#Harry takes the stand and tells everyone to fuck off one final time

[tedwardremus]

The final Harry Potter book should have ended with the International Confederation of Wizards coming to Britain and setting up criminal trails for not just death eaters but ministry employees

[freedomfireflies]

Reckless*

Summary: The third part to Knockout*

The one where Harry secretly gets paid to fight, but you're the one paying the price.

Word Count: 9.2k (...no comment)

Content Warning: 18+, violence, mentions of an abusive ex, mentions of blood, smut

Harry’s fist instantly snaps closed around your hand, subtly but pointedly tugging you back. Seeming to want to put a bit of space between you and the man standing before you.

“Oh, do you…know each other?” you ask slowly, glancing between the two rather curiously.

Jesse offers nothing more than a raise of his eyebrow, redirecting his attention back to Harry as though encouraging him to respond.

Harry merely grits his teeth. “We used to. Long time ago.”

It’s hardly an answer, somehow just as frustratingly vague as you expected, yet you nod, nevertheless. “Ah. I see.”

Jesse’s smile somehow stretches a bit bigger. “Are you working today?”

“Uh, no. Just…came by for the keys,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost nervously. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Thought I’d…maybe stick around a bit? Catch up?”

Harry’s grip gets stronger.

“Besides, today’s pie is apple, yeah?” he asks. “You know it’s my favorite.”

You force a tight-lipped grin and a hum of acknowledgement before the three of you fall silent. Continuing to stand by the door to the diner as the rest of the room continues on with their lunch. Their soft murmurs and clinging cutlery like white noise in the background of the conversation. 

You clear your throat. “Okay, well…I’m gonna…I’m gonna tell him goodbye, and—”

“Oh, sure, no problem,” Jesse says, waving you away before returning to the counter. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be right here.”

The last word has hardly left his mouth when Harry suddenly spins on his heel and drags you back through the door. Pulling you into the parking lot without so much as a goodbye before leading you around the side of the building.

“Harry,” you murmur hesitantly, almost cautious of his rather silent reaction. In the little time you’ve known him, you’ve never known him to be this quiet when he’s upset. Or this well behaved. “What’s wrong, what is it?”

He continues his furious stride until he’s brought you both into the alley. Releasing you in order to run a hand through his hair with a strained, “Fuck.”

You slow to a stop and stare at his tensed back. “Harry?”

A long pause. Deafening and loud enough to lodge your heart in your throat.

Finally, “How do you know him?”

“What?”

“Fucking Jesse, how do you know him?” he repeats, somewhat viciously.

Your head tilts. “We…I mean we’re friends, but we…we used to date. For a while. Couple years ago. Why?”

He turns, and the pinching of his features together makes your stomach twist. “Was it him?”

“…Harry—”

“Was it…him?” His eyes flick to yours. “The one you fucking told me about. The one who treated you like shit, the one who fucking threw things at you. Was it him?”

You’re almost surprised he remembered. After all, the revelation of your last relationship had been quite a while ago. An off-handed comment made one stormy night as you sat together in his favorite booth, talking about the past and exchanging odd traumas.

But he does. He remembers. And he’s looking at you like your answer is going to break his heart. 

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your chest. “Yes.”

Your voice is small. Timid and weak, nearly carried away with the wind. But it reaches him, nevertheless, and his expression guts you.

He steps back. Trying to get away, either from you or your admission. The truth he can no longer stand to be so close to.

“Why?” he whispers, and your lashes flutter. “Why did you…why would you keep him in your fucking life after he…”

You offer him the same answer you’ve offered everyone else. “I don’t know.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip and takes another step. Glancing over your face as if searching for more than you have to give. “Cherry…”

“I know.” You can feel the tears already working their way to your waterline. “I know, but he’s…he’s trying to do better. He’s trying to change—”

“Oh, that’s fucking bullshit,” he scoffs, hands shoving into his pockets almost vengefully. “No, that’s bullshit. He’s not…guys like him don’t change. They just get better at hiding it.”

Maybe he’s right. But it stings to hear. “I…yeah. I know. But we’re just…we’re friends. We don’t talk a lot, just when he needs help.”

“So he uses you?”

“No, he…” You hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t think he means to—”

His vile scoff cuts through the rest of your excuse, and perhaps it’s for the better.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, fingers itching to reach for him. You feel naked without his body against yours. “I should have…I should have warned you. Or told you, I just…I didn’t think—”

“Are you safe?”

You stop. “What?”

“Are you safe?” he repeats, a tad softer. “When he’s around you, do you feel safe? Do you know that you’re safe, and that he won’t…that you can leave? If you need to?”

 You consider this for only a moment before nodding once. “Yes. He’s never…it’s never been like that. He’s just…he gets very angry. And sad. And I think…a part of me wants to help, I guess.”

His expression drops ever-so-slightly, as if wounded. “I know, Cher.” He moves closer to you once again, and you feel like you can finally breathe. He places his palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb beneath your eye. Wiping away the first tear. “You always give your kindness to those who don’t deserve it.”

 You take hold of his wrist and bite back a sigh. “Everybody deserves kindness.”

“Maybe.” His voice is quiet. Labored and thick. “But maybe you deserve it more.”

There’s something…heavy in the way he speaks. In the way he feels. As though he’s carrying the entire weight of his world – and yours – on his shoulders. 

You know there’s more to the story. More to this anger that’s so prominent in his heart and more to his background with Jesse. You want to ask, want to understand.

But if he wanted you to know, he would have offered.

Maybe he thinks he’s sparing you. Maybe he thinks he’s protecting you in the only way he can, and you feel grateful for him. Grateful for this subtle, unspoken act of intimacy and protection that you’ve become so familiar with in the time you’ve known your handsome stranger.

You choose to have faith in him. In what brought you to him.

“I have to go,” he says now, dipping down to brush his forehead to yours. “Cause if I don’t, I’ll fucking kill him.”

You smile to yourself, but a part of you knows he means it. “Okay. Will I see you again?”

His other hand slips around the back of your neck, keeping you close before he exhales a shaky breath and brings his lips to yours. Kissing you hard and with a thousand unspoken promises. “Of course. M’never gonna leave you, sweet girl. Swear it.”

And it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

You kiss him until you can’t breathe, clinging to his hoodie as if begging with him to stay. To keep himself close to you.

And when he eventually pulls away, you nearly crumple to the ground.

“Okay,” he whispers, reaching back to slip his hood on. “Okay, I gotta go. Or I’ll never leave.”

You touch your fingers to your lips and nod once. “I know. Just come back, okay?”

He grins, and it’s wickedly delicious. “Always.”

With that, he turns around, and disappears down the alley. Rounding the corner of the building before disappearing from sight.

Leaving you exactly where he found you, only a few hours ago.

With a heavy heart and weary mind, you make your back into the diner and toward the man still waiting for you.

Jesse has never scared you. Annoyed you, but never scared you. He’s been in your life far longer than you care to admit, ever since you were just kids. And maybe that’s why you keep him around. Because a part of you believes you owe it to the people you used to be.

You loved him. You really did. He was cute, charming, witty. He made you smile, made you laugh. He listened when you talked, said all of the right things. Of course you wanted to believe him when he said he’d do anything to make it work.

His anger had taken him away from you. Had changed who he was. Or perhaps merely highlighted who he’d always been.

He was the one to end things. Claiming he could never offer you the life you deserved. That until he had his temper under control, he couldn’t be with you. You had agreed to remain friends and help him when he lost his way.

He seems to lose his way a lot these days.

And maybe that’s the part that scares you…just a little bit.

“Hey, sugarplum,” he calls once you enter, grinning brighter than he has in weeks. “You all right?”

You nod as you join him near the counter, hands disappearing into your pockets as if to hide. “Mhm. Are you?”

“Absolutely.” He leans over to nudge his elbow against yours. “Feel like it’s been forever.”

“Jess, I saw you last week,” you can’t help but laugh.

“I know, but that was last week,” he argues coyly. “Which is like a lifetime ago.”

And even if there’s a part of you that feels cautious of him, there’s also something so familiar about his company. The sound of his voice, the way he laughs. His effortless ability to remind you of the way things used to be.

Despite how it ended, you can’t help but feel calmed. Your muscles unwinding as you grow a bit more comfortable in his presence.

“Ha, very funny,” you tease, stepping closer as though drawn in by his charm. “Well, if you’re waiting for the apple pie, that’s not until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come back.”

The conversation lulls as the two of you smirk at each other, and for the first time in days, you don’t feel so on edge.

 “Fine,” you agree. “But you can’t come back to the kitchen with me. Not after last time.”

He pretends to pout, but it only makes you smile. “Oh, come on. Everything was going so well up until the flour incident.”

You reach out and shove his shoulder playfully, and he laughs. “All right, enough. Why are you really here?”

“I told you, I wanna catch up. Clearly I’ve missed a lot.”

The mention of Harry is like a sharp needle to your blissful bubble, popping you free of his spell until you come crashing back to earth. “Right. How, um…how again do you guys know each other?”

“Oh, we don’t. Not really,” Jesse explains, shrugging one shoulder up almost casually. “We used to go to the same gym. Spot each other now and then. But we never really knew each other, I guess.”

“Ah.” 

“Was kind of surprised to see him with you, though,” he adds. “But good surprised. I told him he should come check out the diner, and I’m glad to see he listened."

Harry’s previous mention of how he found you suddenly clicks, and you nod, eyes drifting toward the floor. “Yeah, he…he seems to like it here.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He seems oddly thrilled by this. “And I guess you two are…?”

The implication brings a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly shake your head as you step back. Almost as though guarding yourself from his question. “Oh, no, we’re…we’re just friends. Or we’re…yeah. Friends.”

His brows furrow but he’s smiling. “Are you…sure about that?”

No. “Yeah. We don’t…we don’t really know each other that well, is all. We just…we like to talk.”

“I see.” He studies you for a moment, somewhat curious. “I’m glad he found something here he likes so well.”

The heat in your face begins to burn. “Yeah, he…he really likes the pies.”

Jesse hums, expression mischievous. “Yes. The pies.”

You force a laugh and nudge him again. “Okay, enough. I should…I should probably get back—”

“Wait,” he interrupts, slipping off the stool in order to get closer, “is there…any chance you’d fancy a drive? Thought we could go around the block a few times like we used to. Just…listen to the radio and people watch.”

Truth be told, the offer is compelling. Because you know if you go home, all you’ll do is worry. About Harry, about Jesse. About all the things you wish you could do for them but can’t. 

Maybe a distraction is what you need. One day where you aren’t expected to fix everybody else’s problems but your own.

So, you nod. Tentatively but with a small grin that makes Jesse’s entire expression light up. 

“Great,” he chuckles before nodding his chin at you. “So…do you want me to drive? Like old times?”

Your answer is to dig back into your pocket for the keys before tossing them over. “Think you already know the answer to that.”

He laughs again and spins the ring around his finger. “Then let’s hit it, sugarplum.”

It’s almost too easy to settle back into your old habits. To follow him to your car, hop inside the passenger seat, and allow him to take you away.

And it’s nice. Comfortable and…safe. Windows down, music loud. The two of you singing along with every bad song that comes on. It really does feel like it used to, and for just one evening, you forget about everything else. And you let yourself just…be.

The two of you drive around the city until the sun goes down. He tells you about his new job at this fancy law firm and you tell him about this new recipe you’re working on for the diner. You talk, and you laugh, and you sing until your stomach hurts. 

You forget. And you’re okay with that.

“Okay,” he finally declares not much later after a quick glance at the clock. “I know you have to get back, but I just have one last thing I want to show you.”

Your brow raises. “Oh? What?”

“A surprise.” He begins to grin, almost wickedly, and it makes you smirk. “It’ll just be a quick little detour, and then I’ll have you home. Promise.”

You consider this for only a moment before sighing. “Fine. But just for the record, I hate your surprises.”

He merely winks before taking a left and leading you both out of town.

The further you go, the darker it gets. This part of the city appears to be rather neglected, with very few lights along the street to guide you. The buildings are rundown and abandoned, there’s police tape over half the doors and boards across half the windows. 

Sketchy would be putting it mildly.

Yet Jesse appears undeterred, swinging into one of the large, unkempt parking lots where a collection of cars are already gathered.

“I don’t…understand,” you begin slowly, glancing around the dark space in search of answers. 

However, instead of answer, he merely puts the car in park, tosses you the keys, and hops out. “You’ll see. Come on.”

Despite your hesitancy, you choose to follow, trailing after him as he begins toward one of the shabby buildings just up ahead. 

There’s a strange sort of itch crawling its way up the back of your neck. Blossoming into your cheeks until you feel a twinge of apprehension.  

But Jesse walks ahead as though he hasn’t a care in the world. Nonchalant and relaxed, leading you to the door.

Then, he knocks twice, stops, and adds three more.

A beat passes before there’s a sharp, electric buzzing. Immediately followed by the sound of something rather heavy before the door suddenly swings open.

Your breath catches.

The inside of this disheveled building is divine. Luxury drips from floor to ceiling, a rather stark contrast to its exterior. There’s fresh paint on the walls, towers of champagne in each corner of the room, and a crowd of men and women dressed to the nines in their most elegant and expensive outfits.

But there’s something off. They’re yelling, and cursing, and cheering. Raising their glasses while shouting at something happening in the middle of the room. 

And that’s when you see him.

Even from this distance, you’d recognize him anywhere. The soft, sweaty curls matted to his forehead. The blood that drips from his mouth and jaw. The tattoos and marks that glisten from his chest – the same tattoos that you saw for the first time only hours ago.

Your stranger. Landing hit after hit to the man standing just opposite him inside the large ring. 

You don’t move. You don’t think you can breathe. You can’t think straight or understand…and then Jesse throws his arm around your shoulder.

“Let’s go have a look, yeah?” It’s posed like a question, but he’s already leading you toward the crowd before you can decide on your answer.

Your heart is in your toes as he slips through the collection of onlookers. Pulling you to the front until you have a near perfect view of the violence happening only a few feet away.

A perfect view of him.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it. Clearly long enough, if the new cuts and fresh bruises are any indication. He doesn’t seem to notice you, instead throwing his arm toward his opponent before ducking down to miss the strike back. 

You hear yourself gasp as you recoil away from the forceful blow, nearly hiding yourself beneath Jesse’s arm while he laughs.

“What’s the matter, sugarplum?” he hums. “Thought you’d wanna see what your little boytoy gets up to when he’s not with you.”

You can hear it now. The vindictive sneer hidden beneath his charming chuckle. And that uncomfortable itch begins to burn as you pull yourself back in order to see him. “What?”

Jesse nods toward the boxing ring. “You see, when he’s not with you…he’s quite busy. Beautifully and spectacularly fucking me over.”

You feel the blood drain from your face. “What…what are you talking about?”

“Do you know what this is?” He raises a brow. “Do you know what he really does?”

“He…he fights. He gets paid to fight.”

“Right. And who do you think pays him?”

And that’s when it happens. That’s when the final puzzle piece clicks into place, and you understand. You see the whole picture laid out in front of you, and it wears his face.

“You.” It’s a strained, timid whisper that’s buried beneath the loud, vulgar hollering.

Jesse nods. “Exactly. I pay your boyfriend to beat the shit out of anyone dumb enough to get into that ring with him. And all he has to do…is fucking win.”

The cheering grows louder in your ear as he steps closer. Forcing your attention to split between the two men.

“But I have a problem,” he continues. “You see, Harry can win a fight in his goddamn sleep. He never loses. Ever. That’s why I pay him so much fucking money. That’s why I’m his sponsor.”

Your stomach twists.

“So, imagine my surprise when he suddenly started to lose. Night after night. Over and over. Constantly and consistently losing fights he should have been able to win with his fucking eyes closed.”

There’s something trapped in your throat. The room is spinning, and there’s a ringing in your ear that just won’t quit. 

“And then I find out…he’s fucking throwing them.” His hand finds your hip and he turns you toward the ring. “Every goddamn night, he throws the fight. Because, for some reason, he seems to think that these fights are up to him. He thinks that he gets to decide who wins and who loses.”

He leans down now, lips hovering near your ear while his voice settles into a rather malicious hiss. 

“But the only person that really loses…is me,” he sneers. “Because if he doesn’t win, then I lose a shit ton of money on him. And I don’t really think that’s fair…do you?”

You suck in a quiet breath right as Harry steps back to avoid a massive swing before landing his own blow just beneath the man’s jaw. 

“So, I wondered. Wondered why the switch. Why he’d suddenly be willing to lose so much money and allow his ass to get kicked into his throat…for nothing.”

He leans back now, and your lashes flutter.

“And then I found him…with you.” He tsks almost teasingly while his head cocks to the side. “Seems my best fighter has found himself distracted. Pussy-whipped by a pretty face that serves him fucking pie. And he thinks that if he throws the fights…he can save you.”

A set of knuckles connect with Harry’s left cheek, sending him stumbling back while you suck in a sharp inhale and turn away.

“So…I want you to watch,” Jesse tells you, snaking an arm around your waist in order to keep you in your spot. “I want you to fucking see what you’ve done to him.”

Your features twist into a fearful grimace as you drag your eyes back to the ring. Watching as Harry swipes the back of his hand across his mouth to clear the blood before surging forward. He swings and it’s a miss. Arm flying over the other man’s shoulder before he’s shoved toward the rope.

He’s losing. A few more strikes to the face and you’re almost sure he’ll pass out.

And you don’t understand. Can’t comprehend any of this. Why Jesse brought you here, why Harry does this to himself, and why you’re somehow a part of it.

They lied. They both did. Harry looked you in the eye and told you he didn’t know Jesse. Even when he knew about…all of this.

Jesse being involved in some sort of illegal fight club doesn’t surprise you. Perhaps it should, and yet, it might be the least surprising thing you’ve learned so far. 

But Jesse being Harry’s sponsor…being the one who pays him to do this to himself, who gambles on Harry’s very life…

Another strike is laid to his jaw, forcing Harry’s head to snap to the side.

And he sees you.

You watch the realization pass over his face in real time. The way his eyes widen and his lips part.

He stumbles back from the blow, catching himself on the ropes before Jesse tightens his hold on your hips…and Harry looks over.

The rage that settles into the lines and details of his features is evident. The way his teeth grit together, the way the veins in his neck strain against his skin, the way his fingers flex by his side.

He must understand why you’re here now and he channels this understanding and rage into his next hit.

He spins to the side, flings his arms around his opponent’s waist, and yanks him down.  Throwing him so hard to the floor, you’re almost surprised he doesn’t break his spine right down the middle.

Half of the crowd cheers while the other half yells in disappointment.

But Jesse merely smirks.

And you realize that this is what he wanted. To use you as a tool in his game. A pawn for his pleasure until Harry’s hand was forced.

Harry rears back only to raise his fist into the air. Over and over, he lands his knuckles to the man’s face. Hit after hit after hit until there’s blood everywhere. Dripping from his knuckles, the man’s nose, his mouth.

He doesn’t stop. Even long after he should, and the man has gone limp. He goes and goes and goes until the referee has to physically step into the ring and drag him back.

And the fight is declared over.

They grab Harry’s wrist and sling it into the air, raising his arm in victory while the room hollers their support. 

Your heart is racing inside your chest, going far too fast, and you feel a rush of blood to your head. Your knees are shaking, and your hands feel clammy, and you can’t breathe and why won’t that ringing in your ear stop?

“This is what he’s good at,” Jesse murmurs to you now, lips ghosting down the shell of your ear. “This is all he’s good for. And he fucking knows it.”

The room begins to disperse while Harry is led out of the ring and into the shadows on the far side of the building. 

Your eyes and your heart go with him.

“So, you’re gonna do what you do best,” Jesse continues. “You’re gonna remind him why he has to fucking win. Because if he throws one more goddamn fight…I’ll fucking kill him myself.”

With that, he releases you, and turns around. Disappearing into the crowd before you can stop him.

You stand there, in the middle of this extravagant room, and you stare at the ring. And the blood stains on the mat. And the shadows that dance across the floor from the chandelier on the ceiling. The collection of empty glasses and empty promises that are scattered about the vast space.

Then, your feet are pulling you toward the door Harry disappeared into. Taking you to him, despite everything else. Because even after all of this, you want to help him. To make sure that he’s okay, and…and fix him. Somehow. 

The door leads to a hallway that leads to what you can only assume is a locker room. It’s empty when you arrive, although you aren’t too surprised. The other fighter was taken to the opposite end of the building, and the people who led Harry away don’t seem to be around.

You hesitate for only a moment, attempting to decipher if you truly feel safe being alone with him after everything you’ve seen in the past 24 hours.

But the answer is obvious.

So, with a deep breath, you brave a step inside. 

The shower is running. Steam already beginning to dance through the air as you pass by the collection of lockers and benches. Looking for any sign of him. Your stranger who perhaps isn’t so strange anymore.

You see his clothes tossed toward the floor. See a trail of scarlet streaks leading you further into the room and toward the showers just around the corner.

And you don’t hesitate now as you step past the wall in order to see him.

He’s standing beneath the stream of water, one hand braced against the wall as he stares down at the floor. Watching the blood disappear down the drain.

And he’s…beautiful. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him – all of him – and you feel your breath hitch as you step closer. Allowing your eyes to travel along his tall, tensed frame. From his curls to his thighs and everything in between.

“Harry?”

Your voice snaps his head up, and he turns. Instantly pushing off the wall in order to fully face you. 

“Cherry, you can’t be here,” he breathes, and it’s almost lost beneath the heavy stream of water. “Can’t be in here, it’s not safe—”

But you’re already moving closer, toeing off your shoes and tossing your jacket aside before stepping inside the showers. 

His lashes flutter, the muscles in his stomaching quivering as he leans back. “Cher, I mean it. You can’t…I can’t let you see me like this.”

You step up to him. Ignoring his protests and the water pouring from the ceiling, you step up, you put your arms around his shoulders…and you hold him.

At first, he goes still. Deathly still, almost bracing himself from your touch. Afraid of what it means.  

Then, he settles. Understands that you only want to help, and slumps into your embrace while his face buries into your neck.

You reach up and run your palm down his head. Carding your fingers through the wet curls before squeezing the back of his neck. “You’re okay.”

He takes in a sharp inhale, arms snaking around your middle. “You shouldn’t be here,” he says again. And his voice breaks like the cracks of a sidewalk.

You merely hold him tighter. “But I am.”

And there’s so much to say. So much to understand and question, but right now, he just needs you to hold him. To let him know that it’s okay – that he’s okay.

That you’re not going anywhere.

You stand there for what feels like hours. Until your clothes become soaked, and your fingers begin to prune. But you keep your grip on him tight. Offering nothing more than soft murmurs of, “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He’s angry. So very angry, and you can feel it in the way his muscles twitch beneath your hands. Can hear it in the shallow breaths he takes and the clenching of his jaw. 

He’s trying to keep himself together. For you. But he’s moments away from slipping, and you can only hope you’ll be able to bring him back.

“Harry?” you whisper, scratching your nails down his bare shoulder.

His head shakes. “No. I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

“Har—”

“No.” He leans back, lip curled up into a snarl. “No, I can’t…I fucking can’t—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, taking hold of his wrists to keep him close. “Okay, I understand—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says for the third time. “You aren’t supposed to be here, and I can’t fucking believe he brought you.”

“I know. I know, but I’m okay. It’s okay, I promise—”

“What did he say?” His eyes flick between yours. “What did he say to you?”

You feel your insides twist as you squeeze his hands. Taking a moment to find the right words. “He…he wanted me to see what you really do. And…to tell you that you have to win.”

His brows stitch together. “What else?”

“Nothing,” you lie. “Just…just that.”

And maybe he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he knows there was more to Jesse’s threat, but it doesn’t matter because he’s tugging himself out of your grasp and turning toward the wall before you can argue. Sending his knuckles straight into the tile until it cracks.

You gasp, quickly surging forward to pull on his arm in protest. “Harry—”

Surprisingly, he allows you to yank him away, but he doesn’t look at you. He keeps his venomous glare on the drain, chest heaving with uneven breaths.

But you aren’t deterred. Instead, you guide him back to you, and lift his hands. Studying the torn skin of his knuckles closely with a sigh. “Harry…”

The wounded waver in your voice makes his expression soften, and he allows his shoulders to roll back. Releasing a bit of his rage. “It’s okay. M’okay, Cher—”

“No,” you argue softly. “No, you’re…”

You can’t find the words. Can’t find the right thing to say that explains this anguish in your heart. That lives within your chest.

So, instead, you bring his ruined hands to your lips, and you hold them there. Kissing the stained, battered skin while he sucks in a quiet breath. 

And you don’t care. About any of it. About the fights, or the lies, or the threats. You don’t care what he really does or who he really is. 

You just want him to be happy. To be safe. No matter what that looks like. No matter what you have to do to make that a reality. 

You want to kiss away his scars, kiss away his pain. Take it and make it your own. Carry the weight he’s been trying to carry all by himself.

You don’t want him to be alone. You want to keep him, you want…

He watches you. Keeps his eyes glued to nearly every inch of your face as you do this. And something changes for him. You aren’t sure what.

But he sets his anger free before slipping his fingers from yours in order to take hold of your face.

And he kisses you. Pulls you to him almost desperately before pressing his lips to your own.

It’s soft, and sweet, and so deliciously him. Gentle despite everything else you’ve seen from him today.

He steps forward, subtly pushing you back. Again and again until your back meets the wet, tile wall.

He holds you there almost hesitantly before straightening up and deepening the kiss. Slipping his tongue in beside yours and savoring everything you have to offer. 

And you let him take whatever he’d like. Allow him to have all of you as his chest meets yours and he cages you there. Hungry kisses now moving for your neck.

His touch travels to your hips, nails curling into your shirt as though resisting the urge to grab hold. And you smile as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. Breath hitching at the way his thigh brushes against yours.

You drop one hand to his chest. Allow the tips of your fingers to dance along the swallows on his collarbone and toward the muscles in his abdomen. Careful to mind his stitching and new cuts.

And he seems to remember now that he’s completely bare to you, his mouth falling still against your wet skin as he steadies himself.

Quickly, you stop yourself from going any further, settling atop his stomach before nosing under his jaw. “You’re so beautiful, Harry.”

He says nothing, lips ghosting across your pulse point before pressing in deep. 

“All of you,” you whisper. “You’re beautiful.”

His lashes flutter shut while his arm loops around your back. Face burying in your shoulder as though to hide, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed or enthralled. 

Either way, you gingerly ask, “…may I touch you?”

There’s a quick pause before he nods. Only once, and then he returns to leaving an array of kisses to your throat. Nipping at the skin until you smile.

So, you continue your search, moving your hand toward his hips and down until you feel him.

And the moment your palm brushes against his cock, you both gasp. Straightening up almost attentively before settling back into the pleasure. 

Your thumb finds his slit and he curses. Hands tightening around the fabric of your shirt, keeping you against the tile as if he’s worried you’ll disappear.

“Shit,” he mumbles, palm moving to your cheek. “Baby, you know you don’t have—”

“Shh.” You wrap your fingers around the tip before smoothing down. “I want to. Please?”

When he says nothing, you stop, and it forces an instant groan. His body seeming to have made the decision for him.

“Yes,” he finally says, nodding again but quicker. “Shit, yes, Cherry. Can do whatever you want. M’yours.”

And it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

You chase after his pleasure as though your life depends on it. And perhaps it does, but you certainly don’t mind. Because his grunts and pants are deliciously addictive. And you could spend the rest of your life touching him if it meant you’d get to hear just one more.

And maybe now you understand why he’s also so determined to do the same for you.

You run your hand up and down his cock, squeezing the tip before moving lower. Palming at his balls before dragging your touch back to the top. 

He does his best not to rush you or overwhelm you. Resisting the urge to buck his hips closer in a desperate attempt for more.

Instead, he focuses his attention on you. A role he seems much more comfortable in.

He kisses you everywhere he can. Your lips, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, your neck. Below your ear, along your collarbone, and down the dip in your shirt.

Then, his fingers slip down to your jeans. Absentmindedly fiddling with the button before he whispers, “Can I touch you, sweet girl? Wanna make you feel good, too.”

And who are you to deny him?

“Always,” you whisper back, releasing him for only a moment so he can wrangle the wet material down your legs. 

Once he has, he straightens up, and runs his palm along the inside of your thigh. Indulging in the feel of your skin while you take him back in your hold.

And it’s strangely beautiful, this dance you do. The synchronicity of teasing touches and playful strokes that leave you both breathless.

Anytime you gently tighten your fist around him, he curls his finger inside your walls. And anytime you brush at his slit, he brushes at your clit. 

You both share a smile when you realize, and Harry laughs before nuzzling his face back into your neck. Tugging your skin between his teeth to muffle his groan.

“You have no idea how badly I needed this,” he says. And it’s a faint thought, perhaps not meant for your ears. “Fucking need you, baby. Always.”

Your head drops back against the wall. Your body already growing sluggish under the weight of undeniable euphoria he inflicts.

“You always have me,” you tell him. “I’ll do whatever you want—”

“Shit.” He yanks your chest to his, mouth painting warm, wet kisses along your skin. “Don’t say that. Don’t, or I’ll never stop.”

You grin. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”

You go faster. Finding a pace he seems to enjoy and zeroing in. You want him to cum – need him to cum. To offer him that release and that promise of more. 

And it works. His tattoos rise and fall under the weight of his frantic gasps for air. He’s tipping over the edge, just needing a final push, and you want to get him there more than anything. Want to see what his face looks like when it’s overcome with pleasure. When he’s releasing into your hand, or your mouth, or your cunt. Want to feel him, know how his body moves when it’s spent.

“Please,” you murmur, almost anxiously as you work him closer. “Please, Har…let me feel you. Wanna feel you cum, please.”

He moves to squeeze the back of your neck before his hand disappears into your hair. Gently but pointedly tugging on your roots. “Baby—”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, you can cum. Can cum for me—”

“Fuck.” He jolts forward, fingers slipping from your cunt. “So good to me, sweet girl. So fucking good to me. Don’t deserve you. Never deserved you—”

“Yes,” you nearly whine. “Of course you do, Har, please—”

He cums with a soft groan that bleeds into your throat. Woven between his kisses and flicks of his tongue to your skin, and it’s everything. The warmth, the feel, the implication. It covers your hand, and wrist, and even parts of your thighs. 

And you watch it drip down toward the floor almost regretfully, but you’re mesmerized. Addicted to something you only just discovered, and desperate for more.

But he gives you no time to reminisce, instead moving his mouth to yours in order to show you exactly how much it meant to him.

  “Knew you’d be good,” he remarks playfully, nipping at your bottom lip before squeezing your waist. “Fucking knew, yeah?”

You release his cock as gently as you can before smoothing your palms up his chest and into his hair. Tugging on his curls in order to bring him closer. “Just for you.”

He smirks to himself before leaning back to study you. Glancing over your body as though in search of something. And the longer he looks, the angrier he appears to become.

Then, he mumbles, “He fucking touched you.”

Your heart wrenches. “…Har—”

“He touched you,” he says again, bitterly, and almost to himself. “He fucking put his hands on you and he made sure I saw. Wanted me to see, and now…now I can’t see anything else.”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt a panic like this. “Harry, please—”

He crouches down, large hands curling around your thighs and pulling them as far apart as they’ll go. Which, admittedly, isn’t very far because of the jeans still pooled around your ankles. But he doesn’t mind, instead staring at your legs rather thoughtfully.

Finally, he looks up.

“I need to wash him away,” he whispers, and your stomach leaps into your throat.

“What?”

“I need to wash him away,” he repeats softly, moving closer to ghost his lips along your hip. “Need to erase him. Need to clean him off you.”

Your fingers twitch by your side, and you aren’t even sure what to say. Because the look in his eye is unrelenting, and you can see how badly he wants this.

“Okay,” you exhale. “Okay, erase him. Make me yours again.”

And this is all he needs to hear, wasting no more time before smoothing his lips and his hands along your thighs and waist. Repainting every inch of you with his touch. Washing away the metaphorical marks Jesse left when he held you and replacing them with his own. 

Even if it’s not inherently sexual, it’s the most erotic and wonderful thing you’ve ever experienced. The way he feasts on your flesh like a man on a mission. Nipping and licking at you just to make you whimper. He’s nowhere near your clit and it doesn’t even matter because he’s so divine.

The heat of his mouth on your cool, wet skin. The way he gingerly kneads at your ass in an attempt to comfort you. Tenderly pulling you closer as though you’re somehow still too far away.

“I’m sorry, Cherry,” you hear him sigh, and it makes your insides tighten. “M’so fucking sorry for doing this to you. For bringing you into this.”

Your expression drops while your head shakes. “You didn’t. You didn’t, I asked. I asked to be a part of you, and I don’t regret that.”

But it’s like he can’t hear you over the sound of his shame. Instead kissing you softer as if to apologize. “It’s my fault. Should have told you the moment I saw him. Should have taken you with me. Shouldn’t have left you with him when I fucking knew—”

“Hey.” You reach down and take hold of his hair. Yanking his attention to you. “None of this could ever be your fault. Do you understand?”

He seems to ignore this as well, nudging his nose against your hip with a crestfallen expression that makes you want to scream.

So, you tug harder, forcing his head back and his eyes on yours. “This is who Jesse has always been. You didn’t change that, and you never will. And I know that. I know him. I know his heart and I know what he’d do to hurt me.”

His lips part, as if going to speak, but you merely tighten your grip in an unspoken order to remain silent.

“And I know you,” you continue. “I know that this is who you are. All of this. The fighting and the bets and the torture you put yourself through. And I know that you would never hurt me. That you have always done your best to protect me, even if I didn’t know what I was being protected from.”

His hands begin to drop down your legs and toward the floor, an act of complete submission. 

“This is not your fault,” you repeat earnestly. “You are not responsible for Jesse’s intentions, and you’re certainly not reasonable for mine. And I need you to know that. Okay? You have to know that. Because I have never felt safer than I do with you.”

His features remain unchanged, and you wonder if he heard anything that you said at all. If he understood and internalized your instance. If he’ll believe it.

And then—

“I love you.”

You feel your pulse skip inside your chest as you suck in a quiet breath. “What?”

“I love you, Cherry.” He says it again without pause, without a moment’s hesitation. Proving that it wasn’t a mistake or a trick of the mind. He really said it. And he meant to. “And m’so fucking sorry it took him for me to realize it.”

You aren’t sure what to do. What to say or…what to think, but he’s already shaking his head and offering you a small smile before you can decide.

“I don’t want you to say it,” he says quickly and quietly. Slipping your hand from his hair in order to press his lips into your palm. “I just want you to know. And I wish I could have done it differently, but…I do, I love you. And I will do everything I can to prove that to you.”

You want to tell him that he already has. Want to tell him a lot of things that maybe you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

He merely kisses your hand before moving back to your thighs. Looking for your permission to continue. 

Breathlessly, you give it to him.

With a soft grin and great care, he extends his tongue and slowly drags it up your clit. He’s not rushing this time. He’s enjoying it. Allowing himself to indulge in your taste and your feel as you slump against the tile and let him.

He leaves a trail of apologies and promises along your pussy. Kissing, sucking, and flicking until you squirm. And he’s so focused, so dedicated to your orgasm. To making you understand how badly he needs you.

And you do understand. More than you’ve ever understood anything else.

“Love to see you, baby,” he murmurs after a moment, now running the tip of his finger between your folds and down. Taunting you with the intrusion yet not giving it to you. “Love to see this pretty pussy take me.”

You whine pitifully before he finally pushes in. Allowing your walls to beckon him closer until he hums.

“Can’t wait to see you take my cock,” he muses, thrusting the digit once or twice before bringing a second into play. “Gonna watch you stretch for me. Gonna just sit and watch this sweet, little hole take me in. Get me nice and warm. Till I’m soaking in you. Fucking drenched—”

“Harry,” you whine, overcome by a rather euphoric rush that makes him smirk. “Harry, please—”

“What, sweet girl? You like the sound of that?” He ignores your cries and flicks his tongue against your clit. “S’okay. I do, too. Think about it more than I should. Think about you and this tasty little cunt till I’m fucking my fist in the shower.”

The lewd image that’s painted in your head makes your toes curl, and you imagine you’d give anything to watch.

“But it’s not nearly as good as when you do it,” he says coyly. “Won’t ever be able to picture anything else but your sweet, little hand wrapped around my cock. Making me cum like a good girl.”

He adds a third finger, and your vision goes hazy.

“And this,” he breathes, fucking into you a bit faster. Until the sound of your arousal bounces between the walls. “Replay this in my head every goddamn day. The way you sound when you take my fingers, take my tongue. S’fucking beautiful, Cher. The best thing I’ve ever heard.”

You believe him.

“Wanna listen to you forever.” He laps at you like he’s dying of thirst. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you. Wanna fucking hold you and never let you go. Never let anything hurt you. You’re the only good thing in my life, sweet girl. Need you to know.”

You aren’t sure if the tears in your eyes are from the pleasure or his admittance, but they fall from your cheeks almost mercilessly. And you can’t even wipe them away because, in some strange sort of way, you enjoy it. This pain and this angst that comes with the man on his knees before you.

“You’re mine, yeah?” he asks next. But the lustful undertone is gone. He’s pleading with you now. Begging you. “Not his, but mine. Always mine.”

Your agreeance comes before you can question it. “Yes…yes, I’m yours. Yours, I promise—��

 He groans into your cunt like he’s never been happier. And the reverberation down your thighs and across your clit nearly ruins you. “Say it again. Say it again, baby, please—”

“I’m yours. Just yours, Harry. Not his. Never…never his—”

“Fuck.” He pulls on your thigh in order to bury his mouth into your pussy. And you almost wonder if he’s actively trying to suffocate himself. “Again. Again, Cherry—”

“Yours.” The word drips from your tongue like honey from a honeycomb. “Just yours. Don’t wanna be anybody else’s.”

His entire face is nuzzled between your legs, and it almost kills you. Because he’s so beautiful. You’ve never seen or felt something so ethereal, and you can’t look away. Even when your eyes are desperate to fall shut, you force your attention on him. Watching as he mouths at your clit and drives in his fingers until it hits you.

You nearly collapse onto the floor, but he refuses to let you. Keeping you upright before you can go slipping down the wall and cementing you to his tongue in order to drag you through to the other side. 

“Mine,” you vaguely hear him hum, and your heart flutters. “Always mine.”

When he’s sure you’ve caught your breath, he straightens back up, and takes you in his arms. Kissing you and holding you and keeping you safe. Making sure you understand that he wants more than your orgasms. He wants you. Even without the explicit words, you know his true intentions. Know where his heart truly lies, and you settle there beside it.

Moments pass before either of you speak again. Instead listening to the sound of the running water hitting the floor. 

And you’re afraid to be the first to break this tranquility. Because you know once you do, you might not find it again. Jesse’s threat still lingers rather prominently in the forefront of your mind. And you’re terrified that every time you look at Harry…you’ll remember.

“Cherry?” he whispers minutes later, and your pulse jumps. 

You bury your face in his neck, bracing yourself from whatever he might say next. “Harry.”

He nuzzles his cheek against the crown of your head and sighs. And you can feel the heaviness of the breath leave his body. “I don’t know what to do.”

The vulnerability makes your throat run dry, and you subsequently tighten your arms around his middle. “Don’t have to do anything.”

“Cherry—”

“No, just…we’re okay,” you insist. “It’s okay. You just…you’ll win. You’ll keep fighting and you’ll win, and we’ll be okay. And I won’t have to lose you.”

A beat. “But what if I lose you?”

“You won’t. Never.”

“But he knows, Cher,” he murmurs. “He knows, and he’ll use you to hurt me. He’ll drag you into this as many times as he fucking wants, and he’ll use you. And I can’t let him – I won’t let him.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care what he does, he doesn’t scare me, Har—”

“But he fucking scares me.” His volume rises until it can carry over the shower walls. “All right? He terrifies me. Because now he has the one thing I can’t fucking…”

Your eyelids flutter before you take hold of his hand.

“And he wants to play this stupid fucking game, and I won’t let him,” Harry continues. “I won’t let him use you or threaten you, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, but you’re the one with all the cards. Right? He’s shown his hand. He’s shown how desperate he is. He can’t do anything to me if he really wants you to listen—”

“You don’t know him like this,” he nearly scoffs. “You don’t know what he’s willing to do—”

“Harry—”

“I can’t…I can’t,” he seethes. “I can’t get him out of my fucking head, and I can’t let him win. I won’t let him win.”

He’s unrelenting. Unwavering in this insistence and you feel as though your insides are being twisted around a knife.

All he has to do is win. All he has to do is let Jesse believe he’s still in charge. And he’ll be okay. You’ll both be okay.

“Harry,” you try again. Softer this time, hoping to reach him. “We’re gonna be fine. Okay? It’s you and me. We’ll be all right. We have to be.”

His expression instantly drops before he dips down and lays his forehead to yours. 

He says nothing else. Offers no more ideas or excuses. He simply exists in this belief and the serenity it provides.

Even if he knows it’s not strong enough to stand on.

“Okay,” he finally mumbles. “You and me.”

And it’s the best thing you’ve ever heard. Because for the first time all night, you see the way out. You see a future where he can be who he is, and you can be who you are, and it can still be all right. Where you can be together and be free of any threats and complications and just exist in this little world you’ve created.

A world outside of the diner and the backseat of his car. A world where he offers you more than his orgasms but his secrets, too. His life. And you need that. You need it more than you’ve ever needed anything in your life.

He leads you out of the shower not much later, digging through his things before offering you his hoodie and sweats to wear home. 

And there’s something so intimate about wearing his clothes. The way the tattered fabric feels against your skin. The way it smells like his cologne and the shampoo he must use. The way it fits your frame as if it was always meant to, keeping you warm despite the frigid air that greets you when you step outside.

You offer to drive him home, but he refuses. Insisting that it’s better if you don’t know where he lives, at least for right now. And you don’t have it in you to argue.

He makes you promise to lock your door the moment you get inside the car, and to lock your apartment door the moment it’s closed. You vow to do both before dragging him closer for a kiss.

And he gives it to you. He gives you five kisses, in fact. One on the forehead, one on each cheek, one on the nose, and finally…one on your lips.

 When he lets you go, you feel empty. Lost. As though a part of you is missing, and it aches the entire way home.

In fact, it aches for the next two days until you can finally see him again. And you busy about your shift, watching the clock like a hawk until midnight finally strikes, and you fly through the kitchen doors. Ready to see him and fill this gap in your chest.

But for the second time this week…booth 505 is empty. 

Instantly, the blood drains from your face. All the way down to your toes, and almost feel faint as your shaky legs carry you to his table.

However, the moment you’re close enough, you catch something just out of your peripheral, tucked just beneath the sugar dispenser. Something that most certainly wasn’t there a few minutes ago. 

A note.

With furrowed brows, you slip the folded napkin free and bring it closer. Straightening it out until you can make out the haphazard message scrawled across in black ink.

Meet me at the station after your shift.

Don’t tell Owen.

H.

Next Part:

~ Uppercut*

Previous Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge @percysaidnever @prettydelilah @ripesinner @fairytale07 @hannah9921 @mitochondrialeva-blog1 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @buckybarnessimpp @lomlhstyles @be-with-me-so-happily @daphnesutton @ribbonknives @stylesfever @slutforcoffein @rainycowbride @harringtonhundreds @kaybee87 @youcan-nolonger-run @tobesocoldasyou @cherryshouse @char112244 @harryscowgirl @hsbabygirl22-blog @mypolicemanharryyy @snwells @hermionelove @cherryluvhobi @becauseheartsgetbroken-hs

[eilishsmuse]

comfortable silence is so overrated

— billie eilish x fem!reader

context. it’s been four months after the whole incident between billie and you. after many mental breakdowns the past months you’ve finally got over it. billie on the other hand could say otherwise. when you see her at a party she pulls you for a chat. but why?

cw. swearing, drinking, confessions, toxicity, billie realizing she fucked up, billie is also a total mess, dumping feelings, lowkey sexual tension

soundtrack. from the dinning table – harry styles

original. i hate that i can’t love you

It’s been a while since the argument with Billie. You two haven’t spoken since. No texts. No calls. Nothing.

For a while, you were completely wrecked ever since the whole situation happened. For a good month you had to do no-contact with everyone you knew. You felt embarrassed and ashamed for what you felt toward Billie. You both agreed on the contract. At least that’s what you kept on telling yourself.

Now 4 months later you were completely over it.

You were sat on a couch at one of your friends backyard house party here in LA. He worked within the music industry and was the main reason you met Billie.

You had a red solo cup in hand. With whatever concoctions your friend mixed for the party.

As your friend group started talking about some gossip within the celebrity slash influencer industry your eyes started drifting around.

People watching.

As your eyes scanned the room they took a quick double take at a certain somebody. Billie.

She’s laughing with a bunch of her friends and they’re all standing around her like she’s the leader of their ‘posse’. You immediately look away and immediately feel uneasy as her face is now engraved in your mind.

You excuse yourself from your friends to go get a drink, swiftly getting off the couch and walking over towards the bar area.

Billie takes a quick inventory of the house party her friend had invited her to. Tons of people she recognizes from the music industry, but also not a lot of people she likes either. Her gaze falls from group to group, finally landing back on her friends.

A few influencers from social media, a couple of producers from her record label...and a familiar face.

Billie’s heart does a backflip as her eyes land on you, noticing how beautiful you looked in that leather skirt with that tight red laced top.

Shit.

Immediately, she has an almost visceral reaction to the sight of you.

Everything about you looks so good, from your hair to your outfit.

Billie wants to go up to you, grab you and lock you in a room, kiss you until you can’t even remember your own name.

But she can’t.

She bites the inside of her cheek, eyes glued on you from across the room.

Your order a coconut margarita from the bartender and let out a sigh, closing your eyes for a brief second.

The music was loud in your ears and hard in your chest. And on top of that your heart was already beating out your chest thanks to Billie being here.

You opened your eyes again to your drink being set in front of you. You mutter a small thanks to the bartender and immediately take a sip from the margarita glass.

Billie’s eyes follow you as you order the drink, the sight of you talking to the bartender making her heart jump into her throat.

Jesus, you’re even more beautiful in person than in her memory.

Billie grips the solo cup in her hand tighter, watching as you take a sip from the glass. She tries to swallow, dry throat making it hard.

For a few seconds, Billie considers going over to you.

What would she even say? She can’t tell you that she’s missed you. The contract was clear. No feelings.

Billie has been completely unable to get you out of her mind since the fight. Her heart aches every time she thinks about the way your face looked, so upset and pleading...

Billie bites her lip as you move to walk away from the bar.

Hell, she has to talk to you. At least let you know something.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Billie starts towards you. Her heart is throbbing against her ribcage, nearly threatening to burst through every time she takes a step forward.

Deep breath. Just talk to her. You’re just talking to her.

Billie arrives next to you, standing a few inches away and trying to look relaxed.

“Hey.”

You turn your head to the side to the familiar voice and you’re immediately met with those stupidly, beautiful blue eyes.

You don’t react physically.

But your heart and head are sure as hell pounding inside.

“Hi.”

Billie’s not used to you not having a big reaction to her presence.

When you turn towards her, she’s again hit with how attractive you are, her eyes involuntarily flicking down your body.

Billie quickly brings her eyes back up, meeting yours. She’s a little speechless.

“You look,” she coughs. “You look good.”

What is she even saying?? Billie, get it together for crying out loud.

Your eyebrows raise for a split second but then furrow in part confusion and surprise.

You open your mouth to say ‘you too’ but you don’t wanna give Billie the satisfaction of feeling like she has you wrapped around her finger all over again.

Even though she does look good in her backwards cap and those fucking glasses—

Stop it, Y/N.

Instead you stop the words from leaving your mouth and give her a small smile, “Thanks.”

God, your smile could kill her.

Billie’s heart does a little backflip when you do, the familiarity of it making her chest ache.

She’s missed you. She’s missed you so damn much, but she can’t tell you that.

It’s not just your smile that’s attractive either. That leather skirt you’re wearing drives her absolutely insane, making her want to grab ahold of you and press you up against the nearest wall...

A blush creeps into her cheeks at the thought.

Billie’s heart skips a beat at the small smile, and once again she’s thrown off.

You seem...unbothered to her presence. Usually you’re happy, or at least visibly excited to see her.

Which is exactly what Billie doesn’t want.

She swallows, adjusting her hat. “Yeah, uh, no problem.”

Billie can’t help scanning you over again, her eyes tracing the lines of your body.

Get a hold of yourself, Billie.

You on the other hand, can tell how nervous Billie seemed to be talking to you. From the hat adjustments, the fidgeting of her rings, and the way her eyes would wonder to other parts of you.

The parts she even started talking to you in the first place for.

That’s right.

Billie only really wanted you for one thing. The sex.

A straight face was what you held when you reminded yourself of her not forgotten actions.

There’s a pause in the conversation, and it’s starting to make Billie a little nervous.

You’re not reacting the way she thought you would. Why aren’t you blushing, or staring, or smiling back?

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to think of something to say. Her eyes flick down to the solo cup in your hands, then back up.

“What, uh, what are you drinking?”

Really, Billie? What are you drinking? Nice one.

“A marg.”

The words leaving your lips dryly and uninterested.

Billie swallows again as she eyes the red cup in your hand. She’s starting to feel like even more of a tool.

Her eyes flick up to yours, and she’s stuck by how composed you seem to be. Like the last few months never even happened.

“Marg?” she asks, repeating you. “Like...margarita?”

You blink at Billie once, a straight face staring at right back at hers.

“What are you doing?” You began, eyebrows furrowed at her poor attempts to make conversation.

“I mean,” You begin to look around the yard and then back at her, “Why are you talking to me?”

Billie blinks at the question, eyes widening. She opens her mouth to answer, but words fail her.

Why was she talking to you?

You’re right. Why is she?

For a few seconds, she’s at a loss. She can’t exactly say “because I miss you” or “because everything reminds me of you”.

She shoves her hands into her pockets, shoulders lifting in a shrug.

“I dunno.”

There’s another brief pause, and Billie’s heart is hammering in her chest as she desperately tries to think of something, anything else to say.

She’s starting to have the feeling that she shouldn’t have even come over, but the pull to you is stronger than her brain right now, and it seems like you’re not going to give her an easy out.

“Look, I...”

Billie pauses again, licking her lips.

“I wanted to talk to you, okay?” She finally says, and her voice comes out a little more gruff than she intended.

Billie’s not used to having to struggle to talk like this. She’s used to having people pay attention to her, listen to her, and do what she says.

But with you it’s different.

You aren’t giving her the usual response, and it’s making her feel even more vulnerable.

A small, sarcastic smile plays on your lips, “And you thought I’d want to as well?”

At this point your margarita left your hand and sat on the bar top, you crossed your arms and looked at Billie with a slight tilt of your head.

Billie’s eyes follow the movement of your margarita being set down, and she can’t really blame you for not wanting to talk to her.

She’d expected you to not want to talk, so why hadn’t she just stayed away?

“I...I just...” Billie’s eyes dart around, her voice getting a little more hushed.

“I just wanted to...I don’t know,” she pauses again, her hand fiddling with the ring on her finger. It’s antsy, anxious, something she hates feeling.

“What?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed and your face has confusion written all over it, “Wanted me to sign another NDA?”

Your voice now low and hushed so only Billie could hear.

Ouch.

Billie winces at your words, even though she more than deserves them.

Her shoulders drop, her eyes going down to the floor for a few seconds. Her stomach clenches, and she swallows.

“No...that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Billie looks up to you, her eyes pleading.

You nod at her slowly and raise your hands in a ‘why’ motion, “So why are we talking?”

You study her body language.

She’s uncomfortable and worried. Clearly.

She’s stuttering over her words, her hands are more clearly messing with the hem of her shirt, her chest is falling and rising with more speed.

Shit.

She looks exactly like you that one day. And now you’re starting to feel like shit.

But you don’t let it show. You shake it off and keep your exterior, a small minuscule change in the way your eyes looked at her.

Billie’s shoulders straighten as she tries to look more confident, but your cool response is really making her crumble inside.

In the last four months, she’s been unable to think of anything except your face, your body, your voice, everything. She’d tortured herself over what she was going to say if she saw you again.

And now here you were in front of her, aloof and impassive.

And it was killing her.

“I...I wanted to talk to you about us.”

You took a steady breath in at her words and looked elsewhere in the party, letting the breath out and looking back over to Billie.

You swallowed and kept eye contact with her for a few seconds, finally opening your mouth.

“There’s no more us Billie.”

Your tone was gentle and quiet. Your face was now replaced with a much softer look and a somewhat saddened expression.

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Even though Billie knew that was coming, it still hurts to hear you say it out loud.

She swallows again, trying to control the way she’s feeling.

“I...I know that, but I…I just...”

There’s a pause as she wracks her brain for the right thing to say. No, not the right thing to say. The truth.

“I miss you,” she says, her words barely a whisper.

I miss you.

What the fuck?

She’s bullshitting you Y/N.

You blink slowly at her and her words, letting out a shaky breath. A look of anger, betrayal, and sadness all flashing on your face.

All silently.

It was the exact same look you held when you had your argument.

You looked at your drink on the bar-top and took it in your hand, not sharing eye contact with Billie.

Not saying a single word.

The tension was high.

The music was still loud.

The beat in your chest pounded harder.

It was all too much.

So you walked away. You went straight toward the more secluded part of the party where no one was. It was a balcony that overlooked all of Los Angeles.

The bright city lights never looked more interesting. You was really only trying to get rid of Billie’s words out your mind.

Billie watches as you walk away, the emotions clearly written on your face.

Her heart sinks as you reject her words and leave.

She can’t help it.

She follows, weaving quickly through the crowd and around the corners of the house until she finally gets to that balcony.

She takes a few steps forward, closing the space between the two of you. When she can safely assume she’s not going to startle you, Billie speaks up.

“Please don’t run away.”

You look up at the sky with closed eyes and mentally ask the world to give you mercy for this conversation.

Argument really.

You turn around and look Billie straight in the eye.

“I mean what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Your voice confused, angry, and sad. Your face contorted into some sort of mixed emotions.

Billie’s heart flutters in her chest at the sound of your voice again.

This was the reaction she wanted.

No, the reaction she wanted was you kissing her and pulling her flush against your warm body.

But right now this anger was the only thing she could get. Anything was better than indifference.

“What’s wrong with me?”

Billie’s voice is laced with disbelief, coming to stand next to you on the edge of the balcony.

“Yes!”

Helplessness laced in your tone.

“What kind of fucked up shit are you up to? ‘I miss you.’ I mean what the fuck!”

Billie’s chest is rising and falling with her heavy breathing as she stands there, trying to find the words to say that will help you understand, that will get you to listen.

“I’m not up to anything!” She insists. “I just...”

Billie reaches out and lays her hand on your arm, trying to ignore the way her skin tingles when she touches you.

“Please, let me explain.”

You retract your arm from Billie’s grip almost immediately, the contrast of the feeling of her cold rings and warm hand leaving goosebumps on your skin.

“Don’t touch me.”

And at this point your eyes are starting to burn, your teeth are biting at your lips to stop yourself from saying anything wrong.

Her heart drops in her chest as you shove away from her. Billie can tell that you’re getting overwhelmed, and it’s breaking her heart to watch it happen.

She pulls her hand away, clenching her fingers into a fist.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she says quietly, her voice as gentle as she can make it.

Billie’s eyes dart around your face, a mixture of guilt, hurt, and panic written all over her features. Seeing you this upset does something to her— it’s like she can’t breathe.

“Please just listen to me,” she says again, her voice coming out more desperate. Whiny. “Please...”

She takes a step forward, trying to get closer to you again, aching to soothe the agitation in your body.

Billie can’t handle you being this upset. The air is thick, and her chest feels heavy with the need to touch you, to make you feel better.

But she knows if she tries, you’re going to push her away again.

You don’t say anything. You’re silent.

You know if you speak up you’ll regret saying the things that’ll come out your mouth. So you don’t speak.

You let Billie say what she wants to say.

Billie lets out a shaky sigh, and a few hairs that had fallen loose from her cap blow in the cool night air.

“I...”

She bites her bottom lip, trying to keep her hands still and not reach out for you again.

“When I said I missed you...I meant it.”

There’s a hint of frustration in her words.

“Please, look at me.”

So you do.

You look up from the railing of the balcony and to Billie. Your eyes are red and teary-eyed. You’re tired. And it’s written all over your face.

Billie’s eyes widen slightly at the tears now gathering in your eyes.

No.

She didn’t mean to make you cry. That wasn’t what she was trying to accomplish.

Billie’s heart clenches, aching to pull you into her arms and take away any and all pain you’d felt in the four months apart.

“Hey...”

She steps closer to you, gently placing a hand on your cheek to brush away the few tears that have fallen.

And at this point, you’ve completely given up on trying to get away from Billie.

You lean into her touch and let out a sob.

Your heart breaks and your body practically aches with pain and heat. You missed her and you were tired of pretending you didn’t.

“Billie.”

Your voice came out as a whiny cry, like a little kid who mourned the loss of their first pet.

The sound that comes out of you twists at something deep inside Billie’s chest, a wave of helplessness washing over her.

She doesn’t want to make you cry. She wants you to be happy. She wants to make sure you’re as happy as possible, to see you smile that gorgeous smile again—not cry like this.

“Shhh...don’t cry,” Billie murmurs, her other hand coming up to cradle your face.

She’s impossibly gentle, as if you’re something precious to be handled with care.

And you are. That’s exactly what Billie thinks of you. She knows you need to be handled with care.

You are precious...

Billie brushes her thumbs across your cheeks, wiping away the fallen tears. Her brain is running a mile a minute, desperately trying to think of something, anything that will help you feel better.

She hates you hurting like this. Hating the fact that she is the reason you’re hurting.

“Please...just stop crying...you’re breaking my heart...”

“I still—“

Your voice is cracking and whiny. Your burning eyes look up into Billie’s blue ones.

“I still love you.”

Billie’s heart stops in her chest.

She stares down at you, shocked to hear those three words come out of your mouth.

I still love you.

Billie’s eyes rake across your face, looking for any sign of a lie in your words, but all she sees is an exhausted pain and vulnerability.

“Baby...” she whispers.

Billie’s hands still haven’t left their place on your cheeks, her fingers shaking against you as she processes what you just said.

“You...you still love me?”

Her words are quiet and hesitant, like she’s half afraid of what the answer will be.

Billie’s eyes flicker around your face, noting all of the emotions written on your features—a mirror to the ones she’s feeling right now.

Love. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. Despair. Excitement. Exhaustion. Desire.

It’s all there, plain as day on both of your faces.

Just then your hearing was hushed. Your body grew slack and your heartbeat slowed.

You surged forward without any thought whatsoever.

Your lips ended up on Billie’s.

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

This is all you’ve ever wanted these past four months no matter how much you denied it. You missed her. You missed her so much. And all you wanted right now was for her to hold you.

Billie is completely caught off guard when you kiss her, letting out a soft gasp against your mouth before finally giving in.

Finally. Finally.

She’s needed this. No, she’s craved this. These past few months have been long, and lonely, and exhausting. But now you’re here and finally, finally she can touch you again.

One of her hands slide from your cheek to the back of your neck, keeping you close as she kisses you back.

Billie’s lips move against yours frantically, pressing hard and desperate. She’s trying to pour everything she’s feeling into this kiss. And she wants to hear, to feel you do the same.

Her chest is burning, her heart is racing, and when she finally pulls back for a breath, her breathing is ragged. Billie looks at you with heavy-lidded eyes, the blue of her irises almost lost in the darkness of her wide pupils.

“I’m sorry,” You breathed out, lip quivering with adrenaline, “I didn’t mean all the fucked up shit I said.”

You gripped at Billie’s shoulder and forearm so tight that there’d probably bruises after you let go.

But Billie doesn’t care if you leave bruises.

In fact, she’d relish in it.

A physical reminder of what this night and this moment meant to both of you.

She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes never leaving your face. “I don’t care, baby. It’s alright. I forgive you. I forgive you. Just...please...let me...”

Billie pauses, biting her lip. She knows what she wants. But she can’t come out and say it. Not right now. Her throat feels like it’s closing up.

She swallows roughly and tries again. “Please...let me make it up to you...and...and prove to you I still...that I still...”

Billie’s words get caught in her throat, and her fingers tighten even more around your body, trying to get her thoughts in order.

“Please just...” her voice drops to a low whisper, “please just...let me...love you...love me back...”

There’s a pleading in her voice, a desperate undertone to her words.

Your grip becomes tighter at her words as you look in her eyes. Your heart was practically beating in your ears and throughout your whole body.

Your head felt dizzy and your breathing picked up again.

The whiny tone Billie voice picked up made your skin tingle. You’ve wanted this for so long.

The yearning.

The begging.

And now you finally had it.

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

When you say yes, it’s like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. And a deep-seated, burning feeling settles in the pit of her stomach.

“Then you’ll have it.”

It’s the only response that comes out of Billie’s mouth before she’s kissing you again, her hands pulling you even closer to her body.

Her arms wrap around you and she’s practically clinging to you, like this is the last time she’s ever going to get to touch you.

Billie didn’t take you back to the party after the balcony.

Instead, she took you back to her home.

And you spent the rest of the night wrapped in her sheets and in her arms, whispers of love and forgiveness exchanged between you both as the hours passed.

And in the morning, when you woke up, Billie was already awake holding you in her arms, watching you sleep as she stroked your hair with the gentlest of touches.

And after those long 4 months. She no longer hated the fact that she couldn’t love you the way you were meant to be loved.

‧₊˚✩彡

fer speaks!!!

yay happy ending! i beg of y’all to throw some requests at me 🙏🏼

[atlafan]

You fucked up again. Just when Harry thinks you've learned from your mistakes, you go and do something ten times as devious. Which is why he's giving you that same glazed over look, the one where he's concocting severe punishments. It's not anger, it's almost exhaustion. It's giving, "how many times do we have to teach you this lesson, old man" from Spongebob. But unlike last time when you accidentally pushed him too far, this was purposeful.

Harry has a grueling job. He works a lot of long hours, he has to deal with idiots all day long, and he cannot stand the other partners at his firm. You were his saving grace. You, who was working as a para-legal just to support yourself while you ran your online jewelry store, started assisting Harry. You'd pull the files he needed. You could type more than 100 words a minute. And you had been so innocent. Not naiive, not a prude, but you were blissfully ignorant, and Harry found that to be very cute. So, when you inevitably started hooking up after one too many long nights together, he opened your eyes to a whole new world of kinky sex. He was so serious about it, explaining that he needed someone to be rough and mean with, but also craving to take care of someone and spoil them with affection. And because he had made you come so hard you cried, you were hooked on him, so you went with it.

You've been together a year now, you live together, and you're thinking of maybe getting a dog soon. You don't report directly to Harry anymore, though. You assist another person in another department. It was the only way you two could date without it being a big deal for the firm.

Tonight is a big night. They're announcing the new junior partners, and since Harry is a senior partner, he gets to pin the two people he's been mentoring. He's actually pretty excited about it, or he was until he saw you step out of the bathroom and back into your shared walk-in closet. He's standing there, half dressed, frozen with fury as he watches you pick out which rings and bracelets you're planning to wear. You double take after seeing the look on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You asked innocently.

"I told you not to wear that dress." He responded lowly.

"You asked me not to wear it, and I never agreed or disagreed. You can't tell me what I can and can't put on my body, Harry."

"You're making me sound controlling, that's not what this is about. You know you look stunning and sexy in that goddamn red dress, and you know it drives me insane because I know for a fact that you're not wearing anything underneath it. That's why I asked you not to wear it. I saw you eyeing it the other day, I should have known."

"I can't wear underwear with this, the fabric is too clingy and I hate having panty lines. It's just a dress. Show some self control."

And that's when the look changed. You swallowed hard and tried not to falter under his gaze. He slowly stalks toward you, still half naked, his abs and other chiseled features fully on display.

"I have plenty of self control." He said as he hooked his arm around your waist, pulling you into him. "And you know better than anyone else that I love showing you off and letting everyone around us know that you're mine and mine alone and that they'll never know you or have you the way that I do." He brings his fingers up to squish the sides of your cheeks. "You have plenty of other dresses. I'd like you to go put a different one, and save this one for my eyes only."

"No." You say through your puckered lips.

"No?"

"No."

"That's final answer?"

"It took me forty-five minutes to get ready, I'm not starting over. The hair and the makeup go with the dress. I'm not changing."

He looked you up and down, smirked, then let you go. You watched him carefully as he pulled his shirt and suit jacket on. You weren't sure what he was going to do, but you're standing your ground on this.

"Babe?" He calls to you from the bedroom, so you leave the closet with your ruby clutch in hand and meet him by his dresser.

"Do you need help with your tie, sweetheart?" You ask ignorantly.

"No, I'm not wearing a tie tonight. I'm doing the open button thing, but thank you for offering. Pull up the skirt of your dress for me."

You furrow your brows but does as he says. He gets down on one knee and starts kissing up your leg. He pulls something out of his jacket pocket and your stomach drops. He hears you gasp, and he looks up at you wickedly.

"I'm going to put this inside you."

"Harry, please, this is a work event, I can't have my come dripping down my legs."

"It won't be come because you won't be coming. I'm going to do as I please with this tonight." He turns the little egg-shaped vibrator on and holds his phone up next to it to pair to the Bluetooth. "Perfect. Alright, spread 'em." He looks up at you, his features turning softer. "Do you need your safe word? It's okay if you'd rather wait until we get home to be punished. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"No." You smile softly down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "I'm okay, daddy, go ahead."

He kisses the inside of your knee as he works the toy inside of you. He stands back up and taps one of the settings in the app to give you a test vibration to make sure it's working properly.

You're in for a long night.

What puzzled you most was that Harry hadn't done anything to you yet. He didn't turn the toy on in the car. And you've been at the party for an hour already, and he still hasn't done anything. The anticipation has been killing you. Maybe that was his plan all along. You see your boss and roll your eyes as he stuffs his face with shrimp from the raw bar. You hate him. Part of you wanted to wear your red dress tonight because you wanted to show that sweaty hog that he could look all he wanted, but he'd never be able to touch you.

It's when you're taking a sip of your martini while talking to some of the other paras that you feel the toy kick on. It's starts off with little pulsations, then moves along to steady vibrations. You pinch your thighs together as discretely as you can. You're starting to sweat, and you're starting to let little noises out. You're covering them with coughs and whatnot, but after ten minutes of this, you're starting to get uncomfortably wet. It's all so torturous because as good as it feels, you're not getting any external stimulation, which you need in order to come, so this is all just edging. And you love being edged, so even though it's torture, it's also the absolute best.

Harry knows this. He can see it on your face. You two lock eyes, and you pout at him, pleading. He can't resist you for long, not while you're wearing that dress. Before he can get to you, your boss approaches you, which makes Harry stop short. You had mentioned how he had been such a douchebag lately. He wants to watch the exchange.

"You look incredible." Your boss grinned.

"I know." You snap.

"What are you doing wearing a tight thing like that for? It leaves little to the imagination."

In your head, you don't see how that's true. It's a mermaid style halter with an open back, and the front is separated so you can just see the outline of of the inner parts of your breasts. But because it's a gown, there's an air of class to it. Your hair is up, plenty of pieces out in the front to frame your face. You look stunning. There are plenty of women at this party dressed similarly.

"Don't look at me too much, then." You respond after taking a careful sip of champagne. You're sweating while having that stupid toy inside you. You have to grit your teeth and pinch your nails into your palms to stay composed.

"I'm afraid that's impossible. I think you wore this to get my attention, not that you need help in that department."

"You're being inappropriate. I wore this for myself. I like the way I look in it. It's also one of Harry's favorites, so-"

"I can't believe you're still with that guy. He's like a lump on a log. He's only charismatic with his clients, you know?"

"We live together, so I'd like to think I know him pretty well."

"You deserve to be with someone that can make it so you never have to work another day in your life."

"I like working."

"No one likes working."

"I just said I like working."

"You like making jewelry. Wouldn't you rather do that full time?"

"I-" Your breath hitches when you feel the pulsations start to work in tandem with the vibrations. You're going to kill him.

"Are you feeling alright?" Your boss takes one of your hands, but before he can do anything else, Harry comes up and puts his arm around your waist.

"Bill, she really doesn't like it when you touch her. Look at her, she looks like she's going to be sick, so instead of continuing to make her more uncomfortable, why don't you just walk away. You get away with too many things here, but not for much longer."

"Is that a threat?"

"If you want to take it as one, be my guest." His grip on your hip tightens and you can't help but whimper. "Excuse us." Harry's hand moves to the small of your back to lead you out to the coat check room. He gets you in and locks the door behind you. "Are you alright?" He cups her jaw and looks you over."

"Yeah, th-thank you for getting me - shit - away from h-him." You grit your teeth and pinch your eyes closed, bracing your hands flat against Harry's chest. "Please, I can't...I can't take much more of this, it's been almost two hours."

"I know, and you've done so well for me. I'll turn it off and take it out if you tell me why you wore this even after I asked you not to. I know you can put whatever you want on your body. I just like it when you save certain things for me, for us."

"I hate my boss." You say, still bracing yourself against him. "He makes passes at me all the time. I just wanted to torture him a little, to let him know he'll never know what's underneath all this fabric."

"Sweet girl." He tilts your chin up so you'll look at him. "If Joe was being that big of a prick, why didn't you say something to me?"

"I don't want to run to you to fight all my battles for me. I need to be able to lean on myself."

"If he's sexually harassing you, then you should come to me so I can go with you to HR. You know they don't listen unless someone of higher rank complains. It's fucked up, but that's just how it is. I want the culture to change, but it's slow going."

"I know." You cry, almost feeling ready to drool from how worked up you are. "You're not one of the cogs in the machine, and that's one of the many things I love about you, Harry. I'm sorry I upset you by wearing this because I know you're only upset because you just want to rip it off with your teeth"

"That's right." He backs you up against the closest wall, not caring about any of the coats hanging up being knocked to the floor. He kisses you hard and hot, bending at the knee a bit to get a hand under your dress. He moans into your mouth as he slides his fingers through your folds. "You're soaked, beyond soaked."

"Please, daddy, please." You say breathlessly as he plays with you.

"You sound so good when you're begging. Keep going." He nips at your earlobe before licking and sucking at your neck.

"Please, take it out, daddy. Then you can fuck me in here and I'll do whatever you say."

"You'll need to be quiet. I'll have to stuff the toy into your mouth." He brushes your bottom lip with his thumb and you nod. "Need your safe word?"

"No, god no."

He smirks and pulls the toy out of you, pressing down on the button to turn it off. He whimpers when he feels so much of your slick drip out. He puts the toy inside his own mouth first, moaning at the taste of you, then he puts it into your mouth. He hikes your dress up and immediately gets his middle and ring fingers inside of you. You whine around the toy and clutch at the lapels of his jacket as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, beating into your g-spot. The heel of his palm works to ground down against your clit, making your head roll back. He sponges kisses to your throat as you tug at the hair on the back of his head. Your eyes burst open when you feel yourself start to get close. You're going to explode, and you're all of a sudden worried about ruining the jackets in this closet.

"Don't you dare hold back on me. Fuck the jackets, baby, make a mess." He growls, pounding into your harder.

You're moaning uncontrollably around the toy. You start gushing with his fingers still inside of you, and he doesn't let up. You're coming hard and it feels like it's going to be never ending. This is why you like being edged. You'll take a solid sixty-second orgasm over a ton of little quick ones. Harry slows down his pace, weaning you off of him, before taking his fingers all the way out. He sucks them into his mouth as he fixes your dress. He takes the toy out of your mouth and stuffs it into his jacket pocket while you take his fingers to lick and suck on.

"My good girl." He coos, caressing her cheek. "My good, fucking girl." He catches a glimpse of his watch and sucks his teeth. "Shit, we need to go back to the main room. The pinning is going to start soon."

"Okay, just, let me catch my breath." She says. "Daddy, is my makeup all fucked?"

"Only a little." He wipes under your eyes for you. "Still gorgeous as ever."

"Thank you." You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tight. He holds you close, giving you gentle kisses and whispering sweet words into your ear. "Thank you." You whisper. "Can we go home after the pinning?" You ask as he opens the door and you walk out of the coat check room.

"Eager for daddy's cock?" He grins.

"Always."

[orange-peony]

I've written something for @flufftober with today's prompt “I hate it” – “No, you don’t.”

It just screams drarry, and I've been thinking all day about this wonderful art piece by @caspervi.

This is exactly 1k, rated E, 8th year spin the bottle shenanigans and a very besotted Harry.

Draco is clearly not expecting him to cheat.

The thing is, Harry has grown a little desperate over the weeks. After spending every night in the same room as Draco Malfoy, listening to him turn in bed with endless sighs, and sometimes cast a very suspicious Muffliato right after Harry has come back from his shower completely naked and dripping wet.

Harry’s caught him looking, more than once.

He knows Draco’s been staring at him, just as much as Harry has. In lessons and in the Great Hall and in the eighth year’s common room. A silver gaze following him around the castle, cheeks flushing every time their eyes meet.

Harry’s had enough of lying to himself about what he wants. He almost lost everything—he’s already lost so fucking much. He can’t let this slip from his fingers.

So, when a drunk Zabini suggests a game of spin the bottle, Harry only agrees to it when Draco walks into the room. The bottle never lands on either of them—Harry makes sure of it.

“My turn,” he declares, everyone clearly too tipsy to object. Harry hasn’t had anything to drink, knows full well that Draco is just as sober. And when the bottle spins and spins and then lands on Draco, he watches pale cheeks flush a deep red.

Someone gasps next to him. Pansy shrieks, too loud and too obvious.

Draco stands up abruptly and runs to his room—their room.

Someone shouts coward, that it’s unfair, and wait, whose turn is it now?

Harry ignores everything and everyone and just follows Draco to their bedroom, locking the door behind his back once he’s inside, watching Draco’s grey eyes widen, his cheeks catch fire as he stands there, unmoving. Harry takes a step towards him, then another, until they’re almost touching.

“You cheated,” Draco accuses, sounding dumbfounded by his own accusation. “I could feel your magic, you—”

“I wanted it to land on you,” Harry explains stupidly. The truth is that he needed a reason to kiss Draco. One that wasn’t the fact that his heart’s been hurting at the thought of it for weeks now, craving it with all that he is, dreaming about Draco’s lips and about the sounds he would make for Harry—god, Harry wants to feel him shiver and pant against him.

Draco seems conflicted, his eyebrows quivering as his mouth opens and closes without a sound.

“I hate it,” he finally says, wetting his lips with his pink tongue, his eyes sliding down, lingering on Harry’s mouth.

“No, you don’t,” Harry murmurs.

He’s almost expecting Draco to tell him to fuck off and get lost, but then Draco huffs, his blond eyebrows knitting before he shakes his head and sighs.

“No, I fucking don’t,” Draco whispers, almost a whine, then, “Come here. Potter, c’mere—”

Harry thinks it’s impossible this could feel better than he imagined. But the taste of Draco’s lips, so sweet and soft and irresistible as they press to his and then open on a whimper, just for him. The way Draco moans against him, his long fingers sliding through Harry’s curls to tug at them and make him open his mouth more, to deepen the kiss—it all feels like a dream, and one of the best ones he’s ever had. The perfect little sounds Draco makes when Harry lowers him onto his bed, the way his lips part on a gasp when Harry kisses his way down his neck, sucking on that milky-white skin to make it bloom in pink and red hues while Draco falls apart under him. Harry wasn’t expecting that. He didn’t think he would get to have more than a kiss. And that already felt like asking for too much.

He most certainly wasn’t expecting Draco to open for him like a flower, delicate and quivering under Harry’s clumsy hands, spreading for him and making the most perfect sounds as Harry sinks into his tight heat, cursing at how blissfully good it feels, how utterly divine it is to be inside Draco.

And then later, lying on the bed next to him, watching Draco loose and sated, falling asleep with a contented hum after countless minutes spent talking about inconsequential things, because everything else felt too scary to be mentioned. A dream come true.

When Harry wakes up in the morning, too early and too bright, he realises Draco is still there, naked and covered in the marks Harry left on his delicate skin. Harry’s tie is stuck under his hand, Draco’s face buried in the duvet, as if he were hiding in his sleep. And Harry can’t stop staring, can’t stop thinking that he shouldn’t be so lucky because he always manages to fuck up everything, somehow.

But then Draco stirs, a flash of silver landing on Harry as a little sound leaves Draco’s lips, something soft and undone that threatens to make Harry’s heart crumble to pieces.

“Stop staring, you weirdo,” Draco mumbles. Harry casts a mouth-freshening charm on them both. Wishful thinking, he reckons, but Draco mutters minty before he lets his lips stretch into a tiny smile.

So Harry grows bold and leans forward, pressing their lips together one more time, hopefully not the last. Draco hums softly and reaches for him when they part, his fingers wrapping around Harry’s neck to pull him impossibly closer. And Harry can feel Draco’s hand lingering on his neck, then sliding down his chest, making him shudder before his fingers curl around his length.

“Want you,” Harry confesses, his breath hot against Draco’s mouth, that opens as a small laugh tumbles out of it.

“Not a one-night stand, then?” Draco asks, hope shimmering in his voice and on his face.

“Merlin, no,” Harry replies. He’s in for good. He’s in for his life, as scary as it seems.

“Good,” Draco replies with a smile, one of those genuine ones that Harry has learnt to cherish.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Draco confirms. “Kiss me.”

[azu1as]

HI TINN ITS ME PITTY 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

i was wondering if youre still open for prompts… and if u are can you write about pbss somehow tranported to current mount hua, and everyone is confused af and just watches pbss and divine dragon interact (and maybe argue) with each other

PITTY HELLO ♥✨♥✨♥ yes i'm always open to prompts !!! im literally rotating rotmhs in my head 24/7

this first half was actually born from another prompt by mei on discord but I want to build on it, so dumping it here 👍 HAHAHA

»—————————–✄

The Plum Blossom Sword Saint lets out a ragged breath, his vision rapidly fading. His sword falls from his hand and soon after his body follows.

"...Mount Hua..." he mumbles, aware that the only thing left that awaited him was the cold claim of death.

He dies. And in the next second, he blinks up to a clear sky, the dead bodies that surrounded him gone.

%%%

Dawn had barely broken when an incessant banging against Mount Hua's gates and shouting started and broke the tranquil silence, rousing several disciples.

"OPEN UP!" Someone barks out from the other side. "Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Open this gate right now!!"

Un Am frowns at the lack of manners and respect being shown by the source of the shouting. He reaches the gate and pulls it open. It takes Un Am a bit of effort to ensure that his voice sounded cordial, "Hello, we aren't accepting any visitors this ear—"

Un Am cuts himself off as he takes note of the state of the man in front of him. The man's robes and face were crusted with dried blood despite a lack of any visible injury. That is, if one ignore his lack of an arm.

It still didn't explain the amount of blood he had on his body that was free from any wounds and visible scars.

The man's eyes were bloodshot and trembling. Un Am, even from afar, could tell that there was something deeply wrong with this man. He seemed unconscious of the way he emanated a manic aura; there was a charged sort of energy surrounded him that made an instinctive part of Un Am grip his sword handle in response.

The most notable and unexplainable part of the man, however, was the blood-stained plum blossom embroidered on his chest.

"Who...?" Un Am finds himself unable to react to the man's speed and freezes in place as the man grabs him by the lapels of his robe. He pulls Un Am towards himself and grits out,

"What. Happened. To. My Sect."

%%%

Baek Cheon was quickly ushered into the Sect Leader's residence the moment he returned with a few others from their last excursion to Xi'an.

"What's going on?" He asks.

Elder Un Geom, for a lack of a better word, looked harried. His face twists into a grimace. "It's a bit complicated..."

Baek Cheon doesn't know how he should feel about that response.

Surely, it couldn't be too terrible. After all, their sect was still standing and they did leave Chung Myung behind to stay on Mount Hua as he and the other chosen second-class disciples only had to deliver some goods and tokens to their subsect. Their youngest wouldn't let anything dangerous happen on his watch.

Baek Cheon tries to probe more information. "Before you pulled me away, Baek Sang mentioned something about a guest...?"

"We aren't quite sure of the specifics either, I'm afraid. But the man claims to be one of our ancestors from over a hundred years ago."

"An ancestor? Was he able to verify the claims?"

Un Geom nods. "I've never seen someone weild our plum blossom technique with as much power as he did."

If that was the case, then maybe their supposed ancestor could help them develop and improve their sword techniques even further by teaching them more about the skills that have been lost through time.

"Isn't that a good thing then?"

"It should be, but Chung Myung..."

Ah. Hearing those last three trailing words did not promise anything good.

When they finally opened the door to the Sect Leader's residence, they were greeted to the sight of a soulless Hyun Jong slumped against the wall, a freaked-out Yoon Jong who seemed to be torn between jumping into the fray and throwing himself out the window, and—

"WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO BEAT UP OUR ANCESTOR, YOU BRAT?!"

Their ancestor and Chung Myung pause in their positions as they both turned eerily similar pink gazes towards the two new entrants.

Chung Myung had the end of their ancestor's ponytail pulled towards him and scrunched up in his fists. His knee pressed against the older man's chest and neck while his jaw was unhinged as he was clearly attempting to bite the man's single arm.

Their ancestor in turn had his one hand closed around half of Chung Myung's face, trying to push him away. His legs were wrapped around Chung Myung's lower half in an inescapable hold and he seemed to have been gearing up for a headbutt before Baek Cheon and Un Geom interrupted them.

"You want me to call this brat my ancestor?!" Chung Myung shouts out as he renewed his attempts to bite the man by roughly grabbing onto the base of his ponytail.

"I'm one hundred years older than you!" Their ancestor grits out as he unashamedly bites Chung Myung's arm. "You disrespectful descendant! Back in my time—"

"'Back in my time', my ass!"

"You...!"

Off to the side, their current sect leader lets out a pitiful moan of mental pain. Baek Cheon would comfort him if he didn't feel the same amount of psychic damage as he watches his youngest sajil and ancestor continue their childish scuffle, rolling on the floor and uncaringly biting into each other like they were both five-year olds.

Later on, after tempers have cooled and everyone (read: Chung Myung and their ancestor) had managed to settle down into a tenuous truce, Hyun Jong turns a tired, but respectful nod towards the bruised man, "May we know this ancestor's identity?"

"Hm?" Said man absently rubs against the embroidered plum blossom on his new uniform. "Ah, I supposed you would know me as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint."

They would have expressed their shock and surpise, but they get easily distracted by Chung Myung's mocking scoff as he rolls his eyes in response.

[canirove]

Rice, Rice, baby | Chapter 19

Author's note: Btw, do you get the title of the story now? Big spoiler 😅

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

"Liv, congratulations!" Harry Kane says when he sees me.

"What?"

"The baby!"

"Oh, that" I chuckle. 

"Come here, let me give you a hug. You are already showing!"

"Yeah, a bit" I say with a shy smile.

"When Kate told me I couldn't believe it. Our little Liv is having a baby! I'm sure your dad is over the moon. His first grandchild!"

"He…"

"And Alex? How is he?"

"Declan."

"What?" Kane says with a confused look.

"I must go, I'm sorry" I say, starting to run. "Dec! Declan! Declan, stop!"

He had heard Kane. He had shown up behind him out of nowhere and he had heard everything. Fuck.

"Declan, please!"

"What" he says, abruptly stopping and making me clash against his back, catching me before I end up on the floor. "Shit, Liv. Are you ok?" 

"Yeah, yeah." 

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Ok" he says, still holding me. "Congratulations, by the way."

"Declan…"

"You didn't waste your time."

"Declan, listen…"

"I'm sure Alex is over the moon.”

“Dec…”

“He's always been in love with you and now he finally gets to be with you and even start a family.”

"Declan, can you please shut up!" I say, raising my voice. "We need to talk. But not here, come" I say, grabbing his hand and taking him to one of the offices.

"So? What did you want to talk about?" he says, leaning against the desk in the middle of the room while I do the same against the door. Though I'm pretty sure his heart isn't beating as fast as mine is. And not only because of how nervous I am. How can he look even more handsome than the last time I saw him? 

"It's yours."

"Uh?"

"The baby, Declan. It's yours."

"What?" he says, standing up so fast that he makes the desk tremble, some of the things on it falling to the floor. "What do you mean it is mine?"

"Yeah" I shrug, biting my lip and trying not to cry.

"Liv… How… This… I…" he says, running a hand through his hair and starting to pace around the office. "Last camp? It had to be then, we didn't… Shit."

"Yes" I nod.

"Why didn't you tell me, Liv? Why does everyone know but me? And why do they think Alex is the father?"

"It's complicated."

"Is it?" he scoffs.

"Yes, it is."

"Then please explain" Declan says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the desk once again.

“At first I was feeling very tired and thought it was stress because… you know. The previous months hadn't been the best. When I told Kennedy about it she said she had felt the same when she was pregnant with Leo and the thought crossed my mind, but I brushed it off. After that I started to get nauseous and my period wasn't coming, but I kept telling myself it was just stress. Then after Christmas one of the team's doctors ran some tests because I had promised Madders that if I kept feeling unwell I would do it, and…”

"And you found out you were pregnant."

"Yes."

"Did you know it was mine back then?"

"Of course I did" I say. "I haven't been with anyone else since I met you, Declan."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because… Because…"

"C'mon, Liv."

"Because I was scared, ok?" I say, not able to contain my tears anymore. "This wasn't part of my plan. Being a mum was something I always dreamt of, yes. But not now and not like this, not alone."

"You are not alone, Liv."

"I know. But you have moved on. You have a girlfriend now, a serious one, you are happy together. I didn't want to ruin that for you." 

"So you thought that not telling me and saying that Alex is the father was the best choice?" he laughs.

"No, I… I was going to tell you."

"When? When the kid turned 18?"

"No! I just… I'm sorry, ok?" I sob. "I'm sorry if I've done everything wrong, this isn't easy!"

"Liv… Liv, hey. Liv" Declan says, walking towards me and hugging me. "It's ok, Liv."

"No, it isn't! This is a mess!"

"It's ok, Liv" he says again, kissing my head.

"Alex found out because he heard me talking with Madders about it here at work, but he didn't tell me that he knew. And then at my father's birthday party he… he…" 

"It's ok, Liv" Declan repeats while caressing my hair, his touch making me relax a bit and stopping my body from shaking like crazy with every sob. “Tell me what happened.”

“His mum always makes lasagna for big events and I love it, it is one of my favourite dishes. But the moment I smelled it, I threw up. It was so bad that everyone showed up at the kitchen, asking what was going on. My dad said that I should go to the hospital so they could run more tests, I refused to do it, and that's when Alex threatened me and dropped the bomb.”

“He did what?” Declan says, moving me so I am looking at him. 

“He said he was doing what was best for me” I snort.

“For you? How is sharing something so personal and without your permission what is best for you? I’m fucking killing him the moment I cross paths with him.”

“There is no need. I punched him.”

“You what?”

“Yeah” I shrug. “I've been boxing with Micky to let go of everything I have been feeling and…”

“Wow” Declan chuckles. “So Alex told everyone you were pregnant and that he was the father?”

"He did. And suddenly everyone was cheering and congratulating us while I was trying really hard to not punch him again and to process what was going on."

"And you've kept lying about it."

"I've wanted to explain everything, to tell the truth. But he keeps telling me that it will only break everyone's hearts, that this is for the best, that you've moved on, and I…"

"You've let him manipulate you."

"I… I have, yes" I say, starting to cry again. "But I just… You should see how happy my dad is, Declan. Like, he told me he had always hoped that Alex and I would end up together. And even though I keep telling him and everyone else that we aren't and that it was just a one time thing… I don't know. It is too much. And I've been feeling so many things, both physically and emotionally that I… It hasn't been easy."

"I can only imagine… But things are about to change" Declan says, cupping my face and wiping away my tears. "Because that is my child, and I'm gonna take care of them."

"What?"

"If you let me and are ok with it, I want to be there for you, Liv. For both of you" he says. "I know I probably don't deserve it after the way I hurt you, but… I want to go to the doctor appointments with you, and be there when you buy their first outfit, and their car seat, and read all the books, and attend as many classes as I can to learn how this works and how I can help you and just… be there for you."

"What about your girlfriend? What will she say?"

"Don't worry about her. You are what matters now, Liv. You and the baby. Let me be there for you" he repeats, resting his forehead on mine. "Please."

"Yes" I hear myself saying.

"Yes?"

"Yes" I repeat. "I want to do this with you. Together."

"Together" he smiles, making the butterflies in my stomach wake up again after a long time. “May I?” 

“Uh?”

“Your bump. May I touch it?”

“Oh… Yes, of course.”

“Hello, little one” Declan whispers, they way he is smiling while caressing my belly making me cry again. But this time, they are happy tears. Probably the happiest since I found out I was pregnant. 

[dearharriet]

could you write a steve x fem!reader fic based on little freak by harry styles? thank you!!!

ty for the req!! <3 i hadn’t listened to little freak since harry’s house came out but this prompt rly grew on me :) hope u like it! (1.6K) 🦢 (cw: drinking, smoking, foul language)

A football team of college pricks had invaded the kitchen. You felt bad. In high school, the kitchen was always a haven at parties for chatting and drinking and planning to leave. What you were witnessing felt like the desecration of God’s land.

You were on the counter, where you’d stationed yourself an hour ago. The rowdy group would rotate between flirting with you and rooting through the cupboards and drawers, or roughhousing (which had broken three household items so far), or yelling.

The guy talking to you now smelled like Windex and had calluses on his hands that kept snagging on your tights.

“—and girls always say they like blue collar guys but really they’re just talking about Bruce Springsteen.”

“Mm-hm,” you mumbled a half-hearted agreement.

You’d exhausted your options, and were considering letting Windex take you home. Half of the other guys wouldn’t even talk to you, only shooting furtive glances your way.

“Have you seen how lanky that guy is? He’s never seen a day of work in his life.”

“Uh-huh.” You scanned the crowd, desperate for another chance, but only found two girls eyeing you from the punch bowl. Caught, they scampered out of the kitchen again giggling, their full cups sloshing red onto the linoleum.

“Hey,” Windex pulled your attention back to him. Your face felt warm, and you chided yourself. The girls never used to make fun of you for being liked.

“Hey,” he said again, taking your chin. You tamped down a cringe. “Wanna get out of here?”

This time when you swept the kitchen, hopeless, there was someone standing on the threshold.

There was a fuzzy familiarity about him—the nose, the big brown eyes.

Windex finally turned to see what was distracting you, and his grip on your leg tightened.

“Oh, Jesus. Here comes royalty.”

The other boys in the kitchen noticed him too, and started heckling him. The chaos of their insults made them indecipherable. You caught the stranger’s eye and smiled demurely, but he averted his gaze, and then lurched forward like someone pushed him. A small dirty blonde traipsed in behind him, speaking a mile a minute.

Windex blocked your view with his body, standing between your thighs.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here. I think the rats are moving in for scraps.” He pulled at your legs to slide you off the counter, but you anchored yourself with your hands.

“I think I’m gonna stay a little longer,” you told him, and because your subtlety is nonexistent, your eyes flicked over to the boy and his friend. Windex caught on quickly, glancing between you two and scoffing dryly.

“Right,” he said. “Have fun with that. Just don’t be surprised if his dick is softer than his hands.”

You straightened. “You can go now.”

He threw his hands up in surrender and backed away.

“You guys can give it up,” he shouted over the music and the jeering. “King Steve is here!”

The guys all groaned, dropping everything and abandoning ship.

One of them threw his cigarette into Steve’s brand new cup of liquor and it flamed. Steve jumped back, tossing the drink away from him. You gasped.

“What the hell?” Steve was giving the guy what for? but everyone else was staring at Windex. Steve’s drink was seeping into his flannel shirt, a blotch of brown over the forest-green. Thankfully the flame didn't last, so he was only soggy and unhappy.

“Real nice, bud,” Windex bit out. “My shirt is fucked.”

Steve’s friend spoke up.

“Tell your idiot friends not to make molotovs out of his damn drink, then, bud.”

“Rob, stop. Let’s just go, they were here first.”

“No, please, your highness. She’s all yours.” Windex shot a look your way, and then him and the rest of them went away.

With the guys gone, the typical kitchen crowd started reappearing. Steve and his friend seemed content to lean against the island and people watch.

You assumed she was his girlfriend after a while, but then a pretty redhead appeared and whisked her away, their fingers nervously interlocked.

Steve made his way over soon after.

“Hey.” There’s an art to charming guys, and you were always naturally talented at it. You’d dip your chin and look up through your lashes, and speak just a smidge too quiet so they’d have to lean in to hear you.

Steve, however, didn’t lean in. His mouth pulled into a strained smile.

“Hi.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, um, fine.” He glanced behind you. “Would you grab me a paper towel?”

Twisting around, you found the roll on its spool under the cabinet and frowned. The section tore off cleanly and you slid it across the counter to him.

“I remember you, now,” you said before he could escape. “From school. You’re the ladykiller.”

He blew a breath out and ran a hand through his hair. You remembered that, too.

“That’s not something I’m really proud of.” He winced. “I’m trying to leave it behind.”

A throaty giggle sprang out of you.

“I don’t know if spilling drinks on people is a step in the right direction.” You were joking, but he frowned.

“Yeah, I’m, uh. I’m sorry about that.”

“Are you?” You squinted.

“No,” he said with retroactive irritation. “He was being a prick. They all were. But I’m sorry for you.”

A scoff rolled out of you, slightly affronted.

“Gee, thanks.” You folded your arms and leaned back into the cabinet. “Is this how you charm all the girls? By feeling sorry for them?”

“I don’t do much charming,” he muttered. You raised a skeptical brow. “Anymore.”

Laughing, you lifted your butt to grab the pack of smokes you had stashed away in your back pocket.

“Clearly. I’m starting to think you’re actually here for the paper towel.” Kicking a leg out, you grazed his hip with your sneaker while you pulled a cigarette out.

Steve watched you light it, something churning behind his eyes.

“I don’t get it,” he mumbled, almost too quiet for you to catch. He was shaking his head.

“Hm?” Blowing your first drag out into the kitchen, you relaxed a little further in your perch.

“Just…in school, guys always talked about you like you were odd. Freaky.” He shrugged. “You just seem like a girl to me.”

Your brows pinched, conflicted. “Oh.”

Steve kept eyeing your smoke. When he realized he wasn’t being subtle enough, he turned to gaze out at the kitchen, arms crossed.

“Yknow, I always wondered what you thought of them.”

You looked out into the kitchen, but there was no identifiable person that he was talking about.

“Who?”

Ruffling the back of his hair a bit, he said, “The guys you’d talk to.”

You hummed. Ashed your cigarette onto his forgotten paper towel.

“You mean why I liked them?”

“No, just—” Steve paused. Intrigued, you scooted to the edge of the counter to listen closer.

“Just what you were thinking.” Steve kicked his sneaker into the floor. “You looked kinda far away most of the time.”

A smile crept over your face.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” you muttered, swaying your feet. You tried to sum your thoughts up without being long-winded.

“I think…they’re bored.” Steve looked at you and you added, “And sad.” Smiling bitterly, you looked away. “Mostly sad.”

Steve's laugh was hollow as he rubbed his cheek with the flat of his hand.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

You shared a look, and then shared a silence as you finished your cigarette. When you were done, you stubbed it briskly and leaned forward onto your hands again.

“Hey, so.” You cleared your throat. “I think I’m gonna go. And if I leave on my own, at least one of those guys is gonna follow me. I know you’re not interested, but, um…”

Smiling at him—a real smile, not a simper or a manipulation—you asked, “Do me a favor and walk me out?” Steve looked unsure, so you added, “You can come right back. If you don’t want people to think…”

Nodding slowly, Steve came and helped you hop down. You tried to concern yourself as little as possible with his big hands, with how automatic his decision to help you was. You failed miserably, especially when he started guiding you out by the small of your back.

Windex was shirtless on the couch, talking at a new girl who wore a thousand-yard-stare that rivaled yours. He stilled when you passed, watching the both of you with contempt, but didn’t stop you.

Outside was chilly, being night and near-October in Hawkins. You rubbed your arms over the thin sleeves of your shirt and sucked in a shaky breath. It came out as steam.

“Thanks,” you said cheerily, giving Steve's forearm a small grateful squeeze. “I’ll see you ‘round.”

You probably wouldn’t.

The gravel driveway loomed before you, and you started your trek with a huff.

“What are you doing?”

You spun around to see Steve looking at you, perplexed.

“I’m walking home.”

Steve's face flickered with emotion before he shook his head insistently.

“Uh-uh. Let’s go.” Shoving his hand into a pocket, he produced his keys and started toward a BMW.

“What? Steve, no, it’s fine. I do it all the time.”

The passenger door was already open.

“Get in the car, crazy.”

Shifting where you stood, you found yourself tempted to do just that. You glanced at the house.

“People will think—“

“That’s fine.”

A beat passed between you, and then a cold gust of wind pushed you into the cushy leather seat, and Steve closed the door behind you.

When he slid into the driver's side you asked, “What about your friend?”

He smiled. “She left a while ago.”

“Oh.” Nodding, you relaxed. Steve put the car in reverse and turned the radio up, and you laughed outright.

Springsteen was on.

+

thank you for reading! 🌝

masterlist

[accio-sriracha]

Fight Me - Drarry Micro-fic :)

~~~♤~~~

"Oi, Potter!" Draco called, a smile on his face. He had been trying to goad Potter into an argument for nearly two weeks, he was yet to be successful.

Potter turned, stopping halfway to the Gryffindor table, "Yes, Malfoy?" He asked, his tone resigned.

"Have you heard the news lately? Everyone says that their precious Golden Boy's lost his touch." Draco came to a stop a foot away from him, "That true?"

Potter only closed his eyes, scratching the back of his head, "Did you need something, Malfoy?" He asked. Draco rolled his eyes,

"Obviously an answer to the question I just asked you. Now tell me. Is it true?"

Potter shook his head, his sigh deep, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do. It's all over the news! Some people are starting to think you can't even do magic anymore."

"Of course I can." Potter replied, his tone detached.

"Prove it." Draco lifted his chin up, sure he was going to get his way this time.

"I'm not going to fight with you, Malfoy." He replied, turning to walk away. Draco caught him by the arm,

"The hell you aren't!" He called, giving him a small shove to the shoulder, "Fight me." He called again, "You know you want to, Potter. I know you're dying to let off steam. Well? Here I am. Fight me."

Potter only shook his head, the eyes Draco had always seen so full of fire had finally gone out,

"People died, Malfoy, don't you get that?" He asked, his voice quiet, "I don't care about our stupid rivalry anymore. It's not worth it."

"News flash, Potter. You're living in a tragedy. You want a spoiler? Everyone dies in the end. You may be one of the greatest wizards ever known, but you can't stop that fact. You can't save everyone. How's that for fucking magic? So stop hiding your tail between your legs and stand up for yourself! You're Harry fucking Potter! Don't just sit there and take it, you need to fight back!"

He knew he was being harsh, but he couldn't stand seeing Potter like this. So lifeless and... empty. He wanted to shake Potter senseless and tell him to snap out of it.

"Don't you get it? Don't you understand just how much they would kill to see you fall? Stand up for yourself for fucks sake, Potter!"

"You're causing a scene." He whispered.

Draco scoffed, "Like you ever gave a damn about who was watching you."

"I do." Potter's eyes flashed with hurt for just a moment, "I always have."

Draco tried to stop the joy that spread through him. He didn’t want to hurt Potter, but it was something. That flicker was more emotion then Draco had seen on his face in over a year.

"Then show them." Draco whispered, stepping closer, taking his chance, "None of them understand. None of them understand the violence, the pain, that it took for you to be this calm. You are not the type to stand still and take it quietly. Do something...Show them you're still just as powerful as you always were. Show them you're still the boy who lived."

He paused, staring at him with the expression he knew always pushed Potter over the edge before,

"Unless you really have lost it." He said, raising an eyebrow, "The rumors are probably true, you've gone soft, Potter. Too good now, aren't you? Dumbledore's perfect little golden boy. The world's hero, above all of us measley humans. You couldn't even hurt me if you tried, could y-"

His words were cut off as Potter yanked out his wand and held it against Draco's throat. Wild fury filled Potter's eyes and Draco did his best not to smile. He'd done it. He finally managed to get Potter riled up again the way that he used to.

He hated seeing the way he dragged himself around the castle, the dark circles under his eyes and the quiet, serious voice. He missed watching Potter laugh with his friends across the Great Hall, hearing the passion in his tone as he hurled an insult back at Draco. He missed Potter's fire.

"You know what, Malfoy? I don't give a damn who you think I am, or what kind of noble savior you all expect me to be. I could tear you apart if I wanted to!" He shouted, pressing his wand harder until it hurt for Draco to breathe. His fist was clenched around Draco's robes. There were collective gasps around the Great Hall.

Nobody had expected him to suddenly react the way he did, but Draco did, he had hoped for it.

"I could be exactly like him and there is nobody who would be able to stop me." Potter spat.

Draco gave a harsh laugh, his head tilting up when the wand pushed further,  "But you won't. Why is that Potter? Why is it that you can't hurt me? Go on. Say it! You can't hurt me, Potter, and you know it."

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy." He hissed. Draco raised an eyebrow,

"Bullshit!" He called. Potter spun them and pushed him against the wall,

"I died. Nothing scares me anymore. Especially not you."

"You're lying. I can see how terrified you are. Admit it to yourself!"

"What do you want from me?!" Potter shouted, his voice echoing in the now silent room.

"I want you to live Potter." Draco whispered, hoarse now, "I want you back the way you were, before the war. You don't eat anymore, you don't sleep. I haven't heard you speak in weeks. I want you to be a person again."

"I am a person." His voice dropped too, his resolve following with it.

"Tell that to them. You let them push you around, you let them walk all over you. I'm tired of seeing you not standing up for yourself."

Potter opened his mouth to reply, then slowly shut it again, the force pressed to Draco's throat softened slightly, "Why do you care?" He asked instead.

"You know why."

Potter stared silently at him for a long time before lowering his wand completely, "I'm sorry." He muttered, looking down. Draco shook his head,

"Don't you dare apologize. You want to do something for me? Pick yourself up. Stop sulking around the castle like some nobody. You're Harry fucking Potter. If I ever see you let them treat you like shit again I'll kick your arse for real."

Their eyes met, an intensity like Draco had never felt before passing between them.

Harry pushed off the wall, leaving Draco standing there alone, he walked out of the Great Hall, ignoring everyone staring at them.

Pansy walked up to Draco, her eyes darting around the room, "What the hell was that? Are you okay?" She whispered.

He nodded and turned to walk out after Potter without a word.

~~~♤~~~

[muserryy]

BACK HOME TO YOU

masterlist

"I'll be there in no time, before you even know" his words have been echoing in your head since the last call you had with him yesterday. Your heart beats louder than it could ever as you time to time realize that he'll be home, here with you. You couldn't be more happy to see him after almost two years.

You sit in the living room, trying to make notes but your mind is occupied by the only question: when will he be home? It has been three weeks since the last show. You watched it through an Instagram live stream. That's how you tried to watch the shows but sometimes it was hard to catch up.

Almost every day was hectic and exhausting for you as you have classes to go, a lot of studies, and exams. Your student life was getting hard on you. And to be honest without Harry besides you it was hard to deal. Although Harry used to call to check upon you and ask about your day and even though he was far away from you he'd still try to boost you. 

After the final show, Harry stayed in Italy for vacations. He said that he wanted to straight away come home to you but his family and friends had some other plans for him, to have a little Italy trip and enjoy some time there. You said it was nice but also you can't wait anymore to see him. He then asked you to join them and that he will arrange the tickets for you. You wondered if he had told everyone about you, 'cause the way he was asking you to come to Italy but only his mum knows about you. You denied the invitation kindly and told him to enjoy his vacations and that you'll just wait for him to get back home, it'll be worth it as you could also finally take one or two weeks off from studies when he returns back. 

The thing is you were not ready to meet his family or friends, at least not like this when you didn't have Harry by your side who could've helped you with your anxiety and made you a little prepared for the meet up but he immediately understood that you got nervous by that thought. so when you said no, he didn't force you.

You look at the time. 4:30 pm. You are about to get up and make yet another coffee for yourself when you hear a scattering sound of glass from the front, that makes you halt in your way. Has someone broken into the house? Or is it just another cat that got in here? you go and check. You take the plastic bottle from the coffee table just in case of some thief. Yes, a fucking plastic bottle. You walk out of the living room turning left in the direction of the front door, hoping it's just a cat.

Your eyes land on the ground for a second, where the small flower pot is laying into pieces and then immediately darts to the man standing in front of you. He's biting his tongue and the posture he's standing in, with his hand in the mid air tells that the flower pot breaking was a total accident of course. He has his big pleasing bag on his side. It is big enough that it must have bumped to the pot now that it is on the ground. 

The bottle falls from your hands. "harry?" and your eyes start to water, you didn't expect it would be him. the bottle makes a sound in the silence as he speaks for the first time in two years to you, in person.  

"Hi pup, I'm home." he grins, still standing there but nor were you able to move for a few seconds. "was going to surprise ya' but-" he moves forward towards you but you immediately run to him and engulf him in your arms, in a big hug. The sudden but expected thing, the force made you both move back but Harry hugs you back tight enough and tries to prevent you both from falling on the floor. 

You start crying and let your tears flow in his shirt and damp it as you hug him. You waited so long for this. so long. Ever since he left for the tour, after he gave you the last cuddle, last kiss for the last time… for that 'while'... and you right away started missing him, his touch. It made you cold and since then you had been cold until now… now that you're finally in his arms and he's finally in your arms again. You can feel the familiar warmth again and there's nothing more you could ask for.

You are melting in his hug. He makes both of you sit on the floor while staying in the hug. You could stay in that hug forever. He removes the sling from his shoulder and pushes the bag away. He crushes you in his arms more now and right away you move to straddle his lap to get more close to him. It's not enough. 

After a few moments, "Look at me y/n.'' he says in his soft low voice, his hand coming to your head and in your hair as you keep weeping in his neck but not looking at him. "pup... look at me, wanna see your pretty face." you shake your head in his neck, not trusting your voice because your throat is heavy from all the emotions. You're not ready to look at him this close. you'll break down bad. You need time and he understood "alright! I got you." he kisses the side of your head and starts to soothe your back but deep inside seeing you like this, his heart is about to explode. 

"I missed you so much, you know.. wanted to come back the second I left, just to take you with me." he cleared his throat, "but couldn't do that." you squeeze his shoulder.

"say something, pup.." he sighs in your hair, smelling and smiling in it.

"I missed you…so much" you say in a small voice, it has you at the verge of choking on your words if you try to let out another word.

"yeah?" Harry keeps rubbing his palm on your back. He knows you very well, how you need it now. You nod in his neck. There is a moment of silence. 

"So much...and it was hard for me when you were not here. I was so lost... sometimes it was hard to deal with life…" you speak slowly to him. 

"I'm sorry for that darling." you again shake your head in his neck. "Why didn't you tell me? we used to talk, you should've let me know. I would've helped you, you know that well." 

"you're right but I'll be honest," you take a breath and continue. "I didn't want to bother you with my problems while you were touring. i…didn't want to add more stress because I knew how tired you get while doing that." you always thought that although Harry told you to never think like that. The most important thing he said to you before he left was "never hesitate to reach out to me. always talk to me and I'll always be there when you need me." and he told you to highlight it. You did but when it was almost every time, you had to think about him too. of course, you didn't want to concern him.  

"Even after what I told you? I needed to know you were okay, and wanted you to talk to me about it. Never wanted you to cry alone and sleep through it."

"I know.." you whisper as you give a small peck on his neck.

He takes a deep breath in. "and still? You know I hate you for that." 

You immediately look at him. "I'm sorry, please don't hate me." and that's when you see that he'd been tearing up this whole conversation. He's smiling through the tears and his nose is pinkish. "harry…" you cup his face in your hands and stroke his cheek with your thumb. It breaks your heart when you see tears in his eyes. Your thumbs move to caress his moustache that he grew. You absolutely love it. 

"I hate you so much." he chuckles and he brings his hand from your hair to cup your face as he keeps the other around you. Before you can respond he brings your face closer and tenderly pushes his lips on yours. You kissed him back right away. The moustache tickles you but it was the best feeling ever. The contact of your lips after so long…is incredible and passionate, as if you're expressing the feelings that were built up in these 2 years, by kissing each other. It's satisfying.

You pull away to say your words "I love you too, so much more..." you both dive back into the kiss, your hand moves to the back of his head and in his hair as you gently grab it.

"I love you too-." he mumbles into the kiss. You feel his tear on your cheek, slowly pulling away and you kiss on his cheek. 

"I'm Home." he smiles with tears in his eyes. 

"Me too, harry. I'm so happy that you're back."

'cause home is where my harry is. 

You keep looking at each other with glossy eyes. Why aren't they stopping? You bite your lower lip as you shake your head at him. "Please stop this." requesting him to do something or you doubt that you guys will be just crying for the rest of the day.

"I will." he nods, smiling. You see his dimples popping up. "You know, I got gifts for you." He points behind him where his bags were on the side. You didn't notice that at first.

"really?" your eyes lighten up. "Did you get me your vest that you wore in your Spain show?" You absolutely loved that outfit. You told him on the call how godly he looked in it and that you wanted that vest of him for yourself. He said he'll get it for you. 

"Oh the vest!" he exclaims, his eyes widens as his teeth click together. Noo! He did not.

"The blue one.." Your mouth stays open as you look at him curiously, holding your breath. He didn't forget, did he? noo, i wanted it so bad. He tries to remember about it. 

"I did get it for you," he states calmly. 

You let out the breath you were holding in and he started laughing. You push on his shoulder. "Anyway, I made many things for you."

"wow! What have you made for me?" He looks at you like a child. 

"you'll see." you bite your smile. 

"oh c'mon! Tell me." 

"emhm." you're so happy. "Okay tell me..would you like to bathe first or eat something?" 

"I need to take a bath first. Will you please give me a hot bath?" he looks into your eyes.

You kissed his nose "sure." you stand up from his lap. He follows you.

"I have so much to tell you," he says. 

"And I'm here for it, harry. I wanna hear you talk all about it." 

Harry is home and so are you. It's your home. 

~

PART 2 :)

[missluckycharms]

College!Harry would 100% be terrified of periods 🫢

he’d lose his mind …

Harry has never seen such a thing before.

His eyes are wide, body frozen in time as he looks down at his bed sheets that y/n offered to take off and stuff into the laundry hamper for him, saying she’d bring it down to the laundry mat later.

He didn’t mean to stumble upon this, he was just looking for a t shirt he possibly could of thrown into the hamper by accident — he’s regretting his decision now, because what he has found, will truly change his life forever (so he says).

“It’s a crime scene, a bloody fucking crime scene.”

He whispers to himself, clutching the sheets with a small patch of blood soaked into it, his body dropping it once he realises he’s still holding it. He looks around, as if he’s doing something he shouldn’t be and as if someone is going to catch him at this so called crime scene.

He walks out of his dorm bathroom quietly, eyes slightly wide as he enters his small bedroom, Y/N laying down on his bed chuckling at something she’s watching on her laptop that’s propped up on her thighs by a pillow.

She looks normal.

“Y/N.” Harry says, finally working up the courage to speak, he’s fidgety and he’s not looking at her properly, his eyes darting from her once she looks up at him.

“You okay? Y’look like you’ve seen a ghost-“

“I can’t go to prison.” He cuts her off, standing his ground as she looks at him as if he’s not speaking English, confusion laced on her features.

“I know … I know that this … us … is so great … so fucking great … but, I just … I just can’t go to prison for you!” He blurts out, slightly worried as she keeps staring at him.

“Harry, what on earth are you talking about? Why are you going to prison?” She laughs, watching as he shakes his head before kneeling down on the floor next to the bed where she’s sat.

“See that’s the thing, I am not going. You hear me? Whatever happens I will not go down for this. I’m sorry to throw you under the bus like this, but I just can’t.” He talks on and on, working himself up.

“What have I done? Harry, you’re not making sense, I’m worried. Is your concussion worse than we thought?” She’s so worried now, looking into his eyes as he just shakes his head.

“I found the evidence, the … the … sheets.” He sighs out, sounding as if he’s discovered her biggest secret.

“Harry-“

“I’ll visit you in prison I promise-“

“Harry!” She yells with a laugh, covering her hands over his as she brings him back out of whatever rant he was on.

“I got my period, I stained your sheets and I was going to wash them for you.” Harrys head whips up at her words, looking at her with a furrow in his brow.

“So you didn’t ki-“

“No, and no one’s going to prison.” She calms him down, trying to hide her laugh as he sighs in relief.

“Thank fuck, I thought I was about to be involved in something so bad.”

“It’s just my period, that’s all.” She kisses his forehead, his curls a mop on his head as she laughs quietly into them.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” He asks, she’s the one to sigh and get nervous now.

“Because I didn’t know if you’d want me around while I’m on it.” She admits, his head lifting up to look at her as she looks away from him.

“Heartbreaker, I always want to be around you. Besides, we can just whack down a towel and go at it as normal!” He says happily, causing her to roll her eyes as she laughs.

“Are you always thinking about sex?”

“With you, yes, of course.” He says as if it’s a well known fact amongst everyone.

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Dinner at the Hooks

Part one of ??; cca 1k words.

Mostly just disaster threesome and Huma flirting, ngl. They didn’t even get to the Jolly Roger yet.

For future reference: Hook kids’ mother is a siren and she’s very much trying to kill James Hook. Everyone but James Hook knows this. Hooks might or might not have adopted Claudine Frollo, I’ve got yet to decide. Also, Uma has a godly father because if Mal can, so can Uma. (It’s not Hades.)

I hope you enjoy!

Harriet slams open the door to the Tremaine salon: Seems like she’s in luck today. Anthony’s in the corner, combing through Ginny’s wet hair. How convenient.

She lets her eyes linger on them for just a heartbeat before glaring around the salon and barking a sharp „Out!“

Anthony glares at her, all disapproving, as if to say, „Don’t kick the customers out of my salon, Harriet.“

Well, too bad. She doesn’t care for his customers at all, and she’s prepared to show him so – the mirror on the wall looks a little too uncracked for her taste.

She narrows her eyes at him. Little effect, really, except for Ginny’s intrigued expression and her hand reaching out to his, as if to stop him from arguing, at which he huffs and turns up his eyes. Excellent, fucking finally.

„I said, out,“ Harriet snarls at the customers that unwisely didn’t take their leave yet and at the Tremaines she doesn’t care about.

Just as the doors click, she stalks closer to Anthony and Ginny, and slams her hand into the chair behind her shoulder; Ginny straightens just a little bit.

„My parents are organising a dinner, a family get together,“ she says, „You’re both invited.“

She looks Anthony into the eyes – he’s crossed his arms over his chest and is still glaring, that bastard, – and then tilts up Ginny’s face with her pointer finger to get her attention more surely.

„Meet me by the Jolly Roger at eight.“

That should about do it.

„Did you really just kick out everyone out of the salon just to ask us out?“ Anthony asks with a hint of disbelief. She scoffs at him: The fact that she did exactly that doesn’t mean that she’ll admit to it, obviously.

„I’m trying to be nice here,“ she says instead, „Would you prefer it if I kidnapped you?“

„I would,“ pipes up Ginny.

„We know, Sunflower,“ sighs Anthony as he slides his hand onto her shoulder and curls his fingers in just slightly. Harriet smirks at the sight a bit.

„Come,“ she says, „At eight to the Jolly Roger, my whole family will be there.“ She herself isn’t sure if that’s a threat or not. „I’ll be waiting for you.“

She decides it probably is a threat.

She shows off her teeth in a smile before leaning down and kissing Ginny – she lets the kiss linger for once as she drags her fingertips over her jaw. Eventually, she tilts Ginny’s head back again and straightens up to face Anthony.

She steps closer and kisses him too, sliding her hand over the back of his neck. „Don’t you dare stand me up, Tremaine,“ she breathes into his lips.

„How could I, Captain?“ he asks, as he pulls back „With such convincing arguments that you give.“

She cackles, and as she walks away, she shows him the middle finger.

She hopes they come.

………

„Harry,“ Uma opens the door to his rarely-used cabin and leans on the frame. She smirks as he turns to her, make-up half-done and a gold chain dangling down his chest. „The dinner at your parents’ starts soon.“

In about quarter an hour, really, but the Hooks consider time a suggestion at best and showing up late is more fashionable, anyway.

„Thank you, love,“ he tells her, twirling the eyeliner pen in between his fingers, „Give me few moments to finish getting ready?“

The best part is, she could say no and he’d drop everything and go as he is now, just because she said it. She smirks at the thought. But:

„Of course,“ she says instead, „We want you to look your best, don’t we?“ (And if by „we“ she means mostly herself, well, who can blame her? It’s only her right.)

„Of course, Uma,“ he smirks too and saunters closer, „Thank you.“ With that, he draws her closer by the waist and kisses her lips. She sinks into the kiss for just a moment before lightly pushing him off her.

„Now, don’t get handsy, Hook.“

„My apologies, my Captain,“ he puts his hands up in mock surrender, „But I needed some of your lipstick, you see, to finish off the look.“ His eyes shine as he winks at her.

„You could’ve just asked to borrow it.“

„Mmm, but it’s more fun this way, Captain, don’t you think?“

Instead of an answer, she steps closer to him again, and, grabbing him by his shirt, brings him in for another kiss. There’s his answer.

„Good Gods, they’re at it again!“ sounds through the ship and Uma suddenly remembers she didn’t close the door. Well, too late now.

„There’s children around!“ protests Bonny from down the hall with exasperated scandalisation.

„There are none!“

„There are none yet, Captain,“ sing-songs Bonny, „Now, if you two keep at it…,“

„Bonny!“ Uma’s time to be scandalised – this is what her own medic is doing! The audacity! And meanwhile, Harry just laughs, pulling her closer to him yet.

„This ship needs thicker fucking walls,“ she mutters only for him to hear.

He laughs again: „I think our crew would pay a decent treasure for thicker walls, love.“

Too bad they live on a cast-off island, isn’t it? She pouts and crosses her arms and isn‘t all that much surprised when Harry kisses her hair and leads her to his shelf where some jewellery and trinkets lay carelessly scattered. Most of these pieces she has never seen, which means he just got it (stole it) recently – he tends to just give the jewels to her and borrow it later when he’s in the mood for anything other than his usual assembly of rings and earrings.

And really: „Paid a little visit to the Westergaards this morning,“ he says, „Most of their stuff was gaudy, but these looked passable. Anything caught your fancy, darling?“

„Hmm, I don’t know yet,“ she says, picking up a necklace and letting it fall back down in between her fingers, „I think I need to look at these first. Examine it. Go finish getting ready in the meantime.“

„As you command.“

In the end, Uma picks a new ring, a bracelet and a decorative comb that Harry weaves into her hair immediately; sure, they might have left five minutes after the dinner was supposed to start, but their entrance is going to be showstopping.

[around1302]

XV. COMPLICATED FREAK

SPARE PARTS: a series (15/20)

EN ROUTE TO AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

(W) strong language, mention of drug use, sliight fingering

a/n a short one (only 2.8k) because i’ve just been so damn busy with work and uni. the next part will make up, i promise.

THIRD PERSON’S POV

Amelia and Charlie quickly discovered their only moments in complete solitude are early, early mornings on the bus. Amelia’s finally gotten used to the ass-crack of dawn starts, and with the promise of an uninterrupted hour with her best friend, she’s more than fine disrupting her beauty sleep to sneak out her and Niall’s usual hotel room.

Charlie suggested their time together be spent in her hotel room – where she doesn’t have to drag herself up and out at 4AM. Yet Amelia insisted if she wasn’t allowed to ride on the band’s glamorous bus, she’d at least gossip in it when she can.

This time, it’s about Niall. Specifically Amelia finally telling Niall she’s been let off from her job in London, and that this styling gig has essentially been her lifeline.

Niall wasn’t mad she lost her job. He could never be angry at her for something like that; he was only upset she didn’t tell him sooner. Charlie, however, ever the pessimist about their relationship (Amelia was hers before Niall fell for her at Charlie’s 18th) decided the only valuable solution is to,

“Break up. I’m just putting it out there.”

“You always put that out there. You said that when he stole my cereal that time.”

“And I still stand by that being a valid reason. Look, it wouldn’t be awkward. If anything, it would be better because–”

“We’re not breaking up. Now, distract me. How’s your crazy, insane love life I’m vicariously living through?”

Charlie’s heart plummets. That’s the last thing she wants to think about. For years, the most complicated aspect of her so called ‘love life’ was guy who wanted nothing romantically more than to occasionally fuck her. Now, after all this time, that same guy suddenly wants her and, well. Harry.

“It’s not crazy,” Charlie mumbles, not wholly convinced. “Except…” she chews at her lip, toying with the idea of saying it aloud for the first time.

After their last encounter, and the consequential waking up beside him for the first time, Charlie decided to bury herself deep into a cosy pit of denial. Which was quickly dug out when Harry smiled at her in rehearsals, and didn’t call her princess once during their last stop in Antwerp. It’s starting to get difficult to deny that something is going on.

“Except…?” Amelia prompts, pausing as she ties her short locks up.

Charlie heaves a sigh. Maybe saying it aloud would confirm its ridiculousness.

“I think Harry likes me.”

She expected a theatre-worthy gasp, a screech, even a thump across her arm. Any indication that Amelia finds the insinuation as insane as Charlie does. And, yet…

“Yeah, no shit.” Amelia scoffs. Scoffs.

Taken aback, Charlie frowns. “What?”

Amelia’s lips twitch, humour lacing her tone as she takes in her clearly oblivious best friend. She looks a picture of shock, a hint of betrayal even. Amelia’s no dummy, however. She knew the moment Charlie confessed to her and Louis about their whole deal that it would never end as simply as Charlie believed it would. 

“Look, remember when you came out to be in year eight?”

“... yeah?”

“Remember what I said to you?”

Despite it being nearly ten years ago, Charlie doesn’t have to wrack her brain for that memory. It’s crystal clear. After school, a thirteen year old Charlie wrung her hands on her purple bedding whilst trying to pluck up the courage to come out to her best friend who, well.

“You said you already knew.”

“Exactly.”

Charlie shakes her head. “What does that have to do with anything, though?”

“This is like that, Char. I knew years before you told me about your bisexuality.”

“What are you saying?”

“That it is so painfully obvious that Harry likes you, dude.”

“What the fuck?” Charlie grows defensive. Denial. “No it’s not.”

“Obvious to everyone but you, apparently.” Amelia mumbles under her breath, already spotting how quickly Charlie’s defence is going to spiral into a one sided argument.

“Oh shut up, it is not.” Charlie stands, wringing her hands (much like a younger version of herself) and beginning to pace while Amelia throws her head back – regretting ever saying anything. “Harry’s hated me for the last six years, he’s only acting a bit nicer because he’s banging me.”

Amelia puffs out an exhale, tipping her head back to watch Charlie go back and forth.

“What do little boys do when they have a playground crush?”

“That is bullshit misogyny fed to girls so they grow up thinking men being mean is a form of affection.”

“True… but it kinda applies here, babe.”

“Harry does not like me.” Charlie collapses back onto the sofa, sending a cushion flying.

“I thought you said he did?” Amelia lilts, amused.

“Well, I’ve changed my mind.”

Amelia chuckles lightly to herself, grabbing her phone and standing.

“Where are you going?” Charlie snaps, tone still accidentally stuck in rebuttal mode.

“It’s 5AM, I have to go to my shitty bus.” Amelia pushes her sunglasses onto her face, biting her bottom lip behind a wide smile. “See you in Amsterdam, hope you’re ready to get mashed out of your mind!” She calls as she leaves, shedding a ray of blinding light onto the bus before slamming the space back into silence.

Charlie grabs a pillow, and screams into it.

The bus journey to Amsterdam is just under two hours, but everyone heads straight to the beds upon boarding to get a few extra hours of kip before the day ahead: knowing full well the next few hours will consist of weed, weed, and more weed.

Charlie, however, is wide awake.

She’s never been one for naps, anyway, but her conversation with Amelia has her wracked. Sure, she was developing suspicions of her own. Hell, Harry practically admitted it in their bar argument in Paris. But she could tuck herself away safely in thinking she was simply overthinking everything; for Amelia to say it’s obvious is shit to the fan. 

So she leaves her bed, returning to the living area to grab a herbal tea and maybe get some piece of mind. She doesn’t want the guys’ day to be ruined by the drug inevitably heightening her anxiety.

Except the literal source of her worries is sat right there, on the very sofa her and Amelia were debriefing on, strumming Niall’s guitar and humming something softly to himself.

Charlie couldn’t completely identify why, but she nearly melts at the sight of him. Sweatpants and an accompanying black hoodie, his hair tied back into his usual bun par a few stray curls fighting their way to his nape, ringless fingers pressed against the guitar neck as he concentrates. Something about him being there eased her nausea, despite him also being the perpetrator. 

At the door opening and closing, Harry looks up, brows furrowed and pick between his teeth as his fingers and harmonising halts.

“Sorry,” Charlie quickly feels embarrassed, like she’s been caught out despite only being stood there for all of five seconds. “I just came out for some tea.”

Harry’s features soften, his own stomach flipping at the mere presence of her.

“Sure.” He starts to prop Niall’s guitar up, ever careful of the years old paint job the whole band were under strict instructions to not mess up, but Charlie wastes no time in rushing over to see what he was doing.

“Whatcha’ writing?”

“Nothing– hey,” Harry reaches for Charlie after she snatches the notebook on the coffee table, quickly turning her back to read it, “give that back.”

Harry’s stomach goes from flipping to sinking while he stands, towering over Charlie to try and grab the pages back – but she’s quick, hugging it to her chest as she rushes to stand on the sofa.

“If I’m going to be eventually singing this to thousands of people I want to know know if it’s shit before I’m up there.” Charlie teases, ignoring the way Harry tries to plead with his eyes to give it back. He crosses his arms, accepting his fate as Charlie lifts the pad up to the ceiling and reads it from above her. 

She got wrapped up in somebody else,

I'm wrapped up stuck in love with myself.

I never saw this coming around,

But I miss her skin on me now.

Huh, Charlie thinks, this isn’t as terrible as expected.

Tip of my tongue she's pulling my hair.

I do what she wants anywhere,

Back seat of the car and up in the air.

Charlie gulps. Up in the air?

Turned up too late one too many times,

Bad choice of words in my alibi.

Charlie begins to sink, the notebook coming down to a height Harry could easily grab it from, but he barely notices. He’s too busy studying Charlie’s face – trying to read her mind, worry bouncing from bone to bone. 

Sure, he didn’t say her name – but he knows she’s not stupid.

“Charlie–”

“This is good stuff, Harry,” Charlie doesn’t look up, her eyes glued on the words, heart thumping so hard against her ribs she’s sure it’s audible. “Rachel?”

Harry’s tongue pokes his cheek. Rachel?

“Charlie.” He deadpans, his voice heavy.

“What?” Charlie sniffs, straightening her back and trying to force humour into her tone as she finally looks at him. That makes her falter, but she keeps on the straight and narrow. “She’s a lovely girl. I’m sure she’d appreciate this… can we call it a love song? What’s this, tip of my tongue–”

“Quit being a dick.” Harry finally grabs the pad back, throwing it back onto the coffee table beside his pen and the pick he stole from Louis. Charlie jumps down from the sofa, hovering as Harry collapses on the opposing one, rubbing his face in his hands.

“It’s genuinely a good song,” Charlie kicks his feet, forcing him to look at her.

“You think?” Maybe she couldn’t tell it was about her, Harry starts to tell himself.

“Mhm,” Charlie flicks the kettle on by the small stove, ransaking the cupboards for the green tea she was bullied for bringing but is beyond grateful for now. “For the next album?”

If I pretend I didn’t clock something weird, Charlie thinks, then nothing weird happened.

Harry stands, Charlie’s back to him as she makes her tea. HIs eyes rake over her properly for the first time since she stepped in the room; she’d changed into sweats to try and nap, and his t-shirt – fuck, his t-shirt. He never wants it back.

Playing with fire, he grabs Charlie’s waist. She jolts at the contact, her breath catching in her throat, her gut tightening. But she doesn’t move. She lets him tuck his chin over her shoulder, watching her hands work to pour the water, to sugar the tea, to stir the bag.

The longer she lets him stay there, the bolder he gets.

Harry wraps his arms around her torso completely now, slightly rocking them as he nuzzles his head in the crook of her neck. Despite the touch being all too domestic, Charlie sinks into him – lets his fingers span her stomach, lets his lips graze her skin.

Although, “Harry, someone could walk in.”

“So?” He murmurs against her shoulder, his fingers trailing lower. Her breath hitches again.

“Harry…” She warns softly, but she doesn’t stop him.

His fingers tease the edge of her sweatpants over the material of his shirt, the one she wears without a second thought anymore, because ‘its comfy.’ He lifts the tee, grazing her bare abdomen, now. Fingers tracing the ANGEL tattoo that resides there.

“Is this okay?” He asks, lips closer to her ear now. Charlie closes her eyes, tilting her head back to his shoulder. She turns her head, eyes level with his lips – red and plump and so deliciously kissable – while nodding. 

Before his hand slips into her joggers, he leans his head down to catch her lips in a soft kiss. Nearly chaste, but with the way Charlie snakes her hand round to his nape to deepen it, that doesn’t last long and soon Harry’s fingers are sinking into Charlie’s pants.

She gasps into his mouth when his middle finger makes contact with her clit, tapping with a slowness that’s nearly agonising before circling harder, faster. Trying to keep quiet, Charlie bites her lip, letting her head fall onto his shoulder completely while she grips the counter with her free hand. Her fingers sink into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging his bun into a mess, but Harry wouldn’t notice a bullet right now.  

The door, however, might be an issue.

“Hey– oh shit.”

“Fuck,” Harry quickly moves away from Charlie, the two of them scampering to get decent again (the boner Harry was harbouring no longer hidden by Charlie’s back) while Liam turns, too. All three of them as flustered as the other.

“I’m, uh, shit, sorry,” Liam doesn’t know what to say, what to think. He’s not even certain he saw what he saw. His fingers rake his hair as he stands awkwardly by the door, unsure of whether to go back to the beds or stay stationary in this Hell.

“Liam, it’s fine, it’s our fault.” Charlie hurries to shake it off, to try and rationalise.

Harry’s still trying to find a way to hide his hard-on when Liam turns, settling for a cushion that only emphasises the issue. Liam’s eyes flicker to the obnoxious lips Charlie bought for the bus last tour that cover Harry’s groin. He squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“We can explain.” Harry starts, uncertain of how to finish.

“I don’t… you don’t need to explain… I didn’t even really see any–”

“Harry and I are sleeping together.” Charlie blurts. Harry sends her a sideways glare as if to say what the fucking fuck?

Liam exhales sharply, hands on his hips now. “Right. Okay. Alright, that explains a lot, actually.”

“That… what? Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Look,” Harry continues, “we’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell the guys. We just think it would complicate things, and–”

“Louis knows.”

“What?”

“I may as well get it out now,” Charlie folds and unfolds her arms, entering a space of panic. Harry throws his cushion away, erection long gone. “I told Amelia, obviously, and then she told Louis. Well, kind of. Turns out he did see us that one time.”

“Oh, great. So Niall knows, too, then.”

“No, she only told Louis. Amelia wouldn’t tell Niall.”

“Charlie, come on.” Harry cocks his head. Charlie glances at Liam for help, but he only shrugs. Who was she kidding?

“Shit,” Charlie murmurs. “Niall knows.”

“Wait, so,” Liam waves his arms about, “how long have you guys actually been fucking?”

The pair spoke at the same time.

“I don’t know.”

“Since London.”

“Since London?” Liam splutters. “You do realise how stupid this is, right?”

“Yes, but–”

“Why is it stupid?” Harry barks. 

“Because you guys hate each other, so when it inevitably goes wrong, the whole band’s fucked.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Harry defends, quickly enough to make Charlie frown at him.

“Could’ve sworn this door was sound proof." Tired brogue suddenly enters the scene, a sleepy Niall walking into the argument whilst rubbing his eyes. “What’s the fuss?”

Before Charlie or Harry have the chance to explain themselves, Liam steps into his role as appointed band-dad and accusingly points at the pair.

“Did you know about this?”

“About what?” Niall heads over to Charlie’s untouched tea, grabbing the mug and taking a sip before gagging at the fact it’s herbal, not English. Charlie rolls her eyes, taking back the cup. 

“Them!” Liam sounds like he’s going to implode.

“Oh, that? Yeah, Lia told me ages ago.” Niall confirms it. Amelia’s a fucking tattletale.

“Jesus, so everyone knows.” Harry groans into his hands, sinking onto the sofa. 

“What do you think to it all?” Liam asks Niall.

“The fuck’s going on out here? Mother’s meeting?” Louis joins the party now, and so Charlie collapses beside Harry in defeat.

"This is what we get for you being all 'so? who cares if anyone walks in?'" Charlie mutters to Harry.

"Fuck off, you were enjoying it." Harry mutters back.

It was to be expected, really. They would be caught out at some point, especially with how reckless they were. Fingered while making tea, really? If anything right now, she wants to yell at Harry. Then at herself for losing herself so easily in him.

“Just discussing how Charlie and Harry have apparently been banging since the beginning of tour.”

“Not the beginning beginning–”

“London is the beginning.” Liam cuts Charlie’s protests off.

“London? You didn’t tell me it was that far back.”

“I thought you said Amelia told Louis?” Harry turns to Charlie.

“Oh, fucking Hell!” Charlie explodes. “Yes, me and Harry have been sleeping together. So fucking what? I’ve seen you all snort cocaine off of the same stripper’s ass in Vegas at Louis’ 21st, there has been far worse done in this band so I’d appreciate it if we’d all just move on!”

“Jesus, Charlie.” Niall mumbles. “I didn’t do it off her ass.”

“Yeah, and she was actually a lovely lady–”

“I don’t care!” Charlie stands. “We all know, we all are shocked, now let’s get on with the fucking day. I’m going to bed.”

Just as Charlie braces the door to be slammed, she remembers one acute detail.

“And no one tell Zayn.”

taglist: @lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

[justhere4kpop]

Chapter 10: Part 2

w/c: 1114

(+18!!! Smut Warning)

I showed up at their dorms, it was probably about 2am. Yes I know I’m crazy for still being awake but I work long hours editing photos and things. I have a lot to do for these crazy guys. I made sure to text Yunho I was here so I didn’t knock too loud and wake someone up, not that they would mind but I didn’t need to disturb anyone’s sleep schedule. The dark brown door opened up and Yunho stood there a shy smile on his face, typical hair, you know….what wasn’t typical was the fact that there was absolutely no shirt in sight, the only thing this man had on was his black sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips.

“Uh…hi.” I whispered staring at my shirtless boyfriend.

“Thank you for coming over.” he pulled me in with a quick hug and inhaled deeply.

“Did you just sniff my hair?” I poked him lightly.

“No, just…I’m sorry………..Movie?” he changed the subject and moved us to the couch.

He turned on a Harry Potter movie, but he also kept fidgeting and he was getting touchy, his hand was on my inner thigh, he was leaning on my shoulder giving it light pecks when he could. 

“Yun? You gonna actually tell me why I’m here? I know I didn’t come over here to watch a Harry Potter movie at 2am because you definitely wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important.”

“It’s not important.”

“Yunho…rule number one?” I shifted so I was facing him and he just leaned in and kissed me.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you baby.” he sighed holding my face. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Yu, are you telling me you had a wet dream?” I chuckled aware of him pressing into me slightly.

“I’m sorry.” he sighed.

“Honestly I’m flattered.” I smiled. “I uh…didn’t know you thought about me like that.”

“This….isn’t the first time.” he blushed. “But I couldn’t….No matter what I did I couldn’t help it.”

“That bad huh? Maybe you shouldn’t have worn those sweatpants.”

“Huh? What’s wrong with my sweatpants?” he frowned.

“Absolutely nothing.” I kissed him and leaned forward, he pulled my leg over his lap so I was straddling him, he practically moaned at just the pressure. It wasn’t until now I could gauge how hard he was, he was definitely having a good dream.

“Fuck.” he whimpered and dragged my hips lightly across his lap. “Baby.”

“Yu” I looked at him and held his wrist. “Everyone’s here…we can’t…they don’t want to hear it.”

“I really don’t care.” he groaned. “About them listening…I care about your opinion please don’t get the wrong idea baby.”

“I got it Goober.” I carded my fingers through his hair. “It’s late Yunho, as much as I want to-” I picked his head up from where it hung. “And trust me I do. It’s late, you have work at 7am.”

“I’ll be okay.” he nodded.

“Let me just help you, after all, I owe you part 2.” I smiled and kissed him. “Besides you don’t want our real first time to be some booty call on the couch to a movie we aren’t even watching. Let me take care of you again.”

“You always do.” he smiled and let go of my hips.

I slid off his lap and onto my knees in front of him. I untied those cursed sweatpants that were now taunting me. He lifted his hips up and I slid down the waistband to his calves. Holy Fuck….I don’t know whether to be concerned he wasn’t wearing underwear or worry about how badly my jaw is gonna hurt tomorrow.

“Cat got your tongue pretty girl?” he smirked suddenly full of confidence.

“Shit maybe it’s my birthday too.” I leaned forward bringing my hand up to wrap around the base of his hard cock. I gave it a few pumps watching his head fall back and the tip stand up straighter. “Damn you still growing big boy?”

“All for you baby.” he hissed feeling my hand squeeze him gently. “Fuck your hand feels so much better than mine.” he whispered trying desperately to not let anyone else know.

I tilted my head to let out a few kitten licks on his tip, the way he jerked forward when I did so tells me he’s been pent up for a while. I finally opened my mouth to bring him in, oh yeah my jaw is so gonna be sore tomorrow, I’ve gotten just past the tip and I can feel my lips stretching around him, okay breathe through your nose and relax. I slid down further until he almost hit the back of my throat.

“Mingi know you’re so good at this?” he chuckled. “God.”

I pulled off him with a lewd pop. “Trust me I know how to take care of my baby.” I winked. “He lets out the sweetest little noises trying to be quiet sometimes.” 

“Show me how you take care of him then.” he pushed my head slightly, he was testing a boundary, his jealousy was showing. 

Yunho was jealous, he’d never hurt me and he knows how much I care about him, but in this moment I was his, no one else.

“That’s it baby.” he rasped and pushed my head lightly. “Come on good girl, you can take it, I know you can.” 

I relaxed my jaw further and he finally entered my throat, I initially had gagged around him fuck he’s big, he and Mingi both. Damn…What have I gotten myself into.

“Fuck just like that.” he smiled and snapped a few photos when I looked up at him. “Shit you’re gonna make me cum.”

I swallowed around him and sank as far down as I comfortably could. My jaw burned at this point but I couldn’t stop, the look on his face, it said ���You’re mine.” in the best way possible. I didn’t know he was this vocal either. He rubbed the side of my jaw and helped me relax it just as his hips began to buck up slightly chasing his own high.

“Baby, right there.” he groaned and held me still as he came hotly down the back of my throat. “Fuck fuck fuck.” he stilled and finally let go of my hair. I swallowed around him one last time making him jump and yelp a little at the sensitivity. I pulled off and helped him pull up his pants.

“You okay?” he reached over and rubbed my cheek.

“Mmhmm.” I nodded still catching my breath. “I don’t usually swallow.” I rasped out, my throat sore.

“Happy Birthday to me.” he chuckled.

~~~~~~~

~Prev

a/n: I got a little carried away while writing....I promise there is already a Mingi focus chapter brewing, also I hope I implied it correctly that this isn't the first time they've fooled around, any of them. My story isn't meant to be a step by step timeline, it'll jump around and through their relationship.

taglist: @legohwas, @gxlden-bxbyy

[yourslarry]

hello, any fics recommendations? some of your favourite ones?

there’s a lot more I would like to include but I need to leave something for the next time 😇

Grupie Love - Louis is a rock star on a world tour and Harry is a regular attendee. They could never work.

daydream déjá vu - Struggling with bills due to the cost of living increasing, Harry takes on a new side hustle: a spicy content creator. Gaining popularity rather quickly, she’s now making extra cash and living life comfortably.

One night, she’s preparing to film when her best friend Louis barges into her bedroom, looking for his iPad for work.

technicolor - When the small town of Twin Lakes begins experiencing a string of serial murders, a team of detectives is called in to help. Louis is the head of the team and meets a hard-headed psychic who everyone else seems to believe is the one who will solve the case.

Louis isn't so sure.

sleeping on our problems - Louis sleeps with Harry and they have more than just catching feelings to worry about.

Mark my word (we gon' be alright) - oblivious Harry as the pack leader, a pining Louis as his second-in-command, and an entourage of friends and family who are a little too good at keeping their mouths shut.

Sugar at Night - With a year left before he completes his degree, a wonderful fiancé, and a baby coming soon, life is going exceptionally well for Harry Styles.

But, the truth always has a way to unravel itself, doesn’t it?

So, what do you do when the person you fell in love with is not the person you thought they were?

holding onto heartache - Harry and Louis' relationship start off as something causal as Louis finalizes breaking his bond and marriage to his Omega.

Harry develops feelings for Louis and thinks Louis might feel the same but when Louis tells Harry he wants to give his marriage a try again, Harry doesn't reveal how he feels.

Nor does he tell Louis that he is pregnant with his kid.

They happen to meet again a few years later and Harry can't seem to run away anymore, even from his feelings.

Given a Chance - Louis and Harry run into each other five years after One Direction ends and learn how to love each other again. Featuring: Reggie as the overweight labrador, Niall as Louis’ last grip on reality, and Nowheresville, North Carolina as the setting for Louis’ worst nightmare to come true.

My English Love Affair - Harry writes a song about his English love affair and Louis sleeps with someone in White Eskimo and all he gets is a stupid song written about him.

A Few Very Good Mistakes - Louis falls asleep in Harry's bar. Harry takes him home to hang out.

two feet standing on a principle - Harry is a famous fashion model and Louis works at the mall, nobody knows they broke up two weeks ago.

Fall At My Door - A-list actor Harry Styles and award-winning musician Louis Tomlinson have an acquaintances-with-benefits relationship, so whenever their busy professional lives happen to land them in the same city, they meet up. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.

And that’s all it is. Until it isn’t.

hush. - au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

borrow the moonlight - Louis and Harry broke up three years ago. The last thing Louis expects to see when he’s sent to help a guest is Harry, 3000 miles away from where he’s supposed to be.

sometimes a fantasy - There’s nothing to complain about when Harry’s walking around their flat with his cock swinging about, nothing to complain about when Harry’s pressing himself up against Louis’ naked backside when he’s reaching for a mug in their cupboards, and nothing to complain about when Harry’s got his hand firm on Louis’ arse when they’re cuddling on the couch.

So, in reality, it’s really fucking weird, and Louis knows that.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it.

what it feels like - “Okay, right. Aren’t you straight?” Harry was straight. Unless he somehow lied to the entire internet about how much he likes pussy, he was straight.

“A good time is a good time. A hole is a hole. What does it matter that I’m straight?”

Louis’ knee wobbled. Barely. Everything was fine.

“That doesn’t sound straight to me.”

Harry groaned and tossed his head back. He looked more comfortable in Louis’ office than he did, swiveling back and forth. “What does it matter that I want to have sex with you? You’re pretty, like a girl, and you moan like one, too. It’s your fault, not mine.”

[stonedregulus]

↓ ↓ master list ↓ ↓

⋆┊stand alone wips┊⋆

Never Let You Go

Rating: T Ship: James/Regulus Chapters: 1/? Word Count: 4.9k Summary:

Parent Trap but make it Jegulus. OR The time James and Regulus came up with a stupid idea so that they’d never have to see each other again.

Your Mess Is Mine

Rating: E Ship: James/Regulus, Barty/Regulus Chapters: 1/3 Word Count: 3.2k

Summary:

For Cece: Who may or may not have inspired this entire story by taking a bite out of a stranger’s banana on the train. Not a euphemism.

Until You’re in My Arms Again (Remember Me)

Rating: E Ship: Harry/Ron Chapters: 6/? Word Count: 32.6k Summary:

Three years after the Battle at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry are trying to figure out their feelings for each other without ruining their friendship.

Tell Me Pretty Lies

Rating: E Ship: Evan/Regulus/Barty/James, Sirius/Remus, Hugo/Noah Chapters: 3/15 Word Count: 24k Summary:

“James, I love you, but you’re a fucking idiot,” Remus said, crossing his arms.

⋆┊series wips┊⋆

Storm!verse:

With You I’d Dance in a Storm

Rating: E Ship: James/Regulus Chapters: 13/20 Word Count: 92.1k Summary:

James is like the sun. He shines down on everyone he meets, helping them feel warm and happy, helping them grow and thrive, and yet he has no idea how much that means to everyone he touches—he has no idea how dreary it gets when he's not there. But when the clouds shift, and he's able to shine through all the shit the universe has put in his way, he brings people back to life. Regulus wishes he was like that. But he's not. Not even close. No one needs him. — The reason sex ed was implemented at Hogwarts.

I Have Always Been A Storm

Rating: E Ship: Euphemia/Walburga Chapters: 1/3 Word Count: 1.4k Summary:

“Mum?” “You know…” she pauses, pursing her lips as if she’s thinking through her words carefully. “I knew someone once who made all the wrong choices. She made them out of self-preservation, not because she cared about anyone else. In the end, it only tore her from all the people she ever truly loved.” ☆★☆★☆ “I know you like I know my own mind, Walburga Black. So you can try to hide from me and your emotions all you want, but I still see them. I still see you. I know you.”

⋆┊completed multichapters┊⋆

Unexpected Visitors

Rating: E Ship: James/Regulus Chapters: 6 Word Count: 9.6K Summary:

Walburga and Orion show up for Christmas. Regulus aims to please his gaslighting mother while also attempting to stand up for himself. — Walburga finally rises from her chair seething as James sneaks past them to join the kids in the garage, “I have done nothing but love you and want what’s best for both of you, but you think I’m so hard on you! You have no idea what it’s like to grow up not good enough for your own mother. I may have been hard on you both but it was out of love!” “Oh? We don’t know what it’s like to never be good enough for our own mother? I’m sorry, did you blackout for our entire childhood?”

⋆┊oneshots┊⋆

Prove It

Rating: E Ship: Regulus/James Word Count: 7.8k Summary:

“What are you doing here?” A voice asked. It was rough and raw, as if the person had been recovering from a cold, and even though they were clearly at an advantage holding James at gunpoint, there was something gentle and curious about it. “Just doing my job,” James responded easily, attempting to turn his head slightly to get a look at the person holding the gun against his head, but the metal stayed pressed firmly against his temple, not allowing him to move more than an inch.

Something of Mine

Rating: M Ship: Barty/Evan Word Count: 5.3k Summary:

“You didn’t want to get clean for him?” he asks. “There’s only one person I’d ever get clean for.” Oh, fuck off. Fuck completely off. “Don’t say that to me,” Evan says because the only other way he can think to respond is to scream directly into a pillow, which he can’t really do at the moment. “I’m serious.” “You don’t get to do this, Barty.” “Why not?” “It’s mean. You’re being mean,” Evan’s voice hitches in his throat, and he can feel hot tears building in his eyes

Baby, Kiss It Better

Rating: M Ship: Darco/Harry Word Count: 7.7k Summary:

HD Sudsfest 2022 Prompt: Character A needs help from Character B, their physical therapist/sports therapist, to take an ice bath. Character A is extremely reluctant/complain-y about it. 🫧🫧🫧 Harry has been avoiding his team’s athletic healer for five years now, but a broken ankle requires him to ask for help from his former boarding school enemy, Draco. Has Draco changed? Have Harry’s feelings about him?

I Stayed There

Rating: M Ship: Barty/Evan Word Count: 2.1k Summary:

“I can’t lose you again.” & “Don’t raise your fucking voice at me.” + Rosekiller — It’s like he’s been transported back in time to that place he tends to haunt when he’s left alone with nothing but his thoughts. When Evan told Barty he’d found someone. When he told Barty he was happy. When Evan left him there in that restaurant. When Barty realized he’d been living in a fantasy of his own design thinking the boy he’d loved, loved him back.

Sorry About the Blood in Your Mouth

Rating: E Ship: James/Regulus Word Count: 1.7k Summary:

Regulus kills Lily and then he and James fuck covered in her blood. That’s literally it.

Broom Closets

Rating: M Ship: Regulus/James Word Count: 626 Summary:

James and Regulus find an empty broom closet

Unobservant As Ever

Rating: T Ship: Sirius/Remus/James Word Count: 471 Summary:

Sirius, Remus, and James are chaperones for the Yule Ball.

Snow

Rating: M Ship: Teddy/James II Word Count: 1.6k Summary:

James and Teddy meet for a blind date

Raw Geggs

Rating: M Ship:Sirius/Remus Word Count: 1.1k Summary:

Wolfstar and toddler Harry make Christmas cookies.

Onesie

Rating: M Ship: Sirius/Remus, James/Regulus Word Count: 840 Summary:

Regulus and James have a surprise for Sirius and Remus.

It Was Only A Kiss

Rating: T Ship: Harry/Ron Word Count: 834 Summary:

Ron & Harry celebrate New Years Eve