#I’m not tagging shit this one’s relying on reblogs to get around

[infinitehyperfixations]

Europe's Most Wanted Thief

Part 2 of Ribbons and Steel

Ribbons and Steal: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Piotr faces the aftermath of his first interaction with Maya Durand and learns more about Europe's most wanted thief.

Story Tags: Slow Burn, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Language (mostly Wade)

Word Count: 4.6k

POV: Piotr

Note: Sorry that I haven't updated in a long time! 2023 was not a good year for me but I'm hoping that this year is better!

Comments and Reblogs are love!

Piotr prided himself on his ability to keep a level head in the most aggravating circumstances. He thought it was one of his best qualities. Everyone could rely on him to stay calm in the worst situations. He believed that there has to be at least one person that keeps their composure and Piotr was always more than happy to fill that role.

However, someone else would have to take his place as the “calmest person in the room” while Piotr dealt with his current predicament.

Piotr seethed as he glared at the opened skylight that Maya Durand had escaped through in the museum’s banquet hall. The thief had left the perfectly in tack window ajar as if to mock him on his failure. His outraged thoughts drowned out the police sirens and shouting reporters beyond the entrance doors. He could barely hear NTW’s frantic muttering as she tried to release him from the chain-like prison Maya Durand trapped him in. Only a couple of minutes had passed since her escape and the burning anger inside Piotr worsened with every passing second.

“Piotr!” NTW yelled in his face to pull him out of his furious haze. “I have been calling your name for the last minute!”

NTW nodded, deciphering Piotr’s muffled words as an apology while she tried to pull the cloth off his mouth.

“Anyway,” NTW huffed as she yanked on the tight fabric on his arm, “I was trying to tell you that the Professor is fine. He is currently trying to distract the press outside with Mr. Levine.”

Piotr only grumbled at the thought of the press finding out what happened with Maya Durand. It was inevitable that the X-Men, X-Force, and Wade would learn of the events that transpired but Piotr wanted to talk to them first before they saw it on the news. Piotr was nearly drowning in dread at the thought of Wade finding out before he returned to the mansion. The X-Men would forget about his fight with Maya Durand eventually, but Wade?

Piotr would never live this down.

NTW continued to tug on every strand of fabric with no avail. Piotr was grateful that she tried but even he could barely move in the cloth’s steel-like grip.

“Jesus Christ this shit is way too strong for me to take off,” NTW wheezed, rubbing her reddened fingers. “I think we’re going to need Logan’s claws to get you out of this.”

Before Piotr could think of an alternative plan, the fabric tangled around his body loosened fast enough for him to lose his balance. Piotr’s surprised yelp warned NTW to jump out of the way before he fell flat on his face with a loud bang.

While laying face down on the cold floor, Piotr reflected on the past few months - peaceful and uneventful months that now seemed like a distant memory - and wished he hadn’t taken them for granted. Staring at the scarlet silk that had bound him to the floor moments before did not help to extinguish his anger whatsoever. It only fueled his desire to catch Maya Durand and wipe that devious smirk off her face. He could already tell that the next few months would be the most infuriating of his life, but there was simply no way around it. One way or another, he was going to be the one to put that snarky thief in chains.

When Piotr did not immediately stand up, NTW cautiously stepped closer to him.

“You okay, Piotr?”

“I’m fine,” Piotr muttered, his voice muffled by the cold marble floor.

“You don’t sound like it.”

“I promise I am perfectly fine.”

NTW watched as Piotr stood up, letting the rest of the red fabric fall off of him. Every single piece pooled around his feet except for the one small piece that landed on his shoe - the one that Maya Durand wrapped around his head to keep his mouth shut. The image of Durand’s stupid smirk plagued his thoughts as he snatched up the cloth. With a sneer on his lips, Piotr shoved the material in his pocket for Hank to analyze in his lab. With any luck Hank might be able to figure out why Durand’s fabric was strong enough to hold him down.

Before Piotr could make his way to the museum’s entrance, James Levine threw the doors open to escape the hoards of reporters, flashing cameras, and shouts from police officers that tried to keep the rowdy crowd at bay. The Professor, who looked just as exhausted from dealing with the police and journalists as Levine, closely followed him.

"I see that you were released from Maya Durand's trap," James Levine said when he ran up to Piotr and NTW. "I was afraid that I was going to have to tell Miss Ba to get her briefcase."

Piotr and Ellie looked at Levine inquisitively and then at each other.

"Briefcase?"

"Yes, my toolkit, Mr. Rasputin," Miss Ba's cold voice came from behind him.

Piotr flinched at the sound of her voice before he quickly turned around to meet the assistant's harsh gaze. He wondered if she had the power to teleport because he had no idea how she managed to sneak behind him. Her face seemed to be permanently fixed to an unimpressed frown that wouldn't allow the mere emergence of a smile.

When Piotr finally broke the uncomfortable eye contact with Levine’s assistant, he noticed a large black briefcase she was holding at her side. His discarded suit jacket was draped over her arm, large enough to engulf her small frame.

“As Mr. Levine’s assistant, I must be prepared to protect him and his assets under any circumstances,” Miss Ba explained as she reached in her pocket to grab her ringing phone. Her frown deepened as she glanced at the screen. “That includes a visit from Europe’s most wanted thief…and a call from his relative whose diamond was just stolen.”

Miss Ba excused herself before answering the phone call. She kept the phone almost a foot away from her ear, the woman’s enraged screams audible even as the assistant moved to the opposite side of the room. If she was affected by the woman’s degrading shouts, she did not show it, her face as impassive as ever.

Levine sighed as he watched Miss Ba step aside. “I knew my aunt was going to be in hysterics when she found out about the diamond, but I thought I would have at least an hour to prepare.”

NTW looked up at a banner that advertised the Devil’s Treasure exhibit. “Your aunt owns the diamond?”

“Yes, I convinced her to lend it to the museum.” Levine ran a hand through his dark hair as he glanced from Miss Ba to the open skylight and the crumpled pile of red fabric in the middle of the floor. “I told her that the Devil’s Treasure would be safe and that no one - not even Maya Durand - would dare to attempt to steal it with an X-Man present.”

Levine glanced at Piotr hesitantly before clearing his throat.

“I guess I was wrong.”

Piotr clenched his hands as he took in a deep breath. Levine’s words only made his mood worse. He was an X-Man, he should have been able to stop a thief that controls fabric. He allowed himself to underestimate his opponent, a mistake he wouldn’t be repeating when it came to Maya Durand.

“Who is Maya Durand? How do you know her?” The Professor asked, turning his wheelchair to face Levine.

Levine barked out a laugh, but his amusement quickly faded as he looked between the others’ puzzled faces.

“You’re kidding right? Maya Durand? Europe’s most wanted thief? The woman that has become every billionaire and politician’s waking nightmare? You’ve never heard of her?”

Levine’s astonished look grew when the three mutants shook their heads. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that Piotr couldn’t make out.

“Of course they never heard of Maya Durand,” Miss Ba chided, somehow appearing next to Piotr without him noticing her. She narrowed her eyes at the X-Man as she handed her phone to Levine. “If they did, they might have actually prevented her from stealing the Devil’s Treasure.”

“Nyza,” Levine warned before extending his arm out apologetically. “Please forgive Miss Ba, she can be very…blunt at times.”

“No offense taken,” NTW said, giving Nyza a harsh glare.

Nyza Ba rolled her eyes before she moved closer to Piotr, holding out the jacket on her arm with an irritated look (which seemed to be her default facial expression).

“You may want to put this on,” Nyza suggested, gesturing to his shirt with a nod of her head.

Piotr nearly popped a blood vessel when he looked down at the state of his dress shirt. The seams were ripped open, the fabric was littered with tears of various sizes, and he was missing several buttons. It was a miracle that his shirt was still on his body. Even with his jacket, he would look like he had jumped through a paper shredder.

Just like his dignity, his clothes also fell victim to Maya Durand.

Once Piotr took his jacket, Nyza made her way to a nearby table, brushing aside the remnants of the ruined plates and champagne glasses to set her briefcase in its center . The latches of the briefcase clicked as the assistant opened it.

Piotr gawked at the sight of the neatly organized contents inside of the briefcase. There was a small collection of large, razor sharp knives, two pairs of hedge clippers, and various firearms with extra ammo clips next to them. Piotr realized that this must be the toolkit that Levine spoke of earlier. He grimaced at the thought of them using the knives and hedge clippers to cut him out of the trap.

“What’s that?” NTW asked, pointing at a gun with a small compartment filled with some sort of clear fluid underneath its barrel.

“A mini flamethrower,” Nyza said nonchalantly. “My sources say that Maya Durand has an intense fear of fire.”

Levine’s eyebrows knitted together as he sneered, “I told you to get rid of that.”

To Piotr’s surprise, Nyza’s face paled at the sight of Levine’s hardened gaze and her eyes grew wider as he towered over her small form.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nyza mumbled, reaching inside the briefcase to disassemble the weapon. She carefully disconnected the gun’s fluid compartment and tucked away the parts inside the briefcase.

Once she was done, Levine pulled out a tablet from the bottom of the briefcase. While he turned it on, Nyza closed the briefcase and moved to stand behind her boss, her normal judgemental look quickly sliding back over her features.

“I have Nyza keep a tablet with all of the information we have on Maya Durand. She has become quite a problem in Europe.”

Piotr reminded himself of the briefing the Professor gave on James Levine and his company on the way to the gala. While the company did produce machinery for medicine and entertainment, Drake Industries was primarily a tech company that specialized in security and weapons. It would not surprise him if the company had extensive records of criminals across the world.

“I wanted to ensure that local authorities knew whom they were dealing with if she showed up,” Levine explained, turning the tablet toward the mutants.

Piotr peered down at the tablet, which was currently displaying a mugshot of Durand. Much to Piotr’s displeasure, her signature smirk was firmly in place as she stared defiantly into the camera. The Professor gave Piotr a stern look as he tried to hide his frown at the sight of the prideful and mischievous glint in her eyes.

As he looked away from the infuriating picture, Piotr’s gaze fell on Levine’s face. There was a ghost of a smile on his face as his finger ran over Durand’s cheek. What unsettled Piotr even more was the way he was looking at her as if she was his next meal. His eyes wandered over her features with a possessive desire and longing that made Piotr’s stomach churn.

Weird.

“You may have this if you wish to pursue her,” Levine said, dropping the strange demeanor as he handed the tablet to the Professor.

“Don’t worry,” NTW asserted, nudging Piotr with her elbow. “We’ll make sure she’s put behind bars.”

Nyza scoffed at NTW’s promise and quickly silenced herself after receiving a harsh glance from her boss. Before NTW could make a scathing retort, Levine interjected to ease the tension in the air.

“It worries me that she has made an appearance in the states,” Levine stressed. “It may mean that she’s bored and wants to cause trouble here. If that’s the case, she is likely to make another appearance soon.”

Piotr nodded sharply. He was going to make Maya Durand regret crashing the gala. He would be the reason her obnoxious grin fell as he put her behind bars.

“Then she will have to face me the next time she shows her face.”

“And we will get that diamond back,” NTW promised.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, but the Devil’s Treasure is long gone,” Levine chuckled lightly. “By now Maya Durand will have given it to the person who hired her for the job.”

The sound of Levine’s ringing phone took away his attention. Groaning, he pulled the device from his pocket and looked at the three mutants apologetically.

“I’m afraid I will have to deal with my aunt now. Nyza has made arrangements for your car to pick you up discreetly behind the museum so you can avoid the press. I wish you the best of luck catching Miss Durand.”

Before turning to take the call, Levine nodded to each of the mutants, his gaze lingering on Piotr for a fraction longer than the others before he strode off, his aunt’s screeching following him as he headed for the museum door. Piotr tried to ignore the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, but something was…off about Levine. If stories from the other X-Men were anything to go by, people like Levine almost always had an ulterior motive when they involved themselves in the mutant world. And besides his involvement with mutants, it was odd that Levine didn’t seem upset about losing the multi-million dollar diamond to Durand. Piotr would have to keep his guard up.

“God, I am so glad that I’m not him right now,” NTW muttered as she and Piotr watched the door swing shut behind Levine. With a significantly colder nod to the group, Nyza Ba quickly followed her boss out of the museum, briefcase in hand as the door swung shut for the second time, leaving them alone in the event hall.

“You will wish you were when we see Wade back at mansion,” Piotr grumbled.

The Professor rolled his eyes, although the slight quirk of his lips hinted at his amusement at NTW’s pallid expression. While they followed the Professor to the museum’s rear exit, Piotr started to mentally prepare himself for the harassment he was going to receive from the X-Men and, much to his displeasure, from Wade. He knew NTW could withstand some playful jabs from the X-Men but he was certain he was going to have to take the brunt of Wade’s teasing so she wouldn’t send him through a wall.

For the sake of his sanity, Piotr hoped he was wrong.

-----

The car ride back to the X-Mansion was deathly silent. Piotr and Ellie turned off their phones to have a little bit of peace before they returned. Both of them refused to look through the tablet’s information on Maya Durand so they wouldn’t have to think about what had happened. The incident was surely on every single news channel by now. Even though Piotr did not have any social media profiles, he knew he couldn’t hide from the flood of tweets and memes of the ordeal with his students and Wade around. Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had at least a hundred memes and videos about his fight with Maya Durand from Wade waiting behind his phone’s black screen.

When they finally arrived at the mansion, the X-Men were waiting for them in the foyer. Their quiet muttering came to a sudden halt as they stepped through the door. Most of them glanced between the members of the haggard group hesitantly, clearly not wanting to provoke any lingering emotions from the gala. Logan, on the other hand, stood front and center with an amused grin plastered on his face. The X-Man seemed as if he was anticipating some form of entertainment. He did not have to say anything because Piotr knew exactly why Logan was giving him that look.

Piotr closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he released a deep sigh. “Where is he?”

The rapid footsteps from the hallway at the top of the staircase behind the X-Men gave him his answer. Wade bounded to the top of the staircase, waving his phone in the air with a wide smile on his face. Piotr’s frown deepened when Wade took notice of his ruined dress shirt.

“Damn, she really did fuck up your over glorified hall monitor ass, huh?” Wade chortled, sliding down the arm of the staircase with Nathan marching down the steps to follow him. “I cannot believe you got your ass handed to you by a person who controls fabric.”

“Shut up, dickhead,” NTW snapped while her hand formed into fists.

Wade simply ignored her and continued on with his jests. “Just be thankful that you don’t have Twitter because they are having a field day with this selfie of you and Maya-”

“Selfie?” Piotr interjected as his rage from the fight suddenly came back to him. “Show me.”

The sight of the selfie that Maya had taken of them when he was stuck in her trap made his blood boil. The Devil’s Treasure rested casually in her free hand, which was propped carelessly on his shoulder. Her glimmering eyes, perfect teeth, and victorious smile that shined brighter against her red lipstick only made his mood worse. Of course she looked gorgeous while Piotr was tied up with a tattered shirt.

Piotr clenched his fists tightly, “She is going down.”

Before Wade could say anything else, Nathan snatched his phone from him, sending him a harsh glare. He didn’t budge at Wade’s demands to release his phone. Piotr was reminded vividly of a parent taking a toy away from a misbehaving toddler as a punishment.

“You have been talking about this for hours,” Nathan seethed, putting Wade’s phone in his pocket. “I’m tired of hearing about it and I’m sure the Big Guy here is too. Besides, I bet she would kick your ass too.”

“You are no fun,” huffed Wade. “She would never beat me! I would just slice her little ribbons in half!”

“I wouldn’t underrate Miss Durand’s powers, Wade,” The Professor chastised, holding up the tablet that Levine had given him. “According to this, she’s a professional.”

Professor X motioned for all of them to follow him to the large council room that they used for meetings and debriefings. In the center of the room was a grand round table with enough seats to sit the X-Men and X-Force. The massive TVs on each wall of the room displayed different news stations that were all discussing the same thing: Maya Durand. Titles slowly crawled across the bottoms of the screens. Piotr read Breaking News: Maya Durand Strikes in the U.S., Maya Durand Steals The Devil’s Treasure, and X-Man Fails to Stop Mutant Thief before forcefully pulling his gaze away from the screens.

The Professor slid the tablet to the center of the table as everyone took their seats. The device’s screen flickered for a moment before it projected a hologram of Maya Durand’s file for all of them to view. Her mugshot was at the very top of the file. Her perfect smile taunted Piotr as if she was telling him to catch her if he can.

Her basic information was in print below her photo, which Piotr stubbornly ignored as he focused on the text. He felt as if her picture was watching him amusingly as he read what little information the file had. Her exact age was unknown (it said she was in her early to mid twenties), no known family, no known aliases or allies, or anything about her life before she became a thief.

The details that her file did have were of the crimes she had committed, her services that she offered to the highest bidder, and information on her mutant powers.

“This has absolutely nothing on her,” NTW grumbled as she scanned the file.

Scott let out a low whistle as he read aloud her criminal charges, “She’s wanted by Interpol for multiple counts of burglary, assault, theft, espionage, grand theft…everything, and a whole lot more.”

“Who cares about a couple boring charges?” Wade threw his hands in the air as he glared at Scott like he had grievously insulted him. “Homicide and manslaughter are way cooler and you know it!”

Piotr quickly read through her charges to fact check Wade…and he was right. She had not killed anyone, at least not in any incident listed on the file. Piotr wasn't sure if this information made him feel better or worse about the thief. He decided to chalk up this oddity to Durand being too proud to get her hands dirty and label her as the absolute worst person he had ever met.

“That is little extreme… I have fought people that want to kill all mutants,” Piotr reminded himself. “Maya may not be worst person but she is very high on list.”

Scanning through the rest of her file, Piotr came across a section that listed her skillset. Piotr rolled his eyes at the Master Thief at the top of the list. He wondered if Maya had gotten her hands on the file and put that in there to inflate her ego. Her file also stated that she was a chameleon - a master at hiding in plain sight. The way that the file described her abilities made Piotr wonder if she was almost as good as Mystique. On top of that, the file claimed she was a master escape artist as well. He read the brief description of the few times she was sent to prison and her increasingly elaborate escapes. It seemed that no prison could hold her - at least for long.

“Piotr, I think I know why Maya’s fabric was strong enough to hold you down,” NTW said, pointing at the section on her file that listed her mutant abilities.

Mutant Powers:

Fabric Manipulation

Fabric Creation

Material Identification and Application

“Material Application?” Piotr read allowed with a perplexed tone.

“I’ve heard about this ability!” Hank divulged with an intrigued look. “Some mutants have the ability to copy elements of certain materials to another object without changing it physically. A copy and paste power to put it simply.”

Piotr reached inside his pocket for the cloth he had taken from the museum and placed it on the table. He peered down at the fabric inquisitively, running his fingers over the soft silk before handing it to the scientist.

“She was able to make her fabric as strong as metal with this ability?” Piotr questioned, almost impressed by her ability.

Hank examined the material in his hands before pulling at it to test its strength and elasticity. The fabric stretched easily, not showing any visible signs of stress. It didn’t even tear when Hank ran his sharp claws against it.

“Yes, I suspect that her fabric may be as strong as steel,” Hank hypothesized, keeping his eyes on the fabric, “but I will be able to tell you more tomorrow once I’ve taken a closer look.”

The Professor glanced down at his watch, realizing how late at night it was before backing away from the table. With a wave of his hands all of the TVs in the room turned off as he made his way to the door.

“Maya Durand may not look like a big threat now, but I fear this is only the beginning. Judging by her reputation, her jobs may put people in danger,” Professor X cautioned, his face drawn as he looked at the mutants still gathered around the table.

The Professor met Piotr’s gaze levelly for a few moments for a few moments before addressing the group at large.

“Piotr, I’m trusting you to be the one to stop her.”

Before anyone could object, Professor X held up his hand to keep everyone silent. Piotr caught Logan rolling his eyes with an unimpressed grin on his face. He vaguely heard Logan muttering about how this was going to go for Piotr and judging by his tone, the clawed man was betting against him.

“You can count on me,” Piotr nodded before stealing a glance at Maya’s mugshot. The Professor was giving him a chance to deal with the thief himself like he had trusted him to handle Wade, and Piotr could not let him down. “What happened tonight will not happen again.”

“Good,” The Professor let out a satisfied hum before turning to the door. “We’ve all had a long night so I suggest that you all turn in for a well earned rest.”

Piotr and NTW remained in the room while the rest of X-Men, Nathan, and Wade followed the Professor. Wade opened his mouth, no doubt to make an obnoxious quip, but Nathan roughly grabbed him by the ear before he could form a single word. Wade released a flood of insults at Nathan as he pulled him out of the room.

Once Wade’s screeching voice was far enough away, Piotr released a deep sigh as he rested his hands on the table. NTW slumped in her seat as she glared at Maya Durand’s mugshot.

“She’s not even here but it feels like she’s mocking us.”

“We will get her,” Piotr reassured her. “I have plan.”

NTW peered at him questionably, “And what is your plan exactly?”

“We wait until she strikes again,” Piotr decided. “She is practically ghost. No use finding her until she is hired for next job.”

NTW’s puzzled look grew, “So what do we do in the meantime? Twiddle our thumbs and hope she makes an appearance soon?”

Piotr shook his head as he pulled the device closer to him from the center of the table. He felt as if Maya Durand was standing in front of him with her mugshot only inches away from his face. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Her alluring mischievous eyes were like an addictive toxin that fueled his need to put her behind bars.

“While we wait, we learn as much as we can,” Piotr asserts, narrowing his eyes at Maya’s picture. “We will not underestimate her again.”

“Not the best plan, but it's the only one we’ve got,” NTW said listlessly, before sliding out of her chair. With a yawn on her lips, she made her way to the exit to go to bed.

Piotr chuckled at her blunt (yet true) assessment as he settled into his chair. He had a long night ahead of him, but he could not think of any other options that would end in anything besides frustration and embarrassment. Besides, his experience had taught him that good things always come to those who wait.

And he would wait for a century if it meant he would be the one that put Maya Durand behind bars.

-----

Tag list: @master-sass-blast @sadstonewrites

[ego-meliorem-esse]

how do you choose what art you reblog and like? i want to tag my art more effectively so it gets seen but no matter what i do it doesn't really work

do you like scroll through the tags or only look at what your mutuals reblog?

Ngl though abt this one for a while.

I usually go through my dash and see what the mutuals are throwing around, but i do go through the tags every now and agin if i have the time. My schedule is crammed these past few months and for me to sit down and take the time to look up art is rare. But thats only me. I see people on here posting and rebloging new fantastic art everytime i log on.

Not that I’m an expert or smthn, but I do find that statistically my art does better when its posted alongside a story or my own thoughts and whatnot. And thats perfect for me cus i have too much lore stored in my shit doodles that getting it out and it being recieved well is a god damn miracle. I can do that less these days but regardless i find giving us the lore of the drawing and your hcs is the besstttt shitt. I know I love when a helltalia artis tdumps their (especially historical and related) hcs and stories with their art.

Everyone here has their niche and why they repost certain art types. I enjoy sorta semi relaistic art styles, historical/political integration of these characters, a good sad angsty hc/story etc…

I think the best way really is just finding your niche and working it through, developing your hcs, sharing them, interacting with people whose posts you really like… tags are good but i personaly dont really think you can rely on them. Maybe even reblog your own art every once in a while. You can also do that for it to be seen more.

But then again im not sure im the person to ask. I started drawing an posting n shit cus my brain was gonna explode if i didnt share it with someone and i didnt rlly care to tag it that well :/ maybe it does work and maybe it doesnt idk

In any case gl <3

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

i just threw this in a tag ramble on a rebagel but i feel like actually making it its own post for a hot damn second:

i love that this episode showed the ways in which daemon is the same (will murder without hesitation to get what he wants—in this case, faking laenor’s death by killing a comPLETE rando who did absolutely nothing wrong) and the ways he is not.

for someone who spent the first few episodes of the seasons having visceral reactions to his relationship with his brother, daemon is very non-reactive to viserys in this episode: he doesn’t really respond much to viserys’ offering of friendship and family; he observes but doesn’t intervene (until it looks like criston cole is gonna fuck shit up) in the big family fight on driftmark.  by removing himself to pentos for ~10 years, by taking himself off the board in the game of “how do i get my brother’s approval oh no i don’t have it oh no that hurts oh no i’m gonna act out ok i’ve acted out how do i get my brother’s approval” he broke a cycle that kept him trapped and unable to change.  for all i do believe viserys loves him (and loves everyone in his own way), i also think viserys doesn’t know how to handle the damage he does to people he loves simply by being king, and daemon is the early evidence/victim of that.

on top of that, for all laena may not have been the love of his life, i think it’s evident that he cared for her and loved her in his own way. he certainly loves their daughters (and i’m big mad they cut him comforting the girls after laena’s death like come on).  it certainly wasn’t like rhea royce, who couldn’t stand him and who he in turn couldn’t stand to the point that he literally never was around her and ended up murdering her to meet his own ends.  

he had 10 years away from the brother he couldn’t ever appease and away from a wife who was utterly justified in hating him, but who also still hated him.  he removed himself from one major source of family toxicity and murdered the other which like...dude no, but also the impact of that was that he landed to some extent in a decent familial setup for a while.

and i think that helped stabilize him a LOT.  he wasn’t the loose canon in this episode—not the way alicent was, or even criston cole was.  he had to be invited to participate in the family fuckery twice before he went all in, when usually he was the source of the family fuckery.

which brings me to rhaenyra. 

compare rhaenyra’s adolescent challenge that he steal her off to dragonstone to marry her with her as an adult pleading with him to be at her side in this episode.  compare his fear of her challenge because of what it stood for in the face of the brother he could never appease (aka: do you really want me) with the adult version of “i both need and want you” that he got from a mother of three at odds with her stepmother who won’t be able to rely on her father’s protection forever. when she was 19 he brought her to a brothel to fuck her—a manipulative way to try to claim her from his brother (and i do believe he genuinely was confused by how much he cared about her, how young she was, and that she had unseated him as heir to the throne); as an adult he is holding back, waiting to see if this is what he wants, what she wants. as the post i just reblogged said, he has no expectations, no ambitions, no anything—except his own restraint. 

he is being treated as an equal, for the first time in his life, by a targaryen and i imagine that’s a big game changer for him.  and arguably, he is an equal for the first time in his marriage, despite rhaenyra holding a status he does not, because he and rhea rejected one another and while he and laena seemed to get on, he still had the power to say “no, we won’t return to westeros” and that was the final decision.  but he doesn’t hold the final say anymore.  he shares it.  

which i think, given his relationship with viserys, whom he wanted to be trusted by but was also never stable enough to appease, was really all he wanted from the start.

[musings-from-mars]

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#neopolitan - 260 posts

#white rose - 204 posts

#nichijou - 195 posts

Longest Tag: 133 characters

#simply being on the road is incredibly dangerous i hope to one day have a job and live in a dense walkable city where i don’t have to

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

ADHD medication is so ironic. Like don't get me wrong, ADHD meds are a very good thing! It's just so poetic, so ironic that in order to alleviate symptoms such as forgetfulness, and the inability to establish and keep routine habits (such as that of taking your ADHD medicine at the same time every day), you must first avoid forgetting, and you must establish and keep a routine habit.

2,139 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#4

I wish I could make the three mouth irl. Like I just wish :3 was my resting expression just to let everyone around me know that I’m a little weirdo creature

3,172 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

#3

Tone tags are not your punchline.

Tone tags like “/j” “/srs” etc are accessibility tools. They help neurodivergent people understand the explicit tone of written text that would otherwise be only implicit and therefore difficult for us to understand. If you use tone tags in a joking or disingenuous manner, you’re not only going to end up confusing a lot of people, but it’s also just plain ableist to make a joke out of an accessibility tool, something that a lot of us rely on to understand and communicate with people online.

Especially considering the whole point of tone tags is for them to be used in the most genuine, accurate manner possible, someone knowingly misusing them just means they’re doubling down on their ableist disregard for neurodivergent people who might read it.

If you post something somewhere as a joke but end it with a “/srs,” fix it. Delete it. Don’t do it again. Tone tags are not your punchline.

This disability pride month message brought to you by an autistic ADHDer

4,690 notes - Posted July 7, 2022

#2

My favorite episodes of spongebob are the ones were spongebob gets genuinely pissed off. Like, spongebob is a character who only rarely gets angry, and only for good reasons after being pushed too far, and it's fucking iconic when he does. The episode where squidward quits his job and crashes at spongebob's house and ends up bossing him around, when spongebob fucking loses it at the end of the episode, it's the best thing. I feel that. "LISTEN YOU CRUSTACEOUS CHEAPSKATE-" while ringing krabs's neck. King shit.

7,998 notes - Posted July 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

“If she’s your girl then why she-” we’re polyamorous. she’s our girl. kiss me bro

22,158 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[satorhime]

hiii!!! i’m new to tumblr and i want to start writing fics of my own, do you have any tips that you don’t mind sharing ? i love ur work btw <333

hi !! welcome >< i’m half asleep right now and i may have to reblog this later but this is advice i honestly follow myself & it may not work for you but i’ll try anw !!

the most important thing is writing for yourself. if you write with the mindset to make others happy by only writing popular trends or things that’ll get you a quick 1k, you’ll ruin the experience for yourself. this isn’t to be confused with wanting recognition and circulation for your work, but rather enjoying your own writing and writing what you want to write.

don’t be afraid to switch fonts, sites you write on, documents, etc. sometimes i start a fic on google docs and end up finishing it in tumblr drafts because that’s the only way i’ll get it done.

if you’re stuck on certain parts of fics or you have writer’s block, step away from the wip for a while and try to approach it with a new mind. sleep on it !!! and if you’re still stuck, maybe your block is around to stay for a while and that’s okay. don’t force it. take a break and read some fics, see how other people write similar content, etc.

your outline doesn’t have to be perfect. it’s the first draft. it can look like whatever. most of my outlines are literally just “he said, she nodded, enter more poetic words here.” also, make as many drafts as you need. sometimes when i start a new draft, it’s refreshing and i look at my fic with fresh eyes.

try your hardest not to compare yourself with other writers. your writing doesn’t suck and no one is better than anyone. it’s fanfiction and it can be anything you want.

create your own writing speed! some writers write fast, and some (like me) are slow. fandom has changed a lot over the years and a lot of people think that fanfiction is supposed to be shucked out almost everyday. this is not true. back in my day we used to wait a whole year for a new chapter to be released. fanfiction is a treat, not a necessity. if anyone tries to rush you, tell them they can live without it lmao.

set boundaries on your blog and don’t be afraid to enforce them.

as for traction, this is a hit or miss for everyone. whether we like it or not, we are content creators and want recognition for our hard work. my only advice is to not rely too much on tags, and open taglists. don’t tag blank blogs as they 100% won’t reblog your work. give little sneak peeks, build excitement for your fics like a whole album release SJSJSKSK

for aesthetics, formatting, and such: make sure your work is neat, and easy to read. hit enter every now and then so your paragraphs aren’t too long (i can show you my favorite format if you want, just ask!) avoid using small font throughout the entire fic so it’s easily accessible to people with vision problems (like me), and make sure to include important content warnings at the beginning.

if you’re writing for a certain type of reader, make sure to include that too. if it’s not poc friendly (includes fair-skinned indicators such as blushing, redness, red bruises, pink coochies, etc.), tag it in the cw. don’t use afab!reader and fem!bodied reader tags if your reader is coded as cis. people have said this is incorrect and you’ll want to avoid that. female/fem!reader will do.

i won’t give advice on how to write your fics as i fully believe everyone writes different, but the best advice i can give is that avoid repetition and play around with words. google pretty ways to say different shit. (you know the whole instead of “‘good morning,’ she said, entering the coffee shop.” try “‘good morning,’ she greeted as she stepped inside the coffee shop, joining the queue with the other exhausted 6:00am commuters.” OR SMTH IDK I CANT ACTUALLY WRITE DKDKDK

there are lots of writers who will beta for you if you’re familiar with them and you ask nicely/be mindful of their busy schedules!

i’ve run out of things to say but i hope these help and that you enjoy writing. it can be really fun, but also super stressful at times. just take your time and go with the flow. good luck babie !!!!!

[blueprint-han]

[Image ID: A black picture with the title “HOW TO SUPPORT FANFICTION AUTHORS” written in bold caps lock, colored with a winter forest picture. End ID.]

Well, this post has been made countless times, but I’m making one too because I’ve seen a lot of people say they’re new to tumblr and don’t know the whole “reblogging is better than liking” rule and other stuff. So without any further ado, here are ways YOU can support the fanfiction authors. Now keep in mind this applies to almost every author out there, not just the stayblr fandom, so if you’re a silent reader (or even if you aren’t), I advise you go through this post. Warning, this is a fairly long post going into detail, so yeah. I still expect you, the readers to read this, and if you’re a writer, feel free to lmk if i’ve written smth wrong or if you want me to add something! ^^

In this post I’ll go into thorough analysis of the pros and cons of each of the methods listed here and how YOU as a reader can show the authors whose fics you read more love and motivate them to produce content.

WARNING; LONG POST! GOES INTO A DECENT AMOUNT OF DETAIL. NOT EDITED, EXCUSE ANY TYPOS.

#1 : LIKING !

I think this is basic common knowledge, and a lot of people tend to do this. When you like the post, the author sees it, you see it, and if the author has their liked posts accessible (which majority of the time they don’t), and if someone deliberately goes to check it, then they see it. See why so many authors say just liking does nothing? Only liking says “Hey, I’m gonna tell you your story is not that good by simply liking it and not sharing it with other people. :D”

♯ PROS:

You’re telling the author that you've read their fic, and either you’ve enjoyed it to a certain extent, or you’re just saving it to read for later.

Likes are seen by you, the author and anyone who has access to your likes (which, most people don’t).

♯ CONS:

If you ONLY like, you’re not really helping the author’s work reach a wide audience because this site isn’t Instagram. Reblogging is the only way people can SEE our works. I’ll cover more on that in the next section.

In a nutshell, liking is good! But you should most likely use it in a combination with the other stuff I’ve listed below, because just the like itself doesn’t really do much in giving the author any feedback or interaction on their fics.

To clear shit up; I’m not talking about those people who don’t read the story or appreciate it in the first place. I’m talking about those who appreciate the fic, like it, but don’t leave any sort of feedback to show that.

#2 : REBLOGGING !

This is SO, SO important. I cannot stress on this enough. Let me explain WHY so many writers stress on reblogging content: 

Tumblr’s tag system is inherently fucked up, and has grown more so over the year. I’m not kidding, at first, the fic either used to show up in the tags or it didn’t, but now, sometimes your fic can be REMOVED from the tags because of,,, idk tumblr tag shit. Anyways, as you can see, it’s very demotivating for authors at that point, because the major way for people to find their content and expand their blogs has been blocked.  

Due to this reason, tumblr authors need to RELY on you, their followers to help spread their works to a wider audience. Now again, before you get me wrong, I’m not saying you ae forced to rb our works regardless of whether you like them or not. BUT, that being said, if you DO infact like the story, there’s no harm in reblogging, right? By doing this you’re indirectly telling the author — “hey! :D I liked your fic! Which is why I am gonna share it to my followers so they can read it too :D” Trust me, you’re doing nothing but helping the people who produce content for you to read. Seems like a worthy cause to hit the reblog button, right? It’s only a one, or maximum two step procedure.

Leave tags in your reblogs! Trust me, as an author myself and as much as I know from all my author friends, we oft check the tags of your reblogs to see if you found any part amazing or even if you have anything to say about the writing we put so much hard work into. Even a key smash or a “This was so [insert adjective] 🥺” is enough to leave a smile on your authors face. 

♯ PROS :

You’re !! Sharing !! Your authors !! Works !! This leads to them getting more recognition, so for the content they’re so graciously providing for free, you’re promoting their blog and helping them expand it.

If the tags are being a shit, which majority of the time they are, then you’re literally making an author’s day by reblogging! You’re showing them that you, a follower and appreciator of their works are willingly sharing their content because it deserves to be seen by more people. Again before any dumb people decide to attack me, i am talking about people who like the fic but don't bother reblogging and are silent/ghost readers. I am not forcing anyone to read anybody’s work.

YOU’RE MAKING YOUR AUTHOR SO HAPPY WHAT MORE REASONS COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT !! 🥺

♯ CONS :

Literally none, because as far as I remember no author is against reblogging of their works. It’s quite literally the way this platform functions. Reblogging is IMPORTANT.

#3 : COMMENTING/SENDING FEEDBACK !

This kind of overlaps with the previous section, but THIS IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT STEP !! When you leave feedback, you are directly giving the author something so much more valuable to them than high follower/note counts or money. Your feedback is literally our serotonin. I kid you not the number of times I’ve received a positive comment and smiled and it has made my day. There’s a reason youtubers (though not the best example, bear with me here because it was the only one I could think of) ask people to subscribe, like and COMMENT. The subscription is like a follow, the like is ofc like a heart, and the comment is equivalent to an rb with comments in the tags. 

You might argue and tell me that a comment is basically like an ask so the reblogging step isn’t necessary, but I’m sure 99% of you use YouTube and you know that more comments leads to people’s videos boosted in the stream/trending charts. This is what reblogging does. Reblogging shares the piece with other people like minded, which leads to a boost in reads. You are literally helping your author grow.

It’s quite literally the same thing as youtubers. Youtubers NEED validation to keep their content creation going, so do writers, so do other ccs on this site. This post is however, focused on WRITERS, so keep that in mind.

♯ PROS :

By doing this, you’re giving author valuable feedback! It’s similar to what you do in rbing with tags. Interactivity with their fics boosts their note counts and helps expand their audience, so srsly, now think of it: your one comment is playing such a massive role to help ccs create more content.

Imagine how much of a difference the note counts will be in when every person who simply likes after reading the fic, reblogs, leaves a comment and sends an ask. the note counts would be high on each and every fic, which is validation in itself, but your comments would inspire the writer so much more! Please, don’t skip the commenting part. Even a simple one like: “this is so cute!” is wonderful. 

♯ CONS :

Remember, if you’re gonna give constructive criticism (which I’m sure you all are smart enough to know if different from hate), make sure the author is okay with it. Authors need to be in a specific mindset and must be ready to accept criticism, so if you’re gonna give constructive criticism to them when they’re at a low point, it may demotivate them.

Just commenting, instead of reblogging and commenting in the tags/ reblogging and then leaving an ask in their inbox, while it gives validation in plenty, will not lead to the author’s work being spread. Therefore I suggest either reblogging and commenting in the tags or reblog and then leave an ask, or comment under the fic!

!! reminder; I am not saying that if you don’t rb and just leave feedback, your feedback has no value. We authors truly appreciate every bit of feedback, but this post is aimed to help you learn how to interact with and support authors, and make them feel more motivated, because the current scenario of liking and scrolling is taking a toll on their creative abilities. Take it from a person who’s been writing for a year.

#4 : COMMSIONING VIA THEIR KO-FI/OTHER APPS !

Before any of you attack me, let me tell you that this is not a step that is 100% necessary to do. ONLY donate if you can and if you genuinely want to, and if anyone is forcing you to pay for something against your will, you need to get yourself out of there.

Regardless, if an author has a kofi and you’re able to and you want to donate, you definitely should! It’s also a valid form of support.

#5 : ADDING THEM ON REC LISTS/ RECOMMENDING THEM TO REC BLOGS

This is such an underrated option, to be honest. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen my fic was recommended onto some rec list and it’s made me smile so hard. If you like some fics, create a rec list! They’re oft very popular amongst the fans too. Making rec posts is such a great way to share your favorite stories with others. 

Rec blogs! I’ve seen a couple going around, and needless to say they are a great way to get someone else to read your favorite author’s work whilst also giving them your own feedback. These blogs oft accept recs via a form or ask box, and they leave your feedback along with their own, or else they’ll oft tag the author in the feedback post, so look! You’re basically helping your author share their fic to many more people, because you’ve given them feedback and a reblog.

♯ PROS :

Validation! Feedback! Reblogs! More exposure! Helping a blog grow! Spreading love! basically a run down of the stuff I’ve said before!

♯ CONS :

Literally no con of this. Unless, a one in a million case, this author says they don’t like receiving feedback/being tagged, and I’m sure NO person has said this before, at least none that I’ve heard of.

#6 : FINAL COMMENTS; MISC !

When an author points out about how the interactivity is drastically reducing, don’t just give them blind apologies. Yes, you feel sorry for not interacting as much, we understand, but rather show that you’ll become a better content consumer through your actions. We need to see that we’re not just throwing words into a void and that people are actually trying to be better content consumers. 

Understand the fact that authors don’t get paid for this, and 99% of the time, these authors don’t take commissions either. They’re giving you novel worthy writings for free. Take Percy Jackson: You think the author would have felt motivated to write the subsequent parts, let alone two whole series based off of it if literally no one showed that they were interested? Rick Riordan has sales, he is being paid, there are millions of people and big agencies who provide him feedback. Now take that huge amount and simmer it down to an audience of maybe 10000 people This is what fanfic authors want. They don’t want your money, nor are they telling you to risk your lives for them. All they want is, a reblog, some tags, some feedback, some INTERACTIVITY.  A sign that they aren’t throwing fics into the void and that people actually like them, some motivation to continue. Seems fairly easy to throw an rb with some tags, right?

Don’t bother to tell me that we do this for ourselves and we shouldn’t ask for likes and reblogs and feedback, because 1) you are consuming the content that we “write for ourselves” and 2) writers post their content here for interactivity and feedback. We could just not post and write and save our fics in our dungeon drafts for years. But we choose to post to entertain the readers, the consumers. And we aren’t even asking that much in return.

Don’t give me the whole “I’m scared that authors feel that comments are annoying” excuse either because seriously this has been DEBUNKED SO MANY TIMES. Istg, in the nicest way possible, if you still think writers are annoyed by interaction and feedback, after so many posts, long rants have been posted as to how we’re not, then you must truly be living under a rock. There, I said it. Please stop thinking this way, I’ll say it again, AUTHORS ARE NOT ANNOYED OF FEEDBACK, COMMENTS, TAGS, REBLOGS. WE LOVE IT. Saying this is like saying that the audience in a theatre play shouldn’t clap when the play ends because the actors would find it noisy. 🤡

I’ve seen some people saying they have anxiety issues and such, so pls note that I’m not invalidating your condition. If you’re trying to be more interactive, I really appreciate it! If you can’t, that’s fine too. You’re trying.

But for the people who have no reason other than feeling lazy to rb and comment, your lack of interactiveness is not excused. Please. Tumblr is a reblogging site. If you’re gonna consume content like authors are some sort of machines, I encourage you to go get some more perspective.

This site is not Instagram or the satan bird app. Your likes are appreciated but frankly speaking, they do nothing to the author except tell them “Hey i read ur fic but i'm not gonna support u :D” and honestly, that is detrimental to their creative capabilities and mental health. 

DON’T FOLLOW AN ACC JUST TO MINDLESS RB THEIR SIGNAL BOOST POSTS AND THEIR REBLOGS OF GIFS AND NOT INTERACT WITH THEIR WRITING AT ALL ! Trust me, authors prefer a lower amount of interactive followers than a high count that doesn’t even give them any feedback. Again your follows are appreciated, but when you’re following, you know the type of content the author creates, so the author expects that the more followers, the more interactivity. These days, this is just becoming the opposite. So don’t do it! If you’re gonna follow to read, interact with their works. I promise, this will make both you and the author happy. A win-win situation.

In conclusion: SUPPORT YOUR FUCKING AUTHORS! THEY ARE NOT MACHINES THAT HAVE NO FEELINGS TO PRODUCE CONTENT FOR YOU! FICS TAKE DAYS AND DAYS OF PLANNING, PLOTTING, OUTLINING, WRITING, EDITING, MAKING TEASERS. SO JUST SHOW THEM YOU APPRECIATE THEM WITH AN RB. IT’S THE L E A S T YOU CAN DO.

I will be liking this post here written by the lovely @chaninfused​ and @scriptura-delirus​ . Please take time to read it because if you weren’t convinced by my arguments, you will see how much frustration we as writers face on a daily basis. Please, just show support. Here is the post by @stayndays​ about how to get more people to read your work, because it also has a note on reblogging. Please educate yourself, and put an end to this mindless consuming culutre and bring up some interactivity.

If you’ve read this far, I want you to go to two of your favorite authors and leave some feedback in their inbox, and tag me in it (either tag me yourself or ask the author to do so, they won’t mind). Show your writers that our words are taking effect and you are becoming better consumers. I mean it. I’m serious. I want every single one who reads this post to do this. besides valid reasons, if you’re lazy to do this, you’re a part of the problem. PLEASE get more perspective.

Also, feel free to add to this post! I’d love to read your thoughts too, remember to be kind though. And, if I think your rb is somehow contradicting my points and is bringing down the reason I made this post, I will politely ask you to delete your comment, because this post is about being truthful about the harsh reality of tumblr consumers and how we can change it. I’m sure none of you will let it get to that point, though. <3 love you guys. 💓

And, just a reminder, don’t just blindly like this too. Do what I said before, and while I am not forcing you, I’d appreciate your reblog, because seriously, it took me 3 whole days to write this, plus, I’m sure this will help more of your followers understand the fault in consumer culture. haha, that’s it! This post was way too long uff.

also, this is ur cue to not be stupid in my inbox. You have something to say? Think I worded smth wrongly? I’m sure it wasn’t my intention to do so, point it out with manners. 

[thebigoblin]

An anon left me an ask regarding a 13 year child making a post ( @two-frogs-in-two-trenchcoats ) and scoot mccall defense squad descending on her like hyenas. You can see her post linked above. Or see it here:

Stiles: Trying to figure out how to make sure Derek doesn’t d i e

Scott: dik go b o i n g

I mean, this is pretty much canon. SM has favored Allison over Stiles and his wolfy problems. It’s clear that OP is either anti SM or just stating one of her observations, it’s nothing too serious. It’s literally just her observation and her conclusion. But then there are people like Prince (yup the infamous one) and Brydes (idk if this person is as infamous or not, but i will link to both their reblogs. i’ll also copy/paste what they’ve said if you have them blocked).

1. Brydes

OP, I would like to speak to you about two things.

The first is rock slides. There’s a site not far from my hometown where a rock slide buried an entire town.

You see pictures of where this town used to be, and you’d never know it was there. It just looks like a pile of rocks, tiny pebbles, and huge boulders. And underneath, bodies and houses and pain and death.

The second is how former US president Donald Trump became president. The fact is that the man pretty much campaigned on a rhetoric of anti-Black and anti-Latino racism, appealing to the white supremacist lurking in the American soul. He is now widely regarded as, well, not good. He was a not good president.

I want you to think of Trump’s entire presidency and his campaign as a rock slide. It came down and it buried people under several tons of rhetorical rocks and many of them did not survive.

Now I want you to look at this joke and understand that it is a small rock. It seems insignificant and meaningless, until you understand that it, too, is part of this slide, and it, too, is burying people. A small rock in a big slide is as deadly as any bullet, or more.

You’re old enough to make these jokes. You’re also old enough to understand and face the consequences of making jokes like this. I would hope that would mean you also have enough maturity to take responsibility for making these jokes and act accordingly.

And I don’t just mean this particular joke. I also mean jokes like this you may have made elsewhere, at home or school or with friends.

Don’t be part of the rockslide.

This is just straight up ??? What the fuck ??? There’s talk about rockslides and Trump and as you finish reading what they’ve written you’re like “oh, this person had their feelings hurt”. Which, honestly, ok. People can get upset at the weirdest things, this checks out. But also you don’t have to go ahead and say this. You could also have just not responded. But this is still relatively chill, except the part where Brydes assumes OP’s character and then bashes it all because of this one post. 

2. Prince

Hey OP – This is a racist joke.

It’s racist because it relies on the stereotype of Latinos being sexually obsessed to the point where nothing else matters.

It didn’t happen in canon, and you know that. You know that Scott risked his life to save Derek not once but several times, while Stiles did things like attempt to force Derek to get out his Jeep so he could “leave you for dead” and beg Scott to “couldn’t you consider letting him die for me?”

And if you turn around and say that you don’t care about canon, that makes it doubly racist because if it doesn’t depend on misinterpreting canon, it solely depends on applying negative stereotypes.

Get your racist shit out of the Scott tag, if you don’t mind. But I will gladly preserve your racist bullshit for as long as tumblr lives.

This is what prince first wrote to response to OP’s post before again reblogging with:

So apparently, I’m being told that the OP might be 13 years old. This makes what I did even more important to do, in my opinion. Kids are not inherently racist. They are taught to be, and the only way to stop that is to teach them not to be racist.

And this one has been apparently taught to see whatever white characters do in the best possible light and to see whatever minority characters do in the worst possible light. Does anyone think that doesn’t translate into how they see the real world? I don’t.

And I just - WTF. This is in no way a racist joke??? Where the fuck did you get that impression from?  It’s racist because it relies on the stereotype of Latinos being sexually obsessed to the point where nothing else matters.- has anyone heard this about Latino people? I have not. And like, how do you even. Think that OP’s post assumes the worst of Latinos. Like what. What I infer from OP’s post is how *I* infer SM’s character in the show - that he’s obsessed with his personal desires first and foremost. And that he definitely doesn’t care for Derek. Does anyone agree with prince? Do you? I’m just. super bewildered. 

And about Stiles wanting Derek to die. You know who has canonically saved Derek again and again? You guessed it. Stiles. He’s ready to cut off Derek’s arms if it means Derek will live. He could have left Derek to die in the swimming pool - because if he does want Derek dead, this would have been the perfect opportunity - but no, Stiles kept him afloat for around 2 hours and then dived back in for Derek when SM hung up on him. Stiles is the only one who keeps going back for Derek - the elevator scene, for instance. 

SM tho? He told Derek his family deserved to die. He saw Derek in pain and in chains in a literal basement and basically went “i’ll only save you if you promise to save allison”. He made Derek trust him and then broke that trust by joining forces with Gerard, made Derek bite his enemy who is a fucking Hunter and his family’s murderer’s father. He didn’t tell Allison why her mom was bit; he let her believe Derek bit Victoria on purpose because basically “i want allison to like me still and letting her know the truth so that Derek can be off her hook is not my priority”. 

I get that teens make stupid choices. That they learn and grow as a person. But SM? He’s told to be this compassionate, good guy who just wants to save everyone, and then he’s shown to treat Derek like this. Not to mention the fact that he never suffers the consequences of his actions. And no, the “No Stiles!” moment between Melissa and SM and doesn’t count. 

There’s just so much wrong with Prince’s rb and addition - and seriously? You think you are “teaching” a kid to not be racist? No, what you are doing is silencing her from speaking what she feels because oh no, the great True Alpha was badmouthed! Oh no. 

Seriously the fuck. 

And with that I end this rant. 

[peachsayshi]

Chapter 4 - Domain

Gojo Satoru x Female Reader

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Smut, Teasing and a little bit of Fluff. 

Summary: Gojo returns from his trip, and while the two of you are hanging out you ask him to show you some of his powers. Unable to resist himself, he breaks a rule along the way.

A/N: Thank you so much for the likes and reblogs! I pretty much only have this updated on AO3 but am slowly trying to add all the chapters onto my Tumblr.

- - - 

When Gojo texted you to let you know that he was at his apartment, he did it with a devious prank in his mind. He informed you that you could let yourself in as the door was unlocked but chose to turn off all the lights and hid in one of the closets.

Then he waited.

He heard the patter of your footsteps and a soft “hello”, before creeping out from his hiding place and lightly approaching you. He was quiet enough for you not to hear him, the shadow of your frame slowing down and he could tell you were getting nervous.

She’s going to kill me, he thought to himself but refused to back out now that he had already set things in motion.

He towered behind you, noticing you freeze in place by the unknown and proceeded to wrap his long arms around your waist before pulling you into his body.

“ Boo !” he exclaimed in your ear, earning a well deserved shriek on your part.

“GOJO, YOU IDIOT!”

You elbowed him in the stomach, forcing him to let go of you as a fit of giggles escaped his lips.

You marched over to the light switches, flicking them to illuminate his large penthouse apartment and you furrowed your brows at the six-foot-three goofball who was covering his mouth to hold in his laughter.

“This is how you greet your friends after coming back from a trip?! By scaring the shit out of them?! Who the hell does that?!!”

Gojo tried to contain himself but the image of your jump scare was perfectly etched in his brain, replaying over and over again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry …” he said in between laughs, breathing in to regain control of himself. “I couldn’t help myself but you should see your face!”

“Ugh, you immature , asshole!” you grumbled, throwing the bag that you were holding in your hands in his direction.

Gojo had superior reflexes and caught it before it flew over his shoulder. He took a minute to calm himself down, extremely pleased that his plan went accordingly.

Meanwhile, you tossed your purse onto his coffee table, huffing to yourself as you plopped down on his black sofa. You folded your arms across your chest, unable to even look at him because of how irritated you were.

Gojo glanced down at the bag in his hand, the clear plastic enclosing a number of rainbow colored candies on the inside.

He bit his bottom lip out of guilt. “Okay, I’m sorry …I mean it this time…”

You scoffed, “are you? Because you still seem pretty content with what you just did.”

“I’m not going to lie, seeing you react like that was worth it…”

You scooted away from him as he took his seat next to you.

“What if you were some kind of murderer?!”

“Now why would you think a murderer would be in this apartment when I  invited you over in the first place? You’re smart, use a little logic…” he teased as he tapped your temple lightly before proceeding to open the bag of sweets.

“That’s it, you don’t deserve Rina’s candies...”

Gojo clasped his chest in disbelief, “ you don’t mean that… ”

You snatched the bag away from him, a satisfied smile spreading across your lips as Gojo frowned.

Deep down inside he was really happy to see you. Playful banter and all, your presence was the recharge he needed after his trip.

The two of you met eight years ago at Rina’s candy shop. At the time, your best friend was just starting her own confectionary business which you were helping her with by working part time while you were still studying at university. Gojo couldn’t get enough of her sweets, earning himself a reputation as a repeat customer. You and Rina constantly joke that he practically kept the business afloat during the early days.What you didn’t know is that he also had his eyes on Rina’s pretty friend. Unfortunately for Gojo, you were taken and oblivious to his advances.

He didn’t care; just because you weren’t interested in him in a physical sense, didn’t mean that you both couldn’t be friends. Gojo is the type of guy who would confidently socialise with anyone around him. He knew not everybody took to his personality, especially when the words “narcissist”, “egotistical” and “arrogant” were constantly used to describe him. You knew all this about him but still chose to maintain your friendship. How you put up with his petty behavior and childish ways often had him wondering why you stuck around but he was grateful that you did.  

After all, you were his closest friend - the only person he relied on after Suguru died.

Gojo pouted his lips, singing your name as he leaned forward to you and softening his tone. “If I get down on my knees and apologise will you forgive me?”

“Hmmm…” you pondered, “I think that’s a fair punishment and you’re buying dinner tonight, which I’ll be choosing so you can’t make a fuss about it.”

Gojo nodded his head and shifted his position to plant his knees onto the floor. He placed one hand on his chest, his other lifting up his blindfold so he was peeping at you with just one eye.

“I sincerely apologize for the hurt I caused you. Will you please, with a cherry on top , forgive this idiot who is on his knees?”

He noticed your lovely smile, amused that he was the reason behind this reaction.

“Okay, you're forgiven,” you replied, as you extended the bag of sweets back to him, offering him to take his pick.

Gojo returned to his sit next to you, his fingers dipping into the candy mix before pulling out a ruby colored square and popping it into his mouth.

“Mmmm…” he moaned, as the flavor burst along his tongue, “ this is good.. .”

“It’s a fresh batch. She made it this morning,” you replied, picking up a piece of candy for yourself. “Now that we can be civilized. Tell me how your trip went…”

The two of you spoke briefly about his trip but Gojo wasn’t eager to disclose the headache he is currently going through trying to uncover the fingers of a one-thousand year old curse. Instead he shifted the conversation back to you, asking how your morning with Rina went instead. He was only back for twelve hours before he had to leave again. The two of you wanted to see each other but agreed that you would hold off on “grabbing drinks” until he returned three days from now.

However, Gojo noted how good you looked seated right in front of him. Before all this started, you would usually show up at his place in casual clothes, paying no attention about how you looked but tonight he realized that you made an effort.  

You made an effort to look nice for him.  

He appreciated it, because the pair of denim jeans you had on fit in all the right places that he loved paying attention to. Your white t-shirt revealed a hint of the lace bralette you were wearing underneath and the man wondered if that was a deliberate fashion choice on your part just to tease him. Your lips were painted in crimson, practically forcing him to focus on your mouth. He had to remember that the rules were there for a reason. The rules ensured that the two of you maintained the boundaries of your friendship. The rules were there because you two needed to make sure that this didn’t influence your existing relationship in any way.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, but I can’t promise an answer…” Gojo cheekily replied, popping another sweet in his mouth as he grinned at you.

“Can I see your… domain ?”

“Is that supposed to be a code for my dick or something?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “you keep telling me about all these powers you have but I’ve never seen any of it.”

Gojo squinted his eyes at you, “why are you so curious about me all of a sudden?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were asking me a lot of questions about work just now, which you usually don’t do, and now you want me to show you my skill set…”

You fidgeted in place, your fingers tapping nervously against the fabric of your jeans. “I don’t know, I think it’s weird that we have been friends for so long but I still don’t know the real you…”

Gojo paused, taken aback by your statement, “of course you know the real me.”

“Not the parts of you that you keep hiding from me.”

It’s for your own good, he thought to himself.

Gojo pressed his lips together to stop himself from saying those words.

“You already know about my Six Eyes…” he light heartedly replied.  

“There’s more to you than that! I guess I’m just curious to see what else you can do. Besides, I’m starting to come up with theories about your powers. Starting with the fact that you have to wear this blindfold at all times otherwise you’re going to start shooting blue laser beams at people.”

“No laser beams, I can promise that,” Gojo replied with a nervous chuckle.

“Then show me the you that “claims” to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer…” you said, poking him gently on the shoulder. “I just…want to see something …”

Gojo pondered for a moment, sighing to himself as he was not quite sure what he could possibly do that wouldn’t risk putting you in danger. A few seconds passed before he stood up, taking the bag of sweets from your hand and placing it near your purse.

“I want you to stand in front of me,” he requested as he walked around the sofa and found a spot in the middle of the room.

You did as he asked and motioned your way to the position that he had requested. Gojo extended his arm out, ensuring that you were a good distance away.

“Alright, now give me a hug.”

You arched your brow, “seriously?”

“Just do it…” he insisted.

“If this is another stupid prank…”

“I swear it isn’t. Now give me a hug, I’m trying to make a point.”

You walked over towards him, taking your time until you were a few inches away from him. Your arms looped around his waist as you embraced him, but you stared up at him in confusion waiting to see what Gojo was planning next.

“Now what?”

“Okay…” Gojo placed both his hands on your shoulders, before motioning you back until you were an arms length away from him again. “Now I want you to try and push me,” he commanded.

“Push you?”

“Yes. Try to knock me down.”

You scoffed and he could tell that you probably thought he was messing around with you again. Just to play along you nonchalantly placed both your hands up and moved over to shove him, only this time Gojo did something that he’s never done in your presence.

Your eyes widened, your hands pressing into the air that was separating your touch from his body. The force like iron poured over concrete, incredibly powerful and completely protecting Gojo from you.  

“Wait… why…” you voice shook, as your frustration got the better of you. Your hands started to tremble and Gojo noticed you increasing your force as you tried to fight the barrier of his infinity technique.

“ Why can’t I touch you?…”

You were using your legs to push now, every ounce of energy going into fighting the invisible cloak that shielded him.

Gojo smirked before dropping his infinity.

You felt the barrier lift, the pressure giving way as you hurled into him. Your body collided into his, all that pent up energy crashing into the sorcerer as you fell onto the ground. Gojo braced your fall but your face was planted into his chest and your arms lay flat on the ground besides him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

You gathered your senses, pushing yourself until you were sitting upright to face him. A puzzled look masked your face as you patted Gojo’s chest lightly before clutching shoulders and massaging your hands down his arms. “I can touch you now!  How…how did you do that?…”  

Your gaze lifted to meet his own both shocked and amazed by what just happened.

With his blindfold on you couldn’t tell that he was looking at you with wonderment.

Gojo straightened his back so that the two of you were facing each other. You shifted your legs, adjusting your position so you were straddling him. Your hands were still pressing his arms, gripping onto them as if you were trying to prove to yourself that you were indeed touching him.

“You asked me to show you something. So I did...” he said with a shrug.  

“Was that your domain? Are…are you the domain?!”

Your innocent question made his heart swell, and a laugh escaped him.  

“That’s not how it works! It's more complicated than that but this is just one of my techniques that I use to defend myself.”

“That’s… pretty cool …”

“Does it satisfy your curiosity?”

“A little.”

Gojo felt you finally let go of him. He glanced down to stare at your hands which were slightly red. He winced at the sight, bringing his fingers to wrap around your wrist as his thumb circled the center of your palm.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, this is from smacking the floor when I tripped.”

“Technically still my fault, I should have warned you that I was going to drop my infinity…”

“When I tried to push you it was the weirdest sensation. Like, I was touching something but feeling absolutely nothing at the same time. Has anyone ever broken it? Your infinity?”

“You forget I’m the strongest,” Gojo smugly replied, “nobody can touch me unless I want them to.”

You hummed to yourself but Gojo could see that you were lost in your own thoughts. You took his statement into consideration but he could tell you still had more questions you wanted to ask.

“Thank you for showing me,” you replied softly, choosing to let it go for now.

Your eyes locked onto his, your cheeks a little flushed when you realized how close your faces were to each other. Gojo could sense your pulse increasing, your chest rising and falling as seconds passed between you both.

Right now, all he could think about is kissing you.

His lips brushed yours, a breathless sigh escaping you as you broke the silence that hung in the air.

“ Maybe, we should order some dinner…” you suggested, your eyes shimmering with anticipation.

“That’s an idea,” Gojo murmured, his eyes from beneath his blindfold dropping to your lips.

“I was thinking maybe we can take away from that place-“

His lips locked onto yours, interrupting your thoughts as he gave in to his desire. His hands moved to your hips, tugging you forward against him so he was holding you closer. He bit your bottom lip, before licking it and sliding his tongue into your mouth. Completely entranced by what he was doing, he didn’t notice your hands trailing up his chest until it circled around his neck. This kiss was different, slow and passionate as Gojo took the time to explore your mouth. The taste of sugar dance across your tongues as he deepened the kiss, and he could feel himself getting hard as your chest rubbed against his. One of his hands snaked it’s way up behind your back, tangling his fingers in your hair. His other hand began lifting your tee from the front, sliding underneath it as he slowly began rubbing the flesh of your midriff. You broke away from him, taking a second to catch your breath as you pressed your forehead into his and hoping to calm things down before they escalate.

“We shouldn’t…we said we weren’t going too…”

“You’re right, we probably should stop…” Gojo agreed, but his lips spoke otherwise as he returned a kiss instead.

“ Satoru… ” you whined, but he could sense the heat between your legs as your hips naturally bucked into him. “We said we wouldn’t…not tonight..”

“Then tell me to stop.”

“What about the rules…”

“Tell me that you want me to stop, and we can go back to what we were doing.”

His lips trailed to your neck, where he nipped and sucked at your skin with every intention of leaving a mark.

You whimpered, tilting your head instead and giving Gojo better access to continue what he was doing. Your silence spoke volumes and gave him the consent he needed to continue.

“Rules were meant to be broken,” he whispered in your ear. “And tonight, sweet girl, you’re all mine …”

- CHAPTER 5: EDGE - 

[wildfey]

Anon from yesterday back again! About the set-up, a post on twitter explained the theory much better and I gotta look up the name. The gist is that Phoenix could've proved that he was set up. He did not have the time to have a forgery done since he got the job for defending Zak only the day before. Plus the money. Instead, there is no evidence at all he even tried. Why? Because he'd seen the courts' corruption before and decided it didn't matter anymore, plus too dangerous.

(continued) You could even point at his reply to the Judge's words and wonder if Phoenix has nothing to say because he knows it's useless to argue. Hidden powers have already decided that they will attack him and try to drag him down.

okay, okay, hello again anon, good to see you back with another excellent ask.

I always think that there are two ways to look at Phoenix's disbarment:

a) that the problem was straight-up with bringing forged evidence into court, no matter what the circumstances were.

b) that the problem was that Phoenix was assumed to have created the forged evidence and bought it into court intentionally.

Ace Attorney really flips around on which of these is true in universe (it's a plot point to some extent in 1-5, 3-3, 4-1, and 4-4) but considering that Phoenix gets his badge back almost immediately after it's proved that the second wasn't the case, I'm going to assume that presenting forged evidence accidentally is either not an issue or less of an issue. This tends to be the fanon majority stance too. (It's worth noting that Edgeworth is implied to have pulled some strings irt getting Phoenix's badge back. Ymmv and so on.)

With our framework safely in place, the question arises: If Phoenix could have avoided punishment, or at least public shaming, by revealing the set-up, why wouldn't he? As you point out, the forgery doesn't make sense once you start to look into it and we know that Phoenix did put a lot of these pieces together. Hell, he could have made these arguments when Misham testified during the Gramarye trial. But he doesn't. (Warning: this is a more headcanon-y meta than my last one, because the 7yg is... a gap and we have very little concrete info on what the fuck Phoenix was up to. He got a kid, worked on jury trials, played good poker + bad piano, and had some sort of frenemyship with Kristoph. That's pretty much all we've got).

Firstly: Corruption. The AA court system is ridiculously corrupt, and at the point that Phoenix is disbarred, he becomes emblematic of this - he's a man with a history of revealing injustice - notably Von Karma & Gant, but even without them he still won some high profile cases - and once he's disbarred, it's implied that the narrative is flipped, turning him into a figurehead for that which he fought against (dark age of the law, etc). The obvious conclusion is that his disbarment was a convenient way to discredit him - powerful and corrupt figures (and in AA there are many) don't need to fear Phoenix Wright if he isn't a lawyer and his reputation is ruined. The counter argument is that Phoenix... has always done some questionable things with evidence (1-5, 2-4, and 3-3 stand out to me). But no more so than anyone else in this fucked-up universe. Either way, Phoenix has always worked in a system stacked against him, and it's very possible that he suspected there to be manoevering behind the scenes (and there was! We know Kristoph existed and was purposefully working against Phoenix.) HOWEVER, I don't believe that any of this would stop him on it's own, because it's been long established that Phoenix Wright does not give a shit about bad odds.

So, what would make him accept it? Anon, you mention danger in your ask, and I do see that as partially true - Phoenix isn't concerned about danger to himself, but he has a kid to care for. I would say, however, that especially when we come to Kristoph, as much of a bastard as he is, Phoenix had no evidence that he could be violent to the point of murder until 4-1. Before that, his influence was long-distance life ruining, rather than active threat (though long-distance life ruining is pretty scary on its own when you're raising a small child with low funds). I do see that as a cause, but one of many, and this is the point where I'd like to go back to the conversation on motivation.

I am going to make the argument here, as I did in the other answer, that Phoenix, in the 7yg and possibly elsewhere, is depressed, and that one symptom of that is a loss of motivation. It's implied by the game itself, and makes more sense than most of the alternatives.

(I won't get too personal, but the years of my life where I dressed like this... not good years lol)

My headcanon has always been that by the point that Phoenix had sorted out his guardianship of Trucy and got himself out of that initial low that came from having his life ruined, it was too late to fix his disbarment and he had to change tracks, and that's when he became interested in MASON. (Not to self-promote, but I'm realising that a lot of what I've said here is rephrased ideas from The Path Once So Clear, so if you want 15,000-ish words on the subject, it's there). Of course, when talking about Phoenix's 7yg depression, I think it's also important to mention that Phoenix in AA4 is very much implied to be putting on an act (which is pretty common in AA4 in general. Most characters in that game have both a public and private face). Being 'Beanix' - eg. the piano/poker player with no prospects who works in a shitty restaurant and takes nothing seriously - is a convenient cover while he works on the things that he doesn't want to be targeted for (and here we come back to the corruption angle).

As to how far the depression helps that act... well, that could be a whole conversation on its own. Once again, I'm very much coming into headcanon here, but I'm reminded of the phenomenon where someone with depression will deliberately exacerbate it, either as a form of self-harm or as some attempt to fit a role (artists are especially prone, due to the 'depressed artist' stereotype. I see it most in the emo scene). Beanix has always seemed to me as someone who is deliberately messing up his own life - he repeatedly provokes Apollo, essentially sabotaging their relationship, he puts himself into dangerous situations for no real reason (this is a general Phoenix trait), and despite the fact that we KNOW Maya and Edgeworth were supportive of him during this period, we never actually see them around, presumably because he's keeping them at a distance. How much of this is for the act, and how much is real?

Again, we've come very much off topic (whoops) but I see a lot of this as another aspect of Phoenix's low self worth - is there a difference between the image he projects of a man who has given up due to being disbarred, and the real Phoenix who is still actively working behind the scenes but is very obviously not doing well because he can't 'save people' - the thing which so much of his identity relies upon? I think there is, but I also think the image too often becomes the reality, and AA4 does carry this underlying theme of how wearing these masks of a public persona can affect your 'true self'.

As always, I genuinely love to see other people's takes on this, either in the tags, in reblogs, or via asks. This one is very headcanon-y, and I know there some entirely different perspectives out there, some of which I really like. (Also this one got to be heavy. Look after yourselves guys.)

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART TWO

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

WORD COUNT: 27k (will likely crash on mobile - use desktop!)

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

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

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | INSPO TAG | TALK TO ME ABOUT RCG 

a/n: and just like that...it’s over! thank you for the love on part one, and for reading part two. i’m so excited for you all to read this one! thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. Wutherford doesn’t exist and is 100% a figment of my imagination.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Cicely practically ran all the way to Josiah’s. She had been there only a handful of times before, usually by accident when she was out with Harry and he told her he had to stop by. The first time she had met Josiah, she was apprehensive, unsure what to make of the man standing behind the oak desk across from her, a cocky smile on his face. He reminded her of men she had met dozens of times before, men too big for their britches, as her father said. But then he spoke to Harry, and she could see how much he cared for him, despite the tension between them. She suspected it was more on Harry’s end than Josiah’s, the result of trustworthy people being few and far between in his life. Josiah might have been brash and rough around the edges, but Cicely didn’t mind that too much. He was nothing but kind to her, polite, told her that if anyone fucked with her they would answer to him, and it was a promise.

A promise she intended on holding him to.

She rapped on the glass of the door in the pattern she had seen Harry do, bouncing up and down on the toes of her boots as she waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Clara, the secretary who had offered to take Cicely shopping if she needed to. “Cicely?” She asked, and then took one looked at the panicked expression on her face and opened the door wider. “Harry’s in with Josiah.”

Cicely pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, thankful she had spent her life doing unconventional things like riding horses and running around on the estate rather than embroidering in the parlor. When she pushed open the door to Josiah’s office, she was panting from racing through the house, and the conversation in the room immediately cut out. Josiah, Jack, and Harry were sitting there, their faces all turned to her in surprise.

She had taken an especially strong liking to Jack, who she knew was Harry’s closest friend and confidante. He was everything his brother wasn’t in the ways that mattered—soft spoken, a kind smile, warm eyes. But she could tell he had another side to him, one that made people cower in fear when he entered a room. It was a side she was relying on.

Her eyes swept right to Harry’s, one hand resting on the door jamb and the other on her stomach as it rose and fell with her breath. “My father,” she said, breathless. “He found me.”

“Fuck,” Harry responded in an exhale, rising from the chair he sat in and coming to her side. He pressed a palm to her cheek and his eyes criss-crossed her face as if he was checking for damage. Thankfully, there was none. “What happened?”

She gripped his wrist as she told the story, describing the scene on the front steps and the way her hair stood up from the policeman’s gaze. “I just know it,” she told him earnestly. “He figured it out and he’s not going to waste time before he gets here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Josiah asked, leaning over the oak desk and looking her straight in the eye. “I hate William King enough to do just about anything you me to do, all ya have to do is say the word.”

Cicely considered it. She knew he would kill her father if she asked, and while she hated her father with every bone in her body, she didn’t want him murdered in cold blood. That would leave her mother alone on that estate and it would be hard for Cicely to run from everything, since she was the sole heir to the family name, the business, everything. Even though she wouldn’t be in charge—her father had seen to it that she would fall to her husband, and until she married the second in command of the company—it still meant that she couldn’t abandon ship. Her mother would never forgive her, and even though her mother had done countless things that were unforgivable, Cicely still loved her. Far more than she did her father, at least.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, stepping around Harry’s body so she was facing Josiah head on. “But don’t let him make me leave. Threaten him with force and protect Harry at all costs.”

“Don’t need protectin’,” he muttered behind him but she ignored it. To her, he was the one thing worth saving when everything went to hell and no matter how good he was at fighting someone, her father had an affinity for guns. And Harry refused to carry one after the war.

“You will if bullets are involved.” Josiah reached for the telephone, picking up the receiver and dialing for the operator. “Sergeant Petty, Birmingham Police, please Miriam.”

Of course he was on a first name basis with the operator, Cicely thought to herself. She felt a hand on her lower back, and she rotated her head just enough to catch Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, she could see it in his eyes, the way they were partially looking at her but also spacing off, the crease between his brows and the tightness of his jaw. “Harry,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear. “I’m going to be okay.” She didn’t really know if that was true, but she needed Harry to believe it. When he was like this it was hard for him to think straight, and she needed his mind in order to make sure she stayed out of her father’s clutches.  

“I…” Harry sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. “Are you sure ya want to stay?”

The thought of letting her father take her home hadn’t even crossed her mind when she saw the policeman in the street. Instead, her thoughts revolved around how to make sure she could stay with Harry, how to keep them safe from her father. The prospect of returning to the hell that was her home, her life, her predetermined future, was enough to make her nod her head. “Positive,” she told him, and his eyes lifted to hers.

She could see his jaw relax, his eyes clear and really look at her. He was better.

“Petty, I need to know if some of your men have been working for William King.” Josiah was speaking into the phone, a hand open on the desk, resting on a collection of papers. “And when is that supposed to take place?” His eyes shifted to Cicely, then Harry, and finally rested on Jack. His brother shifted in his seat and picked up a cigarette from the box on the table, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Keep everybody away from the area, ya hear me? Every man that you can keep out of the area, do it. No, I’m not telling you shit.” Josiah slammed down the receiver and downed the rest of the glass of whiskey on his desk.

The fast that it was eleven in the morning hardly seemed relevant.

“Your asshole of a father has the city police out on patrol for ya. Seems someone got a sighting of ya and tipped them off that you were at Harry’s, in Balsall. He’s comin’ to collect ya tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“That’s in less than 24 hours,” Harry said, the hand on her back forming into a fist that she wished she could unfurl.

Josiah grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled his crystal glass, and then two others. He pushed them towards Cicely and Harry before saying, “Just means we got a lot of planning to do.”

Jack dropped Cicely and Harry off at the house at half past six, after the plans had been put in motion and there was no going back. Josiah had told them to let him and Jack handle it, to stay inside and out of sight, and that they’d post a few men outside to keep an eye on the house in case her father decided to surprise them a bit early. With a nod to Harry and a kiss to Cicely’s temple, Jack drove off, leaving Harry and Cicely behind on the street. It was empty, everyone at work or out running errands, just a few children out on their porches up the block.

Harry unlocked the door quietly and Cicely followed him inside. They hadn’t spoken for all of the car ride from Josiah’s, Cicely because she didn’t know what was going through Harry’s head, and Harry because he was too angry to think of words. As he moved through the house, Cicely could tell he was angry. The way he sighed sharply and lit a cigarette, clenched at the table as he studied a wall, before pacing back and forth in the hallway, a hand roughly running through his hair. She stood next to the stairs, watching him, unsure what to say.

These were the moments when Cicely was reminded how much of Harry she still didn’t know. She had never seen him angry, at least, not like this. This was a kind of anger she couldn’t wipe from his body with a wet rag, or push away with a kiss to his forehead. It was anger she was wrapped up in, although not her fault, something she couldn’t fix without hurting them.

It was Harry who spoke first, in a shocking change. He turned to her, chest heaving. “Don’t wanna lose ya,” he said, staring daggers into her soul.

Cicely moved finally, through the distance between them, her boots clicking on the worn floorboards. “I don’t either,” she whispered, pressing a palm to his cheek. She ghosted her fingertips over his eyelids when they fluttered shut at her touch, and tried to memorize his face. The fading bruise on his jaw, the curl of his hair by his ears, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, how soft he looked in moments like this. Her thumb shifted across his face and brushed over his lip, running along the tender skin there.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, his anger replaced with a desire Cicely had grown used to in recent days. The darkening of his pupils, the way his gaze focused on her lips as he looked at her. “How,” he began, not meeting her eyes, “have I only known ya for a week, but it feels like an eternity?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice soft in the house. All she could hear was the sound of their haggard breathing and the tick of the old clock in the sitting room. “It feels like you were made for me. Like I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hands found her hips, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. Cicely took a step towards him, their chests nearly touching, and in a breath, found his lips with hers. Her fingers curled into his hair like she knew he liked and held him close to her, memorizing the way his lips tasted, how it felt to have his nose slotted against hers, the press of his body against hers and the heat of his palms on her hips. It was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

In a moment, Harry took a step towards her, forcing her backwards, and then another, until her back was pressed against the wall underneath the stairs. She arched her back and a sound left Harry’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl when her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of their shirts brushing against each other harshly. Their lips fought one another, Cicely sucking on his bottom lip and Harry biting softly down on hers and making her giggle. When his tongue licked into her mouth, she flicked hers out to meet him, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her hands explored the expanse of Harry’s back, fingers curling into his shirt, his jacket a long forgotten memory. When his lips dipped to her neck and her nails darted into his skin, he gasped by her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he formed a fist against the wall. She wanted his skin, his bare skin, to see his tattoos and his piercings and investigate every corner of his body. After his matches she was allowed snippets of time, but it was always pressured, people wanting to talk to him before they left, Harry still recovering from the fight. But now, he was here and hers, no one else waiting for his attention, his body bent over hers as he nipped at the spot just below her earlobe.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Her voice was quiet in the room, and Harry’s head lifted at her words.

He leaned back slightly and Cicely watched in rapture as he pulled the hem of it from his trousers, and then slowly over his head. A necklace she had never seen before—a cross—fell to his chest and she guessed she hadn’t seen it because he couldn’t wear it during fights. So she took this opportunity to investigate, her fingertips running down the silver chain until they reached the pendant.

“I thought you stopped believing,” she said, her forehead resting on his jaw as she surveyed the necklace. She could see his chest rise and fall, the roll of his stomach as he sucked in air sharply when her fingers ghosted over his skin.

“Started wearing it again a few days ago,” he murmured, bending his chin so he could rub it against her temple. The feeling of him nuzzling at her skin made her smile, the softness of Harry never ceasing to surprise her.

He had such a hard facade up and most of it was all lies. A protective mechanism that resulted from years of pain and one big betrayal, one she hoped she could kick to smithereens. Tentatively, she touched his nipples, loving the hiss that filled her ears at her touch. “Why is that?”

She felt his fingers brush through the ends of her hair, the loose curls having fallen from the stress of the day. “Found somethin’ worth believing in again.”

Their lips reconnected with a fervor Cicely had experienced before between them, but something was different this time. And urgency to the way their hands gripped one another, the way Cicely stopped thinking and let her body react in the way it wanted, her hips pressing up against his, the brush of their most intimate places making them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Cicely wanted more. She wanted to see every inch of him laid out below her, to run her fingers over his skin and discover which spots made him gasp. She wanted him to see her and do the same, to tell her all the thoughts bottled up in her head. But more than anything, she wanted a moment to remember forever, so that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could hold onto the memory of this night.

“Harry.” His head lifted, eyes finding hers in the soft glow of the hallway light. “Can you take me upstairs?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek tenderly. “Ya sure?”

“Yes.”

With that word, Harry’s hands drifted from their home on her hips down her skirt-covered thighs. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up so that he could touch her skin, and then gripped the back of them. With the flex of his arms, he pulled her up, her legs easily wrapping around his waist so that he was carrying her. In this position, their lips were level and Cicely took full advantage, smothering his face with soft kisses that brought out a rare smile on his face as he maneuvered them up the stairs gracefully. She knew Harry was strong, the sight of his body taught under her hands as he carried her made her understand how truly powerful he was.

He knocked open the bedroom door with his hip and Cicely took in the room they had shared for the past few nights, curled up under the covers together. She had chased away his nightmares in this bed. Even though her bed at home might have been more comfortable, she had never felt so at home between any sheets like she did in Harry’s.

Delicately, he dropped her onto the duvet cover, and Cicely held him to her, forcing his body on top of hers. Their foreheads knocked, but they didn’t mind, Harry’s hands finding the space on either side of her head to support himself, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. She loved having free range over his body, touching him as she pleased, watching how his features contorted in front of her with every press of her palms. Her skirts were rucked up, trapped under his knees, and she wanted them off, the material heavy on her body.

“Can you help me take this off?” She asked him, squeezing his skin to get his attention. He had been sucking a spot on the base of her neck, which as much as she enjoyed the feeling of, she wanted her warm skin to be free more.

Harry’s gaze scattered over her body before reaching her face. “All of it?” She nodded and he shuddered, hesitant hands pulling at the cotton blouse that was tucked into the waist of the skirt.

Cicely sat up so he could pull it over her head, and when it was gone Harry stared at her for seconds that stretched into a minute. Her brassiere over her breasts, straining from her heavy breaths, her soft skin, unmarred from a life without disease and violence. There wasn’t a mark on her, and Harry marveled at the beauty of her body in front of him, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have found her. Then, he reached his hands around her  to where the clasp laid, eyes searching hers to make sure it was okay before he pulled the material away.

When he bent his head, tongue running over the sensitive rises of her breasts, Cicely gasped, her fingers moving from the covers to his hair, holding his head to her skin. It was a sensation she didn’t know how to describe and it sent shockwaves through her body. Then he moved to her other nipple and she moaned, desperation on her vocal chords.

“Skirt?” He murmured into her skin, and Cicely mumbled her approval. Her skin was on fire and she just needed  it all off, to let the cool air rush over her. With deft fingers, he undid the buttons at the back of the skirt, and Cicely laid back so he could slide it down her legs. Every inch of skin that was revealed made Harry’s breathing quicken, the sight of a woman nearly naked in front of him one he hadn’t encountered since before France.

It was almost embarrassing how desperate he was for her in every single way. He wanted to make her moan, to hear his name on her tongue, to make her squirm, to make her cry out in ecstasy. But he started with moving down her body, pulling from his memories what he wanted to do to her, show her. “What are you doing?” She asked, confusion evident in her tone.

“Want to taste ya,” he mumbled, a kiss pressed to her hipbone where the line of her underwear laid. “Make ya feel good. Is that okay?”

Without hesitation, Cicely nodded and Harry ducked his head down, his eyesight level with her center. He decided to keep her underwear on, not wanting to rush her too fast. Tentatively, he brushed his forefinger over her underwear and Cicely gasped, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what she ached for, but she just knew she didn’t want him to stop. And when he darted out his tongue and swiped it over her clothed center, his name fell from her lips in a prayer.

“Goin’ to pull these to the side,” he told her, not wanting to catch her by surprise. “Stop me at any time if ya want.” He waited for her nod before continuing, pulling the edge to the side to reveal her wet pussy waiting for him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the sight of her overwhelming him. “Beautiful, every inch of ya, know that?”

The giggle that left her mouth quickly turned to a gasp when he licked over her, the tang of her like a holiday meal, one to be treasured for the rest of the year. He was tender, not wanting to hurt her, brushing circles and lines up and down her sensitive flesh. When her fingers moved from his shoulders to curl through his hair, he smiled into her skin, the signs of her pleasure making him proud. He was hers, and she was his. In this moment, it was as simple as that.

“Harry.” She pulled his roots and Harry couldn’t help the groan that he let out onto her flesh, the vibrations making her thighs clasp around his head. When she went to pull them away, Harry stopped her, holding her thighs close as he licked up and down her again, kitten licks to her bud. “Oh my God,” she said. She went to clasp a hand over her mouth but Harry gripped her wrist, holding it to the bed.

“Wanna hear ya,” he mumbled. “Don’t care about the neighbors.”

Cicely decided she didn’t either, because the prospect of having to think about anything but the tension rising in her belly would have overwhelmed her brain. His tongue felt like heaven on her skin, the warm wetness making her thighs tense. She worried she was hurting him but Harry seemed to like it, so she didn’t stop, just tugged on his head to keep him close and moaned. The sounds leaving her body were ones she had never heard before, but they became her favorite things, wanting to experience Harry drawing them from her for the rest of time.

He pulled away for a second, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and looked to Cicely’s face. The rise and fall of her breasts made him want to rut into the bed but he held back, wanting the moment to be all about her. “How d’ya feel, love?”

“Good,” she said in a rush, her voice raw from panting. “Um, tense? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed out, returning to her folds, “that’s good, Ci.” The nickname had appeared a few times in the past few days and it fit perfectly in his mouth. He loved how it made her smile, eyelashes flutter as she looked down at him.

He held her eyesight as he licked her skin, wanting to watch her unfurl in front of him. It was like a boxing match in a way, reading his opponent to know the moment he was desperately waiting for, using his instincts to change his actions to draw the reaction he wanted. He darted his tongue to her slit and she bucked into him, so he hesitantly pressed at her slit, wanting to open her up a bit for him. He wasn’t small, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She hummed in appreciation, so he continued, the feeling of licking inside of her making him grip at her skin in an attempt to hold himself to Earth. Her head tilted back, long neck exposed to him and he wished he could be in two places at once—at her neck and in between her legs.

When his tongue got tired, he replaced it with one of his fingers, Cicely moaning at the feeling. She watched him in rapture, the feeling of his digit inside of her alighting every part of her body. It was unusual, but not bad—she wanted more, in fact. She could feel herself reaching a precipice, of what she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed more. “More.” Harry looked at her, questioning, and she nodded. “Please.”

Harry responded by curling his finger, twirling it inside of her to reach every inch of her and a quick motion over her bud. She could feel herself tightening around him and at first she thought it was bad but he mumbled how good it felt into her skin, so she let herself do it again. She could feel that edge racing towards her like she was flying, and she struggled to keep her eyes open before giving up, eyelids drifting shut and her head tilting back again.

Her hips bucked, the tension rising, and then with a brush to the spongy spot inside of her, she snapped with a cry of his name. Harry didn’t let her go, pushing in and out of her as she fell apart, kissing her inner thighs. Watching her finish was like a movie to him, one he would’ve paid his life’s earnings to see just one more time. Her cheeks glowed, eyes wide, chest rising with quick breaths as she calmed down. Slowly he pulled his finger from her and she hissed at the loss, Harry giving her a small smile as he sucked his finger dry so her juices didn’t get all over the duvet.

“I…” She didn’t have the words but Harry knew. “Come here,” was all she got out, and Harry responded in a flash, his body moving up hers immediately.

Their lips reconnected and the taste of her on his tongue made her crave more. Her legs wound around his waist and Harry grunted when her bare center brushed over his still clothed dick. He pulled back and brushed a hair from her forehead. “Ci,” he said softly, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she answered, fingers gliding down his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—“

She pressed a finger to his lips that silenced him immediately. “I’m sure.”

He kissed every inch of her face, heart cresting at the giggles that spilled from her mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his lips to hers, Harry sighing into the kiss. Kissing Cicely was a euphoria he had never known before. It made every other thought in his brain fall to the wayside, which was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, Cicely was tightening her knees at his hips and using them to rotate him. He fell to the side, his back hitting the duvet, and the sight of Cicely hovering over him made him twitch in his pants. “Is this okay?” Cicely asked, her fingers ghosting up his chest.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless from the feeling of her touching him. He could feel her everywhere, smell her, hear nothing but the beat of their hearts in the room.

Cicely gazed down at him, his chest rising and falling below her, the tattoos that littered his body. She wanted to trace each and every one of them, memorize his inked skin so that it filled her dreams. She started with his hands, ghosting over the silver rings that adorned his knuckles with her lips, Harry’s eyes never leaving her face. When she kissed the cross on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry couldn’t help but brush the pad of his thumb over her lips. She parted her lips, a coy smile on her face, and with a tenderness he didn’t know someone could have, captured the tip of his thumb in between her teeth.

She didn’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but with him she didn’t worry about what someone might think. Her thoughts were filled with him, the rest of the world gone for the moment, her mind only focused on what would make his breath catch in his throat. Inching up his forearm and then his bicep, she alternated between open-mouthed and soft pecks to his skin, tracing the outline of the rose with her lips. She scratched delicately at the ship on his bicep, a caress to the sails, and thumbed over what he informed her was Hebrew. Then, she drifted her hands across his shoulders, pulling at his tense muscles before she dipped her head, sponging a kiss across the A, then the 17Black, the two crosses, and then across her favorites—the swallows. His silver cross laid between them, stuck to his skin with sweat, and when she sucked the heavy chain into her mouth, Harry exhaled her name in a moan that made her grin.

“Feel good?” She asked, voice heavy with desire. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be able to properly describe the sensations running through his blood. Feeling her lips on his skin was licking a fire through him that rivaled the pits of hell.

And then, Cicely reached her favorite addition to Harry’s body—the barbells tucked through his nipples. Up until then, all she had done was touch them, but remembering how it felt when Harry licked her breasts, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to do the same. So she bent her head and tentatively brushed her tongue over his right nipple.

Harry bucked into her, his grip on her waist tightening to a pressure she hadn’t felt before. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes wide at the sight of her on top of him, mouth suckling on his pierced nipples. It was torture, and one he would happily submit to for hours on end.

She licked at the buds of his nipples, and then in a circle around them, tweaking the barbells under the pressure of her tongue. It was her new preferred method of pleasuring him, she thought as she watched his features contort above her. Watching him squirm and pant her name, begging her for more, had her squeezing her knees around his hips. When she accidentally rolled into him, she dug her nails into his shoulders at the sensation, moans tumbling from both of their mouths.

“I love them,” she mumbled as she licked over his left nipple, the slick of her saliva glistening on his skin.

“Yeah?” Harry didn’t know what else to say, his throat was raw and dry from his being unable to close his mouth.

“Mhm,” she murmured, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.

“Fuck,” he groaned and tugged softly at the strands of her hair. “Ci, I’m not—fuck, love, ya have to stop.”

Her head bounced up at that, eyes meeting his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry could feel a blush creeping across his features, trying to search for the words to tell her he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. It had been too long and he was sensitive, so sensitive, and the feeling of her hips softly rolling into his by accident and her lips on his nipples and her fingers curling into his skin was sending him into another realm. “I’m not going to last if ya keep going,” he said, trying to explain.

Cicely glanced down where their centers were resting just inches from one another and then back to his face. “Oh.” Then, she moved like a cat down his legs, kneeling between them. Her fingers tucked into the buttons of his trousers, and with Harry’s help, she pulled them down his long legs. Cicely’s eyes widened, taking in the sheer size of him. She had never disrobed a man before, but she was expecting him to wear underwear like she was, only…he wasn’t. So he was exposed to the air, his dick red and throbbing against his stomach.

Harry must have been able to sense her apprehension, because he sat up, drawing her attention to his face. “Can you roll over for me, love?” He wanted it to hurt the least amount possible, and also not to overwhelm her, so he decided her on her back and him over her would be the best position.

She nodded, and crawled up, letting them switch positions on the bed. Fingers brushed across the top of her underwear and she watched as Harry pushed them down slowly, exposing her most intimate areas to his eyes. If it hadn’t been Harry, maybe she would’ve felt uncomfortable, but under his gaze she felt adored. He sat on his knees between her legs, and brushed a finger lightly over her folds, her skin sensitive under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said under his breath, almost as if he was just speaking to himself, awestruck by her.

Using her ankles, she pressed him closer to her, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. “Harry,” she murmured, reaching for him with her hands. “Want you.”

It was if the air had been sucked out of the room when those words fell on Harry’s ears. Cicely laid out on the bed in front of him, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, lips red and puffy from their kisses, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. The press of her ankles on his lower back had tugged him closer to her, so her thighs were wrapped around his waist, his dick just centimeters from her. “Okay, love, I’m comin’,” he said, leaning over her body and caging her between his arms. “It might hurt at first, so I’m going to go slow, hmm?” With his words he pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, wanting to help her relax as much as possible. “Stop me if it’s too much, don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“You couldn’t.” Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in for a searing kiss, before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m ready.”

Harry reached between them, palming his dick in his hand, tugging a few times, but he didn’t need much. Pleasing her had brought him nearly to the brink, and her touching his body had practically had him melting in her arms. When he brushed his tip over her slit she whimpered, and Harry brought their lips together when he pushed just the tip inside of her.

He barely held back the curses that begged to fall from his mouth, not wanting to make it all about him. He just searched her eyes, their faces so close there was just a hair’s distance between them, waiting for the pinch between her brows to soften. The pain wasn’t as bad as Cicely was expecting, but it wasn’t quite good either—somewhere in the middle ground. She just wanted him to move, to get it over with, almost. She had never been good with prolonging something, pain especially. “Move,” she murmured against his lips.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought, but then opened to make sure he could see her face, check in with her as he moved. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop,” he asked, a hand brushing at the hair on her face.

“Promise.”

With that, Harry pushed the rest of the way inside in one motion, Cicely’s head tipping back as a low moan ripped from her throat. He stayed there, fully inside of her, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he tried to hold it together. Her hands pressed into his sides, fingers digging into his muscular back as she adjusted to him. It was an overwhelming feeling, being filled with him, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt so right, especially with him.

It was like her body knew what to do, though, because once the initial burning feeling had subsided, her ankle pushed into his lower back, just centimeters from the top of his ass, and he pushed slightly deeper into her. Moans fell between them, Harry gripping the sheets for something to hold onto. “Want me to move, love?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her lips surging up to find his.

And so Harry did. He pulled out, the feeling of her walls gripping him like a vice making his eyelids shut, and then back into her, losing himself to the feeling of being this close to her. One of her arms draped across the back of his neck, the other around his chest to keep him close to her as he pushed into her, deeply and slowly. He peppered kisses down her neck and across her collarbones, bathing in the sounds of her pants and breathy moans.

Cicely couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, just the feeling of him filling every inch of her in a way she didn’t know she was missing until this very moment. She had always dreamed of her first time being with someone she loved, and when Harry kissed her eyelids tenderly, she realized her dream had come true. When his hips swiveled into her, the angle changing slightly, Cicely’s head tipped back, her neck bared to Harry.

He didn’t let the opportunity pass him by—he was on her exposed skin in seconds, covering her with kisses and nips. “God, ya feel like heaven,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck when she clamped down around him, knees pressing into the sides of his stomach. “How’d I get so lucky to find ya, hmm?”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, licking her dry lips and ducking her head down. His ring-clad fingers pushed back her hair and she tried to commit every one of his features to her memory forever. The tender touches of his hands on her skin, the antithesis of who everyone else knew him as. The cracked skin over his knuckles, still healing from a rough training day, the yellowing brush on his ribs from the fight two nights ago, the cut on his lip she had washed and kissed better. The searing gaze of his hazel eyes that felt like they managed to know the depths of her soul, regardless of how long she’d known him for. “H,” she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His hips stuttered and his head drew back, his whole body coming to a stop above her. “Ya—what?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she repeated, pulling at the hand that rested in her hair so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s fast, but…”

Harry shook his head at her, and at first she was worried it was too much too quickly, that she’d messed up. But then he lowered his forehead back to hers, and the words he uttered were so quiet she almost missed them. “I love ya,” he uttered, low in her ear. “No thought or falling involved.”

They were words he had never said to anyone else before, other than his family, and even those he hadn’t uttered in years. They were rusty on his lips, his tongue untrained in how to form the sounds. But when they landed between them, they felt right. So, utterly, effortlessly right. Harry couldn’t hide from her—he never could. She swept into his life and in a flash had ripped his strongest defenses to bits, battled her way into his heart. And perhaps it was silly to fall in love with a girl who was the opposite of who he was supposed to, but who gave a fuck anyways? She was meant for him—created for him to love, and he for her.

Cicely swept his lips to hers, tugging him into her in a kiss unrivaled by the ages. And then he pushed back into her, their moans passing between them in the tunnel their open mouths had created. She grappled at his skin, trying to find purchase, and Harry was barely holding on. “Closer,” she whimpered to him, “want to be closer.”

They were already skin to skin, but Harry knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. His hands tucked under her torso and he pulled her up, sitting back on his calves so she was sitting in his lap. His thighs burned, but he didn’t mind, because the way that Cicely keened when he pushed into her had him determined to bring her to an orgasm right there. Her legs draped around his, arms around his neck, their lips meeting and parting, the closeness she had craved successfully found.

“Oh my god.” Cicely gripped the ends of his hair, her head dropping to his shoulder as her body began to shake in his arms. “Harry.”

“Ci,” he mumbled, one of his hands drifting up to brush under her hair and thumbs running across the back of her neck. “Can ya look at me? Wanna see ya.”

Her head lifted and their eyes met, Harry staring deep into her as her legs shook around him. She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and tightening, her grip on the moment beginning to fray as the euphoria she had experienced earlier bubbled back. All she could do was hold onto Harry and focus on the feeling of him inside her, brushing a soft spot deep inside of her. She could have sworn she could feel him in her fucking stomach, and it was a feeling she never wanted to forget. “H,” she panted out, their noses bumping as he pushed into her. His name was all she could think of, the only words she could conjure.

His hands splayed across her back, holding her torso to his. “Let go for me, love, okay? I’ve got ya.”

Perhaps that was all she needed—permission—because when he said it, the knot in her belly disintegrated, Cicely reaching a high unlike the one from earlier, a scream falling from her throat. More intense, one that had her toes curling and her whole body vibrating in Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t hold it together anymore, the feeling of her clenching around him too much. With a bit of fumbling he was able to pull out of her, and his eyes fluttered shut as he came, a bit on her stomach, a bit on his. Her name was a prayer on his lips, repeated over and over again in the quiet of the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at the mess he had made. Without hesitating, she reached down and her fingers swiped at his sticky ropes of cum on her skin, and then she lifted her two fingers to her mouth, gently licking. “Fuck,” he panted, the sight sending his body into overdrive. “Gonna kill me, know that?”

Cicely just giggled in his arms, and then surged forward, reconnecting their lips, the taste of his cum on her lips, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted her, every bit of her, every ounce of the love she would give him. When they pulled apart, she ran her fingers across his rings before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Wanna have a bath?”

His head bent to her chest and he sighed. “Don’t wanna go to the pump,” he mumbled.

She echoed his sigh, fingers brushing through his hair at the nape of his neck. “I forgot you don’t have running water.”

“Sounds bloody magical right about now,” he said, and she laughed, the sound filling his heart up to the brim, pieces of love falling over the edge. “How about I clean us up and we get some sleep?”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Perfect. But only if you promise not to hog the pillow again.”

“S’rude,” he said, letting her fall back onto the duvet cover, her legs untangling from around him. He missed their presence immediately. “They are my pillows and all.” Cicely laughed again, and Harry moved from the bed, a rare smile gracing his face, one meant for her and only her. As was every single one of the smiles that had found his face since she came into his life—all for her eyes only.

The air was heavy when Cicely and Harry stepped outside at a quarter to eight the next morning. His fingers were intertwined with hers, the desire to be constantly touching after last night overwhelming both of them. Harry had on his nice jacket and his best pair of trousers, but he still paled in comparison to Cicely, who managed to make Nellie’s clothes look like they were made for her. She had combed her hair and washed up as best as she could, but she still knew her father would comment on her appearance, her being unkempt and dirty, although she didn’t care all that much. She wasn’t planning to go with him anyway.

After last night, she was Harry’s in every meaning of the word. Mind, body, and soul.

Josiah and Jack stood just past Harry’s front step, Josiah smoking a cigarette and Jack looking at them with an intensity that reminded her of Harry. “Mornin’, lovebirds,” Josiah said in an effort to keep the mood light but no one laughed. “Hope we’re feeling feisty this morning.”

Harry squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was there. They’d talked about this morning when they were curled up in bed last night, tracing one another’s naked skin. How nervous she was. This was going to mean she was cutting herself off from her family, for all intents and purposes. Giving up her name, her title, her standing. Even though there wasn’t much money left, her family still had an immense amount of power, power she had grown up knowing she would one day inherit. Now, within a matter of a week, she was prepared to give it all up for a better life. Perhaps her father wouldn’t see it that way, but for Cicely, she would rather live a life filled with love, than one that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. She refused to become her mother.

“Remember, no killing him,” she told Josiah at the sight of the revolver tucked into his waistband. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Talk, right,” Josiah mumbled, but she ignored him. Her gaze instead fell to their surroundings. It was eight o’clock in the morning and most days it would be bustling, but today the street was silent. There must have been an order to stay inside, or to vacate the area in case things went sideways. She was thankful for it, she didn’t want children possibly put in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean it felt normal, because the sound of a quiet Balsall Heath was unsettling, the sight of empty streets except for the men who Josiah and Jack and brought with them.

There were probably twenty-or-so men, all with their J pins on their lapels, revolvers in their hands. Their eyes rested on Cicely and Harry, she realized, not on Josiah and Jack. “Is this going to be enough?” Harry asked behind her, reading her mind.

Jack was the one who replied. “Didn’t want to risk bringing out a full brigade and it turning to shit without them gettin’ a word in.”

It made sense. Her father would respond to fear more than anything else, and if he felt cornered or threatened she was screwed. “Cicely,” Harry murmured, and she turned. He was tense, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she couldn’t say she felt any different. “What do you want me to do?”

It felt unusual for Cicely to be in charge in a situation like this, and she could tell he felt helpless. Unable to use his fists or his body, giving over all the control to her. “Stay next to me,” she told him. “And please, for the love of God,  don’t get hurt.”

As Harry was about to respond, no doubt with something snarky, Cicely heard the sound of cars on the road. Her head turned and Harry stepped from his spot behind her to next to her, their hands still connected. The black police cars emerged from the fog, out of place on a street that mostly saw horses and the rare car—usually belonging to Josiah. But this time, there were at least ten, and Cicely’s heart began to race in her chest. What if her father wasn’t planning to just talk? What if in an effort to keep Harry, Josiah, Jack, and their men safe, she had put them all in danger? She heard the cock of a pistol and knew the men were anxious, and she didn’t blame them.

The cars stopped in a massive clump, car doors slamming in the quiet morning air as they climbed out. Her eyes scanned for her father, his gray hair and tall stature that put up a strong facade, but was secretly cracked straight through. And when he appeared, her gut twisted.

It was the first time she had seen him in a week, but the feeling of dread at the sight of him hadn’t left her. The memories of the words he had said, the things he threatened still echoed in her brain.

“There he is,” Josiah muttered, before taking another puff of his cigarette and then a swig from his flask, despite the early hour. “C’mon, boys.”

The men moved immediately, creating disordered rows around Cicely and Harry, an aisle of sorts standing in front of them. “Ready?” Harry asked her, his voice soft.

She nodded, and dropped his hand, wanting to appear as strong as possible when she faced her father. The mud of the street squelched under boots as she stepped off the stoop, but after days in it it didn’t bother her anymore. She could tell her father hated it though, his eyes on her as she moved towards him, the fog parting around her figure.

William King commanded a presence. His height and size towered over many, the graying of hair did nothing to disguise the fact that he was a striking man. Many of his features Cicely had inherited, namely his high brows and the set of his mouth, and when they stood next to one another it was plainly obvious she was his daughter. She had always despised it. He wore a simple black suit, as usual, a tie her mother had probably insisted he wear hanging from around his neck, his cufflinks glinting. He looked rich, as usual, even if he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his appearance that drew people into his circle, or the way he had with words, the stories he could spin in seconds to earn approval and trust. Cicely had seen it all her life and it made her sick.

So when he said her name, it drew bile in her mouth. “Cicely,” he said, a fake kindness she saw straight through. “Hello, darling.”

“Father,” she replied tersely, stopping a few yards away from him. “There was no need for the police, you know.”

“Oh?” Her father glanced around at their surroundings. “I’m not so sure about that, considering the ruffians you’ve decided to bring along.”

Cicely heard some muffled noises behind her, and she knew it was Jack keeping Josiah quiet, an outburst doing nothing to help the moment. “I felt the need to protect myself.”

William scoffed. “From who?”

“You,” she replied simply, cocking her head to the side. “So, Father, why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes before looking to the policeman next to him—someone high up, she imagined. “See what insolence I have to put up with?” Then he turned back to her. “To retrieve you from whatever games you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cicely’s voice cut like glass through the morning fog and Harry watched her in awe. She had known Cicely was strong, but to see her pushing back against her father, one of the most powerful men in Birmingham in addition to welding immense control over her life, was a scene he would always remember. “I left because you were going to force me into a marriage I don’t want, and I ended up here. And I’m staying.”

William stiffened at her words. “Stay? Here? In this slum? With him?” He pointed at Harry, who just stared at him in response. Jack’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay calm, that Cicely wanted him to stay out of it as much as possible.

Cicely could feel a familiar anger boiling inside of her, the same one that had made her run out of her home in the first place, mount her horse, and ride away, despite the coming storm. “It is not a slum,” she said firmly, “and I am far happier here with him than I ever was living with you.” Her father flinched, the prospect of being dressed down in public, in front of people who were supposed to respect him, was the bane of his existence. Which was exactly why Cicely forged on. “I am done being your pawn in a game to recover the wealth that you lost at the gambling table. I don’t care about the business, about my ‘duties’, all I’ve ever wanted is to be happy. But you couldn’t even give me that. You want me to marry Clifford Stevens to save your business, you want to use me as your pawn. And I’m done.”

The air was silent when she finished speaking, her father shocked into silence at her outburst. Although she had spoken back before, never quite like this, and never in public. Her father looked at her with an unparalleled fury, and she could feel the tension rising between them. There were many times in her life when she had been afraid of her father, and this moment specifically might top the list. Then her father spoke, and Cicely’s world dropped out beneath her.

“If you want to give up your life, your name, your title, so badly, then how about I send you away? Lock you up and tell everyone you’ve gone insane?” He waved his hand around at the neighborhood and then continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a lie, either. After this stunt, I am quite concerned for your mental well-being.”

It took every strand of willpower in Harry’s body to hold him back from slamming William King to the ground. The suggestion that Cicely was insane was the farthest thing from the truth. If anyone was destined for the asylum, it was him—the dreams that plagued him and the fears that gripped his body. But Cicely…

She felt arms wrap around her waist, and she immediately knew they belonged to Harry. The feeling of his body against hers, the warmth of his hands on her body, the security they offered, managed to blur the edges of her simmering anger towards her father. Just as she was about to respond, she heard Harry’s voice.

“How dare you?” Harry asked, tone so even that the delivery was chilling.

William King just laughed, a bone chilling one that made Cicely tense in Harry’s arms. But he refused to be afraid of a man who had done nothing but harm to the woman he loved. “How dare I? What about you? What could you possibly have to offer my daughter, other than a life on a shit-covered street and nights spent in dark warehouses where you beat the life out of people?” His words struck a chord in Harry, the insecurity in himself that he had tried to push away for so long, but the moment William said them, they were out in the open. “At least I know what’s best for her.”

“You have no idea what is best for me,” Cicely said, her voice rising. “You have never known!”

“Cicely King, that is enough,” William said, an exhausted sigh echoing in her ears that reminded her of every fight with her father she had ever had. “Either you come home with me, or I send you to the asylum where you can live out the rest of your days wondering if this little rebellion,” he spit the word at her and it made Cicely see red, “was worth it. It’s up to you.”

But Cicely shook her head. “I’m not doing either of those.”

“Fine.” Her father nodded to the policeman closest to him, and suddenly everyone was moving, a blur of black uniforms coming straight for her. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.”

Suddenly, Cicely was being wrenched from Harry’s grip, a policeman’s hands on her stomach tugging her away from Harry. A scream left her mouth as Harry was pulled by three different policemen, their hands tugging his arms behind his back. She could see the fear and confusion on his face—Harry hated when people touched him who he didn’t know, it sent him to the memories of France, and she knew this and the prospect of him being in pain because of her made her heart clench.

“No, stop, please—“ Sobs wracked her body as she watched the police, who had more men than Josiah, surrounded his men from all sides, effectively disarming them. It was a disaster of epic proportions. “Harry!”

Harry watched helplessly as Cicely was carried away from him, her legs kicking at the policemen who held her, her beautiful face covered in tears. “Ci, it’ll be okay, love,” he said, trying to stop himself from crying as well. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It had changed so quickly, the men coming for him faster than he could move, the number of them more than he could manage despite his strength.

But Cicely screamed his name again, wrestling in the arms of the policemen. And then, as she watched Harry get pushed towards a police car, she knew what she had to do. “Daddy, stop!” Her father turned at the sound of the childhood nickname she hadn’t used in years. “Daddy, please, I love him,” she said, words a whimper in the chaos.

But William King wasn’t moved. “No you don’t.”

“Daddy, wait!” She screamed at him, so loudly that anyone inside their homes would know exactly what was happening. “Let him go and I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clifford.”

That hard her father grinning ear to ear. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He waved at the policemen, and they immediately dropped Cicely, her feet hitting the muddy ground with a squelch.

She rushed towards Harry, ignoring the onlookers, and swept her hands over his face. His beautiful, loving face, that taught her how to feel like a real person. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting on his chest, right above his heart.

Harry’s arms caged around her, holding her close to him, basking in the feeling of her fingers curling into his shirt under his jacket. “Remember what I told you last night?” She nodded. How could she forget? He had told her he was in love with her. “No matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her lips found his and they could feel the tears on one another’s faces, the memories of their hushed confessions filling their minds. Harry tried to commit to his memory the feeling of her lips on his, the way she fit against him, how she breathed into his mouth. “I love you,” she said so quietly he almost missed it amidst the commotion. “I love you so much, Harry.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her nose softly. “I’ve always known.”

Cicely felt the arms on her before she heard the words around her. Men telling her it was time to go, her father’s voice reminding her of her promise. In a flash, Harry lifted his cross necklace over his head and slipped it over Cicely’s, the cross hitting the middle of her chest. “I’ll come back,” she said, eyes never leaving his as she was wrenched away from him, policemen holding each of her arms. “I promise.”

Harry watched helplessly as the love of his life was shoved into her father’s car, William King’s triumphant grin making him sick to his stomach. He watched, unmoving, as the car turned around and pulled away, Cicely’s face plastered to the rear window, her hand pressed to the glass.

Watching her drive away was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever experienced.

But once she was gone, the feeling of being alone was worse.

Cicely spent the first week that she was home shut up in her room, refusing to speak to anyone but Polly, her ladies maid who left her meals outside her door and drew her baths. Even then, though, Cicely didn’t say much. She filled her days with books and art and looking outside at the grounds, studying the trees and the sky. When Polly asked her questions, which she did every time she got a good look at Cicely’s red and puffy face, Cicely had no words to give.

How did she put into words what it felt like to have her heart ripped out of her chest?

To say goodbye to the one person who finally understood her?

To have just memories and his necklace, one single physical reminder of him?

To find more joy in sleep than being awake, because in her dreams she saw him?

There weren’t words for that kind of pain. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. So instead of trying, she just sat in the cold metal tub in silence as warm water rushed over her head, her arms wrapped around her knees while her tears were washed away.

Harry couldn’t sleep. Cicely was his key to sleep, her presence and the smell of her hair, her arms around his body, her hushed words when he had a nightmare, pulling him from the depths of his brain. Without her, sleep had become his enemy, just as it was before her.

He saw her everywhere, it felt like. The golden blonde of her hair, blue eyes, the curve of her hips and the straight posture of her body. Every time he saw a woman with the same wave to her hair or a voice that made him like of Cicely, his heart would flip and for a split second he would let himself dream that it was her. But it never was.

Instead of feel, he drank. He drank glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey to dull the pain that flowed through him, sometimes with Josiah or Jack at the pub or in the office, other times on his own. He almost preferred to be alone, because it was in the depths of those moments that he saw her, heard her voice, her laugh in his ears like she was right there. Harry chased those moments, the ones where she was with him, because they brought him some semblance of peace—a peace he had only found once, and that was with her at his side.

Before the drinking started everyday, he boxed. He was training every day without fail, hours on end that left his body exhausted beyond anything else he had experienced before. His trainer, Freddie, kept telling him to stop, that he was going to hurt himself, but Harry didn’t care. In fact, he almost wished he would hurt himself, because it would make him feel something other than the depths of despair that currently consumed him. It was only when he was boxing that he could forget her, forget what her father had made her do, forget the look on her face when she was ripped away from him, forget the way she tasted and felt under his hands, forget the sound of his name on her tongue. Every other time of day, the memories haunted him like a shadow.

Harry had lived with shadows before. The difference was that this time, he didn’t want them to go away.

After a week, her curiosity got the better of her. So she got dressed with the help of Polly, a light blue dress pulled over her head and buttoned up the back, her hair brushed, Harry’s cross necklace tucked under the neck of her dress. When she entered the dining room, her mother and father both looked up from their breakfasts, a look of surprise on both of their faces. Her mother’s spoon hovered above her boiled egg, her father’s eyes darting up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Cicely,” her mother said, voice soft. “It’s nice to see you, dear.”

Cicely didn’t respond, just took her usual seat across from her mother, and took a sip of the tea that one of the maids brought her. When her breakfast was slid in front of her, she tapped her spoon against her egg, the sound of the metal on the shell the only sound in the room except for the crinkle of the newspaper pages. “Father,” she finally said, “may I see the paper?”

Her father lowered the paper slightly, enough to show his interest in his daughter’s request. “What for?”

Secretly, she wished to see if Harry’s matches had been reported on, as they sometimes were. She wanted any mention of him, the chance to see his name written in print and not in her own hand, on newspaper and not in her journal. “I’ve been removed for too long and I’d like to be caught up on what I’ve missed. You know how much Clifford likes to talk about the news and the markets.”

Her father seemed unmoved by her reasoning, lifting the paper back to its former height. “That is nothing to trouble yourself over. Just let him talk, he’s not seeking your opinion.”

Cicely looked to her mother for support, but she found none. Her docile mother just looked back down at her breakfast, the clink of her silver on the plate as she picked up her fork. “Can I see yesterday’s paper, then? Is it in your office?”

William King huffed and set down his newspaper. “When did you find an interest in the news? While you were living in the slums?” Her mother flinched at the word, but Cicely didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You know you do not enter my office and this is no different. You have no business with the paper, so go back to your breakfast unless you have something decent to say.”

Polly might be able to get a copy for her, she thought to herself as she resigned herself to the rest of her breakfast. There was probably a copy delivered to the servant’s quarters that she could see, even just for a few minutes. In actuality, the news of the world was meaningless to her—she was interested solely in Harry. There was no way for her to contact him, since she had never even thought to learn the telephone number for Josiah’s and there was no way she could manage to sneak a letter out of the house to him. She needed something to know that he was okay, living his life, still out there.

“Clifford is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” her father said, closing the paper and letting it rest on the table. “You will be there, Cicely.”

Cicely suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wished she had never left her room, stayed in there for at least long enough for Clifford to come and go without her having to see him. “Is he going to propose?”

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “But if he does, you are to accept.”

She looked to her mother for support, for insistence that she needed more time to adjust back, that there wasn’t a rush, but she offered no such support. She just took another sip of tea and looked out the window at the gardens.

“I know,” she told her father, because there was nothing else to say. There was no sense in fighting it—it was the only way she got her father to let Harry go, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t follow through her father would just have him arrested all over again. She set her napkin on the table, suddenly no longer hungry. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” her father said. “But don’t try anything, Cicely. Just because you’re home doesn’t mean that you can do as you like.”

As if she ever had been able to. “I know,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She needed to get out of the house, needed to be able to breathe again, needed quiet to silence the thoughts swirling in her brain. With a glance to her mother, she left the room, on the hunt for Polly before she went for a walk on the grounds. She found her in the hallway leading to the downstairs where the servants quarters were, a basket of sheets in her arms. “Polly,” she said, her maid turning to her, apron swirling.

“Miss!” Polly’s chest heaved. “You scared me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Does the staff get a copy of the Birmingham Gazette?” She asked, leaning against the wall, voice hushed so others didn’t hear.

Polly nodded. “Every morning, miss.”

“Could I have this morning’s, possibly? After everyone is done with it, of course.”

Polly’s eyes widened., but then she nodded. “Of course. Should I leave it in your chambers?”

She gave her maid a smile, as she knew how controlling her father was. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, miss.” Cicely turned away, boots clicking on the floor as she made her way through the grand house to the rear, where the doors to the gardens were. She grabbed her shawl just in case there was a morning breeze, and pushed open the heavy glass doors, the cool dewy air wrapping around her.

Her mother was obsessed with the grounds of their home, the illustrious Wutherford House that had been in the King family for generations. When she had married William King, she took on the role of mistress of the house wholeheartedly, hiring more gardeners and setting them about the task of reshaping the topiaries and cleaning up the old fountain in the middle of the main garden. The old trees hung over the back section of the garden and her mother had put in a small bench for reading, which was Cicely’s favorite spot in the house. There was a wide clearing for games, which was used mostly in the spring and summer whenever they threw garden parties for their wide circle of friends.

As Cicely walked through the garden, her shawl pulled around her to protect against the chill in the air, she knew that perhaps she should care more about the fact that her family would love Wutherford without her marriage to Clifford. The truth was that as much as she loved the gardens and the wooded green space surrounding her home, the hills she spent years learning to ride on, the house itself just held bad memories for her. The prospect of having to return to this house for holidays and birthdays with a family led by Clifford Stevens made her stomach turn.

She had stopped caring about the future of her family the moment she discovered that their impending ruin was the fault of her father, and rather than take any responsibility, he shoved that role onto Cicely. The obvious answer to their problems was for him to stop gambling on every horse race and card game he encountered, to focus on the business, which, if he worked at hard enough, would turn a higher profit. Instead, he drank more, gambled more, and told Cicely she was to marry Clifford Stevens and make them all rich again.  

The leaves rustled from the wind, and Cicely shut her eyes, inhaling the smell of freshly wet grass, the heavy scent of rain in the air. For a moment, she let herself picture walking out of Harry’s home in Balsall Heath, the smell of. manure and coal hanging low in the air, mixed with the sweetness of the bakery at the end of the street. She wiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes at the image, and then opened them, thrusting herself from her imagination and back into reality. A reality she despised.

She made her way to the little bench under the tree, and sat down, her boots crunching over the gravel. Was there any way for her to return to Balsall Heath, to Harry, to the life she had lived there? It was a question that she had turned over in her head for the past week, conjuring up different scenarios and ways to escape, to get to Harry. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really know how to get to Balsall Heath. She had been unconscious on her way in, and crying too hard to see much of anything on her way out. Birmingham was a mystery to her outside of the wealthy areas where her friends lived, and those were far from Harry’s home. She didn’t even know his address.

It was moments like these when she was struck by how little she actually knew of him. The surface-level bits, at least, the insignificant information you learn about someone upon first getting to know them. Instead that, she knew his heart, his mind, the things that plagued him at night and kept him going through the day. She knew about his family, about his past, about how he didn’t know what the future held, because thinking of it made him sad. The parts of him that mattered she knew, and she knew intimately, just as he knew hers. She didn’t care all that much about the other bits, if she was honest. Other people might, but she didn’t.

“Miss.”

Cicely’s head bounced up at Polly’s voice, her maid making her way towards where she sat. In her hands was a paper, folded neatly. “Oh, thank you, Polly.”

Polly handed her the paper and did a small curtsy before walking away. Cicely unfolded the inked pages, and turned the pages, ignoring all the major news. She was searching for a very specific name, a specific mention that would give her a bit of hope to hold onto. It was a long shot, she knew that, but it still was something.

And then she saw. it. His name in a headline, a short mention toward the back of the paper. Harry Styles—Knockout Again! She sighed in relief, that he was still winning. Her eyes glanced over the words, reading the story quickly. It wasn’t much, just a short mention of his match, that he had won every round and ended with a knockout. She didn’t know the name of his opponent, but that was no surprise, she usually didn’t. He had told her the names of many of them, but he didn’t usually fight them multiple times over a short period of time—Josiah was pushing him at the moment. Harry had told her that Josiah wanted boxing to be one of his legitimate streams of income, to take it out of the warehouse and into bigger venues, making it posh and civilized rather than for the working man. In order to do that, he was raising the stakes, the caliber of the fighters.

Cicely brushed her fingers over his name, mouthing the word Harry aloud just to remind herself how his name sounded. Then she touched the cross pendant through her dress, the silver sat comfortably against her sternum. She missed him with every bone in her body, but she was powerless to change her situation. She had let him go in order to protect him, she told herself for the millionth time that week, and she just prayed he would stay that way.

Harry, Josiah, and Jack were sitting in Josiah’s office with an open bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in each of their hands, the radio turned low in the corner. Most of the office had all gone home, and if Cicely had still been with Harry he would be home with her right now, not sitting in a stuffy office with his friends, smoking and getting drunk. In the week that she had been gone from his life, he had found himself spending more time with Josiah and Jack, craving human company to fill the space she left behind. Before, Josiah had gotten on his nerves, his dangerous streak bothering him after his time on the front lines.

But now, for some reason he craved it a bit. Craved the impact of a fist on his body in the ring, liked the idea of teetering on the edge of safety and risk. So when his glass ran out of whiskey and he leaned in to refill, he cleared his throat and Josiah stopped telling a story about some girl he had met at a pub the previous night, a barmaid who caught his eye.

“I want to do more,” Harry said, the amber liquid falling into his glass.

“Do more?” Josiah asked, his feet that had been sitting on the desk kicking off, body moving forwards to lean towards Harry. “D’ya mean doin’ stuff outside of boxing?”

Harry nodded and then snatched a cigarette from the box on the desk, and lit it quickly, a well practiced motion. “Need a bit more than just the ring.”

Josiah shrugged at him, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash. “This have anythin’ to do with your girl?”

Jack was silent in the other leather chair, his eyes flickering between his brother and Harry as they spoke. “Just…need a distraction,” Harry explained.

“Well,” Josiah said, opening up a folder on his desk, cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked at the papers. “You could join us at the races on Saturday. Could use some extra muscle in case things go south.”

It was a racing day, a day when many bets would be happen and Josiah would be there, ready to manage them all as well as the crowd. He had gained control of the race course outside of Birmingham just a few months ago and had already made a killing, his love of horses, fine clothes, and gambling finding a perfect home on the course. Usually there wasn’t much trouble—a few rowdy men refusing to pay their debts—but Harry knew it was mostly Josiah finding something for him to do that would take his mind off of things. “Are ya expecting anything?”

“No,” Josiah answered, “but ya can never be too safe. In or out, Harry?”

He looked to Jack. “You gonna be there?” His best friend nodded, and so Harry agreed. “Might need to do some target practice,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Haven’t used a gun in a while.”

For most people, target practice in the dark in the middle of Balsall Heath might not have been possible, but for Josiah and his associates, it was a normal routine. They went to the docks where extra guns were stocked, and set up targets yards away. Josiah squared up to the target, lifted his gun, and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took his shot, the bullet ringing through the air around them.

It wasn’t a fear of the sound of guns that made Harry refuse to carry a gun. That didn’t trigger the memories and the darkness that swirled through his brain. No, it was the feeling of the weapon in his hand. The gun felt like a long forgotten memory in his palm, the cold of the metal unusual against his skin. His rings clinked against it when he gripped it, and his eyes darted over the mechanisms, reminding himself of the steps that had become second nature during the war. Harry did let himself consider if he wanted to fire the gun or not, he just let his whiskey-clouded brain take over, flicking off the safety and stepping up to the target. It was natural to him, the way he lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger, his body absorbing the recoil.

The minute the bullet left his gun, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood and death, the wet earth of the field where he had laid, shaking and struggling to reload. The memories flickered through his brain, quick flashes of his present and past parallel in his brain. Jack’s voice is what roused him from his daze, a muffled, “Har?” that had his mind clearing to the moment at hand.

Maybe it was the whiskey in his veins, dulling his mind to the memories, or perhaps it was the fact that when he had aimed his gun he imagined William King, his smug face staring back at Harry as he ripped Cicely away from him. Either way, the experience of shooting the gun was not as bad as it had been the previous times he had attempted—all of which were in the direct aftermath of the war. Perhaps it was just time that let his brain run normally? Harry didn’t mind it, the numbness that he felt once his mind settled, the smoke clearing so that he could properly focus on the dimly lit docks, tin cans set up yards away. His eyes flickered to his target, curious how he had done, how much he had forgotten in the time he had spent abstaining from guns.

A perfect bullseye.

Cicely’s skin crawled the second her eyes set on Clifford Stevens, his perfect blond hair slick against his scalp, a smirk set into his face and his blue eyes staring up at her as she descended the stairs. She had hoped that seeing him wouldn’t be as bad as before, that she could convince herself he wasn’t the most horrible man, but the minute he leaned in to say something to her father and he laughed, she knew that would be impossible. Any man her father approved of was the devil in her book. She wished that they had invited other guests because perhaps in that situation she could’ve escaped him, even just for a few minutes. Laughed with her friends in the corner about how disgusting he was, the sly look in his eyes that made her want to curl in on herself.

But instead, it was just her, her parents, and Clifford. Her mission for the evening was to avoid being alone with him. If she could do that, then perhaps he wouldn’t propose to her right there and then, perhaps she could put it off for a bit longer.

“Cicely.” His voice was too sweet and she put on a fake smile, trying to act nicely towards him. “You look lovely tonight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes flickered to her father, realizing that he had probably told Clifford she was ill for the past few weeks rather than the truth—that she had run away from home and had fallen in love and lived with a man. Unmarried, to top it all off. That fact on its own would’ve caused enough scandal for her to be undesired by nearly every eligible bachelor in their social circle, so of course her father had lied. It just pained Cicely that she would have to lie, too. “Thank you,” she answered finally, before adding, “We missed having you over.” Her mother smiled at her, encouraging her praise of Clifford, and Cicely tried not to gag at the curling grin on his face.

During dinner, she pretended to be interested as Clifford talked about his business and her father peppered him with questions. She spoke only when directly asked a question, which thankfully for her, wasn’t often. She missed the days of quiet conversation with Harry during breakfast or curled up in his bed, his hands running through her hair. She missed everything about her time with Harry, but most of all she missed being touched in the way he did—with kindness and desire, petting her skin and squeezing delicately at her hand when she squirmed in his grip. As Clifford laughed at something her father said, she couldn’t help but wonder what intimacy with Clifford would be like. Would he touch her like Harry had? Would he be so kind and gentle with her?

Something told her he wouldn’t be. When she snuck glances at him, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing her eyes were on him, she noticed all the things he didn’t have that Harry did. The rings on Harry’s fingers that clinked against the crystal he drank whiskey from, the tattoos that littered his body, the soft smile he would give her when no one else was watching, the stone cold gaze he gave everyone else. His green eyes, soft curls, slightly disheveled shirts because he couldn’t sit still for long. If he had his way, she knew he wouldn’t wear a shirt half the time, but she had a feeling that Clifford loved his posh clothes, the way they told everyone how much money he had. Harry didn’t care about money, as long as he had enough to live comfortably.

“Are you all going to the races on Saturday?” Clifford asked, setting down his glass of wine.

William looked to Cicely’s mother, before back to Clifford. “No, we don’t have tickets for this week.”

“You should come with me then.” His smile is directed straight at Cicely and she tries not to scowl at him. “I have some extra tickets that you could all use.”

If one were to guess if Cicely liked the races, they would probably guess that she did, considering she loved horses. However, the races were her father’s favorite venue to place bets, which meant he was going to get wildly drunk and lose money and be in a terrible mood. A mood that Cicely and her mother would have to deal with at home, which was the last thing she wanted to do that night. But Cicely wasn’t the one who made the decision. It was her father. Who immediately raised his glass and accepted, and then took a long sip of his wine.

After dinner, they all retired to the sitting room, her father pulling two cigars out of the box on the table, handing on to Clifford. Cicely and her mother sat on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and trying to find the painting in the room interesting, despite seeing them every day.

Then, all of a sudden her father stood up from the chair he was reclining in. “Mary,” she said to Cicely’s mother, “would you join me in the other room?”

Her mother took William’s outstretched hand. “Of course.” Cicely looked at her mother in panic, knowing exactly what was happening. They were leaving her alone with Clifford and from the small smile on his face, his intention was to get down on one knee in front of her. She had hoped she would have more time, a few weeks or even days to make her brain forget Harry and accept her fate, but it looked like her father didn’t feel that was necessary. He wanted Clifford’s money and wanted it now.

When the door shut behind her parents, Cicely looked to Clifford, who was sitting opposite her, leaning into the couch with one ankle propped up on his knee, a cigar between his fingers. “So, Cicely,” he said, inhaling from his cigar when he paused, “we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months.”

She inhaled, holding her breath slightly as she listened to his words, a pressure in her chest building. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and setting his cigar in the ashtray. He reached out for Cicely’s hand, and despite not wanting to, she took it, his soft skin feeling wrong against hers. She wanted Harry’s callused fingers and healing knuckles, marks and scars from a life lived. Instead, she had the hands of a man who only knew how to hold a pen and sign his name.

They stood in the middle of her living room, Cicely’s heart beating rapidly not in excitement, but dread. “In that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that you would make the perfect wife for me.” His words held no fondness of feeling and Cicely noticed it immediately. No mention of love or caring for her, just the perfect wife. When he dropped to one knee and pulled a box out of his pocket, Cicely held back the desire to run from the room and stayed standing, holding in a scream.

“Will you marry me, Cicely King?” He opened the box then, a ring glinting in the low light of the room. The massive diamond that was set into the band would’ve impressed most women, made them excited to show it off, but for Cicely it was just a reminder of what this marriage was: a business transaction.

She didn’t even look at his eyes, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t be able to say yes. And she had to say yes. It was for Harry, for the man she actually loved, for the man she wished was on his knee in front of her. She had no choice, truly.

“Cicely?” He asked again, voice harsh and urgent, demanding of an answer.

“Yes,” she said, letting go of a breath. When he slid the ring onto her finger, she finally looked at him. The smug look on his face, as if he had won a prize. It made her sick. The ring on her finger felt like a rock dragging her to the bottom of the river and she just hoped she would come up for air.

Clifford stood, sliding the box back into his pocket, one hand clasped around Cicely’s. At his full height, he towered over Cicely, but not in the way that Harry did, where it made her want to curl up into his body. Clifford’s height felt intimidating, as if he was trying to make her shrink simply with his existence. When he pressed his hand to her cheek and said her name, she held back the reflex to flinch, and let her eyes close as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips felt foreign to her in every way. They were rough, and they pushed and prodded at hers in a way that was hurried. It was wet, as if he was trying to swallow her lips and she struggled to figure out how to get out of the kiss, how to pull away without making him angry. But she couldn’t stand it, because she was supposed to be kissing Harry. She was supposed to be smelling his cologne and whiskey and an underlying scent of gunpowder and sweat. Instead, her nostrils were full of cigars and overly sweet cologne and pomade for his hair. Her fingers found his wrist and pulled enough to allow him to release her, and she stepped away slightly, creating some space between them.

He was breathing heavily and she just wanted to escape. “You’ll need to come to my house next week and meet my family again, but this time as my fiancée,” he said. “I think you’ll get along well with mother.”

If she was anything like her son, then she was sure she wouldn’t. “I’m sure I will.”

“Cicely?” The door behind her opened, and her mother and father were standing there, excited looks on each of their faces.

“We’re engaged,” Clifford said quickly and Cicely’s chest tightened at the words. He lifted her hand which was still in his, showing the gaudy ring on her finger.

“Congratulations, son,” her father said, making her way towards them and shaking Clifford’s hand with enthusiasm before turning to Cicely. He kissed her forehead, a demonstration of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a child—if she ever had. Apparently all she had to to get her father’s acceptance was become engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in Birmingham.

Her mother was the one who saved her, pulling her into a hug that allowed her to let go of Clifford’s hand finally. She was able to take a breath of fresh air, escaping his dreaded cologne for a moment. “I’m feeling quite tired,” she lied to her mother when she pulled away. “I think all the excitement has gotten to me.”

“You’ve only recently recovered,” Clifford cut in. “Perhaps it’s the illness?”

“Nonsense,” Cicely’s mother said. “She’s perfectly well, just tired from the day. You should go to bed, darling.”

Cicely nodded, taking a few steps away, before realizing she should say goodnight to her fiancé. “Goodnight, Clifford.”

He gave her a terse smile, one she returned with an equivalent lack of tenderness. “Goodnight, Cicely.”

She didn’t wait a second longer before walking out of the room, holding back the tears long enough to reach her rooms. Once the door shut behind her, she collapsed to the ground, pulling the cross out from under her dress, and holding it tightly as she wept for her future.

Harry was supposed to be moving through a couple rooms at the tracks, keeping an eye on the betting and the crowd in general. He had been placed in the more posh area since it was less likely to get violent, and because he was polished enough looking that he fit in—especially with his suit on so his numerous tattoos were hidden from view. He maneuvered through the large ballrooms, music and chatter around him as people drank their glasses of champagne and ate snacks that the staff served. People seemed to disregard him, their eyes not lingering on him longer than a passing glance, and Harry didn’t mind it. It allowed him to blend into the background and focus on his job, which was watch people closely.

He had a gun tucked in a holster under his suit and he tried to ignore it, pretend he couldn’t feel the cool graze of the metal when he moved, but it was a hopeless endeavor. So he distracted himself with a whiskey and looking at people’s clothes, and creating stories in his head for all of the wealthy patrons who he didn’t care enough about to properly learn anything about.

He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time, before shutting it and downing the rest of his drink. Time to move to the other room. He set the glass on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and exited the ballroom, letting the door shut behind him. He moved down the carpeted walkway to the next room, where there was yet another bar and fewer card tables, more space for dancing. This was the room he disliked, because it was louder and more rowdy.

Pushing open the doors, the thrum of the band music surrounded him immediately. He stepped inside and let his eyes sweep the room as he moved to the side, preferring to anchor himself in the space before getting another drink. Josiah had also pointedly told him not to drink too much, so he was trying to pace himself, although he liked the feeling of the glass in his restless hands. Women crossed in front of his path, guided by male dance partners, the swirl of skirts and laughter rolling through the air.

He was two steps away from his target location—an empty space against the dark walls of the structure, void of any patrons—when he saw a flash of blonde hair that had him faltering. It was as if all of the air in his body had been sucked out, the moment his eyes fell on her.

It couldn’t be her, the rational part of his brain screamed. There was no way it was her. He had been seeing her ghost for the past two weeks, a ghost of the woman he loved, and there was no way she was here. Not now. Not like this.

But then she turned and perhaps it was the weight of his gaze that had made her turn, because she immediately found his eyes across the packed room. Blue eyes that made his heart rattle, parted lips that made him want to fall to his knees, the slope of her neck that he wanted to adore with his mouth.

Cicely.

It was her.

Her in a red beaded dress, her hair perfectly curled in a wide brimmed red hat to match, eyes wide as they studied one another. Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him but he just mumbled a Sorry under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. How long had he dreamed of this moment, of being in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, being able to reach out and touch her skin?

Under her gaze, his skin burned. The memories of their last night together, the gasps and moans she let out when he touched her, the curve of her hips and arms wrapped around him as he pushed inside of her—the memories invaded his mind immediately. The need to touch her suddenly was a aching desire inside of him, something he couldn’t ignore or wish away. It was going to eat away at him if he didn’t satisfy it. He needed to hear her voice, to touch her cheek, to kiss her red-painted lips.

He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, push aside every person that stood in his way, and take her into his arms, to let himself be drowned in the smell of her perfume. But he couldn’t, because to Cicely’s right was her father, who thankfully hadn’t noticed Harry, but that was unlikely to last long. To her left was another man, whose hand grazed Cicely’s back in a way that had Harry’s skin prickling and knuckled clenching. A woman was standing next to William King, an older lady with the same shade of hair as Cicely’s—her mother, he presumed.

How was he going to get her alone? He looked around the grand ballroom, which he still couldn’t believe existed. He had never encountered such exaggerated wealth before, but Cicely probably lived in it every day. Towards the back of the room he noticed a red swinging door, which servers were coming in and out of. There would probably be restrooms back there, ones the regular patrons wouldn’t touch. Ones he could speak to her in.

Keeping her eyes on his, he nodded to the red swinging door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, before nodding ever so slightly. That was all Harry needed. He was moving immediately, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she would come once she could get away, and until then he would wait for her. Hell, he would wait for her anywhere for however long it took.

He pushed open the doors and moved into the narrow hallway, narrowly missing a collision with a server and a silver tray. “Watch it!” The server said, brushing past him and into the ballroom. Harry sagged against the wall, taking a deep breath before moving slightly farther down the hall and out of the doorway. His eyes searched for a restroom or even a coat closet, some place where they could talk privately. Finally, he saw the small sign for the restroom a few yards down the long hall.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed over his rings, twirling them on his fingers to distract himself from waiting for her. He itched for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands while he waited. Eyes were trained on the swinging door, which trumpets and band music swirled out of, the pop of champagne every once in a while. Where was she?

Then, as if conjured from a dream, the doors swung open and she stepped through them, hands falling to her sides when she saw him. It was as if time stopped—they were just a few feet from one another, a thread pulling them to each other, knotting their hearts together. His mouth was dry, words gone, mind blank. The very presence of her blinded him as if she was the sun in mid-afternoon, so bright that he had to shield his eyes as he stepped outside.

She was in front of him and she was stunning.

But then she spoke, and Harry forgot how to breathe. “Harry,” she said, her words soft and delicate amidst the chaos around them, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward, capturing her head in his hands, cares about who was around flying to the wind. His palms cradled her jaw, and before he pressed his lips to hers, he caught a glimpse of her eyes fluttering, a small smile on her face before her kissed her. Her lips tasted like champagne and her and it sent his brain spinning. The tenderness of her fingers on his wrists, holding him close to her as he kissed her, as he remembered what she felt like against him.

She parted her lips slightly and licked at his bottom lip and Harry couldn’t help but quietly moan at the sensation. “Ci,” he mumbled, parting ever so slightly, the nickname he had been wanting to say for so many days finally resting on his tongue.

“Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling as he took a hesitant step back so they could look at each other properly.

Her hand brushed at his jaw and the heat of her skin against his, the prodding of her fingers sent sparks through his body. “There’s a restroom down the hall,” he murmured. “I know it’s horribly improper, but I—I need to talk to ya.”

She just nodded, securing her hand in his, a smile meant just for him on her lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again. He led her down the hall, darting around servers who littered the hall, his fingers slotted between her gloved ones. Her small purse hung from her wrist, swinging between them as they moved.

When they reached the restroom, Harry pushed open the door, pulling her inside and shutting it tightly behind him. It was all levels of improper, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. His fingers left hers only to slide the deadbolt on the door, leaving them in a locked room, their chests both heaving as he found her eyes. “Cicely…” He couldn’t even find the words as he brushed his fingers across the rise of her cheekbones, watching in rapture as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. When she leaned into his touch he knew nothing had changed—that what they felt two weeks ago when she was ripped away from him was real. It was all real.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, hands running up the length of his suit-covered torso, making him inhale sharply. She was so close, pushed against the door, his body towering around her, caging her between his hands that were pressed against the door.

“Josiah runs the betting and security,” he answered. One of his hands pushed a strand of her hair back, the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers making his heart soar. “Been a bit off lately, needin' more action than usual, so he thought this might be a good fit.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers curled edged under his suit jacket. “Action? Why do you need more action?”

How did he explain to her that her leaving had destroyed him? Made him want to hurt everyone in his path and fighting wasn’t enough to keep the edge off? “Fightin’ isn’t enough,” he struggled to say as her fingers drew circles over his shirt-covered stomach. “Not since…”

“Since I left,” she finished, glancing up from his body to his eyes. “I understand.”

Harry’s eyes fell to where her fingers laid on his chest, his suit jacket long since pushed open. His gaze caught on something that was new, something he didn’t remember—a large diamond on her ring finger. “What’s that?” He asked, voice rough in his throat as he stumbled over his words, barely able to process what it meant.

Cicely lifted her hands off of his chest immediately, her expression changing from one of joy to frustration. “It’s an engagement ring,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed slowly, her words ringing in his ears. “Clifford? Already?” She nodded, and Harry took a step back, suddenly needing space from her, space to process what that meant. She was engaged—she belonged to someone else now. “Congratulations, then.” His voice was venomous and he knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He was jealous, horribly jealous, that the diamond on her finger wasn’t from him.

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “You know why I had to accept.”

“Do you love him?”

His words fell heavy in the room, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. He didn’t think she did, but a part of him was begging for an answer, for reassurance that she still loved him. “No,” she said confidently. “I despise him.” Then she pulled at the neck of her dress, her fingertips sliding across a metal chain, and when she pulled his cross free from the confines of her dress, his heart stopped.

The cross he had given her because it was the only thing he had to give. “You—you’re wearin’ it.”

She stepped towards him hesitantly, reaching out her hand, the one without the ring on it, to slide her fingers between his. “Of course I am.” Harry studied her, the rise and fall of her breath, her red lipstick slightly smeared from where his lips had captured hers, the glint in her blue eyes under the soft lighting of the room. “I still love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the room, but to Harry it was a deafening roar.

It was all he needed to kiss her. He hauled her against his body, finally feeling the curve of her flush against him as he kissed her. Her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly on the strands as their lips slotted together. His fingers dug into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and all Harry could smell was her perfume and soap, the perfect combination that would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Their noses bumped and she let out a soft giggle, which only made Harry want her more. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, a whimper filling his ears in reply.

“I’ve missed ya so much,” he said, ducking down his head to leave a string of kisses down her neck. She moaned, a sound that Harry would play on repeat for the rest of time, and pulled at his hair, making an utter mess of it he was sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though. He would let her ruin him any day of the week.

When he nipped at the curve of her neck, she let out a slow and breathy, “Harry…” and it had his mind tumbling. He turned her so she was pressed against the countertop, the stability of the counter behind her allowing him to gain some leverage against her.

But she took it a step further. Her hands left his body and pressed against the top of it, lifting her body up onto the counter and letting her legs fall open. The action had Harry searching for restraint, because the sight of her sitting on the countertop, chest heaving as she looked at him, had him aching for her. With a glance for approval, he pulled up the hem of her dress, running his hands along her calves as he moved it. When it reached her knees, he was finally able to slot himself between her legs, and the feeling of her bare calves winding around his waist made his head drop to her shoulder. “Ci,” he murmured, pushing at the sleeve of her dress to expose some of her shoulder. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” she answered immediately, brushing the hair back from his eyes tenderly. “Anything. You.”

He kissed her skin softly, a contrast to the exchange they were having, but it was all he wanted—to tenderly touch her body. But, unfortunately they were in a bathroom at a horse race and if she spent too much more time in here, her family would come looking for her. “Not now,” he said, forcing the words out of himself because it took every bit of restraint to say them. “Your family is probably searching you already.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling at his chin so she could pepper kisses over his skin.

“But I do,” he told her, thumbing across her cheek. “When I have ya again, I want to take my time and I want ya in my bed, not on a washroom counter at a race track.”

She ducked her head into the crook of her neck, her soft breaths filling his ears. “When will ‘again’ be, though? When will I see you again?”

“Do ya want to see me again?”

She chuckled and the sound made his heart soar, as cheesy as it sounded. “Of course, you pest.”

“Love, you’re engaged.”

In an instant, she pulled the ring off of her finger and let it drop to the counter. “It doesn’t matter—you’re the one that I want. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her head enough to be able to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, but if ya wanted to come back to Balsall Heath, I’d make ya mine.” Harry hadn’t thought about marriage all that much, but the minute he saw that ring on her finger the only thing he could think of was how he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted her until the end of his days.

Her eyes widened, reaching her hands up to grasp his wrists. “You would?”

“Yes,” he answered, confidently. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” She pressed her thumb across the inside of his wrist gingerly, a tender trace that had him weak in the knees. “How am I going to get to you? My father won’t let me leave the estate.”

Harry leaned back slightly, the wheels of his mind turning a mile a minute. “Think ya could sneak out at night?” She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll use one of Josiah’s cars and meet you a few yards away from the house tomorrow night at two in the morning, okay? I’ll need you to get to me, but if you can do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do it,” she replied, a blazing fire in her eyes of excitement that he shared. “I’ll try and bring some of my clothes if I can.”

“Bring anything you’ll want.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly. “You’ll be with me for the rest of your life if you want to be.”

“Mrs. Styles,” she whispered, and the words had him hauling her into him for a deep kiss that rattled both of their souls. “What if my father comes after me? What if you get arrested?”

Harry just shook his head. “Leave that bit to me. I’ll talk to Josiah and Jack, we’ll figure somethin’ out. You just focus on sneakin' out.”

Cicely nodded. “I love you, Harry.”

He kissed her once more before he answered her. “I love you too, Ci.”

Harry tried not to watch her walk away, but after feeling her skin under his, it was impossible not to. Especially when he thought about how she was going to be his for the rest of time.

The moon hung high in the sky the following night when Cicely rose from bed. She had packed her bag after Polly left her for the evening, a small duffle bag with her favorite dresses—one of which was all white—a collection of undergarments, and some precious family heirlooms her mother had given her. At the bottom of the bag was a photo of her family, just for memory’s sake, and her journal. The last thing she needed was money. Harry hadn’t asked for any, but she didn’t want to be reliant on him. She would need a new wardrobe of clothes and the least she could do was contribute.

She pulled on her dress, a deep blue she hoped would blend into the night and tugged on a light coat to keep out the cool night air. With a last look at her beloved room, the draped canopy and plush rugs, she shut the door behind her, her shoes clasped in one hand and her bag in the other. The house was silent as Cicely crept down the halls, avoiding all of the spots that creaked, and descended the stairs carefully. Her ears were focused on any sound that could suggest she had woken someone up, but so far, she was in the clear.

At the base of the stairs, she turned right, heading into her father’s office. She knew the code to the safe by heart, having learned it at fifteen when she wanted a new dress but her father refused to pay for it and she had watched him flick the combination. Since then, she’d snatched cash from it every once and a while, the code never changing. Tonight, she hoped, would be no different.

Her father’s office smelled of cigars, and she padded across the carpeted floor to his large oak desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books he had never read covered most of the walls, the other space occupied by painting her mother had picked out. The only things that her father had selected for the space was the cigars on his desk and the pens he used to sign his name. She dropped her bag to the ground and knelt next to the black safe, running her fingers across the metal. It was cool to the touch, just as she remembered it. She glanced around the room to ensure she was alone, before flicking the combination of numbers on the dial.

It clicked softly, and she pulled open the door, stacks of cash and a few gold bars sitting inside. She ignored the bars, and instead grabbed two stacks of fifty pound bank notes, and then turned around to slide them into her unzipped bag. When she turned, though, she found her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mother,” she said, chest rattling from the surprise. “I—“

“I know,” her mother replied simply. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown, her usually perfectly coiffed hair limp around her face. “I won’t tell him.”

Cicely looked at her mother in disbelief. “You—you won’t?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know you don’t want to marry Clifford. You haven’t wanted to marry a single man we’ve introduced you to since you came out in society. But then you go and you meet a man who we would never approve of, and you fall in love.” Cicely made a sound of interruption, but her mother just gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not mad. I’m nervous for you, for your future, but I am not mad.”

It had never occurred to her that she was seeking her mother’s approval, but now that she had it, it was as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I love him, Mama.” She used the name for her mother that she had used as a child, and hadn’t since then, and saw her mother immediately soften.

Her mother moved from the doorway and made her way to Cicely, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “Fight for him, you hear me? Fight for the love you feel. It doesn’t come around often, but when it does, you have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.” Cicely brushed at the tears falling on her mother’s cheeks, and she realized her mother hadn’t touched her like this, with such tenderness, in years.

“I will,” she promised.

Her mother kissed her forehead, shutting her eyes as she did it, and then pulled away. “Will you write? You can address it to Polly and have her give them to me. I just,” she faltered, brushing a hand against her daughter’s hair, “I want to know you’re alright.”

Cicely nodded. “I’ll write as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you.”

The words splintered Cicely in two, because although most times over the past year especially she had been disappointed in her mother, she had been the light of her life before that. She had been the bright spot in a dark house, a kind touch and a lingering kiss on her forehead when she needed it. “I love you,” Cicely told her simply, knowing that was what her mother needed to hear.

Her mother, ever the woman of few words, simply replied, “I love you, too.” Then, she stepped away, giving her daughter a lingering last look before she turned away. She left the room without looking back, her white nightgown curling around her ankles as she moved.

Cicely was left alone in her father’s empty office, tears prickling her eyes.

But she wasn’t done in the office. She had a plan on how to keep her father’s hands off of Harry, because she knew he wouldn’t rest if she just left—he’d come after them both. Her father, though, underestimated her. He always had and it would be his downfall.

Cicely turned back to the still open safe, and lifted the base of the safe—something her father definitely know she knew about—and pulled out his personal ledgers. The ones that had records of his gambling debts, his personal assets, and of the true wealth of their family. She knew that these were the one thing that truly scared her father, that the world would know the truth of his wealth, of his status, that his family was nearly broke and his business about to go bottom up. That he owed money to what seemed like every man in Birmingham and the surrounding area, and he was barely staying afloat.

She folded the ledgers in half, and stuck them into her bag as well, before finally shutting the safe and turning the lock. Then, she grabbed a pen and paper from her father’s desk and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found.

If you do, I’ll send a copy of your ledgers to every paper in Birmingham and London, and everyone will know the truth about your family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cicely Styles

She used the name purely to make her father mad, but also because it brought her immense joy to scratch her future name in ink. She would be a King no longer.

After folding up the note, she tugged Clifford’s disgusting ring off of her finger, and placed it on the note, leaving both for her father to find in the morning. With that, she picked up her bag and her boots, and left the office, making her way through the silent halls of her childhood home, pausing only a few times to take her last looks at her favorite paintings or rooms, to memorize the walls she had called home.

Outside, the air was heavy in the early morning hours, and she was thankful she had put on a coat. She bent down and pulled on her boots, lacing them tightly, and then tugged the door shut behind her, the lock clicking softly behind her. With her bag in her hand, she descended the steps of her home, taking the unlit path to the main road, the crunch of the gravel under her shoes keeping her company as she walked.

She only hoped that Harry had kept up his side of the deal, that he was there waiting for her. Deep in her gut, she knew he would be, but a part of her was still nervous as she walked down the drive. But she thought back to the way he had looked at her in that tiny restroom, the shine in his eyes and red puffy lips from kissing her, the way his fingers gripped her hips, how he told her he would make her his. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

When she made it to the road, the moonlight was her only guide. She turned right, then left, and then she saw the faint outline of a car on the road a few yards away, just as Harry had promised. It was on impulse that she began to run, the muddy road definitely getting her skirts dirty, but she didn’t care. Harry was a few yards away, freedom was barely out of reach. The wind rustled through her hair and her bag banged against her calves as she ran to him.

And then he was there, leaning against the hood of the car and gazing at her in awe. “Ci—“ She cut him off with the impact of her body falling into his, her lips colliding with his. He found her immediately, hands coming up to cup her face as they kissed, a deep yearning in her body finally fulfilled with him. “You did it,” he said when she pulled away, brushing at her cheeks with his knuckles.

“I did,” she answered with a triumphant smile, “and I stole some money and insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“My father’s personal ledgers—records of his debts, of the family and business finances.”

His eyes widened, and then a rare smile peeked out. “My brilliant girl,” he said. “Now come get in the car.” He took her bag from her hands and walked to the boot, placing it securely inside while she slid into the passenger side.

Instead of turning the car around and heading back in the direction of Birmingham, Harry drove forward, north in the direction of Manchester. “Where are we going?” She asked, turning to look at his face, barely visible in the dark blanket of the night.

He reached his hand over to her that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and tucked his fingers between hers. “We’re goin’ to the sea.”

“The sea?”

He nodded. “Josiah told me to get ya and get out of town for a bit. Let it settle down with your father.”

The idea of Harry, a seaside town, and no worries sounded like heaven to Cicely. “How far is it?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” She settled into the seat, which wasn’t all that comfortable, but with Harry holding her hand, she fell asleep almost immediately.

They rented a room in a little hotel on the sea, bright blue walls that made Cicely smile when they stepped inside. She stood in front of the window, which faced the water, the waves lapping at the shore as the sun rose. Harry didn’t know if he had ever seen a more breathtaking sight.

He dropped their cases on the floor, and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. The sound had her turning around to face him and Harry’s chest tightened immediately. They were finally alone, alone in a room with a bed and no one would be interrupting them. For a few moments, they just gazed at each other, taking in one another’s presence. Harry’s eyes trailed down Cicely’s body, memorizing the slope of her nose and the planes of her shoulders, the curve of her waist and length of her legs. Her bare knuckles, void of her old engagement ring. A silver chain peaked out from under her dress, a reminder that she wore his necklace, a symbol of what she had helped him believe in again.

Every cell of his body seemed to scream with desire, after two weeks of being without her. Even though they had had only one night together, it was a night he would never forget. From the way Cicely gazed at him, undressing him with her eyes, he had the suspicion that she had thought about it just as much as he had.

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise fell across the walls, casting her in a glow that likened her to an angel, and Harry decided it was an apt comparison. To him, she was an angel in every sense of the word. “Cicely,” he said, her name falling lightly in the room.

“I need you.” Her words cut through him like glass, sharp and gravelly as she hadn’t been awake for long, and honest. “H, I need you.”

When she repeated the words, Harry was moving in an instant, crossing the distance between them. His hands wound through her hair and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a sigh. Without the pressure of time, Harry decided to take his time with her, wanting to savor every moment. So he kept the pace slow, nibbling on her bottom lip and licking into her mouth languidly, inhaling every one of her whimpers and gasps as if he only got air from her. Perhaps he did, though, because when he was touching her it felt like he could finally breathe again.

She tried to speed up the kiss, tugging at his lip with her teeth, but Harry refused. With a hand cradling her jaw, he held her in place as he kissed her gently, a tenderness flowing from him that he only knew with her. Her hands curled into his hair and scratched at his scalp, finally settling into the pace Harry set, and the sensation had his skin puckering with goosebumps. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her closer in, so he could feel the bend of her body against his, and it made her let out a breathy gasp.

That was when Harry was done with slow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, he could tell from the way she clenched the back of his shirt, holding him tightly to her. So he turned them slightly, and stepped towards her, directing her backwards to the bed in the center of the room.

She fell to the feather duvet cover in a puff of air, a soft giggle escaping her that made him suck on her jaw. She scrambled at his back at the feeling, it being her sweet spot, the one that made her crazy. Harry knew and used it to his advantage, wanting to hear every sound he could pull from her. She was like a band all in one person, the combination of every type of instrument and sound to create one, beautiful song. A song he would listen to again and again.

“My boots,” she mumbled, nudging at his nose. Harry glanced down and realized she was right—she still had her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, obviously because she was trying not to get the duvet dirty with mud. He squatted down immediately, fingers deftly untying the bows at the top of her lace-up boots.

Her eyes found his as his fingers pulled at the laces, tugging them free from the holes. Her tongue darted across her lip, taunting him as she wet it, and Harry leaned in and kissed her ankle in response. When she squirmed, he did the same to the other ankle, loving how she shakily exhaled, body craving more. “Better?” He asked, pulling them off fully.

She nodded, eyes watching him lazily. There was a calmness to the moment, a difference from the last time he undressed her. That time they were desperate to discover each other, the culmination of days of tension. Now, they were desperate, but in a different way—to be simply be close again.

His fingers slid up her calves where her stockings covered her skin. Skin he desperately wanted free. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” she said, her lip tucked between her teeth.

Harry pushed up the hem of her dress, revealing her knees and then the milky white of her thighs, where her garters laid. With deft fingers, he unclasped them, releasing her stockings. He inched them down her legs, kissing each centimeter of exposed skin and basking in the pants that left her mouth. He left her stockings on the floor, and then tugged off her garters, not wanting a single scrap of clothing on her when he made love to her.

“You,” she said, voice ragged with desire.

He cocked his head, cheek resting on her thigh. “Wha’?”

“Your clothes.” Her hands tugged at the neck of his crisp white shirt. “I want them off.”

Her desperation made him kiss her skin, tonguing delicately over it in a circle. “Yeah?” She nodded, digging her fingernails into his fabric-covered shoulders. “Can ya help me, love?”

It was a poor excuse to get her hands on his skin, but he knew she didn’t mind. She sat up, Harry slotted between her legs, and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. With each exposed area of skin, she kissed it just as he had, and the feeling of her lips on his skin had him fisting the duvet cover, the warm hot air sending him spinning. By the time she had all of his buttons undone he was a panting mess, so when she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and grazed her fingers over his nipples the deep, drawn out groan that ripped from his chest wasn’t far off.

She smiled at his reaction, and then she bent her head, her tongue flicking over the bars though his nipples, his body jerking against her. “Fuck, Ci,” he rasped, digging his fingers into her hips. Her skirts sat around her waist, so he wasn’t holding her bare skin, and he needed it. Needed to be able to run his hands across her, to mark her up as his. But she seemed to have other plans in mind, because when she sucked his nipple into her mouth he lost all ability to think, much less ask her for what he wanted. With her other hand she tweaked his other nipple, not wanting to leave one unattended, and together the combination had him rattling in her hold.

“I love these,” she whispered, releasing his nipple with a pop. She had told him that before, but each time she did he enjoyed hearing the words. It made his heart soar, the praise from her lips filling him up fully. Her eyes peeked up at him, blue irises blown out under her eyelashes. “What if I got some to match?”

He growled, a sound he had never made before, but it was just a natural reaction to the image of her perfect breasts with bars through the nipples. Of her body bending and jerking against him as he suckled on the sensitive skin. “Think I’ll never let ya out of our room,” he replied, looking down at her lips ghosting across his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she giggled, the vibrations ricocheting off his body. “C’mere, you.”

She scrambled backwards on the bed as he shifted, rising onto the bed on his knees and crawling after her. Her dress still adorned her body and Harry wanted it off. Wanted to see her, all of her. His hands pushed up her legs, brushing at her skin and watching as her lips dropped open slightly, air puffing through them at the feeling of his hands on her. When he reached her underwear, she simply nodded, an answer to a silent question. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling them down the length of her legs before tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Next, he pulled her chest up and reached around her, blindly finding the buttons on her dress. The position meant she was pressed right up against his bare chest, and he didn’t think either of them minded, based on how her breath caught.

He popped each button with ease, fingers crawling down the freshly revealed expanse of her back as he made his way down. Once he was out of buttons, he pushed at the neck of her dress, exposing her shoulder. He moved without thought, wanting simply to cover her in kisses, and nuzzled her skin with his nose before gingerly brushing it with his lips. As he worked across her skin she shrugged off the bodice and then pulled it over her head.

Her fully revealed body knocked the air right out of him. It took him a moment to be able to think again, the sight of so much bare skin and just her brassiere, her underwear gone and showing him her most intimate parts. Between her breasts laid his cross necklace, the cold silver contrasting against her warm skin. His hands pressed to the chain and then her skin, eyes flickering over her face as her head dropped back in pleasure at his touch. Fingers popped the clasps on her last remaining garment, and once that was dropped, she was completely bare for him. Her blonde hair and bright eyes, soft pink lips swollen from his kisses, her seemingly miles of unmarked skin, except for a few red marks that he knew were from him. The prospect of leaving traces of him behind for her to find tomorrow had him hardening in his trousers. Ever since he had started thinking of her as his, he couldn’t find a more alluring thought.

“Beautiful,” he exhaled, unable to find any other words to describe her. There weren’t enough in the English language to encapsulate her. To explain the way his heart sung for her, how the valley of her breasts made his heart quick, the blush on her cheeks urging him to dust his lips across them. How he craved her hands on his skin, everywhere and anywhere she would put them. It was as if she had been designed for him, to drive him crazy and make him forget anyone or anything else existed. When he looked at her, it was all he could focus on—and he could barely do that, because the sight of her smile had his mind melting.

The air in the room was filled with a mixture of her perfume and remnants of his cologne, a chemically balanced combination that made Harry dizzy. Pants from her delicate lips filled his ears, the soft husky voice that murmured his name when he hadn’t touched her for too long, causing his eyes to flirt up to hers. “Remember what you did last time?”

“Wha’?” His mind was too hazy to think straight, to process what she was asking.

A blush creeped across her features, and suddenly Harry knew what last time she was referring her to. “Our last night,” she explained, rasping as he leaned in and nibbled at the taught skin at the base of her throat, her head bobbing to the side to give him more access. “When you—you touched me.”

How could he forget? It was all he could think about for days after. Her taste on his tongue, the way her fingers curled into his hair and tugged at his scalp. A tangy sweetness meant only for him, something she didn’t show anyone else, a piece of her that was his and his alone. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, and he was desperate for another sip. “I remember,” he answered, brushing his fingers up her neck to turn her head so she faced him. “What about it?”

“I...” She fumbled with her words, pupils darting around his face and then anywhere but them. He wanted her eyes back on him so badly it was embarrassing, begging for her attention, but he knew that she was bashful so he let her gather her courage away from his gaze. “I want to do that to you.”

Harry’s body practically shook at her words. The prospect of her mouth, those plush and warm lips around him, between his legs and her hands on his thighs? The image that his mind conjured forced a series of curses from his chest in a rasp, her name mixed in. “Ya sure? Don’t have to do that.” Of course he wanted it—he wanted whatever shreds of her that she would give him—but he knew that he wouldn’t last long anyways. Just seeing her fall apart would be enough for him to be over the edge right after her.

“I want to,” she said, eyes finally coming back to his face, connecting with his green ones.

“Never done it before, right, love?” She shook her head, ducking down, but he pushed at her chin softly. “Hey, none of that. I’ll show ya, okay?” Knowing she was nervous and embarrassed, he kissed her cupid’s bow tenderly, before connecting their lips for a short peck. “Love that I’ll be the only one who gets to feel your mouth.”

That had her smiling, her bashful expression gone and replaced with one of temptation and desire. When she pushed at his shoulders, forcing them to the side so that he laid on his back, her hovering over him, it had him keening into her. The sight of her naked body above him, his necklace hanging from her neck, her blonde hair creating a curtain around their faces of their world and their world alone, was enough for him to whine, low and desperate. She was the only person who could make him like this—utterly destroyed for her.

Harry decided to see how far she could go on her own, wanting her to build up her confidence before he started to guide her. So he let her fingers creep down his torso, hissing when she scratched over his butterfly tattoo, a coy smile fluttering across her face. She popped the button of his trousers and with a glance to his face for reassurance, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down, her eager hands taking his boxers with them. When she saw him, hard and red against his stomach, her reaction wasn’t quite as surprised as the first time.

This time, she dropped to her stomach between his legs and Harry leaned back, letting his head fall to the pillows and the wrought iron headboard, watching her in rapture. Gingerly, she knelt her head down and licked the underside of his cock, a tentative touch that had Harry grasping at the sheets, breathless. It was so unexpected, the warmth of her tongue and the light touch that sent shivers up his body.

His eyes followed her as she explored, touching him with her index finger, running up the length of him. He hummed in response, pleasure coursing through his veins at the feeling of her hands on him. “So good,” he murmured, lifting his hand from the bed and threading it through her hair, softly pulling at the strands to show her how good it felt. When she paused, he knew that she didn’t know what to do next, so he moved his other hand to cover hers. “Can ya lick your hand for me, Ci?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at his request. “What?”

“Makes it easier,” he explained.

With her eyes on his, she brought her hand to her mouth, opening her lips enough for her tongue to poke out. The same tongue that had been touching his hard cock just moments ago now licked a broad stroke up her hand, once and then twice. “Like that?”

He swallowed thickly, wondering if she knew what she was doing to him simply by existing. “Perfect. Now, hold me in your hand,” he directed, closing his hand around hers and guiding her to his length, helping her wrap her dainty fingers around him. The touch made him hiss through his teeth and her head bobbed up to make sure he was alright. “Feels good,” he told her, and the words made her soften, tension leaving her. “Now, run it up and down—yeah, just like that, love. Fuck.” The drawn out curse made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, obviously pleased with herself.

Harry kept a loose hold on her hand, just enough to help her keep a steady pace, but soon he was faltering. Desire was swirling in his belly, and he knew if they kept this up too much longer he wouldn’t be able to last. But he wanted her mouth. He was selfish, and he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, even if just for a moment.

“Wanna take me in your mouth?” He asked, hushed tones that made her nod. His hand on hers moved to her chin, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t use teeth,” he informed her, keeping his words soft, “and ya don’t have to take it all.”

She nodded, and then she opened her mouth, tugging playfully on the pad of his thumb. A strangled whimper left his mouth, the sight of her mouth on his thumb leaving him breathless for her. Then, she released him and bowed her head, licking softly up his length.

When her lips opened and then closed around his tip, Harry barely held back from bucking into her. She was warm, soft, and wet, a sinful combination that made his head fall back, a hungry groan ripping through his throat. Then she sunk down on him slowly, taking him bit by bit, keeping her teeth sheathed as he had told her. Harry was panting more than he ever had before, struggling to keep his eyes trained on her. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The sight of her long eyelashes battering against her lids, her pink lips around his cock, watching his reaction, it was enough where he nearly came right then and there.

She seemed to quickly understand that she had to breathe through her nose, and did so as she moved up on his length. At his tip, she licked over it, her deft tongue circling where he was weeping for her. The hand that was holding her hair tightened, and he cursed at the feeling. But then she sunk back down on him, and Harry saw stars as she began to find a pace, moving up and down on him with ease.

He knew he was muttering utter nonsense, some combination of her name and curses and things like God, pet, feel so good, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, let alone censor his words. As she moved up and down, his hand wrapped in her hair so he could watch her, he could feel his abdomen tightening, the tell-tale sign that he was close. He didn’t want to finish her mouth, he wanted to feel her around him first.

“Ci,” he said, her nickname broken in his throat. “Gotta stop, love.”

Her head bounced off of him immediately, eyes studying his. “Why?”

He thumbed at the rise of her cheekbone, then slipped down to her lips, slick from her saliva around him. “Same reason as last time—not gonna last if ya keep goin’.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at him, before moving backwards, falling onto her ankles. “But I…”

His eyebrow quirked at her insinuation. “Did ya like that?”

She blushed, color fanning across her cheeks, and he loved it. “Maybe.”

The chuckle that spilled from his lips had her moving towards him, and he took her gladly, his arms securing around her naked body, eager to have her lie down on top of him. He moved his forearms so that they were under him, pressing up, so he could meet her halfway. They found each other as her legs were moving to either side of his right thigh, finding a perch on his body so that she could balance as they kissed, lips slotting between each other.

Then Harry had a particularly sinful idea, but one he thought she would enjoy. If he entered her now there was no way he would last long enough for her finish—he needed her to catch up to him, and he had just the solution. He moved his hands to her hips, pressing his ring-clad fingers into her skin and ever so slightly, brushed her back and forth across the swell of his thigh.

A sweet, little cry left her lips when her clit brushed across his skin, and Harry soaked in the sound. “How’s that feel?”

Her hands fell to his chest, her thumb brushing across his nipple piercing without meaning so, and it had Harry’s body jolting immediately. When his thigh jumped up, she mewled, curling her fingers into his skin. “You—it—yes,” she rasped. Her hair hung in her face as she leaned onto his chest, using his body to support her weight as he moved her across his thigh. He wondered how his leg hair felt against her skin, if it tickled it the way he imagined.

She was panting above him, and his eyes kept switching between her contorted facial expressions and where her center rubbed over his thigh, unable to decide which one deserved more of his attention. “Want to move on your own, love?” He asked her, squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Slowly, she nodded, and Harry released her hips, letting one of his hands fall to the thigh that was hooked over his own hip, the other pushing her hair out of her face so he could properly see her eyes. They were fluttered shut as she rocked back and forth. The confidence she was exuding was a sharp contrast to other moments they had spent together, but he loved how she was trusting her body, letting it tell her what she needed and how. Watching her take what she needed from him, the slick of her center coating his skin as she moved, it had him tugging his lip into his mouth, teeth biting into the skin.

A breathy, languid moan left her mouth, and Harry rose up, reconnecting their lips so he could absorb her sounds into his lungs. It was give and take, one of his arms around her waist as she moved slightly faster, and she chased the pleasure in her body, pants and moans falling onto his tongue.

“Harry,” she said, words broken as she pulled away, but Harry didn’t let her go. He had her lip caught between her teeth, a mewl from her throat being what finally made him release her. “I need you.”

He pushed at her hair, the feeling of her bending her head into the curve of his palm making his heart thrum. “Ya ready for me, love?”

“Please,” she begged, hands curling into the base of his scalp, her nails prodding at his skin.

He glanced down at their position. Would she want to be on top? He didn’t know. “Do you want to be like this?” She nodded, and so he tugged the knee that was between his legs to the other side of his body. Slowly, she shifted forward and Harry fell back into the pillows, letting her take the lead. He wanted her to take control in whatever ways she wanted, to show him what she desired and pursue it. So he let her hover over him, his fingers drumming on her thighs as she reached between them, her soft hand picking up his cock from where it laid on his stomach, hard and aching for her.

As she moved, her eyes flickered to his and they held one another’s gaze as she sunk down on him, bit by bit just as she had taken him into her mouth, both of their jaws dropping slightly as they reconnected. Cicely was panting above him, one hand anchored on his chest as she adjusted to his size, and Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding together as he tried to hold himself together.

The feeling of her like this, above him, her hands grappling at his body to gain strength, her knees secured around him, it had him floating and falling at the same time. It was as if he was free-falling through the air and the only thing his mind was able to hold onto was her. The way her neck curved as she threw her head back, the shape of her lips in an O when she moaned at the feeling of him inside her, how her toes curled against his calves.

One of his hands smoothed across her cheek, gripping the spot below her ear, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers pressing into her scalp. The other fell to her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her waist as she sat on him, full and slightly shaking on top of him.

“Ya okay?” He asked, urging her to tell him how she was doing, to check in.

“Yes,” she answered, always a girl for proper words, not his butchered vocabulary from the war and sub-par education, her accent posh and perfect. He loved how it sounded in his ears, like sweet honey on a dessert. “You—you feel so good.”

He knew exactly what she meant, because so did she. And when she rose up on her knees, pressing the tops of her feet down onto his shins for leverage, and then sunk back down, Harry saw stars. The tight grip of her walls around him, sucking him deep into her, filling every nook and cranny. It was as if she was suffocating him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You do too,” he managed to choke out. “Tight—so tight. Fuck, love, you’re too perfect.”

He didn’t realize there were tears falling from the corners of his eyes until she was bending down and licking at them, sopping up his salty tears with her tongue. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m yours.”

The words had his chest constricting, a ball in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The combination of her words and the tenderness of her touch and the way she was surrounding him was a combination he didn’t know if he could manage. He slipped his arm around her chest and pulled her close to him, wanting her flush to him. The pebbles of her nipples brushed against his, and they both moaned as they kissed, their lips a mess of saliva and hushed promises of love. His necklace nudged against both of their chests, the cold metal shocking to their skin. He helped her move, working her hips over his as she tired in his arms, neither of them wanting it to end.

Her fingers brushed his temples and his eyes fluttered shut, her soft skin always shocking him. He had never met someone who was so soft in every way—her skin, her touches, her words. She was like a warm bed on a Sunday morning that you never wanted to rise from, just wanted to stay curled up with your eyes closed. That’s what he wanted to, to curl up inside of her and let her have him, body and soul.

Their noses bumped and a giggle fell from her lips, the sound of it making him smile. “I love ya,” he whispered, the words caught in the tiny space between them. “Didn’t even know I could feel like this about someone.”

She nudged her lips with his, pecking and pulling at them, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she told him. As she rocked back on him, his cock hard and weeping inside of her, she scratched at his scalp, curling her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving someone else how I love you.”

For some reason, those words are what made Harry’s heart and abdomen clench, his orgasm moving through his bones. “Need ya closer,” he mumbled, dropping his head to fall into the crook of her neck. She cradled the back of his head there with one of her hands and then she managed to drop her body more into his, letting all of her weight rest on him.

Harry shifted so that his feet were flat on the bed, and bent his knees, using the position to push up into her. He could feel the exhaustion in her body, how she was holding on for him but was rapidly tiring. When he nudged deeper into her from the position, she whined his name, a Harry curling through the room like a wisp of smoke.

She was tightening around him, walls pressing more and more on his length, and he knew she was nearing her release. He pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and nosing at the strain of her neck. “Let go for me,” he told her, echoing his words from their first time together, knowing she needed the reassurance. “I need it, love.”

He bucked into her once more, and that combined with a bit of harsh suction on her neck was all it took to have her shaking in his arms, gripping him like a vice. Her nails dug into his scalp and he grunted, pushing up into her two more times to push her through her orgasm. His name spilled from her lips, a prayer and a pleading beg all in one, as she scrambled for more, rocking down onto him. She was dropping her weight into him fully, letting him support her as she fell to pieces in his arms. Then, he pulled her hips up and pressed down into the bed, disconnecting their bodies so he could finish in the narrow space between them, his ropes of come landing on both of their stomachs.

The weight of her against his body as both of their breathing patterns slowed, her head resting on his chest, calmed Harry in a way he hadn’t experienced in so long. Exhaustion settling into his bones, a desire to sleep finally running through his veins. Her fingers danced up his arms, pressing softly into his tattoos and drawing circles on his skin. He was still sticky on his lower abdomen, but he didn’t care and she didn’t seem to either. Neither of them wanted to move from their positions.

“I love you,” she said, breath fanning across his warm, sticky skin. “Somehow, I have this feeling that I’ll love you forever.”

He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair that rested on his shoulder, humming softly. “Hope so.” He was going to wait to do this properly, be on his knees in front of her in a nice suit and everything, but with her pressing tender kisses to his skin and hugging him close, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Ci,” he said, forcing her eyes up to his. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise didn’t even cross her face, just joy. Joy in the way she grinned at him, how her hands grabbed at his cheeks tugging his head towards hers so that their foreheads rested on each others. “Yes. A million times yes.”

A rare graced Harry’s features, his heart soaring so high he didn’t know if he would ever come down. “Yeah? Ya will?”

“Already said,” she told him, nuzzling her nose to his cheek. “Need me to say it again?”

“Maybe a couple of times.” This banter between them was new, but Harry loved it. How comfortable they were in one another’s presence, how he was able to let his guard down for her, how no matter what thoughts crossed his mind they were safe in her hands.

Cicely leaned her elbows onto his chest, picking her body up, so she could properly hover over him. “Yes,” she said, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She peppered her lips across every bit of his face, covering his features with her lips until he was tugging at her head, a chuckle leaving his chest.

Harry was happy. It was a happiness he hadn’t felt in years, one without end, seemingly stretching into infinity. It felt almost like a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. “I was goin’ to propose to ya properly,” he admitted, pulling her head back down onto his chest. “Couldn’t wait though.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into his skin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her head as she settled into his skin. “Maybe I will.”

Her fingers brushed across his skin, tracing the bird cage tattoo. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Her words were a whisper, but in the silence of their room is rang loudly.

“I’m the one who should be shocked,” he informed her, pinching at her hip. “I’m just some scrappy boxer. You’re this beautiful creature with class and poise who decided I could possibly be worthy.”

Cicely picked up her head, resting her chin on his chest. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that to me.” Her hands ran across his cheeks, pushing at the tendrils of his hair with a tenderness that made Harry want to cry again. “You’re strong, you’re honest, you’re loving. You fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. You have fought in battles on every field imaginable, home and abroad, and you haven’t given up on life. You’re still you, even if you hide it from people a bit. How on earth could I not find you worthy?”

Harry ducked his head, and exhaled into her skin. Her words had struck a chord in him one that ripped through the walls he had constructed years ago and laid him bare for all to see. “I’ll always fight for ya,” he told her, voice raw and rough against her ear. “Every single day of my life.”

They looked at each other, the waves crashing against the shore outside their hotel in a tiny town, far from the worries that would one day reach them. For now, though, it was Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry, a combination no one expected but worked perfectly all the same.

That night, Harry was roused from his nightmares with soft touches to his cheeks and his name a hushed drawl in his ear, Cicely hovering over him and naked against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, struggling to breathe as he hovered in that place between the dream and reality, trying to piece together what was happening, where he was, unsure if she was even real. He had dreamt of her for so long, so holding her hips as he inhaled slowly made him consider that perhaps he had never woken up in the first place.

“Harry,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

The name made his heart clench, and his fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming choppy into his lungs. “Remind me,” he begged, voice broken. “Remind me of reality, Ci.”

Without a pause, she began to speak, telling him their story in the darkness of their room, perched on his lap. She told him about the moment when she first saw his face, about how she fell in love with him because of his hesitant touches and loving glances, how she craved him every second that they were apart. In hushed tones, she described their reunion, the first one and now the second one. Told him about how much she loved him, pressing a kiss to his ring finger where she would one day place a ring of her own on the man she adored with her whole being. By the time her story ended, Harry could breathe again, his face pressed to the valley of her breasts as she held his head, cradling him against her heart. They stayed like that until he could sleep again, and when he did, the ghosts of his past were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were filled with bright hues and her, her face in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he had the entire dictionary at his disposal.

Perhaps they were built for one another, constructed with equal similarities and differences, designed to balance one another’s ebbs and flows like nature did. His roughness matched by her tenderness, her exuberance tempered by his earnestness, their pasts both painful for different reasons, enough to where they understood pain and how to heal each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Or, perhaps, just two people unequivocally and endlessly in love.

THAT’S IT! come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, emotions, favorite parts, etc. i love u all xo

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

[blossom-hwa]

fashion major!kevin

ANYWAY THERE WAS LIKE ONE PERSON WHO CALLED FOR A FASHION MAJOR KEVIN SPINOFF OF THE COLLEGE MODEL JUYEON AU I JUST POSTED (linked below) anyway! hope you enjoy, please reblog if you did, and check out my other dumb overly long blurbs in the stream of idiocy tag on my blog <3

pairing: kevin x gender neutral!reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, university!au

triggers: cursing

college model!juyeon

TBZ Scenarios Masterlist | TBZ Drabbles Masterlist

kevin moon is known on campus for two things: 1. his bright personality literally everyone loves him and if you don’t you’re jealous of him like sorry not sorry i don’t make the rules you know i’m right and 2. his.... unorthodox fashion sense. like eric thought his snake patterned shit was weird as hell?? but there are weirder things in kevin’s closet i swear to you. anyway this unorthodox style is what got him accepted into the fashion program at the university and even though there are a few assholes who stick their noses up at kevin’s work the vast majority of people are cool w his outfits even if they personally wouldn’t wear them and kevin is v well-liked in his major and on campus in general bc he knows everyone and is nice and polite and really a v cool person to be around when he’s not being a fucking idiot

and on campus there are fashion shows a few times every semester to show off the fashion majors’ work, and let’s just say that this university if p well know for its fashion major so some famous people sometimes come along to these events so EVERY TIME a fashion show rolls around the fashion majors get nervous as FUCK and there’s a lot of speculation on who will get noticed and whatever and everyone is secretive about what they’re working on and just. everyone goes fucking haywire and kevin is always v happy when the stress winds down after a show

(no one knows it but kevin has gotten offers from several companies to work with them after he graduates. he hasn’t told anyone except a few friends like juyeon/jacob and his family)

anyway you are also a fashion major who secretly really admires kevin’s stuff?? like you just think he’s so daring and creative and all of his work is absolutely amazing even if it’s a little weird and honestly you don’t even feel overshadowed by his talent and hard work you just feel in awe that you can be in his presence at all. you’re p sure kevin has no idea who you are bc even though you have a lot of the same classes you’re always too shy to sit or work near him bc even though he seems so nice and approachable he’s also just.... god he’s so good

BUT THEN. one of your professors announces that for the next fashion show they’ll be modeling projects that he’s assigning right now. which is weird asf bc usually you’ll all take your best clothing and like fix it or tweak it for the next show, like sometimes people will make something completely from scratch but that’s nerve-wracking and not many people do it unless they’re in a real pinch but it gets even WEIRDER bc this is not a regularly scheduled fashion event?? it’s like a smaller event apparently that they’ve organized just for this project AND THE WEIRDNESS TAKES THE CAKE when your professor says that YOU ARE GOING TO BE THE MODELS. YOU ALL ARE GOING TO PICK SOMEONE IN THE CLASS TO MAKE CLOTHES FOR AND THEY WILL MODEL YOUR OUTFIT

and this SENDS EVERYONE FREAKING THE FUCK OUT??? bc oh god you can’t rely on the models you’ve been using all semester now??? and you have to make flattering clothes for someone you might not even know v well and it’s just. holy fuck holy fuck holy FUCK

meanwhile you already know who you want to create for (/ahem kevin moon/) but you’re also chicken so like??? you’re just sitting in your seat looking over at him but not saying anything until your friend chanhee just pushes you out of your seat in kevin’s direction and is like GO ASK HIM BEFORE YOU LOSE THIS CHANCE and you’re like JESUS FUCKING CHRIST CHANHEE but kevin’s noticed your movement and he’s looking over with a smile on his face and you’re like jfc i can’t do this but chanhee shoves you again and so you kinda smile (you really hope it looks like a smile) and your voice is LITERALLY shaking when you go over and ask if it would be ok to use him as a model for this assignment and he’s like.... oh my god yes

because what YOU don’t know is that kevin has been ogling your designs all year?? like he enjoys his own style and is comfortable in it but he loves your work as in LOVES IT. he thinks your designs are absolutely flawless and original and you combine styles so effortlessly that he just wants to look into your brain when you come up with ideas bc what the fuck?? you may have different styles but kevin knows how to admire art AND YOUR DESIGNS ARE ART. 

so you’re reeling a day later bc now you have kevin moon’s number and he has yours and he’s now texting you on when you think you’ll have the first preliminary designs ready and when you can meet up so you can get each other’s measurements and all that and when you eventually meet up your hands are shaking so much that you can barely take his measurements and kevin is screeching in his mind as well bc oh my god you’re going to model his clothes YOU’RE GOING TO MODEL HIS CLOTHES

most people are again being secretive about their designs and even though someone in their class is modeling for them this time so there’s a bit less secrecy they’re still working alone so you get a shock when kevin asks if you want to coordinate your outfits. like work on designs together and maybe make something that matches a little though ofc retaining your own styles and you just shriek when you get the text and poor childhood best friend younghoon spills his coffee (you have been friends since basically birth and there are no romantic feelings whatsoever ok it’s strictly platonic like you watched younghoon vomit after eating too much bread when you were like 10 and he watched you get tangled up in a soccer net when you were 13 there are no romantic feelings stemming from any of that)

needless to say you reply yes yes ye sYES and kevin is grinning so wide on the other end that juyeon wonders if he’s gone slightly insane (which he has but we’re not gonna dwell on that) and both of you show up to the work rooms nervous as all hell (i’m not a fashion major i have no fashion sense i still think t-shirts/leggings are the way to go so idk how any of this works do not sue me) but kevin has a natural ability to defuse any tension in the room so within minutes you’re comfortable and laughing with him and wondering why you were so scared to approach him before and THEN YOU’RE REMINDED WHY when he shows you his design for you because... oh god.... it’s unbelievable. like it has a distinctly kevin feel to it but he’s clearly been paying attention to what you wear and what you design because it’s something you would like to wear and something you even think you could look good in. holy shit

and you just blurt out like kevin what the fuck this is so good did you like stalk my designs or some shit?? and you mean it as a joke ofc but kevin just goes beet red and mumbles something about how he really likes your work and how it’s so sharply elegant but also insanely creative and you’re just. open-mouthed like. dude i’m in love with your work too oh my god i’m gonna cry my fashion idol just said he likes my designs i’m gonna screaM

kevin stops you from screaming though even though he also feels like he’s gonna scream and this is the start of a very productive partnership between the two of you like most of the fashion majors are friendly despite the competition but you and kevin are on a whole other level?? and you start hanging out more and more often even when you’ve finished designing and are actually sewing (you ask him if this part can be secret bc you want to add a few things as a surprise - he ofc says yes and winks and tells you he has things he wants to add too which just makes you want to scream out of excitement)

and it’s a week before fashion show day and you and kevin are finished with putting together the designs and you’re excited as all hell and kevin is literally about to burst from his own skin and you insist that he goes first and when he pulls the outfit from the bag you’re just. in absolute awe. the colors match the design you made, it looks like it’ll fit, and even though it screams kevin moon it also has a distinct vibe from your own fashion style and you just yell KEVIN MOON YOU GENIUS as you snatch it from him and go change

(you don’t know obviously but kevin is blushing like a tomato while waiting for you to finish changing)

it fits almost perfectly, kevin marks a few places to fix and is debating whether or not to compliment you bc??? that sounds like he’s complimenting his own work and that’s egocentric as hell but then you say something like does it look fine and he just blurts out more than fine. you look great

AND YOU’RE SO FLUSTERED THAT YOU ALL BUT THROW YOUR OWN BAG AT KEVIN and are like GO CHANGE 

so he takes out the clothes and goes silent and you’re like.... oh my god does he hate it i mean we worked on the designs together and he said he liked it then but what if he changed his mind but then he looks at you and his eyes are sparkling and he’s like y/n this is perfect. literally perfect and he rushes to go get changed and when he comes out your eyes are bugging out of your head bc holy hell you pictured kevin in these clothes obviously since they were made for him but he looks so much better than you ever imagined

and then you blurt out something like holy shit you look beautiful

and kevin blushes again

anyway you both take your measurements and run out and then the day of the fashion show rolls around and both of you are freaking out backstage but the instant you two go on it’s like you both are literal gods bc you feel so confident in each other’s clothing and the crowd can feel it THEY CAN FUCKING FEEL IT and they go nuts when you two walk out!!! and even though it isn’t like a huge major fashion show, it’s just for this one project that your professors cooked up, you and kevin are both beaming like the sun when it’s over despite the fact that it wasn’t an important event bc holy shit you two had fun and everyone’s complimenting your clothing and it’s great it’s just great

finally all the chaos is over and the clothes have been put away and the makeup removed and you and kevin are now standing outside the venue in a kind of stunned silence that all of it’s over. it’s all over. and then you suddenly thrust out the clothes you made that kevin wore and tell him to keep it. it’s a present. and kevin takes it but he also forces you to take the outfit he made for you. and then there’s silence again

but if there’s anything you’ve gained over the past few weeks it’s a bit of courage. courage that let you talk to kevin, courage that let you design clothes for him, courage that let you become friends (and maybe something more) with him. you’ve also learned that kevin is a massive dork and a lovely human being and you’d really love to at least stay in contact so in that the moment you smile and say ‘if i asked you on a date, would you wear that outfit?’

poor kevin looks like he’s about to have a fucking aneurysm and you start to lose confidence but then he’s nodding like there’s no tomorrow like yes ye sYE S OH MY GOD YE S and omg you now have a boyfriend whom you like very very much and kevin has a partner whom he likes very very much

you two may not be a pda couple but you ARE that couple that matches every outfit they wear, you make jewelry and accessories for each other and also make each other clothes every so often. everyone is jealous of your combined fashion sense bc even though the outfits might look outrageous, you two both manage to pull them off and look fabulous at it, but also they can’t even be that jealous bc you two are the sweetest couple and are absolutely lovely 

both of you do wear the outfits you made for that show on your first date which is to like a musical or smth bc theatre kid kevin is something you can pry out of my cold dead hands and everyone’s staring but you two are in your own little world and it’s amazing

kevin admits at one point that he was afraid to ask you out bc he thought younghoon was your boyfriend and you just snort and tell him everything stupid younghoon’s done and by the end younghoon is done with you, kevin is about to vomit he’s laughing so hard, and you are smirking like no tomorrow

for the end of year fashion show you and kevin fix up and accessorize the outfits you two made for the show that brought you two together and there is absolutely no surprise that several different fashion companies scout both of you (and a couple modeling agencies too since you and kevin decided to model your own clothing again - younghoon whines that you’ve replaced him but you shut him up with chocolate bread)

kevin’s a sucker for romance (you CANNOT tell me this isn't true) so your first kiss is on the roof of the fashion building at sunset when kevin does the cheesy thing where he says you look more beautiful the view and you almost slap him but you’re laughing so hard and kevin’s cackling and somehow it turns into a kiss

you are a dork and kevin is even more of a dork and it just works out beautifully bc you’re so absolutely in love that it makes people fake vomit from the sides (looking at chanhee right here) but it’s also really sweet in that you two trust each other completely and would do absolutely anything for the other except murder. kevin made that v clear but really only bc blood would stain his clothing and he doesn’t need that. you agree wholeheartedly (younghoon/juyeon are looking from the sides like what the fuck is this couple do they need help and you two are like just go away and let us be the weird couple we are ok). the conversation ends in a v soft v sweet kiss and just. ik i said it with juyeon but kevin moon is also best bf ever ok you cannot convince me otherwise. 

and that’s how it goes :)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this weird-ass couple)

[penaltbox]

flights, fate, and football games (4+1) - quinn hughes

*or 4 times you were in the same place and didn’t know it + 1 time you were in the same place on purpose*

if you like it let me know :) reblog it, send me a message, leave your thoughts in the tags. thanks in advance!

word count: ~3k

__

Same restaurant/Post playoffs 

You wave at your two best friends as soon as you enter the restaurant, surprisingly being the one who was late this time. You hit more traffic than you expected, but Pop’s was not to be missed. 

The little Ferndale restaurant was one of your favorites and you needed the time to wind down after the crazy week you’d had. You hear a guy’s voice behind you talking to the suddenly excited hostess as you walk past her to get to your table, but never glance back at who it might have been. 

“Wow, for once we aren’t the late ones,” Abby smiles, nudging Hannah with her elbow.

“Oh, aren’t you guys funny,” you roll your eyes playfully, but take a seat with them, “it wasn’t my fault though. Traffic was insane on the highway. It’s like everyone forgot how to drive at once.”

“I hit some traffic too, no worries,” Hannah smiles, glancing over your shoulder, “did you somehow miss those super cute boys that came in behind you though? The one was so your type.”

Your eyes widen a little as you turn around to quickly survey the area you’d just come from. There’s no one waiting at the front of the restaurant though, so you turn back with a frown. 

“I mean, I heard a guy’s voice as I walked in but I didn’t think to look back at him. Why? Was he really that cute?” You ask, looking around the restaurant to see if you could find who she was talking about. 

Abby sighs, “I can’t see where they went either but Hannah and I noticed them as soon as you got here. We should have got you to turn around somehow.”

You shrug, checking over the menu and deciding between a pizza or the bolognese instead, “I guess if I was supposed to have seen him then I would have.”

You would have looked around for him more but the waiter showed up and you were dying to get your hands on a glass of wine to start your weekend off. 

...

“Quinn, I swear if you don’t start talking to cute girls when you see them I’ll end your career,” Will points across the table. 

Josh holds his hands up and laughs, “guys, come on. We all know Quinn isn’t smooth enough to seal the deal anyways.”

This gets the other two laughing, but Quinn doesn’t find it as humorous. He rolls his eyes and tries to fight off a smile. He opts for focusing his attention extra carefully on the menu rather than fueling the fire that was already started. 

“Hey, by the end of summer you never know. Maybe you’ll be able to land a girl. It might take a small miracle, but we’ll help you out if we can,” Will grins, thinking it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

“Great,” Quinn nods, thinking matchmaker Will sounded like a living nightmare, “I’m sure that would go well.”

He tries to brush it off, but the thought lingers a little longer. He’d find someone one of these days. His mom always told him he shouldn’t rush a good thing. It would happen when it was supposed to. 

Your brother’s hockey practice/Early June

“I swear to god, Adam, you need to get moving,” you mumble, watching your brother get beat in yet another drill. 

The air inside USA arena was definitely colder than outside and you were wondering how you’d managed to get stuck picking him up that night. He seemed off though so maybe he’d asked your mom if you’d get him. Sometimes he needed to talk, and definitely not to your parents. 

The whistle blows loudly and you watch your little brother skate off with his head down. He’d been lucky to make the U17’s but you could tell he was struggling. It made your heart hurt and you knew the drive home would involve the long route that day. 

You wait in the lobby, responding to your group chat that had somehow blown up while you watched the end of the practice. You’re in the middle of a message when an oddly familiar voice catches your attention.

You pick up your head and look around just as a group of guys head down the stairs to the locker rooms. You don’t manage to see any of them but something about the voice you’d heard seemed to catch your attention for some reason. Where had you heard that voice before?

Adam comes barreling out of the doors, an annoyed look on his face, “let’s go.”

“Hi to you too, asshole,” you scoff, but the look on his face matches the tone he’d given you. Something was wrong. 

You grab your keys and walk out of the arena, glancing over at your only sibling, “Adam, what’s wrong? Wasn’t there another practice after that you wanted to watch or something?”

“No, some alumni guys rented the ice next and pushed the 18’s back an hour,” he mumbles, his hands dug down in his pockets. 

You reach over and ruffle his hair, despite the fact he’s well taller than you now, “come on, we’re getting ice cream before we get home. And you can tell me what’s got you so worked up on the way.”

A smile takes over his face finally as he reaches your car, “okay fine. So there’s this girl in my chem class but she’s dating a football player.”

“Ew,” you laugh, playing along with the story, “also if you’re playing like shit because you’re mad that a girl you like is taken then I’m kicking your ass”.

“Hey, it was one bad practice. Just don’t tell dad,” he looks over, “surprised you didn’t want to stay and watch the next practice though. You know it’s the guys who went on to play college and pros and stuff right?”

You almost smack him when you see how smug he looks, but you hold off for once, “the last thing I need is some trouble maker hockey player to deal with. I already have you.”

“Suit yourself. Every girl I know loves Hughes though,” he shrugs. 

The name sounds familiar but you don’t think twice about it for some reason. Of course you wanted a boyfriend but you weren’t sure you wanted your younger brother setting that up for you. 

…

“Try not to suck tonight, okay?” Jack laughs, shrugging his bag a little higher on his shoulder as he picks on his older brother. 

Quinn laughs and shoves him sideways, “try not to get run over. Are you gonna put any weight on this summer, bud?”

“You’re both getting lapped,” Alex interjects, walking between the two and entering the arena first. 

Quinn notices you leaning against the wall in the lobby and does a double take. Had he seen you before? Why did you seem so familiar? You had to be waiting for someone if you were there, he knew the 17’s had the ice, so maybe you were younger than he thought. 

He shakes off the odd feeling he gets from seeing you and turns to find his brother grinning. Quinn knows he’s been caught staring and he immediately bumps Jack into the wall. 

“Don’t even think about it!” He says, hurrying down the stairs as Alex holds the door. 

“I’m just saying!” Jack yells after his older brother, “I could go play wingman for you!”

Quinn thinks that sounds like the worst thing ever, if he’s being honest. The last thing he needs is to rely on his brother to set him up. He could see that going wrong in a million different ways. 

The airport/pre-4th of July

You sigh, slouching down in your seat a little further as you take a sip of your coffee. You wish your anxiety didn’t have you at the airport almost two hours before takeoff, but here you were. 

You watch a few planes take off, ignoring your surroundings for a little while as you wonder where the people might be going and why. You respond to a text from your aunt in Boston, who you were going to visit, and quickly get lost in your thoughts again. 

You let your eyes start to wander after a bit and they land on a cute boy a few rows over. He’s sitting with a few other boys around his age and you glance over at their gate. New Hampshire? What was even in New Hampshire? 

You watch him for a few more minutes, but shake your head before looking back out the window. You certainly weren’t brave enough to go talk to him and you didn’t want to get caught staring. Something about him seemed so familiar but you brush it off, figuring you were just imagining things. 

…

Quinn drops his backpack and sits heavily into the creaky airport chair, arguing with Luke about what they’d do first when they got to the cabin. There was no winning the argument but Luke liked to be a pest and Quinn had learned from being gone so much that sometimes he just needed to let his little brother bug him while he could. 

Airports were so boring and he’d luckily stalled enough that his parents didn’t have them all there three hours early for once. Quinn lets Luke “win” the argument finally, agreeing that they’ll go on the boat as soon as they get there. 

Quinn’s attention wanders and he looks around the airport, his eyes seeming to focus on the gate heading for Boston. His eyebrows pull together as he tries to squint and see the line of people boarding. He swears he sees a familiar face but he’s not so sure. 

There’s no way it was the same person he saw at the arena a few weeks ago, right? He blinks hard and suddenly he’s hit with a water bottle in the chest. 

“Dude are you good?” Jack questions him, waving a hand in front of the older boy’s face. 

Quinn looks at his brother quickly before checking where you’d been standing, only to find you’d already boarded the plane, “yeah, knock it off. Can’t you leave me alone for like five minutes ever?”

Quinn is mildly annoyed that his brother pulled the stunt when he did and he’d lost sight of you before he could be sure. Maybe you were from Boston and you were headed home. That wouldn’t explain why you were at USA arena unless your brother played there, too. 

He turns to Luke then, elbowing the youngest Hughes to get his attention, “do you play with any kids from Boston?”

Ann Arbor/football game/late August

You laugh as you try and keep up with Abby and Hannah, excited for one last year at the school that held your heart. You were convinced you could never leave Ann Arbor and luckily for one more year you didn’t have to. 

The weather was perfect that night as the first football game was set to kickoff in no time but the three of you had left a pregame a bit later than you planned for. You’re being rushed through the crowd by Hannah, who has a tight hold on your hand, when Abby suddenly veers off. 

“Hold on, I need to say hi to him!” She yells over her shoulder, causing Hannah to stop in her tracks and you to slam into her back. 

The two of you stumble a little but fix yourself, standing and watching where Abby had run off to. She moves to a group of guys and your stomach turns a little with worry, hoping she actually knew who these people were. 

You’re about to march over when you see the boy. The one from the airport. You shake your head a little, trying to make sure you weren’t imagining what you were seeing, but he really is there. Abby is talking to his friends and he’s got a soft smile that makes you want to know more about him. He’s not as outspoken as his friends and his hands are stuffed in his pockets like he’s not sure what else to do with them. 

Hannah catches you staring and laughs, “that’s Quinn by the way. I know you’re looking. Abby met those boys a couple months ago while she did her classes on campus. Can you believe they’re the ones we saw at Pop’s at the beginning of the summer?”

“They’re who?” You ask, your brain speeding through the memories, but all that keeps coming up is Quinn. 

Pop’s, the airport, and now here. Was he the guy from the rink too? Was that the voice you’d recognized. There was no way you’d been in all the same places for the last three months and never talked to each other or actually truly met. What kind of fate was playing around with you two?

You glance back over at Quinn only to find him looking at you, too. Your cheeks feel instantly hot and you bite your lip, looking away quickly. You hated that you reacted so quickly to something so simple. Maybe he was looking at Hannah, you tried to reason with yourself. Or maybe he recognized you too. 

…

Quinn is shocked when a bouncy little blonde runs up to Josh and says hello to him. She’s happy as can be and Quinn would be lying if he said she wasn’t cute. She quickly introduces herself and motions back at her friends, talking a mile a minute, when Quinn realizes he’d definitely met her earlier that summer. 

Her and her friends were going to the game but if the boys wanted to hang out after they’d be having a small party at their place and they were more than welcome to come. Quinn gives Josh a little nod when the taller boy checks with him for plans and Josh smiles at the girl he’d been talking about for weeks now. 

Quinn looks around the crowd of maize and blue, looking for the friends she’d mentioned, and his eyes freeze on one in particular. You’re so familiar in that moment and suddenly you’re the prettiest girl he sees there. It was the same feeling as the rink, the airport, and now here in Ann Arbor. What were the chances that he’d ran into you this many times but never talked to you? 

He sees you and your friend watching in their direction and he catches your eye. You blush and bite your lip, making him smile right away. That had to be the cutest thing he’d seen in a long time. He forgets that Abby has mentioned her friends and he’s about to walk over and talk to you when Josh grabs his arm. 

“Come on, we have to go this way to get to the field,” Josh says, nodding in the opposite direction of the girls. 

Quinn is about to argue, but sighs instead, “yeah, okay. Did you say we’re seeing them again later?”

+1 Your friends set you up/late August/post football game

“You wouldn’t stop staring at him. Don’t even try and lie about it now!” Hannah accuses, pointing her finger at you. 

You feel like you’re dying of embarrassment and Abby can’t stand up straight because of how hard she’s laughing over the situation. You were being bullied by your best friends and none of you could contain your laughter over it all. There were more than a few people watching the scene as you made your way around the field, trying to find which section your tickets were for. 

“Stop, I don’t even know him!” You say, though it’s only a partial lie. 

Abby snorts a little and carefully wipes a tear away from the corner of her eye, “holy shit, my stomach hurts from laughing so hard. Yeah, Quinn is awkward as hell but I think you two would be amazing so you’re definitely meeting him tonight.”

She’s quick to pull out her phone and text Josh, already making a plan with him to get you and Quinn cornered in the same area. You can’t fight her on this. Once Abby set her mind to something it was going to happen so you were just along for the ride at this point. 

The football game goes by too fast considering it was the last first game of the season you’d ever get as an undergrad, but the three of you are in such good moods that you hardly have time to be sad about it. 

You leave the game a few minutes early to try and beat some of the crowds as you head back for the house you all shared. You almost forget the boys are coming over as you head to the kitchen and grab a drink. You figured you had a little while before they’d show anyways. 

Popping the top of your can, you take a big drink and sigh. You hear Abby’s little giggle behind you and you whip around confused. You’re suddenly face to face with Quinn and you immediately blush in embarrassment. 

“Uh, hi,” you stutter, giving him a little smile even though you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. 

“Hi,” he says, and you know immediately that he was the one you’d almost run into so many times that summer. 

His smile is just as nervous as yours and you get why Abby had called him awkward before. He fidgets with his hands as he stands in front of you but it’s endearing somehow. He’s not overly cocky or trying to impress you somehow and yet you’re completely on board with getting to know him. 

He’s a stranger, technically, but he feels so familiar that you laugh a little. Quinn’s eyebrows furrow over the noise but he doesn’t actually ask. 

“Sorry, it’s just… did you want a drink or something?” you offer, trying to keep yourself from getting giddy over having him in front of you after all the months of fate making sure you dodged each other. 

His smile gets bigger then and he seems to relax, “yeah, that sounds good. Maybe I could steal you too and get to know you? If you want anyways.”

You nod, not hiding your smile anymore, “I think I’d really like that. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

[obx-adventures]

The Introverted Twin

Summary - Being John B’s bookish twin isn’t easy. Especially with my best friend, Pope, being weird about me getting closer with JJ.

Warnings - Smut at the end

A/N - I have tried to tag everyone who has reblogged at least one of the chapters. If you don’t want to be tagged, just let me know. If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, let me know. Thank you everyone for being so into this series!

Catch up here: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5

——

Chapter 6

“JJ! I know you’re here! Answer the damn door!”

I jolt awake at the banging on the bedroom window and it takes me a few moments to recognize my brother’s voice. JJ is sitting on the edge of the bed frozen in place. I reach out and grab his hand. When he looks down at me, I see how nervous he is. I’m reminded that the Pogues are his only real family and being with me puts that in jeopardy.

“JJ, it’s going to be ok. I’ll talk to him.” I glance out the window and see my brother walking to the front of the house. Once he can’t see into the bedroom anymore, I sit up and put on my shirt. As I climb past JJ to get out of his bed, I kiss the top of his head. “I promise I won’t let you lose your best friend.”

I fix my hair quickly and open the front door. My brother stares me down as I step outside and close the door. I remember the conversation he had with JJ and I feel my anger rising too.

“John B, what are you doing here?” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him.

“I came to see if JJ knew where you were. But I guess you were here with him. All night.” I can’t stop my eyes from rolling at the implication.

“JB, stop. I left you a note that I was ok and would be back in the morning. You couldn’t wait for me?”

“Y/N, you have never disappeared like this before. I was worried about you…” Guilt washes over me as I take in his face. He has huge bags under his eyes and looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night. But I can’t let him know that he’s wearing me down already. We have too many things to hash out.

“You were worried about me or worried that JJ was with me?”

“About you! First you freak out yesterday and bolt, then I find out from Sarah that you went to talk to her when you wouldn’t talk to me, and then I see the van outside and find your note. None of this is like you!” He’s right. Everything I did yesterday after we docked back at our pier was out of character.

“Calm down, I’m really ok.” I hold out my arms and spin in a circle to show him I was completely fine. “See? Not a scratch on me. I just needed some space.”

“From me?” I can’t ignore the hurt in my twin’s voice. In this moment, I remember that John B and I are the only family we have left. Our mom left when we were little, and our dad has been gone for almost a year. It’s just the two of us and we’ve grown to rely on each other.

“Yes, I saw how you were getting worked up after we got back from the marsh and I didn’t even know what I was feeling in that moment. How could I talk to you about something so important when I didn’t understand myself? You said Sarah told you I went to see her? Did she tell you what we talked about?”

“No, she wouldn’t tell me anything. She just said that you needed to talk through some stuff.” His frustration is evident, and I have to stop myself from smiling at the pouty look he has.

“I did. I needed to figure out how I feel.”

“How you feel about JJ?”

“Yes, John B, how I feel about JJ. And how JJ feels about me. And how Pope and you fit into all of that. I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I’m sorry that I did. I just… damnit, this is all stuff that will change our whole little world and it freaked me out.”

“Yea, I’m pretty freaked too. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

“So you could try to scare me away from JJ? Like you tried to scare him away from me?”

“He told you?” he asks sheepishly. He looks down and won’t make eye contact with me as he waits for my response.

“Yes. How could you say those things to him, JB? You know that his dad has told him at every opportunity that he is worthless and won’t amount to anything. How could you pile on like that? He’s your best fucking friend.”

“I didn’t say he’s worthless!” His anger is back now that he’s reminded about part of the reason he’s here. He can tell me all he wants that he was trying to find me, but I know him well enough to know that he was planning on having it out with JJ. “And you’re right, he is my best friend. But as my best friend, I know him really well and I know how he is with girls. I can’t let you be one of the girls he tosses to the side when he’s had enough.”

“All the girls that he ‘tosses to the side’ are Tourons or girls he barely knows. We’ve been friends since 3rd grade, just like you two have. I know we’ve never been as close, but he’s defended me when I was picked on for being the nerdy kid that doesn’t surf. He saw me get stood up last year and wanted to go beat the shit out of that guy. He cares about me, he always has.”

“But Y/N –” I hold up my hand to interrupt my brother. I will not let him tell me what’s best for me.

“No, John B! You do not get a say in this. Did I give you shit when you started dating Sarah?”

“That was different,” he responds stubbornly.

“Why?” My eyebrows raise as I await whatever bullshit explanation he tries to give me.

“Because Sarah isn’t –” I stop him again. I also will not let him try to make JJ out to be the bad guy.

“Stop. Sarah cheated on her boyfriend with you. I knew Kie hated her, too. But did I give you shit like everyone else? No, I didn’t. So, I need you to return the favor here.”

“I’m not trying to give you shit, I’m trying to protect you.” His shoulders sag after he tells me this and I realize he doesn’t understand why JJ is so important to me.

“Do you know how difficult it is for me every day? I have never been good at making friends, I’ve never fit in. Do you remember all our birthday parties when we were little? Everyone was there for you. JJ was the only one who ever even got me a present. I was invisible to everyone else. Thankfully I found Pope so I don’t feel so alone every day. But with JJ, it’s more than that. He makes me feel alive, John B.”

“You make me feel alive too, Sunshine.” I jump at JJ’s voice and wonder how long he’s been standing there. “Dude, I get that I don’t have the best history here. I’m not even pissed about what you said yesterday. I just need you to see that this is different. I’m in for as long as Y/N wants me here. I don’t want to hold her back from her dreams, I just want to be a part of it. If that means waiting here for her, fine. If she’ll let me come with her, even better. Like I told her yesterday, I’m in. 100%.”

John B starts pacing while he thinks through everything he’s just heard. I go over to JJ and bring him in for a tight hug. He gives me a quick kiss and I know that he’s thanking me for defending him to my brother.

“Did you have sex with her?” John B asks.

“JB!” I am mortified and livid that JB would think he’s entitled to ask that question.

“Y/N, it’s fine. No, we didn’t have sex. I’m not going to tell you anything else because that’s none of your business.”

“You shouldn’t have told him anything.” JJ chuckles as he pulls me in close to him.

“He needs to know this isn’t my usual bullshit, Sunshine.”

“Is that why –” JJ cuts me off before I can finish my question. He must have known I would think this was why he stopped us last night.

“No, he had nothing to do with that.” He leaves it at that and looks back at my twin. “JB, are we good?”

“He makes you feel alive?” John B asks me.

“Yes.”

“And you actually care about her? You don’t just want to mack on her?” I roll my eyes at John B while he waits for JJ to answer him.

“Yes, absolutely.” John B looks back and forth between us and finally let’s out a resigned sigh.

“We’re good… I’m sorry for being a dick yesterday. And, Y/N, I’m sorry for –”

“Being a macho asshole?”

“Yea, that.” We both break into a smile and John B comes forward to hug me and JJ. “But JJ, I was serious yesterday. You hurt her and I’ll beat your ass.”

“Whatever, JB. Ready to go home?” After he nods, I turn to JJ and smile when I think about our date tonight. “What time for tonight?”

“I’ll pick you up at 6.” He gives me a quick kiss and pats my butt when I turn towards the van. I look back at him and he winks at me, causing both of us to laugh. I kiss him again, but the kiss is cut short by John B honking the horn. I flip him off as I go in for one more kiss just to bother him.

The ride back to the Chateau is quiet, my thoughts stuck on what JJ may have planned for our date. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when John B slams on the brakes after I yell out. We are in front of Heyward’s and I just saw Pope walk outside.

“JB, give me 5 minutes. I need to try to talk to Pope.” I’m already half way out the door before John B understands why I yelled.

“Good luck, I’ll wait down the street.”

I wipe my suddenly sweaty hands on my shorts and walk over to the dock. Pope hasn’t seen me yet, so I take a minute to think through what I want to say.

“Pope, can we talk for a minute?” He freezes at the sound of my voice but doesn’t turn around. “Please, Pope.”

He finally turns to face me, and I can see that this past week has been hard for him. He looks like he’s barely slept and has lost a couple pounds. I feel terrible for my best friend and incredibly guilty about what I need to tell him.

“I can’t do this right now, Y/N. I’m already late for deliveries and my pop will flip if I’m not gone in like 30 seconds.”

“Please just talk to me. I could come with you on your deliveries.”

“No, that’s not... no.” Pope won’t look at me but is shaking his head quickly to shut down this idea.

“But I miss you, Pope. And there is something I need to talk to you about. It’s really important.”

“You better get your ass on that boat!” Heyward yells at his son.

“Look, Y/N, I’ll try to come by tomorrow. Ok?” He doesn’t wait for my response before he jumps on the boat and starts the engine.

----

“Y/N, JJ’s here!”

Sarah gives me a gentle squeeze on my shoulders to calm me before she put the finishing touches on my hair. When we got back to the Chateau earlier, Sarah was here waiting. She looked nervously between me and John B to try to figure out if we were ok. I pulled her into a hug and asked her to help me get ready for my date. She took the assignment very seriously and has spent the rest of the day perfecting my look.

Before Sarah lets me leave my room, she forces me to stand in front of my mirror to admire her handiwork. I gasp when I finally see the finished product. Dressing up and wearing makeup is not me but Sarah has found a way to make it natural. My makeup is subtle but makes my eyes sparkle. The dress that she picked out highlights my curves and looks great with my tan skin. My hair is down, and my normally wild curls are tamed.

“Wow, Sarah,” I whisper as I turn to give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. Do you think JJ will like it?”

“Are you kidding me? He is going to drool when he sees you!” Sarah laughs and opens my bedroom door.

I walk out to the living room and the boys don’t see me right away. I get a chance to study the way JJ is nervously fidgeting with his lighter. He has a button up shirt on and styled his hair. He looks up and his jaw drops as he takes in my appearance. John B notices JJ’s response and turns to look at me. My anxiety ticks up at their silence. Thankfully, Sarah steps in to break the silence.

“So, JJ, where are you guys going?” It takes JJ a moment to respond, his gaze still focused on me.

“Umm… I... I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.” I raise my eyebrows to silently ask for a hint, causing JJ to grin. “Nope, can’t tell you, Sunshine. You’ll just have to wait.”

“Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” I tear my eyes from JJ to furrow my brows at my brother. But I follow him to the kitchen and find him pacing nervously.

“JB, what’s wrong? I place both hands on his shoulders to get him to stop and look at me.

“Are you sure about this?” I roll my eyes at my brother, give him a kiss on the cheek, and go back to the living room.

“Ready, J?” He nods as I take his hand but he doesn’t walk with me.

“John B, I promise –”

“Nope, we’re not doing this, J. Let’s go.” I pull him with me outside and link my arm with his when we get off the porch.

We walk to the beach and JJ guides me to an area that I’ve never been to. After walking in comfortable silence for a little bit, JJ gently reaches over and covers my eyes. He turns us away from the water and leads me for another minute. When he removes his hand from my eyes, I am speechless. He has laid out a picnic for us with all my favorite things – a blanket that I always cuddle under on movie nights is spread out on the sand, candles that Kie gave me last year for my birthday holding the blanket in place, a picnic basket that my dad used to use when we went out on family adventures is sitting in the middle, and my favorite classical music piece is playing through the speaker. I instantly remember how much JJ pays attention to little details and all of my anxiety disappears.

“JJ, this is… wow.” I give him a quick kiss and he leads me over to sit down on the blanket. “I’ve never even listened to Clair de Lune around you guys. How did you know?”

JJ smiles at me and tucks one of my curls behind my ear. “You were so pissed when you found out it was in Twilight. We were 12, I think, and Ms Lana gave you the Twilight movie set for your birthday. JB put the first one on as a joke since he knew you would hate it. Pope talked you into watching it with us and you stormed away when they started talking about Clair de Lune and John B yelled ‘Oh come on, it’s your favorite!’ I’ve listened to it every once in a while since then after I get into it with my dad. It helps calm me down.”

I’m shocked into silence. I watch JJ unpack the picnic basket and am in awe of the beautiful boy in front of me. I tear my gaze from him to see what he brought for us and am confused when I see the assortment of food. JJ sees the look on my face and worries that he did something wrong. I offer him a reassuring smile and ask what’s for dinner.

“We have grilled cheese sandwiches, yours has that weird cheese you like so much and tomatoes. I still don’t get why you like tomatoes on there but whatever. I have your favorite chips and peanut butter filled pretzels. I also got strawberry lemonade and mixed it with real strawberries like they do at the Wreck. And vodka to add in if you want since you don’t like beer. I know it isn’t fancy, but I thought this was more you and all of these are your favorites.”

“JJ… this is perfect. You’re perfect.” I smile when I see him blush. How did I get so lucky to have such a sweet and caring guy?

We eat in comfortable silence and JJ chuckles when I moan in satisfaction after taking a bite of my grilled cheese. I decide to add some vodka to my strawberry lemonade to calm my nerves. After JJ finishes eating, he lays down on the blanket and looks up at the stars. A little later I join him, resting my head on his chest. JJ points out different planets and constellations as I trace the different constellation patterns on his forearm. We lay like this for a while and I feel myself drifting off as he plays with my hair.

“What are you thinking about, Sunshine?”

“How happy I am right now. You?”

“Mhm, I wish we could stay here, like this, forever. Dance with me?”

“Seriously, J?” I sit up and study his face.

“Please, I wanted to take you to that dance last year but that asshole asked you first. That was one of the reasons I wanted to kill him when he stood you up.”

I stand up and pull him with me. As I wrap my arms around his neck, he places one hand on my waist and selects a song on his phone. After he puts his phone away, he pulls me flush against his body and we start to sway to the opening notes of Ed Sheeran’s Perfect.

“This is my favorite love song,” I tell JJ as I rest my head on his chest.

“I know, you told me last summer.”

“Really? When?”

“We all went out on the Pogue and I decided to sit with you instead of swim. You quietly asked me if I didn’t want to get in because I didn’t want everyone else to see my bruises from my dad. But I didn’t answer you and instead of pushing it, you turned up the music and held my hand. A little later, Perfect came on and you told me you loved it because it is about wanting a life and future with someone instead of the chase or just one night with someone.”

“I can’t believe you remember that, JJ.”

“I remember everything,” he whispers to me.

——

“Did you have a good time tonight, Sunshine?” JJ asks me as we walk up the steps of the porch at the Chateau.

“Absolutely, JJ. Everything was perfect.”

JJ steps closer to me and rests a hand on my cheek. He leans in and kisses me gently.

“I love you, Y/N. I should have said it yesterday but I was scared.”

I take JJ by the hand and lead him inside the house and into my bedroom. I lock my door behind us and wordlessly guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. I straddle his lap and crush my lips to his.

JJ’s left hand wraps around my waist while his right settles on the back of my neck. He tangles his fingers in my hair as he pulls me as close as possible to him. This kiss is carnal and hungry. We pour every ounce of emotion into the kiss and I begin to feel lightheaded. I pull back to catch my breath but JJ’s hand in my hair only allows me to move back an inch. He looks at me with lust filled eyes before he squeezes them shut and takes a few steadying breaths.

“Sunshine, I should go.”

“J, stay... please... You can’t tell me that you love me and then leave.” I lean down and brush my lips along his jawline then nibble gently on his earlobe. “Stay...”

JJ moans and grips my waist tightly with both hands when I start kissing his neck. I run my hands down to his waist band and skim my fingertips along the top of his shorts. His hands move down to my bare thighs and I’m so damn thankful Sarah forced me into a dress.

“You’re killing me...” JJ groans as he tilts his head to give me better access. I smile against his skin knowing that I’ve won him over. I start unbuttoning his shirt and kiss back up to his lips.

When our lips connect, JJ takes control. He moves his hands roughly up and I shiver when he traces along the lace of my bikini panties. His insistent fingers press into my ass and pull my hips closer to his. I thread my fingers into his hair and gently tug as I slowly grind my core on the ridge of his growing erection.

Keeping one hand on my ass, he brings the other up to cup my breast and uses his index finger and thumb to tease my nipple over my clothes, eliciting a moan. He moves the hand on my breast to my back and finds my zipper, hesitating until I whisper please, trying not to break the kiss. He slowly unzips my dress and runs his finger pads back up my now exposed back. He roughly grips the dress straps with both hands and pulls my dress down to expose my chest. I climb off his lap quickly to remove my dress completely and his normally ocean blue eyes are dark with desire as my dress pools around my feet. He rakes his eyes over my body and licks his lips as he takes in the sight of my matching red lacy bra and panties set. He reaches out to pull me back to straddle his lap again and my skin tingles everywhere he touches me. He roughly cups both of my breasts and pulls down the lace to gain better access to my nipples with his nimble fingers.

Instead of returning his lips to mine, he kisses down my neck as he teases and tweaks both nipples. My breath hitches and I revel in all the different sensations. When his mouth reaches my breast, he releases one nipple from his fingers but quickly encircles it with his tongue while his free hand moves to my back to make quick work of the clasp. Instead of returning that hand to my breast, he slides it down my back and firmly grabs my ass. With one hand on my ass, the other on my breast, and his mouth on my other nipple, he drives me wild and my panties are soon soaked.

I release my grip on his hair and move my hands down his chiseled torso to unbutton his shorts. Because my body is pressed so closely to his, I can only brush my thumb over the head of his penis but this is enough make him moan. He quickly flips me over to lay down on my back and he removes his shirt and shorts before joining me on my bed. His boxer briefs and my panties are our only remaining clothes as he settles between my legs.

He switches his mouth to my other nipple as I slip my hand under his waist band to grip his erection. I marvel at the feel of his silky skin as I move my hand slowly up and down his length. He bites down on my nipple causing my hand to tighten around him and his other hand grips the back of my thigh.

He moves lower as he kisses down my belly and licks along my pelvis, trailing his tongue under the hem of my panties. He settles between my legs, kisses me over my panties, and runs his tongue over my covered folds while I grip his shoulders.

With his index finger, he moves the fabric to the side and swipes his tongue again. I groan at the sensation and tighten my grip on his shoulders while he slowly inserts one finger. His tongue laves along my clit as he moves his finger in and out. When he adds another finger, I gasp and feel my body tightening. I start to feel lightheaded and my hips buck. He rests his free arm over my stomach to keep me in place and increases the speed of his tongue and fingers. My breathing speeds up as I feel my body explode. I moan his name over and over as I ride my high.

He crawls up my body with a satisfied grin on his face and brushes his lips on my forehead as I come back down to reality.

“Close your eyes, Sunshine.”

“But why? What about you?”

“Tonight was for you.”

“JJ -” He silences me with a gentle kiss as he cups my cheek.

“I told you, I’m in no rush. This, us, it’s different, too important to blow through all the stages at once.”

“Will you stay?”

“Are you going to steal all the blankets again?” He shows me my favorite JJ grin as he cuddles in next to me.

“I love you, JJ.”

“I love you too, Sunshine.”

Ch 7

Taglist: @agirlwholovescoffee @obxlife @meaganjm @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @velyssaraptor @http-cherries @prejudic3 @love-youu-softly @rudyismymanperiod @justcallmesams @celestialmaybank @yasminesameh @chaoticbisous @liloddcora @obx-snippets @xx-randomshit-xx17 @thepanmermaid @rudysdiaries @cinnamonandspice1994 @sexualparkour @lasnaro

[ncutii-gatwa]

I want to thank you all so much following me and putting up with my shit so far. 2020 was a hard year for me and it continues on in 2021, but being on this site, getting to know some people and find fun in making edits and such has made it a lot more worth. Creating this blog, building it up and meeting amazing people has brought me out of a bad mental health dip I had last year, and I am very thankful for that. I really do appreciate all of you and I hope you enjoy this little celebration we’re having.

Just wanna quickly shout out a couple of mutuals that have made my time on tumblr even better and who I admire:

@gwiilymslee @swiftdanvers @cxpaldi​ @sebastiianstxn​ @ilookinthemirrorandcry​ you guys are amazing and I’m flattered you even want to follow me. I like you a lot and you all inspire me more than you think. Thank you for choosing me to follow and stay around 💕

Celebration:

send 💖 and I’ll compliment you/ or your blog

send 💌 and a person or character if you would like an icon request. (see my icons masterlist for examples) pls note: i may not be able to do some as I don’t have photoshop and rely on screenshots to do some icons

send ❔ with a question you would like to ask me to get to know me better

send 🎶 and I’ll give you a random song on my playlist

send 🤔 and two characters and I’ll tell you which one I prefer

Notes:

This celebration will be open for 3 days! (22nd - 24th January). After that my inbox will be closed to the celebration but I will make sure to answer all asks sent before the 24th.

You don’t have to be following me to take part. It’s open to all!

But I do ask you reblog this post to help spread the cheer!

Icon requests will be one per person so I can take my time and not get overwhelmed!

Only Mutuals will get to request two icon packs if they would like to! 

 Questions may be rejected depending how personal I feel they are. I may be okay with some personal questions just not very very personal.

You can ask for more than one of the celebration options or all of them if you would like!

Please be patient as I do have a life to try and control.

 I will be using the tag #emma’s 300 followers celebration 

Thank you once again for 300. It’s hard to believe 300 people want to follow little old me and stick with my annoying ass. I appreciate you all and I thank you for your kindness whilst I’ve been on this blog xx

[foundthe8wing]

Okay, doing this over here because my main tumblr is usually a place for me to vibe and I don’t want all the bullshit tied to that account, but basically: I’m really angry and disappointed with the dndads cast for how they’ve put a lot of the minors in their fanbase in danger. Everything below is a repost from twitter (with permission from the OP, crypticjoy), and I’ll link the thread in a reblog. 

Under a cut because it’s long and potentially triggering (content warnings for grooming, sexualizing minors, and sexual assault)

[OP tagged the relevant cast accounts; I added slashes here bc I’m not sure if those same urls exist on tumblr and I don’t want to be randomly tagging people over here]

5:49 PM Sep 5, 2020

“I don’t usually do this, but: the way that the cast of @/dungeonsanddads engages with their audience is actively dangerous to minors, and they need to get it together. (cw for discussion of grooming, sexualizing minors, sexual assault)

First off, there are some iffy jokes and situations in the podcast itself. I’m not going to get into all of it right here, but have a google doc: [doc will also be linked in reblog]

Yes, the kids in #dndads are fictional, but that doesn’t mean this stuff doesn’t affect real kids listening. a. it normalizes talking/joking about kids in that way and b. There’s a lot of inconsistancy and confusion on the lines they draw--

Paeden saying “baby” is weird but Ron sitting in Terry Jr’s lap isn’t? I’m confused. You know who the fuck relies on that type of confusion and unclarity? Fucking predators

And I’m not saying every in-character decision has to be perfectly moral or acceptable, but the way the cast, out of character, discuss what’s weird and what’s not sends a lot of mixed messages. And that’s legitimately dangerous.

So then you take all of this, and you add a patron discord server that lets nsfw discussions run virtually unchecked--you create a fandom space that allows adults to discuss kinks, and porn searches, and just, all this other stuff, with teenagers...

... and it becomes a breeding ground for grooming and abuse.

The creators aren’t responsible for babysitting their fanbase or for how people engage with their content outside of their spaces (though, again, I’d urge them to be very careful about what kind of messages they’re sending)

But  they ARE responsible for taking basic steps to keep the spaces that THEY create and engage with safe.

“But the rules for the server say 18+!” The rules say you have to be 18 *or have parental permission.* They also say to keep things PG-13. That’s vastly different than establishing something as an adult-only/nsfw space.

“Minors shouldn’t be joining/listening anyway!” The cast can’t control who listens and neither can I, but there’s a difference between knowing teens are listening to you discuss sex with your adult friends vs facilitating conversations between teens and adults on those topics.

“If people are uncomfortable they can just leave.” First off, this situation isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s unSAFE. Second: fuck that. It’s not on minors to set and maintain boundaries about this stuff; a lot of them literally do not know how

Not because they’re stupid, but because they’re young and inexperienced. It’s the responsibility of adults to set and enforce healthy boundaries around sexual discussions, and this particular group of adults has done a fucking terrible job

(Maybe don’t encourage listeners to DM you about kinks! Maybe especially don’t do that when you’ve communicated, intentionally or not, that making and escalating sexual jokes is a really good way to get a reaction from you guys)

I get that they didn’t expect to have so many young listeners, but to be aware of that fact and make no adjustments whatsoever is irresponsible and it WILL lead to someone getting hurt. Does their “young, thirsty, female” audience only exist to them when they can laugh about it?

And let’s be absolutely 1000% clear: this isn’t an issue they’re unaware of. The stuff I’m talking about is an ongoing problem with how their server is run, but it came to a head with one specific situation very recently:

They released a bonus, patron-exclusive episode about the dads taking the bdsm test. Given the general state of the server, I was worried about where those discussions might lead, so before it dropped, I reached out to @/anthony_burch to express my concern

He told me he raised the issue with @/fwong and Ashley, meaning at least three members of the dndads team were aware of the situation, and decided it didn’t warrant any type of preemptive action on their part

(alternatively, it means Anthony lied, which would be a whole separate issue)

[Image ID: a discord DM conversation from Sep 1, 2020, between a crossed out username and reverendanthony. It reads: 

OP: heyyyyy have you guys considered that releasing an episode focused on the bdsm test is almost inevitably going to lead to a bunch of 15 year olds sharing their results in your server because you might want to get ahead of that before someone gets hurt

reverendanthony: oh holy shit, really good idea

OP: thanks, I know it's easy to veer into that territory just because of the nature of your show but I wanted to bring it to your attention because I figured you don't want to create a situation that's like, actively dangerous (and for the record I'm willing to discuss what I think would make it safer but I'm also not going to assume you want/need my input, obviously you can handle it however you see fit)

reverendanthony: No, thank you for bring it up, I really appreciate it -- I just raised the issue with Freddie and Ashley

OP: Good to know, thank you /End ID]

I’m not overreacting. I have seen this shit happen, to my friends and to myself, and watching the dndads cast take absolutely no meaningful action to prevent situations like that from occurring directly under their noses makes me fucking livid

I can guarantee that the #dungeonsanddaddies fanbase includes both predators and survivors of abuse, grooming, etc (including those currently living through it), and I need them to think very, very hard about which group they’re prioritizing.

And I need that choice to be evident through more than just their words, because it doesn’t fucking matter how much you “really appreciate” that I brought up my concerns if you do fuck-all to address them.

It doesn’t matter how many times you say the word “consent” if apparently everyone was okay that “Darryl gets sexually assaulted” was almost a plot point played for laughs.

(His dare from Scam  would have been rape, straight up. Just because no one said the word doesn’t mean it wasn’t coercive and gross).

I’d like to think the @/dungeonsanddads cast isn’t intentionally encouraging abuse, but they’re sure as hell enabling it, and they needed to get their shit together ages ago, because they’re not the ones their negligence hurts.”

Quote retweet by OP 6:51 PM Sep 7, 2020

“So, they updated the rules for the patron server, but I want to be really clear that from my perspective, it’s way too little, way too late. 

The new rules don’t adequately address the core issues and they certainly don’t absolve the cast of the harm they’ve already caused. 

[Tweet includes 2 screenshots: one of a bot asking people to click thumbs up to confirm they’re 18+ (or have a parent’s permission) and agree to the rules, and one that includes two of the rules. It reads: 

“This is an 18+ space. Them’s the rules: per Patreon’s policy, you must be 18+ or have parental permission.

Use language as if you’re at your parents dinner table. Don’t get people in trouble because of your SPICY POSTS. Keep conversation polite. NSFW content is not allowed!”]

(and before anyone says I should bring up my concerns privately, a quick refresher on how well that went last time I did it:) 

[links back to the “(alternatively, it means Anthony lied . . .)” tweet from the original thread]

So hey, @/fwong, some thoughts:

1.The rules are vague and unclear: what /exactly/ do you mean when you say “NSFW content is not allowed!” when the content of your show itself is so often nsfw? And how are you planning to enforce this?

Does it mean you’ll shut down the MBIC conversation that is literally just kink discussion? I need you to be clear on where the line is, because, again, predators rely on that confusion. Don’t give them a gray area to play in. 

For an example of a more clear policy, it’s pretty easy to say, “yep, ‘Henry gets pegged’ sure is a sentence we said on our show and you don’t have to pretend it’s not, but if you’d like to discuss it in any more detail at all, you need to move”

2. Remember how I said I needed to be clear on whether you’re prioritizing survivors or predators? While I doubt it was intentional, the language you’re using here is prioritizing predators.

It’s not “don’t get people in trouble,” it’s “don’t make people uncomfortable.” It’s “we all have a responsibility to make sure this space is safe for everyone, especially the younger members of the community.”

You’re setting people up to be afraid of expressing concerns for fear of “getting people in trouble” or “inciting unnecessary drama.” Even if it’s not what YOU meant, it’s very easy for those words to be manipulated, so +

You absolutely have to be explicitly clear that if someone expresses their discomfort, you’ve got their back. Being safe is more important than being polite. 

3. I need every cast member to take responsibility for their own actions. I’ve gotten no indication from any of you that you understand the ways in which the in-show things I brought up were harmful.

Acknowledging that harm is important not just because of the immediate effects of that content, but also because it implicitly sets an example for how similar complaints should be dealt with going forward.

When someone says “hey, I was uncomfortable that you seem fine with the Glennary ship, because she reads as very young to me,” I don’t need a dissertation on how the perception of characters can evolve due to your improvisational nature

I need to hear “oh, I interpreted her differently, but you’re right, we should have been more clear, and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Because your responses to your own mistakes set the tone for any other situations like that going forward.

How comfortable is someone going to be with coming to you, or Ash, or any of the mods about someone making them uncomfortable if they’ve seen that when people call YOU out, they’re argued with and shut down?

Don’t tell people you’ve “made it clear that you won’t go there” when they tell you that you ARE there. Listen to them and do better. 

Set the expectation that people will be respected when they raise their concerns. “If you want to come at me you have to bring the heat” is not an appropriate response on a subject that made people genuinely uncomfortable. 

In essence: set people up to be supported and protected, not dismissed. 

[It’s like a matriosche of tweets over here. This one links to another thread, also by crypticjoy. That thread reads:

A non-comprehensive guide to keeping discord servers safe for minors:

1. Make designated channels for nsfw/18+ discussion. Generally speaking, this is a lot more effective than banning those discussions altogether, because it’s a lot easier to say “hey, can you move this conversation?” than “hey, I need you to stop”

In fandom spaces, it’s usually a good idea to have separate channels for talking about nsfw fiction vs discussing your personal sex lives.

2. Give everyone minor/adult roles; make sure your 18+ channels are locked to people who don’t have an adult role. It’s important that there’s more of a barrier there than just checking a box.

3. NSFW channels shouldn’t necessarily be a free-for-all; be aware of people’s boundaries and respect them (for example, r*pe jokes aren’t funny or okay, even if you’re not making them around kids)

4. Explicitly state in your rules that people should feel free to come to mods if anyone is making them uncomfortable. Actually listen to people and resolve the situation if they do approach you.

5. Make it clear that creepy behavior via DMs or other means is also not tolerated--you can’t control what people do outside your server, but you can make the choice to not allow people like that in your space

6. Make sure mods are on top of things BEFORE people have to say anything; sometimes being a mod means being willing to be the “asshole” who shuts things down before they get out of hand, even if they’re not asked.

Be generally aware of signals that people are uncomfortable or that things are escalating too far, and address those situations sooner rather than later.

*It should be noted that safety involves a lot of components beyond just containing nsfw discussions; this thread just happens to be focused on that one specific element.

oh also! It's a good idea to provide resources on grooming so people know what to look out for [links to some resources; again, this’ll be in the reblog]]

So, @/dungeonsanddads, if you’re interested in anything beyond just having a flimsy excuse you can point to to cover your own ass, I’m gonna need you to try again.

Sorry I can’t be nicer about it, but I’ve given so many benefits of the doubt I could be running a successful charity, and this isn’t an issue I’m willing to drop. 

10:02 PM

Thought I was done but actually I've got a few more questions: to what extent were @/HeyBethMay, @/WillBCampos, and @/mattLarnold included in conversations about this issue/the new rules? Is this something your whole team is involved in?

Have you discussed what you're doing on a team and individual basis to keep your fan interactions safe, and are you on the same page about how much it matters? Are you holding each other accountable? Is everyone okay with where this ended up?”

[worksby-d]

i have things to say since i've seen a lot regarding engagement with writers lately. i usually just don't talk about it because i don't want to sound like i'm complaining in any way or like i think too highly of myself trust me, i think very low of myself 🤠 i truly love it here, but i feel like i'm allowed to talk about some things.

so uhhh yeah, i guess this is another post about interaction. but just in my words.

i put it in the tags of something i reblogged the other day, but i'll reiterate. i don't really get bothered by lack of reblogs. i understand that's not everyone’s thing depending on your blog. i would never rb fanfic on my personal social media lmao so i get that. however, comments are wonderful. even an anon ask is fantastic. just to let me know you actually enjoyed what i wrote. literally just say “aw 🥺” and i'm content. or go deeper and let me know what you liked or didn't. that would be great too because sometimes idk what is good and what isn't. the amount of notes i get is actually really consistent, and way more than i had ever imagined, so it's not about that for me. i just feel like i’m posting into the void sometimes because i get very few comments/messages. i know i choose to write and post here, and i do primarily do it for myself because i really do enjoy it, but i also want to know it's bringing some sort of joy to others lol i don't know. plus, i myself am not even the best at this. i slack HARD on interacting with fellow writers, but it's something i've been working on, so let's work on it together perhaps.

i know my thing on here is writing, but i'm a human behind that, so like... some conversation would be nice. i'm not just a writing machine. i have other social platforms and irl friends to rely on for this, i get that. but idk i just feel like a robot on here sometimes. i have 100+ messages in my inbox, but they're all requests. which i LOVE because i ask for those and i feel honored people trust me with their ideas. BUT a “how are you doing?” or “hope you're doing well! love your writing!” would be really really nice sometimes. i have one or two anons that regularly send me conversational stuff and it makes me so happy that someone out there is like “oh yeah she's someone i can talk to! she doesn't just write!” i know i'm not super approachable. that's an insecurity of mine lmfao i promise i'm just shy and nervous at all times, i'm not mean 🥺 i do want to know my audience on a deeper level because you guys seem rad as hell.

on the topic of requests since we’re at it – like i said, i'm so grateful that i even receive them because i love to write but i can never come up with ideas. but i write them and 9/10 times i don't get a follow up from the person who requested it. like did you like it? did you hate it? do you even follow me? i know sometimes i write things MONTHS after the fact, so i understand those people may not be around anymore. but other times it'll just be a few days turn around, and i don't hear anything again. i would really like to know if you like how i answered your request lol or if you hated the shit out of it, also let me know so i can do better.

if you made it this far, i'm so sorry for whining. i just wanted to put some stuff in my own words because i see posts on the topic of interaction all the time. every writer’s concerns are valid, but these are mine.