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marie-swriting · 7 months

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What If - Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

Summary : After having an accident, Jake wants to live in the moment even more and take your relationship a step forward, but do you ?

Warnings : Bradshaw!Reader (Reader is Bradley's younger sister by two years), mention of plane accident, mention of deaths (parents and best friend), fear of losing loved ones, proposal, angst, sad ending, implied struggling with mental health, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.6k

French version

Song inspiration : Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift

You run in the hospital hallways, searching for room 322. Your anxiety increases with every step you take. Your destination seems unreachable. Your eyes are filled with tears but you hold them back. However, the second you walk through the door 322, they run free on your cheeks. Seeing Jake’s body laying down on the bed, hurt, doesn’t help to reduce your stress. Hearing you walking in the room, Jake gives you a big smile as if he didn’t almost die the day before. You get closer to him, examining him a bit more while wiping your cheeks. His left arm is in a sling, his head is bandaged and he has several cuts on his face.

“So, I heard you like bad boys,” Jake starts with a cocky smile, “is this good enough for you?”

“Jake, this is not the time to make jokes. You could have died!” you retort, sitting on the chair next to his bed.

“And I didn’t. I’m here and alive.”

“And hurt.”

“The fact is I’m alive. Thanks to your brother.” he specifies, showing Bradley with his chin.

“At least, we now know who is the best pilot.” your brother jokes.

“In your dreams, Rooster, I just wanted to test your ability to react quickly.”

“You’ll do your pissing contest later, tell me how you’re feeling.” you ask, still panicked.

“I’m fine. I almost don’t feel anything thanks to the meds. Y/N, I am fine, really.” Jake promises you, taking your hand with his right one.

“I’m gonna leave you alone.” Bradley informs you by pressing your shoulder. “Get some rest, Hangman.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Jake says once you’re alone.

“Trust me, it’s not just worrying. I really thought… For a moment, I was sure…” you stutter, a tear rolling down your cheek again.

“I know, I’m sorry. Come here.” he invites you, moving in the best way so you can lie down.

“No, I might hurt you.”

“I don’t care.”

Reluctantly, you get closer to the bed. You think of the best way you could get in bed without hurting him. Jake rolls his eyes before dragging you towards him with his abled arm. You find yourself next to him and you put your head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his natural scent and the hospital.

“Don’t ever do that again. I can’t lose you.” you mutter.

“You won’t lose me. I promise.” Jake affirms, forcing you to look at him. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you, Jake.”

You give a small smile then you press your lips against Jake’s. Your kiss isn’t as passionate as it could be, yet it shares all the love you feel.

Once the night comes, you refuse to leave Jake. You literally beg the nurses to let you stay the night. At first, they insist on you leaving, nonetheless when you explain how scared you were to lose your boyfriend and how you can only stay in San Francisco for two days due to your job, they accept. Therefore, you’re currently on the chair in the corner of the room with a thin blanket. Jake wanted you to stay with him on the bed but you said you wouldn’t, you are afraid you might hurt him while sleeping. Your unimportant argument lasted thirty minutes but you stood your ground until the end.

Tired because of his medicines, Jake fell asleep in a few minutes. As for you, you stay awake, watching his chest rise and fall at the rhythm of his breaths. You don’t dare to look away, fearing that by doing so, he might stop respiring.

Notwithstanding, with the hours passing by and with all the emotion you felt, Morpheus comes to embrace you in his arms. At first, your sleep is relaxing though as soon as you start dreaming, your breathing quickens. You see Jake lying on the ground unconscious, you hear your own heart-rending scream when Bradley tells you about an accident, you smell the rain while the coffin sinks in the ground, you touch the tears on your fingers whilst you’re wiping your cheeks and finally, you feel your own heart that seems like it stopped beating in your chest.

You wake up jumping at that last sensation. You calm down your breathing while you stare at Jake, wanting to make sure he’s still alive in his hospital bed. You can’t see his chest moving, you panic then you stand up from the chair and run to him. Jake lightly opens the mouth before closing it several times and then changing position in the bed. Seeing him moving makes you sigh in relief.

Jake is okay. Jake is alive. Jake is not dead. Jake will not die.

No matter how many times you repeat those sentences like a mantra, your anxiety still doesn’t leave your body. Tears threaten to really stream down your face so you discreetly leave the room. Thankfully, the corridor is empty, allowing you to cry your eyes out. You hold back sobs as much as you can. If you sobbed, you would wake Jake up for sure.

You need a moment to calm down your tears. Seeing Jake hurt because of his work in the Navy overwhelmed you so much for several reasons. The first one being because you love Jake and you don’t want to lose him. The second one is because of the buried memories. Your dad died when you were still a baby and Bradley was only two. You don’t have memories of him but you know how much his death affected your mom. The loss of your father isn’t the only one haunting you. You also lost your best friend Lucy. You had been friends with her since you were four years old. You were inseparable until she enlisted in the army and died at twenty.

Receiving Bradley’s call about Jake gave you a glimpse of what your mother and Lucy’s mom went through, a trial you always hoped you’d never face.

Once you're sure you won’t fall apart, you go back in the room. By some miracle, Jake didn’t hear you leaving or entering, probably because of the medicine - normally, he’s a light sleeper. You walk back to the chair and stay awake the whole night, you don’t want to sit through another tragic scenario made by your brain.

The next day, you stay with Jake until the evening. You don’t want to leave him behind in the hospital, however, you have work so you don’t have a choice. Bradley promises you he’ll stay with Jake until his family comes during the week-end and he’ll keep you updated on Jake’s health. You only trust Bradley for this, you know Jake might not tell you everything to not worry you.

When you’re back home, you find your apartment dull. What is supposed to make you feel better can’t comfort you whilst in your mind, you get more lost in your deepest fears. The fact you’re in the process of moving out doesn’t help.

Jake and you are supposed to get a small house together. You should have the keys in two weeks, his deployment was supposed to be over by then. A few days ago, you were still looking forward to leaving your apartment and living with the man you love and now, you don’t know anymore.

Your relationship has always been exceptional, not only because he’s a good man but also considering that, before him, you wouldn’t allow yourself to date an army man. You always knew your mother as a half empty shell so you always wanted to protect yourself from the same deadly fate and the loss of Lucy didn’t help either. You’re already worried about losing your brother and Maverick, whom you consider as your uncle, you don’t want to risk losing your partner, too. Therefore, you had always refused to fall in love with a man like this. Before, you could do it until Jake appeared in your life; just like his personality, his entrance in your life was loud. You tried to resist it but your heart didn’t give you a choice so, for the first time, you broke your own rule. Your relationship with Jake is the most beautiful one you’ve ever had and you have no regrets about it. You used to have no regrets about it. His accident was a good reminder of how dangerous his job is.

Until you came home, you tried to shut down your fears and your doubts though, now, in your half-empty apartment, you can’t ignore it anymore. That night, you can’t sleep, your mind too busy to torture you.

Unfortunately for you, your mind doesn't give you one second of peace. The following days, you doubt your whole relationship with Jake, imagining the worst case scenarios in which he’d die during several milestones : your first house together, your wedding, pregnancies, anniversaries. The list never seems to end. You can’t be optimistic about it. You’re completely lost in your worries to the point where you end up living like a robot. You’re making yourself sick while anticipating the worst.

Your downward spiral is interrupted a week later by a knock on your door one morning. At first, you ignore the noise, comfortably staying in your discontent. However, when the person insists, you leave your bed and open them, not without sighing, annoyed. You’re about to tell the person to leave but the presence of Jake stops you. He wasn’t supposed to come back to San Diego right now and yet, here he is, in front of you, a big smile on his face and his left arm still in the sling and his wounds on his face starting to fade.

“Jake? What are you doing here? You still need to rest!”

“I know, I wanted to see you though and I couldn’t wait so I took the night train at the last minute. Can I come in?” Jake asks and you let him in, still surprised.

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have come during the weekend.”

“I wanted to surprise you. You’re okay ? You look under the weather.” he observes, stroking your cheek.

“I should ask you this, you’re the one who almost died not even a week ago.” you answer, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m better, Y/N. Even Bradley told you so. The recovery is gonna be long but I’ll be okay.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I love when you go all mother hen. It’s cute.” he says, kissing your cheek and you let go of a laugh.

“You’re an idiot. Let’s go to the living room.” you invite him, starting to walk. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No. I just want to talk to you.” Jake informs you.

“About what?”

You frown when he prevents you from sitting on your couch. He slowly strokes your hand before taking a deep breath.

“Look, you know I always try to enjoy the present and with this accident, it really made me realise how precious what we currently have is. I don’t want to waste any seconds, I want to enjoy every moment with you. There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a moment now but I would keep telling myself it might be too early so I always pushed it back then I talked about it with my mom and she convinced me to jump in with both feet.”

“Jake, what do you mean?” you question, stress twisting your stomach.

“Y/N,” Jake resumes, looking deeply in your eyes, “since the second I saw you, I knew you were the woman made for me. I knew you were worth the fight, even if, at first, you wouldn’t pay attention to me. You’re the most intelligent, funny, compassionate and beautiful woman I know. We will have our own house soon and I can’t wait to reach this milestone with you but I’d love for us to reach another one.” he confesses, putting one knee down and your eyes are wide open.

“Jake.”

“Y/N, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

“Wh-what ?” you stutter and Jake nervously laughs.

“Will you marry me?”

“Are you serious?” you question, dropping his hand.

“Huh, yes, I even have the ring.” he specifies, taking out the ring from his pocket, “Though I gotta admit, I think of saying it’s just a joke right now, you’re making me nervous.”

“I’m just surprised. I don’t know what to say.” you defend yourself.

Your eyes are set on Jake’s ring. You’ve seen it before. He’d shown it to you the day you first met his parents a year ago. It’s his great-grand-mother’s ring. It’s simple but you find it beautiful.

“It’s easy, say yes or no.” Jake replies with an anxious smile.

“Jake, we’ve only been together for two years.” you argue and Jake stands up.

“We don’t have to get married next year. We can be engaged for several years. We can wait before calling each other husband and wife, but I have to admit I’d love to, at least, call you my fiancée.”

“Jake, I can’t.” you end up saying.

“What, do you have a first husband in your attic or something?” Jake laughs and you see the panic in his eyes.

“No, I can’t marry you.”

Your sentence sounds like a fatal blow in Jake’s ears. He stays silent, staring at you without understanding what’s going on. He gets a grip on himself when his phone rings in his pocket. Jake knows it’s his mom. She knew he was going to propose today and she is impatient to call you her daughter-in-law. However, it looks like it won’t be the case. Jake opens his mouth several times before managing to utter something:

“What? Why?”

“I… I can’t.”

“But I love you, we love each other. You love me, right?” he asks, doubtful.

“Of course I love you, Jake, more than I ever loved before.” you promise him, making him frown.

“What’s the problem then?”

“I don’t want to marry you.”

If your first refusal already seemed awful to him, the sentence you just said is the final blow. The fact that you don’t want to marry him breaks his heart. He’s lost. It was supposed to be a joyful moment and yet, the ground is falling apart under him.

“What? Did something happen? Did I do something? I… I thought everything was fine between us.”

“It is.”

“Y/N, you have to stop being vague, I don’t understand anything.” he retorts with a strong tone. “What’s going on?”

“You should leave.”

“No, We have to talk about it. You can’t tell me you love me then tell me you don’t want to marry me. Talk to me, Y/N, you have to talk to me. Give me a reason, at least.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” you answer, avoiding his eyes.

“If you explained to me, maybe I’d understand. Are… Are you breaking up with me? Is that why you haven’t been calling me lately?” he questions, desperately searching for an explanation for your behaviour.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot and I think it’s best if we stop right now. I’m sorry, Jake, but I can’t keep being with you. You’ll find someone with whom you’ll share your life with and who will want to marry you.”

“I want it to be you.” he says with a weak tone, tearing up.

“Jake, please.”

“Very well then.” Jake accepts, hurt in his eyes.

Jake turns around and at the rhythm of his steps, your heart breaks whilst you’re looking at him walking to the door. You begged him to leave and yet, you only want to scream at him to come back to you and to hold you in his arms while you apologise. Yet, you stay silent. Jake doesn’t look back when he closes the door.

Once you’re alone, you fall down on your couch. In your head, you convince yourself it’s the best decision. After all, you should feel relieved, now, you don’t have to worry about losing Jake because of his job anymore. Nevertheless, your mind is not calm. You don’t know which way to turn but for different reasons. You wish it was different, it was easier, he had another job, you weren’t afraid. You spend the night crying while removing every trace of Jake in your apartment and unpack some boxes. You have to move on right now before you lose yourself a bit more.

You haven’t talked to Jake for three weeks. He tried to contact you but you ignored every one of his calls. He first wanted to fix your relationship before understanding it was too late, though he wants explanations, explanations you keep for yourself. You don’t want to tell him, you know it’s ridiculous. Why end a relationship given a potential “what if” when everything is fine? However, you also know if you had moved ahead with Jake, you would have ended up sabotaging your relationship. Technically, it’s what you did though at least, you didn’t have to call lawyers to leave his life.

Bradley tried to call you, too, and just like for Jake, you ignored him. Jake probably told him about your break up and Bradley, always being the honourable man, wants to fix the situation. Except the situation can’t be fixed. You don’t want to fix the situation.

When you come back from work that day, you’re surprised to discover your brother at your doorstep. Without thinking, you run in his arms. Sure, you’ve been ignoring him lately but you missed him. The last time you saw each other, you were too focused on Jake to pay attention to him. He holds you in his arms and strokes your back. As soon as you break your embrace, you let Bradley in. You go to your kitchen while talking about banality. Whilst walking, Bradley pays attention to your apartment and notices there isn’t a picture of Jake anymore. Once you’re sitting at the table, you stay silent, waiting for who will be the first to talk about the subject.

“We should talk about the elephant in the room, don’t you think?” Bradley says after a few minutes.

“There’s nothing to say.” you retort, tensed.

“Y/N, you threw away a two years relationship for no reason.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Which are? Jake is probably curious to know them.”

“If you came here to make things better, you’re wasting your time, Brad’.”

“You can’t act like that and expect to not justify yourself. You were happy with Jake, you love him and you broke up without giving a warning. I have to admit when he told me you refused his proposal, I was shocked. I thought you were gonna say yes without hesitating.”

“You knew?”

“He asked me before coming here. I confess, I laugh at him, I didn’t expect him to ask for your hand or give me a heads-up, like he said.” Bradley informs with a smile, thinking back to the memory. “Everything was good between you two, wasn’t it? So why?”

“It’s better like this. He’ll have a wife who knows how to stay and I won’t suffer.”

“Wait, is all of this because of the parents and Lucy?” he questions, understanding the reason. “You’re still with this stupid no-dating-army-guy rule? I thought we were over with it! Y/N, you can’t ruin your life just because you’re scared.”

“I don’t want to end up like mom! You can’t blame me! We were kids but you can’t deny there was a before and an after with mom. She wasn’t laughing like she used to, she wasn’t smiling like she used to. She was the shadow of her former self. I don’t want to go through this if Jake were to die.” you confess.

“It’s because of his accident, isn’t it?”

“It reminded me he could die at any given moment with his work.”

“Just like he could die off-duty. He can have an accident, have a heart attack, choke while eating. You don’t know what will happen in the future. You can’t condemn yourself ‘cause you’re too afraid he might die while flying. It’s ridiculous.” Bradley affirms, resolutely.

“I’m already afraid of losing you and Mav’ and I already lost Lucy and we lost dad, I don’t want Jake to join this list. Can’t you really blame me? I’d rather protect myself by not being afraid everytime my boyfriend goes to work.”

“Let’s imagine the worst were to happen, don’t you think it’d be better to think you spent every second with him? You’d rather live with regrets? You’d rather break your own heart?”

“At least, I know why I’m hurting.”

“Y/N, you have to think about it again.” he sighs. “You have to get out of your head that the worst will happen. You can’t prevent yourself from being happy because of what could happen. You deserve a beautiful life and to be with Jake. I never saw you this happy before and it kills me to see you throw it away because you’re scaring yourself.”

“The problem is I can’t help it,” you start with trembling lips. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it when we first got together then it got better. However, since his accident, it’s been worse. Since your call, I keep imagining what could have happened and what could happen and I’m tired of it, Bradley. I’ll never get rid of it and I hate it but that’s how it is. Believe me, if I could change, I’d do it right now, but I can’t.”

Bradley hugs you as soon as he sees you crying. He holds you against him until your tears stop a few hours later. His heart aches seeing you hurting this much. He knows you’ve always been more affected by your father’s death. Being the youngest, the emptiness you feel about your dad has always been stronger. It got worse with Lucy’s death. That day, Bradley really saw you get broken. He hated every second of this moment of your life. He hates seeing suffering like you currently are. Several times, Bradley tried to help you, he advised you to go see a professional but you’ve always refused. Until now, he had hoped your fears would ease with time, yet, your relationship with Jake just proved him it got worse and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s completely distraught whilst he keeps holding you against him, hoping to give you some kind of comfort.

Two months have passed since your break up. You take it day by day to heal your broken heart. Bradley tries to stay with you as much as he can while Jake isn’t surrounded by anyone. He prefers to wear a mask and pretend your negative answer isn’t hurting him. Nevertheless, the second he’s home alone, his mask falls and he allows himself to feel all his pain. Jake, who has always done it, manages to fool everyone with his fake cocky smile. Almost everyone. Coyote sees right through him.

That night is no exception. Sitting at the counter in the Hard Deck, Jake is drinking his third alcoholic drink. Jake has isolated himself from the rest of the Dagger Squad, saying he’s tired and wanted to be alone. Though, Javy doesn’t let him be in the doldrums. He sits on the stool next to Jake and orders a beer from Penny. Coyote gives him some minutes of peace before speaking.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Coyote doesn’t even need to specify for Jake to understand. Your relationship has been a taboo subject for two months.

“Not really.” Jake says, taking a sip.

“You should.” he replies while Penny hands him his beer. “Do you at least know why she made this decision?”

Jake didn’t tell anyone the reason for your fallout. He feels humiliated enough by your harsh refusal to his proposal, he wants to bury the end of your relationship and never talk about it again. Though Javy is right, Jake knows he has to open up.

“Rooster talked to her. Turns out she doesn’t want to marry me because she’s scared I might die on-duty.”

“Did your accident scare her that much?” Javy questions, taken aback.

“It was the final straw but she’s always been scared apparently. I mean, I suspected it, you know, seeing what we do for a living, it makes sense. She also lost her dad and her best friend in similar circumstances. The problem is I didn’t know those deaths affected her that much. Anyway, there is nothing else to say.”

Coyote doesn't say anything for a moment, taking in the information and the way might have felt when he learned them.

“Well, she would have made such a lovely bride. What a shame she’s fucked in the head.” he says, ignoring what else to say.

“She suffered and she doesn’t want to go through this pain again, we can’t blame her. I’m not saying she should stay lost in her fear, it’s not healthy though, I get why she does.” Jake states before taking a deep breath and finishing his drink in one go. “I just wish she would trust our love more than her fears.”

Once he comes home, Jake sits down on his couch, sighing loudly. He runs a hand on his face, emotionally drained. As soon as his hand lands on his thigh, his eyes find a picture hung beside his TV that he didn’t have the strength to remove. It’s a photo he took at the beginning of your relationship, more precisely the day you told each other ‘I love you’ for the first time.

You had spent the day at the beach during summer. The sun was setting down whilst you were laughing at a stupid sentence Jake had said. He had stopped laughing before you, admiring you while you tried to calm your laughter. Then, Jake had looked deeply in your eyes and he had said those three words so simple and yet, so powerful. You had replied the following second with a big smile on your face. Before leaving the beach, Jake had asked to immortalise this moment. Thinking back on it, it was cliché and cheesy but Jake didn’t care. For you, he would have done the most cliché gestures if it could make you break a smile.

Jake keeps staring at the picture, your relationship running in his head. Without noticing it, he tears up before the tears stream down his face. It’s the third time he cries since your break up. The first time, it was the night of the proposal after he went home and the second time, when Bradley explained to him the reason behind your ‘no’.

Jake has never been good with his emotions. Between his education and his work in the army, he’s never learned to put words on his pain and to accept being vulnerable. With you, he had succeeded to understand himself better and to open up. It was still complicated despite two years together but he had improved. Now, he is back to square one. He’s back to his shell, running away from his emotions. Though, it doesn’t mean his mind isn’t haunted by 'what if's. What if he never had this accident? What if he had seen right through your fears sooner? What if he had managed to reassure you? What if he had managed to convince you to get the help you need? What if everything was different?

As for you, the questions are similar. Every night, you torture your own mind before crying yourself to sleep whilst looking at the spot where there once was the picture of your first ‘I love you’ before you ripped it off from your bedroom wall just like you ripped off both of your hearts from your chest.

Top Gun Maverick Masterlist

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pixie-in-a-moonlantern · 3 months

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F/M Durgetash one-shot I birthed within a single day. Dead Dove: I don't like Gortash (hence the title), but I do find him mysteriously, annoyingly attractive. Couldn't get him out of my head - so I tried, the best way I knew how - by writing a fic xD. I hope you like it, but it's not essential to my wellbeing, I just really needed to get this off my chest. But it's been fun, so hopefully you'll have fun too.

Explicit 18+, F/M, Enver Gortash / The Dark Urge (old name Talas, new name Nara, some half-elf or other, unimportant), rough sex, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, some emotional trauma, light stabbing/cutting with a dagger, a bit of aftercare in the form of bathing together.

Yes, Gortash bathes in this story. TWICE. He really needs it :P.

I Don't Like You

01 - Brain worms having a field day.

The night is slowly creeping in, but I’m in no state of mind to sleep. I pace and I rake my hair and I groan. My friends are watching me with concern in their eyes. I can’t blame them—I must look like a lunatic, more so than usually.

I feel like I’m going insane and for a whole new set of reasons than before.

What were we?

Gortash got into my head and now he’s refusing to leave. Was he just trying to mess with me? Did he notice the unmasked disdain in my face and decide to make my skin crawl in revenge? He must know I only have red fog in my brain where my past should be. And he looks just like the kind of man who would lie about it to make me nauseated. No way I’ve ever let those grubby hands touch me.

Yet…

I can hardly admit it to myself, but nausea is not the full extent of my reaction. I feel as if my own body knows this man. My memory is still a blank page, but something in me recognizes him. Something primal. Something hungry.

The urges I’ve been having since meeting Gortash have very little to do with Bhaal.

“Honeymuffin, are you still not ready for bed?”

I hear Halsin’s soothing voice and immediately feel myself relaxing. I turn to him, grateful for the distraction. He’s only dressed in his underpants and the sight of his bushy chest hits a dirty note.

I ignore his question and just press into him, kissing his gentle lips with ferociousness he hasn’t experienced from me yet. He’s responsive and gives in for a few seconds, but then chuckles into my mouth and drags me off of him by the shoulders to inspect me.

“What has gotten into you, my love?”

I groan, freeing myself from his grip. I always appreciate how sensitive he is to my moods and thoughts, but right now, I would die of embarrassment if someone actually found out what’s running through my head.

“I’m just irritated,” I lie through my teeth. “Gortash is one annoying son of a bitch. I hate that we have to pretend to work with him. ‘Notice the way he just kept us there under the threat of violence, to witness his sham of an inauguration? After everything he said about wanting to be partners? Ugh, I could just…” My fists close of their own accord, crushing the imaginary windpipe.

Halsin chuckles again and runs a calloused palm softly along my jaw in a comforting gesture.

“I know, Nara, I know,” he grumbles low, pulling me into a hug. “He irked me, as well. He isn’t worth the stress, though. Let’s sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I can’t sleep. Once Halsin goes into his trance, it’s like he’s not here to hold me together anymore. I toss and turn. I grit my teeth. I grunt and pull on my hair. I try to silence my thoughts with a pillow over my head. It’s no use. I know what I have to do to get some peace of mind.

I get up as quietly as I possibly can. I don’t bother changing—I don’t plan to impress anyone. I just take a small dagger and throw a cloak over my shoulders, so I can hide in the shadows more easily, and sneak out of the inn.

I’m going to make him tell me the truth.

02 - Urge! But not to kill.

Getting into the Wyrmrock is laughably easy. I know the guards would just let me pass, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I would embarrass myself like that. Little ol’ me going to see “Lord” Gortash in my casual clothes in the middle of the night—what a delicious story for the Baldur’s Mouth it would make. So I utilize every last muscle memory from the past I don’t remember, slipping in completely undetected.

He’s in the throne room, but not sitting on the damned thing. The main section is drowning in darkness, but I see a sliver of light coming from behind the door to one of the adjacent rooms. A study, maybe?

I almost trigger one of the traps as I’m sneaking towards him. There are Steel Watch still stationed around the room, but they appear less than attentive this time. Do they have some sort of down time? Or did Gortash put them in do-not-disturb mode?

I’m trying to not get myself executed, so I push down the instinct to grip the dagger I’m hiding under the cloak. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made such theatrics to gain my cooperation this morning. The question of whether I wanted him dead remains to be answered.

I take a quiet peek into the warmly lit room and suppress a whistle. It’s a study alright, but one Gortash seems to be using as an apartment—a wide, comfortable, richly adorned bed stands next to his desk, draped in red silk. He’s not in it, though—he sits by the desk, bent over a document, clad only in what looks like a bathrobe.

I try to filter myself through the crack in the door, but the stupid hinges creak so loud I gasp and just inelegantly stumble inside.

Gortash jumps off his chair and twirls around, body taut, eyes alert, a quill in his left hand held like a weapon, the other hand ready to shove the metal claws of his fancy gold netherstone-adorned gauntlet into someone’s eye. I grit my teeth and consider pulling out the dagger—but the second his gaze lands on me, he straightens and lets out a half relieved, half amused chortle.

“Sneaking up on me again?” He shakes his shaggy head. “Are Bhaalists simply unable to set up a meeting, like the rest of us?”

I open my mouth, a scathing comeback ready, but as soon as I let the air in the room in, I’m stunned. There’s a distinct fragrance of soap and perfume, a freshness that only comes from thoroughly scrubbing yourself clean, and, among them, the unmistakable scent of him. The musk that speaks directly to the undamaged parts of my brain.

I can’t believe how clean Gortash looks now. He evidently didn’t plan on any public appearances this late at night, so even his hair is not styled into spikes anymore and it’s just messily sticking out in natural directions, still a little damp from the bath. Funny—he didn’t think to wash before his big inauguration, but he washed now, when no one important is scheduled to see him?

He takes my silence as an opportunity to speak more, instead of waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, gaze slowly gliding down my body, and smirks.

“Shouldn’t you be curled on your bed next to the enormous druid, sleeping soundly? Wouldn’t he be oh so hurt if he knew you were seeking another man’s company?”

“What the fuck would you know?” I snap, his tone setting off a charge of anger inside me. “You don’t know him. Hells, you don’t know me! You don’t get to make snarky remarks about my enormous druid.”

Gortash cackles quietly and puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Of course I don’t.” His smirk deepens, his eyes studying my face. “But trust me, kitten. No one…” he takes a seductive little step towards me, “knows you like I do.”

“I doubt that,” I rasp barely audibly, a lump forming in my throat. My guts clench, breath shortening in panic. It’s all just an elaborate joke, I’m sure… but it feels so familiar.

“You really don’t remember,” he quips softly, as if to himself, and I can hear a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“What were we, Gortash?” I whisper, voice quivering on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

He stares at me, chewing his cheek, and his answer is a single word: “Enver.”

“What?” I scowl, anger rising again.

“My name,” he reminds me quietly. “You used to call me Enver, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me pet names, Gortash,” I force through my teeth. “Whatever you dreamed was between us, it’s most definitely not there anymore.”

“Alright.” He presses his lips together in annoyance, but steps closer, eyes radiating something close to malice. I gulp, my hand curling into a fist, pressing to the hilt at my hip. “I won’t call you kitten, or love, or sweetheart. Those were all just words I used to tease you with.” Drawling, stretching his words, he hovers above me. “But I have earned the right to call you Talas.”

That makes me pause and I just blink at him blankly for a second. “Who’s that?”

Genuine shock colors his face. He takes a step back, mouth agape. “That you don’t remember my name, I would understand. But how do you not remember your own?”

“Because someone caved my head in, trying to kill me!” I scream, suddenly overflowing with something I haven’t felt for a while: self-pity. I feel tears prickle in my eyes and that just makes me want to yell louder. “Because someone took everything from me. And where the fuck were you when I was bleeding out into the dirt?! If you were such a shitty partner, why in the Hells did I even bother with you?”

Gortash’s features softened, pain and regret gleaming in his eyes.

“I wasn’t your keeper, Talas,” he countered. “You were always an independent force, often off on business I had no say in. But when you didn’t come back one day, I searched for you.” His eyebrows join in a pleading line. “I searched for you with every bit of resources I could spare. Then Orin muscled in on our plot and made me stop under the threat of unraveling the whole thing. I accepted you as a loss… but I mourned for a long time.”

His words eat their way into my chest like acid. I don’t want to believe a single one, but something in me knows it’s the truth.

“Don’t tell me you loved me,” I hiss. “You don’t strike me as a man who allows himself such weaknesses.”

He smirks and I bristle. I knew it. Liar!

“Love is for children,” he chuckles. “We had something much more precious. We made a great team. Your monstrosity and mine were in perfect harmony. No one understood me like you did. No one encouraged my every exploit like you did. You were such a horrible influence on me,” he purrs, his eyes half closed. “Delicious. Deplorable. Delightful.”

I gulp and shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and I can’t decide how I feel about it. I want to be disgusted, but that knot low in my belly has a different agenda. Without remembering a single minute of knowing him, my body knows it used to crave this man’s attention.

He extends his unclawed hand to me and grazes my skin. It burns and it tickles and it sends powerful signals all over my nervous system. But this is not what I want. It can’t be.

Quick as lightning, I pull my dagger out and press it to his neck in warning.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I filter through my teeth.

He catches my wrist quicker than I would’ve given him credit for. Instead of pulling it away, though, he presses the blade closer, almost cutting into himself. I gasp in shock, struggling against his strength. His dead eyes flicker to life, ablaze with desire.

“There she is,” he whispers almost breathlessly, biting his lip. “You seem so different… but I knew my pet monster was somewhere in there.”

“I’m nothing of yours,” I force through my dried throat, my voice failing me.

Suddenly, he moves my hand away from his neck, only to press my white-knuckled fist to his lips in a kiss. My whole body responds, buzzing in approval. “You don’t mean that,” he teases, his hot breath tickling the spot he kissed.

“Don’t do that,” I breathe out, a lump forming in my throat, making my voice sound funny.

He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks it with a quick flick before his teeth start to nibble on the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of ecstasy down my arm.

“Stop it,” I beg, the command I meant to utter melting into a pathetic mewl.

I twist and try to get away for a second or two, but he keeps moving lower and lower, licking, sucking, biting, and every last defense I had crumbles into ashes. It doesn’t matter that I’m someone else now. It doesn’t matter that I would never consciously and honestly team up with him again. It doesn’t matter what I think of him or what I believe he deserves.

I never had a chance. My body knows him, my body craves him. He’s like a drug addiction I never quite shook, and at the slightest sweet taste I relapse right back into him.

03 - A master. A slave.

He pulls me in, mouth still hungrily devouring my arm inch by inch, while his free hand frantically unties my cloak, revealing my simple shirt and long skirt underneath.

“You used to wear fancier things.” He side-eyes my clothing, not letting it distract him from my skin too much. “And would get mad when I tore them to shreds. This is perfect.”

My sluggish thoughts haven’t even begun to analyze the meaning in his words when he presses me flush to his chest, moving from nibbling on my shoulder to assaulting my mouth. I gasp for the breath he keeps stealing with every touch, but let him surround me and trap me with his body. I feel his desperate need mirroring my own. His taste is surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of hot spice.

“No,” I manage to mumble through our locked lips, grasping at the last straws of control. My hand is finally free—I try stabbing him in the crook of his neck. He yelps and groans, but my muscles are so useless I’ve barely scratched him. A thin streak of blood trickles out of the cut, marring the delicate fabric of his robe.

“You thought that would stop me?” he purrs, pulling the robe off his body. “Your knives left more than one scar on me. It was our thing.”

I stare at his muscly, hairy chest, mute. I see scars on his torso, criss-crossing his skin like a crude carving. That couldn’t be my doing… But the metallic scent of his blood sends a new sort of excitement through me. I know it’s my Urge, I know it’s not really me, but my will is weakened. My hand raises and cuts him again—just a little, but enough to satisfy the craving.

“Your body remembers,” he whispers into my ear, standing my hair on their ends.

His gloved hand caresses my arm and shoulder and closes around my throat. I gasp in panic, or I think I do, but heat pools in my lower regions in response. He presses a touch harder; his gold ornaments are digging into my skin, claws pinching my nape and my head is starting to swim with lack of oxygen. My fingers wrap around his wrist, but for some reason I don’t pull him away.

“Every time you hurt me, I will hurt you back,” he promises in a sweet, sin-filled voice. “Call it our love language.”

He lets go of my neck, hands roughly gripping my waist instead. He twirls us around and sits me on top of his desk. I fumble to find balance and end up sending his documents, ink and quills all over the floor. Instead of complaining, he eagerly swipes the rest of the items off the surface and pushes me down on my back.

The panic it triggers gives me back a chunk of my reason. Instead of letting him, I fight back, clawing at his bare chest with my nails and my dagger, leaving bloody gashes over his skin.

His head lulls back for a moment, which makes me realize I’m not helping at all. He’s enjoying the pain I give him. He takes fistfuls of my shirt and bends down to bite my shoulder—hard. I yelp, reaching into his hair to pull him away, but he’s already ripping clothes off of my torso, baring my skin, spilling my breasts.

“You are even more magnificent than I remember,” he rasps, grazing my curves with his gaze alone. The reverent look on his face sets my loins on fire.

I’m beginning to understand how I could’ve let him so close to me. A young, confused little thing, raised in worship of the Lord of Murder, would have no idea what love looks like. I’m still learning and stumbling, despite Halsin’s best efforts. A man who could make her feel so beautiful, so wanted among all the blood and death… such a man would have had the key to her rotten little heart.

I’m not that girl anymore. But I know that feeling. Its draw is familiar and powerful. My hands let go of his hair and fall next to my head, letting him run his rough palms across my chest and knead the pliant shape of my breasts.

His teeth close around one of my nipples and press just hard enough to shoot a barbed string of ecstasy directly to my sex. I muffle the moan with my hands. I can’t just let him win like that. I’m not doing this because I’m easy. I’m doing it so I don’t go insane.

“I missed this,” Gortash drawls, his lips and tongue making slow circles on my chest. “I missed you.” He bites into my flesh, gently, teasingly, while his hand slowly moves towards my sex. “In all your glory, Talas.”

“Stop calling me that,” I protest weakly, but he just chuckles and continues lower, and lower.

“You may not remember me,” he breathes on my folds, shamefully wet and wanton, “but I remember everything about you.”

And he dives between my thighs like a man who’s been starving and now can finally eat.

I gasp loudly, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold onto—his hair. My legs twitch and wrap around him. I’m half worried I’m killing him, but he gives no indication of discomfort. His mouth is making the most intimidatingly dirty noises I’ve ever heard and I’m melting on his face.

All it takes him is a few minutes, stretched impossibly long in my damaged mind. I swallow the urge to scream and just grunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He looks up from my lap, slick and gasping for breath, and smirks smugly. He knows I enjoyed it, no use hiding it.

He picks his robe off the floor and wipes his face, still watching me. My brain is too hazy to worry about the way I’m splayed on his desk, eaten out, undone. He props himself above me and studies my face.

“This is your most beautiful look,” he sighs, taking in the flush of my cheeks, the sweat glistening on my brow and the mess I made of my hair. “Precious little Bhaal-babe.”

I’m still coming down from the high when I feel him slip inside me. I distantly realize I should’ve gathered enough wit to stop him, but it’s too late. I squeeze around him in welcome and let out a long and thoroughly embarrassing moan. He matches me, closing his eyes.

“You still fit me like a glove.”

He’s so right. I live for the delicious stretch of Halsin’s gentle, loving thrusts—it’s the only sex I remember having, but I would kill for more—but this… Gortash feels like he was tailored specifically for me. My body knows his shape, just as it knows his touch. It’s like coming home after a long time and finding your old room exactly as you left it.

“Oh gods, I really do,” I groan as he lazily moves inside, savoring each stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and just enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to ignore his intimate gaze for the sake of my sanity. If he’s trying to make me fall for him again, he’s as out of his mind as I am.

Clearly getting bored of the slow pace, he pulls me up and plops me back down on my belly. I’m too weak and needy to issue a protest, I just whine at the unexpected and unwelcome absence of him. He silences my discontent with a firm thrust that makes me gasp and clutch the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white again.

“I know you love this one,” he purrs and presses my legs together with his own. “Sometimes you like to be in control. Other times you like to be controlled. You were the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”

I let out a growl at him mentioning his other partners while balls-deep in me. Perhaps he didn’t really want me back. Maybe he just missed the “fun”.

“You’re also the only one who made me consider settling down, Talas,” he continues as if he understood very well why his words upset me. “I wanted to breed you and watch you teach the little runt how to gut people.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I sputter, miraculously finding enough ire to at least issue a warning, while still being happily pinned under him.

He chuckles. “Your response is still the same. Last time it was Daddy dearest… but you changed your mind about doing his bidding. Is Halsin aware you’re not going to give him a litter of cubs one day as he might hope?”

I don’t know how he even learned all these things about me, but I don’t care much. I grab the dagger left forgotten on the desk next to me and jam the blade into his thigh. Not deep enough to cripple, but definitely causing a lot of pain.

Gortash lets out a strangled scream, which mixes with a moan of pleasure not two seconds later. Fuck. I didn’t mean for him to like it.

What he does next pushes all irrelevant thoughts out of my head: he grabs my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back, making my little cry sound ever more pathetic. His free hand digs fingers into my hip, holding me steady as he begins pounding into me with force.

I just open my mouth mutely, gasping for air, my eyes filling with tears. My brain turns into mush under the intensity of sensations he’s sending through my tortured body. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t think. I hear a high-pitched whine through the mist around me… and I realize it’s mine. I’m screaming, lost in the sweet place between pain and complete ecstasy.

I spasm around his length so hard I can hear him gasp as well. My whole body shakes and curls into itself, a shaking, sweaty, moaning mess writhing on the cool polished wood of the desk. I can feel him swell within me, hot and ready, and I know he’s coming too—still inside me.

But I don’t care. I want it. Whatever he might hope to gain from it, I know I’m safe.

Instead of going slack like a good boy, he pulls out and flips me on my back again. He holds my legs spread, admiring what he did to me. I feel his seed leak out of me and drip to the floor. He smiles contently, dragging a fingertip across my clit, drawing out every last twitch my muscles are willing to give.

“This could be us every day,” he says softly. “Think about it.”

I don’t have an answer he would like, but he doesn’t wait for one. He picks me up in the most unexpectedly gentle way and carries me to the other side of the room. I thought he was putting me on the bed, either to sleep, cuddle or continue blissfully torturing me, but my breath hitches in surprise when he suddenly dips me into warm water. I slip into a roomy bathtub, blinking in confusion.

My brain needs a minute to restart, so I just watch him get inside with me, sitting me in his lap, cradling me. I don’t have the strength to protest. I just watch the little pinkish streaks, as water begins to wash out his wounds.

04 - This is why we can’t have nice things.

“How did you have this ready? Do you have invisible servants or something?”

Gortash chuckles and I vibrate along on his chest, making frantic little waves on the surface.

“The miracle of technology, Talas. My desk has a few convenient buttons and this tub fills and warms up automatically. I pressed one before we began.”

Well, that is convenient. I’m not sure if I want to be in this bath with him now, but it sure feels good on my exhausted muscles and aching sex. His arms around me feel nice, too, as much as I hate admitting it. I can hate a person and still enjoy their closeness, right? Right?

His hands caress me under the water and I let them.

“Good to know you bathe with your gauntlets on,” I quip, noticing the distinctive feel of metal against my skin.

He pulls his right hand up and turns it from one side to the other, letting the gold reflect the glimmer of flames in the nearby fireplace. The netherstone pulses with its own light, alive and tempting as the power it holds.

“While I’m more than happy to entertain you, I’m not letting my most prized possession just lie around for you to steal,” he smirks and I turn my head to have a better look at him, honestly impressed. “You changed. Your goals inevitably changed, too. I don’t trust you anymore, Talas.” He runs a soft finger along my jaw, dropping to the line of my neck and to my clavicle. I shiver, even submerged in warmth, too tired to correct the name this time. “If you want it for yourself, you’re going to have to kill me.”

I give him an evaluating once-over; then my eyes move to the dagger I left on the desk. His gaze follows mine and his smirk stretches more.

“Just keep in mind that those Steel Watchers outside will only take about ten seconds to join us. And even you, my dear, don’t have the skill to defeat them all naked and unarmed to get out of here alive.” His fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I would hate it if something happened to you before I had the chance to win you over.”

“You’re so full of shit, Gortash,” I sigh, laying my head in the crook of his neck. I feel too lazy to murder anyone right now, anyway. “You sent me to hunt Orin down and told me to not come back without her stone. You expect me to believe you actually give a fuck about me and care what I think about you? I’m here against your explicit orders, your lordship.”

“You came to see me surrounded by your new friends,” he grumbles and I finally hear discontent in his voice. “In the company of your new lover. What did you think I would do, fall on my knees in front of all my esteemed guests and your openly hostile troupe and beg you to come back to me?”

“Hmm, so your excuse is your pride?” I sneer. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, no matter how trustworthy you somehow manage to sound. I only agreed to your deal because you didn’t give me any better choice. Karlach was furious. She wants you dead oh so very much. She gets really graphic, describing how she wants to kill you. You’re lucky I didn’t bring her along.”

Gortash groans and pinches the root of his nose.

“The company you keep nowadays,” he chides. “No wonder you changed so much. Every one of those bloody soft-hearted idiots putting their own opinions in your emptied mind.”

“When that’s what you wanted to do.” I nod in mock commiseration.

“I want us to be partners,” he scowls, tone wounded. “Equals. Sharing the power over the whole world. The Lord is only a part for me to play in public, while you reign over your own murderous kingdom from the shadows, unobstructed by law, unhindered by so-called heroes trying to stop you. We can have everything we’ve ever wanted. Together.”

I can’t believe how tempting he sounds right now. I close my eyes, letting my Urge surface just enough to enjoy the pure simplicity of the world he describes. I could let go. I could stop fighting for every sliver of free will. I could bathe in blood and have people worship my god through me. The Urge would be sated—I could feel the sweet rush of ecstasy from killing without worrying I might hurt someone close to me.

I would be lying if I said this vision of the future never crossed my mind. It’s an everyday struggle, trying to stay good, trying to do only good. A struggle I’m inevitably going to lose if my Urge grows in intensity for much longer. Killing Halsin. Or Lae’zel. Or Gale. The death of anyone in my camp—by my hand—would break me.

I care too much. Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like if I didn’t care at all.

“You would never tolerate any of my friends by my side, Gortash,” I say flatly. “If you really do want me, you want me all to yourself. Isolated, depending only on you. Malleable. So that if—gods forbid—I disagree with you, you could push all the right buttons and get me to change my mind, with no one to challenge your influence over me.”

I don’t know how, but I know it’s true. It’s what all people drunk on power do. The more powerless they feel without it, the more they enjoy any sliver of it they get and abuse the shit out of it. It’s why Gortash wants control over others in the first place. Inside, there’s a small, scared, unloved little boy, whose parents sold him to a devil.

I blink, my heartbeat spiking, as I realize I’ve just recalled a bit of my past—our past. Something I couldn’t have learned since the nautiloid. Was it Gortash himself, who confided in me, or did I discover this piece of history by myself? It feels like something he would keep very close and tell no one, so it wouldn’t damage the lofty image he’s trying to maintain.

“You’re just being paranoid, kitten,” he brushes me off, but his expression is no longer sporting his typical airy easiness. “When we were together, I was your confidant and your strength against the increasing demands of your Father. But you weren’t some impressionable child. You were determined and unyielding. Sharp as your blades.”

Sharp blades. Bhaal. His demands.

A sinking dread begins to fill my guts and I lift off Gortash’s chest to put some distance between us. My brain is still fuzzy, but bits of memories are beginning to float to the surface of my consciousness.

“Bhaal’s grand design,” I say in a shaking voice, “is for everyone to die for him. I was supposed to kill you, and then myself, as the last mortal alive. Did you know?”

Gortash’s eyes round in horror.

“Of course not! What kind of crazy design is that? How would he get any more murders with no one left to die?”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and carry it out, anyway. Just like mad Orin is probably doing now. What a good little Daddy’s lapdog.

“But that wasn’t what you planned for yourself, was it?” I press, my voice steadying with my increasing certainty. “And so I was suddenly in the way. Just what would it take for you to turn on your closest ally? Is her planning your murder enough?”

“What are you trying to say, Talas?” he hisses, but I can see fear in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, sliding away from him, so I can get out of the bathtub without him catching me. “You tried to kill me! Just so I wouldn’t kill you first.”

I jump to my feet, nearly slipping on the smooth wet surface, but holding my balance well enough to scramble out of the water. He tries grabbing my hand, then my leg, but I slip out of his grasp easily. I throw myself towards the desk and retake possession of my only weapon. By the time he’s out of the tub, I’m already pointing it at his throat.

“Listen to me, Talas—” he puts his hands up in a calming gesture, but I’ve had enough of his smooth words for one night.

“You picked up a fucking rock and you beat me and kicked me and tossed me against stone walls!”

I scream and I’m sure my prevalent feelings are pure rage, but out of nowhere I get ambushed by tears and sobs. My memories are still a mess, but the flashes of my body being beaten to a pulp are vivid and terrifying.

“Talas, please—”

“I bled and begged, and you teased and laughed, as if it was the funniest shit you ever got to do! And now that I’m somehow back, you’re trying to get me to believe your sweet lies, just so I won’t remember what you did to me. But I remember! I REMEMBER!”

I know I sound completely unhinged, but my chest is so filled with a mix of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced, that it threatens to burst.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Gortash’s volume finally matches mine, making me wince and pause just enough for him to get a word in. “I would never hurt you like that! If I really had to kill you, dearest, I would’ve done it quick and clean. Because I love you, you stupid thing!”

His confession feels like a slap to the face. I didn’t see that coming. My first instinct is to pronounce it as another lie, especially in retrospect to the first time he mentioned love tonight, but my mind finally calms enough to actually think.

A man like him wouldn’t say anything like that if he didn’t mean it. It sounded… pathetic. Baring his soul similarly to revealing his most embarrassing childhood memory, knowing his feelings are unrequited. His pride would never allow him to grovel so much. Not anymore, not when he’s got a taste of actually being respected.

“Please, believe me,” he pleads, breath ragged, eyes wide. “I have no reason to hate you. This sounds like someone who had every reason. Who enjoyed your agony and loved seeing you on your knees. I. Would. Never.”

“But you…” I exhale, confused. I’ve almost had it. I’ve almost found the one responsible for my unfortunate fate. “Then who the fuck did this to me?” I whisper and stifle another sob.

“Please put down the dagger, Talas.” Gortash points at the sharp tip still hovering between his clavicles. I reluctantly lower it. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised he let me threaten him for so long without trying to disarm me. It makes me trust him just a smidge more. “And maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Stop calling me that!” I lash out annoyedly. “My name is Nara now. Deal with it.”

“When you stop calling me Gortash,” he smirks in response, his easy charm back.

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Enver,” I say begrudgingly, but the name feels much better on my tongue than I expected. I must’ve been used to calling him that, just as he said.

I turn to the desk, intent on putting the weapon back, but I freeze mid-step. A mix of stimuli, a flicker of light, a rustle of the fur rug on the floor, perhaps even a smell… and the memory of my attempted murder clears a bit more.

I see a shiny red surface with an opalescent finish. Hear a rustle of a long braid and the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone. I hear laughter again, but this time I’m not just imagining Gortash’s… Enver’s, I clearly recall a woman’s voice having the time of her life.

“Orin.”

The name falls flatly from my lips. I feel cold dread seep into my soul at the image of her. I never quite understood why she had this effect on me—until now. Even though my memory was coming up empty, she was triggering a post-traumatic response all the same, just like when my body yielded to Enver.

“Hm?”

I turn back, dagger still in my hand. I don’t plan on letting go of it any time soon. Enver watches me warily, with a hint of curiosity in his face.

“It was Orin.”

He frowns at first. Opens his mouth, presumably to defend her. Then closes it again, his features smoothing out.

“It makes sense. She took your place, both in the cult and in the Absolute plot. She wanted you gone. And she really seems to hate you, though I wouldn’t expect her to need any solid reason to kick someone to death. She would happily do it just for fun.”

I close my eyes for a second, but I only need a few gulps of breath to make up my mind. I pick up my torn and discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, securing them in place as well as possible.

“Where are you going?”

Enver reaches for me and grabs my arm. I toss him a warning glare, but don’t move. He’s still naked and wet from head to toe, he poses virtually no danger to me.

“To hunt,” I answer plainly. “I know a mad bitch that needs killing.”

“Don’t be rash,” he shakes his head, some of the slicked back damp hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t know where she is. Or who she is. She could slaughter your whole camp while you sleep and you’d be left alone to face her. Remember, she is the Slayer now.”

“Well, since we’re counting suspects, she could very well be you,” I give him a wry smile. “But I doubt she would keep going this long, having me all to herself like that, so you’re probably safe.” He doesn’t appreciate my joke, scowling like a jack-o-lantern, concern crumpling his features. “I need to go back to my friends and figure out a way to find her before she does any real damage, Enver. I need to go now.”

He slowly lets go of my arm, letting me finish putting the cloak on.

“No need to sneak through the throne room, by the way,” he notes, watching me hide underneath the wide hood. “The Watch was instructed to let you in. If someone could really just sneak past them like that, I could easily expect Orin in your place. Thankfully, the Watch can spot the difference, with you having a tadpole.”

My eyebrows rise. So that’s why he took that bath? Did he think my unsettled hormones would lead me back to Wyrmrock to see him? I clearly never liked grimy men—and he knows it.

“You were waiting for me?”

“I was hopeful,” he confessed, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t risk just inviting you. But at least I made sure you would get in without complications. You always did like to have all the facts.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I still believe at least half of his words are lies and most of the other half are cleverly picked and arranged bits of truth. But now I’m also pretty sure there’s something genuine in him, too. Hidden very deep, surrounded by enemies—but it’s there.

“Be safe, Talas,” he says quietly. “Nara,” he corrects himself, smiling softly. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“I’ll do my best to not disappoint,” I shrug, sheathing my dagger, stepping away.

“And will you at least consider my proposition?” He calls after me when I’m almost out the door. His voice sounds tentative. “That’s all I ask.”

I let my gaze slide down the length of his naked body, weighing my options. Well, consideration really costs me nothing, does it? It’s very unlikely that I will agree to it. I have much better prospects in my scope now—much healthier ones. But the least I can do for him is give it a thought.

“Sure,” I grace him with a little smile. “I will consider it.”

If you like this story, please show it by giving it some love: give a like, reblog, leave a nice comment.

I would also be very grateful if you take a few seconds out of your day and leave a kudos on the AO3 issue of this story ♥ (You CAN vote as guests.) THANK YOU!

#durgetash #gortash x durge #enver gortash #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #Durge datamining some memories #emotional trauma #good durge #resisting durge #durge x halsin #halsin bg3 #bg3 halsin

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90s-belladonna · 1 year

Note

would it be okay to request Bakugou's reacting to another hero trying to recruit his assistant who he has a crush on? I need a jealous Kacchan

Explosive Disposition: Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader

I apologize in advance if it isn't the best, I still have terrible writer's block but I've got you anon!

word count: 3992

He doesn’t know when it happened but he couldn’t stop thinking about you whenever his mind happened to have a free second away from his hero work. He figured it was just that he found you funny or that he was beginning to appreciate all you did for him. However, deep down he knew that something had shifted as he had always been appreciative of your work since he hated filling out paperwork for the cases he solved, yet you did it for him without a single complaint. No, perhaps it was that he was finally becoming aware of his feelings, feelings that had always been there.

“and then (name) said ‘Dynamight doesn’t answer any stupid questions so before you open your mouths ask yourselves if your question is stupid. If you doubt it even a little do yourself a favor and just keep it moving because it won’t get answered today.’ It was hilarious! The reporters were trembling after that.” Kirishima lets out a chuckle as he recalls the events from that morning’s press conference. Their agency had just solved a huge case involving a criminal organization, and naturally, the media had a lot of questions. However, as Katsuki’s assistant, your main task was to constantly shield him from anything that could set him off to avoid a PR nightmare.

You honestly didn’t mind the responsibilities that came with the job, you appreciated that Bakugo didn’t feel the need to put on a fake persona for the media just to come off as more likable, and you agreed that a lot of the questions they asked heroes were useless and unimportant. You quickly adapted to working with someone like Bakugo as both of your personalities were very similar, the key difference being that you were a very direct person who could communicate your thoughts and feelings easily and professionally.

You were fond of Bakugo. Most of the tasks in your old job consisted of helping sleazy businessmen lie to their wives and cover up secret families and affairs, so working for someone as brutally honest as Bakugo was a breath of fresh air. When you finally had enough and decided you didn’t want to waste your degree working for shitty people with even shittier morals you got the email notification that they were accepting applications for administrative positions at a hero agency that was about to open up, and that’s how you ended up working for Dynamight. You quickly adapted to the explosion hero’s even more explosive attitude, and you’d be lying if you said the way he carries himself didn��t amuse you.

While you could remain cool as a cucumber in stressful situations, Katsuki on the other hand was undoubtedly a hothead. While he likes to think he’s direct and honest with his thoughts, everyone knows that couldn’t be further from the truth. You enjoyed the job though, you got to come off as “Dynamight’s bitchy assistant” which came with a lot of power and respect, and that reputation kept people from approaching Bakugo with any stupid questions or comments knowing they’d have to deal with you and your attitude. You were the number one hero’s shield and everyone who knew Bakugo knew that much was true. Every action you took was meant to advocate for him and keep him in his comfort zone so that any useless interruptions wouldn’t affect his hero work.

“Oi idiot! Enough gossiping with your girlfriend we’re here for my issue!” Bakugo grumbled as he glared at his friend-turned-business partner. “Yeah, Yeah, honestly what can we even do anyway? The dude is untouchable. He’s the commission’s golden boy.” the redhead head argued before taking a bite of his food. “I can tell him off that’s what I can do. Call him out on national television. That’ll show that shitty knockoff.” Bakugo was fuming. He put a lot of work into developing his brand so for some nobody to come and rip it off, that truly pissed him off.

“No. It wouldn’t be a good look for the number one to bash another hero in front of the media like that.” Tsubaki argued, she was the head public relations agent for the agency and had made it a point that both heroes, especially Bakugo, ran everything by her. “WHAT THE HELL THEN? THAT ASSHOLE NEEDS TO BE TAUGHT A LESSON! OR FIVE!” the blonde yelled causing everyone in the restaurant to look his way, only to quickly look away the second he slammed his hands on the table. “Relax. I have a better option for you. We can always have an anonymous digital team spread info online with enough proof to back it up about how he’s trying to copy you. Reputation is everything for a hero and this will ruin his. The bonus side is it won’t get back to you so it’s a win-win situation.” the raven-haired girl suggested with a smirk.

Bakugo couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “That’s a coward’s way of handling shit.” is all the blonde let out. “Well, then we’re back to square one where you can’t do anything about it. He’s a prodigy and has the hero commission’s full backing. I mean come on it’s obvious they’re trying to have the kid kick you out of your number one spot.” Tsubaki argued, however, the blonde could not be reasoned with. “She’s right bakubro. They’re turning that guy into the general public-friendly version of you. I mean he started off as a wannabe hawks like a year ago, and now he’s changing every aspect of himself to mimic you. This needs to be dealt with quickly and efficiently.” The redhead tried to reason. Bakugo knew the two were right, which only served to piss him off more.

“This is bullshit.” was all the explosion hero had to say regarding the situation. He hated feeling helpless. It pissed him off. “Hey I know you and (name) are roommates but please don’t let this get back to her. You know she goes into rage mode whenever someone pisses Bakubro off.” Kirishima pleaded with the tall woman sitting next to him. “Don’t worry. I keep client info confidential. Plus (name) isn’t much of a gossip, she doesn’t take her work home. It’s very much out of sight out of mind with that girl. God I love her, she’s so chill!” Tsubaki couldn’t help but gush about her friend, it wasn’t every day that someone so effortlessly cool befriended someone as wild and hyper as her.

Bakugo couldn’t help but let his mind wander off to you, a small sense of peace passed through him at the thought of you being so protective over him. The truth is he didn’t need anyone to protect him, never had and never would, but he couldn’t lie to himself and say there wasn’t a strange feeling in his body that came with being cared for by someone. Even if it was just your job to do so, it strangely comforted him to know that someone had his back without question or hesitation.

“I don’t know if chill is the word I’d use to describe her, but she’s definitely a joy to have around the office.” Kirishima chuckled as he began to remember all the different times you had gone off on someone for trespassing on Bakugo’s personal space. The blonde can’t help but notice the doe eyes the taller woman gives his friend. “I know I requested the lunch meeting… but why do I feel like I just got tricked into paying for one of your dates.” He asked out loud as he observed the couple scoot closer to one another. “Maybe because you are!” teased the ravenette with a giggle following closely behind. He refused to show it but he was glad his friend had found someone that made him so happy. “Whatever.” he managed to grit out as he rolled his eyes and reached for his drink.

“All jokes aside, we do need to deal with this issue. That dude is just awful.” Kirishima stated, this made the explosive boy’s crimson eyes go wide. “See! Even shitty hair hates him, and he stupidly likes everyone!” Katsuki spoke, a delighted tone in his voice as he felt vindicated in his opinion of the up and coming younger hero. “Well, he certainly makes it hard to be on his side with that fake personality he puts on.” Kirishima explained. “I’ve been saying this shit for the last month, but neither of you idiots ever listen.” the blonde grumbled, only to be shot down by the public relations expert. “yeah well you hate everyone soo…”

A few days had passed since the meeting with Tsubaki and Kirishima, not much had progressed regarding the issue of his copy cat so he still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong. “You need to relax. It’s your day off. What good will you do the public if you’re always on edge?” Katsuki had been invited to, well more like forced, to attend a beach day with Shoto and Sero. “I’M ALWAYS RELAXED FLAT FACE!” the blonde fumed at his raven-haired friend. “sure you are big guy.” Sero quickly dismissed his friend’s uncontrolled temper knowing there was nothing he could do to diffuse him when angry. “Perhaps you should join us for a swim. Water can be very calming, it might help you forget about what’s causing you grievance.” a tired set of blue and grey eyes met his crimson ones, he always hated how the heterochromatic boy could tell when something was upsetting him.

“I’ll forget about it when bitchass Dynamic is buried six feet under.” he managed to grumble, this caused Shoto to hum in understanding. “I can see why his existence would upset you. Dynamic doesn’t come off as sincere, His energy seems brittle, as if he’s wearing a mask that could fall apart and crumble at any second. I would assume that factor paired with his attempt to mimic your personal fashion style as well as his rapid rise in the hero charts would only upset you more.” Sero watched in awe at how effortlessly the fire and ice hero was able to decipher Bakugo’s thoughts. “Tsk. I worry about you half and half. You’re becoming perceptive in your old age.” The blonde’s comment had Shoto perplexed. “So swimming?” Sero asked again in an attempt to move the conversation along, he was well aware that left to their own devices his two socially awkward friends would just sit there staring at each other in silence. “I’m not getting my hair wet.” “Oh right.” were answered simultaneously.

It had been about twenty minutes since the other two boys had gone out to swim. As much as he hated to admit it Sero was right, Katsuki had managed to relax a bit as he sunbathed and read his most recent favorite book. He had caught a lucky break as not many people recognized him when he was out of costume, his wearing sunglasses certainly helped with that too. It was looking like it was about to be a great day off away from work and all the worries that came with being a pro hero. That’s until his nose caught wind of a familiar sugary strawberry scent, he knew that perfume anywhere. Sure enough, within seconds your friend and you had settled in a spot in front and to the left of the spot Shoto had chosen for his group. The placement was perfect so that Katsuki didn’t have to outright turn just to look your way, and you wouldn’t be able to notice he was even there unless you looked back long enough.

“Are you sure you don’t want to swim with me? It’ll be fun!” Asked a girl with pink hair, who Katsuki could only assume was your friend. “You’re lucky I agreed to come at all,” you spoke as you pulled a book and a bottle of sunscreen out of your weekender bag. “I’ll be fine, you enjoy yourself okay.” goosebumps covered Katsuki’s arms, a reaction to how sweet your voice was. He watched as your friend walked towards the water as you laid a towel on your chair and began putting on sunscreen. Being vigilant over you was like second nature to him, he didn’t even have to think about what he was doing, he just knew he had to make sure you were safe. After a few minutes, his brain accepted that no one was going to come to harm you, he could accept that you were at least safe enough to where he could go back to focusing on his book. As the minutes passed Katsuki felt himself relax. He didn’t want to assume anything, but something in the back of his mind was telling him his zen state was due to the proximity to you. He could feel his eyelashes fluttering shut and his vision becoming blurry. After such a stressful day he finally felt relaxed. Something about your presence brought him a comfort he’d never experienced before.

About twenty minutes passed and the blonde hero was suddenly woken up, it was like his mind could sense you were upset. “it’s literally my day off, and I hate when grimy bastards bother me so fuck off.” your tone was not the usual bored tone you used on people you didn’t care for, instead it was a vexing one. This shift in you caused him to look over at who had you so exasperated just for it to be the one asshole who’d had him annoyed all week. “Look all I’m saying is why stay with a barbarian like Dynamight when you could be working for the next number-one hero?” The man said with a dastardly smirk. The blonde had to hold himself back from interrupting the conversation, you weren’t in any immediate danger and he would only prove the copycat right if he were to punch him for offering you a job. “and why the hell would I stop working for the number one hero in the country just to work for a loser like you?” You didn’t expect a response, you were hoping he could read social cues and notice the disgusted look you were giving him. However, you were far too optimistic.

“I’m so glad you asked! First of all, I can double whatever you’re making working for that… guy, and you would get to help build me from the ground up as the greatest hero in the country. Isn’t that far more fulfilling than doing busy work from a terrible boss?” Katsuki hated him. He hated his audacity, he hated his face, he hated the terrible blonde dye job on his hair, he hated his shitty voice, and most of all he hated everything he was offering you. HR will eat me alive if I interrupt him… But I’m dying to punch that bastard. “Terrible boss? Who told you all that? More importantly how the hell did you track me down? We’ve literally never once spoken but let me make one thing clear. I will never and I mean NEVER choose you over Dynamight as a boss. I rather gouge my eyes out than have to listen to your infuriating voice ever again. This is why Bakugo is the number one. He actually cares about his work instead of running around trying to put on a fake image like you do. He’s the number one hero because he deserves it, he put in the hard work to earn that title. Now leave me the hell alone because I have no interest in working for an idiot like you.” To say he was shocked would be an understatement, it was obvious no one had ever spoken to the hero hopeful like that, and to rub salt into the wound everyone around the area was now snickering at the public rejection. Bakugo was also taken aback, he knew you had his back during working hours but to see you respected him enough to also have his back in your free time, that was a different development entirely.

Embarrassment aside, the up-and-coming hero had a mission to complete. He had to take you away from Bakugo. He had to take everything that made him who he is as a hero. So he resorted to the only option he had left. “Well, how about a date then?” Your face instantly gave away your abhorrence for even the suggestion of a date with such a clown. The younger hero’s audacity had Bakugo seeing red, his blood boiling, and every vein in his body popping through. “ew. stay away from me you damn loser.” you nonchalantly let out as you looked down in an attempt to pick up the book you had been reading which you accidentally dropped when the fake blonde approached you. You thought that was the end of it and that he would walk away soon only to be forced to look back up once more when you heard a loud smack. “WHAT PART OF STAYING AWAY FROM HER DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND IDIOT?!!?”

Your (color) eyes instantly met crimson ones. You didn’t even get enough time to process what was happening as you looked down at Bakugo’s hand only to see it grabbing Dynamic’s wrist. The younger hero couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, almost as if he had realized he’d committed a great mistake and was trying to play it cool to avoid further embarrassment. “We were just talking. I wanted her attention is all, we were planning a date before you intruded.” “Ew, as if I would ever date someone with a bad dye job and no skincare routine.” you absentmindedly let out. “You heard her. You weren’t planning shit so fuck off!” the blonde growled as he let the younger man’s wrist go and stood protectively in front of you. Dynamic clicked his tongue and put on yet another irritating smile. “Whatever. We’ll discuss our date later cupcake.” he spoke before dashing away so as to not further piss off Bakugo. “NO. YOU’RE STAYING THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” The blonde yelled after the obnoxious man while you cringed at the fact that someone had dared to call you cupcake of all things.

You instinctively grabbed Katsuki’s wrist when you noticed his quirk beginning to activate. “He’s gone. It’s okay.” was all you needed to say, your soothing voice mellowing his explosive disposition. The blonde let out a huff before visibly relaxing, you took this as your chance to address him. “You sure take your job seriously huh? Coming to my rescue on your day off and all.” You snickered in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You wouldn’t need saving if you weren’t out finding trouble. Damn brat.” was all the blonde could manage to respond, he was well aware that he was being a dick in an attempt to keep you from noticing the blush beginning to dust his cheeks. “Who would’ve thought Dynamight was such a big softie? Protecting his sweet angel of an assistant from an awful man. The public would swoon!” You teased wanting to see just how far you could push your luck with the explosive boy.

“I’m territorial is all.” His voice was gruff, and he had a stern look in his eyes, almost like he was saying exactly what he was thinking for once. “I don’t like idiots imposing on what I consider mine.�� Bakugo’s confession left you perplexed. You didn’t want to assume he meant his words to be interpreted romantically so you opted for attempting to diffuse the situation. “Yeah? I mean I can understand why, what would you do without me? I’m the best, a very efficient assistant if I do say so myself.” You spoke with a giggle, however, your heart betrayed you by acting on its own. The beating was completely out of control, as if it were running a marathon with no end in sight. His crimson eyes searched yours, as if your eyes could tell him what you were thinking or what you were attempting to do. After a few seconds when he felt like he was caught on he finally decided to speak. “Well, you don’t suck.” With that, he decided to walk back to his spot. You watched as he picked up his book and continued to read as if nothing had transpired, as if his words and his gaze hadn’t just set something inside you ablaze.

Two days later you were back at work. Your days off did nothing to help you relax, rather they had your mind in shambles as you thought through every possible scenario that could’ve happened had you responded to Bakugo differently that day at the beach. It doesn’t matter anymore. I just need to focus on work, I’m probably just imagining things. There’s no way he could… He would never think of me that way. You had never considered Bakugo as a romantic prospect before, however ever since he protected you, you’d be lying if you said the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

”Pro hero Dynamic has just announced his new official colors as orange and black! He also tells his fans to stay on the lookout for a new costume he will debut later this month incorporating his new colors!” The mention of the annoying man from a few days earlier caused you to look at the screen which typically had the news playing all day at the agency. Sure enough, it was a reporter standing next to the fake blonde, he had styled his hair in a spiked manner, which was a big difference compared to the slicked-back style he had at the beach. You couldn’t help but feel disgusted as you watched the man smile on the tv as if he wasn’t a complete and utter sleaze bag. “Ugh. I hate that guy.” Both you and a gruff voice said at the same time.

You turned towards the door only to be met with none other than Dynamight. “You’re very cat-like these days. I didn’t even hear you coming, maybe we should get you a bell.” You joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Try it and you die brat!” He joked back in a crude tone causing you to shrug as you gave him a mischievous smile. Something had shifted ever since your last conversation and you both knew if. It was an unspoken thing. Bakugo felt bare as if the walls he’d spent years building were slowly crumbling. “By the way… you should have the marketing team sue him. He’s clearly trying to profit off of your image. It’s creepy. You should crush his aspirations.” you let out as he began to walk toward his office. His eyes went wide at your comment. “I knew you’d understand… And that you’d have a solution that wasn’t stupid.” His comment had you lifting a brow making you wonder if perhaps he was already aware of the situation.

The pro hero turned your way and examined how your eyes looked at him as if you knew what went on in his soul. “If something or anyone bothers you… tell me. I don’t care how insignificant you think it is, you have to tell me. I’ll come to rescue you. I’ll protect you.” His voice was soft, unlike his usual tone, but he wasn’t asking. It was clearly a command. You weren’t sure how you should respond so you just nodded. Eventually whatever you two had going on would have to be addressed, but for now, the unspoken tension was all either of you could realistically handle. It wasn’t like either of you could read minds, and yet you understood each other perfectly. Both of you also understood the only obstacle keeping you apart was a fear of rejection, on both ends.

☆ Master List

☆ Oneshots

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fagtainsparklez · 4 months

Note

haii could you give me a summary of c!purpleds characterization ???

oughhh i always struggle w questions like these because for me it has become almost second nature but. i will try my best (≧∀≦ゞ fellow cpurpled enjoyers feel free to chime in with ur own suggestions if u so wish

purpled is selfish. this feels like a pretty obvious aspect of his character but Oh the amount of people i’ve seen get it wrong. he does not feel guilt over his selfishness. he will take and take until there’s no more left to steal, and he will blame the other party for his loss. he’s a survivalist before all else, a businessman before a person, and he’s proud of it. he’s manipulative and cunning and, honestly, a total asshole most of the time. it’s part of his charm

he’s been used. a lot. being used is kind of a key aspect of his character and his behavior. i think it’s important to note though that his experiences are never portrayed in a way where he’s meant to be pitied. his story is more focused on rage, on revenge, on a burning anger that will burn everything in its path. his story is tragic, yes, but he Refuses to let it be a tragedy (he is not consciously making this choice, which i’ll go into later)

he’s VERY prideful. he’s good at a lot of things and he knows it. i think a lot of people see his character type of smug, confident asshole and jump to the conclusion that it’s a front for him to cover up his insecurities but. i cannot stress enough. he is Genuinely Just Like That. he is almost fully incapable of self-doubt. if he ever encounters a situation where he has fucked up he will instantly find a way to shift that blame to others. he’s hot shit, he knows it, and he WILL make it everyone’s problem

something i think is really important is that, when it comes to seeing others, he sees most people at a neutral. he has very few people he strongly likes or dislikes, and is more uninterested and unconcerned with most people. he looks down on them, but not in a negative way, per se. that’s just how purpled sees people. if they can’t provide him with something, they’re unimportant to him. it’s not personal, it’s just fact. quackity is the only person purpled has a true hatred towards, as well as technically tommy, but that was more as a one-sided rivalry, and much, much lesser. it’s worth noting he did NOT hate slime, seeing him as a nuisance at best. he only attacked slime because he knew it’d be the way to hurt quackity the most, he held no real animosity towards him otherwise. ponk, hannah, jack manifold, tubbo, and technically boomer are the only people i’d really classify of being people purpled enjoys being around/sees on the same level as him

i know a lot of these points are somewhat bleak and serious, but he does have a silly side!! he likes pranks and scams. his best friend is his dog, who he regularly talks to as if he was another person. he has a flair for the dramatics and likes showing off, even if doing so is risky, and even if no one but him will see it

this is less of a character analysis but he talks like if you introduced an angry victorian orphan to youtube shorts. he has a very specific cadence of more sophisticated, verbose language mixed with modern-day slang and memes. it’s. very strange. i really can’t begin to properly describe it

there is zero self-awareness in that boy. he cannot see past his anger and spite and realize possible mistakes. 95% of what i’ve mentioned here he is completely unaware of. he can’t see his flaws, he can’t realize his wants, yet he always sees himself as on the right and on top. he is playing 4D chess completely unaware that everyone else is playing checkers, and is prone to unintentionally self-sabotaging himself due to being unable to recognize his true wants. he has 0 self-awareness of any of this. the way i write purpled is to make it Blatantly Obvious to the reader that his mindset and worldview is wrong, but make him completely blind to these points. he should not know things are wrong, but the reader should be able to pick up on it

#muse talk #anon #sorry this got long and rambly but i just have a lot of Feelings on how he’s written 😭#midnight analysis

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2012wannabe · 11 months

Text

untitled

wc: 1658

cw: f!reader x abusive bf, physical/emotional abuse, Abby takes care of reader

an: tbh I don’t really like this nor do I have a title. I might add some pics like I usually do later but all in all not that great 🥴🥴 if y’all have feedback or a title feel free to lmk

Notes for my fanfiction

“Hey- what’s that on your neck?” Abby asked. Your mind flailed for something to say, you weren’t expecting her to show up at your door.

“It’s nothing. What happened? Did someone drop out of night patrol?”

“That’s unimportant now. It looks like you have bruises on your neck.”

“Just from fighting.” Please buy it, please buy it. Abby’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t look so good, can I just check it?” You swallowed and let her in, hands shaking slightly.

“It’s all good I promise.” Abby moved the cloth of your sweater to reveal more bruising forming handprints.

“Fuck you have literal hand prints on your neck, why didn’t you go to the infirmary for this?”

“It’s nothing.” You said weakly.

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No.” Your brain was spiraling, the stress, sleep deprivation, and your injury all starting to compound at once.

“If it was infected, why didn’t you just go get it checked out? No one would have questioned it, but you hid it.” Abby pressed, her worry growing.

“He didn’t mean it, okay!” You snapped. Oh fuck.

“He didn’t mean it?” She said incredulously, immediately figuring out who ‘he’ was. Her heart was in her shoes and she fought the urge to just scoop you up in her arms.

“Yeah, we’re fine now.”

“Fine? Have you seen yourself?”

“Yup.” You said weakly.

“At least let me look at it, get you ice and pain meds.”

“Ok.” You sighed. Abby examined the bruising,

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

“I can tell. Let me get some stuff, don’t leave.” You trembled as she left, wanting to cry. She returned just as quick as she left, applying ice to the worst of the bruises.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, now tell me about this person who left those marks on your neck.”

“I think you know.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m asking anyway. Why are you still with him?”

“He’s fine, it was my fault anyway. I’m trying to be better.”

“It’s not your fault!” Abby said raising her voice suddenly. You flinched causing her heart to drop even more. Muttering an apology, she continued.

“He’s been putting you through hell and here you are trying to be better for him. He doesn’t deserve you.” You stuttered and searched for words but could only come up with a pathetic sounding,

“Really?”

“Yes, really. So please stop blaming yourself for his actions. They are all on him.”

“He always says it my fault.”

“And that’s what he wants you to believe. Because deep down inside he knows he messed up big time.” You blushed and muttered a thanks feeling embarrassed. She fixed your hair behind your ear and gently held your face.

“He hurt you, and he needs to pay for that.” Abby said sweetly.

“Can you stay with me a little bit?”

“Of course.” She said, looking at you love with overwhelming love in her eyes. Abby loved you with her whole heart and soul and though she would never admit it she despised your boyfriend and achingly wished it was her you were with. She kept her feelings to herself because she valued your friendship too much and seeing what he did to you just made her heart shatter into a million pieces. She knew she couldn’t make you leave him, that that had to be a decision you made on your own but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be holding your hand every step of the way. You reached forward and hugged her, sinking into her embrace.

“I’ll take care of you today, okay.” Abby said sweetly. You nodded.

“I don’t deserve your kindness.” You said softly and quietly.

“Oh honey, you deserve more. But seriously, you need to leave him. And if there’s anything at all you need help with, I’ll help you. Just let me know okay?” You nodded and thanked her.

“It’s nothing really, you should go lay down and rest.” Abby said.

“He’s going to be back from his assignment soon, can I stay the night with you?” You said, biting your lip.

“Absolutely.” Abby said. She brought you back to her room and showed you where everything was. You started to walk toward her bedroom but stopped to say,

“This might sound dumb but can you lay with me?” You asked with your head down. Your mind chastised you for wanting affection, being so needy as to ask. But Abby wasn’t like him.

“Of course, whatever you need.” She said following you into bed. Slipping off her shoes, she laid next you hooking her strong arm around your waist and holding you close. Using her other hand, Abby stroked your hair and admired you. You looked so peaceful sleeping. It wasn’t long before you both drifted to sleep.

When morning came, Abby awoke to an empty bed and worry started to form in her chest. She looked around for you and her heart dropped again when she realized you must have gone back to where you and your boyfriend lived.

Approaching your door, she winced hearing him yell through the door. Raising her hand to bang on the door she braced herself for what was going on behind the door. You opened the door and her heart broke again. You were disheveled and quite frankly looked like you were about to cry.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I just didn’t want him to worry when he came home to an empty room. He’s a little upset right now but it’ll be okay.” Abby knew it wouldn’t be okay and forced herself through the doorway. One of the perks of being Issac’s right hand man, no one wanted to fuck with you. He approached the both of you and asked,

“Hey Abby. What’s going on?”

“Nothing… I just wanted to check on the both of you.” His features morphed into a confused expression and you could immediately tell what he was thinking.

“Well everything is fine.” He said grabbing you by your side, pretending you didn’t wince when he did so.

“Do you mind if I grab her for a bit? Just need some help downstairs. Got a few people at the wall.” She lied. There were people at the wall but getting you out was her priority. He looked like he wanted to decline but he couldn’t say no so he reluctantly let you go. Leaving down the hall going into her room she said,

“Did he hit you again? You winced when he grabbed your side.” You looked down to avoid her eyes and she said,

“I think you know what I’m going to say.”

“I don’t know, it’s just a lot and I really do care about him.”

“He tried to strangle you. What if he didn’t stop and he killed you?

“I want to say he would never do that but I can’t. He was always so kind to me, you know? And then all of a sudden he wasn’t. He started to yell at me, and then he started to hit me. I tried talking to him about it but he won’t stop.”

“You realize that that’s abuse right?”

“Yeah but-“

“There are no buts.” Abby said trying to contain her anger. You deserved so much better than that disgusting man.

“But he says he loves me and that I mean the world to him. I can’t give that up.”

“Would you hit someone you love?” She asked.

“Well,” you tried to respond.

“Would you?”

“No.” You said quietly.

“You’re going to have to break up with him then.” She said firmly.

“What if I love him?”

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with someone who hurts you?”

“No.” You say, your voice getting even smaller.

“Then you know what you need to do. You deserve someone who’ll never even think about putting their hands on you. Never ever.” You smiled a small smile and let your hand interlock with hers.

“I’ll make sure you’ll never see him again, okay?”

“Thank you Abs.”

“Always. Is it okay if I get Mel or Nora for your side?”

“Mel, please.” You said, sitting on her couch.

“Okay.” Abby turned to leave but you stopped her suddenly.

“What happened?”

“Can I show you something?” You said suddenly getting very nervous and picking at the skin on your thumb.

“Yeah, of course.” You nod and start to take off your pants to reveal horrendously dark bruising on your legs going up to your crotch with cuts littering the space. Abby gasped and was so horrified she could cry.

“Oh my god…” You looked down.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll get you all the help you need, okay?” Before you can respond, there is a knock on the door and you jump. You scramble to decide whether to show Mel or not but the look on Abby’s face gives you your answer. You go to talk but you just burst into tears uncontrollably. You slump on the couch and hide your face as she lets Mel in. You look up at Abby and Mel and Mel’s jaw just drops looking at you. You start to cry again as Mel starts to work on your wounds and Abby holds your hand the entire time.

“What happened to her?” Mel asks going to get more supplies. Abby explains and Mel’s face drops. Mel continues to treat your injuries and Abby stays by your side the entire time. When Mel eventually leaves, you and Abby sit in silence for a bit.

“You okay?”

“I will be.” You say as Abby gives you a comforting hug.

“I’m gonna break up with him.” You whisper in her ear still hugging her muscular body.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

“Thank you. So much. For everything.”

“Still it’s nothing. I love you.” You smile.

“I love you too.” She releases you from her embrace and asks,

“Want to stay here again tonight?”

“Please.”

#eliwrites #abby anderson #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x you #abuse cw #domestic violent relationships #physical abuse #emotional abuse #hurt/comfort

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just-some-guy-joust · 2 months

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Just Some Guy OC Tourney - Side B: Round 1

Rules:

do NOT be mean to anyone or any characters in these polls. you MUST clarify if you are joking/teasing or you will be blocked. if you are someone who entered an oc into this and you are mean to other contestants you will be disqualified

do NOT claim a character doesn't deserve to be here. yes including your own. be nice

if you are posting propaganda you have to tag us, including if your propaganda is in the reblogs. it is difficult to tell when something is or isn't propaganda. anything not tagging us will likely be missed

please don't hesitate to let me know if i messed something up!

have fun, hype each other up <3 thank you

Mendel Warrenpeace | He/him | @bittersweetbonbon

CW: Transformation horror, isekai, lightning strikes

Mendel was just a normal guy, who happened to love Toontown: Corporate Clash *so* much that he played it nearly 24/7, maxing out all of his gags and disguises, even going so far as to become a beta tester for experimental VR haptic suits, just so he could be more immersed in the game. However, he was foolish enough to play the game in VR during the most intense lightning storm seen in his area, got struck by said lightning, and was isekaed into the game itself. Now trapped in the world he used to adore, at level one no less, he would do anything to get back home, up to and including re-beating the game, no matter how strenuous running around and throwing pies at robots is in "real life". Of course, beating the game isn't going to free him from Toontown's inky clutches, but we don't have to tell him that, right? Of course not.

Promos: He has a blog at mendelwarrenpeace.tumblr.com and a WIP toyhouse page at toyhou.se/26655994.mendel-warrenpeace

Darien | He/him | @bittersweetbonbon

Darien is a normal guy in every way possible, except for the fact that his boss, Anthony, has been steadily replacing all of his coworkers with robots. So, in response, Darien started bonding aggressively with the robots, bringing them home-baked goods and motor oil and listening to their problems, until said robots unanimously decided "Yeah, we like this guy, we're keeping him.". When his boss got word of the robots liking Darien more than him, he conspired to turn Darien into a robot, too, and would have succeeded if said robots didn't revolt against Anthony, turning *him* into the robot instead. Now with a legion of incredibly loyal automatons behind him, Darien has become the de-facto owner of the company, a fact that stresses him out to no end, and drives Anthony to the end of his wit with jealousy.

Full images and descriptions under the cut!

Mendel is, quite literally, so just some guy that I refuse to develop what he was like or what his name was pre-isekae, because his past is literally so generic and unimportant. He was NPC-core. He was nothingburger. His only friend is a 17-year-old who physically cannot stop themself from stealing things. Even now his only hobby is playing video games all day. He almost died a few days after being isekaed because he didn't want to leave his house. He's scared to walk around because he thinks the robots will shoot him point-blank just for being near them. I want to grab him and spin him around like that gif of a chimpanzee. He's even a furry.

Darien is 27 years old and feels absolutely nothing but apathy until the robots start bonding with him. He would be a he/they if he stopped to think about it for two seconds. He thinks Anthony is a shithead, which he is, but doesn't think he deserved to be turned into a robot, even if that's what Anthony was planning to do to him. He might even be asexual.

#tournament poll #oc tournament #ocs #some guy joust #mendel warrenpeace #darien

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hikari-ni-naritai · 1 year

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Emily Isekai Momence: Banished From The Hero's Party, I Decided to Live a Quiet Life in the Countryside

The (four) people have spoken, so we are going to start this review series off with, ironically, a Not-Quite-Isekai I refuse to apologise for enjoying. As I will be including a good number of pseudo-isekai anime in this series, I will also be explaining why they find their home in the Isekai genre (as opposed to the Isekai trope) as a whole. This one features the bog-standard isekai trope of Hero Adventurer Vs. Demon Lord, but more importantly, character abilities manifest in gaming abstractions including levels, skills, and blessings, which are essentially RPG classes. With that out of the way, let's get into it.

In Banished From The Hero's Party, the main character, Gideon (center left), is banished from the hero's adventuring party by the party caster, and moves to a town at the edge of the country that's strategically unimportant. Here, he decides to change his name to Red and live out his dream of running an apothecary. He runs into a girl he'd met in his time with the hero's party, Rit (center right), who is similarly laying low in this town while her brothers settle a succession debate, and she decides to move in with him and help with the apothecary. Despite how it sounds, the two of them do have a decently well-written, nicely paced romance arc before they get together.

Meanwhile, the hero, Red's younger sister Ruti (top), has no idea where he is and why he left, and the adventuring party is falling apart at the seams in his absence. She sends two of them to go find him before eventually going off herself with Red's replacement, a little assassin girl named Tisse (TRAGICALLY not pictured). During their travels, the two become friends, with Tisse working to overcome her fear and hero-worship of Ruti, and Ruti working to overcome her inability to read emotions and her inexpressive nature. Maybe more than friends? I can dream.

The core conceit of the world as presented is that each life form is born with a Blessing from god that determines their role in life. Red has a Guide blessing, which doesn't give him any powerful skills, but does allow him to become proficient in numerous common skills. Ruti has the Hero blessing, which grants her monstrous strength, immunity to poison and disease, insensitivity to temperature, inability to taste, dampened emotions, and a host of other abilities meant to improve her capacity for heroism. Blessings also influence your thoughts. Ruti is compelled to protect those in danger. A local adventurer with the Champion blessing feels a need to prove himself. A local boy with the Bar Brawler blessing starts a fight with another boy for no reason.

The exposition of this system neatly avoids the "As you know" trope by having Red explain it to the boy who got beat up. It feels very natural, and it's done over several episodes as the boy's story continues. An important point Red stresses is that, while your Blessing does influence your behavior, you are ultimately still in control of yourself. You have the freedom to choose to follow your urges, or to do your own thing. This, as we learn later, is heresy. But it's important heresy to set up early for the events that occur later. Because you DO have a choice, whatever Blessing you may have.

The story does a really good job at weaving the Blessing system into every character's motivation and beliefs. Characters are not only driven by their Blessing; they also have their own ideas on free will in the context of Blessings. Red believes you can choose to do whatever you want. One of the hero's party members believes you ought to be beholden to your Blessing, as it is a gift from god. The local adventurer has never even considered that someone might not want to follow their Blessing.

Obviously I can't say that there's no problems with the show. There's more fanservice than you typically see (it's less of a problem than youd think in isekai overall), and the final battle is long and (while I'm pretty sure the moving parts all fit together properly) difficult to keep track of. It feels like the budget ran out near the end. It wouldve benefited from better production and direction. But I think the way the final arc, where Ruti fights for her right to give up the Hero's blessing, brings together a lot of characters from previous arcs is very well done from a narrative perspective, so I have to give it credit for that.

The climax of the story asks a singular question, the same one that's been asked from the beginning. When saddled with responsibility you didn't ask for, is it okay to just give up? Maybe it's okay for a young boy to reject his calling as a swordsman, but does the chosen Hero have the right to turn her back on saving the world? And the answer given is a wholehearted, unequivocal "Yes". No matter what it is, no matter who you'll let down, no matter how many lives are at stake. Nobody, not even the gods themselves, has the right to ask anything of you without your consent. And that, to me, is an important lesson.

If you need a refresher on how the gay ass weeb shit rating works, Gay is how much gay is in the show (10 is very gay), Ass is how much fanservice is in the show (10 is very tits), Weeb is how much you need to know about japanese culture to get it (10 is monogatari), Shit is how good it is (10 is a masterpiece). Slavery refers to the uncomfortable slavery elements present in a lot of isekai. Shinzo Abe Propaganda refers to the anime trying to convince you to have children.

Gay Ass Weeb Shit rating: 2/5/3/8

No Slavery

No Shinzo Abe Propaganda

#emily isekai momence #banished from the hero's party

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immediatebreakfast · 2 years

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Weather report in Whitby! A storm is coming!

Today's entry we are not received by our friend Mina, nor the Captain, instead today we read about the most colorful weather report that I have ever read. The new journalistic view, along with the very well received writing style of the correspondent, free from worries and stress, paints Whitby in a new beautiful light. From that absolutely beautiful description of the sunset sky, all the different ships arriving to Whitby for safety, the passing mention of the town's gossip, and our local old man watching everything from the cliff. To that one single focus on a ship alone in the open sea, just sailing without a thought, ignoring the calls from other sailors so she could enter the port, and rest.

And now, the weather. The oppresive tension before the storm was the perfect setting before the main show. That feeling of "a storm is coming" but you don't know when it is coming so the only thing you can see is the sky going gray with clouds while the only thing that is constant is the silence. Suddenly, the gates on the sky oppened to give room to the violent nature of a storm, as if nature itself was trying to drown everything with thunder and rain. As if nature itself is screaming that an ancient evil is coming with it. The cold mist, the roaring thunder, the furious waves, and the grand lightning. The most iconic and uncontrollable spectacle as presentation for the elegant and unhinged monster that came all the way from Transylvania.

Then the Demeter, the ship that we have been following for such a long time, arrives with a dead man on her helm.

The poor captain didn't survive enough time to see his ship arrive, but by reading how dangerous the storm was I think that was a small mercy granted to him, may he rest in peace. That phenomenal beautifully written paragraph that described the near impossible Demeter's arrival to Whitby confirmed two things: Not only Dracula was using the weather to try and steer the Demeter to the shore (since he doesn't know how to do that), but also Dracula is powerful enough to create an impressive storm as a distraction so he could basically teleport the Demeter to Whitby's port.

It is chilling to read about how the people, and coastmen gathered around the ship when we know who is in there, and what he wants to do. The Demeter is finally resting at the port, without a crew and her captain tied to her. The only thing who survived was a never mentioned big dog who doesn't even look behind him to see the ship where he traveled one last time as if it was nothing to him. The correspondent tells us about the last moments of the captain before he leaves his ship, how the sky is now changing after the storm, and a promise to tell the tale of the Demeter to anyone who wants to hear.

Next time, we shall talk about our dear friend Mina Murray and her increasing worries.

P.s: a seemingly unimportant detail that I loved was the artists in Whitby immediately changing the subject of their paintings the second the sky changed. Just imagining them seeing the storm coming, seeing the sudden contrast in the sky, and immediately grabbing their instruments to describe is so funny.

#The correspondent really wanted to be a writer huh?#Dracula said fuck it and almost crashed the Demeter into the port of Whitby #If you think about it the Captain putting the crucifix on the helm was like a little revenge against Dracula #dracula daily #the demeter #count dracula

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seolpsy · 1 month

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zerobaseone — their love languages !

notes: sooo sleepy writing this but hope u guys enjoy :)) i’m obsessed w gyuvin like it’s not even funny…

word count: 644, warnings: none

kim jiwoong — words of affirmation

even though jiwoong doesn’t talk much, it doesn’t stop him from telling you how much he values you. he’ll continuously remind you of his gratefulness and love towards you. aside from this, jiwoong likes to drop sneaky flirts, casually saying things like “you look so good” or “i love that outfit on you” out of the blue.

zhang hao — physical touch

hao likes subtle physical touch with you. he’s not the type to kiss you in public, but he’s constantly intertwining your fingers or wrapping an arm around your waist. when you guys are sitting next to each other, your knees tend to touch and hao puts his hand on your knee to show his affection. when these moments happen, it’s just you two and no one else.

sung hanbin — acts of service

hanbin is your boyfriend and mother in one. he’s always taking care of things before you even have time to worry about them. he’s dreamy in the sense that he loves to make you breakfast in bed simply because he wants to and he gives you his jacket when he sees that you’re cold. being with hanbin is the epitome of “to be loved is to be seen.”

seok matthew — quality time

you guys aren’t great at showing your feelings but time with one another is top tier. adventures with you and matt are so much fun. you guys never focus on the outside world, only the bubble you two are in. matt loves to spend every moment focusing on you (he doesn’t even check his phone once when he’s with you). you guys love to talk from night to day.

kim taerae — quality time

if there’s one thing that taerae loves most in this world, it’s spending time with you. it doesn’t matter if it’s shopping, singing, or just laying in bed with you, he adores it. taerae uses all of his free time, hanging out with you. if he has schedules, he wishes for them to go by quickly so he can see you again. time with you is never unimportant to taerae.

shen ricky — gift-giving

ricky’s awkward when it comes to expressing his feelings so he loves to buy you gifts instead. he’s willing to spend any amount of money on you because seeing you happy makes him happy. ricky likes surprising you with gifts, he believes you deserve one always. every gift is thought out (if it reminds him of you or he thinks you’ll like it, he’ll buy it!) and filled with the love and care of his heart.

kim gyuvin — physical touch

are we surprised that gyuvin can never take his hands off of you? he’s always up in your face, begging you to hug him, kiss him, love him! when you two are apart, he craves your touch so badly. he’s always whining to his members about how much he misses your sweet scent or the warmth of your embrace. you guys are stuck together like glue.

park gunwook — words of affirmation

there’s never a moment when gunwook doesn’t tell you how much he appreciates and loves you. unlike others, he doesn’t shy away and communicates his feelings for you directly. along with the reassurance of his love for you, he compliments you 24/7, constantly hyping you up. gunwook will always find a way to make you feel loved with his words.

han yujin — acts of service

yujin isn’t much of a touchy or talkative guy so he likes to show his love through his actions. he buys your favorite pastries to share or listens to you after a stressful day. he enjoys helping you complete house chores, not thinking of it as an inconvenience but as a way to help you out. if there’s something to do, yujin has done it before you can even notice.

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 1 year

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Our Moonie son “seemed to be in a bizarre world of science fiction” at Barrytown

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 3

February 1976

The following was excerpted from a testimonial submitted by a parent:

Our 21-year old son loudly proclaimed his intention to die in Korea for the Messiah (Sun Myung Moon) in August 1974. This was the first conflict with his family. He is the oldest of __ children. He had been an amiable, respected, industrious, successful 4th year college student.

He met the Moonies on the University of Minnesota campus while waiting for his sister, with whom he shared a car. He told us he was going to a Christian retreat for the weekend in Spirit Lake, Iowa. His emotions exploded there. By his actions we knew that this was not a Christian group, life investigated and found the kind of deception our Bible warns against. He couldn’t – or wouldn’t – hear us.

He was promptly moved to a commune 80 miles away and allowed only short contacts with us. He tried to convince us of the movement’s value, but the platitudes only thinly veiled Moon’s obvious mission for power and money. They followed the con-man pattern of telling the victim lies he wanted to hear to get his money, then making him feel good about it. After months of grueling days of fund-raising, not enough sleep, and emotional pressure-cooker weekends, he turned over his bank account. He had saved $1,150.00 while living at home, working part-time as a janitor, for his final-year at college.

In 1975, they pumped him up into thinking he was getting a scholarship, then flew him to Barrytown for deeper indoctrination. He wrote of guarding Moon’s Lincoln Continental and working nights on the telephone switchboard.

We drove him away from Barrytown for a holiday in July. Many young people who had left cults talked to him on the way back home. His values had changed. Money, personal freedom and comfort seemed unimportant. He had regressed to the level of early teen dependence. He wanted to marry, but it didn’t matter to whom since all Moonie women think alike. He seemed to be in a bizarre world of science fiction, but after 30 days, he promised not to go back. If we had had immediate psychiatric help in a professional Rehab. Center at that time, with necessary security, we would have had a better chance for success.

The cult was calling. They demanded to talk to him or initiate a police investigation and lawsuit on an alleged kidnapping charge. Our local police called them and told them that our son was free, that we didn’t have to tell them where he was, and to stop harassing us. He went to stay in a foster home with a couple who had had over 500 disturbed children from public and private agencies. We contacted the County Mental Health Clinic and gave them the background; they arranged for testing and counseling. It took a few weeks to get into this and many more to get him ready for family involvement.

The cult found his foster home, called and threatened them and alluded menacingly to their ten-year-old daughter. The mother became physically ill and was hospitalized, anxiety attenuating her illness. The stress was too much for them and our son seemed to be slipping back.

After he came home to stay, he found a good job near our home. He was, at last, willing to have us involved in Family Therapy. His father was ill and hospitalized for surgery. His emotions were straining from holding it all in and he told the therapist and me, “When I think like you, I’ve wasted a year of my life.” On New Year’s Eve, he watched Billy Graham’s telecast and became visibly upset. He quit his job and secretly had the cult pick him up outside his place of work. They returned him home at the usual time for a few days until I discovered them. He expected to stay in the cult and continue Family Counseling, but we could not agree to this. He agreed to continue individual therapy, but has not done so due to being so busy out of state on the fund-raising tours.

__________________________________

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 1 Ken Sudo’s 120-day Training Manual and Moonie telephone fraud

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 2 Moon’s mass marriages are “a form of sex perversion”

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 4 “only if she got rid of the baby and gave it up for adoption”

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 5 Moon is a man devoid of of human compassion

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 6 “One of your ancestors was a peeping Tom.”

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 7 Secret 1975 marriage, shaking and vomiting

Voices of parents of children lost to the moonies 8 Many parents suffered heartbreak after losing their children to the Moonies

#Moonies #Unification Church #messiah #Sun Myung Moon #fundraising #MFT #parents of moonies #Barrytown

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angelisverba · 3 years

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thinkin’ bout you

in which harry owns a flower shop and has a major crush on a girl who comes in to buy flowers every once in a while (and he’s too shy to ask for her number)

word count: 17.3k

paring: florist!h and y/n

warnings: just some pinning and lustful yearning. m for mature...

author’s note: i’ve been working on this forever. not to pick fav’s but i think florist!h comes second to sl23... hes just so.......well, you’ll see!!

* * * * * *

When Harry was given the option to go on a playdate with his car-loving and dirty-nailed schoolmates or spending the weekend at his nan’s house, he would often pick the latter.

He preferred to spend his afternoons frolicking with her Siamese kitty in her wild-flower filled garden, sunbathing in the open grass, or napping on a quilted blanket under the large, round oak tree, with the kitty nestled into his tummy, keeping him warm. When he woke in the arms of his nan as she carried him inside the house for a glass of cool lemonade, he bore a band of pink sunburn over his button nose, and the blue and white striped Mickey shirt was sticking to the areas where his furry friend had provided an extra heat.

So, it was safe to say that from the start, Harry’s tastes weren’t what could be considered ‘average’ or ‘normal’ or ‘straight’ for a heterosexual male of his age in current society.

Not that he ever valued those opinions, but their impressions rang in the back of his loving head when the women who he brought to the comfort of his home made hurtful ‘joking’ comments on how ‘peculiar’ his choice of decor was or giving him prolonged strange looks before shaking their heads and yanking their clothes off so that they landed in a forgotten heap in some unimportant corner of his room.

Granted, he still got a good shag, but it wasn’t enough to fulfill his desires regarding any actions associated with relationships. He wanted someone warm and soft and kind. Someone who wouldn’t judge his home, his music choices, his clothing, or anything else about him. A girlfriend, not a fuck.

Long ago, he’d stopped caring about what others said about him. Adopting this mindset had given him some of the happiest and healthiest moments of his life (albeit occasionally, doubts merged with the ghastly shadows of his loneliness). Business at his flower shop increased as his charm increased with positivity, and a new life within him bloomed like a baby rose bud when he accepted that being single was okay. The ribbons of his bouquets bouncing with an added umf and the mist that landed on his skin when he changed the water in the flower buckets only enhanced the golden hue of his skin.

Harry even took to renovating his home a bit.

Coincidentally, his apartment was located on the floor above his flower stop, and contained a significant amount of singular flowers in vases or bouquets in empty corners to prove it. An array of pastel colors smeared on the once blank walls. Bambi pink in his bedroom, sage green in his kitchen, and a French blue in his living room. The couch was a suede papaya three-seater with black and white checkered pillows, and the coffee table was an emerald-tiled piece standing on top of a geometric lavender carpet, a soft contrast against the dark oak of his floorboards. Harry’s taste in pop-culture, art, and literature was displayed on the frames hanging off his walls. Pictures and posters of his favorite pieces like Matisse’s Blue Nudes and Goldfish and The Dance II. An enhanced, enlarged photo of maraschino cherries and a raven haired pin-up girl. Another glass table by the end of the couch held a silver candlestick and a small statue.

Sometimes, the miniature Greek statue he bought at a thrift store of a man with his nakedness pure and unobscured to the viewers' eyes made his dick bloat against the seams of his pants. If he stared at it for too long, his eyes drawn to the softened cock between thighs that looked so flesh-like even though it was carved out of some clay or ceramic material, his mind would travel to sensual, honey-red places that he hadn’t been in so long. Harry’s imagination explored- as cheesy as it sounds- the sexual aspects of the male genitalia, and therefore his own sexual expeditions and how much he missed giving or receiving a good fuck. More often than not, he ended up with himself in his fist, forehead sparkling with perspiration under the candle lights in his room as his thighs and abdomen clenched with every buck of his yearning hips.

The doorknob of his room was in the shape of an eye, the iris colored a brilliant blue. His king bed- no, frame, just a minimalist white base, pushed up against the wall with two tables on either side, both of them loaded articulately with vintage trinkets and ceramic ring trays shaped like seashells to hold his jewelry. His bedsheets were a stylish combination of pastel colors; lilac comforter, mint and sky pillows. Previously, they had been snow white sheets with strawberry print, but a woman he brought over said they looked like the sheets her five-year-old niece had.

He changed them the week after that.

On the windowsill, a pot in the shape of a white, blue-eyed kitty with vines of string of hearts kissing the floor. A mirror in the shape of a heart with a pink trim besides the lightswitch, above his brown dresser. In the corner, a bookshelf stuffed with books that spilled over the seams, and perpendicular to it, the home of his pet chameleon, Owen (he wanted a cat, but when he went to the pet store and saw the dehydrated creature, he couldn’t leave him there). A 16 x 16 x 30 inch tank filled with a branch that cut across halfway. It was full of all the things he might need, maybe even too much of it, but it didn’t matter because when Harry was home Owen spent most of his time hanging off the collars of his shirts or snuggled in the ruffles of his hooded sweatshirt on his shoulder. The small, color changing friend adored his owner, and only morphed into a mild red color when Harry didn’t feed him more mango.

The renovations occurred in his bathroom; a cherry-red covering the walls because it looked boring before (at least in his opinion). The gold piping of the sink accentuated nicely with the darker color, and the sun seemed brighter when it streamed in through the window above his ceramic claw-footed tub. Owen particularly liked the misty showerhead stall in the corner, and as long as he kept his eyes to himself, Harry didn’t mind it if his green friend wrapped around the showerhead and enjoyed the mimicked tropical atmosphere.

For awhile now, it had been just him and his chameleon (and maybe his mum’s cat if she was going out of town and needed a sitter) but he didn’t mind it.

He got to meet new people everyday within the parameters of H’s Garden, and they all tended to overshare when it came to buying a bouquet. ‘My wife just had our son, want to see a picture?’ or ‘my boyfriend and I have our anniversary on Saturday’ and even ‘my sister had plastic surgery so me and my dad need something that says ‘congrats you look like Kim Kardashain now’ how ‘bout it?’

Stories ranged from sweet, to grotesque, to sad, to funny, and sometimes even evil- Harry didn’t like customers that gave flowers as a ‘fuck you’. He thought it was a waste of beauty and sacrifice. Flowers were living things that had their lives cut short in order to provide momentary satisfaction and life long memories to the receiver, not bitter feelings of revenge. Although it was still business, it pained him that such a pretty arrangement be misused. It was one of the cons of his work. He created what he considered to be masterpieces, and had no control over where they would end up, whether it be as a centerpiece for a candlelit dinner, or in the trash after the apology for a strong argument hadn’t been enough.

However, Harry couldn’t deny that he didn’t love his job, because he did.

When he turned 16, he’d determined that he wanted a peaceful life with a job that wouldn’t bore him. He wanted to be as stress free as possible, with his spirituality as a prominent highlight in his lifestyle. When he turned 18, he had determined that he wanted to be a florist, and began to save up to open his own shop with the occasional help of his friends and sister. He refused to take anything from his mother because he wanted to be the one giving her gifts and money and everything good after all of her sacrifices in raising him. Call him a momma’s boy. Harry loved his mother.

Online seminars and college classes became his best friend, teaching him everything he needed to know about accounting, stocks, and how to keep his business going. He was a businessman first, florist second. During the slow seasons (the start of winter and an awkward half-week between summer and spring) he relied on his investments to triple-ensure that he had enough money to stay afloat.

On his 22nd birthday, as a gift to himself, he signed the lease to the building that housed all of the pretty plants in temporary buckets full of flower food and water, and hired a graphic designer to design the cursive, golden letters that spelled out the name of his shop above the front door.

Now, three years later, he lived as happy as can be.

And he wasn’t lonely anymore.

Well, if you wanted to be technical, his relationship status was still a checkmark over the box labeled ‘single’, but his heart couldn’t be fluttering any harder at the sight of one of his regular customers, and she was there, creeping around in his brain to keep him company.

She was the complete opposite of every girl he’d ever been with. She was sweet, kind, funny, and didn’t judge him for the way he dressed, or his profession. In fact, they bonded over things that previous women had… slyly berated him for. The color of his nails, the lace of his collar, the pattern of his flared pants, and even the sheep on his baby blue sweater vest.

She stole his heart the moment she walked through his door with a soft smile on her face, a sparkling gleam in her warm eyes, and placed it in her pocket the moment she said, “it smells lovely in here!”

Harry, awestruck and blushing because well, she was pretty and wore a shade of purple that somehow made her hair look so soft. Two strands of hair were pinned at the back of her head, essentially keeping the rest of it away from her face save for the few baby wisps that rested gently against her cheeks like a lover’s caress. The stuttering, stumbling cupid’s-bow-struck fool replied with, “thank you. It would be my pleasure to help you with anything you’d like,” and that had been his name, signed on the dotted line of a soul contract. Only she was not the devil. She was an angel.

But even then, it wouldn’t matter. If she was the devil, if she was an angel, something in between or something new entirely he wouldn’t care because he was half gone for her already.

“In that case,” she smiled, and Harry’s heart sang a melody it never had before. It was like the sun beamed from the spaces between her teeth and tickled the fuzzy spot beneath his earlobe. She had the most amazing voice, tranquil and clear and ethereal. “I just moved into a new apartment and wanted the place to feel like home. I thought maybe flowers would give it a little life.”

He vividly remembers that the color of her cheeks changed to that of what is called a ‘blush’, but he didn’t know if it was a trick under the light, or a product of his wistful imagination. Her fingers gently skimmed the petals of a rose from it’s bucket near her hip, and one of the straps of the tote bag on her shoulder disrespectfully dropped away from her shoulder. He wanted to simultaneously rush over and fix it for her, and yell at the inanimate object for not being grateful of the fact that it had the opportunity to cling to her shoulder.

But, before either of these inner-conflicts met a sound resolve, her delicate fingers righted what was once wrong, and Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed because he’d stared for a little too long. He wanted so badly to ask for her name and how she liked her eggs in the morning, but instead he said, “there’s nothing like a bit of something pretty to brighten your day. Did you have something specific in mind?”

He hoped that the meaning of his words wasn’t caught on her, or that would be totally embarrassing and ‘loser’-like.

When she walked out the door with a content smile on her lips, his own heart was beating faster than the flapping of a hummingbird’s tender wings. He was sure that he had never laid eyes on a pair of lips like hers, neither the feeling that blossomed in his chest at the thought that she might be smiling just for him to see and enjoy.

Of course, it was a silly crush. One that clawed and gripped onto his sweaty palms with no sign of letting go. Maybe, Harry thought, it was because he hadn’t wet his wick in so long, and the interaction he’d had with her had sparked irrational, poem-inspiring feelings within the love cavern of his ribs. Because how could he fall head over heels with someone he didn’t even know? Surely, the swarm of hormone-pumped butterflies in his stomach was the beginning of a dead-end infatuation.

Right?

Harry went that entire day, appalled at the apparent angel he had the fortune of being in the presence of in her short fall from the tender heavens. He wondered where she placed the flowers she bought (an arrangement he was particularly proud of, full of lilac, delicate stems of lavender, and puffs of baby’s breath wrapped with a white bow) and where that tiny extension of him was. At the entrance of her home, right below the place she rested her hand against as she tugged her shoes off? At the center of her table? Maybe besides her bed? Where she would see the purple petals and white of him as he wrapped it every time she woke up or went to bed? He hoped- as much as it was a romantic thought- that it wasn’t the last one. He’s been so awkward, so pink. A blush on his cheeks he hadn’t remembered being there since the time he yelped, startled, at the unexpected pain of a tattoo needle, the artist pointedly peeved. Acting like such a boy.

Right before crawling up the steps of his apartment, heart still bleeding with love-blood from the deadly tip of Cupid’s arrows, he made himself a mini version of the bouquet he’d made her, and placed it at the center of his tiled coffee table.

*********

A few days trickled by, and the memory of her face drifted in and out of his mind like a giant sway of fabric slowly billowing in the wind. He was just so… struck by a slab of awe, stunned by her kind of beauty. Natural, the kind that hooks you in it’s purity, like the golden beams streaming in through transparent curtains on a warm spring afternoon.

Her strawberry lips curved elegantly under her nose, and displayed a smile that leaked some sort of heady drug into the air because the air was sweet when he breathed it in. And when he handed the bundle of flowers over to her, the pads of her delicate fingers skimmed the rough ridges of his knuckles. He wondered immediately what kind of moisturizer she used, and if it smelled like honey or lavender or peaches. She smelled sweet. Sweeter than all of the flowers in his colorful soul shop put together. The colors that belong to her, on her person and worn by her, were more captivating than any of the tones that painted the petals on his plants.

Owen got a kick out of this whole ordeal, though. Harry’s passionate mood had him divulging in munching and nibbling on things that tasted the way he felt; ambrosial, fresh and pure. It resulted in the purchasing of endless amounts of fruit, with many bites given to the tiny chameleon. Mangoes, strawberries, oranges, grapes, pears (Asian pears, if the store carried them, they were Harry’s favorite), peaches and guavas. The sudden craving for fruit might be explained as just a casual craving, but deep deep down inside, Harry knew that it was because he wanted to replicate the feeling that coursed through his golden veins when she giggled at something she happened to find funny.

He wished that he had caught her name. The girl had paid in cash (and left a five dollar tip Harry fawned over), so he couldn’t have read it on her card, and he was halfway between charming and awkward that he didn’t even think of asking for it until the minute the door closed behind her, bells tinkling in announcement of her exit. He wished for a hundred different things, but he was not the type to live in regret. Not anymore. So after about a week of floundering in her memory, he meditated for an hour, tropical incense on one of his bedside tables, and cleared his mind as best he could.

The next morning, he did the same thing. Woke up with heavy limbs, plopped himself down on his blue mat and stretched in various positions, his white boxers hanging low on his hips. His lips and eyes were sticky with sleep, and the back of his nose ached with cold air that he must’ve breathed in throughout the night after forgetting to close the window (again) but the pleasurable twinge of stretching aches between his joints were the perfect way to start his day. They urged his mind to transform into the still surface of water, clear and collected from any unproductive-pinning thoughts towards a girl he would most likely never see again.

Even his clothes reflected his refreshed mindset.

Harry donned his favorite pair of flared trousers in an earthy brown color, nestled snugly on his slender hips and around his thighs. The tight fit accentuated the way his back tapered into his waist, glutes shapely and sculpted. A maroon sweater vest that had a teddy bear embroidered on the middle of his chest, the small latte-toned stuffed animal seemingly childish, but on him it only directed attention to the spotlight daze of the velvety heart sheltered underneath his breathless plate. Underneath, a mustard long-sleeve shirt with tiny cherries printed on them. Some straight, some tilted or lopsided. His shoulders and biceps were hidden in the floofy bunches of cloth, anonymity given to the true thickness of his ink slathered skin.

He looked like a corduroy dream. A thick milkshake of patterns and colors, but he managed to pull it off.

A tiny gold hoop on his right ear gleamed under the morning sun coming in through the windows and a pearl necklace rested against the downy skin of his throat. Slender fingered tipped with a coat of pure white, with his ring fingers accented in a shimmery pink. Chunky rings adorning the base of his digits; a silver rose, a band of dancing teddy bears (a running theme with him), two gold rings with his initials H and S on one hand, and a simple ruby stud from his graduating class.

He looked good, he knew that he looked good, and was ready to begin a bright, healthy, non-pretty-girl-thought-polluted day. Even the old woman had pinched his cheek whom he had been assisting- a regular-had said he looked like a proper ‘nice boy’ along with ‘when are you going to her a lovely girl to help you run this place, Harry?’. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had momentarily sworn off women until his broken sentiments healed, and they had a long way to go.

In the middle of wrapping a smashing set of tulips and fern stems with a cherry red bow, the bells adorning the top of the door frame dinges, announcing the entrance of another pleasant customer and giving passage to a gust of chilly air. Harry looked up to greet the customer with his usual pleasantries of ‘welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment!’, but the words died on his throat in a desperate hussle, just as the little mermaid had given up her voice to meet her gallant prince.

It was his own personal little slice of heaven presented to him on the black and white checkered floors of his shop. Hair loose against her shoulders again, eyes cast downwards to inspect a bucket of fresh daisies that tickled the space above her bare knees. How she could wear a skirt in this biting weather, he didn’t know, and it partially prevented him from continuing his pursuit of admiring her because the first thought his caring mind jumped too was, ‘is she cold? And if so, does she need a sweater? Because I will gladly give her one.’ His second thought, however, was ‘how could someone be that beautiful?’. The third was something along the lines of ‘all my yoga has gone to shit, and I’m okay with that’.

He cleared his throat, tightened the bow around the stems of the flowers in his hands and said, “I’ll be with you in a moment, love!” His head bowed, looking at his work because he wasn’t sure he could afford the medicals for the paralysis that was sure to take over his meek self if they made eye contact so soon. Harry needed a moment of homeostasis, his soul adjusting to her dulcet presence.

The woman he was assisting, Edna, spoke, drawing him out of his daze, but he had been so deeply in thought that he had not heard what she said.

“What was that?” He asked her. He grabbed Kraft paper from the roll by the register to wrap up her arrangement.

“The girl. You like her?” She was smiling at him, wagging a finger the way his nan used to do when she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “Don’t lie to me, I recognize that look. I’ve given and received that look many times throughout my life.”

The woman was not wrong. With age, comes wisdom, Harry thought, smiling to himself at being caught. A dimple carves itself into his cheek, nestling onto the space above the corner of his mouth as if he had no choice in the matter. The apples of his cheeks were shadowed with a dusky pink, and the tip of his nose was twitching like a rabbit when it stood on its rear and sniffed the air, only he was coy after just being caught and wanted to avoid the question as much as possible.

“I’ve got no idea what y’talking about,” he chuckled, keeping his voice low so that the intriguing stranger in the store didn’t hear that their topic of discussion was her. He moved over to the register to ring her up, and even slid in a discount he applied to customers he liked.

“Next time I come in,” Edna said, passing Harry her debit card, “I hope to hear that you got her number, dear. Don’t let these opportunities pass you up. Life is short. And who knows? She could be the one.” Harry gave her the card back after charging her, and handed her the flowers, too. All the while Edna was grinning at him, shaking her head like she knew something he didn’t.

“Take care, Edna. And don’t forget to change the water every 2 days with the flower packets I placed at the stems,” he reminded her, sweetly wiggling his red-lacquered nails at her retreating woman as butterflies awakened in his stomach in a furious flood of nerves. The girl was looking around, her hands hovering over the up-turned faces of a bundle of lively sunflowers, browsing and quietly humming to herself as she waited.

There was no backing out of this, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t! He didn’t want to back out. The girl was a customer, and he would have to approach her no matter what. But she was so pretty it was also intimidating. He doesn’t remember ever being this nervous while approaching someone, especially one he harbored feelings for. His heart was pounding so loud, he was sure it was audible.

“Hello,” he wanted so badly to add ‘love’ at the end of his greeting. “Are y’finding everything a’right?” He asked her, his hands wringing themselves, palms moist with sweat from his unyielding need to impress her. The pink tip of his tongue poked out to swipe across his full bottom lip, and soon after that his teeth sunk down into it, nibbling with uncertainty. Harry made sure that he was standing straight, body aligned to face hers because in that psychology course he took once, he learned that it was a subconscious tactic to engage interest and pleasant replies to attempts at wooing another.

At the sound of his voice, the girl jumped, startled at the sudden vibrations of Harry’s husky voice. Her delicate feet, he noticed, skittered on the floor from her tiny jump, and her doe eyes widened, shouldered rising and falling at a quicker pace than before from the new rush of light fear. When she realizes that it’s just him her hand flattered over the base of her neck and her collarbone in attempts to soothe her racing heart.

“M’s sorry,” he whispers, his hand clamping over his mouth, and then lowering to his chin when he speaks again, “didn’t mean to scare y’love.” This time he can’t restrict himself. It comes so naturally, like the endearment was meant for her, and when a flush covers the bridge of her nose his first instinct is to coo at her for looking so cute. The second is a surge of guilt for having scared her to such an extent.

“It’s okay,” she says, a little out of breath. The blush on her face was partly because she was embarrassed at her own reaction, while the other was that she had let herself act so freely and uncoordinated in front of someone that looked like him. Handsome and sweet and eyes so green they refreshed you upon first glance. Like the cool burn of water going into a mouth that had just chewed a stick of minty gum. “I want to buy these flowers.”

God help him. Her voice alone was enough to make him melt. The lilts and melodies of her voice swarming all four of the ventricles in his heart with warmth, and every blood cell that passed contained a glowing heat, buzzing with her energy.

She points to the sunflowers, her gaze lingering on them with longing. A soft smile toying on her mouth, and Harry could see the tendons in her throat stretch as she inhaled to add another thought to her sentence, “Do you sell vases by any chance?” The girl looked at him shyly, her eyelashes almost twinkling as she blinked, and his heart soared, “I had a really nice one in the shape of a big Coca-Cola bottle, and I accidentally knocked it over, so now I have nothing to put them in.”

Harry is incredibly enamoured by subconscious gestures that take over her hands as she speaks, fiddling as if the vase she spoke about was in her hands, all in one piece before it was broken. He’s quiet throughout her tiny ramble, listening and taking note of her enticing antics. She’s looking down at the floor or the flowers or her hands, and when her eyes dance over to his steady gaze, “I’m rambling aren’t I?” she murmurs bashfully.

“No, no it’s a’right. I can look in the back for something if y’like?” He suggested, arrowing a thumb to the ‘back’ he mentioned. “Did y’want anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t wanna be a troubling customer!” She squeaked, concerned with becoming a nuisance she didn’t want to be.

“Y’not a bother, love. M’promise. I’ll go look f’you. What color did y’have in mind?” He asked her, tone calm and soothing to reiterate his sentiment. She was not a bother. The only thing about her that bothered him was the fact that he did not know her name, and even that was his own fault for not asking her.

His hands rest on his hips, tattooed cross momentarily hidden by the bunch of his sweater vest as he waits for her to respond, his eyes locked on her mouth, her own tongue subtly licks her lips, adding a sparkly sheen to it that only drove him crazy. Ever the jilted fool, his mind jumps to what it would feel like to kiss her, or what it would feel like if she kissed him in other places. What fruits she tasted like, and what kind of kisser she was. A timid one? With a patient mouth waiting to be broken open with the force of his own? Frugal? Opening her mouth and giving him everything she had to offer.

“Something pink, please. If you have it.” That smile again. One that told a million apologies it didn’t owe, with her eyes pinching at the corners with whatever nonsense culpability she felt. Her voice was sweet, Harry thought, like wind chimes on a summer morning.

Feeling guilty for allowing such dirty thoughts to gallop through his mind when she was so… so pure. Like an angel. Even her way of presenting herself was shy and sweet, yet he was thinking about kissing her. Was that perverted? She was a customer he had seen twice, and his mind was already running wild with luscious assumptions; a sunday topped with a red cherry of sensuality. How awfully dirty of him.

But! But those were not the only thoughts he had. He wanted to ask her what happened to cause her to drop her vase, and where she had bought it. If it was vintage, considering it was a Coca-cola bottle, and if she had any accidents while cleaning up the mess of broken glass. He wanted to hear her thoughts. No, better yet, he just wanted to hear her talk. He wanted to get to know her. To know if she was as nice as she looked.

“‘Course,” he mumbled, his eyes shamefully downcast to the floor. “Be righ’ back.”

Harry stalked off to ‘the back of the store’. Truth was, there was no back of the store containing vases. There was only a small closet with boxes of items he might need around the store, like flower food, rubber bands, and decorative paper for the bouquets. A crate of bottled water for when he got too lazy to climb up the back stairs and into his home.

His home.

Plucking the keys from his pocket, a ring that held a ceramic swan his closest friend Mitch had gifted him with a humble admission of ‘saw this at a thrift store and thought about you, H, I had to buy it’, and five keys: one to the front door of his shop, one to the cash box in the register, one to the mailbox, another to the front door of his apartment, and one to his car. The one to his front door was painted at the head with pastel pink nail polish, so it was easy for him to pick out when he was dead tired after a long day of being on his feet (spunky shoes that he liked to wear sometimes didn’t help ease the ache on his back, and neither did his posture).

The back door that led to the stairs had locks on both the inside and the outside. A deadbolt and chain on matching sides of the door to ensure comfortable sleep at night, and peaceful work time during the day. Not having to worry about curious children opening doors or nosy customers relieved him. It was a little amatuer, but the door made a loud noise when opened because it wasn’t quite level, and he had a tiny key so he could lock it from the outside, too.

A loud shucking noise resonated through the store as he pulled the door open, and then again when he closed it behind him. The delicacy of his dainty yet large hands were nearly comical around the tiny golden pin stud that hung from the chain, almost slipping from his hands with nerves as he slid it in place. Harry didn’t think that she was nosy or anything like that, bit if he was going up to give her a vase of his own personal collection, he didn’t want her to find out and feel even more intrusive that she already did.

He was a huge giver, and upon hearing her say that she broke her flower pot, his mind was already thinking about the perfect one to replace it. It just so happened to be sitting on his shelf with a bundle of dying lavender. Climbing up the stairs (the ache in his thighs was a mere twinge compared to what it was when he first moved here), Harry huffed and thought to himself all the ways he could ask for her name and number.

Listen, I really like y’and would like to have y’number?”

Do y’wanna have my number so we can go out sometime if y’feel like it?”

“Is it alright if I get y’number so we can go out sometime?”

“Hey, love. What’s y’name?”

Nothing’s making sense to him. The pick up lines he had stored in his head for the rare times he would flirt with a girl were slipping from him. None of them seemed worded right to use with her. Too abrupt or too brisk. Not sweet enough. He wanted to treat her gently and to be worthwhile of her time. Plus, it also had to be smooth enough that it made her forget she was paying him for flowers or it would be awkward. He was a twenty-six man for crying out loud, not a twenty-one year old smile at the bar looking for a good time. This wasn’t a ‘good time’. This was… a courting. An inquiry to a relationship. A rose rose in a candlelit room.

Harry opened his front door and moved in a quick jog to a table besides his hi-fi that held a translucent pale pink glass, fat at the base before twirling and widening a few inches at the lip. An image of a nude mermaid puffing out at the front like an engraving. Cuddling it into his breast, he grabbed the lavender, speed walked back to his kitchen where his toe banged against the metal of the trashcan as he pressed on the lever to open it. He hissed fuck under his breath and shucked the dead lavender into the bag before turning back to his door, closing it behind him, but not locking it because he didn’t want to keep her waiting. His feet moved quickly down the stairs, the one hand not holding onto the vase cupping a hand over the side of his hips that held his keys so they didn’t make much noise.

The button on the chain slipped from his fingers a few times from their repeated clamminess, and when he was ready to finally twist the knob, he paused to take a breath and collect himself. Harry ran a hand through his hair, fixed his collar, and dusted off his pants legs. He wanted to look perfect for her.

“Don’t be stupid,” he murmured to himself. He had a good feeling about this. About her. And if he messed this up because he looked bad or said something weird he would kick himself into a muddy ditch.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and calmly walked back, “I’ve got the last one,” he said, tapping the tip of the vase with his pointer finger. It was a lie, right through his teeth, but he was happy to tell it in return for the way she was looking at him in that moment. His eyes rounded out as he approached her, like the curves of hearts that made up the heart-eye emoji, or the puppy-dog face. Just another physical display of his growing affinity towards her.

“Oh my god!” She said, “It's so pretty!” The trapped crystals in her irises twinkled with bewilderment at the treasure Harry’s presented her with. She’s got a smile on her face, and he can’t help but think, ‘wow, she looks like a freshly bloomed white lily’.

There’s a vintage print hanging in his corridor, a ‘flower language chart’ with different types of flowers and a sentence beneath them describing the messages they send. For example, red carnations= my heart aches for you. The description beneath white lilies reads ‘my love is pure’.

She asked him if it wasn’t too pricey, and he made up some fake sale he had going on about a hybrid BOGO in which if she bought an arrangement she would get a vase included in her purchase (he added “I’ve got a shipment of new ones coming in an I need the space cleared out before they get here” just to make sure his fib is believable.) And he explains this so shyly. Harry can’t keep his eyes locked on hers because she’s staring at him with an intensity that lets him know she's really listening, and it makes him squirm. The tips of his fingers tap against the vase, and he’s tripping over his tongue, which is ridiculous because he already talks so slow.

“I guess I was right in waiting then,” she said casually, waiting for Harry to finish ringing her up.

His finger froze over the touch screen of the sleek, modern device (he wanted nothing but the best for his store) and listened to the exciting roar of blood through his eardrums at her words. I guess I was right in waiting then? What did that mean? That she was planning on coming back to see him and didn’t? Of course, it could also mean that she was going to buy something else somewhere else, but he couldn’t stop the vine of ripe hope that swelled around his chest. And she looked so apprehensive while saying it. As if she was walking on glass and was looking for cracks as she stepped. As if she was waiting on him to catch on to something.

Harry cleared his throat and looked at her through the corner of his eye, trying to be as discreet as possible as his fingers continued their deliberate work on the screen, “What d’you mean, love?”

“I was going to stop by sooner, but I just got in my head about it,” the girl shrugged, and adjusted the ends of her cardigan so they wrapped around her torso. She had a different bag this time, one of those reusable market bags that was made up of holes, and it was filled with two books and a can of green tea from the vegan store down the street. Harry thinks he can make out one of the titles on one of the spines, which looks suspiciously similar to something that he has on his own shelf.

“Why would y’get in y’own head about coming to m’flower shop, hmm? It’s hardly that intimidating,” he chuckles to play off the dashes of pink and red that are painting themselves across the bridge of his twitching nose, “I don’t bite, either.”

And he hopes that his wistfulness isn’t meddling with his vision because he swears that he can see a matching reaction on her own doll face. “I know! I know, it’s just that I can’t help it sometimes. Talking to other people makes me nervous.”

Harry could coo at her right now. He doesn’t, though. He nods and smiles at her before reading her total out to her, “That I get, too. But y’doing just fine with me, love.”

Waiting patiently as she digs through her bag for cash, he tries to not stare. However, it’s impossible. His eyes had a mind of their own dragging against the forces of his will to feast on her image again. Her hands and the tip of her nose. The base of her neck and gentle swell of her clavicles. The swoops of hair that hung in a curtain from her shoulder as her head tilted in search, and the how her teeth bit down into her lip in concentration. Harry counted the amount of times her eyelashes met her waterline in those few seconds of comfortable silence. Three.

“I thought I had cash on me today,” something in her bag clicks, and she pulls out the rectangular card Harry’s become familiar with, holding it out to him between two deft fingers, painted with red hearts on a white base. “I guess I used my last twenty at the organic food store down the street,” she said.

“It is pretty easy to get lost in there, isn’t it?” He took her card from her, and tried not to make it obvious that he was eager to read her name off of it as he inserted it into the machine. The embossed letters into the plastic read y/n y/l/n, and when he turns back to look at her, he can’t help the smile that spreads across his boyish features.

Y/n.

Y/n, y/n, y/n.

This is what it must feel to be let in on a secret that’s worth millions of dollars. It must, because Harry’s heart is soaring with a closure he didn’t know he needed. Y/n, y/n. Her name tickled him. Stroked him. Lathered him with the honey smoothness of the beeswax shampoo he bought at that fateful organic store. It was a fitting name. Sometimes, one could tell a person ‘you know, I actually thought you were a Amy or a Jessica’, because their looks and style just didn’t match the strength or modesty of their name. But not y/n. It fit her like a glove. There was no other way to make sense of the way Harry’s brain was thinking. The name was her.

“What?” Her lips quirk up into a smile and her eyebrows dip in confusion. Why was he looking at her like that? Did she have something on her face? Here she was, opening up to a cute stranger and she had something on her face? This, she thought to herself, is humiliating. Her finger dusted off non-existent crumbs from the corners of her mouth, “do I have something on my face?”

“No! No, no.” Harry’s careful beam simmered down from it’s previous brightness, and his hand nervously filed through the swoop of chocolate curls sitting on his head like a cinnamon roll. “I just think y’name is pretty thas’ all.”

He murmured the last part so that it was practically incoherent, and lowered his gaze as a searing heat stretching like saran wrap around his head and the divot on the nape of his neck. Oh, God. He was fucking blushing. Great Harry. A normally favorite among the ladies had been reduced to murmurs and thick, uncoordinated movements.

Like dropping her card when she piped up again.

Voice as small and quaint as his had been, "you think my name is pretty?” Her fingers are wrapped around the frail straps of her bag, tight enough that her knuckles were white and Harry was scared that she’d bury her fingernails into her palm.

“I think y’very pretty.” He whispered back. He can’t even bear to look at her in fear that he’s totally fucked himself over once and for all. His logic was this: what girl wants to be told by the guy they’re buying flowers that they’re pretty after he reads her name from her debit card? Especially one who (if outside female sources are to be believed) dresses “the way my mother did when she was a girl in the seventies”? Jesus, fuck. He must’ve looked ridiculous.

Harry opened his mouth to backtrack and apologize for being so unorthodox in his workspace, a breath sitting on his tongue with words ready to spew out, but the bell began to chime and it yanks his head from the register to the front and instead he said, “welcome! I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Flustered and full of regret, the flower connoisseur returned his wired gaze back to y/n, who… was smiling at him? The kind of smile that said ‘oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that. Now please say it again’? Was he… dreaming? Did he have to pinch himself in order to verify that he wasn-

“Thank you... what’s your name?” Y/n looked at the card from his hands and sunk her hand- carefully, as to not get her fingers stuck in any of the tiny holes- and there was another clicking noise before she took her hand back out. That angel-like smear of girlish happiness was still on her, decadently radiating positivity and secret affection. Goodness leaked from the seams of her bones; through the cracks of her breastplate, radiating from her chest to Harry’s. He could feel it now. He could feel that his previous assumptions about her nature were true. She was altruistic and tender, like the inside of a bird’s wing.

“Harry. M’name’s Harry.” This time, he didn’t hide his happiness. Even his eyes shone with a heightened, clear and sparkly shade of liquid evergreen. The joy that bounced inside of him like ricocheting metal balls in a pin game machine. His slender hand, fawn-skinned and graceful like the legs of a deer, stretched out between them. His mother had taught him that along with the first introduction of his name, a handshake must be present, always. Dipping his head slightly, and his words spongy with love-ditz, Harry rumbled, “Nice to meet you, y/n.”

She placed her hand in his, and was practically swallowed by only his palm. He curled his fingers around her, thumb and middle finger overlapping around the clammy center of hers. So she was nervous, just as he was. Y/n was trained on their embracing limbs, and he could feel a spot on his neck where the skin palpated from the rush of blood as she observed their entwined digits. Their hands moved up and down, up and down between them for longer than necessary until her chin twitched back up to meet his, and she blinked mawkishly, slowly, like the videos of rehabilitated barn owls Harry sees on his Instagram.

Then, suddenly, as if she remembered she was not the only one present, y/n jolts upright and shakes her head dazedly. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Harry. I like your nail color,” she added.

He’s cheesing. A shit-eating grin too big for his face and it carves dimples into the flesh of his cheeks. His name on her tongue had never sounded so appealing, like it was made for her and only her to say. Not even the turtle-doves that cooed outside his window in the mornings sounded as beautiful as she did saying his name. And she complimented her nails! She hadn’t scrutinized him like others had, instead, she displayed her admiration for them. No one- well, actually he can’t say that without offending Mitch- no female of his age had ever received him with such open-mindedness as hers. If he didn’t have any self-restraint, he would giggle. Instead, Harry pulled his hand back so that their perfect moment wasn’t sullied with bouts of bad timing, “thank y’love. I like yours, too. You’ll have t’come over sometime and paint mine, yeah?”

Y/n laughed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t been too bold, “I’d love too!” With glee frozen on her, she turned to look over her shoulder at the customer who was browsing the flowers Harry had in buckets, “I don’t want to hold you back from a customer for so long. I’ll stop by again soon, Harry. Thank you so much for your help.”

The moment her hands reached for the wrapped bundle of sunflowers and the mermaid vase, a metaphorical grey cloud of rain and thunder manifested in the space above his head, and blocked all of the sunshine from spanning across his toned, lithe body. Did she really have to go? He wanted to whine. Maybe even wrap himself around her ankles like a child that refused to leave the park. They were only just getting to a mutual spot of comfort! Forget the other customer, he wanted to shout. Harry would kick them out and flip the sign to ‘closed’ if it meant only a few more minutes in the presence of her candy-coated charisma.

But he knows that’s unrealistic, and settles with, “it was my pleasure, y/n,” a flirty wink (at least he hopes it is), “I’ll be waiting f’your next visit.” His taffy lips wrapping effortlessly around his smooth words, fueled by her welcoming receptiveness to his advances. It would be easy to be himself in the future, a little smoother and eloquent in his language and feeling. He was usually clear with what he wanted from anyone, and made it a pleasurable experience in all aspects for both parties involved (once it was three). Harry wanted to sweep her off her feet, and he wanted it to be an enjoyable experience for the both of them. Revel in that feeling of blooming emotions in a new relationship. A healthy one, in which he wasn’t receiving back-handed compliments all the time.

He wasn’t superficial enough to push anyone off the table based on looks alone, but it did help that y/n had the disposition of an angel. An ethereal voice, supple lips that looked so silky and soft they had to feel that way, too, and hands that felt so tender in his. Perfect for holding on a late night stroll, or over the center console of his car when -if they go out on dates.

What really hooked, reeled, and sinked him, though, was the fact that she was so nice to him. From the start, she’d been nothing but polite and sweet with him. Don’t even get him started on the way he swooned at the tone of her voice when he said that her name was pretty! So quiet and velvety, careful and calculated like she wanted him to know that it was okay. That she wasn’t thrown off by his comment. He nearly toppled over, clutching his heart with his legs jutting straight up into the air like a frightened goat.

It wasn’t until the bells stopped ringing the sad notice of her exit that Harry realized he passed up the perfect opportunity to ask for her number, and as he kicked himself over it, he walked with the perfect customer service face he could muster to help the other person in his store.

***

Harry was having a shitty morning.

Not the kind of morning where every aspect of his routine is a terrible mishap, but like the water being too cold and the stove not working or the bottle of oat milk in the fridge being empty so he couldn’t make coffee. No, everything was fine and rolling smoothly, as it should.

His water was the perfect temperature and ran down the toned bumps and divots of his muscles like the relaxing thrums of a lover’s caress in the midst of prowling heat. As soon as it hit his back, he released a sigh of contentment, his shoulders hunching and head rolling back and his hands roamed his shoulders and the back of his neck, rubbing away any aches that existed. The branch of eucalyptus that hung from the golden pipe of his showerhead fused a thick minty scent into the steam that fogged the glass wall, and the calming aroma helped the tendons loosen like the deflating limpness of untied shoelaces. He spent a few minutes just standing there, inhaling and exhaling deeply and feeling his lungs open and stretch beneath his rib cage.

It almost made him wish that he’d opted to use his tub for a hot bath instead.

He was able to cook an egg just fine on his stove, with dashes of Everything Bagel Seasoning with a side of avocado and a slice of toasted cranberry walnut bread, the same thing he had every morning. The carton of oat milk was brand new from his trip to the market the day before, and his coffee tasted the same as it always did. But… he was just... sad. An melancholy soreness that eroded against the insides of his body, consuming him slowly but surely and leaving him with a lost feeling of emptiness and unimportance.

He thinks he might know why he’s feeling this way.

While he’s stirring his scrambled eggs, he’s wondering how y/n likes hers. Over easy? Sunny-side up? Scrambled, like him? Did she even like eggs in the morning? What did she eat in the morning? He knows that some people ‘aren’t hungry’ in the mornings, though that’s only because they’ve gone hungry in the mornings before for an extended time period, and after so long of not feeding their growling stomachs, their brain discontinues the signals of hunger. Harry hopes that isn’t the case with y/n, and that she’s eating the proper three meals a day every day.

And while he dipped a mini vegan chocolate croissant that he got at Whole Foods, he also wonders what she likes to dip chocolate croissants into, or if she even likes chocolate croissants. If she was a person who likes sweet treats, like strawberry tarts with powdered sugar over them or something lighter, like fruit cut into small squares in a bowl. When Harry was younger and would visit his nan on the weekends, she would pick fresh strawberries from her garden and cut them up for him when he’d woken from his nap. Sometimes, she would even sprinkle half a tablespoon of sugar over them. He wonders if she’d ever eaten strawberries like that.

It’s been a week and a half, he still hasn’t seen her, and his heart is yearning.

Harry knows he’s not in the correct headspace to assist other people with a cheery disposition about an hour before opening time, and decides it’s best if he writes a note on the door about how the shop wouldn’t open that day because he didn’t want to taint the reputation of his business by snapping at a customer for the only bundle of sunflowers he had, or dissolve into a puddle of love-sick tears in the middle of ringing someone up. Though really the notice just says ‘H’s Garden will not be opening today. Sorry for the inconvenience!’ followed by a frowning face and a lopsided, filled-in heart.

Harry drags his feet back up the stairs, his lower lip jutting out in a discreet but depressing pout, and grabs Owen from his tank so that the chameleon could curl into the shoulder of Harry’s hoodie while he moped on the couch to sappy rom-coms that would only make him think about her more. At least there was someone there with him, even if his small green friend only used him for mangoes and papaya. They sit together for the entirety of Romeo + Juliet, and when it’s over, Harry’s sniffly and standing up to return Owen to his enclosure and to clean because the riotous emotions that whirl within him are too much to process while sitting down.

Cleaning wouldn’t help him solve his problems, but it would help him cram all of his worries into a tight corner at the back of his mind- sort of like when dirty laundry began to overflow in the hamper and it requires extra force to shove it all in, only to come all back out like a memory sponge. His tormented thoughts on y/n could be compared to a dramatic inner monologue, very similar to how Romeo feels about his Juliet. But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and y/n is the sun. Harry has the play on his book shelf (the one with the side-to-side modern English translation because he was never quite gifted in the English department) and as he reaches for a bandana to tie his hair back, he finds himself resonating with a particular line: parting is such a sweet sorrow.

There was no need to change any of his clothing, since he was already dressed in one of his more impromptu outfits; grey sweats and a white t-shirt that read ‘women are smarter’ in black across his chest. He tied the red bandana into a knot at the back of his head, and lifted it over his chin so that it settled on his forehead, sweeping his hair back with a final push back. It doesn’t get in his way when he crouches to clean his various tables, spraying cleaning products with his shirt pulled over his nose, another organic product that’s supposed to be less harmful and smells like cinnamon and sandalwood. His shoulder blades begin to ache because he’s being a little more aggressive than he has to be, but the green tiles were sparkling so he was content.

He washes the dishes, mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the carpets, cleans Owen’s habitat, and tidies the mail that piled up on the table when he finally calls it quits. Scouring his brain for something to do, to keep him busy- his brain busy, Harry settles on the floor with his back to the edge of his bed. He’s shirtless now, and is in need of another shower but he’d rather not because he knows he might end up crying over the possibility that he’s scared y/n off. There’s a book in his hands and a Frank Ocean record playing softly in the background that mentions something about ‘I've been thinkin' 'bout you, do you think about me still?’ and it’s not helping his case at all.

It’s no use.

There’s a plague of darkness buzzing like cicadas in his ears. He fears rejection and criticism. That maybe, she was only pretending in order to make the situation more pleasant so it ended sooner. Most of all, he feared that it would always be this way. That he would never find someone who embraces who he is as a person. Always met with mean side-eye glances or second looks of displeasure and confusion. It isn’t always that way, though, because then that would mean he gets absolutely no action, and that isn’t true.

Harry is very… well-educated in matters that concerned sexual intercourse, but it was always a one-night stand ordeal. It was never ‘I really like you we should go out sometime’. In fact, he noticed that only time his approaches were well received were those in which he was dressed in a calmer manner. Simple, solid colors with sneakers or a t-shirt. Girls would flirt back, make good conversation, allow him to buy them a few drinks, and when he’d take them to his apartment they’d ask why he lived on top of a flower-shop, and if it was his sister or female-friend’s palace that he was crashing. Sex would ensue, but his heart wouldn’t be as present and engaged as he wanted it to be.

Wrong. It was always so fucking wrong, and God, if he didn’t get out of this apartment he’s going to breakdown and cry and there’s no one to call to come over because Mitch is on a trip with his girlfriend, Sarah, and his other friend Jeff is on his honeymoon in Sweden. They were the only two on his mental speed dial list during the rare occasions he had a crisis, as they were the two that Harry had ever really opened up to. Mitch was a bit closer to his heart. They’ve known each other since their school days and practically grew up together (at one point they had small crushes on each other, which were confessed years down the line). Jeff was the owner of Winsome where… where y/n had mentioned spending her last twenty dollar bill. He didn’t have an issue opening up to them. He liked opening up to them, but he didn’t understand why they were the only two that ever truly opened their arms to him.

A walk, he decided, would help him… air out his brain. Calm down. Breathe a little deeper, a little easier.

He threw his white shirt back on, and a forest green sweatshirt that donned the emblem of the school he went to earn his business degree that fit him wide around the shoulders and felt like a marshmallow. Putting on a pair of beat up shoes, he shoved his keys into his pocket, hobbling and nearly losing his balance because he was moving way too fast. The door closed behind him with a slam, and even though he was still wearing the bandana around his head, wispy stray curls framing his face in a wild mane, his distress palpable through his appearance, but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out and feel the cool air against his skin.

There’s a backdoor behind the stairs that will take him to a small alleyway that leads to a back parking lot where other shop owners that live at the top of their stores on the same side of his street parked their cars. He unlocks it from the inside, and throws his shoulder into it, desperate to her out. When it shuts behind him, he doesn’t turn back because it’s the kind to lock from the outside when closed. His fingers curl into the ends of his sleeve so that the tips of his fingers (nails now changed to a sparkling silver color) are the only parts of his hands visible.

Rounding the corner, he whistled the cheeriest tune he can muster. His lips are puckered and his cheekbones high with the extension of his mouth. He’s not very happy on the inside, though he remembers reading something somewhere that if you pretend to be something long enough, you’ll eventually become it. If he pretends to be happy, then he’ll actually be happy.

Right?

Harry rounds the corner of the parking lot and turns on to the main street. It’s only two in the afternoon, so there's people crawling in and out of shops anywhere. He even sees a man and a woman peeking into the window of his store, and he would feel bad if he wasn’t in a shitty mood already. He’s so out of it, that he nearly yells ‘get your hands off my windows!’. He doesn’t though, because for a moment the woman becomes y/n and the man becomes him, wrapping a ringed hand around her waist and whispering in her downy ear ‘they’re closed, darling, let’s go somewhere else’ and she straightens dejectedly, pouting playfully and standing up and her tippy toes so that she could press a quick kiss to his lips.

That image fades though, and the couple continues with their stroll, hand in hand, and his heart is wrenching, writhing and trying to yank itself free from it’s place in his chest because it hurts too much to stay.

Cars whizz past, and he skirts in and out of people on the sidewalk, keeping his pace fast and focused. There’s no intended destination, he’s just moving with the intent to forget the pretty girl who haunts him. Her voice is all he can hear. Her smile is all she can picture. And the rest of her is all he can imagine, which is exactly what hurts the most. Imagination only goes so far, fulfils so much with uncertainty of what the truth was and what wasn’t. Harry could imagine her with her feet up on the lip of a bubble filled tub, a glass of wine in her hands, but then…what kind of wine did she like? Or did she even like wine? And did she even have a bathtub to stretch out in after a long day?

He curses the crimes he may have committed in past lives to deserve this torture. This unbearable pain that felt like he was being dunked in a slow-acting acid. He can do nothing about it but keep walking with labored will power. He passed his shop, and a bakery and a small thrift store that sells used clothing for way too much money. At the propped open double-doors of Jeff’s Winsome, he decides to talk in and browse. There’s so many items that smell good and taste good, that it was fun to just walk in and look.

“Back again so soon, H?”

Spinning on his heel, Harry comes face to face with Niall, a brunette, fit, Irish bloke with a chummy smile and a killer sense of humor. The two have brokered a sort of friendship, considering the amount of time (and money) that Harry spends there. Niall has even started calling him ‘H’ in silent homage to his flower shop.

“Y’know I can’t stay away,” Harry attempted to joke, his lips pulling up in a weak smile, “plus, I think I needed s’more of the peppermint essential oils f’my diffuser.”

“‘Course ya do! You're worse than the bloody vegan mums that come in asking for gluten free baby powder!” Niall cups a hand over his mouth and loudly whispers to so that only Harry catches his verbiage. There was a woman in the back of the store, looking through soaps in the limited kid’s section, the same exact kind that Niall was speaking about. “Go on and look around then, I’ll be here when you’re finished.” He said.

Harry only nodded his acknowledgement, and moved in between wooden walnut shelves. The entire store had a caramel brown color scheme, with only the inventory adding color to it. Macramé potted succulents and plants added to the natural, outdoorsy feel. Winsome had an interesting mix of smells from all of the aromatherapy based products it housed, but it only added to the appeal.

Currently, he held a packet of four lip balms that advertised to be ‘100% all naturally derived ingredients with no artificial additives' infused with ‘healing power of crystals’, two of them ‘citrine cherry' flavored, and the remaining ‘garnet guava’. The brand name is something in Italian that he can’t read, packaging thick and a triangle made of arrows in the corner signaling it can be decomposed and/or recycled. He had the same exact ones at home, only they were all misplaced and-

“Harry?”

A small, timid voice called his name from behind him, and he froze. He knew that voice. It was the same one he had repeated over and over in his head for the past week, waiting for her promised arrival with a hopeful heart.

His eyes go wide with recognition, body still and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. His heart begins to rump at a furious speed, loud in his ears like a million stampeding hooves. The packaged products in his hands shake, and then she speaks again, “Harry, is that you?”

Is this really happening right now? He’s embarrassed at having been caught with lipstick in his hands of all things, but he can’t put them back now. It was too late for that. He lets them hang at his side, and turns around. He hopes there isn’t perspiration dripping from his temples because all of a sudden he wants to yank his sweater off.

Harry turned, slowly. He feared that if he moved too fast she would fly away like a startled dove.

“Y/n…” He’s breathless, but he manages a pitiful quirk of the corner of his mouth, which he licks over right after, “hi.”

She’s wearing a dress this time, frilly at the hem which fell just above her knees. It’s pink and covered and lined with blood red trim at her forearms. A string of pearls glistens at the base of her throat, and her lips are covered in a sheen of lipstick. Her hair, however, is a tousled mess, pieces of it framing her face and untucked from her bun as if she had been jostling around. Her cheeks are flushed with the cold, and clearly that thin beige cardigan hanging off her elbows is doing nothing to keep her warm.

Y/n smiles at him, with the same shakiness, “f-for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong p-person.”

It’s quiet again, and they’re both fidgeting. Y/n’s knees knock together as she shifts her weight from foot to food, and Harry idly rubs his finger under his nose and sniffs boogies that aren’t there. She’s staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on her heels and he can’t think of anything to say because he’s so paralyzed by the fact that she’s actually standing in front of him, and looks as gorgeous as ever. Had he somehow manifested her presence?

While she’s hiking up the ends of her sweater so that they’re situated properly on her shoulders, he says the first thing that comes to his mind. “Aren’t y’cold?”

Her head snaps up and she peeks at him from under her lashes while flattening a hand at her thigh, “a little bit.”

Harry watches her tuck her hair behind her ears and wonders if she came walking from her apartment again. In the cold. Dress as she was. Not that he had a problem with the way that she was dressed! He understood that sometimes when people grew bored they used the smallest occasions to dress up and have some fun and get out of their homes. He did it too, sometimes. To clear his head. Hell, isn’t that what he was doing now?

“D’you need a ride home?” He stumbled over his tongue to backtrack, not wanting her to think that he was a wierdo or anything like that, “t-that is if y’walking, I wouldn’t want you to get sick or anything like that. S’bit chilly out today.”

Y/n smiles shyly at him, a blush on the highest points of her cheeks, and rubs the side of her face against the fabric of her cardigan, “thank you, for the offer, but uhm… it’s my friend’s baby-shower-gender-reveal thing today and I came with my other friend to some last minute gifts and some flowers. I was going to buy some stuff from here because she’s crazy about the whole ‘no preservatives’ and all but, and I was also going to stop by your shop to buy some flowers, but I saw you were closed so I…I’m rambling again.” She sputtered out the last bit, and pressed the tips of her three middle fingers to her lips to stop the words from coming out.

Harry smirked at her antics, but it’s more of a repressed smile, and the rest of his humor gleamed in the sea-glass of his eyes like a message in a bottle.

“S’alright, love.” He’s still holding the lip balms in his hand, and he can feel the moisture that’s collecting on his palms dampening the Kraft like material as he gestured to her dress with the tip of his chin. “Y’wearing pink. I take it y’want the baby to be a girl?”

“Actually, I know it’s a girl. She told me,” y/n pips, shrugging smugly.

Harry laughs at her this time, “Did you finish with all your purchases here? I can make an exception and open up f’you.”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t wanna bother you! Because if this was your day off then-”

He lifts a hand to get her to stop, and uses the opportunity to twist around and put back what he had in his hands. The conversation is flowing so smoothly now, that all of his previous worries are gone. He can only focus on her and the way her eyelashes fluttered and the crystalline sparkly in her voice.

“Y/n, it’s fine. D’ya finish here? We can head over to the shop now if you’d like.” Harry points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the door.

“Uh, no. I just got here so I still have to go grab some things,” she said, pushing her hair past her ears again. He thinks that she can probably tell the disheveled state her hair was in, because she begins to pop off a pin in her hair to readjust it. He doesn’t mind it, though. He thinks she looks cute. Angel-like.

He nods, rolling his hands into fists within his sleeves so that the cuffs hang over his knuckles, and tries not to trip over his legs as he backs away. “A’right. I’ll wait f’you in the front, then. Take y’time, love.”

“‘Kay,” she gleams at him, biting down on her bottom lip, and Harry turns away fully before he starts whining about how cute she is or before there’s a dent in the heather grey fabric of his sweatpants.

At the front, Niall has his chin at the palm of his hand, and as he gets closer, Harry lifts his head to see that the brunette is wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. There's a shit-eating grin on his face that clearly points to a mountain of teasing in the near distance.

“A little love-struck, mate?” He said, as soon as Harry was within hearing distance. At least he had the decency to keep his voice down, he thought.

Harry flips him off, “oh, bug off.”

Silver glitter sparkling on his nails, and his gaze strays to the floor, bashful of how clear his affection was. He turns to rest his bum against the counter and pulls out his phone to appear busy as he waits for y/n, mindlessly opening Instagram to have something to do (and to stop him from glancing at her ever two seconds).

“Yup. I knew it. Have y’asked her out yet?” Niall doesn’t stop to let Harry refute his question, “y’know she comes in sometimes, after stopping by your place? And she just will not stop talking about how nice yeh were to her.”

Harry’s head snaps up from his screen so fast, something at the back of his neck creaks with the force. Instagram is long forgotten.

“What? Are you fuckin’ with me right now?” He doesn’t mean for his words to come as aggressive as they do, but the thought of her speaking to someone else about him is… well, it’s thrilling.

Alarmed, Niall’s hands come up near his face in the motion of surrender, “no, man! Dead serious. Think she likes yeh, honestly.”

He can only say: “Fuck me.”

Niall is about to respond when a quiet voice breaks their stares, “I’m all finished.”

“Already, babe? I’ll rig ya up, then!”

He’s quick to slide the few products over the scanning square, and y/n and Harry stand beside each other silently, their height difference laughable. Niall’s gaze flickered between them with no commentary, and his lips pucker with a wiggling smile when he finally announces her total. A bit too much for a small changing blanket, oatmeal-based baby lotion, pacifiers with a lavender infused towel attached to ‘aid with goodnight night’s sleep’, and a bamboo hairbrush with a tuft of soft bristles.

Nonetheless, she provides the money with a pleasant smile. Harry can see a bit of tightness around her eyes that suggests discomfort, but he doesn’t say anything. Niall hands her a paper bag with her purchase, “there yeh go! Have a good day now, y/n! And be good, to Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widen at Niall’s last comment, and it takes every bit of self-restraint in him to not reach the other counter and whack him in the back of the head. Instead, he shakes and ducks his head in near shame.

Y/n, however, quips back with “I’ll be nice only if you’re nice,” and bumps her shoulder against his before walking towards the door, looking over her shoulder at Harry who’s smiling wide now, and trailing after her with no regard to Niall at all.

He shouts something after them about being rude lovebirds, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s floating after this heaven-sent like cartoon characters being led to a freshly baked pie with their nose on the scent. His rump high in the air like the Lorax disappearing into the light in the clouds, utterly ignorant to everything else.

When they’ve both stepped outside, they speak at the same time,

“Let me just-”

“Do y’wanna put-”

Harry and y/n giggle at each other,

“You go first.”

“Y’speak first.”

And then they laugh again. Harry pretends to zip his lips and throws away the key, and she says radiantly, “I’ll drop this off in my friend’s car really fast and we can walk to your flower shop.”

Watching her approach a car parked two spots away, a girl with blue, pink, and brown hair leans over to the passenger side, seat belt straining against her throat and when she sees Harry, she waves and it makes y/n push her back to her spot behind the driver’s side. Whoever this girl is, she and Niall have to meet, seeing as they can’t mind their own business. He chuckled and waved back, that girl laughing along with him and it made y/n cover her face with her cardigan covered hands.

“I’m sorry about Charlotte,” she said when she got back, “she doesn’t know how to mind her own.”

“A bit like Niall, it seems.” Harry said. He waits for her to catch up before beginning to walk down the street. Side to side, shoulder to shoulder. They’re so close, Harry can feel the warmth of her body heat through the fleece of his sweatshirt. It’s cold, and she’s still this warm?

“Maybe,” her eyebrows raise, and her head tilts towards him, “they should meet.”

“Tha’s exactly what I was thinkin’!” His voice rises with his excited agreement, and the tip of his nose wiggles as he scrunches his nose.

As they get closer, to H’s Garden, Harry reaches into his pocket for his keys, fingering through them so that they wouldn’t have to stand in the cold for so long. He didn’t want her to get sick.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I feel really bad about this,” she whispered beside him, looking up at him with doe eyes as she worried her lip between her teeth, the sheen of gloss adding an extra allure to her image at that moment. “It’s your day off, and I’m bugging you.”

They stood in front of the door now, underneath the green umbrella cover that extended from the top of the door and down the side of the window. Harry waited for her to step into the little alcove created by the indent of the door before stepping in after her and jiggling the key into the lock. He resisted the urge to pull his lips down into a cooing frown at the look on her face. She really was worried about disturbing him. If only she knew that he spent the entire day moping (and nearly crying) over her.

He sucked on his teeth, “oh, love, please worryin’ about it. Don’t wanna see that frown on y’pretty face anymore okay?” His confidence was slowly coming back, “s’not my day off, I just didn’t feel like speaking to customers today.”

Shrugging, he opened the door, and took a step back to allow her to step through first. Y/n ducked her head as she passed him with a murmured ‘oh, okay’, and he followed right after her, wanting to get away from the cold too because he knew that his nose was probably pink at that moment, but what he didn’t anticipate was for y/n to stop right after breaching the threshold, and bend over at the waist to pick something up from the floor, causing Harry to bump into her at such an awkwardly sexual angle with all of his momentum.

Considering he was half twisted away from her and in the middle of pulling out the key from it’s slot, the amount of force in Harry’s push from behind was enough to cause her to nearly fall forward, a surprised whimper slipping from her lips. Harry, determined not to see her fall, lets go of the key and reaches out just in time to grasp her hips on either side, pulling her back towards him mid-fall so that she doesn't collapse on her face.

However, in the midst of all of this Harry forgets himself and uses a bit too much force. Not to mention, the implications of their position makes him hyper aware of every single place their bodies touched, her small frame against his lithe, tattooed body.

This moment only lasts for a few seconds, but he can feel everything.

He can feel the easy give of the skin of her hips underneath each finger that touched her, the softness of the flesh on her thighs against his sturdy knees. The fabric of his sweatpants is suddenly non-existent, and it’s almost as if he felt every taught tendon of her legs, frozen with efforts of helping catch or brace herself. The heat of her groin is flush against his, and it makes him want to scream with a sudden sensitivity. Her ass is practically seated on him, full and malleable against the points of his laurel covered hip bones. Harry’s semi-hunched, as her weight also pushed him back, and the position is doing nothing to help his frenzied mind settle. He feels like shit because he’s being a horny, pubescent kid instead of asking her if she’s okay, but then y/n moves back into him to straighten fully and their centers grind. Her dress is semi-bunched at the halfway point of her bum, and he can feel heat emanating from her, radiating back on his bloating cock. He has to stifle a moan when she pushes herself up with the tips of her fingers.

Just as quickly as it started, it’s over. Y/n is dusting her bum off so that her dress falls and covers her modesty, and she’s beet red in the face, not looking at him. Which was fine by him, he was too ashamed to look into her eyes.

He clears his throat (something he’s doing a lot around her) and asks if she’s okay.

“Yes. Yes, I’m okay. This was on the floor,” she squeaked, holding up a neon yellow notice sheet in her hand. That damned thing was what caused all of this?

It’s a notice from the delivery men that said, ‘sorry! We missed you!’ with a time and date messily scrawled on the dotted lines. Harry had forgotten that he was getting a shipment of several plants that morning.

Cursing, he takes it from her, “t-thank you. Now how ‘bout those flowers?”

It’s awkward, obviously, but y/n is severely silent. Harry’s still stuffy in his pants, but he ignores it and doesn’t add any fuel to the fire because there’s more pressing matters at hand than a boner. Y/n is the most quiet she’s ever been around him, considering all of her word vomits and ramblings, and he’s suffering. Definitely beating himself up in his head for having ruined the moment. He held onto her for a second too long, frozen. She must feel so embarrassed, and he was self-endulging like a fucking asshole.

Harry asks her questions on what flowers she’d like, and she answers by pointing or bringing a stem to him, laying it on the counter without a word. A mixture of dahlias and baby’s breath with a handful of feverfew to make the pink in the dahlia’s stand out. He lays them out on his work table, cutting the ends at an angle where they need to be cutted and laying them out on a sheet of clear, dusty rose paper. Three packets of flower food are strewn at the corner, and y/n busies herself by fidgeting with them. He grows concerned when he makes a comment on the kinds of ribbons he had stored and she doesn’t say anything. Not even a nod or a hum.

Eventually, he decides he’s had enough of her neglect, and pauses his work to devote her some attention.

“Love, I’m sorry about what happened,” he said softly, trying to catch her eyes, “I know it probably made y’uncomfortable, and I didn’t do much to make the situation better, but I just didn’t wanna see y’fall.”

Y/n’s head is already dipped, so he can’t see her face, but when her shoulders begin to shake, he knows he’s utterly fucked. She starts to sniffle, and his eyes go wide. The paper crinkled as he set down the baby’s breath he’s holding in his hands. He hates seeing people cry, not because he didn’t know how to deal with it, but because he often ended up crying along with them. Also, he just didn’t want to see her cry. Harry wanted her to be happy, glowing, and smiling. Not dull with dollops of woeful distress in liquid form.

He rounds the corner and spares a look out to the street, wanting to make sure that there is no strange onlooker eavesdropping on their interaction. His hand reaches out to stroke her back or shoulder comfortingly, but he thinks better of it and drops his arm. She most likely would not like to be touched, considering what just happened between them. He drops his head, seeking face-to-face interaction, and speaks as gently as he can, “y/n, what’s wrong?”

She avoids his search, and turns the other way while sniffling, “you probably think I’m weird now or something after that.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, jerking his head back as if he’d been struck, and her words practically had. He can’t believe that she would think that and even go as far as verbalizing her thoughts when he worshipped the ground she walked on and didn’t even know her that well, yet. “No, no. I don’t think that. Y’tripped, that’s all. Happens to everyone. If anythin’ I’m the weirdo for grabbin’ y’the way I did, and I’m really sorry about it.”

Y/n dig the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “that was so embarrassing, I should’ve told you I was gonna stop or something. I always embarrass myself in front of cute boys and I never know what to do. I just-”

Harry interrupts before she can dig herself further another hole. He highlights a segment of her words, dropping everything else in hopes of changing the conversation and taking her discomfort away, and mostly because he was bursting with relief and happiness. She had said that she thought he was cute, just how he thought that she was adorable, and nice, and everything good. They were on the same level, their minds in sync. Did that mean…

His voice is airy and light because of what she had just admitted, “y’think I’m cute?”

She stills with awareness of what she’s just said, and a puppy-like noise seeps from the back of the throat before her hands sink further into her eyes, embarrassed. Harry tenderly wraps his fingers around her small wrists and pulls her hands away from her face, murmuring about ‘don’t rub y’eyes anymore, love, y’gonna hurt’ with nothing but kindness. A millisecond of distraction speeds through his mind at the softness on the inside of her wrists.

There’s a trickle of blubbering in her part, her bitten lips bumping against each other as she attempts to backtrack, “I mean- I- I-”

Harry decides that it’s now or never. It was a bit inconvenient, perhaps, but with her revelation his confidence soared and he was more prepared now to ask than he ever had been. So, he goes for it, “can I have y’number?”

A moment of semi-uncomfortable silence as the unknown tips the scale. Would she say yes? Would she say no? His head was spinning and he hoped his nose didn’t start bleeding or something because y/n nods slowly, smiling, and then, “okay.”

He’s elated. He was the polar opposite of what he had been that morning. If only Owen could see him then. He doesn’t waste any time reaching into his back pocket and handing her his unlocked phone. They don’t share any words, only coy glances and flirty quirks of the lips as the tips of her fingers move on his screen. Harry can’t believe that he’s finally getting her number, after nearly a month of pinning.

When she’s finished, she clicks it off and sets it next to him with an added pat to the back of his suspiciously clean white phone case while he’s tying the flowers together with a loose rubber band at the ends to attach the food packets. He’s fine with working in silence now that she's not crying anymore. He throws occasional glances in her direction, and catches her watching his hands while fiddling with her own. Her brows were furrowed and her mouth was twitching.

“Will you text me?” She asked him.

He’s careful not to bruise any of the petals as he sets them down again, pausing with his ministrations to pick up his phone. He wiggles his eyebrows at her and types a quick ‘Hi. It’s Harry :)’. He hits send, “until you’re sick of me.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” She shakes her head, and Harry’s reminded Rachel McAdams in The Notebook while she’s in complete denial of her feelings for Noah. The comparison makes his heart flutter, considering the romance of the onscreen couple. “How much do I owe you?”

Harry waves her off, “it’s on the house.” She begins to argue, but Harry stops her before she starts rambling again, “y’better go or you’ll be late, love.” He holds out the arrangement to her, tufts of baby’s breath poking out from between the vibrant dahlias like fluffy clouds, the feverfew looking like miniature white daisies in the center.

She looks at it, and back at him before huffing, “fine, but you’ll have to let me return the favor.”

“Of course,” he smirks, “with dinner, maybe?”

They’re both gleaming at each other now, “okay.” Y/n takes a step back, her body half twisted as she walks away, but it remains like that for a moment as her eyes rake him up and down, a murmur following, “bye, Harry.”

His veins charge with electricity, and his dark taffy lips part at her actions. Had she just checked him out? He doesn’t recover quick enough to return her goodbye because the previous swirl of arousal in his navel was bristling back to life at the implications of that look. Calm, slow, steady, and her eyes remained doe-like and innocent.

She had to have known exactly what she was doing, whispering his name the way she had, looking over her shoulder and under her eyelashes the way she did. Deviously provoking his thoughts to begin a new with a reinspired fervor. The space in his underwear was growing tighter by the second, a blissful ache swelling.

Before any other customer stepped in after her, Harry locked the door, and jogged up the stairs to prepare himself a nice, hot bath, simultaneously cursing and thanking the stupid fucking delivery men.

********

Harry can’t stop thinking.

Obviously, this is a huge issue for him. He was constantly thinking, and well, who wasn’t? The process of thoughts wisping around in his brain was one that he often put an unnecessary amount of energy into because he had no one to filter these thoughts onto, releasing them through a conversation to prevent the exhaustion of his brain and heart. A prime example of these mishaps being the depressing slump that occupied his demeanor that very morning.

This?

This was different.

As soon as the apartment door was shut behind him, Harry pulled the suffocating sweatshirt off of his upper body, fingers hooking in at the collar and yanking it off with a swift tug. It landed somewhere on his kitchen floor, and he didn’t stop to take note of its final destination. Instead, his legs instinctively took him to his bathroom.

Chest heaving, Harry walked to the small window leaking sunlight and rolled the stick between his fingers to close the blinds. His thumb dipped into the waistband of his boxes and dragged them down lopsidedly, the tiger tattoo roaring as it became exposed. When the blinds are fully closed, the white extension clangs against the shutters from his aggressive release. His body was slowly being consumed by a raging fire stoked by the illicit images his brain conjured of the innocent, unsuspecting y/n.

His inner turmoil consisted of guilt for using her image that way and justification from the conspiring rake of her eyes along the upper half of him that was visible behind the counter. He was so fixated by her, that her look alone felt like a tempting caress along his skin. And it all happened in a matter of fucking seconds. That’s how gone he was. That’s how fucking gone he was. Harry guesses that the easy excitement also had to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a while (he only ever gets lucky when he goes out to the bars with Mitch or Jeff, and they’d been gone for a significant amount of time) and the strong affinity he had for the girl who bought flowers from him.

Explanation or not, he had to do something about the problem in his pants. He was painfully hard, and when he shucked his pants off fully, his underwear dragged with the movement and pressed against the tip of his swollen prick. A darkened patch of moisture bloomed where the head was, and he saw stars at the short pressure. He wouldn’t take his pants off just then, though. He liked to stall his pleasure as much as he could so that when he finally did cum, his stomach muscles contracted and his toes remained curled for more than ten seconds.

He twisted the golden knobs of his tub so that the water would come rushing out at a borderline scalding temperature, and opened the small cabinet above the toilet for a bottle of almond and coconut shea butter bubbles. He uncapped it and bent over the edge of the tip, the cool, porcelain lip touching his crotch and provoking a choked whimper to leave him. Jerking his hips back, he poured the soapy liquid into the spot where the water cascaded, and retracted his hand when the beginning of froth formed along the surface.

The heady sweet smell permeated the air with the rising levels of bubbles, and Harry couldn’t wait any longer. Because he liked to torture himself, he closed his eyes and slowly dragged the hell of his hand over the outline of his cock, a groan ripping though the silence. It’s so painfully good, that he does it one more time, and he jolts forward. He removes his hand, slips his thumbs underneath the waistband of his boxers, and lugs the fabric down his hips at an excruciatingly slow pace. The head of his member smearing precum all along as he moves and when he gets caught in the ripples of his boxers the muscles in his thighs flex at the ripple of pleasure that zips into his nerves.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. His mind was a spinning vintage reel of slideshow images of y/n. Y/n on bruised knees, her mouth wide open and her own drool on her tits, the tip of his cock flat on her tongue as she pleads with weepy eyes for him to cum down her throat. When he finally springs free of his underwear, a hefty slap rings out as his dick collides against his abdomen, right on the space underneath his belly button.

There’s a stripe of liquid on the trail left by the mushroom head of his prick, and Harry’s eyes roll to the back of his head, throat straining as he hovers over the bathtub. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been this hard over a girl before, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to last as long as he usually does. As he swings a leg over the edge of the tub, the hot water encasing his calf, he’s thinking about how soft she is. The inside of her wrist and the palm of her hand. If she’s that soft on an external part of her body that’s used everyday, he can only wither away at the idea of what the inside of her thighs feel like.

Bubbles are swarming up now, swathing his thighs and buttocks as he sinks into the sloshing water. When he’s completely seated and satisfied with the belly-button level of water, he clumsily throws a hand in the direction of the knobs to shut them off, and reclined his head against the curved end of the tub with his eyes shut.

He hikes up his knees so that they’re resting against the porcelain walls, and mindlessly ruts up into the water at the filthy images he’s picturing, white foam collecting in sparse clouds over the math on his chest. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. It’s as if his body is being transported back to the moment his hips clashed with y/n’s. At the recollection, his mouth drops and his eyebrows pinch in a silent moan. The feel of her flesh underneath his fingertips has him bobbing in the water, and the next ideation has him gripping the base of his cock.

Vividly, he pictured her on all fours, keening back onto him as her pussy enveloped him in warmth, a warmth that is almost replicated by the temperature of the water, dripping and making a mess of him but what’s turning him on most of all is the easy flushness of their bodies. He had felt the way her bum gave way under his hold, and he imagined the bounce of her flesh as he thrusted into her.

He moaned a broken call of her name with his eyes still shut, and heard the trickling of water as his fist rolled up his stiff prick, squeezing at the tip so that a few more droplets of precum dribbled out. With his thumb, he rubbed over the red mushroom head and lathered it in slow, leisurely circles, a throb pulsating with the beat of his heart as he returned to flicking his wrist over himself.

The way that he looked at him and the sound of his name on her lips seared into his memory. Airy and willowy, similar to it resonated in his brain with the fantasy of sinking into her for the first time, stretching her and having her preen and arch with desperate whimpers of his name for more. Harry considered himself to be ‘well-endowed’ and his size was a factor of what sent him careening over the edge as girls mewled over his size after he’d bottomed out. He wanted y/n to mewl under him, both of them falling apart at the seams at the mutual pleasures because if Harry’s this broken over just the thought of her, then he’s sure he’s going to lose himself beyond recognition after he’s buried himself into her velvety walls, slick with her arousal and so fucking warm.

Just as she had been earlier that day. There had been two layers between them- the fabric of Harry’s pants and her panties- yet, he was still able to feel an immense heat from the apex of her thighs against his cock. He needed more than this. He needed her, not just his hand driving him closer to the edge.

His jaw clenched as he bit back on a particularly loud moan, for no reason other than he enjoyed self-sabotage from time to time, and the speed of his jerking hand increased. His other hand gripped the side of the tub, and his legs flexed as he began to thrust up into his own fist, a trail of bubbles sticking to the tanned muscles. The cut rectangles of muscles of his abdomen glistened like freshly chopped cubes of apricot with the droplets of water that remained clinging to him. His breath came in labored, strained puffs as the palm of his hand twisted, tightening at the tip and loosening at the base.

For a moment, he paused and cupped his balls, massaging them as the fantasy in his head continued. His mouth wrapping around y/n’s nipples, her eyes glazed over from previous orgasm that he wanted so badly to give her. She’d whine something soft and quiet to match her personality, ‘please, Harry, please I want more. Need another Harry, please’, and he’d speed up the movement of his hips, driving deep into her and cooing into her ear about, ‘c’mon, darling. Give m’another then. Y’want it so bad, yeah? Give me a’fucking ‘nother’, and she’d release a peircing moan that explodes in his eardrums while arching into him. She’d squeeze impossible tight around him, gushing with her own cum.

The water in Harry’s tub sloshes around his ankles, and the muscles of his abdomen clench so that he’s closing in on himself, sputtering on an outrageously loud cry that he can’t contain and his hand increases the speed of his filthy ministrations because he’s right on the edge. He’s about to fucking cum and the back of his eyelids burns with the possible variances of y/n’s face in ecstasy provided by him with his nose deep in her cunt, lapping at the sweet honey that spills with every whimper of, ‘please let me cum, Harry. I’ll do anything, I’ll be good, please let me cum.

He tensed violently, his face contorted painfully as white ropes spurt from the tip of his cock over his fist and onto his chest, blending with the white almond foam. His feet are braced against the edge of the tub and his head falls back and his stomach tenses even further, the final leaks of his cum dribbling out.

With the fuzziness that comes after an orgasm, his body melts back into the water that’s still warm, and his jerks with a pant as he allows his softening prick to sink into the water. The head on his hair is matted in a chocolate smear across his forehead, and his lips are a raging heart of cherry blossoms, parted with arduous gasps of recovery breath. His hands fall into the water at his sides, and with the lapping movement of the liquid against his sensitive member, he ruts into nothing again.

Reclined with his eyes closed and heartbeat slowing, Harry murmurs a final, “fuck me,” at the extreme sensations that had raked through his body.

Somewhere in the muffled distance, his phone dings with the notification of a text message, and with a tired noise of resentment, he sits up and reaches for his sweatpants that lay in a messy puddle besides the tub. His fingers drip darkening spots onto the grey material as he rummages for his phone, and then he finally clicks it on...

It’s her name, lighting up his screen, and the text reads:

y/n <3 : so… dinner?

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever crushed on a girl this hard before because even though he’s just completely physically spent himself, there’s something stirring in the depths of his tummy just at seeing the heart she put next to her name.

He couldn’t be happier.

* * * * * *

and here he is!! what do you guys think?? pls pls pls leave your feedback in my askbox! i’d love to hear your thoughts! and if you really really loved it, don’t be afraid to press that reblog button <3333

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lovely-keii · 3 years

Note

Hi omg I just saw ur requests r open! Ur writing is so amazing!

Can I request an angst to fluff scenario with Atsumu, Oikawa, Daichi, Iwaizumi and Yaku having a bad day and taking it out on their s/o? I've seen quite a few fics like this but reader always cries, so I was wondering if the reader could like be just not having it with them and had no issue giving it right back to them?

Also do u have a ✨ anon yet? If the position is free may I fill it?

Taking Their Anger Out on Their S/O

A/N: I don’t have a ✨ anon, so you can be mine! Also, I don’t write for Yaku, but the rest are good!

Miya Atsumu

he’s had a big fight with osamu

like not just quarrel, i mean HUGE fight

a few punches were thrown around, and as much as people don’t believe it, he actually hates it when he and osamu have big fights

because even though they disagree a lot osamu’s still his twin, you know?

so he’s irritated because even though he wants to make up with his brother, he’s also really stubborn

and osamu told you what happened because osamu also feels bad about it

so you try to get him to talk about it and hopefully get him to apologize one way or another

“babe, can’t you just talk to me about it?”

he rolls his eyes

“yeah, well it’s not that easy”

“i know it isn’t, but can you let me try and help you”

he groans and visible snarls

“why do you keep on insisting on helping? you’re not that important, y’know?”

you stare him down

he sighs out audibly

“y/n, i didn’t mean-”

“of course you didn’t. now if you don’t mind, i’m leaving.”

you pick your bags up and get up

“where are you going?”

“i don’t know. maybe a place where people don’t call me unimportant?”

he takes a sharp inhale and takes your hand

“no. i didn’t mean it. i was mad, i’ll go apologize to samu right now.”

Oikawa Tooru

obviously oikawa is prone to high stress because he usually overworks himself and stuff

so it was one of those days

he’d been bombarded by crazy fangirls and he kept messing up his serves

so clearly he’s had a bad day and when he has a bad day, he has an even worse mood

so when you were trying to talk to him, he responds really pettily and just shuts you off

you were just trying to ask him about his day because he looks mad and bothered

“what happened?”

“nothing.”

“clearly something happened, babe.”

he rolls his eyes and walks faster

you take a second to catch up trying to ignore how difficult he was currently being

you run up next to him and he scoffs

h e l i t e r a l l y s c o f f s a t y o u

“can’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“jesus christ, y/n! can’t you just go and mind your own business? why do you keep putting your nose in other people’s issues!”

so now you’re getting pissed because you were literally just trying to let him open up

“i’m literally just trying to help, tooru! just tell me what’s wrong!”

“you’re what’s wrong, y/n! mind your own business.”

he walks faster again, but this time you don’t follow

because he can go mope around, for all you care, you were not taking any of his petty whining

it takes him a good minute to realize you weren’t following him anymore and instead, walking the other way

“y/n, where are you going?”

“away from your dumb ass”

and you just leave him alone

so now he’s the one trying to catch up to you

and now you were the one ignoring him

Sawamura Daichi

back in practice, he had to pull hinata and kageyama away from each other

they’d been at each other’s throats for the entire practice

it took a lot of patience from him

so when he came back to you, he was in a horrible mood

he was trying to answer some work but he was obviously too frustrated to get his thoughts straight

anyone could see that his anger was just building up

you were now trying to get him to take a break

he kept refusing to

he wanted to shout but he was trying to keep his voice leveled

at this point, you were getting exasperated too

because he really should take a break but he was being really stubborn

“babe, i’m telling you, you have to take a-”

he groans

“y/n, can’t you just go back to doing all those useless things you do?”

you’re shell-shocked for a second because what the hell?

you left the room quietly, because goddamn if you were going to stay in that room

you go into the next room, lock the door, and start scrolling around in your phone

you hear him knocking in the door

“babe, can you let me in?”

you laugh sarcastically

“not if you plan on giving me any more attitude, otherwise you can just stay out there.”

he sighs and knocks again

“look, i’m sorry but can you just let me in”

“oh, i don’t know. are you still going to be all prissy?”

he sighs

“no”

“then wait until i feel like getting up to open the door”

Iwaizumi Hajime

he’s just had a horrible day in general

first of all, he had to keep dragging oikawa away from his fangirls more than usual

next, he has a hard time in most of his classes and could barely understand anything

and in practice, he couldn’t seem to get his spikes right even after a bunch of tries

so obviously he’s really pissed and he just has a lot of built up irritation in him from all of those stuff accumulating throughout the day

these are all just little things building up so he doesn’t really mention these stuff

so obviously you have no idea

and you just do your own thang, as you should

and you ask him about his day and he’s all rude and stuffy, like bro chill

“babe, how are you?”

“how do you think i am?”

“i mean, okay. i just wanted to know.”

he rolls his eyes, like he’s annoyed for no reason at all as far as you knew

“look, don’t give me that attitude. tell me what’s bothering you.”

“nothing.”

he just walks away and you sigh

“babe-”

“WOULD YOU JUST SHUT UP?”

silence

“babe, i’m sorry. i...what are you doing? are you crying?”

you cock an eyebrow

“no, i’m locking you out of the room.”

“what?”

“you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“i still need those books to study and i-”

you get his books and bring it out

“study outside. talk to me tomorrow.”

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“harry’s stylist, right?” part II

Harry and his stylist go from colleagues to friends to lovers because they’ve been in love with each other from the jump

this gif bc i couldn’t fine the fit i wanted to showcase, but that night him and y/n get closer than they had gotten before :))

and we’re back :) - this is the last part of this i may do some little blurbs and stuff about these two if people want it (maybe) i hope you all enjoy this part, it’s not proofread so sorry about that lol. Feedback and reblogs are so very very appreciated, also feel free to message me about you’re feelings about this

Word Count: just over 10k | Warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, implication of smut, i think that’s it

part 1

After the call with Jeff, which wasn’t really a conversation at all, moreso a berating from him, she was in the worst mood. She shrugged off the Bode jacket and hung it up in her entryway closet. She wasn’t planning on wearing it ever again. Without the jacket on, her shirt that seemed to be exactly on the nose with it’s “we’re in the shit” graphic was clear and she untucked it from her light mint pants. She was exhausted, both physically and mentally. Instead of picking her phone up again, she decided she could do without communication for a while. Her feet padded to her bedroom, after removing her nikes and socks. In her bedroom she opened up her record player, wanting music, but not wanting to be bothered with her laptop since it had a connection to the internet.

She grabbed her Electric Warrior by T. Rex and slipped out the first record from its sheath. As she set up the music, she couldn’t remember where she’d even gotten the record but for some reason it had called to. She skipped over Mambo Sun, the first track, though, and had it play Cosmic Dancer first. It was calming to her, she swayed a bit to the soothing beat and then climbed into her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she wondered about when her life had gotten so complicated. The rhythm in the music and the exhausting thought material lulled her to sleep as the afternoon sun washed her room a perfect golden from behind her shade.

When she woke up again, it was midnight and she was starving. The record had stopped spinning hours ago, she hadn’t even gotten through side A. It was forgotten as she made her way to her kitchen, groggily.

After settling on cereal and an alcoholic seltzer for dinner, she was really in the mood to treat herself, she made her way back to her living space. On the couch, she tucked her legs beneath herself and spooned the sugary food into her mouth. She had only soy milk in the place because she didn’t like cow’s milk and it didn’t keep when she was gone for extended periods of time. Then as she sipped from the black cherry White Claw, she dug her hand into the cushion next to her. Her hand reemerged with her discarded phone from earlier. She decided it was reasonable to go on it now.

More messages from various people in her life and hundreds of social media notifications. She was going to ignore social media for as long as she possibly could. Four missed calls. 2 voicemails. Styles Harry. Why she kept contacts backwards in her phone was unimportant, it’s just what she did.

She sighed and took a bigger sip of the barely alcoholic drink. Then clicked the voicemail notifications and pressed the first one on speaker as she began to read his texts as well. Then the next voicemail. She checked the time in California, it was still a reasonable part of the day there so instead of texting back she rang him.

“Hello?”

“Har- H. Hi.”

“Y/N! Are you alright?” The concern apparent in his tone. She was taken aback. He hadn’t necessarily sounded angry in his texts or voicemails, but she just assumed he was being courteous since it was a live conversation.

“You’re not mad at me?”

“No! Why would I be?”

“Because I just had my ass handed to me by Jeff earlier.” She slightly mumbled and shrugged, still upset with how she had been spoken to by Jeff.

“Oh gosh, I told him not to be harsh. It’s honestly not a big deal. I thought it was fine, you texted me too!”

“Yeah, well apparently wearing your clothes means we’re dating and that’s not cool in the world’s eyes,” you scoff.

“I know how much you like that coat...I thought you looked great in it, too.” He finishes in a slight whisper, not wanting to be overheard.

“Harry…” you can’t keep the smile off your face. It was a cute compliment even if the situation wasn’t ideal. “Why do your fans have to be so smart and know there’s only two of those coats in the world and I don’t own the other one.”

He laughs, blushing at how you said his name. This time not using his nickname didn’t bother him, it felt even more intimate somehow.

He rubs a hand through his hair, “I know, pesky little devils, gotta love’em, though”

She hums, not sure if she can agree about loving them right now since they’re probably eating her alive all over social media.

“So you’re alright, darling?” He asks again.

“Mhmm,” she pauses at the pet name, it was soothing right now. All she wanted was to curl into his chest, but he was half a world away, quite literally. His words would have to do in his absence. “I’m really glad you’re not mad at me, H. That would’ve made this a hundred times worse.”

He huffs, wishing he could be with her to comfort her. He hated this part of his life. A friend couldn’t borrow a piece of his clothing without everyone assuming that they were seeing each other. It was disgusting and it made him dislike tabloids and social media even more than he already did.

“Trust me. I’d never be mad at you, pet. And I’d definitely never be mad at you for looking good as fuck in my clothes.”

“Shut up!” She squeals, his tone turning from earnest to teasing in one breath. He cackles on the other end of the line because despite her mean words, he could hear the smile on her lips.

“When are you flying back to London?” Her voice grows quiet again after she takes another sip of her drink.

“Thursday,” he almost whispers back, having contained his mirth again.

“We have some work to do on your Graham Norton and Jingle Bell Ball outfits. The listening party ones are all picked up -”

“Y/N,” Harry cuts her off, “It’s late for you, go to bed. Try not to stress out too much, we’ll talk when I’m back about work. For now, take a few days off to not think about my clothes.”

She sighs, “Thanks, H. You’re right. Have a good rest of your day.”

“Goodnight, m’love.”

She ends the phone call and chalks the almost ‘my’ sounding syllable that she heard before love was just her tired mind and Harry’s mumbling voice. It most certainly wasn’t.

After a restful few days of doing absolutely nothing, something rare for Y/N, she was extremely well rested. So much so that she was peacefully asleep when Harry let himself into her flat since they had agreed to meet at her place when he got back to London. As much as he wanted her to take time off and not over work herself, his schedule was a busy one and now that he was back, they had work to do.

Inside her flat, he was greeted with silence. He made his way to her bedroom at the back of the flat. He’d been here a handful of times. She always told him she preferred to spread out when she worked and Harry’s was the place for that. The door to the bedroom was slightly ajar and he pushed it open slowly with his ring clad hand. His black nails are freshly painted and shiny, no chips. Still in her bed, Y/N shifted around softly. He smiled to himself, taking in how the room smelled over lavender and how she had pink floral sheets. He walked to the window and raised the shade, hoping to have her wake up without and coaxing from him.

“H,” her voice mumbles into her pillow and he thinks she’s woken up. His face turns to look at her, but her eyes are still closed and she looks completely asleep. He wonders if she’s trying to trick him, but then she mumbles again.

“Mhhh, tha’ tickles,” and she giggles. He kind of grimaces, feeling like he shouldn’t be hearing this. He hadn’t known she spoke in her sleep, it was sweet, but with the context right now, he thought him having this knowledge might not sit well with her.

“Y/N,” he says loudly, before clearing his throat. Her eyes shoot wide and she sits up, dropping the sheet she had been snuggling.

“Harry! Oh my god!”

“Meeting, remember?”

“Oh my god,” she glances around her surroundings, Harry still standing at her window. “What time is it?”

“1 pm. We said 1 right?”

“We did, I just...I don’t know what happened. Sorry, give me a second. I’m out of it.”

When she emerged from her room, dressed and ready for the day, Harry had brewed a pot of coffee with her machine that she really only had for guests.

“Sorry again,” she sits at her countertop, searching for her notebook in her bag.

“No worries,” then he leans across the countertop, “Seemed like you were in the middle of a nice dream.”

His brows are raised as she avoids his gaze. She flushes easily, “I- it was...just one of those usual dreams.”

“You have dreams about me often?”

“I didn’t say that!” Her eyes shoot up to meet his and he grins. He takes a sip of his coffee before speaking again.

“I heard you say ‘H’.”

She rolls her eyes, “That proves nothing.”

They both stare at each other for a minute, not talking or moving. Harry is simply grinning at her as she twitches her hand with her pen in it now. Her eyes are trying to figure out what Harry’s getting at, searching his expression for how he feels about knowing she dreams of him. She certainly wasn’t going to get into it with him, even if he did continue prodding.

“Alright,” she begins when he doesn’t seem to want to press it further. “Oh!” She jumps up, dropping her pen and forgetting about whatever else she was going to say. “Your jacket! And shirt! I cleaned the shirt and the jacket…” She runs out of the room to go to her front closet where she had hung up both the jacket and the shirt.

Returning, she holds them out to Harry and he rounds the countertop to look at them.

“Perfect shape,” he admires the spotless shirt and his beloved jacket. He puts them on the back of the chair that was next to them. “Won’t forget my jacket again.”

She smiles sheepishly, thinking back to Jeff’s conversation with her. Harry notices her change in demeanor and takes one of her hands. Her eyes flash up to his face and her body tenses, he feels it even in her hand.

“Have you gone on any social media since you’ve been home?” His eyes are wide as he runs his thumb over the back of her hand.

She softens slightly, “Oh yeah, after the first day I decided to check. Most were funny and sweet, their nasty comments didn't get to me.”

Her eyes are big on her face and Harry watches as her worries and concerns all wash through the swirling colors in them. He wants to take all of that pain away and just stare into her abyss forever.

“What did Jeff say exactly?” He knows that’s what she’s alluding to. Harry loved his manager, but when he had called him about the jacket incident he had been pretty short with Harry and hadn’t given much information on his chat with Y/N. The way she looked right now bothered him because ultimately Harry was in charge of Y/N in his employment of her and if Jeff had acted like her superior in a way that was harmful he’d be downright upset.

Her eyes grow glassy immediately and Harry’s anger begins to bubble in the pit of his stomach. She tries to blink anything away, but fails.

“I don’t know why I’m crying, it wasn’t terrible. It’s just, all my life, I’ve had to work to be taken seriously because of who I am and I hate when I get talked down to by a man. Especially over a stupid fucking publicity thing for you. Like I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a public figure where I have to worry about every goddamn thing I do messing up your image.” She pauses, taking a deep breath, realizing she’d gotten really worked up as she spoke. The tears running down her face more in anger than sadness. Harry watches on, letting her work through her thought process. “He was just so mean… for what?” She whispers finally.

“Oh god…darling,” Harry grips her hand more firmly. He wants to take her in his arms, but he’s not sure if that’s what’s best for her right now, so he just keeps holding her hand. She stares up at him, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Her eyes now tinted a light red.

“I’m sorry he spoke to you in that way. That isn’t his job at all, I’ll definitely talk to him since I didn’t have the full story before. He gets very worried about the media perception thing, especially right now with the album.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, blinking up at Harry. “I know your image is important, too, otherwise why the fuck would I be here? Right? I just don’t think it’s that big of a deal I borrowed the jacket.”

“In a perfect world my image wouldn’t matter at all,” Harry sighed, “Fame is a stupid, fickle thing musicians like me get stuck with.”

“Please, you love the attention,” she teases, poking at his chest. The sweatshirt he wore wrinkling under her touch.

“‘M serious,” he insists, “I’m saying it shouldn’t matter that you borrowed my jacket, but sadly it comes across to the rest of the world like I’m dating you.” He pokes her sternum in return.

“And that would be the end of the world?” she smiles, her tone still teasing, but that worry is back and swimming in her eyes again.

This time, though, Harry must not see it because he laughs and lets go of her hand. “For a lot of people, I think it might be.”

She bites at her lip and tries to contain the laugh that bubbles in her. He was right and as he wandered back into the kitchen for more coffee, she shook her head trying to rid herself of those pesky feelings that had been hoping for a different answer.

The next few weeks go off without a hitch. Harry’s outfits look incredible for the listening parties. Then for the Graham Norton Show, the Jingle Bell Ball, and the One Night Only at the Forum. Every single outfit is received with praise and everything seems to be coming up Harry Styles. Y/N has been traveling to most of his appearances, making sure everything is in order before he goes out. She’s always by his side before he walks out into the public eye. Taking his picture and saving it in the lookbook that keeps growing, smoothing over his lapels, either unbuttoning or buttoning a middle button when she thought he had too many or not enough undone for the look. Whatever it was, she was there for him.

Then, after his appearances, they would debrief. Debriefs really were just time that Harry carved out in his schedule to just be alone with Y/N. Sure, they talked about clothes, that’s how they had first connected, but it always turned to other ideas. They’d talk about his songs and she’d ask about the meanings that he wouldn’t share with the rest of the world. He’d happily tell her about it and they enjoyed that time together. There were stolen glances and lingering touches, but at the end of the day they were professionals who were friends. It wasn’t maybe what either of them wanted, but they weren’t unhappy.

Harry just got back from Los Angeles after filming for his Ellen show appearance and he was set to play the Bowery Ballroom tomorrow in London. After this there was going to be a lot of downtime on Harry’s schedule because of the holidays. He had marked out almost a whole month of time off, at least from appearances. They still had to start planning tour outfits and finalize the outfits for the events after the break. Right now, all she was focused on was getting Harry into the beautiful yellow Gucci suit that was a twin of the Watermelon Sugar suit he had worn on Saturday Night Live. Harry said he wanted to check the suit before tomorrow for some reason, so Y/N had made her way over.

She finished buttoning the sleeves of the jacket and stepped back to admire Harry once again. No matter what he wore he always looked marvelous in her eyes. She’d argue anyone could say that about Harry though. He could pull anything off and make it his own with barely any effort.

Today, his hair was disheveled and mused from his plane ride back into London. The flight from California to England was a rough one, even when you traveled in the type of luxury Harry did. Despite his tired body and eyes, the suit looked stunning on him. He wore it without shoes and she giggled when she saw his feet. His feet tattoos never failed to make her laugh and she had no explanation for why.

While Harry looked good in everything, there actually was something a little off with the suit right now. Normally, it hugged him just right to make him look perfectly muscled and defined, but it seemed to be hanging a little looser in some areas.

She tapped a finger to her lip, looking him over, unsure of what was off.

“Did you lose weight, H?”

“Huh?” He looks down at himself and somewhat notices the looser fit, but wasn’t quite sure if he had lost weight. “Don’t think so.”

She hums and steps closer to him, dropping her hands to tug at various parts of the suit, trying to figure out whether she should take anything in or leave it be.

“It’s probably all the travel I’ve been doin’. Can be draining me more than I realize.” He ponders as she continues to work silently over the suit.

Her hands travel beneath the suit and encircle his waist, almost as if she’s hugging him, but not really. His stomach flexes at the contact, her chest pressed softly against his. She grips a bit of the shirt from the back and then unfolds herself from him to look at the mirror. The shirt is now taut against his sternum and pectorals under the coat. She tilts her head, silently asking him his opinion.

“I think it’s fine the way it is, honestly.”

“Okay,” she nods and releases her hold on the shirt, hand slithering out from beneath his coat. He exhales deeply through his nose. “Make sure you eat properly tonight.” She says before beginning to pack up her things, done for the day. Harry begins to undress himself.

She turns back to face him as he hands her the jacket and shirt, her eyes run over the length of his torso, both for the sake of checking on his health and for other purely selfish reasons. All the tattoos still remained where they always were when she saw him like this. It never got old, his beautiful body. He didn’t even need clothes to look good. She blinks back to reality when the fabric comes in contact with her hand.

“Make sure you treat yourself this holiday season, you deserve it, H. And it seems like any weight you ever gain is muscle anyways, so you don’t exactly have to worry around the sweets table.”

Harry laughs heartily as he slips on his long sleeve shirt he was wearing. Then he starts on the pants as she turns away again to hang up the top parts of the suit.

Finally, she adds when he hands her the suit pants, “Just don’t want you overworking yourself, seriously, H.”

He looks at her as he buttons up his baggy blue jeans. The outfit he wore was just the first clean things he had grabbed when he had gotten home. His green eyes turn serious after the mirthfilled last few moments.

He crosses to her side as she puts away the clothes in the garment bag. His hand lands softly on her shoulder and she turns to him at his touch. “I know. You’re so good to me, darling. Always making sure I’m taking care of myself…”

It’s quiet. The soft breeze in the London air outside barely whispers around the house. Harry’s voice was laced with love, even if it wasn’t his intention. His ‘thank you’ was piercing into her heart and his touch wasn’t helping her stay focused. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt Harry take a step closer to her, his head ducking slightly down to her level. Then, right on the edge of her left temple and her hairline, his soft lips pressed against her skin. They brushed against her for just a moment, lingering for the respectful amount of time. But all she wanted was anything but respectful. She wanted his lips pressed against hers, she wanted his hands in her hair, yanking her deeply into him. She wanted to scream when he pulled away, but she didn’t. She smiled warmly up at Harry and her eyelashes fluttered on their own accord like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thank you,” he whispers again.

“What would you do without me?” She pushes at him playfully, shaking off her giddiness. Then she turns back to her work, scooping up all the items of hers on the table.

“Probably have to walk around naked, huh?”

“Oh my god!” She laughs and starts for the door, Harry follows behind to walk to her out to her car. “Maybe I should quit! People would love it.” She continues laughing as she hangs the garment in the passenger's seat side.

“No thank you, please,” Harry hurriedly says.

She turns to him as she closes the door and leans against the car. This was their routine right before she left, a final chat against the car before she drove off for the night.

“Tomorrow’s going to be amazing, H. It’s gonna be electric!” She scrunches her nose slightly at the pun about the venue as she smiles up at him.

He sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek, holding back a laugh. His eyes narrow at her, slyly. “Very funny.”

She only winks at him before pushing herself off of her car and walks to the driver’s side of the car.

He waves as she begins to pull out of the driveway and she flashes him a peace sign and a mouthed ‘Bye’ when she turns onto the street.

After the Bowery Ballroom show, Y/N barely sees Harry at the after party. She doesn’t worry about it too much. His management was going to have a holiday party next week before the little break began for the team. So, she knew she’d see him before she flew back to see her family for the holidays. She was going home for two weeks and then would be back for New Year’s and then would get back to work after that.

She saw Harry exactly twice after the show. First, she saw Harry right after the show and he was all sweaty and exhilarated. He tackled her in a bear hug with such strength she would have fallen back if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. When he pulled away, he placed two extremely slobbery kisses on her cheeks and she laughed, tipping her head back in pure bliss. Then he was pulled away by Jeff to change and get ready for the after party.

Jeff had apologized over text about the tone he had taken over the whole jacket thing, but only Harry had told him to. It was fine with Y/N, she told him that too, but she just never felt like being around him for very long if she could help it after that. That’s why she liked that most of her job entailed dealing with Harry directly. If she had to go through Jeff for everything she’d likely pull her hair out. He was still short with her at whole team meetings and not necessarily courteous when they were around each other casually. Like she said, it was fine, she just didn’t make it her business to be around Jeff.

The second time she saw Harry was around half past one am. She was pretty sure it was time for her to uber home and she wanted to say goodbye to Harry. Her well-liquored body stumbled around the big room. Deciding to take shots with the band had gotten her to where she was now and she wasn’t complaining she was happy. She was in a celebratory mood and wanted to see Harry right now. Tell him how much fun she had and how proud she was of him. How much she loved him… Hopefully she kept that part to herself.

“Harry!” She finally exclaims, coming upon a group of people surrounding the star himself. She ignored the rest of the people, likely stars too, but she really couldn’t care less. One of them tried to straighten up as if he was going to block her from Harry, feeling like she maybe wasn’t someone Harry wanted to see since they didn’t know her. No one seemed to ever recognize Y/N as Harry’s stylist when it mattered. Harry waved them off, a little drunk as well, but obviously recognizing Y/N.

“Darling!” He exclaims and raises his arms out to her. She grips onto him quickly and snuggles into him happily. With her still in his arms, he turns them from the prying eyes of the group he had been with.

She raises her head from his warm chest so that her lips are near his ear, “Congratulations, Mr. Styles.”

“Thanks, baby,” he purrs into her ear, his voice coarse and low, carrying over the music. She giggles at the nickname, her entire plan going out the metaphorical window.

Her fingers smooth up over the fabric on his chest, a nice short sleeve silk button down that was tucked into dark high waisted trousers - they’d picked it out last week. One of her fingers begins to trace around his collarbone after she reaches the opening of the shirt. His eyes flutter shut at the contact. They were so needy for each other. Each touch would coarse heat through them every time.

“I’m going…” She says after a moment of silence between them. The party was raging around them, most not paying any mind to the two of them off in their own world.

“Don’t go,” Harry practically begs. A hand flies up to pet over the top of her hair and she smiles even wider.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” she makes a face in response to Harry’s pout, “You have lots of people to entertain, Mr. Styles.” Her teeth capture her bottom lip as she stares at him intently.

He groans and pulls her closer. This time his lips brush right against her ear and she wants to shiver, but he keeps her in place. “If you keep calling me that, you’re gonna drive me insane.”

Her eyes widen but her hazy mind isn’t processing all of what is going on. She barely takes inventory of ‘baby’, for him to say she’s turning him on without actually saying it. Tomorrow Y/N would have to deal with that one.

She pulls back from him, creating space between their chests, but he still holds her waist close to him. She leans up and places a kiss on the corner of his lips. It’s technically supposed to be a kiss on the cheek but if she had moved her lips a millimeter to the right they would have been on Harry’s. This gesture has his grip tightening on her, but she pulls away.

“Goodnight!” She sings as she bounces out of sight, wiggling her fingers in a wave before completely being gone.

Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, kind of in shock of the last five minutes. He had liked it. He just hadn’t expected it. When he turns his attention back to the group that was behind him, it’s not the same as it was before. Jeff looks at him with narrowed eyes and Harry’s eyes go wide and his grin widens as well.

Tonight is the management holiday party for Harry’s team. Y/N and Harry had seen each other two days after the Electric Ballroom to debrief, but mostly to get brunch. They didn’t talk about the little teases they shared at the after party. Both of them just assumed that the other probably didn’t remember and didn’t want to go through the trouble and embarrassment of recounting it. Alcohol has that effect of making you a little bolder than you actually are.

Brunch with Harry solidified Y/N’s thoughts on fame. Celebrity could be so strange, because there was the one day when she got photographed with just Harry’s jacket on and there was speculation of dating, but then she could go out to brunch with him and not be bothered at all. It made absolutely no sense.

Anyway, tonight there were no gifts, but Y/N had gotten Harry something even though he said he never needs anything. She hoped she’d be able to give it to him after they were walking back to their transportation since she wanted it to be a surprise and not have everyone know she gave him a gift. It wasn’t a big deal - or maybe it was - it was just an item she knew Harry had been fawning over. It was so him and she knew he’d probably end up buying it for himself eventually, but it felt nice to be able to give him something for once. Price didn’t matter. Still, she was a little nervous and tucked and re-tucked it several times in the back seat of her car before heading inside.

It was a restaurant his management had rented out for their party. She gave her name and headed inside. The lighting was overly dimmed and it smelled like expensive alcohol and delicious food. It was everything an A-list singer deserved as a celebration. She never could fully grasp that the Harry she had gotten to know as her friend was also the same Harry that the entire world was infatuated with, for good reason. He was charming in the best way, terribly sincere, insanely talented, and all around a good human being. She knew that, it just surprised her that everyone else knew it too. There was just that disconnect for her that she shared him with the rest of the world.

Her high heeled heels brought her to the backroom of the restaurant. They managed to shimmer even in the dim light. She had gone for winter chic with a sequin and mesh white dress, that looked like fresh snow with a cream and blue swirling design on the under layer so that her undergarments weren’t showing through. It was like a modern ice princess look that was finished with her heels that had sparkles on the entire back of them. Her hair was down and her makeup a little more done up than usual. She used a light blue eyeshadow to imitate ice and added some rhinestones on the inner parts of her eyes. She may have watched a Euphoria-inspired makeup look tutorial on youtube and she wasn’t afraid to admit that.

The scene she came upon was what she expected. Lots of men in suits and a good amount of women in power suits too. The people in any interesting clothes were Harry and his band. Some of the business people’s partners were dressed up more but it all wasn’t too exciting. Plus, Harry’s famous friends group hadn’t shown up yet. Y/N hid her disappointment easily, not surprised about the lack of flavor she saw in the style. She just repeated the mantra her mother had always told her: “You can never be overdressed, only underdressed.” It stuck with her always and made her go for those bolder styles when she needed to.

Harry was there, sipping on a glass of water. She figured he might not want to get started on drinking so early in the evening. Tonight didn’t feel like a drinking night for her either. After the last big party, she had woken up with a massive hangover and a few memories that she wished she hadn’t made. She wasn’t planning on repeating that series of events.

As she goes to grab a glass of water on the large table, she gets a tap on her shoulder. She spins.

“Happy Holidays, darling!”

Her eyes widen and her smile immediately grows. Harry grins back at her, his mouth open in the perfect winning smile of his and his eyes twinkling with happiness.

“Happy Holidays to you too, Mr.-” She stops herself, remembering back to the last party, “H.” She finishes firmly after clearing her throat. Harry’s grin turns to a wicked knowing smirk.

“I’m happy you came! I know you’re not super connected to all of the groups here, Harry Lambert is around somewhere though and I know he’s been wanting to talk with you about clothes.”

Harry watches as her eyes shine even brighter when he mentions the other stylist. It was true, Y/N didn’t really mesh with any of the groups that worked around Harry. The stylist kind of stood alone in regards to where she fit into his life, not the business part, not the band part, not the crew, and not the other celebrities. Harry Lambert and other fashion people didn’t always come to these events so it was seldom that Y/N had her own people to talk to. Not that mingling was hard for her, he just knew she didn’t like to do that as much so whenever another stylist or designer was there he always made sure to introduce them - if they weren’t already acquainted.

“That’s amazing! I haven’t seen him in ages… I’ll have to get his opinion on how I’ve been doing.”

Harry licks his lips as he laughs a little at her comment. She looked beautiful tonight and he wanted to tell her.

“Harry. What the hell are you wearing?” Her eyes flash as she takes in his appearance.

He looks down at himself and then back at her confused. They hadn’t picked the outfit out, but he thought it looked nice.

“Obviously not the suit! On your head?”

“Oh. It’s a gift from Mitch and Sarah.” He pauses to reach up to play with the headband sat on top of his curls. “It’s mistletoe and it seems like you’re standing beneath it. You know what that means,” he toys with it as he wiggles his eyebrows.

She scoffs sarcastically, looking to the side for a means of escape, “No way.”

“C’mon! It’s tradition!” He steps forward playfully and she places a hand on his chest.

“You can kiss my cheek.” She says finally and Harry looks at her disapprovingly.

He wags a finger at her with his free hand, “You’re the one under the mistletoe, you have to kiss me.”

“Okay that’s definitely not how this works! Now you don’t get any kiss at all, you cheeky bastard.”

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when you’re the one with coal in your stocking.”

“Haha.” Her eyes once again roll to the side as she pushes him back and he steps back like she actually had a strong push. Then they both actually laugh and she gives him a quick side hug with a whispered, “there”. Harry smiles down at her, but it falters slightly when she’s already pulling away. He wanted her at his side the entire night, but sadly that wasn’t reality.

She drags him around the restaurant in search of Harry Lambert since the party had started to grow and she needed his height to get her where she wanted to go. Maybe. Or maybe she just liked the way he held her hand to lead her through the crowd that was most definitely not dense enough for her to have to hold on to him to stay with him at all.

She sees more of Harry at this party. They have some good conversations about plans for the holidays and snickering about who was already too drunk even though it wasn’t even midnight. She can’t believe he keeps on the stupid headband all night, giving and receiving various types of kisses from every person he talks to. Some are kisses on the cheek, others are friendly smooches on the mouth. Thankfully all of them are those cute little pecks that friends always tend to share, otherwise Y/N might have had to excuse herself and leave early. Jealous little thing.

As the night dragged on, she began to question herself on that front. Why was she growing jealous when friends would kiss Harry. She could've kissed Harry. She practically did the other week. But now, after refusing him a mistletoe kiss and seeing everyone else do what she didn’t have the courage to do, she felt childish. Well, childish or not, she knew why she couldn’t kiss him. Kissing Harry wouldn’t be just a friend thing for her. It would mean a lot more and if it was just a friend thing for him she wouldn’t be sure if she could handle going on with their working relationship after. Her job was the most important thing in her life. Being a stylist, loving clothes, and working on personal designs for the future was her life. Giving up this prestigious of a job was out of the question. Maybe the idea of being with Harry had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know how it could ever be realistic. If they got together could she keep her job? Would she have to quit? And find a new one? There were too many unknowns for her to ever actually entertain it. That’s why they went to the edge so often, she always would back away and she was sure that if she didn’t, Harry would for her.

He knew her. He knew her passion, he watches it firsthand everyday they work together. Even when they’re not working he can see her mind forming different ideas just based off of the things she sees people wear on the streets. He watches her fingers fiddle over her phone, typing out notes for design ideas and screenshotting inspiration. So every time they went to the edge of changing their relationship, he knew he couldn’t push it because he never wanted to hurt her or her dreams in some way. She was too important to him to simply mess that up. Even if it hurt him.

So when Harry slides in the back of her car that night at 2 am because Y/N says she has something important to show him, he’s fully ready to stop their flirting from going any further. And when she tells him she needs to show him something, she has the most pure intentions when she pulls out the nicely wrapped box, its wrapping paper a swirling lavender pattern that’s really not festive at all, but she prefers it.

He looks between her and the box that she’s now placed in his lap. His green eyes flickering even in the darkness of the car, the city lights illuminating the backseat enough for them.

“You know I don’t need anything…” He fiddles with the skinny mesh ribbon neatly tied around the box.

She makes a little gesture, pushing him to open the present, “I know, but I also know you’ve been wanting this and you deserve it.”

He unwraps the paper to reveal a Gucci box and he rolls his eyes at her, but smiles genuinely as he lifts the top of the box off. It reveals a 1955 Horsebit Shoulder Bag in beautiful shiny black leather. It’s gorgeous.

“I can’t...I don’t know what to say,” Harry’s eyes are huge as his delicate hands ghost over the bag's details. He had been wanting it and he hadn’t gotten the courage to buy it yet. He liked purses, but sometimes he even had his doubts about what he could pull off.

His eyes go back to her and she smiles widely at him, all her teeth on display because she’s just that happy. “This is a really expensive bag, Y/N.”

“If it makes you feel better I can charge it as a wardrobe expense, but then it’s not really a gift from me,” She sighs at his unrelenting gaze.

“Thank you.” He touches at the bag again and then does a dance in his spot. “And don’t worry, I will always remember this as a gift from you. I love it.”

She smiles and leans over the box to look at the bag, admiring the beauty of it as well. “It’s pretty great.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hums and she raises her eyes, seeing his trained on her face. “You’re under the mistletoe again, darling,” he smirks.

Her breath stops once again, how could he do that to her so easily? Their eyes stay locked under the city lights. The fake mistletoe bobs above them still connected to the silly headband. It’s colorful leaves and fun stripes mock her when she flicks her gaze up to it for a moment. Then back to Harry. Harry who’s holding the gift she just gave him. Harry who looks beautiful tonight. Harry who is her favorite person in the world to spend time with.

Now. Now is when she pulls back from the ledge. This is when she takes a step back and stops herself. When Harry laughs it off. When she pushes him away. When they go about the rest of their day like that electricity hadn’t gone up either of their spines.

But that’s not what happens. Instead, she nods in agreement and then crashes her lips against Harry’s. It’s not like those friend kisses that had happened with him all night under that same mistletoe. It’s hard and hot and fast. Her lips are pressed to his for one searing moment and then she’s biting his lip, desperate to taste more of him. She had been longing for this for so long and now that she had it, she couldn’t let it go.

Harry’s hands fly to her cheeks as he pulls her closer, more into his lap. He pushes the box into the front area of the car blindly. The gift was completely forgotten. This was a far more important matter. Her lips were wet and plush and they tasted like the single Manhattan she had halfway through the night and vanilla lip gloss. When she bites his lip, he can’t hold back the moan inside his throat and she presses her tongue into his mouth quickly. He was her oasis and she had been traveling for months. He responds with similar vigor, enjoying the way her body presses to his in the backseat of this little car.

They kiss for as long as they can. Licking, sucking, and biting each other’s lips to taste as much as they can. But it’s just kissing. Neither of them work to travel anywhere else. Their lips are seemingly enough. Each press of their lips communicates what they had been longing for. It’s euphoric.

When the windows start to fog and her eyes open for a random moment, she realizes they need to cool whatever this is.

“H-Harry,” She gulps for a breath of air and she tries to get his attention. “I gotta get home.”

“Come back to my place,” he mumbles into her collarbone, happily licking over his love bite.

She laughs and swallows slowly, “That is definitely out of the question, I have a flight tomorrow.”

He removes his mouth from her and straightens up. His lips are even brighter pink than usual and perfectly puffy. His hair disheveled from her hands. She blushes at the thought.

“Right, forgot about that,” he opens the car door and they both slide out. They stand at her car, just like they usually did outside his house. However this time is quite different from most.

They sigh heavily, in unison. The winter air is cold in London. She shivers slightly and knows she can’t stay in his presence much longer.

“Merry Christmas, H.”

He leans down and places one last sweet kiss to her lips. She wrinkles her nose and smiles unabashedly.

“Merry Christmas, Darling.”

Harry and her don’t talk as much while she’s back home for the holidays. There’s no work to be discussed and while they parted on not necessarily bad terms, there was definitely a conversation that needed to be had between the two. Neither seemed to want to have that conversation over the phone, or worse, text. So for the next week and a half, Harry and Y/N exchanged texts of funny memes that reminded them of each other and odd anecdotes from family members that had made them laugh. Nothing really substantial, just small, I was thinking of you messages.

When she walked out of the luggage carousel at London Heathrow Airport, she expected to be getting in the queue for an uber. Instead, before she could cross the street to get to the queue even, a tall man stopped her. A tall, scruffy, extremely buff, extremely handsome, and extremely kissable man. Harry. It would be terribly strange if it was anyone else.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need a lift back to your flat?” His dark sunglasses cover his face and a big coat, scarf, and hat make him hardly recognizable. The curls sticking out from beneath the cute knit scarf are thankfully a dead give away for her. As well as his perfect drawling voice.

She shivered in the cold, her matching grey sweatpants and Treat People With Kindness sweatshirt had been warm enough on the flight, but proved inadequate for almost January in London. Yet, Harry’s presence brings a smile to her face.

“It’s good to see you, H.”

He laughs, his cover obviously blown. His arms encircle her body and she instantly melts into his embrace. His large coat easily fell around her and warmed her. His own natural body heat adds to her new found warmth as well.

“You too,” he murmured. His head buries into the crook of her neck, warming her cold skin.

He pulls back after a rather long embrace, realizing they’re still out on the sidewalk. He takes one step back and she visibly deflates at his absence, the cold once again surrounding her.

“Let’s get you home,” he grabs at the handle of her suitcase in one hand and her hand in the other. The warmth returns and she grins, placated by his touch.

“So are you coming to my party tonight?” He inquires once he settles into the driver’s seat after putting her suitcase in the back.

She shifts in her seat, arms wrapped tightly around herself, still cold without any warmth from Harry or the car. “Don’t you suppose there was a reason why I chose to come home today?”

Harry’s ears perk at the use of home, never assuming Y/N viewed London as her home, still it made him smile.

As the car purrs to life, heat immediately seeping out of the seats and vents, Harry’s phone connects as well. NFWMB by Hozier begins to play softly and she glances at Harry again. The song was so sultry and soft, like expensive dark chocolate melting on your tongue. The mood in the car seemed to shift. Their eyes met, Harry’s green ones narrowing at her, trying to decipher the look she was giving to him.

Then he drove off, softly singing along to the words through the sleepy streets. It was surprisingly quiet out for the holidays, people choosing to lay low during the day so they could celebrate the changing of decades in full force tonight.

After the song ends, his eyes travel over to her again and she’s already looking at him. She had missed his face. Sure, he’d sent some silly selfies while she was gone. Mostly on Christmas Eve with his family when he had gotten drunk on mulled wine and eggnog and brandy. Still, in person, he was even more beautiful. The high cheek bones that glistened with a shine most makeup could only hope to produce. Full raspberry lips with stubble growing to frame above and below. The crinkles growing on his forehead and by his eyes that showed him aging with grace. The precious few moles that had gotten lucky enough to live on his face forever. His big green eyes that were consistently bright with interest and intellect, but deep and knowing despite his loving demeanor. She loved those big green eyes, they were just so big and she didn’t understand how no one took the same interest in them as her. All of it, just sitting there beside her. Don’t even get her started on the soul that inhabited the beautiful man beside her. She never would stop spiraling then.

“What?” He asks softly, the sounds of Paul McCartney during some era fading in.

She blinks, hazily in admirance, “Nothing,” she replies.

“What?” He insists, laughing slightly, the lips she loves so much widening in excitement.

“Just missed you.”

Her voice is quiet but strong, serious. A blush creeps up his neck, taking hold of his features.

“Missed you too,” his left hand reaches across the console to take hold of her hand that resided on her thigh. He squeezes her hand softly and they both smile at each other again.

“Don’t worry, I can get my stuff upstairs. I don’t want you being out in the cold any longer than you have to. I’ll see you tonight, H!” She pushes her body across the console and places a kiss on his cheek before jumping out of the car. Harry makes a half smile, knowing he can’t change her mind. He waves to her behind the window as she travels into her building.

“See you.” He says to himself before driving back to his home to finish up preparing for tonight’s festivities. The party was going to be more intimate than the Christmas party at the restaurant. Tonight was just Harry’s family and closest friend - the band, Jeff and his family, Y/N, and a few others.

The whole night Harry and Y/N are within a foot of each other, if not on top of each other. He never leaves her side nor does she his. They are tethered to one another. The longest they’re apart is when Harry gets them refills of Champagne and Y/N journeys to the restroom. They laugh and catch up.

As the night goes on, Harry begins to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and she giggles and places her hand on his chest flirtily. Their interaction is a dance, bedroom eyes and low voices, lingering touches and suggestive lip bites.

When the countdown begins to grow closer, everyone refills their drinks and gathers in the center of Harry’s living room. They cheer and countdown to 2020. And of course, Y/N’s by Harry’s side as he begins the count. And when they get to ‘one’ and everyone’s saying “Happy New Year”, Harry and her are sharing a chaste peck to the lips that electrifies everything they had been saying to each other all night. She sighs into his mouth, but pulls away quickly, aware of their surroundings. No one particularly questions the kiss, either not paying attention or caring. Harry beams down at her and they enjoy the rest of the evening.

At around 1 am, the last of the guests stumble out of Harry’s homes and into waiting ubers and safe rides. Y/N lingers back, beginning to clean the discarded glassware and paper plates. Her and Harry are definitely tipsy, but they enjoy the cleaning work, making terrible jokes about New Year’s and commenting on what people wore tonight. When it’s relatively cleaned in the kitchen, Y/N wanders out to the living room and finds Harry reclined back on the couch.

“H,” She sticks out her foot and nudges him with her boot.

“C’mere,” he reaches out his hand to her, his coat discarded, leaving his arms bare with only a white tank top on.

She takes his hand hesitantly and is yanked on top of Harry in an instant. With a loud huff, she settles above him. “That wasn’t nice.”

“Shush,” his pointer finger goes over her lips, her eyes narrow at him, “Can you believe we’re seeing 2020?”

“Oh my god! I hate you!” She rolls her eyes at his pun and shakes herself from his hand around her waist. She stands up to walk away but he easily grasps her wrist and stops her, easily sitting himself up on the couch.

He looks at her and her annoyance, that wasn’t all too strong in the first place, dissipates. She sighs, “I should probably be heading home.”

“You should stay, it’s so late,” his hand rubbing over the skin on her wrist.

She bites her lip, contemplating the offer, he was right. “I’m really tired and we haven’t really talked, H.”

“But we-”

“Not about us. We’ve been skirting around it, flirting with each other all night, but we haven’t talked about what’s going on. I can’t stay if you expect something from me.”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. That’s not why I want you to say,” Harry says earnestly, realizing quickly what she’s saying. “I’ve never expected anything from you. An offer to stay is just an offer to stay.”

“Okay,” she finally smiles and sits down beside Harry.

“You can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. If that makes you more comfortable?”

“Oh...I don’t know if we have to take it that far. Plus, you’re like a personal heater and I get cold at night.”

Harry perks up, he had been feeling resigned that maybe she wasn't on the same page as him. He wanted to be with her all the time but also didn’t want to put any pressure on her. She just made him so happy.

“Great! Let’s get to bed then.” He pops up from the couch and brings her into his arms, “You know where all my clothes are, so you can just borrow whatever you want, and then I’m sure I have extra toothbrushes…”

She giggles into his side as she watches him ramble animatedly. Sometimes he was oh so bright, so joyful and carefree. A stark contrast from the quiet confidence he often exhibited for the public.

She woke up in the warm embrace of Harry. His whole bed smelled like him, vanilla mixed with spices of tobacco and sandalwood. It was delicious and she snuggled in deeper to the soft chest she laid against, breathing in his scent deeply.

They rested there for a long time. Harry makes his awakening known with a lingering kiss to her forehead. They both sigh in contentment, radiant in each other’s arms.

“What’s the plan today?” She ponders as Harry’s fingers trace patterns over her skin. He hums in thought.

“Wanna be with you…”

She laughs and looks up at him, “Me too, but we can’t lay around all day.”

“Well, we could.” Harry insists.

She laughs again and twists in his arms, settling so she’s facing him. She bites her lip as she thinks about something, scanning his face over and over.

“I’m gonna go home and get ready for the day. Let’s just explore the city and do some 2020 shopping. Who knows, maybe fashion’s changed since the last decade,” she grins.

Harry chuckles a little and pets at her hair, “I like the sound of that. And we can talk - about us.”

“Mmhmm.”

He tilts his head forward and meets her lips once again, savoring her taste. Each kiss makes him want more. She was good.

Harry lugs in the four heavy shopping bags into her flat, as she carries the single small bag from the chocolatier he had dragged them into. He presses her to the counter when he sets down the bags and begins to kiss her face all over. She giggles and places her hands on his shoulders, giving him a kiss to the lips before pulling away.

They had talked about what they wanted, what they saw in each other and how that fit into their work relationship and the rest of their lives. Harry would have to talk to Jeff, but more so as a by the way this is what I’m doing with my life, not an ask for permission. Y/N would continue as his stylist until the end of the tour cycle, but afterwards she’d go back to freelancing. They wanted to try to date and be as normal as possible. She told him how she didn’t love the fame or the celebrities. Sure she dealt with those things for work, but when they were off duty, she wanted to be regular. She wanted to go out on dates and make dinner on weekend nights. Harry had agreed, he wanted those things too and he understood her wish to keep work and their relationship separate. However, he’d made her concede to allowing kisses during work hours. She had laughed and said it was an easy term to agree to.

It was going to be a good thing. They were both giddy with excitement, the new year, and all the new things they had bought on their relationship high.

“Oh!” She pushed Harry further away from her and hurried into her room. He laughed and looked confusedly after her. “Wait there!” She called. Harry leaned against the back of her upholstered chair.

“Close your eyes!” She says before coming back into the room. Harry’s hands go over his eyes easily as he grins blindly in her direction.

“‘M waiting…”

“Open.”

Harry’s hands slip away and his green eyes blink open. In front of him stands Y/N holding up a hand knit brown sweater vest with horizontal red, cream and blue thin stripes along with the thicker brown stripes. Harry beams, reaching his hands out to take hold of it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise for later, but I found it at this vintage place while I was home and I couldn’t wait any longer to show it to you.”

“Darling, this is gorgeous. I love it! But you shouldn’t have...”

“I thought you could wear it for Lizzo’s concert. I know you said you liked the other sweater vest, but this one is so-”

“You spoil me, seriously.” He cuts her off and laughs before pulling her back into him. Their lips collide in a searing kiss, Harry’s excitement over the new garment making him eager to show her how much he really loved it.

A small sigh escapes her lips as Harry presses into her. His tongue pushing into her mouth in a way that turns the sigh into a moan.

“Let me show you just how much I love it,” He murmurs against her lips, casting the garment onto the back of the chair he had previously been leaning on.

She smiles, eyes fluttering open and meeting his with adoration swelling in their depths. Then she allows him to back their intertwined bodies into her room.

Some apartment in New York a few months later:

“I knew it!”

“Huh?” Aidy lifts her head from the skit she was working on to look at her friend and coworker.

“That stylist...for Harry Styles,” Heidi shifts, sitting up and turning her phone to face Aidy, “She was seen out with him, getting lunch in London and then making out on a street corner. I bet they were dating back in November when he was on the show!”

Aidy laughs, thinking back to her conversation with the stylist that night of Harry’s show. The girl had been so in love that night and Harry had been smitten all week, describing her in the best way, praising her every decision, yearning for her even. And now they were actually together...she was happy for them.

“I don’t know about that...but they were head over Gucci heels for each other that’s for sure.”

Heidi and her scroll through the pictures on social media of the singer and his girlfriend.

“They probably are the best dressed couple I have ever seen,” Heidi grumbles.

“Now that is definitely accurate.”

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