking around for something to keep his hands busy, but he turned up empty. “So?”

Nellie pointed to the couch in the sitting room, a bit sunk in and worn with love. “I’ve got some that no one picked up. What size is she?”

Harry sat down the couch, folding his fingers together. “About yours.”

Nellie gave him another pointed look, but said nothing. She just disappeared to where she kept the clothes she mended for ladies, and he had to sit there and listen to her younger siblings squeal and yell up the stairs. When she reappeared, she had a few things in a stack for him, which she set on the table next to him. “There.”

He looked at the stack, the fabric without anything around it. He would have to walk home with them under his arm. “No wrap?”

“No,” she replied, and he decided that she purposefully didn’t give him any. “3 shillings.”

Harry pulled the coins out and pressed them into her hand, taking the clothes and tucking them under his arm. “Thank you,” he said, and headed for the door, knowing when he wasn’t wanted.

“Bye, Harry,” Nellie said, and proceeded to slam the door in his face. Which he didn’t deserve, but wasn’t the type to protest. He checked his pocket watch—a little over an hour had passed since he left home. He wondered if Cicely would be waiting for him.

Walking into his home to find Cicely in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt made Harry stop in his tracks. While he knew he had seen her like this last night, last night it had been dark. In the dark he couldn’t see the lines golden curl of her hair, the milky white of her skin that seemed to go on for miles. It should be illegal, he thought to himself, to look as beautiful as her.

“You should put some clothes on,” he finally said, words gruff in the distance between them.

Cicely looked down at her legs and then at Harry. “I was waiting for you to come back, hopefully with clothes. Which I see you did.” She nodded at the stack of clothes under his arm and Harry knew he should move to give them to her, but he was frozen in place.

Seeing her in his kitchen, a plate with a piece of bread on it, an open jar of jam on the counter next to it, tea in his cup, it made him wonder for a split second what it would be like if she stayed. Like, really stayed. He knew that what was happening wasn’t permanent, that eventually she would have to go back to wherever home was for her. But having her in his home was making him realize that perhaps he didn’t like being alone as much as he had thought.

“Harry?”

His thoughts cleared and he jolted into action. He set the clothes on the table by the door and walked into the sitting room leaving her make her own decisions. Space, he thought to himself, he needed space from her. It was a push and pull inside of him—a pull that drew him to her and a push when he got too close. He stood by the fireplace, eyes trained on the black metal of it, as he listened to Cicely move through his home. Across the room to get the clothes, feet creaking on the stairs as she went up. When he heard her door shut he let out a breath, his body softening, tension leaving him.

The prospect of breakfast was enticing—he hadn’t eaten this morning. Porridge was what he had every morning, and this wasn’t the time for that to change. He shrugged off the jacket he had on, dropping it onto the couch, and headed for the kitchen.

When Cicely reappeared, the porridge was done and he was pouring it into two bowls, one for each of them. “Did you make me breakfast?” She asked, and his eyes drifted up to her. Nellie’s clothes fit her perfectly—a bit more snug on the curves of her body, but he wasn’t complaining.

“S’just porridge,” he replied and took the two bowls to the small table. He returned to the kitchen to grab his cup of tea, and he immediately felt her presence next to him as she picked up her own cup, left on the counter. Somehow he would have to get over the tension that raked through his body whenever she got near, but he didn’t know how he would manage that.

Cicely turned away from him and he followed her to the table, eyes trying to land anywhere but her body. She pulled out a chair and smiled at him softly. “Thank you. I’m not used to men cooking for me.”

Harry realized that him making breakfast for both of them meant they would have to eat together, that they would be forced to talk. The idea made him falter as he went to sit, but he forced himself to do it anyways, knowing that she would probably make him. “Mum taught me,” he mumbled, chair scraping against the floorboard as he say.

“Is that her in the photo?”

He knew exactly which photo she was talking about—the only one he had up. “Yes.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and dipped her spoon into the porridge, taking a bite. She was probably used to better quality, an actual chef maybe (he had heard rich people had those), but she didn’t give any indication that it was bad. Instead, she just took another bite before opening her mouth again to speak. “Where are you from?”

Harry didn’t tell people where he was from. It was a decision he made when he came to Birmingham, to leave his past behind him. The photo was up in his sitting room because he would’ve felt like shit for not putting it up, not because he particularly wanted it there.

“Harry?” She prompted, gaze fluttering over his face.

His grip tightened on the spoon in his palm, eyes on the food in front of him. “I don’t talk about my past.” Why did he want to tell her? He could feel it on the tip of his tongue and he tightened his jaw, trying to keep it from tumbling out on its own accord.

Cicely considered his statement as she sipped on her tea. “What do you talk about?”

The question made him look at her, her brown eyes already waiting for his. “What d’ya mean?”

“If you don’t talk about your past, then what do you talk to people about?”

He didn’t talk to people, he thought to himself. That was how he dealt with it. He only spoke to people who he felt safe with—Jack mainly, sometimes Tommy, Josiah if forced. They all knew his past, knew not to share it around. “Dunno.”

The sigh that slipped from her lips made Harry grimace. He had disappointed her and he didn’t like the feeling. “How about this? I tell you about myself, and you do the same in return. We each get a question.”

The idea was enticing, mainly because Harry desperately wanted to know more about her. She was like a period to him and he wanted to know everything that came before it in the sentence. Was it worth telling her about his past? Perhaps. “Fine. What’s your last name?”

Her eyes twinkled, a playful grin sliding onto her face. “King,” she said, that one piece of information rocking Harry’s world immediately. The Kings were as notorious as Josiah was, just in a different way. They owned dozens of garment factories in Birmingham, controlled a handful of shipyards, one or two coal factories. Harry estimated probably half of Birmingham’s working class was employed by the King family and he assumed properly, by Cicely’s father.“Where are you from?”

“Church Hulme,” he told her. “Who is your father?”

He searched her expression to see if she recognized it, but she didn’t seem to. And why would she—it was nothing but a small farming town, some local businesses and a forge. “William King. How old are you?”

So she was the daughter of the head of the King family, an heiress to a fortune larger than anything he could imagine, no doubt. He knew the Kings had only daughters, but he didn’t know how many, or if Cicely was the oldest. The importance of staying up to date on the lives of the King family was never something he felt inclined to do, but now it was vital information. “22. How did you end up on that road?”

“I went riding,” she said after taking another bite of porridge. “The lightning scared my horse and he bucked me off. I must have passed out when I hit the ground.” Cicely considered him for a moment before speaking. “Where did you fight?”

Harry’s blood ran cold at her question. It dredged up memories he didn’t want to talk about. “We’re done,” he told her, pushing away his finished porridge and standing abruptly.

“Harry, wait.“ Her hand wrapped around his wrist, catching his arm as he stepped away, and the feeling of her skin on his made him have to close his eyes to get his breathing under control. Did she know what she did to him? “I’m sorry.”

“‘m not talking about that,” he said, not budging from his position.

Cicely’s thumb brushed across his forearm, the thinner skin meaning he could feel the press of her fingers on his body. “That’s okay,” she said, voice soft. “Will you come back?”

Although he probably shouldn’t, he opened his eyes and turned back around. “Why don’t you want to go home?”

Her hand dropped from his wrist immediately at his question. “My father is forcing me to marry Clifford Stevens. Do you know who that is?” Harry shook his head. He didn’t exactly keep up with high society Birmingham circles in his free time. “He’s thirty and disgusting. He never even acknowledges that I might have a brain, much less that I’m a human being. If I marry him I’ll end up shut in his estate to raise his children for the rest of my life and I would rather die than sentence myself to a life like that.”

Clifford Stevens immediately became Harry’s least favorite person in the world, with the second being William King. To sentence a girl as kind, spirited, and open-minded as Cicely to a life as a glorified hostage was deplorable. “Why is your father forcing you to marry him?”

“We’re nearly broke,” Cicely said with a sigh. That was news to Harry. “Father has been losing money for years. He gambles most of what he makes away and because he’s a fucking idiot he never wins, and he hired a series of treasurers who are apparently inept at balancing the budgets. The factories are bleeding money and rather than take any responsibility for it, his solution is to marry me off with the knowledge that Clifford will bankroll my father’s lifestyle.” Perhaps it was the look on Harry’s face that gave him away, but Cicely gave him a weak smile. “Didn’t know the truth of the Kings, did you?”

“No.”

She fiddled with the cuff of her blouse as Harry considered her words. Was there any way to get out of her future? Probably not, unless she left behind everything that came with her name. Although from what she told him, it didn’t sound like there was much left. “Will you tell me about your family secrets in exchange for mine?”

His family secrets? God, where did he start. His gaze drifted across Cicely, her fingers brushing through the ends of her hair. What would she say to his answer? He supposed it didn’t hurt to tell her, since it wasn’t like she would tell anyone in his life about it. They were from different worlds, after all. “I found out when I came back from the war that ‘m not my father’s son.”

Cicely blinked at him, face softening as the words settled in. “What?”

“It’s just what it sounds like,” he said, leaning back in the chair and taking a breath. “Grew up my whole life thinking I had one father, when in reality it’s not him at all. My mum had an affair with some bloke and the man who raised me,” he spit out, hating the word father when he thought of him, “decided to keep me.” The feeling of her hand on his warmed his skin, but didn’t have the calm effect that he expected she intended. “Haven’t been back since.”

“Harry,” she murmured, calling his eyes from where her hand covered his to her face. “I’m sorry.”

It was the first time someone had told him that, now that he thought about it. He had told Jack, who said, Fuck mate, that sucks. Want another pint? And that was that, but he didn’t mind it. Somehow though, Cicely’s compassion made his chest ache, his throat close up. He could feel tears rising inside of him and he panicked—he hadn’t cried since France and he wasn’t bloody going to start now, not in front of her. “I—I need a second,” he said quickly, scooting back in the chair and walking into the hallway, leaving her behind at the table.

He rested his forearms on the wall and let his head fall on his neck. Deep breaths in and out, his eyes shut, struggling to keep his brain together as his ears buzzed. They didn’t deserve his anger, he reminded himself for the millionth time, they didn’t deserve shit after the secrets they had kept from him. That his sister wasn’t his sister. The man who had taught him how to play football, how to tie a tie, wrestled with him as a kid, wasn’t his father. His fists clenched against the wallpaper, knuckles hurting from last night, but the pain almost felt good to Harry—it was a feeling he knew.

All of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whipped his head to the side to find Cicely standing there. “What?” He asked, not moving an inch, but just looking at her, trying to understand for the life of him why she was there.

Instead of responding, she ducked her head under his arm and wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling his body into hers.

She was hugging him, he realized.

He was frozen, unable to move. He could smell the faint scent of flowers on her skin, somehow still clinging to her despite being in Balsall Heath for almost two days. The darkness of this place seemed to not even touch her, the light from her repelling all of it away. Her fingers gripped the back of his shirt loosely, but just enough to where he could feel her through the fabric, her body feeling impossibly close to him.

No one had touched him like this in years. And he didn’t know what to do, how to respond, how to act.

The only thing he could think to do was to lift one of his hands from where it was clenched in a fist against the wallpaper, and brush it down her hair. It was soft against his skin, the strands of it darting between his fingers and petting the rough calluses he had from years of hard work and fighting. They stung against his cuts from the past week’s worth of fights, but he didn’t care. The prospect of touching her was enough to push all of the pain away.

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding his. She was sandwiched between him and the wall and it was way too fucking close, so Harry immediately took a step back, giving her space. “Will you show me your Birmingham?” She asked him softly, voice echoing in the narrow hallway.

“What d’ya mean?”

“The Birmingham that’s your home,” she offered as an explanation. “I want to see it how you do.”

His Birmingham, the one that he had made a home, full of people who knew him as he was now. Respected him, feared him even—because what was the line, really, between fear and respect? The prospect of her wanting to understand his world the way he saw it was one he had never expected, but appreciated more than he could say. “Okay.”

Harry took her on a grand tour of Balsall Heath, them weaving through the streets with children playing, horses and cars  making their way down the thoroughfares. He showed her the factories her father owned, which he assumed she had never seen before, and he studied her as she saw the conditions of the workers her father employed. Cicely seemed to be everything her father wasn’t and he hoped that that continued to her views on labor.

Parts of Balsall Heath were more well-to-do, people who could afford to send their children to the art school opposite the public baths. But Harry showed her the parts he knew, the parts where people scrapped together money to make ends meet, where they relied on wages from people like Cicely’s father. He was thankful he had gotten her clothes from Nellie because at least at this rate she blended in more, although her nice boots still stuck out like a sore thumb. Although, he expected her being with him drew a decent amount of attention. When men stopped him to talk about a match and their children were with them, Cicely would squat and talk to them, not minding that her skirts got muddy from the unpaved roads. Harry had a difficult time understanding her when she did things like that. She was so unlike so many people of her station, and yet here she was crouching to talk with grubby children on unpaved streets with a pile of horse shit just a few feet away with a smile on her face.

For a second, he let himself consider what it would be like if she stayed. But he didn’t let that thought linger for too long.

They visited his favorite pub for a pint and she laughed at the barkeep’s jokes and charmed every man they met. Perhaps Harry should have been hesitant to introduce Cicely to so many people in his world, but at the same time he didn’t care what people thought of him. If Cicely wanted to see his world, then by God was he going to show it to her.

It was getting dark by the time they made their way back to his flat, bellies full from a roast they’d had at the pub. Harry watched her walk beside him, her eyes darting around the homes as they passed. “I like it here,” she told him, not meeting his eye. “Everyone is so nice.”

He couldn’t help but scoff at the thought. “Not everyone is. See all these houses?” She nodded. “In every one of them is a man who works for Josiah in some way. There’s a gun in every one of these houses for when Josiah calls.”

“Does he call?” Cicely asked, eyes finally turning to him as they walked.

He nodded, hoping that was the explanation she sought. From the way her expression changed, he assumed it was. Harry didn’t know what to do with her naivety, because it mystified him that someone could know so little of the world around them. Although, he thought as they rounded the corner to his street, he couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Does he ever…call for you?”

“Yes,” he responded because it was the honest answer. Even though he got to avoid a lot of the action because he specifically had told Josiah when he signed on to box for him that he didn’t want to get his hands dirty, it came with the territory. Sometimes they needed all the people they could, and with someone as skilled at fighting as Harry and the experience from the war that he had, it would be idiotic for them not to call on him.

They reached his house in silence and he unlocked the door before pushing it open. She stepped in, and leaned down to wipe off her boots. He liked how she had already made herself feel at home in his space, knew that he always wipes off his shoes in the entryway on the mat, because otherwise the filth from the streets ends up inside. “Do you have a match tonight?” She asked, moving to the side.

“No.” It was his night off, but he had one tomorrow.

Her fingertips grazed the table and he watched them trail, the thought of her fingers on his skin drifting into his mind. “What do you do in the evenings you have off?”

Harry considered her question. He didn’t know, really. The evenings all passed, though, somehow. Time was irrelevant to him since the nights dragged on, plagued by nightmares most of the time. He spent a lot of time staring at the wall in the dark. Sometimes he took walks. Sometimes he drank enough to where the dreams didn’t come, but that was when it was really bad. “Nothing, really.”

Cicely rotated to see him, the sliver of moonlight those shone through his curtains hitting her blond hair perfectly. “Do you do anything but box?”

“No.”

“Do you read?”

Harry hadn’t read a book since before France. “Not anymore.”

Cicely turned to his bookcase, which had collected dust from disuse. “Then why do you have so many books?”

“They make me think of my sister,” he replied, the truth shocking both of them. Gemma loved books, always had—she would be curled up on a chair all day with a book in her hands if their mother didn’t make her stop. When he was young, she would read to Harry sometimes, his childhood memories a mixture of fantasy and historical tales from his sister’s lips. Perhaps the books were his way of keeping her close.

Her fingers grazed the spines of his collection, dust falling around her. “Do you talk to her?”

“No.” He’d picked up the telephone a handful of times, ready to say the number to the operator. But then he’d think again, and set down the stand.

“I like this one.” Cicely pulled a bound volume off the shelf, her eyes dancing across the cover. “The Magnificent Ambersons.”

The name meant nothing to him. He bought bestsellers because he knew his sister did the same. Sometimes he considered reading one just to see what she would’ve thought about it. One time he almost mailed her one on her birthday. But each time, he did nothing.

“Can I read to you?”

Her voice was hesitant, nervous of what he would say. No one had read to him since the war, when his friends would read aloud their letters if someone didn’t get one. It made them feel like someone was looking out for them, even if they didn’t get a letter themselves. If it had been someone else, he probably would have said no. But it was Cicely and her voice was like his favorite church hymnal, entrancing and meditative. He would have listened to her talk for hours. So he said yes.

She directed him to lay down on the couch and he did, while she sat in the chair to the side. Harry lit a cigarette as she opened the cover, the sound of her tuning the pages the only noise except for the flick of his lighter. And then, she began. “Major Amberson had ‘made a fortune’ in 1873, when other people were losing fortunes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then.”

Cicely’s eyes fluttered open and at first she didn’t know why. But then she heard a shout and a long, deep moan from downstairs. It was Harry again. Her hands pushed at the duvet and she flicked on the light by the bed. As she left his room the sound of him moaning in his sleep, words she couldn’t understand reached her ears, but louder without the muffling of the door. She didn’t bother to keep her footsteps quiet as she made her way to the stairs and down to the first floor, her eyes adjusting to the dark.

A scream, blood curdling and filled with anguish, ripped through the house, and Cicely flew the remaining few feet to the couch. The sound of Harry’s scream, sharp and frightened, shook her to her core. She just wanted him out of there, free from the clutches of whatever demon robbed him of his sleep.

“Harry!” She said, loudly, jostling his shoulder to try and rouse him. Unlike last night when she had knelt by the couch, Harry wasn’t flailing around. He was stick-straight, as if held in a straight jacket, but she could feel his pulse racing when she pressed her fingers to his sweaty skin. It was almost more frightening—seeing him unmoving but mumbling nonsense in his sleep. The only part of him that moved was his head, ever so slightly shaking back and forth, a stream of Nos leaving his lips.

“No,” he mumbled, “please, it’s too dark, please.” His words from last night were back again, and she wanted to know where he was. What endless circle of hell he had found himself in and how to dig him out of it.

She decided to do what she had done before, and tried to lift his shoulders from the couch. But this time, Harry’s body was so tense that she couldn’t lift him, as if he had made himself a thousand pounds. As he let out another loud groan, she grimaced—she had to wake him, she just didn’t know how. “Harry,” she said again, “wake up, please. Please, Harry.”

But her words didn’t seem to do anything, because the next thing she knew his scream was filling her ears, the sound ripping at her heart. Her body seemed to move without her knowledge as she threw herself on top of him, her knees falling to either side of his hips, her palms cupping his face. “Harry,” she said softly, brushing her thumbs across his cheekbones. “Wake up for me, please. It’s Cicely. It’s safe, I’m here.”

Somehow, that seemed to rouse him, because his eyes fluttered open, his hazel eyes meeting hers in the dark. She was inches from his face, and she wondered if his sight was filled with her face just as hers was. “Cicely?”

“It’s me,” she said, brushing his sweaty hair off of his forehead. “You’re safe now.” She could feel the sigh that left his body intimately, her skin touching his in parts. That was when she realized how close they were, how completely improper her position was. She was on top of him for Pete’s sake. Her knees were on either side of him, their most intimate parts just inches from one another. If her elbows weren’t propped up on his shoulders, her chest would be touching his.

She scrambled to move, but Harry’s hands moved to her hips, halting her in place. Her eyes flickered to his, trying to read him, decipher what he was doing. Usually she had a hard time reading Harry, understanding what he wanted and needed. But now she had no problem. She watched him lick his lips, his pupils still blown out from the dream trained directly on her. When his grip didn’t shift from her body, but his thumbs brushed across the shirt she wore—it was his—and she knew.

He wanted to kiss her.

Cicely had never been kissed. Boys had tried, but they’d been disgusting, as had every other man she had ever known, and she had no interest in them. Until Harry, she hadn’t ever understood romance novels, the attraction people described in them. Every man who had ever showed interest in her had been boring, unattractive, and more than anything, just made her want to run in the opposite direction. But Harry made her want to race towards him at full speed, the darkness in his gaze and warmth in his heart made her want to know his stories, the way he looked at her made a part of her heart race that she had never felt before. He made her feel alive, as if she had been sleeping for nineteen years, just waiting for him to arrive.

One of his hands moved from his hip, inching through the air until his knuckles softly brushed across her jaw. Her heart was beating in her chest so fast she wondered if she was going to pass out again. It couldn’t be possible to go this long without breathing, right? Because Cicely didn’t know the last time she had taken a breath, all of them swallowed up in the look on Harry’s face.

She wanted him to kiss her.

Desperately. With every bone in her body. Cicely wanted to know what he tasted like, what it felt like when he kissed her. She wanted to know everything about him, to uncover every piece of him like gifts on her birthday, ripping back the pieces of wrapping paper walls that kept him from her.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice one she had never heard before. It was soft, yearning, the encapsulation of everything she wanted in that moment.

He seemed to understand, because his fist uncurled, his palm moving to cup the side of her face. Slowly, his hand moved around her head, his fingers threading through her hair, the feeling of his callused hands on her skin alighting every inch in her body. Then, he pulled her head into him, his fingers on the back of her neck, delicately pressing at her skin. His eyes fluttered shut and perhaps hers were supposed to, but she wanted to see every moment of this—she wanted to know what he looked like when he kissed her.

When he did, his wet lips meeting hers, it was like returning home after a long trip, a homecoming she had been waiting for her whole life. Her eyelids shut, lost in the feeling of him, of the faint taste of cigarettes and whiskey on his lips, the smell of him that she had grown to look forward to when she walked into the room he was in. Fingers drifted from her neck to her hairline, and he lifted his chin, changing the angle, and Cicely fell into the kiss. Her arms gave out, elbows falling from his shoulders to the cushions of the couch, her body suddenly flush with his.

Harry’s hand moved from her hip to curl around her lower back, tugging her impossibly close to him as their lips parted and met again. It felt like there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them and Cicely didn’t want any. Their noses were pushed against each other, foreheads touching, lips moving in a dance they somehow both knew by heart. She pushed her fingers into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp lightly. A sound left his throat, and Cicely went to move her fingers, thinking she had hurt him.

“Do it again,” he mumbled.

Cicely’s eyes flickered open, studying him with her lips just a centimeter from his. He looked at her as if the rest of the world didn’t exist—it was a look she had never seen but one she wanted to see for the rest of time. So she brushed her nails across his scalp and slotted their lips back together, squeezing his hips with her knees. Under his shirt she could feel his heart racing, and she wondered if he was as affected by what was between them as she was. Because for her, it felt like her world had become Harry, even though she had known him for only two days. Somehow, he was her every thought and she didn’t want another thought to grace her mind ever again.

Harry shifted his head, nudging at her jaw and pushing it up so that her neck was stretched out. In rapid succession, he pressed soft kisses to her jaw and Cicely’s head lolled back to make room for him because it felt so good to have his lips on her skin. Then, his tongue flitted out and licked over her pulse point, making her squirm against him. His hands gripped her tightly in response, before ducking his head down, pulling the collar of her shirt to the side, and nipped at the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

A breathy moan left Cicely’s mouth, mixed in with the undertones of Harry’s name. It seemed to spur him on, because he opened his lips and sucked on her skin softly. It was a sensation Cicely didn’t even know what to do with, how to process, but she knew it felt good, so she held his head to her skin, urging him to continue. Which he did—laving his tongue against her tender skin in between nips and harsh sucks, and when she looked down and saw the mark he had formed, it didn’t bother her in the slightest. She just pulled his head up to meet hers, desperate to have his lips back on hers again.

His hands fell to her waist, clutching at his shirt that hung there. When he pulled at it, the hem crawled up, leaving her thighs mostly exposed to the cool air inside the room. But to Cicely, her flesh was burning from Harry’s touch and the cold air was welcome, and she didn’t mind that more skin than was appropriate was on show. She had a desire within her for Harry to see all of her, every inch of her skin if he would keep making her feel like this.

Harry seemed to not notice her exposed skin until his palms drifted downwards and gripped her skin, his eyes fluttering open and his lips pulling away from hers. “Cic—“

“It’s okay,” she whispered, brushing at the hair on his forehead. “I trust you.” And she did. She trusted him more than she did anyone else in her life, who had just let her down in a series of lies and cheats. He was the first person to take her for as she was, not demand her to be some prim and proper version, to show her the truth of their life, even if it was in pieces. It didn’t matter to her that she didn’t know it all, she knew enough. Enough to know Harry could never hurt her, at least, not in the ways that mattered.

His head bent, and he rested his forehead against hers, sucking in air and quick puffs. “We—we should stop.”

“I don’t want to,” she said, barely trusting her own voice in the moment. She didn’t even know what it was that she wanted, but it was everything, anything he would give her. She would take scraps at his table, if it meant one more moment in his arms.

Harry pushed her hair behind her ear, and then let his fingers fall to the mark he had left on her skin. She thought she could see a blush rising to his skin and it made her smile. “I want you to be sure,” he told her earnestly. “And I—I haven’t done this in a long time. I need…I want it to be perfect. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” It did, and the fact that he wanted her to be sure made her trust him even more. Because even though she wanted it, she had barely thought about it. Cicely was impulsive, and her impulses had a tendency to get her into situations she regretted, and she didn’t want to regret a moment with Harry. “Will you come back to bed with me at least?”

His breath shuddered, eyes closing. She could see the wheels of his mind turning, and she thought she had an inkling as to why.

“Harry,” she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his brow bone. “Your nightmares don’t scare me. I want to know every part of you, even the dark bits.” That made his eyes open, his pupils found her in the moonlit room. “Will you come to bed and tell me about them? It doesn’t have to be everything, I just want to know how to help you.”

Slowly, he nodded. She scooted back, letting him sit up on the couch. Tentatively she pulled her knees up from the couch and dropped back to the floor, coming to a standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers to help him up. He was a disheveled mess, his hair standing in all directions, and she realized it was from her. She liked it, seeing the results of something she had done on him.

With his hand in hers, they walked up the stairs to his bedroom, to the unmade bed she had been sleeping in before. Knowing he would be hesitant, she got into bed first, scooting against the wall and turning, so she could watch him get in behind her. The moment his head hit the pillow, the duvet cover around his waist, Cicely leaned into him, wanting to be close. She rested her head on his shoulder and his arm cautiously wrapped around her, holding her to him. One of her hands rested on his chest, just inches from the nipples with barbells through them, the ones that she wanted to see again but didn’t know how to ask about. The bed suddenly smelled like a mixture of them, a new scent that she already adored. She hoped she didn’t have to go to bed again for a long time.

She brushed up and down his chest over his shirt, drawing light lines across his skin. After a few minutes of just lying there, Harry cleared his throat and began to tell her the horrors he saw when he closed his eyes. “I’d barely been there a few weeks,” he said softly. “It was still all new to me, the landscape of France, the sound of bullets in the distance, the smell of smoke and dead bodies in the air. We were in this open field, the only protection was an occasional tree, but we spent all of it in trenches.”

His voice was like gravel, rough in the silence of the room, and Cicely kept rubbing at his chest, hoping it would keep him calm enough to keep going. She didn’t want him to stop, no matter how bad it got. “There was this massive offensive in motion from the French, and we were a piece of it. We were supposed to take Arras, to gain a strategic advantage against the Germans, break the deadlock we were in. All of us were itching for action, something just to keep our minds from spiraling in those fucking trenches. I’d never really been in battle before, so I didn’t know what it was like. But god, the minute we started moving, when we came up out of the trenches and the firing started, it was like the world was ending.

“Everyone around me was dropping, partly from the German fire, but more so from the shells from the air. It was so loud—they don’t tell you that, how loud war is. Your ears never stop ringing, and you’re almost able to like, drown it out for a second? But then something goes off near you and your whole body is jolted and it draws you back to the Earth. And I was just trying to like, reload my gun, right? And keep my body from shaking. Jack was there, and he was telling me to keep it together—that’s how we met actually. He found me on the field, my hands shaking so bad I couldn’t reload.

“It went on like that for days. Weeks, even. We made it three or so miles on the first day, but we also lost so many fucking men. We had to figure out who was gone, and it was easier to figure out who was still there. We made it into the town and there were all these houses with no roofs, tanks covering every inch of the road. It was like walking through the end of the world. And you can’t sleep, but you also can’t do anything but sleep because it’s this bone exhaustion you’ve never felt before in your whole life.”

Cicely could feel the fast beat of his heart and his voice was speeding up, the anxiety settling into his bones. “I’m here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder where her head laid. “I’m still here.”

His head shifted, tilting to his chin rested on the top of her head. “I thought I was going to die. Sometimes I feel like I did, on that battlefield. Everything I knew before that moment was gone. It was just echoes of the dark trenches at night, the feeling of rats crawling across your boots and the niggling feeling that you can’t go to sleep because something might happen. And the death...I think I stopped believing in God on that battlefield, because how could any God ever want that many men to die? And for what, a few measly miles that didn’t even fucking matter in the end?”

“How many did you lose?”

He paused before answering, but when he did his voice cracked as he said the number. “158,000. There were conflicting numbers, but that’s the one I heard the most.”

Cicely couldn’t even wrap her head around that number. What did 158,000 people look like? Who were all of those 158,000 people? Who were their families, their children, their loved ones? How many lives were changed forever by those days? “I’m glad you survived,” was all she could think to say. She didn’t want to say she was sorry because that didn’t really mean anything, did it? Not in comparison to everything that had happened.

“For a long time I wasn’t,” he said.

“What changed?”

His fingers brushed through her hair, tender, soft caresses that made her eyes flutter shut. “A girl who showed me there was still someone left inside of me.”

Cicely looked up at him, at the exhaustion in his eyes, the light bruise on his cheekbone from the fight the other night, the curls of his hair. “You know what I see when I look at you?” He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “Someone who has experienced more pain, hurt, and loss than any one person should be allowed to. But who still manages to be kind, to be generous, to care. Someone with a life worth living, someone who is worth loving.” She reached up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back slightly. “Someone who is worthy of everything in the world.”

She felt the tears on his cheeks when he kissed her, their lips molding together just like before. His hands gripped her face, as if he couldn’t have her close enough, and she didn’t blame him. She wished with every kiss she could drink away the pain inside of him, pull it from him piece by piece until none remained. But she couldn’t. She could only hold him and tell him who he was to her, that he was everything to her, someone she didn’t know was waiting for her out there in the world. But who now she couldn’t imagine a life without.

The days melded together in beautiful technicolor. Seven days had passed since Cicely had woken up in Harry’s bed, and each one made her more thankful it was him who had picked her up on the road. She stood in the crowds during his matches, cheering his name with Tommy and becoming less floaty every time she had a pint. At the end of each night, Cicely cleaned the blood and sweat from his skin with a tenderness he had never experienced, pressed kisses to his forehead and told him how good he did. Each night in the pitch dark, she chased away his nightmares with reminders that she was there, she was real, this was real and the battle wasn’t. He clutched the shirts of his she continued to sleep in and held her close, letting the beat of her heart and the exhales from her chest lull him back to sleep.

He hadn’t slept this well since before the war.

Cicely had discovered a new routine. While Harry was meeting with Josiah and Jack, training, or just generally out of the house, she went next door and helped teach the Rollings children to read. She had stumbled on Pippa and Clarence the morning after she had kissed Harry, almost stumbling over them in the daze she carried. They were playing outside and she had a book under her arm, a plan of finding the nearby park and reading for a few hours. But when she stopped and apologized, Pippa asked what she had, and at the sight of the words and Cicely’s description of what a book was, she was intrigued. After asking their mother, Cicely began to spend her mornings with the children curled up on their couch or at their small table, or even on their front steps, teaching them their alphabet and how to sound out words, how to form sentences and read them on the page. They were ravenous for learning and their mother was happy to see her children entertained by someone who wasn’t her for a change, so Cicely quickly became a fixture in the house.

When she had told Harry, he gave her a small smile, the first one she had seen, and a quick peck to her forehead. It was exactly what she needed from him, a vote of support and nothing more. In the afternoons she washed the blood stains from Harry’s clothes and towels, or carried water into the house and ran herself a bath, a task well worth it. One time Harry almost walked in on her and the flush on his cheeks made her almost let him in. But that wasn’t how she wanted him to see her naked body for the first time, so she squealed for him to shut the door and he did, none the wiser.

After he had told her about France, about the demons that followed him into the night, the secrets between them fell away. It was if a damper had been lifted, and at night when they laid in bed, he shared more about his past and she told him of her family, the life she was supposed to live. She tried to avoid the topic of the future, because it made them both anxious. It felt a bit like they were living in a bubble, as if the outside world and its pressures were nonexistent. One morning Harry brought up how they hadn’t heard anything from her family, and Cicely nodded in reply. She had thought about it many times, and she didn’t quite have an answer for it. Although maybe Harry was just so far from the expected answer that she would never be found.

Just as she was starting to settle into the prospect of her life becoming this permanently, her past came knocking. She was with Pippa and Clarence on Harry’s front steps, their own ones being swept by their mother. A book was spread open on her lap, one she had found at a bookstore for children, and she was helping them decipher the sentence. She could feel eyes on her, which at face value wasn’t something to worry about—people were always looking at her, at the new person in the neighborhood, although once they found out she was Harry’s, they stopped. But this time, the feeling of someone watching her didn’t let up.

So when they reached the end of the page, she looked up in search of whomever was so interested in her. And what she found were the eyes of a policeman, the black uniform and intent stare raising the hair on the back of her neck. She knew immediately what it meant, that this wasn’t some normal policeman, because the ones in this area normally didn’t pay her any mind. Josiah had made clear she was not to be trifled with the minute Harry had told him that Cicely was with him, for all intents and purposes.

This policeman, though, wasn’t from around here. He stuck out, the shine of his shoes a bit too bright, the cocky attitude obvious from a mile away. He didn’t know the people or the area.

Which could only mean one thing.

Her father had found her.

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning​ @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan​

PART TWO

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles x mc #harry styles smut #boxer!harry #boxer!au #1920s!harry #1920s harry #boxer harry #peaky blinders x harry styles

[explosiveholland]

Seven Shots

Inspo: “I’ll feel much better if you let me walk you home.” Listen to: Enchanted // Taylor Swift Warning: fluff, drinking, like one curse word, not proofed, first Tom fic! Word Count: 1.6K

Hey, thats NOT my gif, but it IS my writing! If you enjoy it, please reblog/like, don’t steal!                         ➢❀❀➢❀❀➢❀❀➢❀❀➢❀❀➢❀❀➢❀❀

You were on shot number 6 when you realized that you were probably going to pass out soon. The music around you in the pub was soft, and a football game was playing on the TV behind the bartender, who was actively washing out a glass as he twisted his neck to watch the game. 

You closed your eyes and let out a sigh, rubbing your hand down your face as you waved at the worker for another shot. He gave you a quizzical glance before stepping closer. “Are you sure? Do you live around here?”

“Just around the corner. I walked, no driving,” You gave him a small smile, trying to sooth his worries about any possible accidents occurring with how much you had already drank. “I’m all good... Steve,” you squinted toward his name tag, which he had fastened to the apron tied around his waist.

He gave you another concerned glance before turning around and grabbing the bottle of tequila for the seventh time that night. You watched him pour it into your small shot glass and push it back to you. “That’s the last one,” he pointed a finger at you knowingly before walking over to the end of the bar to help a guy that had just walked in.

You sighed again before resting your head on your arm, both hands wrapped around the glass as you stared into it. You had lost your job today, and it had been a devastating blow to your self esteem, seeing as you were sure that you were performing all your duties perfectly. It wasn’t like you to drink away your worries, but this event was particularly unexpected. 

Tracing your finger around the edge of the glass, your eyes glazed over as you wondered wether or not you could make those cool sounds that you often hear when circling wine glasses. Your head felt heavy, and you thought again about how you were definitely drunk, and made a mental note to ask for a glass of water when Steve came back over.

You lifted your head to glance at what he was doing, only to find both Steve and the new guy that had walked in both looking over at you. You mouthed the word “water” at Steve, before turning your head back to your glass.

You tilted your last tequila shot towards your lips, the liquid touching the top of your mouth as you took a small sip, downing about a quarter of the shot. 

A glass of water was placed next to your hand, and you lifted your head lazily to mutter a small “thank you”. 

You eyed the guy across the bar, who was still looking over at you, a concerned look on his face. His hands were placed together in front of his face, his lips resting against them. A small glass of dark liquid was in front of him, though it hadn’t looked like he’d touched it yet.

Glancing down at your own drink, you lifted your head back up completely so you were back in a normal sitting position. You quickly raised the glass to your lips and threw it back, swallowing the rest down. You could hardly taste anything anymore, the amount you’d already had canceling out your senses. 

Placing the shot glass upside down, you pushed it closer to Steve’s end of the bar before reaching for the water. 

The seat beside you scraped against the concrete floor as the guy from across the bar joined you, though you didn’t turn to acknowledge him, your mind a bit hazy. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” You responded, pulling the water closer to you to rest your forehead against it. You felt your balance shift, and you wobbled slightly in your seat, and you squinted as you tried to focus on keeping yourself on the stool. “Does this seat have a back?”

You quickly sat up and twisted yourself around to feel if there was support behind you, and the guy jolted back in surprise. You felt the wooden back and hummed, satisfied that you could lean back without fear of falling over.

“...You should try to drink the water instead of just touching the glass.”

You turned back around to face Steve, and blew a puff of air at his statement. “I will, I’m just trying to get myself situated here first, Steve.”

The guy next to you chuckled, and you turned to look at him. 

“Why are you over here?” You asked, the question coming out a little more rude than you intended. “Not like that, I just mean how did you get over here?” You corrected.

It took him a moment to respond, his eyes slightly furrowed as he watched your inability to hold your head completely still. “I, uh... I walked. You look like you’ve had yourself a day, and I thought maybe I could help.”

“Help how? I’m perfectly fine, but thanks anyway. I’m sure you can find another girl around here that’s more interested in your so-called help.” You gestured to the rest of the bar, which was completely empty except for you, Steve, and this guy.

He decided to humor you and turn around to acknowledge the rest of the space, nodding at nothing in particular. “You’re right. Loads of other ladies greatly in need of assistance,” you could see a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah, see? Great. Exactly. I was just about to leave anyways,” you turned your attention away from him and back to Steve. “How much do I owe you for the seven shots?”

“Seven? Jesus, why did you give her that many?” You turned to look at your new companion, scrunching up your face.

“Listen, dude, that’s none of your business. Who even are you?” You countered, scoffing at him.

“Tom, I wasn’t really thinking. She said she lived right around the corner, that she walked here. She’s not driving or anything anyway.” Steve spoke before turning towards the register to print off your total.

Tom groaned quietly next to you, shaking his head. “That’s a lot of alcohol in one body. I’ll feel much better if you let me walk you home.”

“No, I don’t even know you. Besides, I’m not about to show you to my apartment. Do I look like I’m into that sort of thing?” You reached around the side of your chair for your wallet, pulling at your jacket pocket to pull it out. 

Tom leaned across the bar and quietly spoke to Steve, who nodded before pushing your card back to you. “You uh... paid earlier,” He said gruffly, wincing slightly.

“I did?” You leaned back in your chair, trying to remember when exactly you did that. “Well, alright. I’m leaving now, so you can have your quiet bar atmosphere back now.”

You stumbled out of your chair, catching your footing at the last minute. You hovered with one hand on your stool and the other on the bar counter, your eyesight going a little fuzzy. “Oh, fuck.”

“Okay, yeah, please let me walk you home? I don’t expect anything to happen, I just want to see you make it to your door,” Tom was standing in front of you, his head bent slightly to match your height as he looked into your eyes worriedly, his hands outstretched slightly as if he was ready to catch you.

“You don’t even know me,” you spoke quietly, closing your eyes for a moment to clear your head.

“Well, what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you answered, and immediately cursed yourself for giving up that information so quickly. “Oh great, now you’re gonna end up being a weirdo.”

He let out a breathy laugh at words, and backed up as you decided to step forwards towards the door. You stepped slowly, trying to make sure the spinning room wouldn't stop you from being able to walk without help.

You made it to the door of the pub and grabbed the handle, before noticing that he had let you walk alone. He stood in his same spot, eyes still on you, and you realized that you hadn’t agreed to let him come, so he hadn’t. You hesitated before speaking again. “I... Might need that help, please.”

Tom stepped forward and met you at the door, and you took the opportunity to grab onto his arm, which was wrapped in a long black coat. You moved your hand along to feel the fabric, the warmth from him heating your hand. 

“Alright, darling. Which way?” He asked as you stepped outside, the cold air hitting your face. 

You immediately groaned and moved your face into his arm to stop the cold air. You took in a breath and inhaled his scent, a light woodsy hint. “You smell good,” You muttered into his shoulder, and you felt his body move as he laughed.

“You smell like tequila,” He quipped, and you shrugged.

“We can’t all be winners,” you pointed to the right, at your building the next street over. “That’s me. See? Told you I was close.”

You sniffled as Tom began to walk, forcing you to move with him. You leaned more and more into his side the farther you went, and you weren’t really paying attention anymore to where you were going. 

“This building here?” Tom’s voice snapped you out of it before looking up at the building number.

“Yep. Quick and easy,” you let go of his arm and stepped towards the door, pulling your keys out of your pocket and flashing them at him. “Good to go. Thank’s again.”

Tom smiled at your softly before he nodded and stepped back, allowing you to go into the building on your own. He watched as you approached the elevator, and continued to look until you disappeared behind the closing door.

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland au #tom holland one shot #tom holland blurb #writing #mine #explosivehoran

[tobesobri]

𝒯his chapter has one of the most important scenes to me at the very end of it. It’s not very elaborate, and may not seem like much to most of you, but I felt like I was truly pouring myself into this story at that point and it was really sort of like therapeutic to write and then chapter five was even more so. But, anyways, thank you so much if you choose to read and an extra special thank you if you’ve messaged me sharing your thoughts, I truly appreciate it ❤️ 

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

CHAPTER FOUR: EARLY MORNING LIGHT (4.8K)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

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Even before he was fully conscious, he knew she was still there. And not entirely because he could feel her arm wrapped firmly around his chest or her leg overlapping his, but because he didn’t feel that same burning pain in his chest he had the previous morning when he woke and she was gone. 

He would have stayed like that for as long as he could too, if his bladder didn’t have anything to do with it. 

Instead of leaving her in his empty bed, as he squeezed himself away from her, he replaced his body with one of his larger pillows. She stirred beside him, letting out the cutest little irritated groan that made him instantly fall in love with her. Once she seemed to go back to sleep, however, he made calculated movements until he was safely out of bed. 

His brain was a little less foggy by the time he stepped foot onto the cold tile in the bathroom. Eyes still stinging from exhaustion, however, he dragged his body to the toilet. He could still taste the bitterness of alcohol on the back of his tongue and he seemingly peed long enough to get it all out of his system.

When he reached the sink to wash his hands is when he paused. He’d been on autopilot the entire time, barely opening his eyes when it wasn’t necessary to do so. But, when he spotted her things laid out neatly on the vanity counter around the sink he didn’t use, it woke him right up. 

His eyes wandered from her Colgate toothbrush to her bottle of Neutrogena face wash and make-up remover wipes while he washed his hands. And, as much as he tried to fight it after he dried himself off on one of his towels, he just couldn’t be stopped from picking up her small, travel-sized perfume bottle. Immediately upon undoing the cap and bringing the atomizer up to his nose, he was sent right back to last night. To all the times he’d been at all close enough to her to smell this exact scent on her skin. And while it was much more potent coming straight from the bottle, he liked it better on her. 

Shaking his head clear and deciding he was being intrusive, he closed the cap of the little pink bottle and set it back down where he found it. He had to admit, he liked seeing her things on his counter the way they currently were. Like they belonged there. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why he liked it so much, but he just knew it gave him a warm, home-like fuzzy feeling. He couldn’t shake it off, even when he’d ventured back into his bedroom and found her in the same position he’d left her in.

Walking over to his bedside table, he checked the time on his phone and realized it was a lot later than he had originally thought. Not that eight o’clock was late, but he assumed it had been earlier with how fatigued he felt. He blamed it on the alcohol.

And then he was tasked with the horrible decision to wake Y/N or to let her sleep. But, he desperately needed coffee, didn’t currently own anything besides the Keurig to make it himself, and didn’t want to leave her to wake up alone in his big empty house. 

So after a quick moment of watching her sleep and trying to find any justification not to disrupt her, he came up short and reached over to gently touch her shoulder until her eyes blinked open and up to him.

The brief confusion was very much apparent and seeing her like that made him completely forget why he was waking her up in the first place. There was a soft tug between her brows like she was ready to yell at him for disturbing her and her lips pouted as if begging him to just leave her the fuck alone. But, once she came to her senses, her features softened and he came to his own senses as well.

“I’m, uh, going to pick up some coffee, do you want anything?” He spoke softly, knowing just how irritated he’d be if someone was yelling in his face first thing in the morning. Not to mention, there was a pretty good chance she, too, had a massive migraine comparable to his own, and he had no intentions of making it worse for either of them.

She simply shook her head and rested it back down onto the pillow he’d shoved into her arms earlier as if she didn’t even need him at all to cuddle up to. With a slight giggle, the second she closed her eyes to go back to sleep, he backed away from her and went about his business getting ready to go outside.

And if you’re Harry Styles, you can’t go out in a shirt with unintentional holes in it and matching ones in your baggy grey sweatpants. He wasn’t sure why he still wore them, given his massive closet and ability to purchase new sleepwear, but they made him the most comfortable and felt familiar after long days; so he held onto them. And Y/N didn’t even seem to care, so neither did he.

But going out in them was a different story, so instead of becoming a news headline for bad fashion choices, he got himself together in his closet. He was too focused on his usual routine to realize Y/N was still right behind him as he slipped out of his sleep clothes and put clean ones on. And when he did remember she was there, after already tugging on some light washed blue jeans and with a white tee shirt in hand to throw on top, he twisted his head around to her. She hadn’t even moved an inch and he wasn’t sure if he cared that she saw him in his boxer-briefs. It’s not like she couldn’t search for him in his underwear on Google Images if she really wanted to. 

He wasn’t sure if anyone would even notice him while he was out, but in case they did, he needed to be prepared. So, once he was dressed, he was back in the bathroom to brush his teeth and make himself smell a lot better than he currently did. He left Y/N’s stuff alone this time even though he was still completely obsessed with it sitting on his counter, and found himself daydreaming about the day she just left things over at his house full time. 

Hell, he’d let her leave whatever she wanted right then and there if she needed to. He had the room and he liked the little reminders of someone besides himself being in his space. 

Right when he was about to leave his room, securing his watch on his wrist as he headed toward the door, he heard her mumble from the bed, which made him stop.

“I didn’t know you had so many tattoos.” 

He knew she was smirking at him before he even turned to look at her just because of the familiar tone of her voice whenever she teased him about something. He never would have considered anything about her voice familiar at all just a few weeks ago, so he didn’t really care that she had clearly seen him putting his clothes on.

“I didn’t know you were a perv.” He shot back.

She smiled and squished her face into his pillow to hide it and he fell a little bit more in love. 

He really needed that coffee.

“Can you get me a hot chocolate… I’ll pay you back.” She shut her eyes again and he was too lost in how much she resembled the cutest little puppy to even say a word about her not needing to pay him back the four dollars that, quite literally, wouldn’t even make the tiniest of dents in his bank account. 

“Do you want whipped cream?”

“No,” she scrunched up her face in disgust and he tried his hardest to stop the massive smile from spreading across his face, but he just loved finding out new things about her way too much. That, and the fact that if he was bringing her something, it was sort of like insurance that she wouldn’t leave while he was out. 

She didn’t take off like he’d feared, but she was already out of bed and put together by the time Harry got back. When he walked through the front door, he half expected her to be sitting in his living room, waiting to get her hot chocolate, pay him the $4.50, and then leave. But, to his surprise, that wasn’t the case.

She had set her packed bag on the end of his bed and pulled one of his small armchairs out from the corner of the room to the center of it so she could sit and stare at the entire view head on. This time, though, it was an early morning view where people were going to work rather than coming home from it. 

By some miracle she’d figured out how to open the curtains, it had just taken her fifteen minutes to do so. And then once she found the right button, on the right remote control sitting on Harry’s nightstand, she played around with opening and closing them because it was just too fascinating and she was just a little bit easily entertained. 

But once the newness of it wore off, she left them open and switched between checking her phone and just staring out the window, like she had been put under some kind of mesmerizing spell. 

Harry found her in that exact position, sitting in one of his mis-matched floral printed armchairs, staring out over Los Angeles like she owned it. Like she was sitting on her throne as the queen of the city. It endeared him to no end because it was just little things like that and like not wanting whipped cream on her hot chocolate and organizing her things on his counter as neatly as possible that said the most about her. He started to wonder if she’d always been like that and he just never took the time to fully pay attention.

Walking up to her, he handed over her drink that had been warming his cold hands because it was that time of year in southern California where it was freezing in the mornings, but boiling by afternoon. 

She took it from him, her eyes following the path up his arm to his shoulder and then finally to his face just to find him staring out the windows like she had been. But once he felt her staring, he glanced down at her just in time to find her trying to shove a five dollar bill into his hand.

He immediately pulled away. “It’s fine, you don’t need to pay me back.”

“But I feel bad.”

He rolled his eyes, not sure if she would hate him for coming right out with the fact that he had millions of dollars and that her five didn’t make a single difference. He knew he would hate himself more if he took money from her.

Sighing, he sat down on the end of the bed beside her chair, blowing on his own hot cup of Starbucks before taking a sip and realizing it still hadn't cooled down enough. The caffeine, however, was well worth the first degree burns. 

“I think maybe we should talk… ‘bout all of this.” He changed the subject, watching as she forgot about the five dollars, tucked it back into her pocket and avoided looking at him again.

Because she had no clue what he wanted to talk about. Was he going to put an end to it? Did she go too far last night? Should she have not said anything about seeing him changing his clothes? Did she snore or talk in her sleep and he had enough of it?

She hid her worries around her cardboard cup, holding onto it tightly with both hands and trying not to let him see the disappointment in her face.

“I mean, um,” he sat forward a little, realizing what he said had a bit of a sour connotation and the cold shoulder she was giving him was well-deserved. “Like, is this going to be a thing every night? And if it is, you can leave some stuff here if you want. Unless you’d rather sleep at your place, but I don’t think Will is that stupid…”

His rambling quickly turned her spirits around because he wasn’t actually telling her to piss off. He hadn’t come to the conclusion that she was using him like she feared. As much as he’d made it clear everything was mutual, she still couldn’t help but think she needed him more than he needed her. 

She was positive he could get anyone else he wanted to cuddle up to at night, so she had no clue why Harry was going along with their arrangement. And after learning about his past relationships she couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the same thing to him.

“Do, um, you want it to be a thing every night?” She wasn’t entirely sure where the courage to ask him that had come from, but she regretted it when he took a couple seconds too long to answer.

Eventually he did, though, after a moment of looking out the windows just to find a way to tell her that didn’t sound weird. He already knew the answer to the question, he just wasn’t sure if she felt the same way at all. But in the end, he swallowed his anxieties and owned up to how he really felt. 

“Yes.”

Saturday afternoon was spent doing nothing but thinking of when she’d see Harry again. The plans for the night were already set when she’d come home to find Will on FaceTime with Harry, discussing him coming over to work on the album again. As per her eavesdropping, while she pretended to be busy cooking herself a late breakfast, she learned his second album was still in very early stages. He had no concept for it yet, only half a song was written and he hadn’t even booked studio time because he didn’t want to go in with nothing, just to waste everyone’s time. 

It was, to say the least, strange to see the dissonance between how Harry had been with her and how he was on the phone with Will where they only discussed work matters. She couldn’t even remember when he’d last brought his album up to her, or if he ever had. So it made her wonder if he ever talked to Will about the things he’d said to her. Did he tell Will how lonely he was because he couldn’t trust anyone anymore? Or how long it had been since he’d last been close to someone? 

Or were those details he only told her?

Once she had her food on her plate, ready to disappear into her bedroom, Will walked into the kitchen with Harry in his hand and it made her tense up in a way she never had around Harry. Maybe it was the fact that she knew what she looked like on camera and she hated it, and hated the idea of Harry seeing her like that. Or maybe it was because she and Harry had this secret that Will knew absolutely nothing about and she almost couldn’t find it in herself to interact with Harry in any way she used to a couple weeks prior. She knew way too much about him now and pretending otherwise in front of Will would nearly break her heart.

“Is it alright if he comes over?” Will asked, and she glanced down to the screen of his phone, finding Harry in a grey hoodie and his hair in a bit of a floofy mess. It was how he looked when he woke up in the morning, so with that and with his completely blank stare, it comforted her because his face was an exact parallel to her current inner struggle. Trying to remember how little they used to talk, because it felt like years ago now, and act accordingly as to not set off any alarms for Will. 

After a moment, she shrugged and looked to Will again, grabbing her plate and moving herself out of view, leaving him with that simple gesture as her only answer. He was used to her ways of communication, though, and didn’t expect anything less. 

As she headed towards the hallway, she heard Will giggle before speaking to Harry again. “I think that means she’s fine with it.”

Harry and Will sat across from each other at the dining table when Y/N made her first retreat from her bedroom, having spent the entire time since Harry had arrived hiding and trying to come up with any excuse to see him. 

But, when she did make an appearance, Harry was already lost to the stress of song-making that he barely even noticed her. He and Will had been going back and forth on a song for the past hour, a migraine settling itself in both of their frontal lobes by that point. Harry hated everything he was coming up with and didn’t like anything Will had to offer either. 

He’d never experienced a writer’s block this shitty, but he was already over it. He even went to a whole other country to try and combat it, but that didn’t seem to do the trick either.

They’d made little progress on the song Harry was currently working on by the time he finally noticed her. She shut their mug cabinet a little too hard and both him and Will turned their heads toward the noise. Harry, however, stared a little longer, as he watched her make her hot chocolate, letting it take him back to this morning when he didn’t feel a stitch of stress about his music. When he could’ve fallen in love with the way she looked at him from his bed and the way her things seemed to fit perfectly on his bathroom counter. 

The inspiration really hit when she left, when his heart didn’t feel like it was about to burst, but rather it felt like she’d taken pieces of it into her bedroom with her. 

He had no fucking idea why she had this weird hold over him. Maybe it was because they’d jumped straight into a very intimate relationship. Maybe it was because she knew more about him than most and she still seemed to like him just the same. Maybe it was because the entire time since he’d met her, he’d wanted to know everything there was to know about her, and he was slowly chipping away at all those little details. But, there was still so much more to learn and he was so incredibly and stupidly infatuated. 

With little regard for everything telling him not to get carried away, he still found himself flipping to an empty page in his journal and jotting down new ideas. Ideas that had stemmed from her. About how she made him feel. About her coconut-scented hair and her insecurities and the way she always had the right thing to say even if there weren't a lot of words coming from her mouth. It all seemed to just flow out all at once.

The next time she appeared was a little more distracting than the first. Because not only had he and Will finally made some kind of breakthrough, but she was also heading to the bathroom with a robe in hand. It made his heart race, wanting time to go faster so he could curl up next to her and breathe her in as soon as possible. He wanted to feel her soft skin under his fingertips and get lost in her hair again. His thoughts made it nearly impossible for him to focus on work anymore after that. 

So about twenty minutes later when she was tiptoeing back down the hall with her hair wrapped in a towel, he told Will he was too tired to continue writing. And with everything saved onto Will’s laptop, they cleaned up. Will organized everything into a neat pile and Harry put his stuff away into his backpack. While Will finished cleaning up the kitchen as well, Harry helped himself into the shared hall closet where they kept all their spare blankets and pillows. He had made his own makeshift bed on their longest couch in a matter of a few minutes, not that he’d actually be sleeping in it tonight, but Will didn’t need to know about that.

He faked it for as long as he could hold out; until the apartment was completely quiet and long after Will had disappeared for good into his own bedroom. But the entire time he waited, wide awake and flipping mindlessly through social media apps, he craved her touch like nothing he ever had before. 

Though he had a really unhealthy obsession with caffeine, somehow, he wanted her more than that. More than the sweet, nostalgic taste of his mom’s oatmeal cookies and more than the best plate of paella he’d ever tried; one that had really changed the game for him when he was in Spain a few weeks ago. He’d craved that fucking pasta dish every day up until now, when there was something he wanted even more than it. 

He made a mound of pillows on the couch underneath a blanket to make it seem as if he was there just in case someone woke up in the middle of the night. Then, quiet as a mouse, he tiptoed down the hall and knocked on her door just after ten-thirty. However, when she left him standing in the hallway with no response, he suddenly worried that she might’ve been asleep or that she didn’t want him in. Or maybe she just hadn’t heard him, so he knocked again.

She ceased his worries when she appeared on the other side of the door, her silhouette fitting in perfectly with the cozy surroundings of her bedroom. Her room looked lived in and he guessed that’s why he liked it so much. She wasn’t exactly a minimalist and so, no matter how many times his eyes wandered around her room the few nights he’d spent in her bed, there was always something new to look at. 

Like her growing collection of stuffed farm animals or the picture frames on her bookshelf he never got a chance to fully examine. 

This time he was in her room hit him worse than all the others because there was a soft glow of candles burning in the background and he could hear the faint sound of lullabies playing behind her. It took all the strength he had in him not to pull her into bed right then and there.

She stepped aside when he didn’t say a word, and they really didn’t have to say much to each other at all by this point. Not that words were overflowing from her mouth to begin with, but it was nice to just be at a point where they could silently accept each other. 

Where he could step into her bedroom and not feel like an intruder as he sat on the edge of her mattress.

“Were you asleep already?” He finally asked, softly so as to not wake anyone through their paper thin walls, once she shut and locked her bedroom door.

“You think I sleep with candles burning?” She said matter-of-factly, and he was unsure of her tone but when he saw the slight hint of a smile on her face, he relaxed again. Her sarcasm was another thing he had to get used to. 

He watched her as she put the flames out, the last little bits of light in her room sizzling into complete darkness until his eyes fully adjusted to the new light. Most of her movements were masked by the music coming from a speaker he couldn’t quite locate. It wasn’t very loud, nor was it anything he’d ever heard before, but it calmed every single nerve in his entire body enough to crawl under her blanket and make himself at home.

She joined him soon after, falling right into place beside him except this time, they faced each other. She kept a safe distance, too worried about her breath smelling to get any closer to him than she already was. 

“You should set an alarm. So you’re back on the couch before anyone wakes up.” He figured she was right; it was the logical thing to do, but he also knew he would hate waking up in the morning and having to leave her. Still, he pulled his phone out and set it for five a.m. No one would be awake before that on a Sunday morning. Once he was done, he twisted around to put his phone on the side table closest to him before settling back into her.  

It was quiet between them for a moment as they just stared at each other because neither of them knew how to make the first move. She didn’t want to be as forward as she had been, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt her. Even if they’d done this a few times already, it would still take time getting used to it. They weren’t dating, they were hardly even friends. Being this intimate with each other didn’t happen without some degree of doubt.

She took a deep breath out of her nose, as if she was giving in first and carefully sought out his hand underneath the blanket. Once she found it and had his hand in her own, she scooted closer to him and wrapped his arm around herself like a blanket. He giggled lightly at her before he repositioned his arm a little bit, to get comfortable and to accommodate her own arm wrapping around him. He felt her tense up like she hadn’t ever done before and he worried that she was uncomfortable or that he was holding on too tight.

“S’this okay?” He questioned, easing up a little bit.

Her eyes were squeezed shut as she nodded, “Yes.” 

He didn’t quite believe her, not with the way she seemed almost in pain, and how she had yet to melt into him like she normally did. Still, she reached up slowly and carefully wrapped her arm around his neck instead, bringing herself even closer to him.

It was almost like she was forcing her body to let it trust him. To let go of her past and be there in the present with Harry. It was an all new position they’d never slept in before. It was closer and she had to be more open; more willing to let him hug her and to feel his much harder chest moving against hers. To let him fall asleep in the crook of her neck if he wanted to. There was just so much more that she wanted to trust him with and eventually she did. Eventually he felt her muscles relax and her breath became less erratic.

“I don’t really let anyone touch me.” She confessed into the darkness around them to his unspoken question. With both their eyes closed and in safer territory, it didn’t bother her to tell him, and she really couldn’t deny there was something about Harry that made her want to reveal all her secrets to him. Maybe it was that he seemed to genuinely care about them that got her to spit out things she’d never peeped to a single soul on earth before. 

He was quiet for a moment even though inside his head it was a mess. Why didn’t she let anyone touch her? Had someone hurt her so badly she didn’t let herself experience closeness anymore? Or was she just like that? Just didn’t enjoy it very much? So many possibilities raced through his mind until he finally rubbed his hand over her back softly and took a deep breath in of her familiar perfume, the clean scents on her skin and in her damp hair.

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

She nodded against him and instead of pulling away like he expected her to, she cuddled even closer to him, finding a spot against his collarbone that comforted her more than she could have ever imagined it to. And then she was falling, both asleep and maybe something else too, but it all felt the same.

Taglist: @afterstylesmadeit @cxnyon-moon @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms @whydontharry @harryinsweatersandbandanas @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird @shawnsblue @thurhomish @theasstour @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @staceystoleyourheart @granolagrannie @defineharry @iambabyharry @1142590m @ashtondene @smokeinherperfume @cherryyharryy @mellamolayla @chrryblsms @cassiopeiaskies @sunflowerjens @detroitkiwis @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ @cock-a-doodely-doo        @strawberrycaramelmocha @meetmeinfleetwood​ if you’d like to be added, go here :)

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #onlyhuman

[fourmarkdove]

Wings.

Title: Wings.

Summary: Bouncing back into the dating scene after a bad breakup seems like a good idea until your Tinder date becomes an absolute nightmare.

Paring: Vampire!Henry x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Angst, physical and a hint of sexual assault, violence, blood, dissociation, murder (most foul). You know, the usual. Please avoid if you trigger easily. 

A/N: Inspo based on this edit (above) of Vampire!Henry by @demivampirew​ 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom!” you shouted to your date over the hard thumping house music.

Surprisingly, he looked exactly like his Tinder profile picture, with his perfect blonde haircut, clean lines of an expensive suit, bioluminescent grin. It seemed odd he refused to meet his brown eyed gaze to yours, electing to keep his sunglasses on during dinner, but you cared less and less as the top tier mixed drinks kept coming. He’d thrown his arm comfortably around you way too early, smiled much too brightly. But if you were completely honest, it’d been so long since your last date, before that rough break-up, and you were starving for the attention. It’s not like you were a one night stand kind of woman, certainly not with a smooth, nearly perfect, stranger but if the situation presented itself you were pretty sure you were going to jump on the opportunity - not because he was as amazing as his profile said he was. He was actually quite boring, despite the flash and swagger, tossing cash around like he legitimately owned the nightclub he took you to after dinner.

In the bathroom, you pressed your hips firmly into the edge of the counter to keep from tilting on your fuck me heels. Applying a fresh bit of lipstick, you felt giddy, despite all of the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream. The room spun and you were hazy but in a fun way.

You are a sexy bitch. Smiling at yourself in the mirror, you decided you were going home with him.

He gripped your hips bruisingly hard and kept ramming his bulge against you every chance he got. He even started to kiss and nip at your neck, right there on the dance floor with people pressed in all around you. Who does that? People who find other people incredibly desirable and not at all desperate for validation, that’s who.

Your drunken logic, like your lipstick, was flawless.

After adjusting your push-up bra so your breasts lifted even higher from the black dress you wore, you stumbled back out the door to where he was waiting, leaning against the wall, your tiny purse strap dangling from one of his fingers.

“You ready to go, babe?”

“Mm I think so,” you purred hazily, running your nails over the buttons down the front of his shirt. He gripped your hand so hard you squeaked. His crushing grip hurt as he dragged you through the writhing mass of dancing bodies. You were going to get fucked. And you were going to feel it tomorrow.

“Uber?” you questioned, pulling out your phone the moment you cleared the club doors and were slapped with the shudderingly cool night air. Damn. You should have brought a jacket.

“Nah, we’ll walk,” he griped, leading you a few steps down the sidewalk. “My place isn’t too far.”

You made it exactly three steps teetering on those fuck me heels before you rolled your ankle on the uneven sidewalk and cried out in pain.

“I’m so s-sorry, Bryce,” you whimpered, leaning against a sign post to slip off your heel. “Give me a minute.”

He glanced over his glasses at you and then further down the street. “Come on, babe. Worry about it when we get to my place.”

“I think I might have pulled something. It’s really swelling up. Will you please wait a moment?”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he hissed menacingly. “I guess we’ll just have to do this here.”

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, he fisted your hair and yanked hard at the roots.Your hands flew around his wrist, attempting to free yourself as he dragged you toward the darkened alley beside the club. Stumbling in only one heel, your throbbing ankle gave way again and you howled painfully, begging him to let you go. In the rush pry yourself from his grip, your purse swung from your body and landed on the sidewalk.

“Please stop!” you sobbed when your back grated flush to the stone cold brick wall behind you.

He held you by the throat, taking his time pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket. There was no hurry now that he had captured and caged you in with his body. He hovered, blown out eyes black as midnight, and breathed in the warm scent of your skin, nuzzling along your hairline.

“You’re a fucking tease; you know that, yeah?” he breathed, tipping his head and playfully edging your strap off your shoulder.

“No, I’m really not,” you gritted, holding onto his wrist for dear life. In your peripheral vision, you noticed your purse had fallen open and spilled its contents under the buzzing orange streetlight. Fuck. Mace was in your purse but too far to manage now, especially on a sprained ankle.

He took advantage of your sideways glance, pressing his mouth hungrily to yours. Pressure and sharpness made you gasp audibly. He sighed, savoring the moment and you licked over your bottom lip to find the sting.

“You fucking bit me!”

His grin shown dark, stained with your blood. Wordlessly, he jerked your head to the side and sunk his canines into the soft place between your shoulder and neck. You cried out in shuddering pain, attempting desperately to shift your weight onto your injured side so you could at least give him a swift kick. He had you pinned too well though and any movement made him just grip tighter.

Bare shoulder blades scraping into the bricks behind you made you arch from the wall, but he pressed a thigh between your legs and forced you back onto it, his other hand roaming freely all over your body; grasping, kneading, bruising.

Letting out a choked, desperate cry, you felt your vision going dark. The lightheaded sensation swept through your body and your grip on his wrist loosened. You felt sick and hot and just wanted to escape your body.

You neither saw nor heard your date’s attacker approaching, but the pressure release and being tossed into the gravel shocked you semi-conscious. Through hazy vision, you made out two men scuffling and two others arriving from under the buzzing streetlight. 

Shouting. And growling. 

Pulling yourself up to sitting, you attempted to stand but the pain and disorientation proved too much. Instead, you dragged yourself to the doorway behind the club and held your breath, trying to stay quiet. Hot liquid pooled in the dip above your collarbone which you instinctively pressed your hand over.

The shouting ceased with a sickening click followed immediately by two men dragging a limp body right past you down the alley in the direction of the dumpsters.

A massive form in an all black suit loomed large over your hiding spot and the proximity made you shudder in terror. Flicking on his phone flashlight, he crouched down and laid it beside you.

“You can call the police and I’ll wait here with you. But I’d prefer you let me help you inside.”

His deep voice felt warm, like an embrace to your senses. A dark curl fell against his tense, worry-lined forehead which he pushed back but fell right onto its original place.

“My ankle…” you redirected, anxious to get his steady gaze away from your face. You had yet to look him in the eye.

Shrugging off his suit jacket, he slipped it around your body while looking over your swollen appendage. “Hmm, we should get some ice on that.”

Pulling the smooth fabric up close against your cheeks, you burrowed down into his jacket that could have wrapped around you twice over. It was still warm and smelled like sandalwood and soap.

Awash with sympathy, his blue-eyed gaze returned to your pained face. His brows lifted in the center waiting for your decision.

“Maybe some ice,” you suggested, “for my shoulder, too?”

Fishing keys out of his suit pants’ pocket, he put one into the lock above your head and turned it.

“You work here?”

“Something like that,” he nodded, sliding a thick arm under your legs and another behind your back, lifting you up off the gravel like you weighed nothing at all.

Dumpster lids at the end of the alley slammed open. The jarring sound rattled your nerves and you instinctively buried your face in his dress shirt’s collar.

“You don’t need to look at that, darling,” he instructed gently, rubbing a thumb against the small of your back.

*

Once inside, he flicked on a series of small golden lights down a long hall and into a pristinely presented office. Just past the desk with leather chairs was an executive washroom similarity decorated to the rest: mostly black marble with gold trim around the huge mirror that filled almost an entire wall.

Setting you down gently next to the sink, he slipped from your grasp to wash his bloodied knuckles. Your wide eyed gaze peering out from under his over-sized suit jacket made him smile just slightly.

“What’s your name?” He took a folded towel from the sink and dried his hands.

“Y/N.”

“Henry.”

“I’m not sure I should be in here.”

He arched a curious brow, removing his cuff links. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

“Looks expensive and I might be sick.” You cringed inside but it was the truth. Your skin was clammy and you kept swallowing hard, trying not to think of your anxious stomach turning over.

His amused smirk faded. Rolling up his sleeves, he pushed them up his forearms and stepped up between your knees.

When he came that close, you stared straight ahead at his broad chest, particularly the third button down that strained to keep his shirt closed across his pecs. 

Black button on a black shirt with black thread going through two holes. Kind of a shiny button. Almost. Not quite matte. It’s a nice shirt. On a nice man. He smells nice.

“Darling?” he called gently, tugging at your not-so-conscious thought. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze. They were the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen. Saying nothing, heat rose to your cheeks and the corner of your lips ticked slightly upwards.

“Before we get to that ankle, I’d like to have a look at that shoulder,” he pressed two fingers to the lapel of his jacket you wore.

The moment he applied even the slightest pressure, you recoiled to the back of the jacket and closed your eyes tightly.

“Easy now, I just want to get you bandaged up,” he rumbled in his deep baritone.

“No.” You appeared to withdraw further into his jacket. “Please… don’t… touch me.”

Sighing deeply, he disappeared a moment and returned with the first aid box and set it next to your thigh. Popping it open, he rifled through bandages and located a pair of scissors, offering them to you, handle first. “Go on, take them.”

You frowned but pried your hand from your grip on the fabric around yourself to hold the scissors. Pressing a palm on the counter next to your knee, he leaned down so you were both eye level.

He searched your gaze for a moment. “In case you were worried, now you have a weapon. You won’t need it, but I do need to have a look at you though.”

Biting your bloodied lip, you nodded and felt an odd sense of relief. He lifted his brows in the center and asked if he could peel back the blood slickened jacket from your chest and you agreed, but immediately regretted it. Hissing in sharply, you clutched the scissors and looked up at him for any indication as to how bad it really was.

He maintained the same expression, however: focused, concerned, but controlled. Once he had your shoulder fully exposed, he reached around and quickly collected one of the hand towels, applying such hard pressure to the gaping bite wound that it made you wail in pain.

“Fuck,” he grunted, checking under the towel edge, adding a second to it and pressing down with the same painful pressure. “I didn’t think he had it in him to bite you as seriously as this.”

“Serious?” you repeated, feeling quite detached from your body. You touched the tendon working along his forearm, over his wrist and hand forcing the towels into the bite so severely, any additional pressure and he could have snapped your clavicle with his bare hands.

“You’re bleeding. Badly.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Jaw clenched, he corrected, “I can get it to stop but you’ll need to trust me and you won’t like it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” An overwhelming sense of dread filled every corner in the darkest parts of your mind. It made you choke on tears. “Nothing matters.”

“Of course it does,” he nudged gently, lifting your head with his elbow. “What were you drinking tonight?”

“Um… a-appletini. Caramel.”

Flashing a brilliant smile, down at you, he applied both hands’ worth of pressure to your shoulder again, making you whine. “After we get this sorted, we’ll sit down together and you can drink all the appletinis you want. On me.”

“N-no, I… c-couldn’t- I…”

His warm chuckle resonated through your chest. “Of course you can. And will. I own this place and a dozen more like it, Y/N. We’ll sit down together at any one of them that you like, promise.”

“Like… a date?” The words tumbled out of your mouth but in fairness, you weren’t sure the perfectly gorgeous man before you was real or just a dream. It had to be a dream because what would someone who looked like him want anything to do with someone like you?

“Like a date,” he repeated, leaning over and nuzzling your head back up. He huffed a frustrated grunt. “Come on, stay awake.”

Touching foreheads, your eyes opened lazily and you stroked the stubble along his jawline. “S-sorry I... ruined y-your... jacket...”

Worry strained his features; you were fading quite literally in his hands. “Let me do this. Please.”

“Mm...” your hand slipped from his cheek and the sweet solitude of sleep consumed your consciousness, rendering your body limp.

In an instant, the towels were slapped onto a soaked pile on the floor and his massive hands wrapped firmly around your waist, lifting you up as his mouth descended to your neck. Your head dropped back, and he pushed tendrils of blood soaked hair over your shoulder so they swung against the mirror making a slippery mess of the glass. He tongued over every inch of your exposed flesh, coagulating the fresh blood rising to the surface with his saliva. The scissors you held clattered into the sink basin.

Dark liquid smeared all over his lips and cheeks, he lifted his head, panting. His bright ocean blue eyes were filled with the red rage and blood lust from the taste of warm, fresh blood. Pushing his fingers into your hair, he tenderly lifted your head and dropped his shoulder to cradle your forehead against the crook of his long neck.

His brow furrowed when he tugged his saturated jacket down the rest of the way, exposing your injured shoulder blades in the mirror. Licking his thumb pad, he stroked over each bloodied wing in the reflection.

He made his way with you still in his arms back to the couch in his office and laid down heavy with you positioned atop his chest. Who knew if you would remember any of what had happened - or if despite his best efforts - if you’d wake up at all?

#vampire!henry #fourmarkdovewrites #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader

[cakesunflower]

Ghost of You [L.H.] // Youngblood Song Fic Series

A/N: yeeet i started these youngblood song fics a WHILE ago when the album first came out and i got inspo to write this one. it’s angsty, mentions of death, so read with caution!

All Installations: Youngblood [C.H.] | Want You Back [L.H.] | Lie To Me [L.H.] | Better Man [C.H.] | Monster Among Men [C.H.]

Ghost of You [L.H.]—If I can dream long enough, you’d tell me I’ll be just fine.

He needed a smaller bed.

That’s the first thought that seemed to pop in his mind when he woke in the morning, continuous for the past few days. That he needed a new bed, because the one he had right now was too big. It was meant for two, and with it only being him in the house now, what was the need for a king sized bed? There was more space than Luke knew what to do with. He always kept to his side, not wanting to mess up the vacant space next to him, as if the body that’s meant to be there would someday return to claim it back. Even though he knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. The left side of his bed would remain cold without the warm of another body, and Luke was only beginning to accept that.

He hated mornings. Truthfully, he hated every part of the day, but mornings were always the worst. Because there was this moment, just a brief moment from when he opened his eyes and crawled out of slumber, where the universe cruelly tricked him into thinking that everything was okay. That there wasn’t a hole in the middle of his heart and that breathing was the easiest thing to do. But every day, that small moment of peace where he could finally breathe was violently snatched away by the claws of reality, and everything was crashing down on him, suffocating him, reminding him that nothing was okay and he fucking hated the world he lived in.

Turning his head to the left, Luke gazed at the other side of the bed, like he’d been doing for the countless mornings. He took in how that side was perfectly kempt, untouched by him even in his slumber, no wrinkles in the pillows or sheets. That side hadn’t been slept in, and as every day passed by, Luke knew her scent was gradually disappearing into nothingness. Soon enough, he wouldn’t be able to smell her scent that made him dizzy with happiness, that her clothes in the closet would soon be rid of that same scent as well.

Soon enough, her smell would die with her, and all that’s left would be her belongings Luke refused to get rid of.

Pulling himself out of bed was only the first obstacle he struggled with when he woke up—making it through the rest of day was a challenge in itself. And then going to sleep and doing it all over again. . . Luke often wondered what was the point. Why did living matter when all he wanted to do was be with her?

She came into his dreams frequently. She’d arrive, with her bright smile and kind eyes, and sit with him. He could feel his heart hurt every time, wondering how powerful some dreams could be if he could feel the physical effects of it in his chest. And he’d talk to her, mourn over how unfair it was, how she didn’t deserve such an abrupt end. He’d cry to her, waking up to wet cheeks more often than not, about how much he missed her, how life without her was a life without color and taste and sense.

And, God, when she’d reply, she’d sound so real. Like she was right there, real and touchable and not just a figment of his grieving subconscious. She would tell him, in that gentle and loving voice Luke missed so much, watching videos he had of her just to be able to hear her, that he would be just fine. That time would pass and one day the sun would rise and Luke would be fine.

He’d ask her, humorlessly laughing through eyes burning with tears, “How am I going to be fine if you’re not there?”

Every time, right before she would answer, he’d wake up, and the answer would be lost to him. Luke doubted that there even was an answer to begin with.

There wasn’t a room in the house that didn’t remind Luke of her. How could there be, with them living together for two years? Her vanity was still packed with her things, the shelf in the shower holding her shampoo and conditioner and bodywash, the cup on the sink containing her toothbrush keeping his company. The dining room contained a colorful, funky piece of modern art that she absolutely fell in love with and demanded they buy—Luke always thought it was a bit of an eyesore but she loved it and he loved her so up it went. The living room couch had her favorite dark purple throw draped over it, something they’d cuddle under during movie nights or naps on the couch. The drying rack next to the sink on the kitchen had her her favorite coffee mug on it, placed there by her the last time she used it and untouched, a red lipstick stain forever on the rim that never seemed to wash off.

She was everywhere. But she also wasn’t.

Luke’s eyes were on the few succulents she had placed on the windowsill at the kitchen sink, hands bracing himself on the counter as he could see a few of them drying up. He’d have to water them soon. He didn’t even register the sound of the front door opening, followed by a couple of pairs of footsteps. Didn’t even flinch when Ashton’s voice gently, yet firmly, stated, “Today’s the day, Luke.”

He didn’t move, vacant eyes on the plants in front of him, broad shoulders hunched and golden curls framing his unshaven face. He knew exactly what his friends were here for, and Luke knew for a fact he wasn’t prepared.

“You know she’d want you to do this, mate,” Calum spoke up next, his naturally quiet voice accompanied by a tender undertone Luke had heard more of lately than he had the entire time he’d known Calum.

“We don’t know what she’d want.” Luke’s scratchy voice was hollow, the sound a mere extension of the emptiness he felt. He kept looking at the plant, but his eyes were unfocused. Even when he spoke, he sounded far away, unable to situate himself in the present. His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, feeling as though he hadn’t drank water in days. Maybe he hadn’t. He couldn’t remember.

“Yes, we do,” Michael sounded. “Because we knew her. You knew her, Luke. She was always donating her things to Goodwill. She’d want them to find a new home.”

This was their home. Her things were meant to belong here, with her and with him, together. But she was gone, and it wasn’t like Luke had any use of her clothes rather than running his fingers down the fabric and remembering each piece from when and where she’d worn it. He recalled them all; how was he supposed to say goodbye to them?

When Luke didn’t move, Ashton sighed. “It’s been almost six months, Luke. Please.”

Six months. It had been six fucking months since the love of his life left him, but it still felt as though it had happened in the last six minutes. His mind was a home for thoughts only ever surrounding her, the tightness in his chest having never let up, making it hard for him to breathe every second. How had six months already passed? How had he made it through that long without seeing her smile or hearing her laugh or touching her soft skin? How had he gone without late night runs to McDonalds, without her asking him to play the piano for her, without feeling the graze of her nails against his scalp when she ran her fingers through his curls, and feeling the warmth of her body when she wrapped her legs around his hips and clung to him in a hug that left Luke feeling like the most loved person in the world?

How was he supposed to make it through the rest of his life without any of that?

Somehow, his three best friends managed to get him back to the bedroom, and Luke ignored the looks they gave each other at the sight of him when he finally looked at him. He figured they’d be used to his appearance by now. Unshaven, deep and purple bags under blue eyes vacant of their usual brightness, chapped lips. The only positive thing about Luke was that the boys were always coming around and making sure he was eating and showering, knowing that if they truly left Luke to his own devices, who wouldn’t give a shit about taking care of himself.

They were scared for their best friend, and were ready to help however they could for however long he needed them to.

What he was going through, none of them could understand. But they’d be damned if they didn’t help him.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed, broad shoulders dropped and a blank look on his sleep deprived face as he watched Michael pull open the closet door in front of him; his clothes on the right, hers on the left, untouched with her shoes right underneath.

It sounded distant, muffled, but Luke could hear his heart beginning to pick up its pace out of nowhere. He could feel his throat beginning to tight as Michael switched on the closet light, could feel it in his ears along with the pit of his stomach twisting so tightly, so fiercely, that it knocked what little breath he inhaled right out of his lungs, and suddenly Luke was on his feet.

“No,” he croaked out, catching his friends’ attention, their worried and startled gaze at the tall blonde. But Luke stared ahead at the closet, eyes wide and welling as he began shaking his head, curls fluttering. “No. I’m not doin’ this. No.”

They instantly picked up on the unsteady way in which he spoke, hoarse voice trembling just as his broad shoulders did, and before anyone could say anything, Luke was making his way out of the room. He wasn’t going to do this. He couldn’t do this. Sit there and sort through her things to put into boxes and give away? To have someone live in clothes that were meant for her? Luke fucking refused.

Giving away her clothes and shoes was like giving her away and Luke hadn’t yet come to terms with that.

He didn’t even make it halfway down the hallway when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder, stopping him right in his tracks as Ashton spoke up, “Luke, stop. Come back.”

“No!” Luke roughly shrugged Ashton’s hand off, turning around to glare at one of his best friends, his chest sinking with a deep breath that stung when he exhaled. The distress on Luke’s face was obvious, eyebrows furrowed and dull eyes widened in desperation. “I’m not gonna sit there and watch you pack up all of the memories I have with her and give ’em to someone else. I’m not—”

“That’s not what we’re doing, mate,” Ashton instantly cut in, wanting to derail that train of thought before it got even worse under Luke’s grieving state of mind. His expression softened, worried hazel eyes flickering between tearful blue ones. “No one can ever take away your memories with her; those are going to live with you forever. What you had with her will always be with you, nothing can change that. We’re just giving her clothes and shoes to those who’re in need of them, yeah?” Ashton placed a tentative hand on Luke’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as the younger boy looked at him hesitantly, scaredly. He looked so young, so tired, and Ashton’s heart ached. It ached for Luke and it ached for the friend they all lost too fucking soon. Luke squeezed his eyes shut, chapped lips pressed together as he tried to force himself to see things Ashton’s way. The drummer’s free hand went to the back of Luke’s head, pressing their foreheads together as Ashton encouraged him quietly, “Baby steps, okay? We’ll help you, Luke. You know we will.”

Luke nodded against Ashton’s head, and with an encouraging hand on Luke’s back Ashton guided him back to the bedroom where Michael and Calum were waiting, a few empty boxes already waiting.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat seemed damn near impossible, nearly choking on his inability to do so as he stepped in front of the closet. Luke gazed at the clothing hanging there, every single thing in there worn by her. Her favorite navy blue and black plaid pants that she said were Calum’s inspiration for buying his own green and black ones, the only winter coat she owned because they lived in Los Angeles and she rarely had the need for one unless she traveled to colder states or countries, her worn out Nikes she only used when she and Luke went hiking on the canyon. Each item had a memory attached to it, whether it be significant or not, and having to say goodbye to them was agonizing.

Nowhere near as losing her was, though. Luke wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

Bile rose in his throat almost every time he pulled something out from the closet to give away, stomach churning uneasily as his fingers grazed against the material of each piece and he noticed her side emptying out gradually. Luke sat on the floor at the closet, working in silence with the boys, moving slowly and reluctantly as his hands pushed around a few of her shoe boxes.

The lid of one of the boxes slid off, and instead of containing a pair of shoes, Luke caught sight of a shirt. Eyebrows furrowing he pulled it out and splayed it out in front of him, breath hitching at the sight of it.

It was one of her shirts, old and worn with a few rips in it, a graphic tee he remembered her saying she got from Hot Topic. It was a shirt that meant so much to her, yet she always kept hidden, a reminder of who she was and how far she had come. The shirt itself wasn’t special, just an old Led Zeppelin shirt she bought, but it was the meaning behind it; a shirt she’d worn the day she left home. Her departure had been a mix of her literally running out, along with her parents kicking her out from under their roof, and she had left with just the clothes on her back along with a backpack and a duffel. She’d never been one to get along with her parents, too many differences in beliefs and lifestyles always clashing, until one day she left.

It had hurt her, Luke remembered her telling him, that they’d so quickly let her go without a fight. But she had made it on her own. She used that hurt and pushed herself forward, and she had been happy with what she came to have. She was content.

She was gone.

“Is that a donation?”

Luke looked up, eyes drifting to Calum, who was looking at his blue eyed friend curiously. Luke’s grip tightened on the shirt, pulling it onto his lap as he looked down at it. “No,” he answered, throat working. “No, this one stays.”

It was about half an hour later when Luke excused himself, pushing himself up from the ground and leaving the room, his three best friends staring after him in quiet worry. They sat on the floor of his bedroom, looking at one another before their gazes drifted to the boxes they were filling up with her belongings. Despite knowing the clothes would be going to those in need, the three of them still felt wrong about it. As if they were packing up someone’s items who was gonna come back and ask for them.

But she wasn’t. They knew that. Luke knew that. No one wanted to accept it.

“How long do you think he’s gonna stay like this?” Michael asked quietly, his concern for their youngest bandmate evident in his tone.

Calum picked at his nails in his lap, heart heavy as he mumbled, “Grief doesn’t really have a fixed time period, does it? Who knows?”

They sat in solemn silence for a little while, until they each started wondering where Luke had gone off to. Standing up, the three men walked out of the room and headed down the stairs, the house in an eerie silence that didn’t settle well with any of them. Until they reached the living room, freezing at the sight in front of them, unsure of what to do.

Because there Luke was, headphones in his ear connecting to what was probably his phone buried in the pocket of his sweatpants, in the middle of the living room with his eyes closed as he lazily swayed to whatever he was listening to. In his hand was a bottle of vodka, half empty, and no one knew if it had already been like that or if Luke had just popped open a new bottle and already drank that much out of it. He was already a lightweight, a surprise for someone his size, and drinking that much hard liquor in a short amount of time was probably already having its effects on him.

The sight would have been amusing, almost, if it wasn’t so fucking heartbreaking.

There was just something about Luke dancing so gracelessly around his living room, body swaying lazily with eyes shut while he took big swigs of the vodka he was holding for dear life. He moved with his head tilted back, not dancing with an invisible partner, lost in whatever he was listening to. Luke was clumsy at times, everyone knew, but when he was on stage there was air of confidence around him; he owned every inch of the stage, even when he wasn’t playing the guitar and was instead just holding a mic and moving around the stage like he belonged up there. Because he did. When the music was playing, Luke was damn near danced on stage in a way that mesmerized everyone watching.

But this right here, losing himself in what was playing in his ears and accompanying it with liquor that would only make him feel like shit later, this wasn’t a sight to be seen. This was a man trying to find comfort in a bottle and music. And while the latter was fine, the boys couldn’t stand by and let him find the end of that container.

Luke promptly passed out after the bottle was taken away from him. And after he threw up because he drank nearly an entire handle on an empty stomach. Michael helped him brush his teeth before they got him into bed, and Luke had been just barely coherent enough to drunkenly, sleepily, mumble, “Not her side.”

They understood, gently placing him down on the right side of the bed, eyes hauntingly drifting to the side of the bed she used to occupy. That she’d never occupy.

When Luke slept, he dreamed. Like always, she showed up, and Luke’s heart began hurting, eyebrows furrowing in his sleep, and as Calum sat at his bedside, his fingers gently touched Luke’s forehead, hoping to smooth out the troubles the blonde was displaying. But the gesture as lost on Luke, of course, deep in his slumber, trembling at her arrival.

She smiled, beautiful and breathtaking, sitting with her legs crossed in front of him as she took his hands in hers. Her fingers felt dainty against him, felt real. “I’m proud of you for listening to the boys. It’s a good step in moving forward, Lu.” Then, she repeated the same sentiment she always did, giving his hands a squeeze, eyes kind. “I told you—you’ll be just fine.”

His heart felt heavy in his chest, like it always did, making it difficult for him to breathe. Luke was aware that none of this was real, that this was just a creation of his mourning subconscious, hoping to make things just a tiny bit easier for him, despite the pain he woke up in every time. It was agonizing, waking up and remembering all he had left of her were some of her things, their memories, and her visits in his dreams. And while touching her in his dreams felt as real as touching her in real life, it was still unfulfilling. It still left him yearning for more, left him welcoming tears over a love lost too soon.

“How can you keep saying that?” Luke found himself asking her with a shake of his head, feeling the warm tears wet his cheeks, practically feeling the salt on his lips as he gazed at her. “How am I going to be fine if all I’ve got left are pictures and memories and your ghost visiting me in my dreams?”

Her expression softened, her smile as warm as her eyes that were glassy with tears of her own, bringing their joined hands to her chest as she spoke tenderly, breathily, “Because we had a great love, Lu. But your epic love is with those boys who would do anything for you. They’re the ones who will help you through this, baby. But only if you let them, yeah? So let them. For me and for you. Don’t lose yourself just because you lost me.”

Luke stared at her, stunned into silence, looking at her through blurred vision due to the tears that had gathered. She answered. For the first time, he finally got an answer, and all Luke could do was sit and stare. How many nights did he spend asking her that question, and how many mornings did he wake thinking there was no possible answer?

He knew, of course, she was just a figment of his imagination; an extension of his subconscious. But he needed her to be the one to give him the push he needed—the push he knew she would want him to get. She had been his partner, his love, and no doubt Luke had been utterly lost without her. No doubt had he stopped functioning like a normal fucking human being, feeling as though he’d completely lost a part of him that helped him live.

Of course she would be the face that pushed him into wanting to get better. She wasn’t the only one, though, as Luke thought of his three best friends, who’d continuously come to check on him or stay in his home in case he needed them. His three best friends who were constant rocks during the past six months, when he didn’t have the energy to shower or eat or get out of bed but they came and opened the blinds and made the food and got the shower ready for him. They refused to let him go through this alone.

She was right. A love like that was something Luke needed to hold onto. One had already been ripped from him—how could he possibly let another go?

He lost himself when he lost her, and while it was unimaginably painful to accept that he couldn’t get her back, he could damn well be the man she had fallen in love with. A part of Luke knew that the hole she left wouldn’t ever be fully filled, an emptiness left in him that he would always feel no matter how much time had passed. There would be nights where he’d cry for the woman he lost and days where he’d reminisce how amazing his life was with her in it. Maybe he’ll even sleep on her side of the bed one day. Maybe there will be a day where he can think about her without feeling like the world was crashing down on him, suffocating him.

He’d wake up one morning, completely aware that she was gone, and he’d accept it. Luke knew the hurt would never go away, but he’d learn to cope. He would learn to move on.

He wouldn’t be the same without her, but he could damn near try to be.

tags: @crownedbyluke @irwinkitten @glitterprincelu @softforcal @hotmessmichael @valentinelrh @meetashthere @astroashtonio @calumh-excess @bitchinbabylon @captain-what-is-going-on @inlovehoodx @grittyisathot @old-zeppelin-shirt @all-i-want-is2b-loved-by-you @lipstickstainfading @cliffordcntrl @hereforlukescruff @calistheloml @hearts-to-the-sky @monsteramongmikey @flannelpunkcalum @invisiblexcth @empathycth @roselukes @kinglycalum @heavenlyhemminqs @slimthicccal @ohhmuke @ghostofch @fucking5sos @xhaileyreneex @rosecoloredash @calteahood @paqueretteash @5secondssofssummer @soulmatecashton @babygirlcashton @mysteriouslycali @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @calntynes

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings one shot #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings blurbs #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings imagines #5sos #5 seconds of summer #ashton irwin #michael clifford #calum hood #5sos one shot #5sos fanfic #5sos blurb #5sos blurbs #5sos imagine #5sos imagines #ashton irwin blurb #michael clifford blurb #calum hood blurb #ashton irwin one shot #michael clifford one shot #calum hood one shot #ashton irwin imagine #michael clifford imagine #calum hood imagine

[symphonic--chaos]

Fandoms: The Magicians / The Umbrella Academy / Shadowhunters crossover, mundane college AU Pairings: Eliot/Klaus, Alec/Magnus, mentions of Klaus/Dave, Eliot/Quentin Song Inspo: First Time (Acoustic) - Seven Lions

Little story that takes place some time after Get Higher

Also posted on AO3

Klaus's fingers hesitated within an inch of a dark brown curl that shifted ever so slightly on the warm, pale, skin of Eliot's forehead every time the fan rotated their way. The doors of the balcony were wide open behind it, the warm breeze of a summer morning coming through to wash over bare skin. Klaus's body only half covered by the gold colored silk sheets that Eliot loved so much, and that Klaus thought were wholly expensive and unnecessary, but he knew that Eliot loved them and, well, he loved Eliot, so he went with it. His fingertips finally touched the curl, a featherlight caress to brush it away from the other man's forehead.

Love was a terrifying subject for the both of them.

They both knew it, clung to it, lost it, and they both had their own hesitations on sharing not only that past with each other, but that emotion. Despite that fear though, they had trust. Almost a year of college, a year of being 'roommates', they trusted each other. Had Klaus known they would have wound up here, now, he wouldn't have been as hesitant and walled off towards '21C - Eliot Waugh' the day he walked into the room and met eyes with him. May have less insulted when Eliot had eyed him up and down and hummed. Klaus had impeccable taste after all.

Now here they were, learning each other still after almost a year. Here they were breaking down walls and building them back up, just around each other. And Margo, of course. Eliot had made it very clear that they were a 2-for-1, that she was his right hand, his best friend, his Queen Margo. Klaus had gone along with it because well, she was stunning and he liked her spunk- a reason she had supposedly given others on why she liked Klaus.

"Morning," came the quiet voice from beside where Klaus's arm had him propped up beside Eliot.

Klaus looked down to the beautiful hazel eyes peering up at him from behind half-lidded eyes. The smile that crossed Klaus's lips seemed like such a natural response at this point, one that sometimes alarmed him because it would come just from Eliot walking in the room. It was foreign, something that Reginald would have certainly questioned him on, would have asked him what he'd taken this time and to wipe the silly grin off his face. A smile Eliot never questioned, only ever mirrored.

"Morning," Klaus replied, his fingers trailing from where the curl had been, down along Eliot's temple, cheekbone, the slightly stubbly lower cheek and jawline.

Eliot placed a kiss to Klaus's thumb when it caressed over his bottom lip, though it was soon replaced by a gentle press of Klaus's lips, followed by a second, third, fourth, and with a grab and a roll accompanied by an amused giggle, Eliot had Klaus hovering over him. A pleased sigh was passed into the kiss before Klaus broke away, looking at the man below him, his heart feeling...oddly full. Warm.

"I love you."

The words spilled from Klaus's lips before he could stop them. It had been something they'd been working on, but had never actually said- it was just something he knew they could tell from the way they looked at each other. A pang of guilt suddenly hit him as he looked down at the dogtags that rested on Eliot's chest, the look that Eliot seemed to catch.

"Hey," Eliot's fingers gently curled under Klaus's chin as he tilted his face up, his thumb resting on lips that parted to apologize. "It's okay to love both of us. It's okay to never lose that. You know it's the same for me, that it's someone I'll never lose."

A short breath left Klaus as it felt like a weight lifted off of him, all his fears and insecurities lifted in just a couple sentences.

"Dave... Will always be here." Klaus said as he sat on Elliot's lower half, his hand taking the dogtags Dave had been wearing when he died and closed around them, before that fist went over his heart. His other hand moved to press flat over Elliot's heart. "And Quentin will always be here."

"And we'll always remember them." Eliot said quietly, his eyes stinging with tears, much like he could see in Klaus's eyes at that moment.

"And we'll remember and honor them every day."

"Because Dave would have told you, and Quentin would have told me, to keep going and living our lives, to find a new love. That they'd always be here, still."

Klaus's breath caught as he thought of Dave, the day he'd met him at the art gallery Klaus had only attended to look at the colors while high. The way his cologne smelled, how shiny white his teeth were and how his laughter was infectious. Dave was a recent graduate that was just sworn into the army, who was excited for basic, but more excited about taking Klaus on a date. He remembered that day, almost a year later, on the street when two different gangs had broken out into a fight. The way their eyes had locked when Klaus heard the first gunshot and had grabbed Dave, pulling him to safety behind a car. Klaus could still smell the blood, he could still hear Dave's labored breath, he heard his own screams for help ringing in his ears.

Eliot had told Klaus about Quentin plenty, someone he'd attended another college with- one Eliot hadn't even finished his first year before the incident. Eliot had said it'd been a slow burn at first, before it became a confusing tango that had ended with a desire that was unrivaled. How Quentin had just become the one, how he'd just known and right when Quentin had approached him about his feelings, Eliot shut down, turned away. Klaus had almost felt just as devastated the day Eliot told him that there had been a freak accident in one of the Chem classes, an explosion of glass. Quentin had saved lives that day by pushing the student that caused it out of the way. Quentin had given his own life to save others.

Klaus leaned into Eliot's hand when it came up to cup his cheek, Eliot smiling as Klaus's facial hair tickled his palm. Elliot's voice was soft, smooth when he spoke up next, only coming once their eyes met again, his smile bright and as true as his words.

"I love you, too."

-------

"You CHEATED!" Magnus's voice roared, his hand moving to shove Alec's shoulder as Alec's laughter rang through the room.

Yoshi spun out of control and into a wall after crossing the finish line, Alec's screen showing Mario zipping through the track with 1st displayed proudly on the screen. Magnus tossed the controller onto the couch beside him and glowered at Alec, still laughing, who then put down the controller and lifted his hands to cup Magnus's face.

"Babe, I didn't cheat, you just really suc--"

"ALEXANDER, DO NOT--"

"REALLY, REALLY SUCK AT MARIO KART!" Alec near yelled over Magnus as his laughter continued, even when Magnus gave out a frustrated yell and tackled him back and onto the couch.

"FUCK YOU!" Magnus faked strangling Alec, who had tears in his eyes and a pain in his stomach from laughing so hard.

The table beside them rattled, with college books slipping and sliding off, and the couch groaned in protest, its legs scraped on the wooden floor as their bodies fell onto the floor. Now Magnus couldn't help but laugh, the two of them a tangled mess of limbs, trapped between the two pieces of furniture. Alec was gasping for breath, unable to break the smile from his face. A long arm lifted to push the table back a bit to give them room, Alec's body moving to half lean over Magnus, his fingers brushing back a loose lock of hair that defied the positioning of the other gelled spikes.

"What?" Magnus asked with a bright smile when his eyes met Alec's, noticing that his boyfriend was staring intently at him.

Alec was silent still, his eyes sweeping over the smooth complexion of Magnus's face, the way his five o'clock shadow was coming in (Eliot and Margo were pushing him to grow it out so they could see what the 'babyface' turned into), the way his smile lit up his whole face and even made that sparkle in his eye brighter. There was a flush of warmth that rushed through him and suddenly his mouth was dry.

"I..."

Alec watched as Magnus's eyebrows furrowed, shifted, his body propped on an elbow as his free hand moved to cup Alec's cheek, the worry evident and taking away that sunshine that Alec loved so much about him.

"Alec, are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong, Magnus, I just..." Alec started before his lips pressed against Magnus's forehead, another pressed to the tip of his nose, and a final one pressed to his lips. It lingered there until he pulled back just an inch, their foreheads now pressed together, Alec wanting nothing more than to ease that worried look on Magnus's face.

"I love you."

The words seemed to do the trick, the worry replaced by shock, then that beautiful warmth. From what Magnus had told him before, the last time he'd been told that by anyone was before he'd lost his family to the car accident when he was a child. Coming from a family that was mostly tight-knit, with a mother that never failed to remind her three how much she loved them, daily, Alec couldn't imagine what it was like. Growing up bounced between foster homes, fighting to get where he was, for the scholarships Magnus had earned, all while never having family to support him... But now, here, Alec meant them, wholeheartedly, and luckiest for him, Magnus's face said it all- he believed him, and the kisses to follow backed that up.

"I love you, too, Alec."

Six months together had been a whirlwind and Magnus had known from early in that he was falling for Alec, that it would be nearly impossible for him to even try to fight those feelings. Everything Alec did was so completely opposite from how he'd been treated by anyone else growing up, Alec always made him feel welcome, wanted, even when he was busy. It was waiting outside of the class hall just to say hi between classes, it was making sure to pick up something extra during lunch and bringing it to the library when he knew Magnus was cramming. It was the way Alec didn't care what others or his team thought when their fingers linked in the hallway when Magnus would meet up with Alec to walk to his next class.

If someone had told him, when he was in his junior year of school, that the person who was on the varsity soccer team, who was an utter dick to people and always in a terrible mood, was actually this... Real Alec he was getting to learn more about every day, he wouldn't have believed them. Surely that hesitation to care about even getting to know him was evident when Jace and Clary brought Alec down from the floor above his dorm room, but with a gentle nudge from Eliot and the two of them having to care for heavily drunk and high friends after a party, it was like Alec was a whole new person.

Alec pressed another kiss to Magnus's lips before he shifted to stand, his hands taking Magnus's to help him up as well. Magnus had forgotten all about the game at this point, that was until Alec motioned to the idling TV and gave him a crooked grin.

"Wanna play again? I'll let you win this time..." The suggestive offer ended with a grunt as Magnus shoved him playfully, Alec laughing as he caught Magnus's arms, tugging him so they were chest to chest.

"How about we play again and the winner gets..."

The sweet look Magnus had given him just moments before during their confessions had been replaced by something that had Alec's brows raising in intrigued surprise. Magnus always loved catching Alec off guard like this, seeing that shocked reaction whenever he suggested something sexual. It was exactly why he didn't do it often, despite all the opportunities and windows that had been left open for him.

"Oh. Oh yes. Yes, let's do that. Right now." Alec nodded as he shifted sideways to sit down on the couch again. Magnus was pulled into his lap as a controller was thrust into his hands, Alec's chin coming to rest on his shoulder when he slouched down just enough to let him see.

#malec #klaus hargreeves x Eliot waugh #college au

[eerythingisshaka]

Signs of Rain

[Y’lan Noel x Reader]

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings:  Just fluffer!

A/N:  This is my first non-Black Panther character/actor related fic (that I have shared anyway)  But it is just as relevant as the others.  This one goes out to @afraiddreamingandloving [my sister from another mister, my security detail, my alarm clock, my DJ, my tea and crumpets (sorry)] for introducing me to Luke James’ ‘Signs of Rain’ a while back.  It has been rainy so much where I am that I have had the song on repeat almost constantly and a lil fic inspo came from it so there!

Walking up to his car, you feel nerves begin to dance within you.  You hadn’t seen him in such a long time, you wondered if he would even recognize you still.  He is sitting on the roof of his car, and old school Cadillac he has put his soul into refurbishing.  He always had a thing for tinkering, couldn’t keep his hands still for a minute before he was taking things apart and most of the time unsuccessfully reassembling them; but he was good once he got into a trade.  Working with machinery did wonders for his frame, as you studied his back muscles through his shirt.  A wide back was something of a sixth sense for you to notice and he was speaking your language.

“Hey,”  you say in a pleasant tone once you make it to him.

He turns to surprised by your voice before his expressions softens at the sight of you.  “Hey, girl.  How you doin?” His smile widens, his complexion accents the perfect assembly of teeth, shining like an “OPEN” sign.  

He gets down from the car to open his arms to you, and you reciprocate, bringing him in close to you.  His body is warm and welcoming on the cooler than normal summer evening as he held you tightly.  His beard tickled the side of your face as your hands rest on his back, solid.  It took everything in you not to claw at it, but you gave him a good friendly rub instead.  His scent gave you a sense that he loved the Lord but would certainly make you cry, which you got plenty of back in y’alls day.

Breaking from the hug, you answer his question.  “I’m good, Y’lan.  You look...great!  How you been?”

He gives a cough like laugh, “Aw, see the man’s supposed to compliment first, but cat caught my tongue when I seen you.  Thanks though.  You ain’t changed a bit...but for the better.”

You feel a blush coming up to your cheeks as he charmed the stress right off of you.  Y’lan gave off real casanova vibes, but he really was a dork at heart.  You remember when you first met him, he couldn’t look straight at you the whole time you and your friends were around him and his.  You thought he hated your guts, but it just turned out he was so nervous to talk to you, he turned incredibly shy.  You worked that out of him eventually.

“Oh, stop.  I ain’t had no time to get my makeup and hair straight before you called me.  I really am a mess.”  You say as Y’lan motions for you to pop a squat on the hood of his car next to him.

“Tsk, you still worried about looking on point 24/7, huh?  You know I never been one to ask you to look a certain way because-”

“-because I always looked like a million dollars dropped in your lap, I know.  I remember.”  You say with a slight eye roll.  Y’lan was your biggest fan when you were dating.  He made sure you never felt inadequate, showering you with compliments, gifts, PDA, and more.  It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him, but you always felt like you needed to keep up or the compliments would stop.

Y’lan gave a quick chuckle at your sarcastic reiteration of his words as he looked off into the setting sun.  The rays cast over his skin, giving his arms and profile gold edges against his deep melanin tone.  “I say what I mean, and I mean it, (Y/N).”

You rub your legs to stay warm.  “So what are you doing in town, then?”  You ask to move the conversation.

Y’lan shrugs, “I had some time off to come through,  Wanted to clear my head, time on the road does that pretty good for me.”

You wondered if he had known you broke up with your former flame before deciding to ‘come through’.  You turn to him curiously.  “But why did you call me?  We hadn’t seen each other in almost two years, man.”

Y’lan scratched his beard, causing you to catch sight of his knuckles; another weakness of yours.  His hands were strong and rough from his trade work and they knew their way around you at one time.  “I couldn’t come by without seeing you.”

“Why, though?”  you press him.

Y’lan sighs.  “You really finna grill me right now?  Instead of enjoying this beautiful evening?”

“Y’lan, you left me, remember?  You couldn’t stand to be around me anymore.  You felt like I was bringing you down and holding you back from whatever the hell, I still don’t know!  And then just out of the blue, you call me up and say you’re in town and to meet at our spot -- what if I have a man?  This would be inappropriate!”

Y’lan licks his lips staring at the ground, “Do you?”

“That’s known of your business --”

He cuts you off, “Why can’t you be straight with me?  That was one problem, if you want me to be honest.  You always wanted to beat me to the punch, when I never meant a bad word to you.”

You cross your arms, “You never asked me why though!  You just brush it under the rug and tell me to quit playing.  Did you ever think about why I did that?”

Y’lan looks at you, poker face. “Of course I did.  But I guess I wasn’t asking the way you wanted me to ask.  Life ain’t a movie, (Y/N).  Shit ain’t scripted and-and beautifully monologued with a orchestra.  Sometimes you just gotta do things yourself and quit expecting others to pull it out of you like a magic trick.”

You sucked your teeth as it pained you to admit.  “You made me feel like magic.  You gave me Disney Prince and happily ever after every damn day we were together, ok?”

Y’lan rubs his temples.  “Then what is it?  What made you...despise me in the end?”

You do a double take to him when he says this.  As quick as you were about to snap him up, you melted at his response.  You never despised him, you couldn’t.  He treated you like a goddess, like the last good woman on earth was all his, he practically worshipped the ground you walked on.  He held his hands together looking off into the distance as he waited for your your response tensely.  The sun had set by now, letting the stars illuminate your surroundings.  The parts of his skin that once reflected gold were now replaced with a bluish hue.

You took a deep breath and spoke softly.  “I never despised you, Y’lan.  I hate that you ever thought that of me.  I could never hate you.”

He holds his hands out before clapping them together, “So what?  And?”

You rub your hands together nervously.  “You were too good.  I didn’t feel worthy to be with you.”  Y’lan turned his gaze to you.   You wanted to caress his wide face, but you had to keep talking.  “I guess I felt like God was playing a trick on me or something?  Like, if He gave me something this good in my life, then shit must be ready to hit the fan any minute.  I was used to that pattern.  But, shit never happened.  It was always good with us, I just doubted my worth, our chemistry, and...it cost a lot.”

Y’lan nodded slowly, digesting your words.  “Wow.  So, like in the movies, when a character gets their fortune told that they gonna die, and they try everything to avoid it but end up doing something that causes it anyway?”

You look off confusedly, “Uhh, yeah I guess so.  Something like that.”  You both giggle at the morbid comparison.  You felt like a weight was taken from around your shoulders.  You finally got all of your feelings out to Y’lan after all this time.  You were grateful you picked up his call tonight.  

Y’lan leaned on his widened knees anxiously, “Soooo, what do we do now?”

You shrug looking up at the sky, “Enjoy the sights a little more maybe?”

“I smells like it’s gonna rain, though.”  Y’lan says sniffing the air.

“Tsk, the weathermen ain’t never completely on point.  That’s probably for a storm further south of us.”

Y’lan bares those pearly whites again.  “Mhm, you know best.”

You push him lightly, “And don’t forget it, Jack!”

You and Y’lan lay back on his car to point out constellations and make up ones on your own.  You could watch them all day, just lying next to him.  It really felt like old times between the two of you as you all point to the sky, hands occasionally brushing against each other, sending shockwaves through your body.  You didn’t know how to approach a conversation of romance but you were fine with just laying together as friends.  

A clap of thunder shakes you both as it snaps you out of your little world.

“Whoa, that sounded close.” Y’lan said sitting up and checking the sky.

“Yeah.  Maybe just five more minutes and we can dip?”

Just as you offered that up, the clouds open; unleashing buckets on top of both of.

“Oh, shit!”  Y’lan exclaimed, jumping off the car.

“Fuck fuck FUCK!”  You jump off to headed to the passenger side of his car.

Y’lan gets his door open and hops in.  You try the door, still locked.  “Y’lan!  Come on!  Hurry up!”  

You see a little through the window as he reaches for the lock; nothing but teeth.

You slide in, slamming the door shut.  “Y’lan!  What the fuck was that about!  I’m soaked as hell now!”  You pull his visor down to your hair wrecked and what little makeup you put on washing away.

Y’lan leans back, his hand resting on the back of your seat.  “I thought you didn’t put no makeup on for me?”

You freeze in your lie.  “Uhhhh…”

“See?  You need to be straight with me!  It’s all good though.”

You scoff at him.  “Shiiiit, be straight with me:  you left me out there longer on purpose.”

Y’lan sucks his teeth, “Man, see -”

“Don’t blame this old ass car!  I saw your grin, you liked seeing me struggle!”  you feigned hurt as you squeezed your shirt and wiped your face.  

“My bad, (Y/N).  I did get too carried away.  You want my shirt?”  

You think this over a minute as the fabric of your clung to you like an icy leech, “Uh, well…”

He looked embarrassed before looking away, clutching the steering wheel.  “I mean, just until you get home.  Unless your dude would have issue-”

“I don’t have a man, Y’lan.”  You confess looking through the window away from him.

There’s a moment of silence, soundtracked by the pitter patter of the fat droplets crashing into the windshield.  You remain still, trying to control your breathing as you feel like you should say something more significant, like you want him back.  But he had a life away from you, no way he could go back to the shit he had with you.  Y’all just hashed out your past differences ten minutes ago!

Y’lan continues, “Well uh, just let me know what you need and when you ready to leave.  I can take you back.  I know the rain makes you nervous.”

You shake your head looking at him, “Not as much anymore.  Your little trick kind of worked.”

Y’lan makes an impressed expression, “For real?”

“Mhm.  The lightning is like a part of Mother Nature, right?  So when I see it, it’s like her stretch marks just coming across.”

Y’lan nodded, looking down at your legs for a split second, “Some of the most beautiful paths are made in nature…”  A bolt of lightning flashes above you all, illuminating the car as you look in Y’lan’s eyes.  You’ve seen that stare before, a warning sign.

“Mhm...When it thunders-”  Almost like on cue, a crash of thunder makes your body jump.

Y’lan rests a hand on your arm with concern, “You ok?”

You nod, “The thunder is just the crash of our-”

“-bodies, intertwined….Yeah, maybe that could use an update.”  Y’lan smiled weakly as he rests his hands on his widened lap.  Any time he manspreads was acceptable to you; showed confidence, authority, and that he had plenty to hang loose.

You felt waves beginning to flow beneath you as your mind wandered to when his lap was your favorite seat in the house.  You felt yourself getting colder though and couldn’t stand your shirt much longer.  

“Ok, take off your shirt.  I need to get these wet clothes off.”  

Y’lan looked at you a moment, taken aback by your request but obliged, taking his shirt off.  Your shirt being wet, was more of a struggle as you it kept rolling and tugging at your skin instead of sliding off.

You could tell your struggling was taking a while as Y’lan’s hand worked the neck from off your head slowly but surely until you popped out.  Y’lan’s face was closer to yours than you expected.  His wide shoulders bare, made you want to kiss them.  Your shirt was still tangled on your arms between you as Y’lan held them.  His gaze stayed locked on your face as his forehead crinkled up with anticipation.   The yearning began to grow as you waited for a cue, a sign that this wasn’t a dream, a split in the time/space continuum  making time slow down a second.   You couldn’t hold back, you wouldn’t if in this very moment you were given the opportunity to let your emotions take over for what you truly wanted.  

Soon as he batted his lashes down to look at your mouth you dove into him.  Grabbing his face, clutching his beard, you meld your mouth into his giving him all the information he needed.  Your tongues danced effortlessly as his grip on your arms got stronger.  You hand grazed along his arm, feeling the scar from his Kappa days that he boasted about way too often on how it made him a man.  You always corrected him and said you did instead.  Taking a breath, your mouths smack apart, as you nibble on his bottom lip.

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna be broken up no more.”  Y’lan said hoarsely as he tries to pull you to him.

You pull away, “I don’t want to be either.”  You take your shirt off completely, freeing you from your bind as you hug his neck, running your hands down his taut abdomen, decorated with signs of his manliness you adored:  tufts of hair, muscles contracting under your touch.  You pull from him to make your way to the back seat of the car.  

Once seated, you look to Y’lan.  “You always knew how to make me feel beautiful, and your touch hasn’t left me yet.  No one could do it like you.”  You say as you work to undo your bra, no longer were you cold from the outside weather. A flash of light illuminate the car again, allowing you to capture Y’lan’s expression more clearly as his mouth sits slightly agape, in awe, lost in your beauty.  

“It’s easy to find beauty in you, no doubt.  That’s why I need you to stay mine, so nobody can claim it for theirs.”  Y’lan’s tone was weighed down with passion as his baritone shook your core for what was to come as he crawled to join you in the back.  

The moisture that once left you chilly now fogged up the windows as you both enjoyed each other once more.  His touch stoked your fire as you rediscovered one another’s pleasures.  The spatters of rain were drowned out by the smacks of your kisses to one another, moaning to each other sweet nothings of bliss and eroticism.  Thunder, overran by the chorus of skin slapping against one another over and over as he sent waves of pleasure over your body .  You couldn’t believe you let this feeling go a while back, but you’d be damned if you made the same mistake twice.

Other Works

King Kil’mawalls  

T’akia

N’Jadaka’s Helpful Hands

Some Weeks Are Better Than Others

The Coffee Prince

Commencement Day

Wakanda Got Y’all

If I Could Do It All Again

#SundaySweat

Song of Stevens

RagTag

@chaneajoyyy (i told you I’d do it!) @allhailnjadaka @afraiddreamingandloving @forbeautyandlife 

I never know how to tag new fresh fics but read and pass it on!

#y'lan noel fanfic #y'lan noel x reader #y'lan noel #fanfic #shakafic #rain au

[acousticvalntyne]

Roses-Calum Hood x Reader

Backstory: You and Frat boy!Calum have been dating for the past year. He’s been constantly cheating on you and you’ve finally had enough.

Warnings: swearing and break up

Word Count: ~1.7k

Inspo: Roses by Ronnie Watts

As you walk into your boyfriend’s frat house, the familiar feeling of the bass of a top 40 song rushes through your body ad the smell of sweat,beer, and weed fill your nose. You were used to the chaos of the weekly frat parties from going to each and every one of them, but today you really just weren’t feeling it. It had been a very rough day for you today. After getting into an argument with Calum when finding another girl’s thong beside his bed, you had flunked your psych test. The fight didn’t get to you since you were well aware of the fact that Calum was always cheating on you, but the horrible test grade really brought you down since it would be the first time you had failed a test ever and would bring your grade down to a C.

You never questioned why you stayed with Calum, you just did. Maybe it was because he was the first guy that had made you feel like somebody, but you knew there were others out there who could make you feel that way. You had always gotten male attention, though you never really cared that much. All guys were douches that made you feel like nobody. Calum was different . At least after he cheated on you, he would send roses, every time. He was definitely a douche, but he was different.

Tonight was also different. You came into the frat seeking comfort from your boyfriend, and nothing could change your intentions, as you walked through the front door. Almost the instant you walked in, Michael, one of Calum’s frat brothers, approached you with his girlfriend, Crystal, by his side.

“Hey Y/N! How was your day?” Michael had always been a sweetheart to you, even though you guys weren’t as close as you were to the others. Every time he caught you storming out of the house in tears he would give you a hug and tell you that you were too good for Calum anyway. That always meant a lot to you, because it let you know how much the boys meant to you and how much you meant to them. Maybe that’s why you stayed.

“Pretty bad not gonna lie” You sighed and looked up at his green eyes.

“‘m sorry. I’m sure you will work it out. You always do”

“Thanks Mike, you’re right”

“I’m always right”

“Okay I’m gonna go and find the others”

“Okay have fun! And I hope you fix your problem”

“Thanks Michael. Bye you two” You say and then walk into the kitchen to get a beer. As you walk in, you’re greeted by Ashton and Luke who were previously engaged in a heated conversation about whether or not cheerleading is a sport. You were always close to them. More so Luke than Ashton. Luke had become your guy best friend for the past two years, he’s the one who hooked you up with Calum. He was always free to watch a random movie with you and for you to cry into his shoulder on your nights you needed a friend. And Ashton was always there for you to call up when you needed to let all the stress from college off your chest. You loved them like brothers. “Hey you guys! Weird conversation topic you two are on about”

“Tell Luke he is wrong! It is a sport!” Ashton reasons from beside the fridge.

“No it’s not!” Luke argues from across the kitchen by the sink.

“It’s only a sport if it’s competitive.There solved!” You say to end the argument so you can find your boyfriend. They both look at each other then shrug their shoulders. “Now I’ve had an awful day and i’d like to seek comfort in my boyfriend. Where’s Cal at?”

The two send stressed glances at each other from across the room, when Luke finally stands up straight and walks over to you. He takes your small hands into his larger ones and looks into your eyes with sympathy. “Uh Y/N, it’s probably not the best time for you to go looking for Calum right now”

“And why not?”

“He took Melissa up to his room about ten minutes ago”

“Oh my fucking God! I’m late to the party by thirty minutes and he’s already got another girl to fuck! Unbelievable”

“I know Y/N”

“No, you don’t Luke. He lies and he lies and he lies about where he’s going, who he’s with, and what he’s doing. And I know! I put up with it! I’m the one to blame! But i’m done! I’m tired of 95% of the things he says to me,which are lies, meaning nothing.” I start to tear up, but I have to be strong to deal with Calum tonight. “I’m going up there and i’m breaking things off”

“I support you Y/N. He deserves it”

“It’s about damn time!” Ashton chimes in.

“Thanks guys” Their encouraging words gave you a lot more courage. You head up to his room and hear the noises from outside his door. You stand there for a minute or two, trying to figure out what to say. Finally you give up and burst open the door without a second thought. The first thing you see is Calum on top of another girl and then the clothes thrown about the floor.

“Y/N!” Calum says in shock. He obviously wasn’t expecting you, which made it all the much better but horrible at the same time. You can’t decide whether to be angry because he’s cheating on you once again or sad because he didn’t even expect his own girlfriend to come to his party. He gets off of the girl and she leaves as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “Trust me Y/N it’s not what it looks like”

“Dont lie to me”

“I’m not Y/N. I would never cheat on you” I laugh because he really just said that “Why are you laughing?” He looks at me in disbelief.

“Because Calum! Do you really think i’m that fucking stupid!? I’ve caught you in the act four times! And i’ve called you out three other times! And you’re really just gonna sit here and lie to me! Wow! That’s just like you!”

“And yelling at me for everything is just like you!” By now both of your voices are raised and you are both fuming.

“Really!? You’re playing the victim right now!”

“No I’m just stating facts Y/N!” He says it and all you can do is roll your eyes. Then he walks over to you and grabs your hand, but you pull away, so he looks up at you with those big puppy dog eyes, begging for mercy. But you weren’t gonna give it to him tonight. “I’m sorry baby”

“No you’re not sorry! You’re only sorry you got caught! Thats why you keep doing it and you’ll never stop! I bet every time you text me, you’re probably sitting on someone else’s bed, like always!” You were absolutely fuming now. “You’ve always let out your feelings with me, but it turns out that was just for show. You’re just a boy who’s terrified of being alone, Cal. I’ve given you love, and all you’ve given me was pain. You’ve lied for as long as we’ve been together. But your lies mean nothing to me now. You’ve cheated and cheated, then you send me roses to wash your guilt away.” Now your voice is shaking and he can sense the hurt in it. “I don’t want your roses now, not ever again. I hope you feel the pain you’ve caused me every time you hear my name now Calum, cuz we are over. Im done with you and your cheap roses!” By now, he’s a couple feet back from you. He’s shocked you finally went off on him, but he thinks you don’t mean it, just like every other time you yell at him. This time you really do,though.

“You don’t mean it” He looks down at you and squeezes your hand.

“Yes I do” You pull it away as you look into his wide eyes from shock.

“You love me and you’ll never find another guy like me” He looks into your eyes which are now filled with tears.

“I can find a million of you! I just have to look for a boy who lies, who gets around and gets real high in the sheets! Then i’ve found another just like you! But try to find one like me!” You start to open the door and try to walk away.

“But you love me!” Calum says. You can hear the hirt in his voice now. He never wanted it to end and neither did you, but you were done with being hurt over and over again. The both of you are over and now both of your cheeks are stained with tears.

“I do. And as much as I’d like to dry your tears and hold you close right now, I’m not gonna. Cuz your lies have burned me for the last time. Goodbye Calum” You slam the door and leave without another word. You rush downstairs and head to the kitchen where Luke and Ashton are waiting on you for news. They didn’t think you’d actually do it but you did. They get up from the counter as soon as you walk in.

“It’s over” You say quietly with your head hanging low. They run over to you and scoop you in for a hug.

“I’m proud of you Y/N” Luke whispers in your ear. You guys pull apart and the boys give you a worried look.

“You ok?” Ashton asks out of pure concern.

“I mean i’m fine, but I think I’m gonna head home and rest” You were fine. You were partially glad it was over with Calum. That meant no more staying up till four AM crying yourself to sleep over a guy. You were also partially sad, cuz you’ll always love him, no matter the hurt he put you in.

“Ok sleep well” Luke says as he wraps you in another hug. “Call me when you need my shoulder to cry on or to punch”

“Will do. Thanks you guys. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you two” You say as you look at the boys and they read the pain in your eyes, but let it be cuz they know you want to be alone.

“Anytime” Luke says and waves you off as you walk out.

You walk back to your dorm and think about what happened and what will happen. You finally arrive home. The first thing you see is the roses Calum gave you that morning, which were now dead.

#calum hood #michael clifford #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #5sos one shot #calum hood x reader #calum hood imagine #calum 5 seconds of summer #frat calum #calum hood one shot

[majesticmarais]

Grief | Jeff Atkins

Requested? Nope! Sorry for the request waiting but I haven’t been inspired at all lately because of some shit I’m going through but I actually had inspo for this!! Other imagines will come soon

Summary: Y/n’s world is completely altered after the life changing events of a single night

Warnings? Swearing and death

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: @whydontwe-fanfics @samithepixie @ashxxaverykuwonu @offroader99 @so-not-wdw @jackramennoodles

A/n: So I KNOW THIS IS NOT WDW BUT I WANTED TO WRITE THIS!! So if you don’t like 13rw or this character then you can just scroll past it’s all good!! I hope those of you who decide to read it anyway will enjoy it! Also it’s long as hell SORRY 

Jessica Davis’ party. Just a normal, trashy high school party with too much alcohol and probably too many hookups for one night.

That’s what it was supposed to be. A normal, stupid high school party.

*

I walked through the front door, trailing behind my boyfriend, his hand in mine pulling me along as we walked through the crowd, coming into the kitchen. Tables were lined with bowls of chips, red solo cups, drinks, and even a keg. The smell of stale alcohol burned my nose slightly as I rested my free arm against the table, looking up at Jeff.

“Want something to drink, babe?” he asked, loosening his hand away from mine before picking up two cups, lifting an eyebrow.

“Not really, you know I’m not a huge drinker,” I chuckled, moving my head slightly to the beat of the song I didn’t recognize that was blaring throughout the house, forcing us to scream at each other in order to hear.

“Orange juice then?” he asked, tilting his head as he picked up the carton, shaking it in his hand before pouring my favorite juice into the red cup and handing it to me before getting himself a beer.

We made our way out of the kitchen and into the living room, where we stood beside the couch considering it was already taken by other people, including Jessica herself who was, of course, making out with Justin. I laughed to myself and shook my head slight and moved closer to Jeff as we talked to the other people who managed to drag their asses to this party.

I saw the door open, and there was Hannah Baker. I didn’t know her very well, since she was younger than I was, but I heard a lot about her because of Jeff and his friendship with Clay.

I nudged Jeff with my elbow and motioned to where Hannah was standing, looking around for a familiar face.

“No way, this is perfect!” Jeff cheered to himself, “I gotta get Clay to make a move this time.”

“Good luck with that,” I chuckled, waving to her when she looked in our direction, earning a shy wave and a smile back in return.

*

After being at the party for a few hours, Jeff decided he needed to give Clay one of his famous pep talks that he mastered so well. After giving you a quick peck on the lips, he jogged over to Clay as you stood by the beer pong table, secretly awaiting his return.

He came back with a grin on his face, shooting you a quick wink as he tossed the ball into the cup, cheering loudly with his friends.

“Hey babe, the guys want more beer so I’m gonna go grab some really quick and come back, you wanna come?” he asked, his hand finding your waist as a force of habit, making the corners of your lips perk up.

“No, I’m okay, I’ll just stay here and wait for you to get back. You’re good to drive?” I asked, running my fingers along his bare arm, his exposed skin tan under the olive green t shirt he had worn that night.

“Yeah, I haven’t drank anything in hours. You sure you don’t wanna come?” he repeated.

“I’m sure, I was actually gonna find Rebecca, I haven’t seen her basically all night,” I replied.

“Sure thing, best friends need to catch up,” he nodded, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

He placed his hand on the side of your face, the warmth spreading down your whole body. He leaned down to kiss you, hearing cheers in the distance from his baseball friends, causing you to laugh into the kiss.

Jeff spun around and rolled his eyes at his friends as he began walking to get to the car.

“Hey Jeff!” I called quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked as he turned his head around quickly.

“I love you,” I grinned.

“I love you more.”

“Zach, have you heard anything from Jeff?” I asked as I checked the time for what felt like the hundredth time. I had made my way back outside to the backyard, hoping one of the other guys would have heard something from him.

“No, I haven’t why?” he asked, the crease between his eyebrows deepening.

“He’s just been gone for a while and I was wondering if anyone knew what he was up to,” I answered, trying to act as though I wasn’t that worried, even though the beating in my chest said the opposite.

“He’s probably on his way back and can’t answer the phone. Not to worry, Mrs. Atkins,” Zach teased, ruffling his hand through my hair and giving me a side hug, making me sigh, but laugh nonetheless. I could always count on Zach Dempsey to force a smile out of me.

Zach had given me the nickname a while ago, since Jeff and I had been dating since the beginning of sophomore year. Although I thought it was pretty ridiculous, I got used to it after a while.

I made my way to the front of the house, where I sat on the stairs and stared out onto the street, perking up at every sight of headlights, waiting for Jeff’s car to pull into the driveway. The loud music from inside was still blaring, though echoing now that it wasn’t pounding in my ears.

“Where the hell are you?” I whispered to myself, tapping my now shaking fingers against the top of my knees. 

I shut my eyes for a few moments, the cool air filling my lungs as I took a deep breath. My eyes shot open at the screaming of my name, Clay running towards me, his arms flailing beside him.

“Woah woah!” I said, holding my arms out, “what’s going on?”

“Y/n,” Clay gasped, hunched over trying to catch his breath as I waited for him to continue.

“I-I just-oh my god-I-”

“What Clay? Spit it out!” I shouted, slightly annoyed and anxious.

“Jeff was-I just saw him,” Clay started, his tone low, “he-he was in a car accident and-and I think he’s dead.”

Instinctively, I laughed, shaking my head at Clay as his look somehow became even more serious.

“You’re laughing?” he asked, shocked by my reaction.

“Nice try, Clay, you’re such a shit sometimes,” I chuckled, “he’s on his way back he’s fine.”

Denial.

“No, Y/n, I’m not joking. Jeff is-Jeff’s dead, Y/n,” Clay repeated, reaching his arm out to comfort me but pulling it back soon after.

“I found him, the ambulance took him away, I needed to tell you, you should go to the hospital,” he continued as I stood in silence, my gaze unfocused, everything blurring into one as I stared out in the direction of the street.

It felt almost like time had stopped, nothing moving around me as my body wavered from side to side. After thanking Clay, I found myself running down the street, screaming my boyfriend’s name as my legs bolted under me.

I stumbled when I saw the flashing lights, the yellow tape, and the car. Jeff’s car. Crushed, totaled, with police officers surrounding it.

“Ma’am, you can’t be here,” one of them informed me, approaching me cautiously as I stood in silence, frozen in place.

“Ma’am,” he repeated.

“My boyfriend, my boyfriend was here and he-he-I don’t know he was in an accident and I need to find him,” I babbled incoherently, my shaky hand lifting up to press against my damp forehead.

“He has been taking to the hospital,” he said, which I already knew. For some reason, something told me he would still be here. He would be here, standing, and laughing at how I fell for his funny joke. He was supposed to be here. Why wasn’t he here? Where is Jeff?

I stood in front of my locker, earning condolences from almost every single person who passed by. My fists clenched at the sound of the drunk driving announcements around the school, on the intercom, and the discussions I heard from everyone around me. 

That was really dumb of him to be driving drunk.

Wouldn’t expect such a good guy to make such a stupid mistake.

I slammed my locker shut, walking quickly out of school, everything slowly becoming too much to handle. I couldn’t be surrounded by the constant aching reminder that he’s actually gone. I looked for him in the halls, but he was never there.

“Y/n!” I heard Zach calling from behind me, his footsteps hitting the pavement as he ran to catch up with me.

I looked to my feet, my breathing shallow as Zach's dark eyes stared at my hunched body.

“Let me take you home,” he offered. I nodded silently and followed him to the car, staring blankly out the window as he drove down the streets I had memorized perfectly over the years. Every walk home, every walk to Monet’s, burned into my brain like the end of a cigarette.

“He told me he wasn’t drunk,” I mumbled.

“What?” Zach asked.

“He told me he wasn’t drunk,” I repeated, louder, “so why is everyone talking about it? Why is it only ‘don’t drink and drive’ and not anything about who he was. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he was being stupid. Maybe I’m stupid for believing him. He just fucking left me and I hate him, I hate him so much!” I screamed, tears finally flowing from my eyes.

Anger.

I had been in shock when I had first seen his body at the hospital. I had thrown up from the sight of it, but never cried. I was in shock at his funeral, in shock as I stood at his grave. My body was constantly shaking, but I felt as though I was in a dream, nothing felt real.

But now, in this car, it was all too real. This was happening. It wasn’t a dream, or a joke. This was real.

Zach pulled the car over, resting his arm on my shoulder gently as I sobbed, my tears landing on my washed out jeans, spreading as they created patterns across them.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” was all Zach could muster up to say.

“We were supposed to be together forever, as stupid as it sounds. How could he just be taken away like that? How could he leave me? How could anyone act like this is okay?” I rambled, gasping for air through my tears.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed as I tried to wipe the tears away, only being met with more.

Zach eventually started the car again, and I was soon left alone in my bedroom, staring at the pictures around my room of my boyfriend and I, happy, together, and full of life.

The weight of Jeff’s death felt like an anchor holding my underwater, drowning.

Everyone around me was moving on. Going to class, studying, seeing their friends, going to parties. I felt as though I was the only one who’s life was being hindered by the tragedy.

Soon after Jeff’s death, there was a knock at the door when I was home alone. I tore myself off the couch and slid my feet across the hardwood floor on my way to the door, Jeff’s old hoodie hanging loosely across my body. 

“Hey Clay,” I smiled weakly when I saw the familiar boy at my doorstep, a bandaid plastered perfectly across the corner of his forehead.

“Can I come in? I have to tell you something,” he muttered.

I nodded and stepped away, allowing Clay to step in as we both went to the couch. I pulled the hoodie sleeves further down my arms, looking at Clay in anticipation.

“Shari was supposed to be here, but she’s not. I need to tell you something about the night of the accident,” he started, his words hanging in the silent air as I sat there quietly, crossing my legs under me.

“Jeff wasn’t driving drunk on the night of the accident,” he confessed, looking down at his hands that sat in his lap.

“How do you know for sure?” I asked. All this time, I knew Jeff told me he was sober, but the extremity of the accident didn’t make much sense.

“The stop sign was already knocked over. The crash happened because there was no stop sign,” he clarified, his blue eyes finally looking up to meet mine.

“How do you know that? Did you see it fall? Was it you?” I asked frantically, trying to make sense of what he was saying to me.

“No, no, it wasn’t me,” he confirmed, “but I know it was already down.”

“Who did it? Do you know?” I asked, the smell of my boyfriend filling my nose as I pulled the hoodie closer to my face.

“No,” he answered, shaking his head as he looked around the room.

“Clay, I know you’re lying to me,” I accused, his body language making it pretty clear. “Tell me who did it.”

It was hard for Clay to lie to me without feeling guilty, and eventually he gave in to my persistence.

“It was Shari. She knocked the sign down when she was driving home that night. The cops weren’t informed and that’s how the crash happened,” he explained.

My heart sped up and my jaw clenched, the image of Shari, the perfect little cheerleader in my head. She knocked over the stop sign.

Clay eventually left, leaving me alone in the empty house once again.

As I went back to my room, I could almost see Jeff across my bed, a smirk dancing across his face with arms wide open, waiting to cuddle after a long day. I could still hear his footsteps down the hall, and his laugh filling every empty space of the house.

*

The next morning, I walked into school quickly, scanning the halls for Shari, trying to find her. I managed to catch her out by the bleachers, and stopped her angrily as I looked into her eyes.

“You killed him,” I whispered, the words tasting like fire as I spoke, burning my throat as my voice shook.

“What? Y/n what are you talking about?” she asked sweetly.

“You killed Jeff!” I screamed, “you knocked over the fucking stop sign and now he’s dead. He’s dead because of you, Shari. You killed him!” 

Anger. More anger.

“Y/n I didn’t kill him, we don’t know if that was why and it could have been-”

“Shut up! Just shut up! I hate you! You’re the reason he’s dead. My boyfriend is dead and I’m never going to see him again, and it’s all your fault,” I snarled, my teeth clenching together as I turned around, bumping straight into Zach who wrapped his arms around me, triggering the tears to start falling.

My legs became weak and gave out as I fell to the floor, loud sobs escaping my lips as I continued to announce that Shari was the one who killed my boyfriend. Zach helped me up, holding me as his friends watched from afar.

“You shouldn’t be at school, Y/n, I’ll take you home again,” he offered.

“You don’t have to do everything for me because I’m fragile, Zach. I’m fine. I have bio,” I choked out, wiping the tears again, my eyes irritated as the back of my hand became shiny from the tears.

“No, Y/n, come on, let me take you home,” he insisted, and eventually you couldn’t help but oblige, longing for the comfort of your bed.

If I had gone with him, would this have happened? Would I have seen the stop sign knocked over?

If he had left just a few minutes earlier, would he still be alive?

Maybe I could have saved him, maybe those few minutes before Clay got there could have saved his life.

We shouldn’t have gone to the party. We should have stayed home and this wouldn’t have happened.

If we stayed home I would be with him right now, be able to hold him, hear him, and see him again.

Bargaining.

I lay in my bed once again, losing count of how many days it had been. I had tried going to school, but eventually realized it was too hard. The constant reminder that he was gone was too unbearable. It was like I was walking through the hall and being slapped with reality from every direction.

A plate of pizza sat on my bedside table that my mom brought to me, but I couldn’t eat it.

My eyes remained puffy and irritated, the color under my eyes seeming to darken with each passing day. The tears came in waves, my entire body being taken over with the loss and sadness of Jeff’s death. He was really gone. Forever.

This wasn’t a nightmare, yet I still stared at the door longingly for Jeff to walk through at any moment and tell me he was okay and that he couldn’t wait to go to prom with me, and graduate with me.

He was never coming back, and my heart sank every time I thought about that, and how unfair it was that Jeff never got the chance he deserved.

His life was ripped away from him, his entire future, and life, because of a stop sign. A stupid fucking stop sign.

I didn’t know how to go on. Every movement and every breath felt like the hardest thing in the world without him here. The sun seemed to shine a lot less, and I couldn’t remember the last time I smiled.

How do I go on without the love of my life? My best friend? The one who picks me up when I’m down and makes the good times even better. How am I supposed to live without my favorite person when I still pick up my phone to call him and then realize he’s gone, but still wait for it to go to voicemail so I can hear his voice again.

Nothing helped, and no one’s cliché advice gave me any hope, or made any of it easier.

I pulled the picture frame off my bed side table, staring at the picture of me and Jeff on Christmas, bright smiles on both of our faces.

“I miss you so much,” I whispered, my eyes glued to his. “I don’t know what to do. How could this happen? Why you? I need you here.”

Depression.

I wasn’t okay. I don’t think I was ever going to be okay.

I held onto the necklace Jeff had given me for my 16th birthday, feeling as though with that necklace, he was always with me. When the cold metal lay against my chest, over my heart, it made me feel closer to him. As though somehow, it kept his heart close to mine.

The days were hard, getting out of bed was hard, but I knew I had to live for Jeff. Make him proud, and know that he is right here with me through everything I do.

It never really seemed to get easier, but all I could do was hold on to the small possibility that maybe, someday, it would.

After all, the hardest part about losing someone, is acceptance.

#jeff atkins #jeff atkins imagine #13 reasons why #13rw #13 reasons why imagine #13rw imagine #zach dempsey #imagine

[bopbopstyles]

6. Heartbeat

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.8k

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Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: welcome to the land of harry as a father aka the place of my death, i hope you enjoy your stay!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

Y/N had told Harry she’d pick him up from the airport, but now that she was parking in the arrivals lot, she was wondering if that was the wrong choice. She’d managed to keep her news a secret since she had found out, not wanting to tell Harry over the phone when he was halfway across the world, but it had been horrible. They had never kept secrets from each other, at least, not ones like this, and it was eating away at Y/N from the inside. She didn’t even know how she was going to tell him yet. There were speeches she had practiced, about how it wasn’t necessary for him to be around if he wasn’t interested, that she would do it on her own—but she didn’t know if she wanted to do it on her own? None of them had felt right though, and all of them had ended with her in a pile of tears on her bedroom floor. Her hormones were out of control lately, emotions on a rollercoaster that she was permanently strapped in for.

But she had promised Harry, and despite her fears of telling him her news, she was truly excited to see him. It had been over a month and a half and she was desperate to see his face in person, to touch his body and confirm that yes, he was in fact, real. So she got a move on, not wanting to make Harry wait for her and risk being sighted in the airport.

She bounced up and down on her toes in the arrivals hall, keys jingling in her hand as she waited to see him. He’d probably have sunglasses and a hoodie on, a few suitcases rolling behind him that she’d have to somehow find space for in her trunk. The prospect of him turning the corner had her heart leaping in her chest.

And then there he was, a black hoodie and black sunglasses, two suitcases pulled behind him, curls peeking out from the edge of his hoodie. No one seemed to have caught on as to who he was, so Y/N went for it—she did what she had always wanted people to do when she arrived places. She ran through the arrivals hall, launching herself at Harry.

His eyes met hers when she was a few paces away and his face lit up, lips turning up in a smile, dropping both of his suitcases and opening his arms for her to fly into. Which she did, full throttle, tossing herself into his arms, chuckling at the way he staggered back dramatically. Their faces met immediately, lips on one another for an innocent kiss, desperation too much for the moment.

“Hi,” he said when they pulled away, eyes glinting under the florescents. “What a nice surprise.”

“Thought I’d give it a shot,” she replied, hopping down and taking one of his suitcases from his hand. “Have a good flight?”

Intertwining his fingers with hers, they walked through the arrivals hall. People may have recognized him, but maybe out of kindness they stayed away, perhaps noticing the two young lovers caught up in one another. “Long, but I slept most of the way. Wanted to be all rested up for my girl,” he said with a wink.

Y/N gave him a playful bump with her hip and led him to her car in the arrivals lot, listening to him jabber about the other passengers in first class and how terrible the food was. He was ready for a home cooked meal, he told her, one that he had prepared, and Y/N was fully prepared for that reality, having already gone to the grocery store earlier that day.

They managed to squeeze his suitcases into her trunk and she took the wheel, letting him put on some music as she pulled out of the spot and navigated traffic out of the airport. “Feeling any better?” His question was innocent enough, but for Y/N it set off alarm bells in her head. Had he found out somehow? And then the underlying question that had been keeping her up at night since she had found out: what would he say?

“Bit,” she told him. “What do you want to do now that you’re home?” She asked, quickly turning the topic of conversation back to him, but he didn’t notice. He just yammered on about wanting to go for some hikes, go to their favorite restaurants, spend time with her catching up on the movies he had missed. Jeff was mentioned, the idea of having some friends over, and the prospect of having Jeff anywhere near them right now was an anxiety attack that Y/N had managed to hold off and was perfectly ready not to have anytime soon.

The topic switched to music, which Y/N was perfectly happy with, and she played him the Phoebe Bridgers album that she’d recently discovered. He gave her his analysis, unpacking her favorite songs in the car. Then he shared his new favorite songs, a collection of indie songs she’d never heard and the Top 40s he was loving. They analyzed them together, unpacking the elements she had grown up attuned to—the synths and the perfection of a good bridge.

Before she knew it, she was swinging into the driveway of Harry’s house, punching the garage door opener clipped to her sun visor. As she turned off the car she heard Harry sigh next to her, a wide smile on his face.

“Home sweet home,” he said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the cheek. “Now let’s get these suitcases inside so I can get in the shower and get all these airplane germs off of me.”

Together they brought his cases inside, locking the garage door behind them and turning off the security system. Harry praised her plant maintenance skills as they crested the stairs, pulling the heavy bags into his bedroom. He flopped down on the bed, arms outstretched for her to crawl into, which she did gladly. Upon feeling his arms close around her, she let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, a weight lifted off of her shoulders from a month and a half of being separated.

“Missed you so much,” he whispered into her hair, holding her close to his body. “So happy to be home with you.”

She lifted her head from his chest and swept her fingers across his jaw. “It wasn’t the same without you,” she told him. “No one being annoying while I try to watch TV.”

“Hey!” He said, tickling at her sides. “I’m perfectly wonderful. I just like lovin’ on you.”

Y/N snuggled into him and tried to let her fears from earlier subside. She’d tell him after they made dinner, let him settle in a bit. “Go shower, you smell like plane,” she said, mumbling against his hoodie. “Want me to start anything downstairs?”

He shook his head, rolling out from under her. “Would you put my wash in though?” His eyes batted at her, as if he was a kid begging for a candy bar.

She rolled her eyes, sliding off the bed. “Yes. All of it?”

He nodded. He’d gone through a lot of clothes, obviously. So she unzipped his suitcases, unpacking his clothes and separating out the colors, making two tall piles of all his things. She made a separate pile for all the bits that needed to be dry cleaned for him to drop off tomorrow while she was at work, and took the darks into the laundry room downstairs, starting a load. Upstairs, she heard the sound of the shower and Harry singing one of his songs like the menace he was. Her eyes fell to a bottle of wine on the counter that she had pulled out for him earlier, and she remembered that she, now, couldn’t drink.

Fuck being pregnant, she thought. All she wanted was a nice big glass of wine.

But she left it be and instead lit one of his favorite candles and turned on their playlist in the speakers, letting the sound fill the house. Before long, Harry was coming down in the stairs in sweats, hair wet and floppy on his head in the way she thought made him look so young and sweet, utterly cuddly and lovable.

“Cravin’ a good bowl of pasta and some veg, how ‘bout you?” He said, making his way into the kitchen. A glass from the cabinet was pulled down, sat next to the bottle of wine she had glanced at earlier, and a question over his shoulder. “Want some?”

“No,” she said calmly. “I’m okay. And yes to dinner, sounds lovely.”

His eyebrows furrowed at her answer, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pulled some veggies from the fridge and grabbed a cutting board, musing to her about how he wanted to get some new towels while he prepared their dinner. As he cooked, the thought of Harry as a dad crossed her mind. An evening like this, but a baby in the mix. It wouldn’t be so bad, she decided. He’d actually be probably amazing, actually. The only problem was that the perfect moments wouldn’t be all of the moments.

Their conversation flowed easily over dinner, Y/N’s belly full from the food and the laughter from Harry’s terrible jokes. She cleared away the plates and together they washed up, Harry bumping his hip into hers as he dried the dishes. With every moment that passed, the knot in her stomach tightened at the thought of having to tell him, of breaking his fantasy of what the next few years of his life might hold—of his entire life, really.

He refilled his glass of wine and together they made their way to the couch and when they sat, Harry pulled her into his arms, cuddling her close. This was the moment, she realized. It made her stumble, trying to find the right words to tell him this kind of earth-shattering news.

“Harry,” she said, voice cracking with nervousness. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Harry’s body tightened immediately—she could feel it happen against her. “What is it?”

She straightened up, pulling herself from his embrace. She needed space if she was going to do this, the ability to think properly, and being that close to Harry made it impossible. Did she just spit it out? No pretext, just tell him? This was the part she always stumbled on, how to phrase it. But, she thought, there probably wasn’t a handbook on how to tell your boyfriend this kind of news. Especially when it’s not planned.

“Love?” He prompted, worry written all over his face.

“I—fuck,” she said, stomach seizing in worry, “I’m…” She couldn’t get the words out, they were sticking in her throat and she couldn’t find them and she wanted to tell him but she was so fucking scared of what he would say.

Harry reached out, taking her hands in his, the hard calluses of his fingers brushing over her skin. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Whatever it is.”

Her eyes met his, and she just decided to go for it. No dancing around. “I’m pregnant.”

Harry’s eyes widened, whole body stilling. In his grip, her palms began to sweat, the nerves running through her body like a train. They just stared at each other, the news sinking in for Harry probably in the same way as it did for Y/N—the utter panic seizing him. The questions swirling around faster than he could process.

But he didn’t say anything. Just stared at her. And she didn’t know what the fuck that meant. “I know it’s a lot,” she said, the words rushing out, trying to fill the silence. “But we have options.” She used the same words as her doctor, she realized. “I’m still early enough to terminate if we wanted to, or we can do adoption, although I doubt Jeff would go for it, and I’m also happy to do it on my own.” The last one was the one that she’d given the most thought to, and she was actually okay with the idea. Having a child on her own, being a single mom. Wasn’t in the books, but it wasn’t a bad outcome. “I know you’re busy and just starting your solo career so a kid isn’t really great timing, so I can do it and you can like be in their life, I guess? Whatever you want—I’m not, I’m not expecting anything, I guess is what I’m trying to say.” The words came out like a freight train, barreling through the silence between them.

But Harry’s answer blew her straight out of the water. “You—on your own? Fuck no,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not doing that.”

“You—what?”

“Y/N,” he told her, squeezing her hands. “I’m not letting you raise my kid on your own.”

The words almost made it worse because she realized once he said them, she almost wanted him to say sure, raise it on your own. Because it would be easier. “Harry,” she said softly, slowly, trying to figure out how to say this, “I’m not sure if…I want you to do it with me.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” His words cut like ice, anger clear in his voice, hands wrenching from hers as if she was on fire.

“I don’t know if I want to raise a kid with you,” she said, trying to make it as plain as possible.

The hurt in his eyes burned her to her core. All the joy in his face gone, as if a cold wind had come by and slapped him in the face. And it pained her, but it was also the best thing for her. To be able to do it on her own terms, her own pace, her own place even. “Why?” When he spoke, it was broken, a whispered question.

She bit her lip, the tears she’d been holding back threatening to spill over. “My dad’s a musician. I know what it’s like to be a musician’s daughter and it fucking sucks most of the time. I saw it destroy my parents’ marriage, saw it destroy the marriages of my dad’s friends. I don’t want to put my kid through that,” she told him, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I want to be a good mom, and I don’t know think that means having you in the picture.”

Harry launched himself off of the couch, standing up with his back to her. All of a sudden, Y/N saw his shoulders shaking, the raspy sound of his cries, and she realized he was crying. She’d made him cry. Made him sob, from the sound of it. And it broke her into a million pieces, the remaining bit of her heart that she hadn’t ripped out the moment she had to tell him that she didn’t want him around for their child.

“Harry—“

“No,” he said, whirling around so she finally saw his face, the tears streaming down his face like waterfalls, red and puffy eyes. “You do not get to sit there and try and comfort me right now. You just told me that you don’t want me to be in my kid’s life!” His voice had reached a scream, the sound echoing in the room.

Y/N tucked her knees up to her chest. She knew it was going to be hard, but she didn’t expect it to be like this. Did she expected him to accept it, maybe? Be relieved? But from looking at Harry now, she didn’t know how she could’ve ever thought that. He looked devastated, utterly destroyed, as if the rug had been ripped out from under him. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice soft. “I just…”

“Y/N,” he said, struggling to stay measured, “obviously this is ultimately your decision. But I am the father, and more than anything, I’m your boyfriend. This isn’t like some one night stand—I’m—“ His voice broke, tumbling over the words. “I’m in love with you. And you’re having our baby. And I feel like you’ve completely shut me out from making any kind of decision. Like you just decided without even considering what I might want.”

“I prioritized myself,” she said, voice stern. “Because I have to carry this child for nine months. I will be there, every single day, for the rest of my life, raising this child. It will be me, Harry, not you, who will be the parent at every school function, helping with homework and dealing with nightmares. Because you will be gone half of the time. So I’m sorry if I had to put myself first, if that feels like I shut you out. But trust me when I say that I did consider what you might want.”

“But you decided that what you want is more important.”

“Not what I want,” Y/N corrected, “but what I need. What my child needs.”

“Our,” he said, cutting her off. “Our child. ’S not your child, it’s our child.”

His words stopped her dead in her tracks. He was so insistent, staring her straight in the eyes, not moving from where he stood. “Yes. Our child.”

With an exhale, Harry ran a hand through his hair, his rings glinting under the soft lights of the living room. “I understand your fears. I want you to know that. I’m fucking terrified too,” he said, a soft chuckle falling through the tension, “but I don’t plan on fucking off around the world and leaving you here to care for our child. Y/N, I want a family more than anything in the whole entire world. More than my career, more than everything.”

They’d never really had this conversation, she thought when he said those words. She knew he wanted kids, but she never knew where they ranked in his ambitions. How high up they actually were. She had assumed, she realized, that he would act the way so many others did. But Harry, he was different.

“I want to raise our child with you,” he continued, voice straining as the tears continued to fall down his cheeks. He brushed at them with the back of his hand and Y/N wished she could dry them for him. “I want to do this with you. If you don’t want me to, then I’ll respect that. But I’m not going to let you—our child—go without a fight.”

Y/N exhaled, his words hitting her like a ton of bricks. He wanted their child. He wanted to be a father, to raise a kid with her. “Are you—are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, no pause, intention clear in his tone. “Never been so sure in my life.”

“This isn’t something you get to go back on,” she reminded him. “Like, this is the rest of your life you’re committing to.”

“I know.” His voice was devoid of any doubt, just sureness, and it managed to chip away at the hard edge she’d been latching onto in an attempt to make the hardest choice of her life—pushing him away.

She looked down at her hands, the chipped blue nail polish there from Friday night when she’d been having a whole lot of deep thoughts about this conversation and the future. “Harry,” she said softly, “I’m terrified of this.”

A hand drifted through her hair and she looked up, seeing Harry crouching in front of her, eyes level with hers. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t know how to be a mom. I’m not ready.”

“Me either,” he said with a sad smile. “But we’ll figure it out, yeah?”

Slowly, she nodded and Harry exhaled, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” she choked out, tears ripping through her again. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He gathered her in his arms without a second thought and Y/N folded into him, shame and regret leaking from her like a faucet. “I forgive you,” he said with a kiss to her temple. “Raising a kid with me is definitely not going to be the easiest thing in the world. That’s not your fault, and you wanting to do what’s best for our kid, even if it means me not being around? That shows how fierce of a mom you’re going to be.”

His words stirred something in her. Mom. She was going to be a mother. “You think so?”

“Going to be fucking incredible, baby.”

“You’re going to be a dad,” she whispered, looking into his green eyes, which were still red and puffy, but the sad look was replaced with one full of excitement, joy. “Gonna be a good one, too, I think.”

He smiled at her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “With you at my side, don’t know how I couldn’t be.”

Harry sat down in the pink plastic chairs, rubbing his hands on the his pants, and Y/N dropped into the seat next to him. Seeing Harry Styles in an OB/GYN clinic was quite possibly one of Y/N’s favorite things she’s ever seen. He was peeking at the women’s magazines, reading the articles about pregnancy intensely in a way that made her restrain from giggling. He even made conversation with the receptionist, asking her about her day and making sure that the appointment would be completely safe for the baby, which of course, it was.

When she made the appointment she asked to be scheduled at a time when no one else would be in the waiting room, and they managed to succeed, the seats completely empty when Harry and her walked in the door. They hadn’t decided how—or when—they wanted to announce her pregnancy or if they even wanted to. They were both deeply private people and the idea of blasting their personal lives on social media felt horrible, so they wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

They also hadn’t told Jeff and the rest of Harry’s team yet. Harry told her he wanted to wait until he heard his child’s heartbeat, felt the reality of having a child, before he launched into that conversation with his management because it wouldn’t be an easy one. So the last thing they wanted was Jeff finding out Y/N was pregnant through paparazzi photos of them going into an OB/GYN clinic.

“Have you ever been to an OB/GYN clinic?” She asked him, propping her elbow up on the arm rest between them.

He snorted. “Why would I?”

“Dunno,” she said with a shrug. “Thought that might explain why you seem not to be overwhelmed with the amount of modeled vaginas and uteri around you.”

“That what those are?” He asked in mock surprise, pointing at the one next to them. “Well fuck. Just thought it was art.”

Y/N had to hide her face in his shoulder to keep from laughing too loudly, and when she poked her head up, Harry was looking down at her with a grin. “Glad you’re here,” she said, chin resting on his shoulder.

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “Me too, baby.”

“Gonna hear your other baby,” she said with a chuckle and Harry just looked like he had won the lottery. It was this reason that Y/N was becoming more and more okay with the idea of raising a child with Harry with every passing day. He was just so happy all the time—there was a new bounce in his step and he was utterly obsessed with picking out baby clothes. The morning after she had told him, she went downstairs to find him sat at the dining table, browsing some websites for baby clothes, selecting an entire wardrobe for his child to outfit them for their entire first year. Y/N had to physically hide his wallet and remove his computer from his vicinity to get him to stop.

Harry pulled her into his body and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You know I’ve always dreamed of doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Hearing my baby’s heartbeat.”

She kissed the exposed skin at the top his shirt at the base of his neck, hoping it would encapsulate the feeling of love radiating through her body because she truly didn’t have the words.

“Y/N?” She looked up and her OB/GYN, Dr. Crawford, stood in the doorway. Harry stood up immediately, the excitement flowing through him obvious to anyone with eyes. He held her hand as they walked down the fall to the exam room, not minding that her hand got a sweaty from the nerves. There was something mildly uncomfortable about Harry being with her at an office where she usually went to get her birth control and yearly exams, but Harry didn’t seem to mind at all. He somehow fit in, made her feel at ease, lessened the nerves with his silly jokes and tickles to her sides when she looked too intense.

“So,” Dr. Crawford said once they were settled in the exam room, Y/N on the table and Harry sat in the chair closest to her, knee bouncing up and down so fast Y/N had to lean over and stop him. “I got your results from Dr. Terrell—seems like you’re eight weeks along, now more like nine. I estimate conception was in mid September by that approximation.”

Y/N looked over at Harry, his eyes crinkling up at the edges, his thoughts probably the same as hers. “When you were home,” she said, the memory of their reunion strong. Of course it was then—she was so caught up in Harry being home she wouldn’t been surprised if she had missed a day of her pill altogether.

“And are you the father?” Dr. Crawford asked, pointing her ballpoint at Harry, a questionnaire attached to her clipboard.

“Yes,” they both said at the same time, Dr. Crawford giving them a warm smile.

He reached out a hand to Dr. Crawford as if she probably didn’t know who he was. Although maybe it was better if her OB/GYN didn’t know that the father was an international popstar? Y/N couldn’t really decide. “Harry,” he introduced himself, leaving his last name conveniently out.

“Pleasure,” she answered, shaking his hand. “Now, I’m assuming we want to meet your baby today?” Harry reached his hand over to hers, fingers interlinking as they both nodded. “Wonderful. Y/N can you lift your shirt for me?”

She rucked up the edge of her oversized t-shirt and Dr. Crawford brought over the same device Y/N had seen on TV—a transducer, her OB/GYN informed her as she lathered a cold gel over a section of her stomach. “Okay,” she said, pressing some buttons on the machine, “give me a second to find your little one.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to the screen, squeezing her hand as they both listened closely to try and hear their child’s heartbeat. The screen was grainy, lines and pockets that Y/N tried her best not to trick into believing was her child. Dr. Crawford moved the transducer around on Y/N’s lower abdomen, searching for the right spot. Panic seized Y/N the longer they waited for the heartbeat, questions swirling in her head—was there something wrong? Was the test wrong—was she not pregnant after all? Or worse—was there something wrong with their child?

And then, a solid thudding sound echoed in Y/N’s ears, and her vision immediately swam as tears welled in her eyes. It was her child, her baby, the little being she was carrying inside of her. She looked over to Harry, and he was full-on crying, wiping his nose on the hem of his sweatshirt as he stared at Y/N in awe.

Dr. Crawford suddenly sighed, and Y/N tore her eyes away from Harry to look up at the screen, where she could see, faintly, the outline of a fetus. “That’s our little Peanut,” Harry whispered to her, bowing his head so it rested on her shoulder, them both looking at the screen. “They’re real,” he said, his tears wetting her shirt and Y/N was crying as hard as him now, the sight of her child up on the screen jerking at every fiber of her body.

Peanut, Y/N thought to herself. Harry already had a nickname for their child.

“That’s them?” She asked Dr. Crawford, barely able to see the screen because of the tears.

“Yes,” her doctor replied, “that’s your baby."

Y/N turned and tugged at Harry’s face, suddenly feeling the overwhelming desire to kiss him, needing him to anchor her to the world and remind her that yes, this was real. His hands cupped her chin delicately, lips meeting. Their foreheads rested against one another’s as their tears flowed, the fact that they were actually going to be parents settling in.

“Can I—can I take a video?” Harry asked Dr. Crawford, looking back up at the doctor, pulling Y/N from their personal moment. “Want to be able to let my mum hear the heartbeat.”

“Of course,” she replied. “Let me turn up the sound.” She pressed a few buttons, and suddenly the thud of her child’s heartbeat was all Y/N could hear. She closed her eyes to the sound, letting it take root in her brain. Her hands drifted to where the transducer rested on her belly, careful not to get too close as she cupped her stomach. Perhaps it had been the anxiety over telling Harry, but she hadn’t really touched where her child was growing yet. The concept hadn’t really settled in—in fact, she had tried to avoid thinking about it because it stressed her out so much.

But now it was a reflex.

“I’ll take some pictures for you to keep,” Dr. Crawford said, pressing a button and shifting the transducer slightly. “I’ll go grab these for you,” she told them, “and then we can talk about what the next few weeks will hold.” She pulled the transducer off of Y/N’s belly, wiping off the gel, and then stepped out of the room giving the two emotional parents a moment alone.

“How is it,” Harry said, voice raw with emotion, “that I’m already so in love with them?”

Y/N pushed a strand of his hair off his forehead and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I know what you mean,” she whispered. “It’s so visceral. I can’t even explain it.”

He bent his head to hers, sighing as he shut his eyes against her skin. “I love you. I know this wasn’t the plan, but I’m so happy I don’t even know what to say.”

Her fingers swept at his neck, massaging his skin, knowing he loved the feeling. “I love you too, H.”

That night, they laid in Y/N’s bed, Harry having decided to stay for a few days while they processed everything, and stared at the photos Dr. Crawford had given them in the office. Y/N was curled up on Harry’s chest and he thought that he had truly never experienced a more perfect moment. The mother of his child curled into him, head on his chest, while they looked at the photo of their unborn child.

“Due in June,” Harry whispered. “They’re going to be a summer baby.”

“Thank god,” Y/N mumbled into his skin. “Between me in January and you in February, I truly don’t think I could handle one more Winter birthday.”

Harry laughed, her head bouncing on his vibrating chest. She managed to make every moment a little bit brighter, and feature he loved so deeply about her. Neither of them could be serious for too long, and it kept them laughing all the time, much to the annoyance of their friends when no one got their inside jokes.

He gazed at the photo of his child, his brain barely able to wrap around the fact. He had known for days, and yet he still woke up in the morning and forgot. When he saw Y/N he always remembered, but there was this second in the morning where he forgot and he hated it. He was going to be a father and he wanted to soak up every single second, revel in the reality that he was starting a family. And maybe it didn’t happen the way he would’ve planned it, but that didn’t make it any less special or exciting. Plus, his child with Y/N was going to have insanely good music taste.

The thought that he couldn’t get out of the back of his head was the fact that he was supposed to be going on tour in March. A world tour longer than the one he had just finished, from March to July with basically no breaks. As of right now, he wouldn’t even be in town for the birth of his child. And he wasn’t going to have ten days off to visit Y/N or see his mum. When he looked at his schedule earlier in the day, he had only found one substantial break—ten days in May, nestled between Japan and Argentina. That wasn’t how he wanted to do fatherhood—he wanted to see Y/N for every single second of the day, to see her belly grow and her body change, to talk to his child every night before bed as he had done last night, Y/N giggling above him. He wanted to be present, mentally and physically. He wanted to be there for the birth, at the utter bare minimum, and with the schedule he was going to miss that too.

He also knew that there was no way in hell he was going to be able to put on the kinds of shows he wanted, do the press he usually did, with a pregnant Y/N back in LA waiting for him. It wasn’t the world tour he wanted to put on, the kind of show he wanted to bring to the fans. Harry was a go big or go home kind of guy, and half-assed shows wasn’t going to cut it.

But he had no idea how to balance the two. How did he be the kind of father he wanted to be, but also the kind of musician he loved being? As much as he wanted to ask Y/N, he was scared she’d be frustrated, pointing out that this was exactly what she was afraid of. He needed a game plan before he could really talk to her about it, but that involved talking to Jeff, and he wanted to do that with Y/N there. He wanted Jeff to know that they were a family, and decisions that affected Harry were decisions that affected Y/N and their child.

So who did he talk to, then?

He didn’t have all that many friends with kids. And those he did have, most of them weren’t musicians—they were like James, people who worked in the same city as their family but traveled for work some. Not people whose entire careers were based around being gone for extended periods of time.

But, he realized, he had Adam. Adam, with multiple kids. Adam, a musician who toured—and had toured with Harry. He knew how Harry was, what kind of shows he needed to deliver, the demands of his particular brand of fame.

He glanced down at Y/N and saw her eyes were shut, arm still resting over his abdomen. Soft sighs fluttered from her lips, a sweet smile on her face—even in sleep, she was beautiful. Even more so, somehow. Harry leaned over and flicked off his light, resting the photo of his little Peanut on the bedside table so when they woke up in the morning, it was the first thing they’d see.

In the morning, Harry made Y/N pancakes and gave her a kiss goodbye before grabbing his phone, desperate to talk to someone about the thoughts raging through his head. He could barely sleep last night, the questions and scenarios like a bad movie rolling through his brain—what if he missed the birth? What if he missed the first kick? What if Y/N hated him for it, and made good on her original request—for him to not be in the picture? What if he missed out on the opportunity to be a dad?

That thought had him scrambling for Adam’s contact in his phone.

“Hello?”

Adam’s voice rang through the line and it eased an anxiety Harry had had weighing on him for days. “Hey man,” he said, settling into Y/N’s couch where was set up. “Need your advice on something.”

He heard a rustling, probably Adam sitting down and settling in for what he knew would be a long conversation, as were anytime Harry asked Adam for advice. “What’s up?”

“I need you to keep this a secret. Like, tell no one about this—literally not a soul knows except for you, me, and Y/N. Not even Jeff or my mum.”

Adam exhaled, probably understanding the gravity of it if Harry hadn’t even told Anne. He told Anne everything, which he had been told on multiple occasions was not the type of behavior common in 20-somethings men, but it was how he was. Maybe it was a product of leaving home early, or of the fact that his mum was truly his best friend. “You’re kind of freaking me out, mate.”

“You swear?”

“Of course—swear I won’t tell anyone. Not even Emi.”

Harry breathed in, then out, and then he just spilled it: “Y/N’s pregnant.”

Adam was quiet for a beat, and then, “Wow. How do you feel?”

That was the one question Harry could answer confidently. “I’m so happy that Y/N keeps telling me too stop smiling or she’s going to get me checked out,” he said with a chuckle. “Did you feel like that with Silver and Spike?”

“Yeah,” Adam said, “like my heart was going to pop out of my chest.”

That was exactly the feeling Harry had right now and hadn’t seemed to dissipate. “So, I’m happy right? So happy. But I’m also losing it—I told you about Y/N’s rule, the stuff we’ve worked through, all that. And now we’re going to have a baby. When she told me, she said she didn’t know if she wanted to raise a kid with me—because of my job.”

“Fuck.”

“I talked her back from there,” Harry explained, standing and beginning to pace, bare feet hitting her wood floors. “I told her how I wanted to be present, how it was more important than my career. But, now I actually have to make the decision, because we’ve got a tour scheduled until July and the baby’s due in June. And,” he added, “if I had it my way I would be here the whole time. I want to be here for all of her pregnancy—it’s my first kid, Adam.” His voice broke as he said those words, the reality of what this could become hitting him. “I need to experience that. And I have no idea what to do.”

Adam didn’t say anything, but Harry knew he was still there because he heard Silver talking in the background, Emi’s voice telling her to give Papa some space, which pulled on Harry’s heart. He wanted that so badly—to have someone call him Papa and crawl up his legs, demanding attention. “You haven’t talked to Jeff, yet, right?” Adam finally asked.

“No.”

“Good. Wait until you’ve got a plan of attack—you want to be really clear about what you want to do.”

Harry nodded, leaning onto Y/N kitchen island, eyes studying a crack in the countertop he hadn’t noticed before. “That was my thought too. ’S why I called you.”

“Well,” Adam said, “I’m not going to pretend like my situation was anything like yours. Completely different can of worms. But, I’ll say this—I understanding your desire to be there. I missed bits of it with Silver but got it all with Spike and it made me wish I had been there for all of it.”

“I don’t want cancel tour though,” Harry said, words heavy in his heart. The idea had him heartbroken—all of the disappointed fans? He couldn’t do that.

“No you don’t,” Adam agreed. “But your baby is due in June, so you’re going to have to cancel the US leg at the very least. You’re going to have to tour, at least for part of it. You’ll miss stuff, but that’s the way it works. There’s no way you could be around Y/N all day anyways—she’s got work, you’ve got work, you would miss things either way. But it’s different to be completely gone and it’s going to be brutal for both of you.”

“You’re really not helping,” Harry muttered, the panic resurfacing in his chest.

“Sorry,” Adam said, “I’m trying. Would Y/N go on tour with you?”

The thought flickered through Harry’s brain. It was an idea. One Y/N would probably put up a fuss about, not wanting to leave her office and friends. “Maybe for bits of it. But she works full-time and bloody loves her job. It would be hard for her to do fully remote, I think, especially halfway around the world.” “So that’s an option. As for cancelling the US dates, you can just reschedule them shows for later—maybe beginning of 2019.”

“I’m supposed to be recording then.” He’s got another album to write, after all. An album that had a strong feeling was going to be very different than anything he had done before.

“I—fuck. I mean, maybe you’ll just have to fully cut them, just do refunds.”

Harry sighed. It was, perhaps, the best he could do. Not nearly enough, but it might be all he could do. “Fans will never forgive me.”

“You’ll have to explain,” Adam reminded him. “If they know why, I don’t think they’ll hate you too much.”

He hoped not. He loved his fans and in a normal situation he would never cancel shows like this. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. “I’ll have to talk to Jeff. He’s going to kill me.”

“Hey,” Adam said, voice softening, “he won’t. He’s going to be frustrated, sure, but not with you—more with all the people he’s going to have to call. But that’s his job, not yours. Your job is to be a great boyfriend, a great musician, and now, a great dad. Which you’re going to be. Promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, words catching in his throat. He didn’t even know he needed to hear someone other than Y/N say it until Adam did. “Needed to hear that.”

“Happy to remind you anytime,” Adam told him and Harry thought about how lucky he was to have friends like him around. “Now, I’ve got to go take Silver to a sleepover—call me if you want to talk more, though, okay? I’m around.”

“Thanks mate,” he said. “Say hi to everyone for me.”

“Harry says hi!” Adam called to his family, and Harry smiled at the yells of “HI HARRY!” that echoed through the phone. “They say hi. Talk later, man.”

“Bye,” Harry said, ending the call. He stood up straight, his hip resting against the island, and considered what Adam had said. She’d take some convincing, but Y/N might agree to go on tour with him. He didn’t know how good it would be for her to travel that much—he needed to get that checked out—but it was worth a shot. As far as canceling the shows, it would be painful, but he firmly believed it would be worth it.

He hadn’t lied to Y/N when he told her that her, their child, their life, was more important than anything. It was, which was why experiencing pregnancy with her was at the top of his list. He would do anything to be with her for it, whether he had to move tour dates or mountains—anything for her.

Motown was playing when she opened the door, the smell of something spicy hitting her nostrils immediately. Harry stood in her kitchen in her favorite apron, a towel over one shoulder and a glass of wine on the counter in front of him. He was cooking for her, dinner ready and waiting when she arrived home from work. The thought hit her like a ton of bricks: this was the life she had always dreamed of with her significant other. The simple moments of them making her dinner, of them taking care of her when she needed it most. And after today, she really needed it.

“Hi, baby,” Harry said, turning down the music so she could hear him. He wandered over to her as she slipped off her coat and shoes, arms winding around her. “How was your day?”

“Shitty,” she replied, pulling away from him. “Need to go change out of my clothes.”

“Sounds good. Dinner will be ready in ten.”

Y/N pulled off her clothes and replaced them with a soft sweatshirt and leggings, before making her way into the bathroom to take off her makeup. Eyes exhausted from staring at her computer all day, the words on the screen running together by the time she left her desk, she took out her contacts and slipped on her glasses instead, a sigh of relief leaving her body. Now she felt like she was home.

In the kitchen, Harry was plating up their food, a glass of water in a wine glass waiting for her that made her miss alcohol so much—not even in a way where she needed it, the concept of a nice glass of red wine just sounded utterly delectable.

“Made you salmon and a bunch of veg,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to her temple as she passed him in the narrow kitchen. “Was readin’ that book you have ‘bout pregnancy and saw how important it is to eat good.”

The thought of Harry sitting on her couch reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting brought a smile to her cheeks that she desperately needed after the day she had had. He had become a bit obsessed with fatherhood in the few days since she had told him the news, and each time he mentioned the new research he had been doing, it reminded her that the fears revolving through her brain all day might very well be misplaced. Maybe Harry would be able to be the kind of present father that she needed and Harry wanted to be.

“So,” he said, settling into the seat caddy-corner to her, their plates in front of them. “Tell me about this shitty day of yours.”

She took a bite of the salmon, giving him a thumbs up when he asked how it was. “Started with me having to run out of a meeting to vomit,” she began.

“Oh no,” he said, knowing full well how much she hated vomiting and how tired of it she was.

“Yep.” She cut into one of the roasted sweet potatoes, the question of how Harry learned to cook so well crossing her mind as she took a bite. “And then I got the call that the big deal I’ve been working on fell through—the company decided to go with another agency. I haven’t even presented our final plan yet—didn’t even have a chance to prove myself. I don’t even know how they made the choice, but to have done it without even seeing the final product sucks.”

Harry reached over and slipped his hand into her, giving it a tight squeeze. “’S not a reflection of your work, love.”

“I know,” she reassured him, “but it’s hard not to think it anyways.” She took a sip of her ice water, eyes falling to his red wine with longing. “But then one of the interns mentioned some trend on Instagram that I knew nothing about and it made me feel old. And then Jamie asked me if I wanted to get drinks after work and I had to make up an excuse and he looked so sad. So it was a shit day.”

The look on her face was so heartbreaking that Harry just wanted to squeeze it right out of her. So he took his hand and pressed his thumbs into her cheeks, squeezing them together, trying to make her giggle like she usually did when he did this. “You’re really, really fuckin’ cute, Y/N,” he told her and to his delight a blush fell over the tops of her cheeks. “And you’re also wicked brilliant. Anyone who thinks otherwise, or makes you feel like you’re not, is an idiot. And you are most definitely not old.” He turned his chair and pulled himself towards her so his knees were touching the side of her chair, allowing him to press a delicate kiss to the fabric covering her shoulder. “You hear me?”

She nodded, picking up her fork to resume her dinner. “Thank you, H.”

“For what?” He pushed a strand of her hair behind her shoulder so it didn’t get in her food when she took a bite.

“Picking me up,” she said, eyes meeting his. “You’re good at it.”

He pecks the tip of her nose, smiling when her face scrunches up at the action. “Easy to do when you’re so bloody wonderful.” With that, he scoots back to his place at the table, letting her eat in peace. He filled the conversation with jabber about his work for the day, his calls with his team and the interview he did for a radio station. When Y/N was like this, she wasn’t all that talkative, preferring instead to mull about in her head and process all of her thoughts, but when she was ready to chat she came out in full force.

That happened after dinner, when they were tucked up in her bed, both reading. Harry was working his way through a non-fiction book about World War II, doing Dunkirk having piqued an interest for him, and Y/N was reading a copy of the New Yorker that her dad had given her when she saw him last. Suddenly, she nudged his neck with her head, demanding his attention.

When he looked down at her, she was all doe-eyed and warm, her mind having finally gotten itself out of the spiral it was in. “Sorry I was in a mood,” she said. “Hormones are fucking with me.”

“S’okay, button,” he said, kissing her forehead gently. “Sorry I got you pregnant and got you hormonal in the first place.” He meant it as a joke, but Y/N stilled against him and he immediately knew that wasn’t how she heard it. “Joking, Y/N,” he told her. “I love that we’re havin’ a baby.”

She set down her magazine and propped herself up on her elbows, Harry dropping his book too so he could focus fully on her. “Are you sure, H? If you’re being serious, I understand, you know. You don’t have to pretend. I don’t want you to pretend just for my sake.”

Harry exhaled. “How many times do I have to tell you, baby? I’m so excited to be havin’ a family with you I can’t even contain it. Nearly blurted it out to Jeff today in excitement before I remembered what we agreed on.”

“You might need to tell me a couple more times,” she told him honestly. “For some reason, my brain is having trouble wrapping its head around the idea that you want to be doing this.”

“C’mere,” he said, opening his arms so she could fold into his body. “I’ll remind you whenever you need, okay? But please, Y/N, please believe the best in me. I love you, but sometimes the doubt you have in me breaks me.”

Her fingers crawl up his biceps, fingers trailing around the outline of the heart tattooed there. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her chin into his chest, a soft smile bringing him to his knees for her. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I’d like you to keep an open mind.”

Her fingers stopped tracing his tattoos and her eyebrows furrowed. “What is it?”

“I talked to Adam today,” he began. “I told him we were havin’ a baby.” Before she could berate him for breaking their promise, he forged on, because that wasn’t the part he wanted to talk to her about—he already knew she was frustrated with him for it. “I needed his advice on how to approach the 2018 tour. Whenever we talk to Jeff I need to have a plan before I walk into that room, and Adam’s my only friend who has kids and knows intimately how I tour.”

She considers his words before opening her mouth. “Was it helpful?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “He had a couple suggestions, some which aren’t possible, some which are. The main one was that you join me for part of the tour. I know that you have work and you probably can’t do it, but I already have to cancel the entire US leg because it’s in June when little Peanut is due, so I probably can’t ask for other breaks. And I have no fucking idea what to do, Y/N.”

Y/N scrambled up, swinging a leg over Harry’s waist to brush the tears that were spilling from his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, the fear of what she would say eating him alive. “Hey, hey, I’m here, okay? We’re going to figure this out.” She was so calm, collected, the opposite from what he expected. “Can you breathe for me? I want to have this conversation, but I can’t do it if you’re crying, H.”

Harry gulped, trying to get his breathing under control. “I—yes. Okay.” He listened to her breathing, the sound of her heartbeat, letting it anchor him.

“Better?” He nodded, and she smoothed his hair back before speaking again. “So. Me going on tour with you?”

“Yeah. What do you think?”

She sighed, her fingers fiddling at the collar of his shirt. Without even thinking about it, Harry found himself curving his hands around her stomach, right where his baby was, the action having become an impulse in the recent days. “H, I can’t travel when I’m over 34 weeks pregnant.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, the frustration evident in the way he hung his head. “Fuck.”

“Maybe…Maybe I could take off a few weeks at the beginning? I’ve got the vacation time saved up.”

His head perked up at her proposal, eyes wide. “Really?”

She nodded, hand coming up to grip the back of his neck, her fingers massaging into the base of his skull. “I want to make this work and if that means taking some time off so we can be together, that’s what it means.”

The prospect of her on tour with him, her and their baby on tour with him made his heart flutter, the images of her, wildly pregnant, hanging out in his dressing room before shows, watching from the wings while he performed. Her hands carding through his hair while he took naps backstage, them shagging in his hotel rooms, cuddling on airplanes and tour buses. “I like that idea,” he said, bending down so he could press a soft kiss to her abdomen. “Quite a lot.”

“I kind of like it too,” She murmured, giggling when Harry left a lingering smooch to her belly button. “I’m sorry, baby about having to cancel tour. Know that isn’t what you want to do.”

“Rather be here than anywhere else,” he said, nudging at her cheek with his nose. “Y/N, I want you to know, I would never have picked to tour right now if I would have known.”

“I know,” she murmured against his skin. They were cuddled up in each other, her arms around his neck, his face buried in her shoulder. Harry didn’t think the desire to be close to her like this would ever leave him. He just desperately loved being as close as possible, holding her, petting her skin, feeling her breath on his skin. “I know I put a lot of pressure on you and that’s not necessarily fair of me, but—“ “Hush,” Harry said, lifting his head so he could look at her. “You’re right to, okay? I want to be the best dad I can be, but you know how easily I get caught up in my work. Don’t want to do that. Just as I need to remind you how much I care, sometimes you may have to remind me that you’re my world. Can you keep doing that?”

She nodded, a soft press of her lips to his eyebrow that had him gripping her hips, the tenderness like fireworks in his brain. “What do you think Anne is going to say when we tell her?”

Harry chuckled, the panic in her voice evident. “She’s going to be so happy I bet she’ll cry. Been wantin’ a grandchild for ages now. What about your mom?”

“She’s going to have a conniption fit,” Y/N said with a laugh of her own. “But then she’s going to cry too.”

“No wonder we’re such softies,” Harry said, tickling at Y/N’s sides, the sound of her giggles in his ears making him smile.

She leaned back, squirming away from his hands. “Speak for yourself. I’m serious, not a softie.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry lifted his hands, smushing her cheeks together and peppering kisses all over her. “Say that again, baby. Dare you.”

“Fine!” She pulled his lips into a kiss that left him breathless, his desire for her never waving. “Love you, my big softie.”

���Love you too. Now let’s go to bed, gotta make sure Peanut gets his beauty sleep.”

Y/N rolled off of him and let him pull the duvet cover over their bodies, cuddling up next to him. “What about me?”

“Don’t need it,” he said with a swift kiss to her forehead. “Beautiful no matter how much sleep you get.”

He feel asleep with Y/N’s head on his chest, arm slung over his torso, and Harry wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. The girl he loved, a baby on the way, and a career he adored. He ran his fingers up her spine, watching the smile flutter onto her lips in her sleep, and let his eyes wander to her belly. You couldn’t tell that she was pregnant yet, but to Harry, knowing that she was carrying their child inside of her, she had never been more beautiful to him.

TAGLIST:  

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NEXT CHAPTER COMING JULY 22ND @ NOON CST

#Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles dad

[3ndoftheline]

Will You Stay?

Bucky x Reader

Summary: Don’t let go of him. He needs you. He wants you stay, but he doesn’t know how to say it.

Warnings: Angst, all that good shit, it’ll end with a sort of cliffhanger idk i like to call it an interpretive ending but whatever floats your boat, also the obvious language warnings and mentions of baby buck not being okay :-(

Word Count: 9.1k (i’m SORRY)

Author’s Note: so, again, thank you to my inspo tag bc I saw this quote and it’s been churning in my head for so long but I’ve never had the chance to actually sit down and write it. This literally took me a full year to write so let’s see how it goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also this could possibly go into a part two if you guys want it. I have an idea for it but if people want to use their imagination to create their own ending then by all means! Anyways, feedback is more than welcome and please leave requests; I’d love to see what you guys want to read :)

It’s funny how easily someone’s world can come crashing down. How easily the bright colors that once painted your world turn to an ashen gray within a few short minutes. It’s sickening that love can raise you up to the sky and show you the world and the beautiful blues and golds of the sky. It’s intoxicating how drunk you feel off of the beauty and the glory of having it all, of seeing it all. How warm you feel, how weightless and limitless, like you’re the air. Twisting and turning, light and free. Young and spirited, wild and reckless and untamed.

Poets, authors and painters convey love with the prettiest words and the lightest shades of pink and yellow and white. They romanticize the fall, the moments before the leap and how wonderful it feels when you finally do.

What they never tell you about is after the fall. 

When you land. When you hit the ground so hard you feel yourself slip away for a little bit, your head spinning and you’re grasping for that feeling to be light again. They never tell you about how tight your chest is and how much it fucking hurts, like you’re bleeding yet desperately trying to sew yourself back together at the same time.

No, they never tell you about after the fall. Because where’s the romance in that? Nobody wants to write about the hardships, the pain and emptiness. Nobody wants to look at a painting splattered with red and black and the darkest purples. Where was the beauty in that?

There was no beauty. There was nothing to put on a pedestal, nothing to turn into a pretty picture with a smiling face. All that is left are cracked smiles and bruised knuckles and whispered hopes of trying, begging for an answer. There is no beauty in stained cheeks and watery eyes. There is no romance in a broken chest and empty lungs.

Beauty is pain, perhaps, but pain is not beauty.

Pain is not painted with flowers and rich silks and velvet trim. Pain is lurking in the shadows, the silent master that waits patiently for its turn to remind you that beauty is not everything, that love is misconception, confusion and a liar. Pain is the reality that you refuse to believe in when you’re suspended in the clouds.

And how stupid was I, how naïve I was to believe I could escape reality. That I could live in my pretty little painting. Idyllic and serene and fashioned perfectly to what I wanted. Created by my own fantasies and selfish heart, my pretty little painting. My perfect world. Gone, without a warning and without a sign.

Beauty is pain, but pain is not beauty. And how I wished I had realized that sooner.

I stared at the wall; the blank white wall was all I saw. I focused on the chipped paint and tried to regulate my breathing.

The apartment was quiet. Deadly silent, not even my own breathing could be heard.

A loud clang of a coffee mug meeting the edge of the counter jolted me from my sleep. The string of curses that followed forced my eyes open as I tried to curl deeper into the mattress. Sleep seemed to evade me as the strong scent of crushed coffee grounds filled the apartment, followed by a low whistle that didn’t follow a tune but was catchy in its own way.

I stayed in bed until the heavy footsteps and continued whistling drew closer to the bedroom.

“Good morning,” a deep voice broke through the last of the drowsy haze that covered my eyes. I ran my eyes over the low slung sweatpants and loose gray shirt, the scoop neck revealed the slight swell of his pecs.  When I finally met his piercing blue gaze, my heart stuttered wildly in my chest and judging by the smirk on his face, he could hear it.

“Hi,” I answered in a soft voice, completely anticlimactic but it was all I could muster. He chuckled and bent down, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. He brushed the hair from my neck, the warm skin of his palm elicited goosebumps over my arms.

“I made you coffee,” he murmured as his thumb traced my jaw.

I hummed. “I know, I heard you.”

He winced and I couldn’t help but laugh as I sat up, letting the comforter slide from my shoulders. I crossed my legs as I took the coffee mug from the bedside table and took a tentative sip, careful of the steam that curled from the rim. His hand slid from my neck to my shoulders then dipped beneath my shirt to trace my spine. I watched him, amazed how the sun light reflected in his eyes and how warm his skin looked.

“Will you stay?” I whispered as I glanced at the clock. He usually had to leave me early in the morning, most of the times before I woke. It was rare for him to stay past nine. I was lucky if he even stayed until nine.

He smiled, soft and apologetic as he kissed my lips briefly, humming that silly little tune under his breath.

“Only for a little bit,” he replied but I nodded anyways. I took what I could get it. So we sat as I drank my coffee and chatted aimlessly, stopping every now and then for a lazy kiss. He made me laugh so hard I spilled coffee onto the white sheets of the bed, but I didn’t care. I saw it as another memory, a little reminder.

And when he took my mug back into the kitchen, he was still whistling that tune, quietly but it reverberated throughout the apartment until the birds outside were singing along too.

There was no whistling now. No humming. No empty coffee mugs and no chatty birds. There was nothing.

I turned my head away from the wall and immediately my eyes fell to the droplets of coffee, still stained on the sheets of the bed. They hadn’t gone away, no matter how many times I washed the sheets. But I hadn’t minded then, I had liked knowing that they would always be there. The faint coffee smell always sent be back to that morning, that little slice of heaven. Now it seemed to be taunting, reminding me of everything good that I had lost.

“I’ll kill him,” a voice spoke from the doorway. I chuckled, but it was humorless.

“No, you won’t,” I whispered. I tried to take my eyes away from the drops of faint brown, but I couldn’t. I could feel his lips on my forehead, temple and lips. I could feel the giddiness in my stomach and the fluttering in my chest. I felt it all.

“No, you’re right.” There was dip as the mattress moved to accommodate the extra weight. “That would be too easy. We need a better plan.”

I smiled but it felt wrong. There was a flash of red in my peripheral as a head came down to rest on my shoulder. A sigh rattled through my body as a fresh wave of tears threatened to consume me again but I fought them. I wouldn’t cry. Not again.

“I’ll be fine, Nat.” It sounded like I was trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince her. Perhaps I was.

“Sure you will,” her voice had an easy confidence to it, something I wished I possessed. “But you’re not fine now. And that’s okay.”

I shook my head as I shrugged her off and pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. “What a way to end the week,” I chuckled bitterly as my palms became slick with tears. Natasha laid a gentle hand on my back and was silent. She didn’t try to assure me that everything would be okay, that the world would answer my prayers that this day would end and the next day would be better. She knew. She knew how easily fate switched hands.

She knew what I knew, except she accepted it long before I did.

I gripped my umbrella tightly as the rain pattered against the polyester, the cool air bit at my cheeks as I waited at the crosswalk. It seemed the white man would never appear, just the harsh red hand telling me to stop. I sighed and tucked myself tighter into my coat as I allowed my eyes to gaze out to my surroundings until the fell upon a flower shop that acted as a coffee shop too. The faint scent of coffee and buttery scones caused a harsh ache to flourish in my chest.

“Jesus, how much sugar do you take?” He raised an eyebrow at me as I sat idly in one of the wrought iron chairs. The air was clear and the sun was strong as the bustling streets of Brooklyn seemed like an afterthought as I stared at him.

“Enough to make me happy,” I shot back. He shook his head but I could see the smile across his face as he made his way back to the counter to get me more sugar packets.

“You know this shit is fake, right? This isn’t what real sugar tastes like.”

“Excuse me. Did I judge you when you tore through that whole pack of gummy worms last night? No. So let me use my fake sugar in my coffee.”

He smirked and handed me the pink packets. He sat down and picked off a piece of blueberry muffin and popped it into his mouth. He was beautiful. Mahogany hair pulled into a loose bun as his strong jaw worked at the muffin. I hid behind my coffee cup to hide my blush as the sweetness nearly burned my throat. Perfect.

“Wait here,” he said as he abruptly stood up. I didn’t even have a chance to question him nor remind him that I couldn’t go anywhere since he was my ride. Instead, I waited while I sipped away at my coffee and people watched. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I heard a distant pair of footfalls become louder. I turned my head and saw him walking towards me, a single rose clutched in his left hand.

“For you,” he murmured. My heart nearly fell out of my chest as I gasped softly. He normally didn’t do romantic gestures. He wasn’t a hearts and flowers kind of guy. Any sort of affection I got was behind locked doors where no one would see but us.

I took the flower, afraid if I reacted to quickly the moment would shatter. The faint scent tickled my nose and I couldn’t help but smile. A hand cupped my cheek gently, his thumb brushed over the rise of my cheekbone. It was fleeting, it was quick, but I felt the burn for hours after.

“Will you stay?” I whispered, staring into his bright blue eyes and begging for a different answer. His smile was forlorn as his eyes flickered to the rose, then to me.

“Only for a little bit,” he murmured then took the empty sugar packets in his hand and turned on his heel to throw them out.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Nothing but a memory and a rose to remind me that it was real.

I turned my head away, cursing the burn in my eyes. It had been two weeks since I had last cried over him and I refused to break that streak. I was finally doing better. I finally buried the pain deep enough so that it didn’t matter anymore.

The red hand changed to the white man and the crowd around my pushed me forward, leaving the memory behind me as the dismal rain pattered against my umbrella.

I moved four months after he left. The apartment was too suffocating; too much of him was left. Every time I stepped outside the streets of Brooklyn reminded me of him. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing something that made me think of him. When my job had an opening in Boston, I pounced immediately and without a second thought I told my landlord I was leaving that month and paid the last of my rent.

“I wish you weren’t leaving.” Natasha frowned as I zipped up my suitcase, having to sit on the top due to the amount of clothes I had managed to stuff inside.

“Hey, it’s not forever,” I assured her as I rolled the suitcase out to the living room. “It’s like, a two hour ride in the jet, if that. I’m sure you’ll find some way to stop by after every mission.”

“He misses you,” she whispered and I froze as my heart crunched painfully in my chest.

“Nat, don’t.” I stalked into the kitchen and began to close the boxes filled with plates and cups.

“I know he’s why you’re leaving,” she murmured as she followed me. I recoiled like she had stuck me with a hot iron. “I know the job in Boston is good, but you don’t have to go. You don’t have to leave.”

“Yes I do.” I turned to face her. Her eyes regarded me with a soft sadness that made my mouth dry and my throat clench. “There’s nothing here for me, Nat. I came to Brooklyn for him. He’s gone. There’s no reason for me to stay.”

“If you just talked–”

“Natasha,” I finally snapped. I cursed the break in my voice as I turned my face away.

She sighed reluctantly and walked forward. “I know, I’m sorry. It’s just – I don’t want you to leave. You’re like my sister, y’know?”

I smiled and felt a surge of gratefulness for her and flung my arms around her. She stiffened but relaxed a bit as she wrapped her arms around me. “I’m not far. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I know. I’ve tried.” She smirked as I feigned offense. And just like that, the playful atmosphere returned but neither of us could ignore the taste of bitterness that tinged the air around us.

Mornings were not my thing. They weren’t something I avidly wanted to be a part of, especially on the weekends. So when some unseen force woke me up at seven on a Saturday morning, I was anything but happy. Yet, sleep evaded me and with a frustrated groan, I kicked off the covers and made my way into the kitchen. When I turned on the light, a scream forced itself out of my mouth when I caught a glimpse of the figure sitting at the breakfast bar.

“Hey,” the voice said, unphased and I immediately clutched my chest as I glared at the shadowy form.

“What the fuck Steve. Couldn’t you have knocked?”

Steve shrugged as he leaned forward. His blonde hair was limp against his forehead and his skin was paler than normal. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh, so sneaking into my apartment is your next best option?” He shrugged again and I rolled my eyes. “You Avengers need to learn a thing or two about privacy, Jesus.” Scowling, I stalked to the cabinet and pulled out a mug. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

I pulled out another and went to my Keurig and powered it on. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked as I stopped by the refrigerator to grab the creamer.

“Nice place you have here.” Steve ignored my question as he glanced around my apartment. “Boston suits you.”

I nodded as I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out his play. “Yeah, I love it here. It’s peaceful.”

His eyebrows flickered up before the settled back down and he stared at the Keurig. He looked haunted. I frowned at his gaunt expression and turned to the Keurig and inserted Black Silk and slid his cup beneath the spout and pressed a few buttons and soon coffee was pouring into his cup. I knew how he took his coffee I had made it for him only how many times at the Facility. As soon as the coffee finished, I added creamer and one sugar before stirring idly and slid the mug to him.

He nodded his thanks and wrapped his hands around the mug. I saw the slight tremble to his fingers as he gripped the ceramic and I frowned again.

“Steve,” I murmured. “What’s going on?”

He flicked his eyes up and seemed surprised for a moment. “I forgot how perceptive you are. Bucky always loved that about you.” I winced at his name and immediately turned my head to the floor. Steve sighed and set down his cup and rubbed a hand over his weary face. For the first time, he looked his age, 98 years old and tired of the world. “Something’s happened. Things aren’t so good…at the facility,” he muttered and my blood ran cold. I gripped the edge of the counter as I struggled to remain composed.

“Is Natasha–?”

“She’s okay, it’s not her,” he assured me quickly and I visibly relaxed. “She wanted to be here but she had to stay.”

I furrowed my brow as I stared at Steve, my brain turning to try and keep up. “What happened? Why couldn’t she be here?”

Steve swallowed as his shoulders hunched forward. “She had to watch Bucky.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.

“Watch Bucky?” His name felt weird against my lips. It was the first time I had spoken his name in months and automatically I felt something stir deep inside me. “Steve, what are you trying to tell me? What’s going on?”

Steve stared at the creamy liquid inside his mug. When his eyes finally met mine I was shocked at the pain that swam in the blue irises. “Bucky…he’s lost it. He, I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

My heart shattered for Steve as I saw the hopelessness weigh him down and gray his features. “Steve…” I whispered softly.

“He’s just…he won’t eat. He won’t sleep, he won’t talk to anyone. He hasn’t left his room in two weeks. Nothing I say matters. It’s the…this is the worst episode he’s ever had. I’ve never seen him like this in my life.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I rounded the breakfast bar and collected Steve into a hug. He didn’t relax. His shoulders still tense but he let me rub his back. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I am.” I sighed softly as I pressed my cheek to his hair. “I don’t know what to tell you Steve, you know how he gets. There’s nothing you can do, nothing any of us can do.”

“Yes there is,” he whispered and pulled back as he stared at me. Instantly, I knew what he was going to say and I began shaking my head.

“Steve–”

“Please, listen. Please,” he begged. “He needs you. He’s not…he hasn’t been the same without you.”

I shook my head again, this time more adamant. “He doesn’t need me,” I whispered.

“He does. He’s…he does, believe me, please.” Steve sighed and carded his hand through his hair roughly. “I can’t…I can’t help him. I can’t say anything, I can’t do anything. But if you…if you could just see him, just talk to him. Maybe–”

“I’ll make it worse.” My voice was hollow and it didn’t sound like me. “I promise Steve, I’m the last person you want there.”

“No, goddammit,” Steve growled as he glared at me, years of pain burned in his eyes. “Don’t you see? He’s not…he’s not Bucky. He’s pretended that he’s been fine but he’s not.”

“Steve–”

“Don’t abandon him, please. Don’t. Not now, please.”

“Abandon him?” I laughed. It was humorless and empty as I backed away from Steve. “He’s the one who left me, Steve. You don’t…you have no idea what he said…”

“Hey,” I called out when I heard the front door open. “I’m making dinner, hope you’re–” My words died in my throat when I heard the dorm slam shut again, the force shook the apartment. I froze and listened as heavy feet stormed from the door into the kitchen. I turned and saw his face, brooding and dark and I knew it was going to be one of those nights.

“How was training?” I tried. He ignored me as he strode to the fridge and ripped open the door nearly taking it off its hinges. He peered inside then scowled heavily before slamming it shut again. He didn’t offer me a glance as he stalked out again. I sighed heavily as I stirred the pasta and put the lid on. My first instinct was to run after him but I knew that wouldn’t do me any good. When he got in these moods, the only thing I could do was give him his space until he calmed down enough to come out.

I ate dinner by myself and stowed a plate for him in the microwave. I cleaned the dishes and went through a movie before I looked at the clock and realized it was past ten and he still hadn’t made an appearance. With a resigned sigh, I steeled my nerves and approached the bedroom door. Slowly, I creaked it open and found him lying on the bed face up. His hands clutched the sheets so tightly I could see the tears in the fabric and the whole room crackled with tense energy.

“Bucky,” I murmured. “Your dinner’s cold.”

“Don’t care,” he muttered and I tried not to flinch. I hated when he got this. Angry at everything but most of all, angry at himself.

“Yes you do,” I said as I closed the door behind me. I stepped forward until I could sit down on the bed, careful to keep my distance. “Bucky, what’s going on?”

“Nothin’.”

“Please,” I whispered. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Bucky laughed and I looked up. I wished I hadn’t. There was so much anger trapped in his blue eyes it made my skin crawl. “And what, you think I like being like this? You think I enjoy doing this?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know that,” I protested. He snarled as he sat up and the sheets tore with him.

“Then what did you mean? You hate this part of me? Is this not good enough for you? Sorry love, this is who I am. Can’t always please you, can I?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Forget it,” he snapped as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and clutched his head in his hands. My heart cracked in my chest as I watched his shoulders shake from the tremendous weight that constantly threatened to suffocate him. “You can’t fix me. I can’t be saved,” he muttered.

“Bucky, I don’t want to fix you. There’s nothing to be fixed.”

“Bullshit,” he spat. “You know damn well I’m as fucked up as anyone. That’s why you’re here. You want to help me, make me better. Change me. I can’t change, can’t you see that? Can’t you understand?”

“I don’t want you to change, can’t you see that?” I met his eyes as I begged him to understand. “I want to help you, please, let me.”

“Help me?” He scoffed. “Help me? You can’t help me, you don’t understand. You’ll never, ever understand.”

“Then help me understand,” I shot back as I leaned forward. “Let me in, please Bucky. Don’t try to do this yourself, please.”

“You don’t get it,” he sneered as his upper lip curled. “You come from a perfect fucking world. A perfect fucking family, white picket fence and everything. You’ve got your perfect fucking friends and your perfect fucking job. You don’t know a thing about what I go through, you don’t know jack shit. Stop pretending you understand because you don’t.”

I gaped in silence as his words lashed out like a whip, scalding over my face. “You don’t mean that,” I whispered.

“You think so?” He growled as he stood up abruptly, his blue eyes like ice as he vibrated with anger. “You think I need you? You can’t do anything for me, you’ve never been able to help and you never will. I don’t need you, I’ve never needed you.”

“Bucky, stop,” I pleaded. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be. I’ve never seen him this angry, never in my life.

“Fuckin’…you know what? Forget it.” He whirled around and stormed out of the bedroom. I sat in shock, my eyes wet with tears without even realizing it. I listened as the door was thrown open and winced as it slammed shut and shook the apartment. In the silence that followed, I crumpled onto the bed and gripped the holes he had made in the sheets as I tried desperately to control my breathing.

It’s not real, he didn’t mean it. It’s just a dream, it’ll be okay, I thought to myself like a mantra but the more I said it the less I believed it.

“Will you stay?” I whispered into his pillow as tears burned against my skin.

The silence that followed was the only answer I needed as I finally let the sobs rack my body.

“He needs you,” Steve whispered and I shook my head. I knew I was crying, I couldn’t help it. The memory of the night burned like a fresh burn.

“Believe me when I say this, he doesn’t,” I whispered as I backed up against the counter. The Keurig was hot behind me but I ignored it.

“He keeps asking for you,” Steve said and I closed my eyes at the fresh pain the flared in my chest. “Every time…every, every day. He always asks for you. And then – we have to tell him that you’re not there. And he just…he just breaks and I don’t know what to do.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” I whispered as I looked at Steve. “You know that, when he has his episodes he’ll say whatever comes to mind.”

Steve shook his head adamantly. “Not now. He begs for you, he needs you. Please, don’t let him go. Please. He needs you, he misses you so much.” He held his hand up when I tried to interrupt and I reluctantly kept it shut. “I know, I know what he said. He told me and so did Nat. He hates himself for it, every day he blames himself for making you leave. He’s scared. He’s so scared and he doesn’t know what to do but he needs you. Please, don’t let him go. He just…I know what he said and I know it hurt more than anything. But don’t give up. Not yet.”

I was really crying now and I furiously tried to wipe my eyes as I shook my head. “Steve, I…I can’t, you know I can’t.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you say yes?” Steve leaned forward and just the look on his face made me want to climb onto the quinjet. “Please. He’s my best friend…I can’t, I hate seeing him like this. You’re the only one who made him better.”

I bowed my head and watched as my tears splashed against my leg. “Steve…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I can’t do anything. I know he says he needs me but…you don’t understand, he doesn’t…it’s not like that anymore. Maybe…maybe I’ll come when he’s calmer, when he’s out of his episode. But not now, not when he’s so vulnerable. I can’t do that to him, I can’t.”

Steve sighed and nodded gravely as he stood up and set his mug into the sink. He turned to me and enveloped me into a strong hug, a hug I hadn’t realized I needed until I was in it. I took in a shaky breath as Steve squeezed my shoulders. “You’re the only one he’s ever truly loved,” he whispered and my chest cracked open as I held back the hard sobs. He stepped back and gave me a sad smile and I could see in his eyes that he was trying to understand. That walking away right now was the last thing he wanted to do. “Please…think about it. That’s all I ask.”

I nodded and watched as he turned his back and disappeared out the window, the distant purr of the quinjet was what I heard before I sagged against the kitchen counter and cried harder than I had over the past six months.

It had been two days since Steve had come to my apartment and our conversation was all I could think about. I tried to move on. I tried to shake off his words. But they were like a mantra in my head that never went away.

He needs you.

He’s my best friend, please.

You’re the only one he’s ever loved.

He needs you.

And the more his words repeated in my mind, the more my resolve began to crack until finally I found myself purchasing a plane ticket and arriving at New York.

I approached the facility late at night, the lights still blazed despite it being close to midnight. With a sigh and fear clenching my insides, I strode through the front door and walked up to the security desk. The security guard was flicking through the CCTVs with a bored expression when I approached him.

“Sorry miss, no visitors at this hour,” he drawled as he kept his gaze fixated on the computer screens.

“I’m…um, I’m here to see Captain Steve Rogers?”

“No visitors at this hour,” he repeated again, monotone. I sighed and gripped the counter to hide my frustration.

“I need to see Steve Rogers. It’s important.”

“No visitors at this–”

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” I muttered as I whipped out my cell phone. The guy didn’t even acknowledge me as I dialed Natasha’s number.

“Romanoff,” she replied in a brisk voice though I could hear the exhaustion that dripped behind the cold voice.

“Nat, it’s me.” I eyed the guard as he still dutifully ignored me. “I’m here, at the facility. Where are you?”

“What?” There was a sudden commotion through the speaker before her voice returned. “I’ll be there in a minute, don’t move.”

I ended the call and glared pointedly at the security guard who didn’t even move, his finger clicked on the mouse every interval of three. Some security I thought wryly to myself before I heard the elevator ping and out stepped Natasha. She looked exhausted, her hair was knotted and the bags beneath her eyes were a dark purple as she practically ran towards me.

“Hi,” I said once she stood in front of me. She nodded in greeting, her face grim.

“C’mon, he needs you,” she said in a stiff voice and I could tell she was barely holding it together. I followed her into the elevator and she pressed the button marked 35. Bucky’s floor.

“Nat,” I murmured in the quiet elevator. “How bad is he?” I knew Steve told me he was bad, but Steve had a tendency to overdramatize things especially when it came to Bucky. I wanted to make sure that what Steve told me was in fact, the truth.

“It’s good that you’re here,” she whispered. It’s all she said, but it was enough.

I nodded and swallowed thickly. “Are you monitoring him?”

“Full surveillance.” Natasha confirmed as the doors slid open and we stepped onto Bucky’s floor. “We have to.”

“Shut it off,” I whispered. Natasha was about to protest but I silenced her with a hard glare. “If I’m going to talk to him, it’s going to be just me and Bucky. He deserves his privacy. I’m not going in there until video and audio is cut off. I’m serious, Nat. I’m going to talk to Bucky as a friend, not as a psychiatrist. We don’t need to be monitored.”

Natasha nodded bleakly and squeezed my hand tightly. “Be careful,” she whispered before she disappeared down the hallway. I waited and calmed my churning stomach as I clasped and unclasped my hands in front of me. Two minutes later I got a text from Natasha.

Surveillance cut. Be safe, please.

I pocketed my phone and strode towards Bucky’s door. My hand hesitated in front of the keypad before I shook my head and steeled my nerves. I punched in the familiar code and the doors slid open.

Inside, everything was clean. The bed was made and everything was set within a specific place – nothing out of order. All of the picture frames were gone; the candles I had used to rid the metallic scent of blood were nowhere to be seen. The comforter was replaced with a dull gray quilt.

There was no color, no life.

Everything was too neat. There were no creases in the bed spread when I knew before he couldn’t have cared less how the blankets looked I was always the one who made the bed. The frames were gone but I saw the marks on the bureau from where the corners of the frames had hit too hard and chipped away at the stain. I could still smell a hint of the lavender candles I always used to light but it was overwhelmed with the scent of beech wood like he had done everything in his power to rid the lavender from the room. There were cobwebs laced in the corners of the room and when I looked down I saw cracks in the tile. I wondered how hard his fists had hit the floor to make those marks. The couches all had covers over them but as they fluttered in the air of the heating I could see the pockets of fabric missing from where he had ripped out chunks of the upholstery.

The entire room was set up to make it seem like he was fine when he was really anything but.

I turned my head and jolted when I saw Bucky staring at me. He stood in the doorframe of the bathroom seemingly frozen in place. His clothes were clean, his shirt pressed and his jeans free of grease stains. His hair fell loose around his face and his eyes were bright and wide.

“Why are you here?” His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it in weeks and I flinched at the sharp hostility in his tone. I knew this was a bad idea, I knew it. My sudden burst of confidence was dwindling fast and I tried vainly to grasp onto it. I turned my head away and swallowed thickly.

“Uh…I just, wanted to…I don’t know. Um, I just wanted to see how you were, I guess. But if you want me to go then I’ll, I’ll go–”

“Wait,” he broke me off as he leaned on the balls of his feet. “Sorry, um, you just…surprised me, I guess.”

I nodded slowly as I rocked back on my heels. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Bucky nodded again and gave me a soft shrug. There was a pregnant pause and I opened my mouth to make my escape but Bucky beat me to it. “Um, sit, please.” He mumbled, pointing to the armchair facing the window. I chewed on my bottom lip before I relented with a sigh and walked forward, clutching my bag to my chest. Bucky sat on the loveseat that was before the TV.

“So,” I broke the silence once I sat down, “how have you been?”

Bucky shrugged, still not huge on conversation. It reminded me when I first met him. He barely spoke a word to me. It was like he didn’t know me, all over again. “You look good,” he muttered, completely dodging my question. I sighed inwardly as I subconsciously touched my hair.

“Yeah, well, you know. I’m trying. All in a day’s work, right?” I attempted to joke but I knew it fell flat. He wrung his hands together, spreading them apart then clutching them back together.

“And how’s that going for you?” His voice was empty, as if he was steeling himself for an answer he didn’t want to hear.

It was my turn shrug. “I dunno, seemed to have fooled everyone.”

“Everyone?” He murmured and his eyes finally met mine. The icy chasms took my breath away even now.

“Yeah,” I breathed out. His face was expressionless as he looked away. “So…you seem to be doing good.” I nodded to the bed with a small smile on my face.

“Of course I am,” he bit out. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I winced, his words like a hot knife through his chest. Of course he was fine. He was the one who left me. Suddenly, everything Steve said flew out the window. Bucky never needed me. Just like he had said.

“Yeah,” I mouthed. “Right, of course.”

Bucky shook his head and I saw anger twist his features. “Why are you even here?” He stared at me, his eyes dead. My breath rattled in my chest as my mouth formed no words. After several heartbeats of silence Bucky shook his head and stood up, storming to the bathroom. The door rattled in the doorframe when he slammed it shut and I winced at the sudden sound.

“I don’t know,” I whispered into the silence. Hot tears formed in my eyes and I willed them to go away with a tight squeeze of my eyelids. I refused to cry again. I was done crying over Bucky Barnes. There was obviously no love lost with him, it was time for me to realize that. When I opened my eyes, my vision was blurry but I forced myself up with a staggered breath. With soft steps I pushed open the door and shut it quietly behind me. I looked up at the security camera that I knew was trained on Bucky’s door. Where I knew Nat and Steve were watching. I gave a small shake of my head, pressing my lips together as a fresh wave of tears flooded my eyes. My legs willed me towards the elevator and somehow my body followed.

It was almost mechanical, my actions, like the voice that spoke to me in the elevator. Once the doors closed I leaned against the cool walls hoping the cold will bring back some semblance of thought. I used the trip down to the ground floor as a way to gather myself. “Let him go, let him go,” I kept repeating to myself, like an endless mantra. I figured if I kept saying, eventually I’d believe it.

The ground floor was dead; the security guard had seemingly decided to leave the desk unattended. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head as I strode purposefully towards the revolving doors, repeating the three words in my head.

A sudden crash interrupted my train of thought as I nearly jumped ten feet in the air. I whipped around and saw the door that led to the set of the stairs plastered to the opposite wall, the hinges creaking slightly. Bucky emerged from the destroyed frame as he ran towards me, skidding to a stop before me. He was barely panting even though he had just launched a vibranium infused door into the next century.

“Don’t…don’t go,” he grated out, his voice so rough it sounded like sandpaper.

“What?” I managed to pull my gaze from the doorway to him. His eyes were slightly crazed, blown so wide I was worried they would pop out of his head.

“Don’t leave, please. Please…stay, stay.”

I gazed at him in shock, wondering if I was looking at the same guy as I slowly began to shake my head. “I, uh…I think I should go.”

“No,” he sprung forward when I took a step back and froze in place. “Please, please. Don’t leave me. Not yet, not now. Please.”

I kept shaking my head as my legs unfroze and took two more steps back as I began to turn away from him. “I can’t, I can’t,” I repeated. I willed my voice not to break as I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my own feet. Bucky was quiet as I nearly sprinted to the revolving doors, my heart cracking against my ribcage. I almost made it, my hand outstretched to the handle when he spoke.

“I didn’t mean it.” Four words, spoken so softly but they reverberated throughout the entire room. “I…I didn’t mean, what I said. I never meant it.”

I couldn’t turn around. I couldn’t face him just yet. “Why did you say it? Why? Was it just to – to hurt me?”

“Yes.” I winced at the single word that cut through my heart. It was like the final nail in the coffin, the reminder that I didn’t matter.

“Right,” I muttered, shaking my head. “I have to go.”

“No, no wait,” Bucky began pleading behind me as I pushed the glass panel before me. The door began to turn and just as I was about to reach the exit, the door suddenly screeched to a halt and my face nearly went through the glass. I peeled my face off of the glass and whipped around to see Bucky’s metal arm holding the door back.

“Let me go,” I demanded as I slammed my shoulder against the glass. It didn’t even budge. “Goddammit Bucky, I am going to suffocate if you do not let me out.”

“I need you to listen to me.”

“By trapping me?” I nearly screeched. “God, what else do you want with me? Do you just want to hurt me some more, really destroy my self-esteem? Because honestly, I think you have done enough.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” his voice was fierce but I scoffed and nearly laughed in his face.

“How else could you possibly mean that, Bucky?” He bowed his head but didn’t say anything. He was dead quiet. I shook my head and slammed my hands against the glass. All it did was shudder. Tears pricked my eyes as my throat constricted. “Do you like seeing me like this? Is that what this is? Is this some sort of fucked up game for you?”

“What?” Bucky gasped. “God, no. It was never–”

“Then why?” I yelled, stepping three feet to the other glass panel that confined me. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you know,” he whispered and I just gaped at me. A few moments passed as I waited for him to respond, to elaborate in some way. But he didn’t.

“Know what, Bucky? What are you talking about?”

“You just know,” he repeated, the plates in his arm rippled as he gripped the handle harder. “You…you look at me, and you know. You don’t have to ask, we don’t have to talk, I don’t have to say anything and you just know. One look at me and it’s like you just…get it and no one has ever done that before.”

I blinked at him before I raised my hands up in defense. “You know, this might just be me, but isn’t that what people want? Someone who knows the other one? I really thought that was something good in a relationship.”

“It is, it was one…it was good. But it – it terrified me. Nobody has known me like that in…decades. Steve used to, but even now he doesn’t. But you…you, who has no idea what I’ve gone through. You’ve never held a gun in your life, you just know. You understand me like no one ever has and it scares the shit out of me. Because I’m so used to saying the right thing, to acting a certain way to make sure I wasn’t noticed. But you just…God you just see right through me no matter how hard I try to keep you out.”

“So…you said all of those things…because I know you?” I stared at him in disbelief. It was ridiculous, even for Bucky. I found it so hard to believe him. Suspicion began to grow in my stomach as I narrowed my eyes at Bucky. It was then that I realized he hadn’t looked at me. Throughout his whole speech he couldn’t even look my way. “Bucky,” I prompted. “Look at me.” He ignored me and I nearly exploded. “Jesus, the least you could do is look at me. At least give me that.” Seconds ticked away before Bucky finally tore his gaze from the ground and met mine. His eyes burned with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint, but it was something so strong it nearly knocked my breath away. “What aren’t you telling me?” I whispered. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Bucky shook his head as a small chuckle left his mouth. “This is what I mean,” he murmured, “you see right through me.”

“Then can you please explain what I’m seeing? Because it makes no sense right now.” Bucky seemed to shrink away at my voice. He carded his fingers through his hair while my gaze flickered over his body. He was wound so tight I worried he’d crumble right in front of me. “Please,” I whispered my voice softening as I took another step forward. “Tell me.”

Bucky shook his head. “I can’t…I can’t.”

“Why not? Bucky…why?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense,” he hissed. “It shouldn’t…it shouldn’t be like this.”

I stared at him in confusion, trying to piece together his vague words. “Okay, okay,” I spoke to mostly myself but I knew Bucky heard. “You don’t have to tell me, that’s okay. Just, uh, explain, yeah. Explain to me what’s going on.”

Bucky sighed and dropped his head to his chest as if he was suddenly exhausted. His broad chest expanded as he took in a deep breath and I tried not to speak. I swallowed thickly and took a step back, to give him space though really he had enough.

“I don’t know…I don’t know how.” He began and I held my breath, afraid if I breathed too loudly I’d scare him. “It’s like, everything was a blur. I was okay, I felt, I loved, I knew what happiness was, I knew guilt and sadness. But it’s like nothing ever stuck, I just kept cycling through these emotions. And I, I always thought that if I ever met the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, I’d have to lay all of the cards on the table. I thought I’d have to have this great intervention with the drama and the fanfare and the tears and everything.

“But then…but then I met you. And I didn’t have to explain anything. You just looked at me and smiled. And the way you look at me, it’s like I’m all you see, y’know? And I’ve never…that’s never happened before. Even on my worst days, you never wavered. You just held me and let me be me. I never had to worry about being Bucky or James or…him. I was just who I wanted to be and you…you loved me all the same. And I saw it, how much you loved me.

“I’m not…I’m not a good person. I know I’m not, but you don’t. You refused to believe it no matter what people told you, no matter how right they were. It’s like you didn’t care and you should because I’m…I’ve done bad things. And it scares me, it scares me that you can love me so unconditionally and I can’t even give you a fraction of that because I’ve done so much, I’ve done such terrible things that loving you can hardly make up for anything. And I tried, I tried so hard to make things right with you. To try and be good for you. But you saw through that too, you saw through it all and God it scared me.

“And I knew the only way for you to see, to understand me, was for you to hate me. Only then would you let me go. And I didn’t want…I never wanted to hurt you. And I know I did, I know what I said hurt you in ways I never wanted to imagine. But you just…you saw too much. You saw too much and you knew too much and you loved so goddamn much and I can’t give you that. I can’t give you the love you deserve, I can never give you that. But you don’t…you didn’t get it. And I tried to make you see it but you…didn’t so I had…I had to make you see.”

His voice broke at the very end, a sob wrenching through his clenched teeth and my heart nearly broke in two. His breath was ragged, as if what he had just told me equaled climbing Mount Everest.

“So…” I finally spoke as my mind struggled to wrap around what he said. “You don’t love me? Is this…is this the point? I love you but you don’t love me.”

“No, God, no.” Bucky shook his head as he carded a hand roughly through his hair. “Don’t you see? I love you too much. I love you so goddamn much it hurts. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you. But that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t…it’s just, it’s not right.”

I narrowed my eyes at him as I crossed my arms. “Do you see a judge anywhere? Are we in some sort of Congressional meeting I’m not aware of? Is there a jury sitting at the security desk right now?”

He furrowed his brows. “No.”

“Awesome. Then what the fuck are you trying to prove and who the fuck are you trying to prove it to?” I glared at him as I spoke. Bucky opened his mouth but I was too angry to stop. “You know what Bucky, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. Your past is fucked up. What happened to you is so beyond fucked up I can’t understand and I most definitely never will. But it’s exactly that. You’re past. You need to move on because I’m pretty sure everyone else has.”

“But–”

“Do not interrupt me.” I jammed a finger at him and he automatically shut his mouth. “You’re so goddamn immersed in your past you’re too blind to see what’s happening right in front of you. And you’re right. I did love you. I loved you so much that sometimes I don’t even think it’s real. Some nights I stay awake just to make a list of ways to prove to you how much I loved you without ever saying it.

“But fuck you. Fuck you for deciding who I love, or how I love, or when I love. Fuck you for not letting me prove it to you and not seeing it when I tried. Fuck you for never sticking around long enough and never showing that you cared. Fuck you for breaking my heart and leaving me to pick up the pieces afterwards. Fuck you for not staying.”

I was panting by the time I finished my rant. Everything in me buzzed as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. Bucky was silent as he stared at me, unmoving. I had never yelled like that before in my life and I was positive Bucky had never seen me like this.

“I’m–”

“Don’t,” I snarled. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” I shook my head and turned away from him, my stomach rolled and twisted uncomfortably. “God, I’m so mad at you. I’m so fucking mad.”

“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

“Good,” I shot back. It was childish but I wasn’t about to let him get the last word. But as soon as I said it I felt a wave of exhaustion rush over me and my shoulders dropped in response. With a heavy sigh I rested my head against the cool glass in search of relief but found none. “What do you want from me Barnes?” I finally whispered.

“I want a second chance.”

I scoffed under my breath. “Second chance? I gave you too many chances. You had more than one opportunity to stay. You chose not to.”

“Fine,” Bucky acquiesced. “Give me one more chance.”

“Right,” I said bitterly. “What’s going to be so different about this one? You’re going to tell me you love me and then leave? Won’t that be the icing on the fucking cake?”

“Let me prove to you that I love you. This time, for real. No more running, no more games. I swear to you I’m gonna be there this time.”

I turned my head to the side and watched the moonlight dance on the steel beams of the door. “I don’t trust you,” I admitted honestly. I could feel the walls locking in around my chest, protecting me from whatever he said.

“I know,” he repeated. “Give me a chance to win that trust back.”

“That’s two chances, Bucky. You said one.”

“A chance to win your trust and another to prove that I love you, and that you love me too.” I turned to face him, about to give him a snarky remark but the moment I saw his face my voice died. He was open, raw, vulnerable. His eyes shimmered with unfallen tears and his gaze was so intense I felt as if I was drowning. “Please.” Just one word. But it was loaded with so much sincerity and desperation I couldn’t find it in me to say no.

“Okay,” I finally relented and his face utterly transformed. A glimmer of hope shone in his eyes and he immediately stood up straight. “This is not a yes,” I immediately snapped as I glared at him. “This is just an opportunity for redemption. But we go my pace. Whatever I say goes. You so much as cross a line I swear to–”

“I know.”

“And you’re not kissing me. Or touching me. Unless I say so. I’m serious Bucky, no funny–”

“I know.”

“This does not guarantee anything either. If I’m not happy or I don’t believe you then I have every right to–”

“I know.”

I scowled angrily at him as I placed my hands on my hips. “Do you know everything?”

“No.” He shook his head. “But I know you.” I forced the scowl to stay on my lips despite the smile that threatened to shine through.

“Right, of course you do,” I grumbled.

“So,” he smiled that million dollar smile that made me weak in the knees the very first time I saw it,

“Will you stay?”

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