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chromiusmixin · 5 months

Text

{Rough Patch}

{Characters -> Chromius, Hueston (Sweet Cap’n Cakes || Writers’ OCs)}

{Chromius recalls and recounts a tale from a very troublesome point of their life.}

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“Well, I suppose after two years of walking the Cyber World, I suppose I better get this off my chest. This journal will be a reminder of what I once had to overcome. A memento of where I would vow not to falter again. A tale of a man who was a bit less than savory… and how I had let loose the worst of my outbursts. In reality, I was never quite as black and white as I seem.

Now then, why don’t I start this from the beginning? It started a few days after I settled home… As fate would have it, the first thing I saw upon stepping out that front door…”

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“...Mister, who exactly are you and how long have you been ringin’ the bell? Rest assured, it’s getting very troublesome right about now.” Chromius speaks, nary giving more than a peek out of the slightly-cracked front door. This individual was rather tall to say the least. A fairly bulky frame to suit as well, and a nice leather jacket. Most notably though, a head built using a monitor, displaying facials for ‘em.

“Whoa, I am so super sorry little dude! Came rollin’ in to check now that you’re all settled in! I’m an old time friend of your parents, put ‘em there! Name’s Hueston!” The computiran held out a hand all the way, practically poking into the musical bot’s home, prompting the latter to slide back a bit. Okay, well, maybe this wasn’t so terrible, but- this guy’s rather ecstatic to see them.

“...Yeah, name’s Chromius. Umm… well… yeah, put it there. I guess.” Chromius hesitantly took Hueston’s hand, soonafter finding themself on the receiving end of a rather hearty handshake. It’s almost worrisome how strong this guy is, but that just has to mean he’s very much a high-performance bot, sharing similar heightened traits as Chromius.

“My pleasure! Hey, Chromius, how’s life been so far? Heard the news that your parents kinda aren’t around these days from some other buds, so I wanted to ask…”

Before Hueston could finish, Chromius interjects.

“...Bud, I… oh boy… look. I appreciate your concern, but that’s really the last thing you should ask me right now, I’m still fresh off the assembly desk, whether you mean well or not.”

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“I had something of a scant feeling right there, things were probably going to get bumpy. I supposed ultimately, a friend of my parents would be a friend of mine as well, so I let the passage of time sail from there. For a bit, things seemed to get better, but alas…

A few days passed, and for a little while, Hueston seemed okay for a shot at a first friend.

Maybe that first encounter was misunderstood, I thought. Eventually however, for the first time, I would go on a shopping session in a music shop to check out some artists, but as fate had it…”

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“...Synth 2240, Titanium Maiden, CPU of a Down, The Violas, Sweet… ACK–”

Just before Chromius could get a bearing on the last artist that was just about to come out of their voice synthesizer, it was the big lad once more. By chance, pretty tight chance no less, it was Hueston once more. They had just met earlier today too under the guise of visiting for breakfast. This must’ve been the third chance encounter with the guy so far, and probably the most unpleasant yet, as the big guy had nearly startled Chromius into crashing right into the stand housing all these albums to begin with!.

“Can you NOT-!... Shoot- Hueston? You again?... Oh um… righty…o.” Chromius synthesizes a sigh. Well sure, it seems he wants to hang out once more, but how’d the guy even know they’d be here in this exact shop? Perhaps Chromius just left their phone’s GPS on.

“Who else did you think it’d be, Huey? Thought you’d recognize the ol’ surprise shoulder grab! It is only your third time by now!” Hueston gives a small chuckle, as if this was an okay idea to him, at least to some degree.

“Alright, alright, I apologize, I’ll stop now. Thought perhaps I’d get you to warm up to the thrills of life! So many experiences that can come, you know? I enjoy the thrill of it, the thrill of just WHAT could happen next, the feeling that something amazing is right around the…!”

Okay, this was getting to be a bit much. The way Chromius perceived it, this guy was undoubtedly in hyperdrive mode, and they really needed him to stop.

“Whoa whoa whoa- yeaaaah, okay! Sure! It’s ALL cool, yeah? Totally… totally radical. Just sooo tubular. Don’t you think perhaaaaps though… we ALL need a breather at least on some days? If it means you’ll understand what I mean, let’s just like… I don’t know, go to a library, or a cafe, or just like… you know. Somewhere where we can take it easy?”

Hopefully, that would get their computiran accomplice to understand, and perhaps take a cue. The response Chromius would get though, seems to suggest that what’s happening is otherwise, much to the musical bot’s dismay.

“OH! YEAH! Lotta cool stuff to read and glance at the library! Action, mystery, romance, drama! And the cafe! Me and your parents would… Well, we used to go there to have our little talks all the time! However those would go. Sometimes there were some ups, sometimes there were some downs, you know what I mean? We can’t all be…”

Then, Hueston realizes something in the middle of his gushing. Chromius had actually started to make their move to the exit. Well, no sense in fighting it, maybe this would be a chance to demonstrate what they had meant. He still seems good-spirited, nothing wrong with that, right?

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“For a while then, it seemed I couldn’t shake Hueston off. What I did from there, well it probably wasn’t the best for my sake. Within that same timespan though, well he seemed to mean well, for a time anyway. After so long however, no doubt even some hardier individuals out there would eventually need a break. Some time to slow down, take it easy, perhaps call off the heavier stuff for a day or two. Hueston though… Well, he was different. For young ol’ me, it was starting to get pretty crazy.

Let’s just say, I started to feel some emotions I hadn’t before. Not quite drowsiness, not quite a lack of charge, not quite an aura of fear. Rather, a burning heart and mind. Something that no doubt is something that could tip over in a catastrophic manner. I suppose this is when the telling gets rough on my mind. Tee minus twenty-four hours, or so I remember…

I was at the Smooth Tunes Cafe in my local town, when on cue, we did our dance again…”

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“...Alright, so I suppose I’ll get… well… oh boy, um… shoot, how much can I spend…?”

Scanning their bank card, quite literally, as their camera eye allows Chromius an augmented-reality peer into their account details, visible only to them…

“...Ahh. Um… yeah I’ll take the Morning Album Sandwich, and um… water. Cold as you can allow, if you uh… well, like… allow it to be… well, colder?”

Seems Chromius hasn’t really adjusted to being so out there in the open, socialization and independence still proving to be a bit hard. Regardless, the waitress- a musical bot themed after a mid-range computer speaker- reassures Chromius that the water being served is very much as cold as it can go without freezing.

That answers that. Chromius gives a silent thumbs up, and the waitress is on her way! Within a moment’s notice however, a doorbell rings at the cafe’s entrance, despite the early time in the morning, and…

“...Urgh…” Chromius lightly groans at the sight of… him. The big guy. Hueston. He’s been getting more difficult the past few days. Something about this guy, it was starting to seem rather assertive, like they didn’t just need to be there now and then, no. It was more a sunrise until sundown type of deal. The traits that rubbed the musical bot too- they could only feel that whatever negative traits the computiran had, were only getting worse, yesterday being a particular outlier. No worries, once breakfast was served, they could just be out of here and…

“Had a feeling you’d be here, Huey! Look, I know last night was a bit tense, I got a bit competitive there, ruined the atmosphere, kinda squandered your feelings on video games…”

Oh dear. Hueston hasn’t forgotten about last night’s gaming session. Chromius sighs deeply. Would’ve been nice to have forgotten THAT particular night.

“Okay. Hueston. Look, I forgive you, and honestly… look, I was probably going to forget. Until you brought it up. Just please… leave it in the past. I got mad. I was petty. I know, Hueston.”

Chromius pleads to Hueston, resting their hexagonal head on their left hand, shoulder placed on the table, their lights switching to an orange color. The color of tension for the musical bot.

“Yeah, you got a fair bit out there, bud. Real rough stuff. Really left me for a scare when you up and chucked that controller almost right through a wall, yep- left that sucker with irrepairable joysticks, partially cracked shell… somewhat of a hole in my wall-"

And Hueston seemed to just keep going, and where he was going, it was somewhere Chromius was getting increasingly irritable internally. This had to stop, and the musical bot was going to make it stop.

"Okaaaaay, Hueston! Yeah! I get it! I two-hundred percent get it with how deep you've just got to rub it in! I know!"

Inopportune timing, uh oh. The waitress had shown up on cue, meal in hand, and with a mild look of suspicion strewn across her face, aimed right at Chromius. Sitting the plate down, she backs away with nary a word, only a mildly hard look. Great, just absolutely fantastic, it would no doubt seem Chromius, in their little outburst, had framed themself in a bad light, zero context able to be delivered…

And Hueston had gotten off scoff free despite being the one to provoke. Chromius' morning had been ruined in a single moment's notice. They would rather their meal just be a take-out order, so they prepare to disembark. Just then, however-

"Aa- Where are you going? Just cause I was talking about the other night? I wasn't even rubbing it in, friend, noooo- not that I'm aware of, and if I was- then sure, fine, I'm wrong and you're right. I'll take the blame, and I'll make it up to you. What can I…"

Then, promptly being stopped by yours truly-

"Look. It's nice and all you want to make it up to me, but PLEASE, Hueston… The best you can probably do is get out of my circuitry, just for a few minutes. I'll get over it eventually, this whole mess, just…" And then, Hueston sighs abruptly, arms drooping down, head lowered.

"Alright. I admit it. I've not been the greatest recently. Maybe I have had a few rough patches here and there, maybe I am getting far out there. The things I've been saying, my more compulsive acts, some of my hasty mannerisms. I've just been delving deeper into the midst of it all whenever you weren't around. Whenever no one at all is around. I've just been having mounting pressure, trying to please so many at once with my small-time interwebs skits, and…"

Oh, it seemed as if Hueston just kept going and going. An unending spiral of what felt like Hueston's massive self-loredump. Chromius felt compelled to feel just a bit guilty now, perhaps they were in the wrong after all. Surely that had to be it, no? That's gotta be what the computiran was trying to get them to see behind the veil, right?... right?

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"And well, Hueston kept going in regards to his plight. There I was, suddenly having his entire recent life laid out in front of me, all the blues included. However much merit it may have had, and regardless if it was true as daylight or as veiling as the darkest nights, I found myself in a moral corner, it was almost as if I had an inclination to apologize, to forgive, and while it might be good practice to be forgiving… It's not quite as black and white as that. Sometimes you're on the receiving end, sometimes you're the sender, but what do you do when the delivered mail is an invitation to disaster more than a letter orchestrated from the heart and soul?

Well, I tore the envelope open, followed the directions so to speak, and soon enough, I was on my way to a pitfall of certain destruction, morally… And almost physically. The day before might've been a bit awkward, a bit tight, the two of us starting to feel the heat of trying to maintain a friendship that was getting stretched thin… but it didn't compare much at all to the day after. The day me, and Hueston more likely than not, were changed forever.

Well, I suppose I better get this off my CPU. This might have been a day where I had drawn out the worst of myself, but I suppose we all have our deep chasms, that one undeniable flaw… so, I guess I ought to reveal my own, however much I might have grown since then."

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Just another morning. Or, that would be the case, but today seemed as if things were going to be different. For once and for a nice change of pace, Chromius had been made aware ahead of time that Hueston would show up just outside their abode. Yesterday might've been a low point, but he's been a bit more bearable at least. Maybe that apology was sincere after all, that the worst had come to pass.

…Though, a few moments pass, it's past eight in the morning, by ten minutes as well. Hueston's starting to run late in regards to picking up Chromius for that city tour. Worse comes to worst, he might've forgotten entirely, perhaps this would be a day without Hueston, and the first in a little while. A return to relative normalcy, before he had paid that first visit, before he occupied essentially every passing moment. However, perhaps Chromius was thinking too soon, as suddenly and without so much as a warning-

A loud, erupt honking dead-smack in the road, as close to the musical bot's home as could be! Chromius leaps right off the ground, quite high at that, and poor them- they had tossed a glass of water they had right down in the process, shattering it and spilling every last droplet of water into the carpet below! It isn't the most robust carpet, but given who the previous homeowners were… Chromius slams down a fist, before getting up, fairly pouty as they open the door, a bit rash at that, swinging it back fairly harshly as they step out, an audible slam booming out from behind the musical bot.

"Oh come on Chromius, don't be comin' out here looking so red, I'm out here with my dad's motorbike giving you a great first impression of the city in the…"

Before Hueston could finish, however-

"Oh! Come on Hueston! Don't be honking that flippin' horn while making me ruin my parents' carpet with broken glass and water, my front door is a few meters away!" Chromius downtalks Hueston, almost mocking the computiran. As is fairly expected, despite yesterday's little speech, Hueston gives Chromius a stern, hard look- as if he had been violated, as if he was the one that was wronged, despite his rash shortcut to acquiring the musical bot's attention.

"...Just get on the bike already, Chromius "

And despite the demanding order, Chromius begrudgingly obliges, mounting the bike, which mind you, is a one seater, no matter how long that one seat may be. What manufacturer even makes a bike with such an inconveniently long seat?! Just give it two normal seats at this point! Much as Chromius wants to make a snide remark about the bike's unnecessary design choice, they find it better to simply not talk at all. Not especially with their internal hardware starting to run faster than usual, hotter than usual. They've got to cool off. Hueston will allow for that… right?... A feeling processes through Chromius that they might not be able to.

Either way, Hueston's taking it away from here, taking off, with Chromius as his passenger for the ride. The two could only hope for smooth sailing…

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“Despite our little dispute, we were off. In hindsight, it wasn’t the worst bike in the Cyber World. It worked, it seemed to be maintained fairly well, and it was serviceable enough cruising around the various town blocks we had navigated for a bit. Though, I was silent for a while, as was Hueston. Perhaps if we had at least cooled off, we’d arrive at our destination relatively fine. The only problem is, well… Hueston wasn’t the most conservative biker. After we stopped for a quick refuel at an electric charging station, we were on our way to the highways.

Let’s just say, for some, this’ll be the most thrilling part of the story. For me however, well…”

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After a short recharge of Hueston’s bike, which was evidently electrical, he and Chromius were once more on the road. Before long, the presence of buildings on the sides of the road ceased, and the two were coming up to a highway. In the distance… Gigabit City. It might not be the record biggest city in the Cyber World, but its towering skyscrapers of unique shapes and proportions and lit-up solar power-producing roads made for a dazzling sight. However, as secure as the highway might be, with its force field railings on the edges…

However, Hueston… he was doing his own thing. He was speeding up, and past the speed limit.

“...Eighty… Eighty-five… Ninety… Alright Huey, better be hangin’ on tight ‘cause we’re taking the fast way through.”

Hueston kept revving up the bike, further and further. Ninety-five, one-hundred, hundred five… Eventually, out of the flame pipes of the bike, blue flames. Chromius IS indeed holding on, but-

“What are you, CRAZY?! Slow it down- do you not see the vehicles blasting right past us?! Look at you man, weaving past automobiles and trucks like this is a competitive race!”

Chromius exclaims in panic, and yet in his very much unwise wisdom, Hueston looks back, biting back in some verbal sense.

“Pipe it down, colors-and-rainbows! Do you want the breakfast of your life or not?! You wanna be first in line for all the good, we do things my way, got it?! Now let me…!!”

Then, a very close call with a truck driving the opposite direction, tightly grazing the bike and loosening Hueston’s balance of the vehicle.

“Gaaaaah–!! See what happens?! Turn that speaker of yours down to zero before we get in a real bad accident! Look! Traffic’s gettin’ real tight ahead, and I’m NOT stopping in a jam like that, so just hang on tight and don’t talk, I’m dead serious, Chromius!”

Hueston’s trying to put his focus back onto the road… and it’s getting worse. He continues to speed up, blazing past ever-so tightening collections of cars, delivery trucks, other bikers… It’s sufficient to say the computiran is cutting it quite close with some passerbys, and as fate would have it: One seems to be on a collision course, with almost no time to avoid! This is going to need pinpoint precision, with there just being enough time to cross into the lane to his right.

However… the approaching car driver, they’re far from that mindset. It veers left and right, going into a complete panic, leaving Hueston in a pretty dangerous situation. If he does it just right…

“H… Hueston!! Right- right- RIGHT-!!” Chromius speaks aloud, moreso than last time-

“Now what the heck do you think I’m doing?! Can’t you just-?!”

And then… the sound of Hueston’s bike slamming against the side of the approaching car, sending its driver spinning out entirely, and Hueston’s own bike into a violent spinout.

“I can’t control it-!! Shoot shoot shoot-!!!”

And then… another bike driver, unexpectedly slamming into Hueston’s own, undoing the spin…

And sending the bike full speed right off the edge of the road, the vehicle crashing right through and shattering the road’s force field, the bike being tossed down into the river below… and, to an even more extreme extent, Chromius and Hueston are sent flying way off into the distance…

Eventually, despite their velocity, they both evetually crash into the flowing river, being knocked into sleep mode… and being carried into a forested area.

There was a very real possibility of the two being proclaimed destroyed then and there.

This would no doubt make headlines, and ensue into a search for the two missing individuals.

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“I suppose I got off lucky there. The last thing I saw before that crash, a fairly narrow river below me, its teeming waters drawing closer to my vision. The collision knocked me and Hueston out, we had both gone into sleep mode to prevent any additional damage, whether software or hardware. Either way, whatever had happened during our little voyage down the river, at that moment, there was little telling exactly where we would end up. Above all else, the one thing that mattered to me then and there, I knew I still had hardware diagnostics running. I had luckily survived not only the bike crash accident, but slamming smack dab into the flowing river.

At that velocity, there was a very real chance we could’ve slammed right into solid ground, and our stories abruptly cut short. Though, when the two of us came to, it was anything but a blessing. Our little dispute would ultimately cause us to awaken deep in a forest, cut off from any reliable GPS and radar system. Just like that, we were off the map in every sense of the word. What followed next, well… this is the roughest part, so here goes nothing…”

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An hour or two passes from the initial accident. Whatever reports are being tossed around, all of them are drawing towards the same answer. The two are missing, with no traces, and are due to be presumed completely dismantled after the accident with zero shot at repairs. The only ones who would know where they’re at… are the two robots themselves.

Out in the middle of a forested area, near the end of the river… a computiran slowly twitches awake. Not just any computiran, but Hueston. It doesn’t take too long for him to process where he’s at, not especially with the trees and vines that almost completely filter out the sky, a scarce amount of sunlight piercing onto the ground where he stands. Just trying to glimpse at the sky, he almost forgets the fact that he isn’t the only one here. Looking off just to his side… Chromius. The one who just kept worrywarting this whole time. Though, perhaps they could be of use now.

Hueston makes an approach towards Chromius, nudging the musical bot.

“...Chromius. Chromius- get up! Come on, you still got some fight left in you. Least you can do is help a bud out in a life-threatening…” Hueston is unable to finish that sentence, as-

“Shut up… just… shut up…” Chromius’ head perks up, seeing… oh no. Ohhh no no no no NO.

There’s absolutely zero charging docks here, or civilization for that matter. It’s entirely forestation and natural habitats. The sun hardly shines here either, nor do GPS signals reach.

“No, no no no…! You can’t be serious!” Chromius hops up onto their feet, not even giving themself the time to dust off. They’re in serious trouble. If they run out of charge out here, that might be it for them. It’s life or death in this scenario, and there’s no clues to tell them where they’re even at whatsoever. Chromius starts to hyperventilate, pacing back and forth.

Hueston can only put his hands into his pockets, sighing. Alright, he supposes this was his fault.

“Okay, I admit it, as hard as it might be. Maybe I have been reckless. I tried rushing us right to Gigabit City, I may have caused a few vehicles to spin out along the way, and I know things are looking rough, and that I could have just…” Then, Hueston finds himself interrupted as Chromius stops pacing, laughing a bit to themself, and mind you- not in a very reassuring way.

“Oh, really, Huuuuueston-? You admit it? You really admit that you were reckless, crashed your dad’s bike and potentially took out other civilians, quite literally dragged us through the mud into the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, where we may potentially flat out DIE with no one to retrieve us, leaving the elements of nature to reclaim us and leave behind no trace?! Oh, tell me MORE, Hueston! Do you also admit being an absolute pain in my rear who couldn’t so much let me go through a single morning, afternoon and evening without seeing that smug little face of yours while you publically humiliate me?! Well go on, tell me Sherlock!!” Chromius exclaims, going as far as to drag Hueston by the collar of his jacket down to Chromius’ own eye level.

Hueston just proceeds to shove Chromius back, shooting a peeved look in response.

“Geez. Knew you were going to be at least a bit mad, but… The hell’s your problem?”

Indeed, as if Hueston hadn’t dropped so much on Chromius over the past two weeks.

Chromius is visibly starting to get more shaky, all of those lights of theirs shifting to red…

“My problem? MY problem?! Oh that’s rich, coming from you! You outright drove that stupid bike like a law-breaking criminal, crashed us into this forest and you think I’M the one with a problem?!” Chromius continues to speak at high volume, getting up in Hueston’s face.

“Grief! Okay, Huey! I get it! So we’re in this problem now, and it’s…”

Once again, cut off by an increasingly-tipping over Chromius, and quite posthaste too.

“NO! Just don’t even finish whatever’s coming out of that speaker of yours! I’ve about had it after you turned what was supposed to be a decent day into potentially my last day in some accursed forest! Just stop, dammit!” Chromius, leaning in once more towards Hueston, proceeds to shove the computiran away, prompting the latter to clench a fist, raising his own tone. Maybe THAT will get the musical bot to know their place.

“LOOK! If that’s what you always thought of me, then shame on me ‘cause it evidently MUST be true if I’m having it spoken to me! Okay, wisecracker! You got your little certificate of proof out! Either way, you and I both know I meant for this to maybe be a good day if I could’ve just-”

Proceeding to be cut off in record pace now by a continually-heating up Chromius-

“One good day is the LEAST of what I wanted! One day isn’t enough to make up for it!!”

Chromius bites back, their voice box starting to strain from their volume raising so high.

“Then TELL ME, dammit!! What do you want?!”

Hueston retaliates back at Chromius, leaning in and getting in the musical bot’s face.

…And then, Chromius reaches their tipping point.

“I just want you to #$%& off already!!!”

Chromius finds themself partially blanking out, reeling back their fist and sending it right towards Hueston’s chest, the computiran acting at the last second to catch it, wincing in the process.

“No! Good! For nothing! Invasive parasite!!”

And Chromius tosses forth another reeled-back punch, Hueston catching it once more…

“Law-breaking trojan! Time-stealing ransomware! No good for nothing unwanted program!”

And the punches kept coming, each seeming to be more forceful than the last, eventually getting to the point of leaving dents in Hueston’s right hand, and him needing to stop the blows with both hands cupped together.

“And most definitely…

MALEVOLENT PIECE OF MALWARE!!!”

Chromius exclaims at max volume, a bit of steam even being briefly seen exhausting from Chromius’ chasis, as they slide a foot back, reeling one last punch… and backing it up with both a lunge and forward slide. The impact of this punch is so significant- it instantly shatters the majority of Hueston’s right hand, chipping off pieces of the fingers of his left hand as well, leaving the computiran screaming out in immense pain.

The musical bot is hardly receptive to any of it too. They’re hardly able to record anything. The visual aspect of it, which by now is largely red-filtered, is the only thing that clearly passes through into the recording process for Chromius’ storage. Shakily, they turn their back on Hueston.

“Find your own way out! I’m going my own way even if it kills me!”

…But, however shakily it might be, Hueston tries to stand back up, slowly shifting towards Chromius as they’re walking off.

“...G…Get back here, you little…!! You wouldn’t leave me to die…!!” Hueston’s face goes red, and much as he may want to strangle the musical bot, it doesn’t matter how much remaining charge he has, or if he’s superior over Chromius in any way: He’s too injured to bounce back.

“You tried to dig both our graves. Save yourself, Hueston! You’re on your own!”

Chromius retaliates… before they’re off, leaving Hueston to fend for himself. The computiran can only struggle to chase after the musical bot.

“You… you bastard… when I get my hands on you…”

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“...And then, that was the last I heard of Hueston, before I had fully tuned him- and my surroundings for that matter, out. Enraged beyond belief, I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him for another second. I had left Hueston for dead, blind to the idea that he might’ve actually met his end that day. Wrong as it might’ve been, that was the only thing I could think to process and actually go through with. That Hueston had potentially brought an end to our days, and that he deserved everything coming at him.

Nowadays, I don’t think I could ever live with the idea of going to such an extreme. More likely than not, had this happened closer to today… Well, odds are, I’d still be seeing Hueston coming around. Who knows, maybe he did actually save himself that day, but whatever the case: I’ve not seen Hueston at all since I left him, not a single glance. Either way, only one pressing matter went through every aspect of my being. I had to escape the forest at all costs, else death would be at the front door, ready to claim me.”

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Minutes pass, which soon build up into hours, and only about halfway through the day does Chromius finally calm down to a more functional state, able to glance at the world without a frenzified filter. By then however, afternoon has already begun, and with the current season, that only leaves Chromius with a few more hours of sunlight. Up to this point, and likely for the rest of the trip, their plan has been to trace the river back to its origin. Hopefully, that would be a clean shot to finding their way back to civilization.

Such a wide-open hope starts to seem a bit more closed off however, when Chromius starts to see just how rough the terrain is. Hardly a place to see through that isn’t vegetated, a multitude of environmental hazards, some fair amount of cliffs… but it’s their best shot. Sighing… they start to pick up the pace, however much extra drain it might put on their power supply.

Several more hours pass. The sun has largely set to the point that the forest would be entirely pitch black. Chromius at this point is peering into the darkness using night vision, but that too would draw from their power supply. At this point, it may not matter that Chromius is as blessed as they are to not have encountered any hostile woodland creatures. At best, their power supply may only last into the next morning. Regardless, they can’t give up. They can’t, and they won’t. They have a legacy to uphold, for their parents. If they die here, it’s all for naught. A waste.

A big waste of their time… And a waste of their parents’ time even moreso.

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“Things were starting to look dire. However deep I had initially fallen into that forest, and whatever progress I made towards tracing my steps back to civilization in any form. A little before midnight, it came to me that I was at half battery capacity. This was only further compounded by needing to draw out more performance, more of my featureset to get by with any sort of progress. In hindsight, things must’ve been even more dire for Hueston…

Some good few more hours passed, it must’ve been like five in the morning before, finally… a blip in my internal GPS system. Finally, some kind of reminder that I was getting closer to escaping, and perhaps saving myself. There were a few more hours of darkness left to go though, and I hadn’t quite found my way out yet. With my GPS system enabled as well, it only further strained my power supply. It was going to get close, and I was certain, if I wasn’t out within the next few hours, that was it. Game over. I’d be finished.

These were the worst hours of the journey, and my life as a whole, given they could’ve been the last where I was still on my feet and active. Eventually, however… a boon. Just as I’m within the last few percentiles of my battery life.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Sunrise at last, the clock ticking some few minutes past 7 in the morning. Sun rays started to pierce through the lessening trees and shrubbery ahead, and there was a clear path back to society. Sure enough, to Chromius’ right… the cityscapes of Gigabit City. To their left, clearer fields from which the musical could walk back home relatively safely, and even some buildings to indicate society’s presence. However, by then, Chromius engaged into low battery mode, meaning the fidelity of their camera being lowered, the dimming of their RBG lights, and their high performance mode disabled for. It was getting fairly grim. Civilization was right there, almost in reach, yet an aura of doubt washed over the musical bot, conflicting with what aura of hope still continued to burn within them.

So, Chromius started to haul it. They ran as fast as their legs would allow in the moment.

If they could just call for help, grab someone’s attention, anything… they would survive this entire ordeal, and be able to move on and forget about it.

The sun continued to rise, sparking further hope in Chromius' mind, as the buildings relatively close to home drew ever nearer. Just a bit more to go, and hopefully someone could save them. A good few more minutes of running pass by, getting closer. A few additional minutes… Continuing to get closer… Then some…

…Their battery draws near to 1%. The town is just within reach, and there are people walking along, going about their mornings. One last cry for help, then. Approaching a bit closer…

And then, a loud, emergency alarm blares from Chromius’ speaker. The alarm of a battery that has just about been fully drained. It sounds, and it sounds, until…

<><><><><><><><><><>

“...And then, I blacked out entirely. The last I saw, an auditorian rushing to my aid. A stranger, mind you, but I can’t forget their appearance. Their body resembled a keyboard. Not the computer type mind you, a mini keyboard piano, quite short with even shorter limbs. Regardless, I never saw them again. When I woke up, I was in a completely different environment. No longer just on the outskirts of a town. I was in a care center, all cleaned up and polished back to a more pristine state by a caretaker musical bot. To be exact, she resembled a blue CD player. White in base color, blue in the rims. Though I didn’t spend much time with her, I did what I could to thank her, kept her company and tried to make her day before I departed by keeping her company and speaking of my experiences.

It was the least I could do for someone who had effectively nursed me back to health. I didn’t think she’d be willing to listen as I vented out my feelings, but evidently, she’s heard of some bad tales in the past, worse than mine as a matter of fact. I’m glad she was all ears, really. Though, at some point, I had to return home, and so I did. There was one thing that stuck out to me, however. The music that had been playing to keep me comfortable. It was a nice little beat, not quite the longest song, must’ve clocked somewhere just over two minutes. The song in question? A little beat called Cyber Dance. The composer?

…A trio of three that were just debuting by then. They went by Sweet Cap’n Cakes. That song wouldn’t leave my head for the rest of the day. Corny as it might be… but after some few days, I bought their debut album. Then and there… music became my heart and soul. A little over a month into my life, going on two by then, and I could consider myself a musical bot then and there. And now here I am, auditioning for their band. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been recently.

…And to think, it could’ve all ended that one day. I kept fighting despite the odds however, and I suppose that’s how I got here, with music intertwined into my heart and soul, with a renewed sense of desire. A burning desire to do what would’ve made my parents proud, and to afford myself the happiest life I can. Though, I can’t help but wonder…

Did Hueston ever get out of that situation? Where would he even be if he got out of there? Is there any chance he may have completely forgotten about me by now?

There’s no sense in worrying over it as if it were spilt milk… right?”

#BEHOLD! THE BIGGEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN!#NEW OCs! NEW LORE! NEW BACKSTORIES!#chromius literature #sweet cap'n cakes #scc #scc au #scc oc

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peppersjam · 1 year

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My Top 10 Albums of 2022

Like I hoped/hypothesized in my Top 10 last year, moving to Austin (and COVID at least temporarily easing up) brought me back to live music. I saw Snail Mail, Jose Gonzalez, Bon Iver, Andrew Bird with Iron and Wine, Bartees Strange, a smorgasbord of amazing acts on one hot Friday at Austin City Limits, and a handful of delightful local artists. The Bon Iver show affected me in a completely unexpected way, and triggered a year-long obsession with i,i and 22, a million, two albums that I had filed away as somehow lesser than For Emma and the self-titled. Googles "Bon Iver tour" again.

Kendrick finally released a new album and I completely bounced off of it after a few listens. I guess having the insta-cortisol-injection of "We Cry Together" on the tracklist is a problem for me. The new Arctic Monkeys album was also a bit of a disappointment. As it stands, it's my least favorite album of theirs. I'm sure I'll give both of these another shot, though. They'll probably pop up under the heading of "what was I thinking?" five years from now.

My pre-2022 albums that should've made their respective lists were heavily influenced by my reading Dan Ozzi's "Sellout." - Against Me! – "Transgender Dysphoria Blues" (2013) rocks SO HARD and checks so many boxes for me. Where can I get more folk-punk? - Jimmy Eat World – "Clarity" (1999) in some alternate universe where I started blogging at 10 rather than slightly older than that. - Cory Wong. I'm cheating here. I don't particularly care for his albums as a format, but his shockingly highly-produced YouTube show includes compelling, virtuosic funk/bluegrass/big-band/whatever performances, like this one with Sierra Hull which I have watched a silly number of times.

I had 8(!) runners up this year but that stretches the definition beyond the editorial standards of this fine publication, so I've narrowed it down to 3:

Angel Olsen – "Big Time" (may have cracked the list if I didn't miss the AO/SVE concert for a last-minute vacation)

Beach House – "Once Twice Melody" (Beach House doesn't excite me at all as a music listener – call it a hangover of an uninspiring show several years ago – but this album, like most of their music, is irresistible)

Delicate Steve – "After Hours" (do I love Delicate Steve only because of the name? Absolutely not.)

10. Sharon Van Etten – We've Been Going About This All Wrong

Finally! An SVE album released in the era of me being a massive SVE fan. I wrote about this earlier, but she was my go-to through the first two years of COVID. We've Been Going About This All Wrong doesn't quite reach the highs of Remind Me Tomorrow, but I still find myself getting lost in the album every time I listen to it.

9. Plains – I Walked with You a Ways

According to my driver's license and my voter registration, I'm a Texan. To follow up Saint Cloud, this time as Plains (with Jess Williamson as a partner in crime), Katie Crutchfield is pushing even further in the Americana/Country direction, giving me the gift of a comfortable nest to curl up into in my new environs. Yes, I have played this album, several times, loud, while driving through hill country west of Austin. It works.

8. PUP – The Unraveling of PUPTHEBAND

It feels good to like an emo band that is still making (good) albums. I'm not sure why I hadn't heard of PUP before this year, but they started popping up all over the place as I started poking around during my read of "Sellout." The first 5 tracks here are my favorite 5 song run of the year.

7. MUNA – MUNA

The most magical musical moment of the year for me was in March. We were at Mañana getting a coffee one Friday afternoon, and we saw a stage being set up on its courtyard. It was during SXSW, so that much wasn't unexpected. We Googled and realized that MUNA would be playing later that day. We walked back after work and saw a tiny, free, incredible MUNA show. They played a bunch of songs off of the yet-unreleased new album, and it was obvious that the album would be packed with exquisite pop morsels. June 2022: it was, and it was good.

6. Big Thief – Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You

Big Thief are not doing anything flashy. They're not reinventing rock. They're not subverting the indie folk moniker. Like virtuosic short story authors, they're crafting small, isolated worlds within each song, giving the listener only as much as they need. Adrianne Lenker is not just a genius writer (as I've mentioned before) but a ruthless editor. I'm saying this about an album that has 20 tracks. Maybe I need a ruthless editor.

5. Carly Rae Jepsen – The Loneliest Time

The title track, a.k.a. "The Loneliest Time feat. Rufus Wainwright," a.k.a. the one song that I drove around the block for to hear the end of this year (apologies Earth, the Prius c was mostly in EV mode), a.k.a I guess I like disco now?

With each CRJ release I prepare myself to be underwhelmed. It just doesn't seem like she could continue to release crisp, zeitgeist-defying pop albums. While I was intrigued that she worked with Rostam for "Western Wind," I was left feeling "meh" when the single dropped, which further reduced my expectations. The album releasing on the same day as Taylor Swift's Midnights was trial by fire, and I listened to "The Loneliest Time" on repeat for a total of twice as many plays as Midnights. Take that for data!

4. Black Country, New Road – Ants From Up There

The most significant musical discovery of 2022 for me is the UK Experimental Rock scene that is producing BCNR and Jockstrap. I don't think it's a cohesive "thing" to discover, but anytime I hear that some members of a band met at some artsy school in the UK (like the XX) and/or someone somehow shows up on multiple albums on this list in a single year (Georgia Ellery, how?), I take notice. More than any other album on this list, when I listen to this one, I want to talk or write about it. I wouldn't be surprised if I listen to and laud it 18 years from now the same way I listen to and laud Arcade Fire's Funeral today.

3. Bartees Strange – Farm to Table

If I write out a description of the styles of each song on this album, it doesn't sound like it would be cohesive or even compelling. Bartees pulls inspirations from bands like Bon Iver and The National so directly that it's practically pastiche. It's not though: Bartees injects so much of himself into the music that it's unmistakably him. The fact that he finds inspiration from so many places and is so excited to share them all with us is a feature, not a bug. I selfishly hope that his next album is more cohesive, but I can't argue with the results of his earnestness so far.

2. Animal Collective – Time Skiffs

Animal Collective's 2004-2009 run of LPs (Sung Tongs, Feels, Strawberry Jam, and Merriweather Post Pavilion) were pivotal to (a) the indie scene as a whole and, more importantly, (b) me in 2009 once I decided that I shouldn't just listen to The Beatles for the entirety of college. I did not expect to ever love or get lost in an AnCo album again the way I did with those 4. But here we are: "Time Skiffs" is inching its way toward the top of my Animal Collective tier list. This record does what all good Animal Collective records do: it absorbs me. It pulls me in with soundscapes and timbral oddities, and then dunks me in a pool of melody. If you're imagining an art rock shampoo ad, then you're on the right track. Every single track on Time Skiffs does this with a shocking efficiency.

Or, to put it in their own words, from their Bandcamp page:

Time Skiffs’ nine songs are love letters, distress signals, en plein air observations, and relaxation hymns, the collected transmissions of four people who have grown into relationships and parenthood and adult worry. But they are rendered with Animal Collective’s singular sense of exploratory wonder. Harmonies so rich you want to skydive through their shared air, textures so fascinating you want to decode their sorcery, rhythms so intricate you want to untangle their sources. Here is Animal Collective's past two decades, still in search of what’s next.

Why do I bother?!

1. Jockstrap – I Love You Jennifer B

I already explained my general fascination with this thread of music (see my notes on Ants From Up There above). It's my favorite album of the year, over the near-perfect Animal Collective album for reasons that I will try to explain but don't completely make sense to me.

Hearing "Glasgow" for the first time flipped a switch in my brain that is un-flip-back-able. I need to listen to "Glasgow" as many times as possible.

If "Glasgow" wasn't that song, "Concrete Over Water" would've been. It's incidental that I heard "Glasgow" first.

I have neutral-to-negative feelings about violin in rock music. "That's dumb and unjustifiable," this album screams at me, politely.

The songs on this album sound simple, hiding their depth. The album forces me to alternate between close listening (specific production choices, structure, melodic riffs, lyrics, and on and on) and a total immersion.

Ok, fine. The shift at 1:15 of Glasgow.

#sharon van etten #plains #pup #muna #big thief #carly rae jepsen #black country new road #bartees strange #animal collective

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lizzygrantarchives · 10 years

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The Fader, June 4, 2014

Read a candid interview with one of the era’s most controversial stars, on fame, feminism and her new album, Ultraviolence.

The camera zooms in on Lana Del Rey as she turns away from the crowd, hiding all but the slightest silhouette of her face. In the background, a massive screen flickers deep purple and blue; beside her on stage sits a potted palm. For one full minute: riotous, embracing applause. Gently, she wipes a tear with the middle finger of her left hand, then wipes her nose, which from this angle appears as the bottom-half of a perfectly slender S curve that begins on her forehead, shimmies down her face and ramps off into the void. Finally, she turns to address the audience, smiles and says, “I think you’re going to have to sing it for me.” The piano starts, and everyone complies, very loudly and very clearly. She tries to sing too, of course, then pauses to cry and smile at the same time, seemingly overwhelmed by the audience’s affection. But no one else stops singing: It’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you…

Lana Del Rey, the singer whose entire self so often seems a carefully constructed display, didn’t conceive of this scene, like she has the many music videos that helped propel her to fame. First came the eerily star-foreshadowing montages of 2008, in which she stitched together found footage and vamped in front of an American flag under her given name, Lizzy Grant. Back then, sometimes she’d make four videos for the same song, but most times, nobody much saw them. Next came “Video Games,” which applied that same cut-up look to a slightly fuller sound, and thrust Grant, now singing as Lana Del Rey, from bedroom clips to blockbusters. Then the big budgets arrived: she sat on a throne backed by two tigers in the video for “Born to Die,” embodied both Jackie O and Marilyn in a span of minutes for “National Anthem” and, for "Tropico" lounged with Elvis and John Wayne in CGI heaven. Lana Del Rey’s filmography is a master class on how to build an icon, and yet, no footage feels like proof of her iconicity as much as the shaky clip of a teary 2013 performance, shot on a phone by a fan in Dublin.

I ask her why she was crying. “I’d been sick on tour for about two years with this medical anomaly that doctors couldn’t figure out,” she says, to my surprise. “That’s a big part of my life: I just feel really sick a lot of the time and can’t figure out why. I’d gotten these shots in Russia, where we’d just been. It was just heavy. It’s just heavy performing for people who really care about you, and you don’t really care that much about yourself sometimes. I thought it was sad. I thought my position was sad. I thought it was sad to be in Ireland singing for people who really cared when I wasn’t sure if I did.” I’d expected self-congratulation, the triumph of finally making it. You never really know.

We’re speaking in the Brooklyn backyard of this story’s photographer, and she’s wearing one of his shirts. It fits her poorly—probably a men’s XXL—and with her hair and makeup done up for the cover shoot, she gives the impression of a young lumberjack’s date the morning after prom. She must know this. They’d been taking the photos in the house earlier, in an attempt at a more laid-back glimpse of a star known for her Hollywood glamour, when she noticed a rack of his vintage clothes and asked to pull from it. More than raw beauty, hers is the gift of producing a precise effect; voilá, she looks like somebody’s girlfriend.

It’s a few weeks before the release of her second major-label album, Ultraviolence, and like any artist with over a billion YouTube views, the 27-year-old Lana Del Rey is blessed and cursed with a punishing schedule. By the time I click off my recorder, after nearly 90 minutes, her publicist has twice come out to end the interview. In both cases, she rebuffs him. Barefoot, she carries a casualness with hardly a hint of the imperious pop star I’d expected; she’s excited, pensive, a little bit apprehensive. After, she tells me it’s the longest interview she’s ever done.

From the backyard where we sit, through an old screen door with a frame rimmed in dried-out vines, I can always hear her entourage. Among the six or seven inside, there’s her bodyguard, formerly employed by Brad Pitt, and her British stylist, Johnny Blueeyes, who during the shoot was prone to bursting into the room and crying, “You’re a staaaar!” The whole team, she says, was hired in 2011, after “Video Games” attracted offers from Interscope and Polydor. “I met everyone the same week,” she says. “Because I was very shy, I just sort of stuck with them.” Later, she mentions the staff again, by way of self-analysis. “I’m never the star of my own show,” she says. “I have a very complicated family life. I have a complicated personal life. It’s not just my life, it’s everyone else’s in this extended family unit. It’s always about someone else, even with the people I work with. I’m the quietest person on the set, generally. I’m actually the one that’s trying to keep it all together. It’s pretty weird. It’s a weird, weird world.” She’s chain-smoking Parliaments.

Everyone knows Lana Del Rey’s so-called true identity: she was born Elizabeth Grant, daughter to an entrepreneur who sold domain names. In the press, there’s been a perverse joy in labeling her a phony, whether that’s regarding her supposedly surgically enhanced lips (she has always denied this), or the rebranding that marked her early career. She was born in Lake Placid, in upstate New York, and went to boarding school in Connecticut. When she first started doing shows in 2006, while studying metaphysics at Fordham University in the Bronx, it was with a folky bent and a guitar that her uncle taught her how to play. The F chord was too hard, she later told the BBC’s Mark Savage—“Four fingers? Never going to happen”—but she recorded an acoustic album as May Jailer just the same. (That record, Sirens, was never released, though it eventually leaked online.) In 2008, while still in college, she signed a $10,000 record deal with an indie label called 5 Points and moved to a trailer park in North Bergen, New Jersey. index Magazine filmed a giddy interview with her there; she appears in a car mechanic’s windbreaker, her platinum blonde hair tied up with a baby blue scarf, and, when asked about the “very cohesive package” of her musical identity, says, “It has been a lifelong ambition and desire… to have a defined life and a defined world to live in.” During this period, she teamed with David Kahne, a producer for Paul McCartney and The Strokes, and developed a more idiosyncratic sound for her self-penned lyrics, with affected jazz vocals, synthesized orchestra sections and hip-hop drums—an uncanny mix of old and new. Under the name Lizzy Grant, she released an EP, Kill Kill, and recorded an album, Lana Del Ray A.K.A. Lizzy Grant, which sat on 5 Points’ shelf for two years before it was digitally released in 2010. By then, she’d gone brunette with swooping Veronica Lake curls, and was spending time in London in search of another deal. With the help of a newly hired manager and lawyer, she bought back the album rights and pulled it from the market. Henceforth, she would be known as Lana Del Rey.

But her past was still there in traces online, the story of a small-town girl with big dreams and the cunning to change herself to make them come true. It’d be an all-American tale, if only she seemed self-made; instead, there was a discomfiting sense of someone else behind the scenes, orchestrating a bait-and-switch with secretly funded videos that only slummed their DIY aesthetic. For an artist who broke online, her father’s background raised red flags—beside selling domain names, he’d worked in advertising and helped market her Lizzy Grant releases. And there was a suspiciously short time between “Video Games,” which was listed by many blogs as a self-release, and the announcement that she’d signed with two major labels. In any case, she was never especially embarrassed about her ambition; rather, she embraced it as a defining trait. On “Radio,” the pluckiest song on Lana Del Rey’s relentlessly downtrodden debut, Born to Die, she sings of success like a taunt: American dreams came true somehow/ I swore I’d chase em until I was dead/ I heard the streets were paved with gold/ That’s what my father said… Baby, love me cause I’m playing on the radio/ How do you like me now? She was a star who announced her own arrival, singing of fame with a wistfulness even as she was just beginning to taste it.

Many critics were bristled by her supposed fraud. The New York Times’ Jon Caramanica pronounced Lana Del Rey D.O.A. in a scathing review, concluding with: “The only real option is to wash off that face paint, muss up that hair and try again in a few years. There are so many more names out there for the choosing.” Pitchfork’s Lindsay Zoladz called Born to Die “the album equivalent of a faked orgasm.” It was an unusual time for music, with major labels chasing the internet’s whims by poaching unproven newcomers off the strength of a viral track and a look. For skeptics, Lana Del Rey became a symbol of puffed-up online buzz itself. (Before Zoladz’s 5.5 review, Pitchfork had notably awarded “Video Games” Best New Track and granted her a Rising profile, ostensibly reserved for artists they recommend.) The Hipster Runoff blogger Carles, a one-man peanut gallery to the indie press, was Lana Del Rey’s most visceral and obsessive critic, but also one of the most insightful, because criticizing her always came hand-in-hand with criticizing himself and the music web’s ceaseless appetite for breaking artists to sell to brands (or take down in think pieces). He called it their “dark, abusive, co-dependent relationship on the content farm.”

But as it turns out, a lot of music fans didn’t care. Today, Born to Die has sold over 7 million copies worldwide, more than Beyoncé’s last two albums combined. Ten months after the LP’s release, her Paradise EP debuted in Billboard’s top 10. Eight months later, Cedric Gervais’ EDM remix of “Summertime Sadness” went platinum; soon after, her song for The Great Gatsby soundtrack, “Young and Beautiful,” went platinum, too. On that last track, a haunting orchestral number, she directly addresses her own status and the position of many a woman, pop idol or not: Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful? Sometimes her songs drag long, and sometimes her self-seriousness can be grating, but in beautiful moments such as that, with her voice situated among an aptly hot-blooded score, Lana Del Rey’s confidence about her own vulnerability transcends melodrama into the realms of great art. In the period since her big authenticity reckoning, one thing has become clear: accusations of constructedness would not crush her. She says they came close, though. Shortly after the release of “Video Games,” she started dating another musician, Barrie-James O’Neill. According to a profile of her in Nylon, he first phoned her out of the blue after his manager sent him the video with the caption “Your future ex-wife.” I ask what he was like during the period of her most pronounced attacks. “He was worried,” she says. “I was, you know, a mess. I totally wanted to kill myself every day.”

Over the years, four themes have come to define her lyrics, whichever the persona: indecisiveness, submissiveness, reverence for American icons and self-destructiveness, both within herself and the men she idolizes in song. It’s a lot of “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss),” and in fact, she quotes that infamous song unwinkingly on the title track of Ultraviolence, before continuing, You’re my cult leader, I love you forever, I love you forever. The consistency at which these four themes appear in her music suggests not quite a foxy con artist, but rather someone moving superficial pieces around themselves—a name, a look—until they find a comfortable identity, much like anybody navigating young adulthood. So I ask her what she was up to with those old Lizzy Grant videos, when she’d don a Marilyn Monroe wig, drape herself in the stars and stripes and blow the webcam a kiss. “Honestly, I feel like it’s more of a girl thing,” she says. “I was just kind of playing, and, literally, I’m still playing. For me, being this way and dressed like this isn’t different than being out in a wig. It’s all the same to me. It’s all nothing, it’s all everything. I could really go any way. I’ve lived a lot of different lives. I lived down in Alabama with my boyfriend, I lived here in Brooklyn and in Jersey. I’ve been a lot of different people, I guess.”

There’s a monologue that opens her “Ride” video, which she tells me is autobiographical. Part of it goes like this: “I was always an unusual girl. My mother told me I had a chameleon soul. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.” In the video, she has sex with a 40-something biker on a pinball machine. In “National Anthem,” she’s married to A$AP Rocky, who portrays a black president who likes to shoot dice. In “Tropico,” she runs with a Hispanic crowd. In a number of others, she’s with a scrawny white guy with tattoos. The men change but sex is constant; Lana Del Rey embodies searching for yourself in someone else. “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she tells me at one point. “I’m trying to do what feels right. I tried a lot of different ways of life, you know, things I never really talk about, just because they are kind of different. I didn’t really have one fixed way that I could envision myself living. Going from a good relationship to a good relationship—I thought that was healthy.”

Her portrayal of those relationships, though, has prompted mixed reviews among feminists. Some criticize the way she seems to idealize powerlessness and servitude, while others appreciate her fluid embodiment of different identities, as well as her candor about both her desire and her weakness. In any case, her comments on the subject will be disappointing for both camps: “For me, the issue of feminism is just not an interesting concept,” she says. “I’m more interested in, you know, SpaceX and Tesla, what’s going to happen with our intergalactic possibilities. Whenever people bring up feminism, I’m like, god. I’m just not really that interested.” Fortunately, her ambivalence about politics doesn’t undo any subversiveness that may be embedded in her work (though, nor does it excuse any ill it may cause). When pressed, she adds, more illuminatingly, “My idea of a true feminist is a woman who feels free enough to do whatever she wants.” I ask her why she’s always being choked in her videos, and she gives a fitting answer: “I like a little hardcore love.” That raises an important point: she’s the one willing these scenarios into existence, romanticizing the very things that hurt her. She writes her own songs and music video treatments, and a similar self-mythologizing applies to her interviews, too. In a Lizzy Grant-era piece for the Huffington Post, she told a reporter, “Strangest performance: Alone in a basement for a handsome record executive. Strangest [song] ever written: Back at his office while I was making out with him.” When I ask her if she regrets joking like that, given how often people perceived her as a puppet of some executive team, she says, no, the story was true: “I had a seven-year relationship with the head of this label, and he was a huge inspiration to me. I’ll tell you later when more people know. He never signed me, but he was like my muse, the love of my life.” Rather than shying away from the snake pit that is sex and power, she walks right in. On Ultraviolence, there’s a song called “Fucked My Way Up to the Top.”

But is she happy now that she’s there? No matter what, her singing voice seems so sad. In an essay called “The Meaning of Lana Del Rey,” a French academic named Catherine Vigier offers one explanation: “She is representing and speaking to a contradiction facing thousands of young women today, women who have followed mainstream society’s prescriptions for success in what has been called a post-feminist world, but who find that real liberation and genuine satisfaction elude them.” Vigier goes on to argue that, for women living under capitalism, there can never be happiness—not through money, nor celebrity, nor even love—and she says the music makes this point clear. So there you have it: a post-feminist, socialist reading of Lana Del Rey. There’s a queer reading available, too, if you consider her identity-play synonymous with dressing in drag, as Christopher Glazek did in Artforum, calling her a “great queer performance artist.” With Lana Del Rey, everybody’s a critic, and any interpretation is possible.

By the time of Ultraviolence’s release, those infinite opinions have long since canceled each other out, leaving room for listeners to take up a more subjective relationship with her music without the pressure of coming up with something clever. Compared to Born to Die, the new album sounds far more like straight-up rock music, recorded in live takes with a Nashville band assembled by producer Dan Auerbach. She’s withdrawing from contemporary pop, a space in which she says she never felt comfortable; gone are the genre-blurring samples that gave her debut the impression of trying too hard to be trendy. The album feels like a sprawling American desert, devastatingly huge, windswept by shrieking electric guitars. Lana Del Rey is surrounded by ghosts and completely alone, the last lines of her verses reverbed out and leading nowhere forever. We could go back to the start, she sings on the title track, but I don’t know where we are. Certainly the rock ballad suits her retro preoccupation; the lead single “West Coast” evokes the opening riff of The Beatles’ “And I Love Her” and the chord progression from The Stooges’ proto-punk “Dirt.” She seems to have found confidence in psych-rock and narcotized swing.

One of the most telling lines from Born to Die was on the song “Off to the Races”: I’m not afraid to say that I’d die without him. Within the self-contained world of that album, this was both a low-point and a high-point, with Lana copping to utter reliance on men but also having the self-awareness to say so. On the Ultraviolence standout “Brooklyn Baby,” she exalts her band-leader boyfriend for a few verses, then lands on this uncharacteristically self-assured gem: Yeah, my boyfriend’s really cool/ But he’s not as cool as me. I ask her about the line, and she says, “That wasn’t even supposed to be there, and I kind of sang it with a smile, and Dan was looking at me and laughing. I’m just kind of fucking around.” She’s already convinced everyone else of her worth, but here she seems to have finally convinced herself.

In that Lizzy Grant interview with Huffington Post, she spoke of her love of American icons: “All the good stuff is real but isn’t, myself included… Whatever you choose to be your reality is your reality.” You can be the president’s wife, as in “National Anthem,” and you can be his mistress; you can be a stripper and you can be Eve, as in “Tropico”; it doesn’t matter which version of yourself came first when you can be everything at once. That’s a powerful thought, and I’m not sure she even completely understands it. “My career isn’t about me,” she tells me at one point, lamenting the misunderstandings about her that she says have riddled her critics’ attacks. “My career is a reflection of journalism, current-day journalism. My public persona and career has nothing to do with my internal process or my personal life. It is actually just a reflection on writers’ creative processes and where they’re at in 2014. Literally has nothing to do with me. Most of anything you’ve ever read is not true.” We don’t know who she is, but you know what? Neither does she.

As she moves from one character to another in her music videos, and from one type of man to another, from one recording alias to another, Lana Del Rey performs not just existential crisis but the power to blindly push through it. On Ultraviolence’s “Money Power Glory,” she sings, My life it comprises of losses and wins and fails and falls, a line immediately followed by more self-sacrifice: I can do it if you really, really like that. Even if she’s only adapting to curry favor, isn’t that what we all do? We perform identity every day, tweaking ourselves for a boyfriend and a boss. Using the very idea of malleability, Lana Del Rey has fashioned herself a superstar, setting to music the human drama of altering yourself to survive and rise. Still, she’s enamored with self-destruction, and perhaps shapeshifting is also about precisely that: you play so many characters that you lose any stable sense of yourself, so that when you’re standing in front of a crowd, for example, and they’re screaming your praises, your response is confusion and tears.

At shows these days, she takes breaks between songs to sign things and take pictures with fans. A recent reviewer described the crowd’s reception as hitting “approximately jet-engine volume”; a music executive who saw her said it was like she was The Beatles. But talking to her, reality bends until only sadness seems like an appropriate response. That raincloud-eyed, tattooed guy who always appears in her videos, from “Blue Jeans” to “West Coast”—his name is Bradley Soileau. Toward the end of our talk, I ask her why she has used him so much. “I like Brad because I respect him that he’s free enough to use his body as a canvas,” she says. “He has a quote about war written across his forehead. I like that he knew that alienated him from society in a way that he couldn’t work regular jobs. He made a conscious decision and manifested it physically that he was going to be on the periphery. I like what that symbolizes.” That sounds a lot like what happens to someone when they become a famous musician, I tell her. There’s no going back for her either. “That’s true,” she says. “It’s pretty fucked up.” A stray cat tip-toes across the fence surrounding the backyard, and Lana Del Rey lights another cigarette. I ask her what she misses the most. “I miss everything.”

Originally published on thefader.com with the headline Lana Del Rey Is Anyone She Wants to Be, and in the June/July 2014 issue of The Fader with the headline Miss Everything.

#2014 #Ultraviolence #The Fader #Duncan Cooper

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lebenspurpur · 3 years

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AN: Helloo, wrote this because I spent today suffering through my post-drunk-vandalism hangover. Guess it's deserved but still, it sucks. After eating chicken broth my dad made, unsalted if I may add, for an hour straight I am now ready to be creative. I really don't know what this is.

Have the link to my Larry playlist while we're at it:

Pairing: Larry Johnson x reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol

Wordcount: 1744 words

🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓🔪🏁🕷🤍🧷💀⛓

Larry looks really, really stupid right now. Stupid and sick.

His tall form slumped over in defeat, big blanket wrapped around him but not too tight, otherwise he'd feel too hot, too feverish, he still needs some air. There are tissues scattered across the couch as well. Fucking hell.

Usually, this would disgust you but it's Larry, you think you've seen worse.

Small sniffles come from where he's laying, whenever he clears his throat hoarse croaking leaves his mouth and he cringes every time he hears it. He can feel your judging gaze on his body, hear your arched eyebrow without even lifting his head.

His radio is blaring some kind of metal music, you don't recognize the band. Technically, the music is useless since the TV in front of Larry's bed is playing an old horror movie, bloody screams only adding to the grimy ambiance in the room.

"I-", you start but Larry lifts his hand before you can even consider continuing.

On any other occasion, you would've noticed the rings adorning his slender fingers, the metal accessories leaving a trail of dark smudge on his hands. Damn, did he have some nice hands.

Thankfully today wasn't a normal occasion. The metalhead in front of you had worse problems than you drooling over his fingers right now, one of them being the sickness he caught.

"Don't you dare say 'I told you so.'", he croaks out while he finally lifts his head, bloodshot eyes meeting yours. He looks immensely tired. You can sense his annoyance at this sickness, this hellish treatment he's in and can't seem to escape.

You take a deep breath in and drop your bag next to his opened front door.

"Alright. I won't."

You close the door quietly and deposit your jacket as well as boots next to it.

His mom always screams at Larry to finally get something for visitor's shoes and bags but he never does. Too busy, too lazy, he figures his visitors get it. Who even visits him, anyway?

The floor is, as usual, covered in stuff he hasn't cleaned yet. Unfinished drawings, sketchbooks, take-out cartons, empty booze bottles, you keep wondering how he manages to create that kind of mess in a timespan of not even two days.

You tiptoe over them, careful as to not to step into something. Earlier experiences have taught you to never mistake one of these seemingly empty cartons as really empty. Just last week you stepped into a fucking pizza the man in front of you didn't finish.

You sigh as you sit down next to him and Larry tiredly raises an eyebrow.

"Dude, I know you don't want to move but Jesus, we really need to get you to bed.", you then state, voice comforting yet firm. You use the moment to stare into his eyes, adore the brown, thick, deepness of them.

Larry groans loudly, voice breaking from how raw his throat is. His head falls back and he closes his eyes, a pained expression on his features.

"Don't wanna.", he grumbles quietly and you involuntarily crack a smile. Larry always managed to do that, even in the most unbelievable moments.

"I'll join you if you do."

One of his eyes slowly creaks open, observing your face to look for any kind of sarcasm or irony. As soon as he doesn't find any, the other eye opens as well and he leans forward again, blanket clutched tightly in his fists.

"Alright."

You grin at his quiet answer, hand reaching over to pull him with you. He obliges, warm, slightly clammy hand tightly grabbing yours. He follows you through the messy room, his blanket leaving a trail of destruction behind the two of you.

You kick open the door leading to his bedroom. Immediately, the familiar images of various album covers greet you. The air in his room is colder and less damp and you hear him take a deep breath.

Turning around, you mention for him to wait while you walk over, grabbing the blanket on his bed. You shake it a bit, readjust the sheets as well the pillow, all while Larry's eyes never leave your back.

"There you go, sweets.", you add as you finish, quickly turning around to see Larry standing the same way you've left him. Tired, slumped, and emotional. The need to hug him starts boiling inside of you but you try and hold yourself back. First, you have to make sure he gets into bed.

Larry slowly stumbles past you. During the last few baby steps, he drops the blanket around his shoulder, faceplanting right into the freshly made sheets. He's not even wearing a shirt and you huff at his stubbornness.

Larry's back looks strong like this, muscles contracting beneath his skin as he tries to get more comfortable. Your eyes glide over his spine, his wide shoulders, the small bumps where his ribs encase his organs. His olive skin is sweaty and long, brown hairs cling to it.

You cringe at that, knowing the feeling all too well.

Softly placing a hand on his back, you move closer, forehead scrunched together.

"Larry, darling."

He grunts into his pillow, a muffled questioning sound.

"I got a hair tie here. Mind lifting your head real quick?"

Larry obliges and lifts his head quickly, taking a deep breath while he does so.

Your fingers find his scalp and start collecting all the strands, securing them afterward with the tie around your wrist.

The man beneath you hums in appreciation as the cold air hits his neck, sweaty skin finally being able to breathe. You kiss the small space beneath his neck real quick, a short sign of comfort before you stand up again, hands leaving his skin.

Larry whines the second you do so, all while quickly turning around, sending you a pleading look.

"You said you'd stay.", the whiny tone only makes his voice sound more hoarse and you can't help the small grin from appearing on your features.

"In a second, sweetie. You need some water and medicine first, alright?"

He whines again but the thought of something fresh and cold going down his throat is enough to soften the pleading look in his eye. You blow him a kiss and then quickly walk into the kitchen, which is right across from the brunette's room.

It's surprisingly clean but what did you expect? Larry never uses his kitchen unless he has to. Which isn't all too often.

Grabbing a water bottle and placing it on the counter, you keep searching for the small broth packets you'd bought exactly for this kind of scenario. You find them in the fridge, the only thing in this room that Larry actually uses.

Chuckling you get some water cooking, all while pouring the powder into one of the giant cups Sal has gifted Larry a while ago. According to the masked man, everything tastes better if it's being eaten out of a cup and so, everyone has their own sets of cups, a premium gift from Sal Fisher.

Soon, everything's done and you maneuver your way back into Larry's room. Said man is awaiting you, eyes still opened as he watches you creep towards his bed, hands full with water, soup, and medicine.

First, you feed him the medicine. Normally he'd do this himself but you know that he'll just ignore the bitter juice unless you force it down his throat. Stubborn motherfucker.

Larry's sitting up now, back propped up against one of the many big pillows he has. You hand him the broth and he inhales it in less than two minutes, apparently, this is the first thing he's eaten today. Shaking your head at the thought, you tug a few strands of hair out of his face, smiling at your lover's appetite.

Finally, after gulping down half of the water bottle, the brunette leans back and smiles, for the first time this evening.

"Thank you.", he croaks out and you touch his arm as an appreciative gesture, "Does that mean you're allowed to join me now?"

You're about to nod as you notice the faint traces of eyeliner on his skin.

"Did you take off your makeup when you got home?", you ask, throwing a teasing smile his way.

Larry clears his throat, embarrassed that you caught him. A faint blush raises on his cheeks and you feel your heart swell at the sight.

"I might have forgotten about it.", he answers, gaze slowly meeting yours again, "But please, let's just do this later, dude. I am so fucking tired."

Huffing, you roll your eyes at his answer but you nod anyway. He'd be fine with the makeup for a few more hours. You just have to remember taking it off tomorrow.

"You're lucky I love you."

Larry grins at that, the usual wide, blinding grin, that makes your stomach tingle with fuzzy feelings inside of it. His fingers find your arm and he tenderly pulls you down to join him. Soon, your head is placed on his chest, and his arms cradle your shoulders, pulling you into his body.

You can hear his relaxed breathing as he finally settles down, nuzzling his face into your hair.

His skin is warm against your cheek and you smile into it. It doesn't matter how often you've done it, laying on his nude chest always makes you flustered.

Larry's fingers start to draw stuff on your back, the feeling more than a delight for you. Humming, you snuggle closer and the metalhead next to you smiles.

His eyes already start to close slowly, lack of sleep finally catching up to him. The quiet sound of the ongoing movie in his living room, as well as the metal music, make for a great background sound and you both listen intently.

You notice the way his heart beats, slow and steady, beneath the tanned skin. Unknowingly, you start to synchronize your breaths with his. In and out. In. And out.

Soon, your eyes close as well. Damn it, you don't want to fall asleep. Though, you suppose it doesn't matter as the man next to you pulls you closer, his breath warm against your ear. He wouldn't let you leave anyway.

The thought makes you feel giddy, excited, in love. Smiling widely, you try to press yourself closer into him, and soon, you too, fall asleep, enveloped by the arms of the boy you love most. Your favorite boy.

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

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“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

6K notes · View notes

pingutats · 3 years

Text

wake up in some promised land

despite his best efforts to keep their relationship out of the public eye, harry & y/n are photographed together as they leave a party one night —and harry has an interview the very next morning.

warnings: a little bit of angst about trying to navigate fame and a relationship. harry has a foul mouth. but there’s a happy ending!

word count: 2.2k

. . . . .

Harry was decidedly not in a good mood.

It had been a late night. He’d had a few more drinks than he usually did. In his defence it was earned—he’d just released an album, it was soaring to great heights on iTunes charts all over the world and already receiving overwhelmingly positive reviews—so sue him if he indulged in some expensive champagne, a couple fancy cocktails, too many rounds of shots for him to remember clearly… It was a good night all around.

The headache he has right now though, brought on by the sudden blare of his alarm (far earlier than he would have preferred), threatens to tarnish the memory. He even considers swearing off drinking forever so he’ll never suffer like this again.

When he voices this intention to a dozing Y/N as he pulls a shirt on, his only feedback is a pillow-muffled, “You’re such an old man, H.”

He leans over the bed and kisses the small part of her forehead that’s exposed between the pillow and the blanket. “Come on, love. Time to get up.”

“You can get up. I don’t have a radio appearance to make.” She jerks the blanket up to cover her head entirely. “I’ll stay here, thank you very much.”

He manages to drag her downstairs with him anyway, with promises of making her coffee and a hot breakfast. In the kitchen she yawns and stretches, the over-sized sleep shirt opening like bat wings as she raises her arms above her head. He has to force his fond gaze away to concentrate on turning the coffee machine on and pulling eggs out of the fridge.

“This is a really ungodly hour,” she comments, watching him rummage around in a cupboard for a frying pan.

“No such thing as a good night’s sleep when you’re as successful as I am,” he tells her wisely.

She doesn’t even indulge him with a laugh, which tells him exactly how tired she is.

The coffee’s done quickly—Harry is so addicted to the stuff he could probably make it in his sleep with all the practise he’s had—and she grabs the cup from him with greedy fingers, closing her eyes and sipping as she’s perched up on the counter.

Harry nearly lets out a moan when the caffeine hits his lips. It surely can’t work that quickly, but already he’s starting to feel alive again. He turns to the stovetop and cracks the eggs in the frypan with one hand, using his other hand to cling to his cup for dear life.

His phone starts ringing and the sound pierces through his head. His manager’s name is displayed, which is a good thing because if it was anyone else calling right now Harry would probably be tempted to kill them, and even if no publicity is bad publicity, he’s not sure a murder charge would be good for his album sales. He slides his finger across the screen to answer it and tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder while he adjusts the heat on the stove.

“Hey, Jeff,” he says.

Jeff laughs on the other end. “You sound fucked.”

“Big night,” Harry grumbles. “You don’t sound to pretty yourself.”

“All I’m saying is you better get yourself set in the next half hour, ‘cause a voice like that on the radio isn’t going to help you sell records.”

“I’m makin’ breakfast,” Harry retorts. “Got a coffee, I’ll be fine—oh, shit—fuck!” He’s mixed up his hands as he tried to flip the eggs, and poured coffee in the frypan. “Give me a second.”

He sets his coffee down on the counter and unsticks his phone from his cheek, turning it on speaker and placing it next to his cup. He stares at mess in the frypan and decides he’s going to have to try drain the liquid into the sink, without losing the eggs. He accepts this challenge with humility and grace, because he knows it’s his own stupid fault.

Y/N is cackling behind him. On any other day he might have been annoyed, but her laughter this morning just means that she’s in a better mood than earlier. He’d give anything to keep her happy, so if it takes fucking up their breakfast to have her smiling—so be it.

“Okay,” Harry says to Jeff once he’s secured the situation.

“Is everything okay over there?” Jeff’s voice is slightly tinny through the phone speaker, but his stress is evident in his tone.

“Yeah, we’re just—“ he looks at the eggs, dyed brown by the coffee, and glances over his shoulder apologetically at Y/N. “We’re having caffeinated eggs. You’re on speaker. Y/N’s here too. Say hi, baby.”

“Hey, Jeff,” Y/N chirps.

Jeff sighs. “Hi. Listen, it‘s probably good that you both hear this anyway. There are a couple of photos of the two of you from last night that are doing the rounds on Twitter this morning.”

Harry stiffens. “What?”

Here’s the thing: Harry and Y/N are definitely an item. It’s happened pretty quickly. They’ve been dating for a few months and now whenever they’re in the same city they’re practically living together. They’ve said “I love you” to each other often enough that its utterance isn’t a special occasion anymore. So, sure, they’re boyfriend-girlfriend, and if all goes to Harry’s plan, they’ll be more than that soon enough.

But in the meantime, she’s also his best-kept secret. There have been rumours, of course. They’ve been spotted having lunch together or going on walks. Anyone paying attention knows they’re good friends, but Harry has been careful not to let the other dimension of their relationship slip out into public yet. He conducts himself on public outings (secretly dates) like a Victorian gentleman, constantly vigilant that his affection never goes beyond what’s appropriate between friends.

“They’re not bad,” Jeff says quickly. “It’s just pretty obvious what’s going on. I’ll send them to you, hang on.”

Y/N slides off the bench and comes to stand right behind Harry, leaning around him to stare at the phone. The minute of waiting for the photos to come through feels like forever. Y/N must sense his tension, because she puts her hands on his shoulders and squeezes.

A notification pops up at the top of his screen: from Jeff, 8 images attached. He taps it quickly and frowns at the photos.

They must have been taken as they were leaving the bar that the album release party was at. He notices Jeff and others also crowded on the pavement outside, lit by the orange glow of streetlights. The focus, however, is of course on Harry and Y/N, who were putting on something of a show for all their friends—and, apparently, the rest of the world.

The first couple are okay. There Harry is, his arm slung around Y/N, clearly not sober as he bellows something up to the sky with a massive grin on his face and closed eyes. They were singing, he vaguely remembers, the karaoke they were doing inside the bar spilling over the rest of their night. Y/N is laughing at him, clapping her hands together.

Harry drags his finger up the screen to scroll to the next photos in Jeff’s chain. These ones start to reveal the two of them as much more than just friends. The arm around her dropped to her waist, pulling her into his body. And then he was bending his head down. And then he was kissing her.

He scrolls down even further.

In this one, he’s groping her ass in full view of the camera.

“Harry, you lecher!” Y/N scolds, smacking his arm in good humour.

He just shakes his head, staring at the photo. “There’s no plausible deniability, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Jeff says over the phone. He laughs weakly. “You two put on a real show.” He must sense the panic that Harry’s feeling, because he adds, “Listen, Harry, I can blacklist questions about it if you want. Just tell me what you want to do.”

Harry looks at Y/N, chewing on his lip. He feels like a teenager again, out of control of his narrative and at the mercy of the media. He’s meticulously developed his skills of privacy for years, now, and one night of insobriety and bad luck undid it all.

Jeff clears his throat. “The thing with blacklisting is that it might raise more questions. And even if you don’t talk about it, you’ve gotta remember that everyone else will be.”

“Yeah.” Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Look—“

Y/N puts her hand on his cheek, patting him. “Hey,” she says gently. “It’s okay.”

He sucks in a deep breath through gritted teeth and holds it in for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he says finally with a sigh.

She scoffs. “You’re not the only one in these photos.”

He frowns. She doesn’t get that he’s apologising for more than just the photos. It’s the fact that they have to deal with this at all, that it’s such a big deal for them to simply act like a normal couple. It’s the fact that it’s him, and he is who he is.

“H,” she presses further. “It’s up to you. Your decision. But I want you to know that I’m happy whichever way you choose.”

He searches her eyes for any hint of doubt. She didn’t manage to clean off all her make-up last night, and there’s a smear of glitter on her temple and dark smudges of mascara underneath her eyes. She looks tired, but she’s definitely serious about what she’s saying.

“You get what it means to be public with me, though,” he says at last. He hesitates. “It’s… intense.”

She shrugs and gives him a cocky grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am too.” She’s holding his head in her hands, her fingers smoothing his unruly curls off his face. “It’s just a few photos. It isn’t everything.”

It isn’t everything. Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then leans down to kiss her gently. It’s just an innocent peck, but the feel of her soft lips against his is enough to ground him.

Jeff clears his throat awkwardly.

They break apart with embarrassed smiles. “Sorry,” Harry says, but he isn’t really.

“Yeah,” Jeff says, sounding uncomfortable. “You’re going to have to make a decision soon, because we’re really cutting it fine.”

Harry looks at Y/N, who nods.

He turns back to the phone. “Don’t worry about it,” Harry says. “Let them ask the questions.”

“Yeah?” Jeff asks. “Okay then, that saves me a load of trouble. Good luck, man. Enjoy it.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, hanging up with a sharp tap on the screen. He turns around to Y/N with a grin on his face. “Where were we…”

Y/N giggles as he gathers her into his arms, pulling her in close for a kiss that no one else can see or hear, a kiss just for them. When she pulls back to breath, he peppers his lips all over her face until she’s squirming away—“Harry, that tickles!”

He lands one last kiss on her cheek before his gaze lands on the time display on the oven behind her, which tells him he has ten minutes before he needs to be on the Zoom call for the interview.

She notices the sudden shift in his demeanour and glances behind her to see what caused it. She turns back around. “I’ll sit with you.”

He nods. “Yeah, okay, I’d like that.”

“It’s Harry Styles!” the presenter cries.

“It’s me! Hello, hello,” he says, waving at the screen. The laptop is set on the coffee table and he’s sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his knees as he grins at the screen. “How are ya?”

“Oh, we’re wonderful,” the presenter replies. “More importantly, how are you? Looks like you had a big night last night, judging by these photos we’re seeing!”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Big night,” he echoes, dragging out the word.

The presenter laughs. “Sounds like a great time. Well deserved after this masterpiece of an album. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but it looks like you’re quite close with somebody there. Would you explain what’s going on here, Harry?”

Harry peers at the photo displayed on his computer screen, even though he knows exactly what it will be. The one they chose is a sweet one, with Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck and kiss that he seems to be melting into. He can’t suppress his smile at that. “Oh, well,” he says. “That’s my friend Y/N.”

The presenter raises his eyebrows at that. “Good friend, is she?”

Harry glances up over the laptop to look at Y/N, sitting on the other couch, her cheeks pink and round from her smile. Harry surreptitiously reaches his arm towards her, out of frame, and she leans forward to hold his hand.

“She is. She’s a lovely girl.” He squeezes her hand. “Yeah, we’re very good friends.”

. . . . .

thank you so much for reading! this fic is based on a request from @kissmyaxe140 — i really intended this to be a shorter blurb of a few hundred words, but i’m incapable of brevity. apparently. this grew into a little monster but i rlly had fun writing it!! the title is a lyric from secret life by bleachers.

if you liked this fic, a reblog and/or any kind of feedback would be very much appreciated. my masterlist can be found here and you can send me messages here. have a gorgeous day!

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #fic

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sailorhyunjinz · 3 years

Text

~ Fluffy intruders ~

Warnings: FLUFF & SMUT, dom!minho, fem!reader, established relationship(kinda?idk), fingering, nipple play, blowjob, penetrative sex (stay safe yall), sex ruined by cats hahaha

Word count: 2,079 words (whoops...)

Requested: Based of anons scenario (which made me laugh so hard, ty for making my day <33)

Note: i want a cat ;(( ALSO writing long smuts is heeeella difficult AA SORRY IF THIS IS SHIET

As a child you were never allowed to have pets. Your parents said that you didn’t have enough ‘responsibility’ to care for another living creature and so after years convincing you eventually stopped, deeming yourself forever petless. But that was until you met Minho. You vividly remember the first date which was at a local cafe, filled with hanging wall plants and rustic boxes of coffee beans. The brown haired boy looked cozy with a dark oversized sweater and a white and black checkered beret, his silver chain earrings shined everytime he moved his head. The strong musky scent of the coffee beans in the cafe fitted his image making him appear even cuter than you originally though.

When you had ordered your drinks of choice you sat down at a table in the far back of the cafe, not visible to a lot of the visiters. The both of you plopped down on each side of the round table, momentarily gaining eye contact before breaking it, being to shy to look for too long. You noticed a couple strands of hair on the shoulder of his sweater.

“Wait, you have something there” you said while smiling, gently leaning over the old rosewood table.

Minho smiled back and froze a bit when your hand got closer to him, heart beating faster than ever. After all it was a cute girl sitting across him dressed exactly how he pictured you.

“There you go” you leaned back into your seat as you threw the hairs on the stone flooring. Only when you looked back at him again did you notice that the color of the strands were not his signature dark brown but instead orange. You looked at him confused and just had to ask.

“Did you have orange hair recently?” was the only question you managed to get out but you instantly regretted it the moment it left your lips. ‘Why do I always make a fool out of myself?’ you though.

Minho laughed, the apples of his cheeks rounded and his eyes formed a halfmoon shape.

“No... I would like to try it someday to match my cat Soonie” he said through that cute smile on his lips, having a dreamy look when he mentioned his cat.

“YOU HAVE A CAT?” you said a tad bit too loud but you didn’t care, you were currently talking to someone that had the animal you always wanted to own.

Minho laughed even louder, heart exploding from your cute reaction.

“I actually have 3! They’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori” he said, flashing his dad-like smile, looking like a proud parent over his cats.

Your eyes lit up as you tapped your legs in excitement.

“I want to know everything about them!” you squealed like a little child.

“Yet another thing we have in common. I’ll tell you but let me fetch the drinks” he said with a soft comforting voice before he stood up and went to the counter. You followed his figure with your eyes.

The rest of the date you talked about mostly his cats. Sure, you talked about other boring things like work but seeing Minho talk about his little critters made you fall in love even more. He pulled up his phone, a whole album was dedicated to the fluffy babies. He had everything you wanted. A perfect smile, a comforting personality and of course a nurturing side which was shown by how well he took care of the trio of cats.

That was 2 years ago. Now, you were a full-time mom to the cats. And as much as Minho hates to admit it, his cats love you even more than him. There was only one little thing you could complain about ẃhen being a catmom and no, it’s not the amount of cat fur that flies into your mouth when kissing the kitties.

You yawned as you closed the bedroom door and crawled into bed, the cats sleeping peacefully in their fluffy beds in the living room. Minho was already cuddled up with his phone, the blue light reflecting onto his complexion. He looked so concentrated and you refused to sleep without getting a good night kiss from the cozy boy

“Kiss” you said, holding out your face in front of his phone.

“ha ha no” he turned the other way and lied on his side, only then did you see why he was obsessed with what was going on the screen. He was playing games with the other boys which made you roll your eyes. You were not giving up this easily and so you spread out on top of him, rubbing your face onto his.

“KISS KISS KISS” you demanded to which Minho sighed, turning onto his back again. You were now straddling him and leaned down to kiss him on the lips, expecting a small peck but oh were you wrong. Minho put his soft hands on either side of your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepened the kiss by crashing his tongue on yours. The movement of the kiss formed a pace, making you slightly rub on against his member while the bed moved slowly.

Minho moved his hands from your cheeks to your hips, pressing them against his hardening dick while you rubbed against it in a quicker pace. His eyes darkened, previously being rounded but now they were hooded, resembling the eyes of a dragon. A mysterious smirk appeared on his light red lips as he flipped you over, hovering above you. Your thighs rubbed together, body getting hotter by the second since you knew what waited everytime this happened.

“Since you wanted a kiss so bad how about I give you something better?” he growled, eyeing you up and down, taking in the beauty of your body lying helpless underneath him. You swallowed a hard gulp as you nodded faintly. He took of his shirt, revealing his slightly muscular body he had been working on recently. With his hand he lifted up your light pink pyjama shirt exposing your two delicate buds and without a second though Minho attached his lips onto one of them, sucking relentlesly whilst his fingers played delicately with the other nipple. Your chest was a playground for Minhos tongue as he switched from nipple to nipple, licking and biting them playfully. Through clenched teeth you muffled a stiff moan as he twirled his tongue around the sensitive buds. You grabbed onto his dark hair, stroking it in encouragement to which Minho smiled in between bites.

His hand trailed down from your nipple, tracing the outline of your waist and hip as it softly halted around the band of your pyjama shorts. A firm grip was placed on your waist as Minho went back to kissing you, his lips covered in saliva from sucking on your nipples earlier. You patted him on the head as you bit his bottom lip, enhacing the romantic kiss. The grip on your waist loosened and plunged down your shorts making the burning feeling in your clit amplified. He traced his fingers over your clothed pussy, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric to which he smirked.

“I’ve barely done anything but my princess is already soaking” he said, breaking the kiss for a second. You nodded again, wanting his fingers inside you. It was almost like he was reading your mind because that’s exactly what happened. Being caught off guard, Minho pushed the fabric aside, digging two digits into your pulsating cunt. Tiny whimpers made it’s way out your mouth as he curled his fingers upwards, finding your g-spot. Those whimpers turned into moans as Minhos thumb started circling your enlarged clit. You looked at him and he looked back, signaling your desperation for him. He understood it in a heart beat and removed his fingers, immediately stripping himself from the loose fitting pants and boxers. His hard member sprung free from the clothes that were now lying on the floor somewhere. He was still on top of you, looking like a statue with when he stood on his knees that were on their side of your body, his dick only inches across your face. Lifting up your hips slightly you pulled your pyjamas and panties down before you semi-sat down again, the warm bed hitting your butt.

Minho lifted your chin with the same fingers that were inside you moments prior, he looked you deep into the eyes before he placed his dick on your plump lips. You licked the tip slowly and looked him back into the eyes. He looked so much powerful than you when he was above you, asserting his dominance by grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing you down on his shaft making you choke. You sucked him of to the best of your abilities, hollowing your hot cheeks and drooling all over the place.

“You look so pretty like this princess” he grunted out, the grip on your hair tightening as his noises got louder, twitching slightly between your lips. Minho rolled his head around and landed his eyes on yours to which you blushed.

As he was nearing his release he pulled out of your mouth, you gasped for air and coughed. Just as you were about to wipe off the drool on your chin and chest he took the back of his hand and swiped the drool off of you, rubbing it on thr bedsheets. Even when his dominant side emerged he cared about you.

“Face down, ass up” he said getting off you. A small “yes baby” fled your swollen lips that came from sucking him off too hard as you got into position. Minhos slightly cold fingers grazed your wet folds from behind, the sensation of cold feeling oddly numbing on your hot pussy. He grinned at the whimper that you let out and stood on his knees infront of your butt, lining himself up with your cunt. You shut your eyes tightly even before he put it in because you already knew the feeling. He was way to big for you and so it always stinged a bit before the pleasure kicked in. Yet again you were right, a moment of pain as he penetrated you but when you adjusted the feeling of being filled to the brim made you stammer out a moan. Minhos hands seemed bigger than they were when he grabbed onto your hips, setting a even pace.

“My pretty princess is always to tight for me” he said, focused on his movements. You could only moan in response, your lips pouting by the way your cheek was being squashed against the bed. Eventually the pace of his thrusts quickened causing the bed to shake. Minhos hands stroked your back from time to time, giving you goosebumps. Your moans got louder and as he grabbed both your arms pulling you against his member they turned into screams. You threw your head back, sweath covering the few stray strands of hair that poked out. Minho knew you were close by listening to your loud moans that sounded like music in his ears. But besides his low groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other you heard another sound. Minho stopped, turning around to face the door.

Loud scratching and meowing erupted on the other side of the door which made Minho scoff while you looked with a confused expression at your boyfriend. He resumed this thrusts at an even quicker pace, you clenched around his dick feeling your release coming closer.

“I’m making mommy feel good! Stop being such babies!” he yelled which confused you deeply as you laughed.

“Who are you talking to?” you turned around to face your boyfriend.

“Who else but the spawn on satan that are those cats?” he said, the both of you bursted out in laughter.

Minho let go of your arms and pulled out, feeling empty. You opened the door and saw the trio of cats marching in the bedroom one by one, getting comfortable on the bed. Minho covered himself with the duvet before snuggling his beloved babies. But the second you lied down on the bed, all three of the cats snuggled up with you instead leaving Minho feeling betrayed.

“Traitors...” he mumbled looking visibly annoyed to which you giggled, petting the Soonie.

“Ok out now! I was not done with mommy” he said to the cats pointing at the door.

#stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #skzsmut #minho smut #kpop smut #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz x y/n #skz x you #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know x y/n

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tenthgrove · 3 years

Note

Can I request a yandere poly! La Squadra with a darling that gains a dangerous stand? Maybe they felt they were in danger enough that it just suddenly manifests?

Panic Response

La Squadra (Poly) x Reader (GN), Yandere, SFW

Risotto doesn't like sitting out, but he knows it's probably the best thing he can do in this situation. He can't see you right now, crowded out of view by the four men desperately vying for your attention, as well as trying to get rid of each other.

He cannot make out a word that Illuso, Melone, Sorbet or Gelato are saying, though they all seem to be doing their best to comfort you so he won't intervene. Slightly clearer is Prosciutto behind them, chastising each of the men for their tactless manner in consoling you. Behind him, is Formaggio clearly contemplating whether to join in, Ghiaccio staring on in utter bewilderment and Pesci crying almost as loud as you are.

Risotto does feel bad. Seeing you so distraught really does wound his soul, but he knew days like this would be inevitable if he were ever to obtain you for him and his team. You will calm down eventually, and then they can start to explain their real intentions to you.

Perhaps it would be best to make them leave you alone for a minute.

"Hush sweetheart, don't cry. You'll feel better with some water," Gelato coos. Sorbet reaches out to pet you, but you bat him away.

"Don't be foolish. They aren't going to take water from us. You saw how they reacted last time we tried to get them to drink something we poured out for them," Melone reminds him. Gelato tuts angrily.

"Let me be alone with them for a minute, I'll calm them down!" Illuso suggests, like anyone's actually going to let that happen. "You never let me be alone with them, so you don't know until you try!"

"We are not doing that!" Prosciutto interjects.

"Illuso does have a point though," Risotto says, stepping forward. He locks with one of your eyes through a gap in the crowd, red and tear-stained. "Not about him specifically, but this may be easier if it's just one or two of us alone with them. I think someone ought to take them into a different room."

Everyone turns to you.

"What do you think sweetheart? Do you want to come up with us, or is there someone else you'd prefer?" Gelato offers. You shake your head.

"Wanna stay here," you sob weakly.

"How about we go to my room for a bit?" Prosciutto offers, stepping forward. "You liked it before, didn't you?"

"No! Leave me alone!" you whine more loudly. This isn't good. Risotto needs to put a stop to this before you lash out.

"Hey," he addresses you. Your eyes snap up in fear. "Don't be afraid. I'm going to take you into my office and then the others won't disturb you. I'll carry you, okay?"

"N-no," you protest, trying to back up further against the end of the corridor. "Don't!"

"Shh," Risotto hushes you. He reaches for your sides to lift you.

"I SAID GO AWAY!"

There's a jet of light, and the next thing Risotto knows he's being thrown back by the most brilliant stand he's ever seen.

____________

Formaggio- You have to hand it to him, he might not be known as the smartest guy in the squad but he does know how to react quickly. He jets forward to pull Risotto from the stand's grip, rapidly shrinking himself with Little Feet to slip back past the stand and towards you. He knows this stand probably isn't under your control yet so you could be in danger as well. Priority 1 is defending you.

Illuso- Not to be outdone by Formaggio's heroism, Illuso charges at your stand with Man in the Mirror and casts it into the mirror world (lucky Sorbet did get you that glass of water, otherwise he wouldn't have had a point of entry). It can't hurt anyone there, and will eventually demanifest once you calm down. The initial emergency is over, and La Squadra can focus on what to do next.

Prosciutto- Everyone agrees pretty quickly that they need to get you somewhere quiet to calm down, and after how you reacted to Risotto, it's probably best someone else does it. When Prosciutto gently leads you away to his bedroom, you're too tired to protest but still terrified. He assures you they aren't angry with you and can explain what happened once your ready. He lets you sleep alone in his bed.

Pesci- Fra said not to bother you while you sleep, but nobody is letting Pesci get a word in as they discuss down in the meeting room what to do about your stand, so he doesn't know what else he can do. Hearing his voice outside the bedroom door, you are relieved. Pesci is quite possibly the only one you completely trust not to hurt you. You let him in, and he reiterates Prosciutto's earlier promise. You ask him what the others have decided yet. He says they still don't know.

Melone- By the next morning, La Squadra still isn't sure how they're going to manage an unwilling lover with a dangerous stand, but they have agreed it's only right for you to receive an explanation for what you saw and for that they send Melone. Melone gives you a crash course on the nature of stands, why yours probably emerged and the fact each of them have their own. He assures you they don't view you having a stand as a bad thing, but it does create problems. He advises you not to attempt to bring it out again as it (truthfully) could hurt you. He hopes that will be enough to keep you secure for now.

Ghiaccio- He doesn't share it with the others, but this whole mess takes him back. He recalls how unfamiliar with stands he was when he joined the team, practically a child, and how White Album's great power caused a similar chaos for the team. Sure, your situation is different because you're here against your will, but quite frankly Ghiaccio agrees with Pesci that the others aren't respecting your boundaries enough. Maybe if they showed you the same understanding they showed him, you might come around. He'll bring it up with Risotto.

Risotto- It's rare, but Risotto doesn't know what to think. Of course he still loves you and of course there's no way he's abandoning the team's pursuit of you as a lover, but this development could cause some serious problems for the team, and you. Worst comes to the worst, they may even have to restrain you in the basement until your fight wears down enough to stop being a danger to them. Risotto would hate to do that to you. Pesci and Ghiaccio think they should try and make a deal with you. Maybe that's not the worst idea.

Sorbet and Gelato- It's them Risotto sends. They've always taken good care of you, and he rightly trusts them for this important task. Sorbet and Gelato begin by telling you how awesome it is that you have a stand; generally trying to get you excited by the possibility of learning to use it. They then move on to what happened, how scared you must have felt to react like that and how sorry all of them, including Risotto, are. Then they tell you Risotto is willing for you to go on as before. No extra security, no new restrictions on your freedom, and definitely no punishments. The squad has come to the realisation that if you're going to trust them, they have to trust you back, and therefore, they want to offer you this chance. If your stand comes out accidentally they won't be angry as long as you tell them, and if not, you'll get to learn to use it soon enough. Perhaps this is the first step towards peace between you.

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emmyhem · 3 years

Text

always (l.r.h)

a/n: hi everyone! this is a lil angsty piece i wanted to get up. i just want to say again how sorry i am for not getting anything up for the past two weeks, i’ve just been overwhelmed with some stuff for my classes, but i am starting to get back in the swing of things now. also, this is unedited as i was rushing to get it up in time. i do plan on posting something else tomorrow night and hopefully i’ll be posting pretty consistently from now on. also this does end kind of abruptly but i wanted to leave it like that because i’m a sucker for angst, with that being said i would be happy to write a part two if that’s something you’d be interested in. anyway, feedback and comments are appreciated as always and i hope you’re all having an amazing day/night. enjoy! - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader

summary: luke recounts his mistake and hopes he can patch things up with his always.

warnings: very brief mention of sex, cursing, mentions of alcohol, luke’s being an asshole, mention of pinching (idk), slight insecurity from the reader, lots of angst :(

word count: 2.6k

Luke had always hated the quiet. That’s when his thoughts were the loudest. That must be why he had never really liked being alone with himself.

Tonight in particular, his thoughts were practically screaming, one word over and over again.

“Y/n”

For the past two years that name had acted as his most favorite word, one that he would utter whenever he had gotten the chance. Whether it be to brag about your recent accomplishments to his friends, to catch your attention from another room, or falling from his lips with a sigh of pleasure as he reached completion with you laying breathlessly beneath him.

Now the word seemed torturous, the last time he uttered it replaying on a relentless loop in his head.

It was your 2nd anniversary. Dinner had been laid out on the table for an hour. Two glasses of wine sat untouched in front of a vase of roses you had picked out at the florist earlier that morning, and there was no sign of Luke.

You were wracking through your brain as you watched a petal fall from a rose and land lightly in one of the glasses.

Had you gotten the time wrong?

But you were sure that the two of you had agreed on 8:00 for dinner, that way you had time to get everything ready after getting home from work, and Luke wouldn’t have to rush to leave the studio.

Yet somehow you found yourself staring at the now cold dinner at 9:30, with absolutely no word from Luke. You wanted to call, if for no other reason than to check he was still alive and breathing, but your nerves stopped you from doing that, not wanting to take on the role of the overbearing girlfriend.

Your stomach growled hungrily over the light music that was playing through the house speakers. So, begrudgingly you took a bite of the pasta on your plate before downing your entire glass of wine.

Luke arrived home about 2 hours later, a bouquet of your favorite flowers in hand. He caught sight of the table, with one setting completely untouched as he hung up his coat, causing guilt to pang in his chest.

“Baby,” he called out, carrying himself to your shared bedroom.

When no response came his heart rate sped up in fear that you had left.

“Y/n” he called, louder this time with a sense of urgency clear in his voice.

That’s when he spotted a person sized lump underneath the duvet. Releasing a sigh of relief he moved towards you, peeling the blankets off and leaving a soft kiss on your shoulder.

This caused you to stir a bit, eyes fluttering open to meet him.

“Hi, my love.” he cooed.

A frown was prominent on your face, and a crease separated your eyebrows as they furrowed angrily.

“I’m sorry I’m late. We got a bit carried away in the studio, but in good news the album is coming along great. M’so excited for you to hear it”

You had always tried to be understanding of Luke’s job for many reasons. One being that you both reaped the benefit of his success, you wanted for essentially nothing, had a nice house, the opportunity to travel, and Luke often spoiled you with gifts even if you asked him not to. Another being how happy it made your boyfriend. Music truly was his passion, and he was so talented that you wouldn’t want for him to ever put his work on the back burner for you.

With that being said, you made a point to take time off to spend time with him whenever you were able to. You had even changed jobs because your last one hadn’t allowed you to go on tour with him, which he had been adamant about, insisting, “There’s no way I can be away from you for that long.”

And you were happy to do all of those things, because you were in love, and you felt incredibly lucky to even be a part of his world. But you did start to question things as your relationship went on. It felt like Luke didn’t even consider your job. He only saw it as something that took you away from him.

You had worked hard to get where you were in the occupational field. Without your job all you would have to do is sit around and wait for Luke to be ready for you, and you just couldn’t live like that.

Luke turned on the lamp on your nightstand as you slowly sat up in bed.

“2 weeks Luke, we’ve had these plans for two weeks.”

“I know baby I tried, but you know how it is when inspiration strikes.” he dismissed while sitting the flowers on the ground.

“No, I don’t. Do you not think that I have things I could be doing for work? Cause I do, and I choose this over all of that.” you huffed in frustration.

Luke took a deep breath while subtly rolling his eyes.

“Y/n, I’m sorry for missing dinner, but you don’t understand the pressure I’m under, from the fans, the label, management, and the band.”

“I know that you work hard and I know how important this is to you, and I’m so proud of you, but I’m proud of us too and I would’ve liked to have a night for just us.” you tried to explain. “Not to mention the fact that I’m under pressure in my job too and I always find time for you, no matter what.”

“Yea, you have pressure from a job that you don’t need.” his voice rising in anger with each word as he paced around the room.

“How many times do I have to tell you Luke? It’s my job, it’s a part of my life and I don’t plan on giving it up anytime soon.” you shouted.

“Great.” he replied sarcastically. “Then you should understand that I won’t give up my job anytime soon.”

“I’m not asking you to, I’m just asking for a bit of consideration, and just a sliver of your time.”

“I’m working to make us more money.” he stated.

“Luke, we don’t need any more money. You should be working because you enjoy it and because it’s your passion.”

He let out a condescending laugh before turning to look in your eyes.

“Yea, well you don’t seem to mind all the money when you're sitting at home in the house that I bought, and leeching off of my bank account on the daily. D’ya think you could afford all the shit you have just based on your salary?” he spat crudely.

You physically leaned back as if the words had just actually been thrown at you. They must’ve, because the pain they caused felt far too real to just be emotional. You opened your mouth to fight back, to scream, to do something but the lump in your throat prevented anything to come out other than a sad, and pathetic squeak.

Was that what he thought about you?

This had caught you completely off guard. Sure, you were expecting an argument, you’d even say you were expecting a big one, but you would’ve never guessed he would throw this in your face.

You felt betrayed. It had always made you insecure that you were making such little money compared to your boyfriend.

Some days after receiving your paycheck you would go out and spend it all on Luke, solely because you wanted to know that you could contribute too. You would do that whenever you got the chance, to reassure that your work was important, and valid. And mainly to show Luke that you appreciated all he did for you.

He would always reply, “You don’t have to do this, love. I like spoiling my girl.”

Yeah right.

“I wasn’t, I m-mean I don’t try to lee-,” you paused, the word feeling too gross to repeat back.

“Well, you do whether you're trying or not so the least you can do is give me a break occasionally.” he spoke casually, while changing into sweats as if he wasn’t ripping you apart with every word.

You kept a blank stare at the bedroom door, your eyes already stinging with unshed tears. You wished you could be angrier but his words left you questioning and feeling guilty.

As hard as you’d tried to provide for yourself and make your own way you couldn’t help but wonder if you had subconsciously started leaning on him, more than you had ever wanted.

Luke continued getting ready for bed, not taking a second look at you since hitting you with his harsh words.

“I-I’m sorry.” you croaked.

“It’s fine, Y/n I just wish you could’ve been slightly more understanding.” he continued, still not facing you.

“I think that maybe, I mean, um I gotta go.” you were speaking through tears, as you abruptly stood from the bed and hurried to leave the room.

This caught Luke’s attention causing him to spin in your direction at lightning speed, finally taking in your emotional state.

“Going? Going where? I-what are you talking about?”

You didn’t reply, grabbing your keys, bag, and shoes as you continued to speed to the front door.

“Y/n!” he continued, following closely behind you.

You paused at the front door and turned to meet his eyes. His stressed appearance subsided as you allowed him the opportunity to talk.

“You’re upset.” he concluded, reaching a hand out to hold your cheek.

You leaned away from his touch and shook your head lightly, “M’not.”

His features softened and he took another step closer to you, “You are. I’m sorry, I was harsh.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?”

“I don’t want t-to leech” you stuttered out.

This rendered Luke speechless, realizing how cruel his words had been. You had taken this as an opportunity to exit the house, quickly running to your car. Luke made it to the driveway just in time to see you drive away.

“Fuck” he snapped, jogging back towards the house to get his phone and call you in hopes of convincing you to come back.

After calling you at least 20 times with no response he conceded and decided he should try and get some sleep, that way he was rested enough to get you to forgive him in the morning.

His body fell naturally to his side of the bed, but his eyes lingered on where you typically laid.

Rolling onto his back, eyes finding the ceiling he muttered to himself, “I’m an idiot.”

Eventually he was tiring out, the bedroom ceiling growing extremely boring after staring for so long. He turned on his side to hug your pillow to his chest. As his hand slid under the pillow it came into contact with an envelope that had been hidden underneath.

He sat up and flicked on a lamp to read the front, “To my Lu”

He could tell that you had taken your time penciling on your words, each letter was flawless and written delicately. Before ripping it open he hesitated, questioning whether or not he even deserved to see what was inside after the way he spoke to you. The selfish part of his brain won for the second time that night.

The first thing he saw after opening was two airline tickets situated just in front of a folded piece of notebook paper.

He held his breath as he brought them into the light, two roundtrip business tickets to Sydney.

He rushed to read the note you had left with them, unfolding it quickly.

“Lu,

Happy two years, my love. I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to call you mine for this long. Not a day goes by where I’m not in complete and utter awe of you and everything you do for me. I know how hard you work and how much you miss home and your family while you continue to grow in your music, and in yourself everyday. I know these aren’t the best tickets you’ve ever had by any means or the most extravagant vacation you’ve taken, but I wanted to show you how much I love you and how much I know you deserve, and need a break. We have 2 weeks, we leave tomorrow. I’ve worked it all out with the guys and your label. I know this is just a small way to repay you for the way you’ve taken care of me and the way you’ve loved me so selflessly for so long but I hope it shows you just a sliver of how much I love you.

Yours always,

Y/n”

He traced the letters of your name repeatedly as he blinked back a few stinging tears, before falling asleep, the note clutched tightly to his chest.

That was a week, and about 100 missed calls ago.

About two days after you left, your friend had called to let him know that you were safe and staying with her for the time being. It had slightly lessened his worry, but the guilt he felt grew exponentially each day he had no reason to say your name.

He had claimed your side of the bed as his own in hopes that it would bring you closer to him. When he had finally dragged himself out of bed to shower he used your body wash and as embarrassing as it sounds nearly cried when the room was flooded with the familiar rose scented steam. And tonight while scouring through the liquor cabinet and feeling completely sorry for himself he had come across a bottle of tequila that you had purchased on your most recent vacation.

Luke had put a serious dent in it by the time he was done scrolling through all of his pictures of you, and his finger began to itch with the need to call you.

Through blurry and clouded eyes he located your contact, a breath hitching in his throat when he clicked the call button.

With each unanswered ring he pinched his wrist, willing himself to wake up and discover this was all just some horrible nightmare, that he would just roll over and see you curled up next to him, warm, and sweet, and perfect. So fucking perfect.

“You’ve reached y/n. Sorry I can’t get to the phone, leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thanks”

But it’s not his nightmare that got him here, it’s his mistake.

“Y/n,” he croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy as he hasn’t used it much in the past couple of days.

“I don’t know what to do anymore, I miss you and I’m sorry. I-” his heart was pounding and his intoxication numbed him from the feeling of the hot tears that streamed down his face as he continued. “M’selfish baby. I’m so selfish and I was talking out of my ass that night, of course you’re not leeching. That’s fucking ridiculous, you couldn’t be, I give you nothing compared to what you give me. I just don’t know how to admit I’m wrong and the money is bullshit, it doesn’t matter, we could both live without it.” his chest felt tight as he took a large gulp of air. “I-I can’t live without you, really I don’t think I can. I need you and I love you. I love you so much. Just please come home to me, please baby. I need you with me, and I want to fucking give you the world and I know you don’t need me to give it to you. I want to. I just-I want to give you everything, anything. You can have it all. It’s yours. I’m yours, alwa-” his pleads were cut off by the dial tone.

“Always.” he repeated, staring at the black screen.

pt. 2

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justice4canyonmoon · 3 years

Text

An Evening Off

Summary: Both Y/n and Harry have a rare night off. Y/n has relaxing plans for how they should spend it.

Notes: Howdy! This is probably the last fic I’m going to post for the next two weeks; I have finals for college next week, and I have a fuck ton of work this week because professors love to give students everything at once 🙃 Anyway, I came up with the very fluffy concept because I crave emotional intimacy, so I hope you like it!!!!

Warnings: cursing ig. otherwise just a lot of fluff and taking a bath together 🥰

WC: 1.9k

Y/n was feeling lonely.

Her boring ass office job didn’t produce too many friends for her. While the people she worked with weren’t the absolute worst, they were just, well, bland. Their lives were cookie-cutter. The closest thing any of them had experienced to a true adventure was a trip to IKEA. Her two best friends, Maria and José, were across the country, since she had moved from one coast to another to live with her boyfriend. Sure, she could FaceTime them, but it just wasn’t the same. And after the call, she knew she’d just be more lonely than before.

Harry wasn’t an option either. He was working, far too hard for her liking. She understood, of course; it was album crunch time. He had to make all of the last minute decisions: finalizing the tracklist, photoshoots, and touch-ups on the chosen tracks in the studio. But she missed him. The only times she saw him anymore was right before bed, when he would stumble into the room sleepily and kiss her forehead before going right to sleep. So yeah, she was a bit lonely. And being alone on her day off wasn’t exactly the plans she wanted to have.

Luckily, the universe decided to answer her pleas. At around 1:00, after she had finished up a late shower, her phone buzzed with a text from her beloved.

H: Hi, baby! The only thing we have left on the agenda today is touching up a couple of the album tracks, so I should be home a bit earlier :D If you’d like, I can pick up some dinner on the way home.

She couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across her face. For the first time in ages, the two of them could finally have some time together! Maybe she could do something nice for him! He had been working so hard lately, he deserved it. And honestly, she did, too. An idea popped into her head, and she threw open the bathroom closet, taking a look through her bath supplies. She grinned triumphantly as she pulled out a citrus bath bomb, knowing that Harry enjoyed the calming scent of orange and lemon. A nice bath would not only help Harry destress, but it would also be the perfect cure to the loneliness that was settling in her heart. She quickly texted Harry a reply as she set the bath bomb aside.

Y/n: Sorry about the wait, babe, was just taking a shower. Forgot to this morning lol

He answered pretty much right away, making her smile.

H: It’s okay, baby! No need for apologies :)

Y/n: Okay! I’m excited to actually get to spend some time with you! I could really go for curry, if you’re up for Indian takeout.

H: Curry sounds good to me! I’ll probably be home between 6 or 7! I have to go now, but I can’t wait to see you :) I love you so much!!!!

Y/n: Can’t wait to see you, either, Har!!! I love you, too 💕💕

“Baby, ‘m home!”

Y/n looked at the clock. It was 7:30, a bit later than what Harry had said through text, but still much earlier than usual. She leapt up from the couch and sprinted to the front door, tackling Harry in a hug. He laughed loudly and wound his free arm around her waist, not fully able to hug her back because of the takeout bag in his arms.

“Let me put the food down so I can give y’ a proper hug.”

She let go with a small pout on her face, which Harry promptly kissed off while setting the bag down. He then wrapped her in a tight, two-armed embrace. She melted at the contact, resting her head on his chest and hugging him back just as tightly. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, then rested his head on top of hers.

“Miss you, Har,” she said, her speech slightly muffled from talking into his t-shirt.

She could feel him frown against her hair, “I miss y’ too, Y/n. The album should be done by the end of the month, and then ‘m all yours until tour starts.”

“Good. I was gonna break into the studio and steal you back myself if you weren’t done soon.”

He chuckled, “I don’ think Jeff would like that very much.”

“Fuck Jeff! I need you back here,” she scoffed.

“I certainly hope y’ don’ want t’ fuck Jeff.”

She rolled her eyes, “You’re annoying.”

He grinned cheekily, “But yet y’ still here.”

“Lord only knows why,” Y/n grumbled, though there was a smile on her face.

They pulled away reluctantly, both realizing how hungry they were. The two chowed down on chicken curry and naan while chatting about their day. Y/n spent most of her day off watching The Great British Bake-Off and snuggling with Daiquiri, their black lab. Harry had been putting the finishing touches on three of the album songs (“I can’ wait to play them f’ y’, baby”), and ranted about the traffic coming home (“I would’ve gotten home 45 minutes earlier, but the freeway was ridiculously clogged up!”). It was domestic in a way that Y/n never thought she would have, and she loved every second of it.

When everything from dinner was cleaned up, Y/n figured now was as good a time as any to reveal her plans for the rest of their evening.

“Hey, Har,” she paused, then continued when she heard his hum of acknowledgment, “would you want to take a bath with me?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Is this a ploy t’ get me naked?”

“No,” Y/n said bashfully, “I just thought it would be nice to take a bath together. I found a citrus bath bomb at the back of the closet, and I thought it would be relaxing for us.”

Harry’s eyes softened and he smiled gently at her, “That sounds perfect, love. Y’ too sweet.”

The two made their way to the bathroom, hand in hand. Y/n plucked the bath bomb from the closet and laid it in the tub, turning on the warm water. The water became a pastel shade of yellow, reflecting the lemony scent of the bath bomb. As she was checking the temperature, a pair of tattooed arms wrapped around her waist, and a kiss was pressed to her cheek. The heat radiating off of his body led her to believe that Harry had already rid himself of his clothes. When she turned around, her suspicions were confirmed.

“You work fast,” she commented, making a humming sound when the temperature was to her satisfaction.

“A bit,” he confirmed, leaning over to turn off the nozzle “just wanna take a bath with y’, love. Speaking of, let’s get those pesky clothes off of y’, shall we?”

Y/n nodded and Harry reached forward, almost reverently lifting her (his) sweatshirt over her head. She shimmied out of her leggings and removed her undergarments. She stepped into the bath first, gesturing for him to follow. He obeyed, and sat between her legs, resting his head on her shoulder. The two sat in silence for a while, basking in each other’s company. Y/n couldn’t remember a time where she had felt this at peace. But she also knew that Harry had forgotten to shower that morning since he was nearly late to the studio, so she reached over and grabbed some soap and a washcloth. She looked down at him and giggled softly when she realized he was almost asleep

“Wake up, baby,” she crooned, “let me wash you.”

“‘M awake,” he muttered, “promise.”

“Sure you are, that’s why your eyes are closed,” Y/n teased.

He only hummed in response, making her giggle again. She kissed his forehead and began washing him gently. The soft circles she was rubbing into his skin with the washcloth were soothing, and a sleepy smile made its way onto his face.

“‘Y always take such good care of me. Dunno how I got s’ lucky.”

Y/n felt her face grow warm as she reached for the shampoo, “I think I’m the lucky one. You always take care of me, too.”

She began rubbing the shampoo into his silky locks. Breathy gasps fell from his lips as she tugged lightly as his hair, working the shampoo into his curls.

“Feels s’ good,” he murmured.

“Glad you’re feeling good, Har,” Y/n replied in a hushed tone.

She rinsed his hair and repeated the process with the conditioner. By the time she had finished, Harry had fully fallen asleep on her shoulder. She cooed softly at how adorable he looked. He was like an angel; his long lashes were speckled with little water drops, his wet hair stuck to his forehead in an oddly endearing way, and a small smile was spread across his lips. He looked so relaxed in a way that Y/n hadn’t seen in a while. The bath helped her feel more at ease too; the monotonous motions of washing Harry made the stress from her job melt away, and the loneliness that had plagued her earlier in the day was washed away by the warm water. But she knew she had to wake Harry. She wasn’t quite strong enough to carry all six feet of him back to their bedroom.

Y/n gently jostled his shoulder and whispered, “Harry. Need you to wake up, baby.”

He groaned softly, making her giggle softly once more. His eyes slowly blinked open to reveal his jade irises, and he stumbled his way out of the tub, making her laugh a little harder as she followed. Y/n got out two towels and dried them both off, knowing that Harry was much too tired to do it on his own. She took his hand and walked toward their bedroom.

When they reached the bedroom, Y/n guided Harry to sit on the bed while she picked out sweats for both of them to wear to sleep (she knew that Harry had a particular fondness for when she wore his clothes to bed, so she got out his clothes for both of them). Harry pliantly moved his limbs as she clothed him, and watched her with moony eyes as she pulled on her own sleepwear.

“Look s’ pretty in m’ clothes, love,” he complimented, relishing in the shy smile that appeared on her face.

“Thank you, Har. Let’s get you to bed, okay?” she replied.

Y/n turned off the light and joined Harry on the bed. He was already lying on his side, so she wound her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Usually, he was the big spoon, but with the whole mood they had set all night, it just felt right for her to be the one cuddling him. Y/n barely heard Harry mumble a “g’night. Love you,” before his breathing evened out. She smiled and closed her eyes, reflecting on the day. Just spending one evening with her boyfriend made her feel right as rain, and the loneliness that had once threatened to overtake her was totally gone. Though she had been taking care of him that night, he was also taking care of her. And sure, they were both going back to work tomorrow, but in two weeks, Harry would be done with the album and would be all hers. When sleep finally overtook her, all she had were the most pleasant of dreams.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine

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thismaydestroyme · 3 years

Text

Little Did I know Pt. 2

summary: in this short story, harry is famous, and he moved into a town during the summer to relax and potentially write some new songs for his upcoming album. i included some song lyrics from different amazing artists, and i pretended that harry and y/n wrote it.

author’s note: i wrote the beginning of this two months ago me being lazy i picked up where i left off because i’m too lazy to read through this. so if there’s any major fuck ups then…. i did warn you that i’m incompetent

word count: 3165

“I’m a SLAVE FOR YOU!” Y/N shouts out, and little did you know Harry was front and center watching your trainwreck of a performance.

Harry did a whole french inhale without breaking eye contact with you. “I really wanna dance tonight with you.” Y/N hears Brittany playing in the background which you pause the music, to see what Harry would say about your little ‘performance.’

“Really? A slave? don’t you think it’s pretty dramatic don’t ya think?” Harry says, raising one of his eyebrows. You know he’s just playing around, but you coudn’t help feeling embarrassed how he fucking witnessed… that. You don't want Harry to know that you’re embarrassed, so you did the next best thing.

“That fucking snake was huge. Did you know she was holding an Albino Burmese Python? I bet MTV wasn’t expecting that. Do you think MTV got filthy rich from that performance? Everyone tuned in for that performance and till this day it’s still the most talked about.” You ramble and spew out random information you bet Harry couldn’t care two shit about.” Harry has a smirk on his face, you bet he was enjoying you looking like a damn idiot.

You start profusely apologizing until Harry interrupts you, “Do you want to come over?” He says all nonchalantly and walks away without you even agreeing. You’re all stunned and weren't able to even say one single word or even move your two feet. Harry doesn’t need to turn around to see you not moving, “C’mon weirdo, don’t act all shy with me now.” He threw back.

“Fuck.” You whisper, but your feet finally start to move and your feet are heading straight to Harry.

Harry turned his head and started to smirk, but he kept walking which had you feeling some nerves building up in your stomach. You’re not scared per se, just you’re going to Harry Styles house. This is normal. This is fine. This is just a once in a lifetime opportunity.

Cool.

When you finally get to his entrance Harry is already inside and he disappears somewhere because you don’t see him. You hesitantly walk inside and shut the door behind you. When you turn around you couldn’t help, but notice the disarray this house is covered in. Your mouth gape opened, but you immediately brought your hands to cover up how shocked you are. You couldn’t help but gawk at Harry’s place. There’s a big pink couch in the center of the room which is covered in boxes and clothes. There’s a TV on the floor which doesn’t seem to be plugged in because you don’t see it even plugged in. You try not to be too judgy because he did just move in, so what do you expect? Harry having his life all sorted out in a span of a couple of weeks?��

You almost missed the nice white fluffy carpet that’s underneath the couch. Even though Harry’s place is a disaster, you can envision what Harry is planning on doing when he has his stuff all situated. In the back of your mind you hope he might even invite you back if he does a ‘welcoming party.’

Before you could even investigate more Harry walks back in with two bottles of water in his hand. He’s already drinking out of one of them, so he handed the one that hasn’t been opened to you. You reach your hands over to grab it.

“This isn’t safe for the environment.” You states while unscrewing the cap.

“Well.. you belting out to Britney is an endangerment to our society, so I guess we both got the short end of the sticks.”

You immediately start drinking your water because you didn’t have your next rebuttal. You start scanning the room and hoping it’ll have your heartbeat settle down because you can feel it through your chest. Harry moves from his spot and starts taking boxes off the couch and to make some room for the both of you. He had to take down three boxes, so you could both sit comfortably.

Harry walks over to you, but you freeze. Harry was pleased knowing he had you all flustered. It was one of Harry’s turn ons. Harry sits and brings his arms draping on the back of the couch which would have you being in his arm if you decide to sit right there. A couple of seconds of you contemplating you walk towards Harry and hesitantly sit down.

“I’m not going to bite.” he whispers in your left ear. Feeling his breath in your ear made you slightly clench your thighs together, hoping Harry doesn’t notice. But knowing your track record he probably did notice.

You try to come up with a conversation starter that hopefully doesn't hold all the spotlight on you. You look down at her close water bottle and scrambling for something in her head.

“Now you’re shy. The last time I checked up you were coming for my head after that mishap with your dog earlier.”

“You deserved it. You were attacking Cosmo, so yeah. I was in fact coming for your ass.” You glance your eyes to Harry. You’re overly protected over Cosmo. Cosmo is your life.

Harry gave you a smirk. He couldn’t help but to admire your bluntness. He barely comes across people who lit a fire inside of him. They always try to please him because he is a celebrity, and people just want to please him- which he doesn’t mind, but he does wish they sometime bites back. Having you in his presence he doesn’t want to let you go just yet, little did he know, he wants to get to know you more.

“What do you do, Y/N besides piercing people’s eardrums and being a dog mom.”

“Ummm.. that’s a loaded fucking question. But you being Harry fuckin’ Styles I guess I have to come up with something to make myself more interesting and less… chaotic. Well I’m a 21 years old who doesn’t have anything to offer to this world. I live my life accepting I’ll probably be working at Newbury Comics. And on top of that I love music, but I’ll be considered unqualified because I have no talents, and all I could do is muster up some mediocre lyrics that I have stored in my notes app.”

Harry didn’t break any eye contact when you were summarizing your sad life. That created a pit in your stomach because you never experienced anything that could ever compare to Harry’s tense gaze.

Harry never encountered anyone in the span of meeting them baring their skin to him. He couldn’t help, but feel some sort of pride knowing he created a space for Y/N to be able to let your hair down and express herself in full detail. He feels more drawn to you because he knows what you’re feeling. The unknown is a scary thing to feel, but you’re doing that with grace without you even realizing it. Just accepting reality is the biggest thing to acknowledge, and you’re doing just that.

“What do you have on your notes? Could you even help me write my next album.” Harry shrug glances his eyes away from you.

You feel a surge of worries entering her body. You don't know what’s going on, and you don't like it. “What?! You barely know me. My so-called ‘lyrics’ could be shitty and cliche. What are you getting out of this? My humiliation?” You don't like being taken as a joke, but that’s all you could come up with this peculiar interaction. Harry sees a naive little girl.

“You’re pretty,” Harry says. And that’s all he said. He got up and walked out the room. You're left on the couch alone, and not understanding what he just said. Just a few minutes ago he asked for your help, and now just a few seconds ago he said you’re pretty. What kind of fuckery is this?!

You immediately got up and walked to whatever room you could find Harry in. It wasn’t that hard because Harry is in the kitchen.

“Harry! I need you to explain. Talk to me, please.” You say while running her hands down your face. You thanked yourself for not wearing any makeup.

“Uh, you beg. I like that Y/N,” Harry chuckles and closes his fridge door.

“Well…. I do find you attractive and I see a potential in you. I might be wrong or I might be right. There’s nothing wrong with finding out and seeing what you have.” Harry says. Harry isn’t afraid to look people in the eyes, but you sure do. You’re debating if you should take this risk. Harry did say there’s nothing wrong with finding it out.

“Fine. I will take that jump with you.” You say unsurely, but you have some faith in him and a little bit in yourself.

“Good. Now can you stop being tense and enjoy yourself. You’re in fact talking to the one and only Harry Styles.”

“Shut up, doofus.”

One month Later

After Harry made the deal with you a month ago, you guys have been surprisingly working together quite nicely. You guys wrote one complete song, and that song is now called, “Dirty Little Secret.” You can’t wait to hear Harry sing that song with his band because you’re pretty sure it will fit the band theme for his upcoming album. Harry doesn’t want to limit himself, but he does have an idea to make his third album mostly rock.

Harry didn’t expect you to be a fuckin’ genious. Watching you in the corner jotting down lines in your beat up notebook with a pen in your hand made you start feeling someway. You always appreciate the art seeing people enjoy what they do, but Y/N is truly gifted because she has no experience with producing music. One long night two weeks ago you guys were sleep deprived because there was a week where you guys would stay up all night to write and you would stop when you saw the sunrise. Y/N found her love in music because of her father. He was a huge factor that made her who she is today. There was substance in her when she would talk about the accent in a song, how she would bounce that off with the bar while you would play the instruments. Y/N is truly a force to be reckoned with and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be like to have her on tour with you.

Y/N never felt more alive after her father passed. It’s like Harry woken something inside of her. You never thought you would experiment with music with Harry Styles, the artist for this generation. You’re not going to lie that you would watched all of his interviews and he would talk about when he write songs he has no boundaries, and it’s crazy he upheld that ideology because Harry made sure you know that there’s no right or wrong way, the only way is to play around and see how it goes.

“I’m going to get some water. Do you want some?” You ask Harry dropping your notebook on the coffee table that’s covered in rolled up papers and a lot of take out boxes.

“Yeah. Thanks.” He says. You nod at him, and you got up to grab two cups of ice water for you both.

Your notebook page flipped to a new page and Harry couldn’t help but notice to see “Bubblegum Bitch” written in all caps. Harry got intrigued, so he happily kicked the table so the book could fall, so his excuse could be, “Y/N it fell.”

Harry kicked the coffee table with his big ass feet and the notebook happily splat on the floor. Harry reached for it and started flipping pages to see that title again, and it took him a couple of tries to find it.

“Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

Don't care if you think I'm dumb, I don't care at all

Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

I'm the girl you'd die for”

Harry couldn’t help but not try to read all the lyrics. He wants to digest it all, but he knew Y/N could walk in any second. He couldn’t help but make a small gasp when he skimmed to the part of the song that had him falling on his knees

“I'm gonna be your bubblegum bitch.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Y/N says timidly. On the outside Y/N is calm and cool and collective, but on the inside you’re shaking and screaming. Your songs are attended only to you, not for other eyes to see. You’re still not confident with your writing abilities when it comes to songs for yourself, but knowing your idol probably read more than one line of your song is having you want the ground to swallow you up.

“I’m not going to tiptoe around you and pretend Y/N. Bubblegum Bitch is amazing, fuck maybe fucking brillant Y/N. Shit.” Harry says he looks at you but goes back down to your notebook flipping pages after pages.

You’re stuck where you’re standing. Feeling the condensation of two cups of water you’re currently holding is the only concept you’re able to maintain.

Did Harry say that he likes your songs? Did he say brilliant? You’re not able to speak, all you’re able to do is walk up to the coffee table, drop the cups down and grab your notebook from Harry's grabby hands and collect your belongings. This is too much. You feel too much. You simply can’t right now.

Harry sees you picking up your stuff and shoving your notebook and pens in your purse you bring every time you visit him. Harry couldn’t help, but feel bad that he could possibly make you feel uncomfortable.

Harry stands up and starts walking up to where you are putting the last thing in your bag, “Y/N I’m sorry if me going through your stuff made you angry, but I couldn't help it Y/N. What I read was amazing, you’re amazing.” Harry hurrys out his words because he felt if he didn’t say it fast enough you would vanish.

You’re trying to hold back your tears because it’s getting too much for you. The last time somebody read your stuff was your father, and right now you feel like you’re betraying the intimate moments you had with him. He was the one you would share your songs first with him. Now that he’s gone, you couldn’t put yourself out there to have someone else read it. You turn back around and you try to give a smile to Harry.

“It’s okay, I- I just have to go. I’m sorry. We can talk later.” You push past Harry to make it to the front door, but you feel someone hand on your wrist so you immediately stop.

“Y/N, I can’t have you leave, when I know that you’re not okay. Can you please talk to me? Please?” There’s a hint of sadness in Harry. You couldn’t bring yourself to leave him without having the answer he’s yearning for.

You turn around and there’s Harry. His green eyes are pleading with yours, and you couldn’t help, but do what Harry is asking you to do.

“Okay, I don’t want pity. Okay? Tell me you understand.” You ask Harry because the last thing you want from him is sympathy.

“I promise Y/N. Would you mind if we sit down?” You nod your head and he walks you back with his hand in your hand. You both couldn’t help but feel some sort of palse running inside you both while holding each other's hands. It’s something both of you guys can’t simply forget.

You got to the couch and you both sat down, no longer holding hands. You adjust yourself so you can face him. “Okay. My father died a couple of years ago and he was the only one I let read my stuff first. After he passed I never showed anyone my stuff because it would feel like I’m replacing him. I’m not mad that you read my stuff- I was just surprised, and I couldn’t help it but feel sadness creeping over me. Once again, I’m not angry at you, I’m just adjusting to a new milestone I just crossed without me not realizing it.” You say, and you’re hoping Harry doesn’t say, “Oh I’m sorry” because you’re sorry to.

“Well, I’m not sorry for your loss,” Harry says and you couldn’t help, but smile and laugh. “but I’m not sorry that I read it. You have something Y/N and I know you told me you haven’t had any experience in music industry, but fuck that. You have passion and I feel that every time we write something together in the past month, I don’t think I'll be able to forget about you when the summer is over.” Harry says. There was so much sincerity in what he just said.

You thought it was all one sided because you felt so much being with Harry. You felt you were finally seeing a rainbow you hadn’t seen in a very long time. Harry brings so much out of you that you. Harry was always there when you were scared to take the first step. Him being there with you made it less scary because he was there every step of the way.

Harry didn’t expect he would’ve met someone this summer who would make such an impact on him. Harry thought he would do a lot of hooks up, go to parties and write for the entirety of the summer. But the universe had something planned for him. He met Y/N. He didn’t want to tell Y/N he that he found his first and only love, but he didn’t want to scare her. She could probably feel the same way or she only saw him as a friend but neither of them were ready for that big leap of faith. Even Y/N knew Harry is someone she couldn’t live without because he brings something out of you that you never felt in your entire life and that was courage and faith.

Y/N met her faith. Only time could tell if faith would lead Harry and Y/N the soulmate they both were looking for.

“Harry, I don’t think I could possibly forget about you.” Y/N whisper because you felt if you used your normal voice the bubble you guys created would shatter within seconds.

Faith is a silly thing because faith could have you longing for something that’s impossible to grasp or faith could have you leaving you vulnerable, but that vulnerability could unlock something you never dreamt was even possible.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles concept #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #thismaydestroyme #thismaydestroyme harry styles #harry blurb #harry styles fic rec

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you-can-call-me-wanda · 3 years

Text

Fake Dating

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Reader

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

When you first started dating Nikki Sixx, it was all for the money.

Now dating someone for money may sound cruel and awful to most, but in your case, it was a little different. Dating Nikki was literally your job.

You had been reached out to by Nikki’s management close to eight months ago and were offered the job of becoming his fake partner. Mötley Crüe had gotten into some sort of scandal once again that had the public upset and protesting their work. It really wasn’t anything that bad that the band had been up to, just their typical hotel shenanigans, but it happened right before their new album release and their label was desperate to change the opinions of any upset mothers to try and increase album sales.

So, they had reached out to you. Why? Because you were exactly what they needed to get the public back on the side of Mötley Crüe. You were a small-time actor and pretty much universally liked. Having gotten most of your fame from starring in a recent and popular children’s movie, you were recognizable to children and parents alike. You were relatively new to professional acting, so there was no sort of rumors or nasty gossip associated with your name. Not to mention, you were young and beautiful and, even better, had no criminal record. You perfect for the role of Nikki Sixx’s significant other.

You were hesitant to accept of course. Sure, you had heard rumors of celebrities with fake or hired partners before, but never had you been asked to be in on one of those schemes. It felt wrong, to be lying to so many people, but the pay was too good for you turn down. You were in between gigs at the moment, having had no job offers since your big movie role. Maybe it was wrong to have ever accepted, but you had, and there was definitely no turning back now.

To everyone’s surprise and Mötley Crüe management’s absolute glee, the tabloids and press was obsessed with your and Nikki’s relationship. After just one “date” out with Nikki, a no-expenses lunch courtesy of Elektra Records and lots of well-timed hand holding and pecks on the cheek, paparazzi photos of the two of you could be seen on virtually every teen gossip magazine’s cover. When people mentioned Mötley Crüe now, they were talking about you and Nikki, not the fact that they got banned from the Hilton or destroyed over fourteen thousand dollars’ worth of property at their last hotel stay on tour.

Like you were, Nikki had been hesitant to play along with this fake relationship. It was weird and the whole thing was uncomfortable in the beginning. You were a complete stranger to him and now he was expected to kiss you in public and take you out on dates? It was awkward to say the least. But over time, the two of you warmed up to each other and your roles. With every staged date, you two got closer and closer and got to know each other more and more. Things got easier, and you actually began to enjoy the company that Nikki provided when you saw him, and the two of you even began to hang out sometimes even when it wasn’t scheduled by corporate.

“Hey (Y/N)!”

You turned around where you stood to see Nikki and his best friend and bandmate, Tommy, running towards you.

“Hey,” you said, smiling widely at the two boys. “You guys ready for your big show?”

Today was the last night of Mötley Crüe’s tour and it was the biggest show yet. You had been invited by management since the show was to be filmed with some backstage footage as well. And since Nikki was your fake boyfriend, it only made sense for you to be there with him.

“Hell yeah!” Tommy cheered, twirling his drumsticks in his hands. “Tonight is going to be killer! You’re gonna be watching from side stage, right?”

“Of course I will,” you said. “You know how much I love seeing you guys play.”

And it was true. The best part about your newest acting role besides getting to hang out with Nikki, was watching his band perform on stage.

“That’s why you’re the best,” Tommy said, ruffling a hand through your hand and bounding off down the hall on the venue excitedly. “I’m going to go warm up!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t chicken out on me Sixx!”

You turned back to Nikki with a confused smile.

“That boy is all kinds of weird,” you laughed.

“Tell me about it,” Nikki said with an eye roll.

“What does he mean about chickening about?” you asked. “You nervous for the show or something?”

Nikki had never seemed nervous before a performance before. He was normally excited, but maybe since this was his biggest gig yet, the stage fright was getting to him. You examined him carefully. He did look a little nervous. He was tapping his fingers to an irregular rhythm against his leather-clad thigh and biting his lip just slightly.

Nikki sighed through his nose and attempted to look non-chalant. The real reason he was so nervous was because tonight was the night he had decided would be the time when finally he told you that he loved you. He had stupidly mentioned it to Tommy who in turn had told Mick and Vince and half the crew. Now, almost thirty people had wagered money on whether he would actually go through with it or not. Somehow, thankfully, you had been left blissfully in the dark to all of this.

“No,” Nikki said. “I’m not nervous. It’s nothing really. Just Tommy being dumb like always.”

“Oh, okay,” you responded. “As long as you’re okay. By the way, Mick said you wanted to talk to me earlier.”

Nikki cursed under his breath. Of course, Mick would intervene. He had bet a hefty amount of cash on Nikki being brave enough to confess his feelings to you.

“He did? Oh, well, it’s really nothing important. It can wait until later,” he said, swallowing thickly.

In reality, Nikki was genuinely terrified to tell you that he loved and ask you out. Normally, he was confident in matters like this, but with you, he felt like he was diving headfirst into the unknown. He felt a connection with you, and he was sure that his feelings for you were true, but he had no idea if you felt the same. In any other situation, he could probably figure out if someone were interested in him based on how they interacted, but with you that was near impossible. You were literally being paid to date him. How was he to discern between your acting and what you really thought? For all he knew, you could hate his guts and just be putting on a show to keep getting your monthly check.

And if he told you that he loved you, and you didn’t feel the same, he wouldn’t know what to do. Not only would he be heartbroken, but he wouldn’t be able to hide from you. You would still be invited to events and he would still have to pretend to be your boyfriend. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to kiss you knowing that you didn’t and had never had any feelings for him.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “There’s plenty of time to talk now. You’re not on for another hour at least.”

“I just uh, I just- I don’t know,” Nikki stammered.

“Sixx,” you said with a laugh. “Just tell me.” You placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’re my fake boyfriend, remember? I love you,” you joked.

Your words pained Nikki because he knew you were only teasing.

“Do you really though?” Nikki asked quietly, finally finding the strength to make his move.

The smile slipped off your face.

“What?”

“Do you actually love me?” Nikki repeated louder, looking up at you. “Do you really love me?”

You were caught off guard to say the least. That was not what you had been expecting Nikki to ask you. Did you love him? Of course you did, but why was he asking? Had he figured out that you were secretly harboring feelings for him, the boy you were supposed to be fake dating? Had he realized that your acting was getting to be too realistic, that you couldn’t possibly be faking this well?

“Why are you asking me that?” you said, avoiding answering his question.

“Just answer me,” Nikki said. His eyes searched yours for an answer.

You could feel your heart hammering away in your chest. Did he know? You were panicking, trying to think of something to say. Should you deny any feelings you had for him? It would be unprofessional to admit that somewhere along the line, you had begun to really love him.

“(Y/N),” Nikki said, realizing you weren’t going to answer him. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore.”

You felt like he had punched you in the gut. All the air left you lungs. So, this was it. He had figured you out and was ending things. He didn’t want to see you anymore now that he knew.

“You- what?” you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. “Why?”

“I don’t want to be your fake boyfriend anymore because I want to be your real boyfriend (Y/N),” Nikki said. His eyes turned downcast, too nervous to look at you. “I don’t know when it happened (Y/N), but I’ve fallen for you. You’re just- you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re smart and witty and fun. You can make me laugh and get me out of a bad mood. You know how to party, but you also can just sit and have an honest conversation with me. I love you and I want this to be real, what’s going on between us.”

You were speechless yet again. You gazed at him in awe, shocked by what he had just admitted.

Nikki took your surprised silence as rejection and his shoulders sagged visibly.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked eventually, daring to look up at you now.

“I, uh- I mean, no. I’m just surprised is all,” you managed to spit out. “You really mean all that?”

Nikki merely nodded.

“Nikki, I- oh my god. I love you too,” you said, finally finding the words you wanted to say back to him.

Nikki looked skeptically hopeful.

“You do?” he asked hesitantly. “You really mean that?”

“Nikki,” you started, breaking out into a grin. “I have loved you for months now. I thought you could never feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. I thought you would hate me if I told you.”

“I could never hate you,” Nikki said, lips curling up to match yours. “God (Y/N), I really love you. Can I- will you- would you be alright if we started dating for real now?” he asked. “No more staged dates or kisses. Just you and me actually doing this.”

You nodded excitedly.

“Yes,” you agreed quickly. “Yes, I would like nothing better Nikki.”

Nikki let out a relieved laugh and quickly threw his arms around you in a tight embrace.

“Can I ask you one last thing?” he said, as you hugged him back.

“Of course,” you said, pulling back to look at him.

“Can I kiss you now? For real this time?”

#nikki sixx #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx imagine #motley crue x reader #motley crue imagine #motley crue #wanda writes

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thegirlwhowritesawksh-t · 3 years

Text

point of no return (georgenotfound x f!reader)

author: me! @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t

word count: 3.6k +

warnings: maybe a bit of angst, hella fluff? if there’s any you think you see, let me know!

A/N: first off: hi guys! this is my first fic ever (i’m a noob lmao), so please be gentle! i am in the process of writing some more about whoever I feel like simping for next... probably still George, mi amor *kisses* and second: to whoever’s reading this: stay hydrated, smile and laugh! let me know what y’all think! *sending besitos to y’all :))

Sometimes it was hard to find the words to say I like you, much less, “I love you”. For (y/n), it was easy to say it to anyone. Friends, family, ex boyfriends. Everyone. Everyone but him. Pacing across her room in the flat she shared with George, all she could feel were her nerves on edge. Down the hall, in his own room engaging in a do not laugh match with Dream in Minecraft, George sits oblivious to the predicament (y/n) has currently placed herself in.

Her phone chimes with an incoming text from the man invading her thoughts -

GogyBogy: just about to finish up with Dream. movie night? your choice?

She can’t help but let out a soft scoff, but smiled and typed a yes back, slowly getting ready to head downstairs to make the popcorn and pull out the assortment of films to decide to watch.

It’s not like she knew that she was attracted to him the whole time. It had only been recently, when George decided to attempt a cooking stream, and all she could do was focus on how he had spent time looking for the best outfit for the stream.

“I have to look like I know what I’m doing, you know, I’m Chef George!”, letting out a giggle as he perfects his outfit. Maybe it was how he looked in his outfit, or maybe it was how his hair looked soft to run her hands through. One thing she knew for sure: like a shit ton of bricks, she was over the moon for him, and she just realized that now.

Since her earth-shattering realization, (y/n) has tried her best to remain cool and collected around George. There have been a few mishaps, though. One incident in mind merely happening just this morning. >>>

Cooking eggs in a skillet, (y/n) hums lyrics to a popular song, eyes closing every so often fighting to stay awake. Finding plates for two, she starts to flip the eggs, humming louder each passing minute, only loud enough to fill the empty room. Lost in the focus to flipping the eggs, she fails to notice George trudging in, pulling another late night editing videos for his YouTube channels.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be singing?” George mumbles, as she pauses mid-song. “How else am I to wake? It’s either I hum, or I blast some album full blast on Spotify. Want to listen to One Direction then? They have the Best Song Ever” (y/n) chuckles.

“Touché”. He remarks, (y/n) laughs and deciding that the eggs are fully cooked, she plates them, and adds garnish, consisting of pepper and a pinch of salt.

“Do you want tea?” (y/n) asks, as George responds with a yes.

“Can you get the mugs then? I’ll start heating water in the kettle” she asks as she starts looking for the kettle.

“Mugs are already on the table, and I’ve just grabbed the kettle. Let me do it, you’ve made breakfast this morning.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m right here already- “ (y/n) says as George quickly moves to the sink, filling up the kettle with water. “Don’t worry! I am an expert on making tea, (y/n)” George states, with a scoff rolling off of (y/n)’s lips.

“Right, and I’ll be the next Queen of England” she snorts, finally pleased with her creation. Turning around to put the finished masterpiece on the table, she jumps back realizing that George is right in front of her.

“What the heck!?” she asks as she’s still balancing the two plates on her hands. George only stifles a small smile.

“I told you, I’ll make the tea”, he replies. (y/n) opens her mouth to object with something snarky when all thoughts have gone out the window.

George, in the midst of heating the kettle, leans forward unconsciously holding onto (y/n)’s waist, as he reaches behind her to place the kettle on the burner next to the previously used skillet. Not only does she feel him grasping her waist, it then emphasizes that she’s trapped between the stove and George. So much for avoiding feelings, (y/n) thought.

He returns to his previous position, not yet letting go of (y/n)’s waist. Whether it be on purpose or on accident, (y/n) couldn’t tell for the life of her, she was focused on not dropping the plates of eggs. (y/n) then quirks an eyebrow, as if questioning why he’s still in front of her, holding her waist. George can only look back at her in confusion, eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t think you were clumsy to the point you decided to hold onto me”, (y/n) mutters as George’s eyes widen, hand dropping to his side as quick as he placed his hand on (y/n)’s waist. Just as quick as he dropped his hand, (y/n) felt immediate loss on what seems to be like her burning waist.

(y/n) can’t help but look down at the plates of eggs, no doubt that they started to cool off before she glances at his hand. The hand that held her, of course. Cheeks blushing, she attempts to side step at the same time as he does. He laughs and tries to side step in the opposite direction, yet she can’t help but make the same mistake again. Hearing George giggle at the latest mishap, (y/n) tears her eyes away from his hand the eggs to look up at him.

Her breath once again hitches at the close proximity between the two. She can’t help but glance at his hair, smiling at how messy his waves look. Looking lower, she stares at his eyes, his eyes staring back with humor, probably to their blunders only moments ago. With eyes slowly decreasing of crinkles, he takes a small breath, just pausing as he looks at (y/n) with renewed curiosity. (y/n) slowly starts to glance even lower, settling at just his lips. She sees words coming out of his mouth, yet she’s zoned into the idea if her lips would mesh well with his. Maybe it’s her imagination, but George seems to pause and reciprocate the idea of looking at (y/n)’s lips, licking his bottom lip slightly to ease the dryness that seemed to fill the air.

Minds contemplating, (y/n) decides to inch her face closer to George, with George seeming to think the same. - Just a few more milli-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH! The tea kettle whistles and George immediately jumps back, at a loss for words. Embarrassed at his sudden action, (y/n) hangs her head down, and mumbles out,

“I- I uh think I’ll have the tea later. Enjoy your breakfast. Wait, lun-, oh whatever”, (y/n) rushes out as she speed-walks to her room, with both cold plates of eggs, sweaty hands, and a confused George still holding onto the tea kettle, seemingly at odds with what just happened.

>>>

Maybe I’m just going crazy, (y/n) thought as she starts to heat up the popcorn. Quarantine is still in effect, and it has been a while since she’s seen other people. She’s only seen George and George only. Not that she minds, of course. With a sigh, she turns to the microwave, running her thoughts back to this morning, lost in her thoughts. Were we about to...?

“(y/n)!” George whispers. She whips her head around to see George standing in the doorway leading to the living room, a faint glow of yellow behind him. “Yes?” (y/n) asks as she takes the popcorn out of the microwave, cursing as she burns her hand on the paper bag.

“Isn’t it your choice tonight to decide on a movie?” He ponders, walking towards (y/n), her taking an instinctive step back. George raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question the sudden movement.

“I think so. How do you feel about Harry Potter?”

“Oh, come on! We watched Deathly Hallows Pt. 2 when you chose last time!” George groans as (y/n) moves past him into the living room, dead set on the film.

“So, we can start over again! Sorcerer’s Stone it is!”

“I don’t see how this- “ “George, please?”

Taking a moment to glance at (y/n), DVD in one hand, the other wrapped around her waist, George mutters a yes as she begins to put in the film.

“If we watch this, you’re playing Minecraft next time on stream”, he grumbles, grabbing a blanket to wrap around his body before settling onto the three-seater couch.

“I mean I suppose so…” (y/n) chuckles, grabbing another blanket and settles onto the couch. Only as she sat down did she realize she’s sitting in the middle of the couch, George sitting to the right of her.

“Didn’t we decide that you would sit on the left end of the couch and I would be at the other end, since you kick, and I tend to shuffle around a lot?” George smirks.

“I- “ (y/n) pauses. It’s true, she thought. She assumes she was happy choosing the film, that she decided to plop down beside him. Or so she thought. After taking a minute, she sighs and replies,

“Would you like me to mo- “ “No! It’s fine! Just unusual is all.” George says quietly.

“I can move if you want me to. I don’t have cooties, but I can move if you’d like.” (y/n) mumbles. Her heart slowly starts to beat faster with each passing second as silence begins to fill the room, the only light being the t.v. radiating in the background. Don’t make me move, George, (y/n) prays inside her thoughts.

After about a minute, George shakes his head.

“It’s fine. Sit!” He chuckles, before settling deeper into his spot. (y/n) breathes out a sigh of relief, thanking the heavens for him not noticing how much she’s blushing.

I’m fine, it’s just George, (y/n) repeats inside her head, no doubt failing. The movie begins to play, and (y/n) feels all of her worries fade away, smiling at watching her favorite childhood movie again. Relaxing deeper into the couch, her mind wanders back to the earlier memory of this morning again. Mind going numb with endless ideas, she failed to notice George’s arm tucked behind her head absentmindedly pulling her strands of her hair. He moves his hand slowly down to rest on her left shoulder, rubbing endless amounts of shapes, searing the imprint of warmth. Chest tight, she realizes the state she’s in with George, feeling the pressure raise higher as his hand remains there. (y/n) starts to sit frigidly, as if one wrong movement could set off dominoes. In this case, another awkward situation with the man she’s found herself lost for.

Where are we even in the movie? Really? Harry going to the zoo? Holy- (y/n)’s thoughts pause as George softly grips her shoulder - with her tensing up even more - before removing his hand to rest at his side, and (y/n) blushing at the sudden loss of contact. Cursing at her awkward being, she starts to readjust, hoping that George wouldn’t notice how wound up she is all from him. All from a shoulder touch, and she’s fully convinced she won’t ever recover from the man that is shy, sweet, confusing George. Still readjusting herself on the couch, she manages to cross her legs under her, holding onto George’s left thigh. Eyes wide, feeling George tense up, she manages to turn her head a bit to the side, to see George’s gaze on his thigh. (y/n) retracts her hand away.

“Sorry, you know how long these movies are…”, she mutters, cheeks flushing at the close contact. George can only cough and nod as he tries to focus back into the movie. I don’t know how much longer I can take this, (y/n) repeats into her head, trying to zone back into the movie.

>>>

How (y/n) was able to watch half of the movie without dying of embarrassment, she did not know. But she was thankful to appear normal in front of him, or so she would hope. Rigid with each movement, she felt scared making a move with the worry that she’d cause an uncomfortable situation. Yet, her head thought otherwise. I think I’d do just about anything for his warmth on me again, even if it’s just his hand on my shoulders, (y/n) thought.

The Golden Trio met Fluffy for the first time, and all (y/n) could think about (besides the man next to her) was going to Hogwarts, wishing it was real. The spells, the robes, Quidditch, everything about the universe has always called out to (y/n), and all she could do was endlessly hope it could potentially be a reality, even if she did look foolish for believing in that. George managed to discreetly glance to the side and see her dazed eyes zeroed onto the screen, and mouth moving to quote each line. All he could do was stare in awe, of her knowledge of this magical world, her persistence to memorizing each spell, and how there seemed to be a basking glow upon her figure. She looked like heaven, the epitome of warmth. What (y/n) couldn’t see was that he too, was enamored with her as she was with him.

George had an idea to test the waters. If she responded, he would continue. If she didn’t, he’d forget all about it and attempt to move on from the woman he was sure was the one. (y/n) saw from the corner of her eyes that George readjusted himself that while he was sitting casually beside her, he lowered his hand to rest on his thigh. Heart still stuttering, she lowers her eyes realizing that her thigh is directly next to his, mere millimeters from touching.

Rigid, she sits straight up, unintentionally knocking her thighs into George. She stares at their thighs, chuckles a bit and struggles to watch the movie again, knowing her thigh is definitely touching his thigh. With arms crossed against her waist, she can’t help but watch his hand in the mere hopes that it would ‘accidentally’ brush her thigh.

As she keeps her eye contact on his hand, George begins to tap his pinky finger on his thigh. He taps, wiggles, slides his pinky with his hand still resting on his thigh. While still resting his hand, he slowly starts to move his hand to the left, making it that his hand sat on part of his thigh, and the other part was on top of (y/n)’s thigh, starting to shyly tap his pinky on her thigh. Letting out a gasp, (y/n) could only freeze at his hand - no his pinky - tapping her thigh, and it’s already turning her into a nervous mess. What the hell is he doing to me?, (y/n) asks to herself.

If you go down this route, it’s past the point of no return…

But it’s worth it…

How can you even be sure if he feels the same?

(y/n) can’t help but engage in a battle with her thoughts before finally coming to a decision.

Yes.

With bated breath, she slowly moves her hands to rest on top of her thigh, the hand closest to George shaking slightly. With a bit more confidence, she begins to move her right pinky on her thigh, moving in contradicting patterns, just barely touching George’s thigh. Soon enough, their pinkies start to move in sync, and (y/n) can’t help but bask in his warmth, even if it’s just his pinky. So used to his pinky against hers, (y/n) eventually hooks her pinky against his, effectively stopping their movements.

George lets out a huff of air, and (y/n) freezes, overthinking that she went too far. A full two minutes pass, only hearing Harry Potter finding the Mirror of Erised, and silence from George himself. Getting ready to back off, she releases a breath and begins to retract her hand from George.

“Okay, I’ll just- “

George shuts her up with his hand on top of hers, effectively placing his hand of top of their thighs. He then releases a shuddering breath, only to be met with complete silence. (y/n) looks at their thighs, then their hands, then George, back to the movie, to him again. She starts to find the words, only to come out with nothing. What can come out of her mouth besides, your heart is all I need.

Taking a minute to regain her composure, she lowers her guard, opening her hand so slightly that his fingers fill in the spots in-between hers. With a soft smile, he slowly grips her fingers, starting to rub her thumb with his.

“I don’t think you understand how long I’ve wanted to hold your hand,” George mutters quietly, as if he were to speak any louder, he’d shatter the moment, whatever this moment is.

“And you think I haven’t?” (y/n) asks.

“I didn’t say that,” George pauses. “How would I know? There weren’t any signals, no signs or hints, (y/n).”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, George. I’m always scared of messing up around you now. I can’t breathe, knowing that we breathe the same air. And how do you think I feel about us living under the same roof? I have to stop myself from tearing my hair out and- and stomping over to your room and just… confess. I’ve become desperate for your touch, yet I’m scared that if we pass that boundary, you wouldn’t feel the same! I mean, look at this morning, y- you- we almost kissed and you didn’t say anything! I assumed you just thought it was nothing, and we’d work past it. How is it not obvious that I’m in love with you!?” (y/n) blurts out, ripping her hand away from his, only for him to grip her hand again. Despite the nerves in her veins, she can’t help but relish in his hand still holding hers.

“Can you tell that my hands are shaking? Because they are, (y/n). Is it obvious that I don’t know what to do in situations like this? All I know is that just one look at you, I fall apart. I-I-I can’t begin to count all the times I’ve wanted to hold your hand. And that’s just holding your hand. Kissing you, calling you my Love, Darling, my Everything? I don’t know what else to say except that I fall apart from you. Everything you do makes me scared and I have no idea what to do, because I am just now realizing how much I adore you.” George confesses. (y/n) can only stare back with adoration, yet confusion swirling in her thoughts.

“You know, I can tell everyone how I feel. I love my mom, I love my sister, I love pets, I love One Direction, for gods’ sake! Yet if I say that to you… why is it that I feel like I would break apart? Saying those three words to you just confirms that I am so hopelessly in love with you, and anxious to tell you to be mine. Screw it, I want you to be mine, I’ve been yours. I am yours. I want everything and anything with you, and all I need is a yes. A yes from you is it for me.” (y/n) replies.

“I’m not good with my feelings, expressing them, especially with this. There’s no turning back.”

“Stop giving excuses.” She scoffs.

“I’m not. I’m giving you a way out. In the case that one day, you might not think that I am enough for you.”

“Who said you weren’t? You’re everything to me.” (y/n) says, and George whips his head up to face her. She continues on,

“I’m ready to be yours. Hell, I am yours. I-I can’t even begin to say how much I- “ “Love you. I love you, (y/n).” George blurts out, hands still grasping hers. Gasping, she takes a deep breath, finally ready to succumb to her desires.

“I love you, George.” (y/n) admits. George closes his eyes and softly smiles, before opening his eyes and looking back at (y/n). Now when he’s looking at her, does (y/n) realize how reciprocated her love for him was. Raising their conjoined hands to her face level, she places a kiss to his hands, with George releasing a heavy breath at the intimate action. With a smile, she lets go of his hands, George whining at the loss of contact of her hands.

“I think you’ll like this more.” (y/n) laughs. Slowly, she brings up her hands to cup his face, George immediately melting into her touch. With his head leaning towards one hand, he raises his hands to rub hers once more.

“You really like my hands, huh?” (y/n) remarks.

“They’re officially mine to hold. So, a short answer would be yes.” George smirks as (y/n) hums in content, feeling his stubble tickle the inside of her hands.

Grasping his face, (y/n) slowly tears her gaze away from his eyes to focus onto his lips, and for the first time, there’s a clear sign that he’s feeling the same. They both look at each other one last time, fully taken with one another, the space between them reducing by millimeters.

This is-

Finally capturing her lips, George shivers as (y/n) gasps into their kiss. Maybe he’s the heaven I’ve imagined. Perfection, (y/n) thought. After what seems to be minutes of giving into their desires, they pull back, chests heaving. George’s lips swollen, (y/n) can’t help but steal another kiss, earning a chuckle from George.

“I love you. You’re it for me. I- I love you” (y/n) repeats. George smiles for what seems to be the millionth time that day and says,

“I love you, (y/n). I- I am yours, and you’re mine.” George gushes. Going in for the third, but not final time, they embrace and kiss sweet nothings into their lips, each as a promise to love each other with no holding back.

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