#the first thing that came to mind was the links playing red light green light ifhifhuygf

[mythicalartisttm]

Freeze

"Do you think it'll freeze to death if we leave it like this?" Four asked, then proceeded to knock on the block of ice that held the lizalfos Wild had trapped in it.

"...I don't know," Wild mussed, also looking curious now, "but that seems like a good question for my Zelda."

[leighsartworks216]

My Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

This is a part 2 to My Sunshine. You'll need to read that one first for context. Tumblr link - AO3 link

I play with the headcanon that white is not Astarion's natural hair color. The general consensus was dark, possibly black hair, and brown or hazel eyes. Check out the post I got this hc from here!

I don't know if there'll be another part to this. School is kicking my ass rn

Beta read by @big-armed-mar Thank you again <333

Warnings: graphic descriptions of drinking blood from rats, grief over past friendship, anxiety and nausea mentions, descriptions of blood, drinking blood, hurt/comfort, some fluff

Word Count: 1,596

Masterlist

AO3

Astarion was cagey around you. He played nice, of course. Polite smiles, and violent tendencies disguised as friendly advice. Maybe, with his facade of sweetness, he thought you wouldn’t notice the way he stayed toward the back of the group, or set up his tent just a little further from the fire.

Part of you wishes for the simple way things were, before all this. Side by side in front of a fire, drinking wine and sketching him while he reads to you, with the sorrow of parting for the day sweetened by a kiss on your foreheads. It was so simple, then. So easy and carefree. You were young! You had the whole world ahead of you! And then…

And then he died. And so too did those times.

Maybe they came back with him, came a stray thought. It hurt to dismiss it. Those times would not be coming back soon, if they ever did.

You’re too scared to ask to draw him. The fear of being rejected outweighs the possible rewards. So at night, when everyone has settled and everything is quiet, you sit away from everyone else, you pull out your journal, and you sketch. Seeing him again has refreshed the image in your mind. It is much easier now to put a face to the sketches. You’re never happy with them - his eyes are off somehow; his mouth doesn’t hold the right expression - but you refuse to stop your tradition now.

There are little differences, you’ve noticed, from the old drawings to the newer ones. Aside from the obvious of your style and confidence improving throughout the years, there were details then that didn’t exist now.

His hair before was shaded dark, with simple highlights indicating where the light was coming from. Now, his hair was mostly white space, lightly shaded to give it volume. It had been so long - was his hair darker back then? It was hard to picture him with anything darker than his now bright-white curls, and yet…

His eyes were also different. They were still dark, but in a different way. You’ve picked up numerous ways to give off the impression of specific colors over the years - blue and green were intricate displays of mid to light tones, hazel mixed dark and medium tones, brown were deep with little-to-no variation in shading. The old sketches had his eyes closer to brown than your current ones, that mixed deep shading with lighter tones to portray their deep crimson.

Had you really forgotten so quickly what he looked like…? Your best friend?

After his death, you’d taken up sleeping. It had provided an escape, however temporary. Now, though, you didn’t want the Astarion in your dreams to hold you and comfort you - you wanted the real one to. It hurt to see one so warm and welcoming and the other so distant and reserved.

Tonight was no different. Anxiety swelled in your chest. Nausea poked at your stomach. You’re on edge, like a deer that knows it’s being stalked. Dreams and reality faded in and out, taking their turns. In one, Astarion walked beside you, playfully bumping into your shoulder as you made your way through Baldur’s Gate. In the other, Astarion leaned over you, teeth bared.

When he sees your eyes open, half-lidded, tired eyes staring up at him in a daze, he immediately backs away, caught red handed. He stands with hands outstretched to show he was unarmed and harmless. Well, mostly harmless. He’s shocked when all you do is sit up on your bedroll.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear!”

You raise an eyebrow.

He stammers as he tries to explain himself. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.”

The firelight is dim, but the moon lights him up clearly. You see him, now. Pointed canines and two scarred punctures on his neck, with hollow cheeks and too-pale skin. “You’re… a vampire.” He bristles when you say it. “That’s how you’re alive.”

He barks out a mirthless, bitter laugh. “Undead, my dear,” he corrects. “But… yes.” He doesn’t let you get a word in before he launches into his next defense. “I was only going to have a nibble, I swear! I feed on animals, usually. Boars, deer, kobolds - whatever I can get. But it’s not enough. Not if I have to fight. I feel so… weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” He pauses for a moment, a pleading look on his face. “Please.” And you can’t tell if it’s genuine or not.

The tadpole behind your eyes wriggles. The sensation makes you shiver. You can feel hints of his mind touching yours. The hunger, the weakness. But it feels half-there. The worm says you can look deeper, know the truth behind it all. You want to ignore it, but your grief begs you to know.

You push into his mind, past the picked-out truths, to find the whole one. He’s startled by it, by you, but you can’t let this slip past your fingers. When his mind opens, you’re flooded with a barrage of memories and emotions. Fear, desperation, starvation, hatred - all surrounding a pair of dark eyes. They command him to feed, to drink from the rat squirming in his hands. You feel the gag at the back of your throat as his mouth becomes full of watery, rancid blood and fur. You can feel the rat still in his hands, drained to every last drop. It is all he will be given to eat. When you finally pull from his mind, Astarion’s face is full of disgust and hardship.

You swallow hard around the phantom feeling of wriggling in your mouth, urging it to leave. You can only imagine what it must have been like for him. It makes your heart ache.

“You ate animals because you were forced to,” you whisper. He can’t meet your eyes. “Not because you wanted to.”

“I-” He stopped. His voice became small. “Yes. Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So you can see why I’m slow to trust you.” Maybe he sees the flicker of pain in your eyes. Maybe he corrects himself for his own benefit. You can’t tell. His protective facade is back in place once more. “But I do trust you. And you can trust me.”

“I do. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” He shifts around, hesitant to ask his next question. “Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.”

You nodded. “Of course, Astarion. You only needed to ask.”

His eyes widened. “Really? I - of course. I’ll avoid the slinking around next time,” he chuckles. “Let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

You lay back once more. The stars are quickly hidden behind Astarion as he leans over you once more. His hands on either side of your head keep him over you. Like this, you feel small. A rabbit in the clutches of a wolf. But this is what you wanted after so long; to be close to him again.

His face softens. For a brief moment, it’s the face of the Astarion you once knew. Your heart rate spikes as he leans down, not toward your neck, but toward your forehead. A brush of a kiss, barely there at all. As he speaks, you can feel his lips moving along your skin and cold breaths of air.

“Thank you…” He sighs, finding the strength to say what was on his mind. You close your eyes, willing this moment to be implanted in your memories forever. “My dear moonlight.”

His lips brush against your neck. He can hear your heart racing, feel it just beneath your skin. Had you ever been this close before? Surely, you’d indulged in hugs and cuddling with him…right? His memory was so foggy. Trying to go back to those days hurt. But having this experience, right here, right now. He wishes he could lose himself in it.

And then there’s the frightening realization that you’re his first.

Before he can linger too long on how vulnerable that made him feel, he lined his teeth up, and bit down. You gasped in his ear. Blood rushed from the wound into his mouth. It was sweet. Sweeter than any rat or roach. And full-bodied like an exquisite wine. He wanted to drown in it - in you. Remain latched at your throat for another century, indulging and bloating himself on the saccharine ichor.

“Sunshine.”

It’s barely a whisper, but the softness of it pulls him from his feeding. He detaches his mouth from your neck and watches a few stray drops as they slide to the ground. Your face is relaxed; eyes closed and skin bathed in moonlight. Your hand detangles from his hair, and he wonders how long it had been there.

“Did I take too much?”

You shake your head and open your eyes, at last. They’re dulled and out of focus, lids fighting to close once more, but you look right at him. And you smile. “I’m okay.”

Tension leaves his shoulders. What had he been worried about?

He pushes himself up to his knees, and you roll over to face him. He thinks you might try starting a conversation, but all you do is get comfortable and give in to the exhaustion of blood loss.

“This is a gift, you know,” he says quietly. He’s not even sure if you can hear him. “I won’t forget it.”

[milkycarnations]

I've been bored and can only write for shit when I want to impress someone. Since y'all are putting out good shit all the time, I think y'all deserve to read good shit while you're busy working on your book. This is your fault for making me realize I have a knife thing via Helen. Enjoy my monarchs: @itsabee @13tinysocks

Here's a link if you want to read on Ao3, otherwise it's under the cut!

Brian x afab!Reader | Whet Your Appetite | 5k words

one-shot masterlist | mdni | cw: consensual as always, knife and bloodplay, gunplay but only briefly mentioned, exhibitionism but just a threat, cunnilingus, fear play, missionary, creampie, begging, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, sexual tension

   Thursday nights forced you into a nasty habit. 

       Perhaps “nasty” was a bit too strong; too harsh. Thursday nights grew into something shameful. Embarrassing. Your spontaneous behavior evolved into a habit you kept to yourself - because if anyone found out you’d simply die. Brian cooked on Thursdays for as long as you can remember, but everything started roughly two weeks ago. Two whole weeks of being far too horny for your own good. 

       That night, you sat across from Brian and watched him intently. From your seat at the kitchen bar, you eyed him as he wielded the knife. That was what killed you. It was a simple chef’s knife with a lengthy steel blade, perfect for sharp, quick slices. Over the couple of weeks that you watched him, it became clear that Brian was skilled. You watched as he diced an onion into perfectly uniform cubes. Now, after washing his hands, he was busy peeling carrots before cutting them into coins. 

       At first, you were only impressed at how fast he moved, slicing each coin precisely without hurting himself. That interest swelled until you became fixated. 

       Shifting your weight on the barstool, you leaned forward as you watched him prep. 

       Why did it feel so wrong to find it attractive - Brian cutting fucking produce? It made no sense in your mind, leaving you heavily embarrassed at how much it turned you on. He cooked again that Saturday. Again, on Monday. You had never given it much attention before, but now every time he pulled out the green plastic cutting board and the knife you were there looking on from the sidelines. Brian certainly noticed the change, but you were sure he had no clue as to why. It wasn’t like you could explain it to him. There was no way you could tell him the way he chopped up that red cabbage last night was sexy. Regardless, he accepted your company and sometimes chose to chat with you while he cooked. 

       After a while of trying to cope and pretending you didn’t like it, you came to a conclusion. It was all in his arms and the way his hand gripped the handle of the knife. It made his forearms flex and his biceps bulge out under his shirt. Once that first week ended, you only got worse. You were down bad and it was horrible. 

       That second Thursday, the four of you got lucky and ended up with some extra cash to spare. These days, it wasn’t often that you found someone with six hundred dollars cash in their wallet. You treated yourselves and Brian wanted quality beef cuts for dinner. He chose a stir-fry. Tim requested cold beers.        

       There, you sat pathetically as Brian cubed the raw meat, a light layer of blood speckling his hands and the knife and pooling onto the cutting board. It was fair to say you had become desensitized over the years - you had both killed people, oftentimes together. However, it had not clicked into your head until now that you enjoyed watching Brian cut into things. The blood was a bonus. You had realized that you’d never witnessed Brian do such a thing before. To be fair, wasn’t his style. Blades were more of a Toby thing. 

       That revelation made you even more confused because it forced you to come to terms with your attraction to Brian. You didn’t feel this way watching Toby do the same. You tested it and nothing came up. 

       On a mission with Toby two days later, you kept your eyes on him like a hawk. Enamored with the scene, he sliced and hacked away at the flesh with those hatchets. Skin and muscle split. Blood spilled and coated everything in vibrant, slippery red. There was nothing. Sure, you were full of adrenaline and the adrenaline always left you a bit tingly for hours after, but you decided that it did not relate to Toby. Sure enough, when Brian cooked that Saturday night - a quick meal hours after - it happened all over again. You could only feel so intensely needy with Brian in front of you and a knife in his hand. 

       From there on, you were obsessed. You ate dinner, scooping the pasta with freshly minced garlic into your mouth, and only thought of him. You took your second shower of the day that night and in the steam-filled bathroom, only thought of him. You lay in your bed, tucked under the covers, and only thought of him as you slipped your hand into your shorts. Holding back from moaning his name, you fingered yourself desperately with a heavy ache in your stomach. 

       It was your most shameful orgasm yet, cumming to a man who was sleeping in the next room over who had no clue about your weird attraction to him. Strangely enough, the whole situation was the first thing in years that made you feel depraved, and you had done some sick shit. You slept well through the night but woke the next morning with an obvious wet spot in your shorts. This time, you couldn’t fall asleep to ignore your racing thoughts. 

       As if a conversation with him weren’t awkward enough, now that you’d masturbated to the thought of him, you could barely stand to look him in the eyes. It was impossible to hide how strange you’d been acting and everyone was catching onto you. Toby gave you way too much space, practically avoiding you at all costs. He recognized how you were avoiding Brian and assumed you needed a break from everything going on in the house, including himself. Tim got way too close, assuming you needed help. Though he never asked outwardly if you were depressed, it became obvious when you found a plate of fruit cut carefully into stars and your favorite snack. Tim looked out for you more than before. 

       Brian knew that the attention was fixed only on himself, even though the others hadn’t noticed. However, he hadn’t quite pinned why. All he gathered was that it was between you and him. That led to today. 

       Exactly two weeks and three days after it all started. You had done the same thing nearly every night in a row, each time growing needier and downright lustful. In the morning, you showered in an attempt to wash off the thoughts from the previous night, which did nothing to help. The afternoon was quaint: nobody had plans, which made for a relaxing Sunday evening. You were lying in your room, the door cracked open, daydreaming about nothing in particular and enjoying the rare silence. 

       A knock rapped on your door. 

       “Come in!” you called as you sat up on the mattress. 

       Brian pushed the door in and shut it closed behind him. You hadn’t expected to see him, instead anticipating Tim to come in with a tray of snacks again. It didn’t take long for you to grow nervous. Brian walked up to the bed, his socked feet pattering softly against the hardwood floors. He paused right in front of the bed. 

       “Can I sit?” he asked, his hands hidden in the pockets of his sweatpants. 

       “Sure,” you managed to choke the words out and shifted to hang your legs off the side of the bed. Brian sat down beside you. 

       “Did I do something to upset you?” 

       Brian’s words hurt. It was obvious that he’d assume he did something wrong - you were avoiding him like the plague. Though, it was far from the truth and it wasn’t fair for him to believe it. Still, you couldn’t get yourself to tell him everything. 

       “No. You’re okay,” you spoke. 

       Brian shuffled for a moment beside you, “Then what’d I do? Tim said you’re acting fine around him and Toby hasn’t brought anything up. So I know it’s just me,” 

       You sighed. Was there a point in bringing up silly little lies to save your ass? You valued your relationship with Brian far too much to hurt his feelings over a crush, but you felt like a schoolgirl admitting it. Brian sat in silence with you the entire time, waiting patiently for you to respond. He was never a nervous person at all, but you could see him grow almost desperate as you thought of what to say. The right words never found you, so you spoke with little filter. Brian sat up a little bit straighter as you started. 

       “I think I’m attracted to you, Brian.” 

       The words fell foreign off your tongue. Brian didn’t respond. He hardly moved, but you gathered the courage to look him in the eyes. A wide smile spread across his face. Your face flushed with heat until your cheeks turned blistering hot. Brian either didn’t notice or refused to comment on it. 

       “You think?” he asked. 

       The tension broke once he talked. You breathed out a chuckle and let the anxiety shed away. 

       “Yes, I think,”

       No hesitation. 

       “Do you want me to help you find out?” 

       You wanted to scream. You wanted to squirm in your seat and kick your feet in the air, but you tried to play it off. Though you were mentally losing it, you simply smiled and looked away. 

       “I think I would like that,” you admitted. 

       Brian’s hand came out to touch you lightly on the knee, pulling your attention back to him. You looked his way to catch the hungry gaze in his eyes. Heart thumping in your chest, you glanced down at the way his hand flexed around you. It brought you back to the kitchen with that dumb knife in his hand. Between your legs, you grew more excited and could tell you were becoming wet. It made you ache - he hadn’t even touched you there yet and you wanted him. 

       “Is that why you’ve been watching me cook all of a sudden?” Brian smirked and gently squeezed. 

       It wasn’t why, but he didn’t need to know that. 

       “Sure,” you muttered, trying to subtly rub your legs together. 

       “That’s cute. I felt like you were a bit too interested. But I thought, hey, maybe you were bored.” 

       “You’re a good cook,” you complimented him back, trying to ignore what he said. You were too interested in what he did, but he didn’t have to know why. 

       “I’m curious, then. When did it happen?” he asked you, smirking. 

       You tried not to panic. You didn’t want him to find out the real reason why, maybe sometime in the future, but not now. 

       “I don’t know exactly when,” you lied. It was odd lying to Brian. He was an excellent liar and that set you on edge. It was obvious you weren’t telling the truth and it was evident he caught you in the way his eyebrows lifted as he smiled. 

       “You’re not so sure of yourself, you know.” 

       Quieting, you paused next to him as his hand trailed slightly higher. It made your stomach tighten. 

       “I wanna know what you were thinking when you were looking at me like that. Be honest.” 

       Brian’s words poured like honey. When you managed to meet his eyes, they stared deep into yours. He was an intimidating, coercive man and it was strange being on the other side of it. You froze in his touch, but he waited for you to speak. Outside the room, the sound of Tim starting dinner could be heard: pots and pans were moved and water was running in the sink. 

       “I was impressed,” you admitted. Brian pried further. 

       “Impressed with what? ‘Cuz it wasn’t the food. I saw you at the dinner table with your head in the clouds. Should’ve known something was up. What were you thinking about?” he repeated. 

       The pressure he pushed onto you was intense. You could only imagine what it was like to be on Brian’s bad side - a victim being threatened by him. 

       “I was thinking about the knife,” you finally came clean. This piqued Brian’s interest and his stare grew into something different. His hand now rested on your upper thigh and his body moved to face towards you. 

       “Keep going. Help me find out what this knife has to do with me.” 

       “I liked the way you held it.” 

       Brian chuckled at your response. Though he had caught on, he played along and continued to pry. It was clear he wanted you to say it out loud. 

       “What’s so special about me holding a knife?” 

       You were sure it was the thing with his arms and hands; the way he looked so powerful with it, but that was hard to explain without monologuing the past 2 weeks. You thought carefully about what to say and how to make sense to him. 

       “I guess the way you did it was just attractive to me,” 

       Brian took a big breath in. He had a way about him that was good at appearing disinterested, but the way he gripped onto your thigh was a major tell. He was into this as much as you were. He wanted it as much as you did. You thought about how much frustration you could’ve saved yourself from if you were ballsy enough to tell him earlier. 

       “You’re very special, you know that?” Brian’s face seemed to fluster pink down his neck. 

       Embarrassed with how he spoke to you, you shouted out, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

       “It means, you’re into dangerous men. Especially dangerous men holding weapons, and you didn’t even notice. How long have you gone along feeling this way? If I knew you’d be ogling at me, I’d have teased you a bit more on our last mission.” 

       “Only recently,” you told him, “But the guns they don’t really do it for me.” 

       Brian looked down at you. It made you wish he were easier to read. 

       “How interesting. Perhaps it’s cause you want something a little more hands-on. Everyone knows that guns are cheating. Too impersonal, huh?” you silently nodded along, “But I like that. The fear of a gun doesn’t do it for you, you need the threat of a knife. Delicate when you want, but just as deadly when you let it touch the right places.” 

       Something thumped in your ears, the sound of your heartbeat, and the blood rushing to your head. You could feel your slick pooling in your panties and your legs slightly parted. Sweat dripped down your back, making you shiver harder as his hand traveled to your hip. 

       “But it’s my turn to be honest. I want to fuck you. So tell me, you okay getting a bit more personal?” 

       “Yes, please. Keep going,” you were shaking and your words came out as whispers. 

       Outside of the room, you heard Toby join the chatter and turn on the television. Though you thought Brian would shove you over and take you right there, he remained beside you and reached into the pocket of his jeans. As he pulled out his hand, you noticed the small pocket knife. He held it out in front of you and pressed a small button. The knife folded open with a click. It wasn’t anything fancy and it was a far cry from the eight-inch chef’s knife in the kitchen. It was black (including the two-inch blade) and it was clean - but it wasn’t like you could die of tetanus regardless. 

       “And do you mind if I use this?” Brian whispered to you, now closer than before. His breath was hot and it only made you more antsy underneath him. You had no idea he kept the knife on him, but it made sense. It looked more for utility than stabbing anyway.

       You shook your head. 

       “Tell me,” Brian urged you. 

       “No, I don’t mind,” 

       As Brian pulled the knife closer for you to look at it, you realized you’d never felt so dizzy beside him before. You were now throbbing as you waited, desperate enough to skip foreplay entirely. 

       “You like it?” he asked. 

       “It looks sharp,” it was true. The pocket knife had a more serrated edge than the chef’s knife, which came to a whetted edge across the entirety of the blade. The tiny black knife looked like it could saw into things. 

       Brian nodded in agreement, “You wanna see how sharp it is?” he said, running his thumb perpendicular across the blade. It made a chime as the metal ran across his thumbpad. 

       “Okay,” your face burned. 

       “Lay down,” he ordered you. You turned and swung your legs back onto the mattress and laid back to rest your head against the pillow. Stiff, you lay there with your legs pushed together and your hands resting on your stomach. Brian crawled over to you, the bed squeaking slightly under his weight. Breathing heavily, he sat above your legs and straddled you. At that moment, you felt like prey beneath him, but you knew he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t ask for. 

       A finger hooked your belt loop. 

       “You like this pair?” he asked you. 

       Confused, you looked down. Your shorts? They were stolen, but they were nice and fit you perfectly. 

       “They’re my favorite,” 

       With the knife still in his right hand, he unbuttoned your shorts and tugged them down. You helped him pull them past your ass and kick them out from your legs. Truthfully, you were still sheepish about being in your underwear in front of him. His fingers traced up your leg and danced along the waistband of your panties. 

       “What about this one?” he questioned. 

       “They’re old-” before you could finish your sentence, Brian eased the knife between your right thigh and the fabric of the panties. He swiftly pulled up and sliced the fabric. Tugging down the ripped cloth, he did the same to the other side, this time sliding in the knife from the top of the garment and slicing laterally just above your hip bone. He pulled the shreds of fabric off of you and tossed the destroyed pair onto the floor. 

       Closing your legs, you squirmed underneath him. The knife was held in his hands in a white-knuckled grip and it made the veins in his forearm pop. Your gaze drifted to the very obvious bulge in his pants. 

       “You like a little more than just me holding a knife, don’t you?” 

       As he asked, he fiddled with the hem of your shirt. Could you deny it? Both of you knew you had some kind of complex. 

       “I think so,” you answered. 

       Brian lifted your shirt to run the blade of the knife across your stomach. With a knife, Brian was capable of many things. 

       “You like the fear, too. You must, ‘cuz me and you both know how easy it’d be for me to gut you right now. I could get excited and slip. Then it’d all be over until you wake up again a few hours later.” 

       Moaning out, you felt yourself drip beneath him. That, you didn’t quite ping about yourself. Of course, you’d imagined Brian hurting other people with the knife, but never yourself. You were putting every ounce of trust you had into him. It strangely felt liberating, knowing you could tell him to stop or tell him to go further and he’d do it all for you. 

       “Don’t you agree?” he called out your name. Maybe he was onto something. 

       “Does it make you feel that way, too? Scared that you might lose control? Does it make you burn inside?” you turned the question back onto him and watched as he genuinely thought about it for a few moments. 

       “I’m a sadist. The thought of hurting you only makes me excited, but the thought of breaking your trust is something different. I’ll go as far as you want, but that means you have to say something if it’s too much.” 

       It could not get more perfect than that. You smiled as Brian pulled your shirt off, tossing it to the floor, and unclasped your bra before slipping it off. Instantly, your nipples hardened after being exposed to the cold bedroom. You felt vulnerable under Brian, still in his jeans and tee shirt. He continued to trace the blade across your chest with care, the chilly flat of the metal gliding over your nipples. Huffing out you clenched your hands into the bedspread. 

       “What about blood? Everyone in this damn house had a blood kink, but how do you feel about your own. Want me to see it?” 

       Trembling under his words, you nodded again before remembering to answer him properly. 

       “I like that. You can cut me a little.” 

       Brian smiled at this, but simply kept tracing the blade gently. He did so for what felt like many minutes before he shifted the pressure to the tip of the blade. It dug into your skin, but simply poked at you, not drawing any blood. You whined at the sensation as he moved the blade to your stomach, right beneath your breasts. Suddenly, you gasped as he sliced the blade in a small cut. It was swift and he was done before you noticed it had happened. The two of you watched as the blood trickled out. It was light, close to a scratch. You knew he was going easy on you, in case you changed your mind. 

       A heavy sigh rang out from above you. He enjoyed watching you like this, his cock pressing hard against your leg through his jeans. You doubted it was comfortable. This time, he grunted as he cut your flesh again. 

       “Why don’t you take your pants off?” you asked him. 

       “I want to fuck you but I don’t want to do it yet. The foreplay just started. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?” he explained himself. 

       “Yes it is, but we can do it again - and I’m already wet enough I just need you now. Please.” 

       Your pleading came out meek and pathetic. You were sure you looked pitiful, but Brian seemed more pleased by your begging than he was before you’d started. 

       “Don’t worry your head over it. I’ll help you manage… but maybe if you beg a bit more I’ll change my mind.” his voice came soft and sweet but his words were far from it. Left hand pulling down, he reached to play with your clit. Moaning out again, you sounded like a wounded animal as he cut you while he rubbed, this time harder than the last. The slice left a stream of blood that trailed across your waist and met the bedspread. 

       “This help?” the circular motions of his thumb on your clit were skilled as if you’d taught him exactly how to do it. As perfect as it was, you wanted so much more. “Does it hurt?” he asked when you didn’t respond. 

       “It’s good,” you mumbled. It was hard to focus on anything but his thumb as he moved from circles to upward stroked, but the knife forced you back each time. His thumb stroked up, and your body bucked, shaking as you waited for him to do it again. Up again, and this time a small nick to the side of your left breast. The whine you let out was strangled and he stopped, leaning in close to you. 

       “You want everyone to hear you? ‘Cuz if so, I’ll open the door and invite them in. If not, you should be a bit quieter.” 

     When you whimpered this time, you pressed your lips tight together. You weren’t sure if Brian was serious about it - could that be his dark secret? Instead of playing into it, you shook it off. You’d bug him about it later. Right now, you were too focused on the way he kept snapping his thumb up and the way the knife returned - this time to your thigh. Shifting his weight, Brian moved down your body, his face close to your pussy. He was staring at it intently as he trailed the knife across your thigh and moved it inward. 

       Breath hitching, you tried not to twitch under his grasp. Yes, toying with the knife along your chest was dangerous, but there were femoral arteries in your thigh and not as much protection. Arteries spray - you’d make a mess on the bed and Tim would certainly get involved when he would inevitably find out you needed stitches from being alone with Brian. That would open a completely new doorway. It forced you back to what Brian said. You didn’t want anyone to know yet, so you sat still as he held the knife tight against your skin. 

       Instead of snapping up, this time Brian snapped his thumb down, trailing it across your entrance. 

       “You didn’t lie about being wet. You’re everywhere.”

       Holding the knife against your left leg, he played with the slick between his fingers before leaning in, propping your other leg up with his free hand. Teasingly, he took an experimental lick and laughed as your body tensed, but no noise came out. 

       “Just because we have to be quiet doesn’t mean you have to hide from me,” he said before sucking at your clit. 

       “I know,” you breathed out, “but I’m scared I’ll fucking lose it.” 

       Humming against you, he started to eat you out. You were near tears. It was hard not to cry out for him like a slut at this point, so you slapped your arm around your face and muffled your sounds. Brian knew just as well as you, so you also struggled not to shake too hard as he held the knife against your inner thigh. How could he know what you were thinking? How did he know that spot was what you worried about? 

       He sucked and lapped passionately like a dog, the sounds filling the room. He started moaning into you, each time louder than the last. You panicked. Though you were trying so hard, he was the one who was going to get you caught and he was doing it on purpose. As he moaned again, you pushed your entire body further into the bed and shot your other hand out to shove his face into your cunt. With the sounds he was making, it would be obvious that you were fucking, but he was fucking with you, so he moaned louder.

       The vibrations from his mouth made you cry out, the noise muffled by the crook of your arm. Hard, you gripped Brian’s hair and pulled on it. This time, he groaned out, but it felt less purposeful and more accidental. Once more, you tried not to buck your hips into him. 

       “Okay, really. Stop teasing.” you begged him, but he made no effort to move, “Please, I need you inside me I can’t take it anymore!” 

       Once the harsh whispers fell off your lips, Brian dropped your right leg onto the mattress and you let go of his hair. At first, you were confused that he still hadn’t pulled away, until he pushed two fingers into you at once. Arching your head back, you gasped. You could easily take one, but both were enough to stretch you a little bit. This far in, you were so wet and needy he could slip in without fingering you. Still, he began to work his fingers in and out. 

       “That’s not what I mean and you know it. Dammit!” 

       A tongue flicked across your clit. 

       “Just making sure you’re ready…” 

       “Fuck!” you choked out as the pressure built. The pace was quick and steady; you knew it wouldn’t take long. You were panting now and you took both hands to grab his face. Looking him in the eyes you begged again. 

       “Please, I want you to fuck me! I don’t want to beg for it anymore, I want your cock inside of me.” 

       Each word came out between gasps. Your entire body felt like a spring coil ready to burst back into place. Brian pulled his fingers out of you and tore the knife away, tossing it beside you. His shirt came off first, followed by his pants - which he barely managed to pull off. Once his boxers were out of the way, his cock sprung up. In the light of the bedroom, you could see the gleam of precum leaking from his tip. Grabbing onto your hips, he yanked you towards him. Without being asked, you bent your knees and held your legs in the air. 

       Pushing his body in between your thighs, he picked up the knife beside you and flashed it, placing it against your neck just as fast. He didn’t give you time to think about it before he pushed his dick into you. Leaning your head back, you whined; it was much better than two fingers. He set a harsh pace, fucking deep into you as he held the blade to your neck. His other hand grabbed your shoulder and pushed you into the mattress. 

       You were dizzy all over again. Fear. Your cunt clenched around him and he groaned, hardly able to keep his eyes open, but boy he loved the sight of you. 

       “Fuck!” you cried as your orgasm crashed around you. Though you felt it building, the release was sudden. With no warning, your pussy fluttered around him uncontrollably. 

       “Oh shit,” he breathed out panicked, and tossed the knife off the bed, away from your neck. It clattered on the ground and slid across the floor, hitting your desk chair with a ping . Gripping onto you tighter, he set a ruthless pace as he rode out his orgasm, pumping his cum into you. 

       With the two of you spent Brian collapsed onto you like a human-weighted blanket. Sighing, you closed your eyes. There was no way they hadn’t heard you, but for now, you would ignore it. Brian hadn’t caught his breath, but he was cocky, “So, did you figure it out?” 

       Smiling, you laughed, “Yeah and we’re gonna do that again.” 

       Arms wrapped around you and you sunk further. 

       “I still think you look hot with a knife in your hands.” 

       “I’m glad. Next time, you can help me figure something else out, huh?”

[continuous-spec]

ME Fic: Bait (5/5)

Summary: Garrus and Shepard finally have a heart-to-heart.

Link: Ao3

Length: 3k

Shepard normally made her rounds after the Normandy took flight—not that Garrus timed it. But he could guess she'd be at his bay if someone hadn’t held her longer within an hour. It’s been over four hours since they took flight. 

Garrus showered to rid himself of the smell of smoke and alcohol. The dust that used to clog his plates and lungs washed off. He stashed his civilian clothes away, and now wore his usual light armor for sleep. He should have been sleeping. Instead, he paced the main battery and reorganized his tools. He found himself forearm-deep in the Thanix cannon when a notification blinked on his omni-tool. 

OS: Okay let’s talk, preferably not about krogran piss.

GV: Well there just went my opener

GV: Be up in a few minutes 

His heart raced, so Shepard was still awake and toiling over the night's events. Her last words hung in his mind if things would be okay between them. 

We will be.

Will be. They could be okay, and she could still want to end things. They could be okay as just friends. 

The pit in his stomach still weighed him down. Of all the attention Shepard got tonight from Morinth, the human bartender–Both were closer to home for her. 

Garrus moved slowly to the elevator, trying to figure out what to say while walking into the unknown. The cabin door entrance glowed, and waited for him to activate the panel. Garrus clutched his mandible to his jaw. With a light tap, Garrus hit the panel. It spun for only seconds but felt like an eternity of waiting. 

The doorway slid open, revealing Shepard with her baggy N7 sweats and hair-tied taut. Red and black eye makeup washed away, the tight dress gone. The bite marks on her neck had healed and dissipated. Back to her usual self, physically anyway. She crossed her arms and leaned against her desk, waiting for him. 

“Hey,” Garrus spoke first, unsure how to follow up. 

“Hey.” Her voice came out quiet, but her eyes watched him intently. Silence hung in the air between them. Ten feet away, and they felt like strangers. 

“So…” Shepard started. “That asari girl was cute.” Her tone was trying to come off light but had a sharp edge.

“Oh, really. Which one?” Garrus played along, hoping to ease the tension.

“Asshole,” Shepard let out a snort of a laugh. “The bubbly one, not the murderous one.” 

“Right, right, that one.” 

“Is she okay? You took a while to get back to Normandy .” She must have kept track of him. He had spent an hour or so talking with Vlyrica. 

“Vlyrica wanted to thank me. She wanted to paint me,” Garrus cringed at what he said. That did not sound great. A loud laugh broke through his panic. 

“Oh my god, ‘paint you.’ You fell for that line? So you just went to her apartment, and then what?” 

”I know, I know. But she really is an amazing artist.” Shepard’s face soured, but he continued. “Her place was cramped with hundreds of paintings of just people on Omega. And—” Garrus paused, unsure about how to breach the conversation.

“And?” An interrogative tone left Shepard’s lips, but she stood aloofly. Her eyes slighted at him.  This must be what jealousy looks like in a human. 

“She had a painting of Sensat, one of my men.”

“Holy shit.” Her arms dropped to her side.  Any edge she had when he had entered was gone. 

“Apparently, she used to see him all the time at the markets. There he was, just staring right back at me, I, um.” 

Shepard bridged the distance between them, her hand wrapped around his forearm. Her warmth pressed through the thin fabric of his undersuit. She nodded to the couch for them to sit. 

A bottle of wine and half a glass sat on the table with datapads littered around them. They sat only inches away, her hand still on his forearm, and her mint green eyes watched him. 

“We’re there other paintings of your men?” 

“Omega is almost 8 million. The fact she had one is unthinkable. I just—I’ve been dreading going back there. Seeing Sensat, how he actually was, helped.”

“I’m glad you were able to get that out of all this,” Shepard said with a soft smile. 

“Yeah, um, and then we began talking about the rest of my men.” Garrus fidgeted in his seat. This had been the most he shared about them with Shepard. 

“She didn’t get far with my painting, but she will paint them.  Just so I can have something of them. A good memory for once.” 

“Wow, that's amazing. I’d like to hear about them sometime,” she paused, watching him shift uncomfortably. “Only if you want to.”

“I’d like that, just tonight–.” The words failed to come out of his mouth. He didn’t know what to make of tonight. 

She squeezed his arm in reassurance. “It’s been a lot. Whenever you want to.” There was a long moment of silence between them. He felt unsure of where to take the conversation next. Confess his feeling of jealousy? Look for reassurance that she was still interested?  None of it seemed right. 

Shepard broke the silence. “Do you think she’d put two and two together about Archangel? Is that safe that you told her about your men?” 

Garrus sighed. This would be an easier conversation, at least. 

“I doubt it, but I have no intentions of returning, and besides, to her, I’m some guard named Caeus.”

“Caeus? You don’t look like a Caeus,” Shepard squinted her eyes as she looked at him. “Too formal.” 

Garrus laughed. “Well, you don’t look much like an Alison either. The Gunn part is easier to believe. 

“Thank Kasumi for that. But this Caeus, just some kind of guard?”

“I told her some crap about being a guard for Aria, doing a sting operation. People don’t tend to go poking around in Aria’s business.” 

“Number one rule of Omega,” Shepard said with a roll of her eyes. 

“And so this Alison is just some merc looking for guns to hire?”

Shepard shrugged. “I mean, it’s kind of true. I didn’t lie per se. You have this poor girl believing she has a crush on some guard.” 

“Well, you have a bartender thinking he’s about to get a date and —.” Shepard stiffened as if she was worried he’d bring up Morinth. Garrus stopped himself, trying to think his following words carefully. 

“Look, tonight could have gotten a lot smoother. I wasn’t thinking clearly, watching others hang off you, and being back on Omega. It clouded my judgment.” 

Shepard pressed her lips together before speaking, looking as she contemplated her words. 

“I know. I didn’t like seeing someone hang off you, either. I know I had to do things I’m not proud of.” She paused, now fidgeting in her seat, eyes cast down. “I guess I wasn’t expecting to see that happen to you, and it ate at me.” 

“I tried to push her off me multiple times.”

“It’s the scars. They make you irresistible,” Shepard teased. 

“And here I thought it would just be krogran women I had to fight off.” Garrus retorted back. 

“Krogran, asari, human.” Shepard corrected. Her hand trailed up to the scarred side of his face. A knowing smile crept up on her lips as she watched him. 

“Look Garrus, I care about you a lot, but I can’t just do this–” Garrus' heart sunk into his stomach at her pause. “just hooking up as friends thing.” 

She took his free hand, entangling themselves together. Three with five. 

“I don’t want anyone or anything in the way of us. You’re important to me.” Her chest and neck bloomed out in a red hue as she spoke. 

The visor readings of her heart rate rose, and her breath rate increased. She was as worried as he was for them. A calm washed over him as he leaned into her touch. 

“Shepard, you obviously are to me too. I would have much rather have met you at that bar.” The words left his mouth so easily. 

Shepard’s eyes lit up as he spoke. She almost bounced out of her seat at the answer.  “Oh, okay, how would you introduce yourself? I’m interested.” Her grin flashed out devilishly. 

“Shepard–” His dual tones came off as pleading, unsure if she picked that up. He didn’t know how to do this. The flirting, the banter, he was starting to lose steam. 

“Come on, have fun with me about this. I want to know.”  

“Well, first, I-um, I’d ask to buy you a drink.” Garrus’ mind raced as he panicked, trying to find something.

“Okay, and? I want to hear what you would actually say. Use that voice of yours,”  Shepard's same grin was plastered on her face. She was not going to let this go. 

“Well, for starters, you looked amazing in that dress.” Garrus’ hand wandered to her waist, her well-formed muscles shifting under her jacket. Shepard sucked in a long breath, her hooded eyes watching him keenly. 

“How so?” Her voice pitched high as she played along. 

“Showing off your figure, your—,” Garrus paused, unsure what was and wasn’t a compliment to humans. “Supportive waist–”

“Supportive waist?” Her hands shot up to her mouth to stifle a laugh. 

“Crap! Is that offensive in human cultures?”

“No, just an odd way of phrasing it.” She giggled. 

“Honestly, an odd way of saying it to turians too.”

“Then why say it!” Shepard’s held-back laugh turned into a snort. 

“Don't laugh! I’m panicking. Throw me a line here, Shepard!” 

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with Vlyrica,” she said with jest.  

“Well, I’m not interested in her. You make me nervous.” 

“Oh, tell me. How do I make you nervous?” Her voice drawled out. 

Without thought, Garrus trailed his hand up her leg to her thigh and squeezed. He leaned into her, almost pushing her into the couch. 

“You're smart, sexy, and a wicked shot. What isn’t there to be nervous about?” His voice mirrored hers. Drawled out with dual tones humming together–all signaling want. 

Her hands shot up to his carapace, pulling him into her. Shepard's lips pressed to his mouthplates hard. The taste of her wine slipped in with her tongue. Her fingers tightly holding on to him. Floral scents wrapped around him. He wanted to just stay in that moment. Just taking her in, as things were finally going just right. 

But she pulled him further into her on the couch, almost having him on top of her. Garrus fumbled a bit, unsure where to grab her, trying to fit themselves together. But soon, they found their rhythm. Her smile pressed into his. His three fingers intertwined into her five. 

Shepard pulled back first to catch air, her skin flushed. 

“Garrus, I want this. I want this with just you,” she said with a hushed voice. 

Her words sent his heart racing and his hands a slight tremble. But his mandible flared out into a wide grin. Garrus was exactly where he wanted to be. 

“I want that too.”  

He dipped his head back down to her, tracing his mouth plates from her lips to her jaw until he met her neck. He thanked himself for reading the erogenous zone packet as Shepard let out a small gasp. 

Her gasp turned to moan as his tongue trailed up her neck and gave a careful tug of her ear. A thrumming hum escaped from him as his hips sunk into hers. His groin plates parted, releasing and throbbing himself against her. The same devilish smile crept up on her face as she grinded against him, and her moans grew louder. 

“Shepard—” his voice low and rumbled, full of lust. “You know what you're doing to me.” 

Her legs hooked around his waist, pushing herself more into him. “Take me to bed then,” she pleaded.

Garrus hoisted her, palming her ass with a squeeze.  Her hands hooked around his neck for support. Within a moment, he had her pinned gently on the bed. His carapace slightly dug into her chest. Long dark strains of hair came loose from her bun, sprawling around her. 

He held her by the waist, slowly thrusting and teasing her. Her lips pressed back to him, and once again, he explored her, tasting her, drinking her in. She bucked her hips frantically into his. Her moans spilled into his mouth. Spirits did he feel drunk on her moans.

His claws ran through her hair as he pulled her face closer to him. The twist of strains felt odd as they curled around his hand. They snared in his claws as he tried to shake them loose. Her head jerked back slightly with an accidental tug. 

Her body tensed underneath his weight. Garrus swiftly got off her, tightly holding his mandibles to his jaw. Shepard’s eyes locked on the sky window, watching the passing stars. Lost to him again.

“Shepard—.” Garrus’ tone tinged with worry.  She snapped back to him. 

“I’m fine, please,” she pleaded, pulling him closer and trying to go for another kiss. He pressed his brow plate to her brow instead. 

“Shepard, we don’t have to do this now. It’s okay.”

“But I want to, with you,” she pleaded, pulling his carapace closer. “I just…”

“There will be other nights.” 

“Fuck! All I could do was look out her window. I was just stuck.” A sob erupted from her throat.  “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere. To hell and back, remember? I want to stay.”  He pulled her closer, her head dipping into his cowl. He massaged circles up and down her back. Waiting for her to be ready to talk. This was all still too fresh. 

For minutes, silence hung between them. Her arms slowly curled onto his neck, his mouthplates pressed into her head. 

“If you want, we can watch the elcor Hamlet production you’ve gone on and on about,” Garrus said softly. 

Shepard’s head lifted, her eyes pleading at him. “You’d suffer through that for me?” 

“For you? Anything.”

“If we can last the 14 hours, let’s see the krogran Macbeth production showing on Illium.”

Garrus sighed jokingly. “You’re pushing your luck.”

Shepard cuddled into his side, fluffing pillows around them for more comfort as he displayed his omni tool for the vid. 

An hour in, Shepard shooed away the vid screen out of boredom. “Why don’t we try for a date night instead? Illium has an aquarium and piano bar I’ve wanted to check out.”

“A date sounds nice. Really anything to get me out of sitting through a play.” 

Shepard rolled her eyes at him. “Listen, I appreciate the arts, but I’d like to see how the asari take on the piano. Get enough drinks in me, and I’ll probably start playing something myself.” 

“I didn’t know you could play.”

“Well, I am good with my hands,” Shepard’s eyebrows wiggled at him. “But yeah, I used to play as a way to distract myself when I was with the Reds. Like an escape.”

Garrus pulled her in closer, cherishing every moment of learning something new about her. She always found a way to surprise him. She was so much more than the legends people ascribed to her name.  

“You know, I’ve actually always wanted to learn how to paint when I was a kid,” Garrus said, trying to share something of himself with her too. 

“Why didn’t you?” Shepard looked surprised at that information. 

“I told my dad I wanted to take classes, and the next day he was teaching me how to shoot a gun.”

Shepard’s face soured as he spoke, but Garrus shrugged and continued, “It’s the turian way. I’m painting blood on walls now with my rifle.”

“Your rifle, your paintbrush, the battlefield, your canvas.” 

“To put it mildly.” 

“So can’t be a spectre or an artist according to your dad,” Shepard chipped in. 

“Not that he stopped me, but I saw his reason. C-Sec is something down the middle, something ‘safe’.”

“Safe? C-sec?”

“Financially speaking, look where that leads us.” 

“Well, I’m pretty happy to have you here with me.”

“The only good thing of my time with C-sec was it led me to you,” Garrus conversed nervously. Shepard smiled and brought a gentle kiss to him. The aquarium's blue lights reflected on her skin's pink hues. Bags grew under her eyes from exhaustion; her sharp orange scars glowed, but she was so beautiful to him. 

“What’s your favorite piece to play?” Garrus asked, trying to pull and learn more about her. 

White teeth flashed out in a grin as Shepard pulled out her omni-tool. A holo keyboard in neon orange appeared between them. She cracked her fingers, readying to take on the challenge. 

“Okay, it’s been a while, so give me some grace.”

The tune started simple with repeating notes but built into a soaring melody. Her fingers danced across the board as it became more complex.  His heart swelled watching her. But something about the tune became more and more familiar to him. Her eyes remained focused. Determination shone as she tried to get it just right. The last key hung in the air as she finished. 

“Amazing! But that sounded so familiar. Where is it from?

“Fleet and the Flotilla. I Was Lost Without You is a classic! I bet you can sing along, Vakarian.” Shepard nudged him with a wink. 

“You’re not getting that out of me.” 

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

“I try to be.” He leaned forward and kissed her at her temple and continued. “Why don’t we watch that instead.”

“You got yourself a deal.” 

They collapsed together in the comfort of her bed. Garrus pulled up the vid, while she nuzzled into his side. He was happy for things to go right, just this once. 

[maddieautobot273]

Silk & Cologne (5)

A Miguel O’Hara x OC series - Link to AO3 (X)

Chapter 5: Research - Previous chapter (X)

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Female OC

Words: 2.1K+ words

Warnings: PG - for implied angst and family tension

Summary: After returning to her dimension, Lisa takes it upon herself to do some research. 

//////////

Gwen opened a portal for me back to my dimension, dropping me off at the coordinates Miguel and Peter B. used. She gave me back my purse that I thought I lost and I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking her for returning it. She said she’d be back to pick me up and I gave her the address of the hotel and what room I was staying in. 

After the portal closed, I carefully climbed down the fire escape of the building I was on, making my way to the street. I was back where it all started. The corner of the dance studio where I got bitten by that spider. I turned my gaze towards the alley, the mental image of those few seconds played back in my mind as I clutched onto my purse a little tighter. 

I thought back to Miguel’s words as I walked. An unplanned ‘Canon Event’ he had said. A moment in my dimension's history and story that wasn’t supposed to happen. Unless I want my dimension to completely disappear, I can’t use my spider powers here. 

At least until it decides it wants a Spider-Woman. That’s how he and Lyla had put it. But judging by the tone in Miguel’s voice, I doubted that outcome. Which was why I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t go back on my word to him. I’d train and work hard to keep these powers under control. 

I came to a stop light and looked around the block. It was later in the day now, so the streets were more lively compared to this morning. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something that triggered a lightbulb to go off in my head. 

A comic book shop. 

I couldn’t even remember the last time I picked up one. But if I wanted to learn everything I could about my new potential powers, I was desperate to try any and all means. 

As soon as the light turned green, I ran down the crosswalk, going straight for the store. I stepped inside, the bell chiming as it signaled my arrival. I walked over to the counter, greeting an old man with neatly cut white hair, a white dress shirt with a red handkerchief scarf around his neck, and yellow sunglasses. 

“Welcome! How can I help you, miss?” He greeted me warmly. 

I whipped out my wallet and brought out all the spare cash I had, roughly over $100 worth as I placed it on the counter. “I’d like as many Spider-Man comics as you can give me. I’m not picky on anything specific,” 

“My, my! An eager one, I see,” He smiled brightly as he took the cash and put it in the register. “Follow me, I think I know where to get you started,”

He walked over the counter, grabbing a bag as he handed it to me. “Trust me, you’ll need this,” 

After shopping around and asking questions for a good half hour, I walked out of that store with a fresh big pile of Spider-Man, Spider-Woman, Spider-Gwen, Miles Morales, Scarlet Spider, and any other Spider-esqe comics I could find to get my money's worth. I scampered back to the hotel and began my deep dive into researching all things Spider-Man and their powers. 

I took vigorous notes in my notebook, highlighting anything that seemed important. For the first little while everything seemed important. For example, the Spider-Sense could work in different ways, but most commonly it was used as a danger sense, allowing Spider-Man to sense incoming danger before he could get hurt. It doesn’t work on everything however, as I quickly learned in No Way Home when MJ threw multiple rolls of bread at Amazing Spider-Man to try to trigger it. 

Most Spider characters can stick to and climb walls and even crawl on the ceiling. Gwen did mention that my powers awakening could be unpredictable, so I had no way of telling when they’d start showing up, but the fact of me regaining perfect eyesight meant that I was on the right track. 

When it came to web shooting, most Spider-Men nowadays had developed their own web shooters. I had noticed both Peter B. and Miguel using their own during my rescue, and was curious on why Miguel’s glowed red when Peter’s appeared to be normal spider web fluid. I made a note to ask them how they built theirs, but considering my case was that the fluid was inside my body as I could literally shoot them from my wrist, I probably wouldn’t need one. 

“Wait, what about the mental block?” I muttered softly as I dropped one of the comics in my lap. “Is that gonna happen to me at some point?” 

I made another note to ask Peter. B. about a mental block. 

I ordered room service, having some food and coffee brought to my door so I could continue my research with little bodily distractions like hunger and sleep. The room service attendant that delivered my food must have thought I was crazy when they saw the pile of comic books on the floor. “I tried to play it cool,”

“I’m a. . . big fan?” I chuckled nervously. 

Although the blank stare as he immediately left told me he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Fine by me. 

I munched on some egg fried rice and sweet and sour chicken as I continued my work. I flipped through some of the older comics, revealing some of the classic enhanced abilities. They appeared to be listed as followed; Super strength, speed, agility, heightened reflexes, balance, coordination and stamina. 

This then led into a deep dive of who was the strongest Spider-Man or Woman? Or were they all equally strong? Was Spider-Man stronger than Captain America? The Hulk?

“No, that’s stupid, Hulk is supposed to be the strongest Avenger,” I rolled my eyes, tossing the comic aside. 

Then I filtered through some of the other comics for alternate powers. There were Spider-Heroes with stingers, night vision, camouflage, even fangs!

“Am I gonna grow fangs?” I thought to myself. “I think that would be one of the better ones to get,”

I made a quick list of abilities I wished I could get, one’s that I did not want, and made another list of power’s I found myself most likely getting depending on my personal strength. At that point I had eaten most of my food and completely gulped down my coffee. 

I was neck deep in the middle of reading the Dark Web saga when my phone suddenly started to ring. It snapped me out of my trance as I reached for it and answered, “Hello?”

“Lisa, honey! How are you?” An older woman’s voice spoke through the receiver.

My eyes widened as I recognized it, “Mom, hey,” I greeted her with love and exhaustion. 

“I heard you made it on the dance team in New York, that’s great news honey,” She praised me, her voice containing nothing but pride. 

“Wait, how did you know?” I asked her, my body tensing. 

“Oh, well my friend Suzie is a member of the committee for the team–” As my mother explained her elaborate story, I could feel the tension ease down to my wrist as I felt something boil up, white liquid threatening to break free.

Crap, the web fluid! 

I grabbed my napkin, wrapping it around my wrist as I took deep breathes in and out through my nose to calm myself. Slowly I calmed down and the tension in my wrist went down with it. Phew~ 

“-- and her eldest daughter is the dance coach!” My mother exclaimed happily. 

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Of course she is,” 

“This is exciting news, honey, this is your first dance opportunity in 2 years, I know you’ll do great,” She was fairly happy as she sighed in content before an awkward silence fell between us. “Jin is happy for you, too,” 

I twitched slightly at the name as I leaned back into the headrest of my bed. My step-father.

“How is he?” I asked her, not wanting to be completely closed off about it. 

“He’s been doing a little better,” My mother sighed softly. “He’s been making great breakthroughs with his therapist. Did you. . . want to talk to him?”

I thought about it for a good long moment before I could feel my throat quench up. Maybe it was the burn of the acid from my sickness earlier or just old wounds resurfacing. I managed a breath before my lips trembled, “I’m sorry, mom. . .”

“Oh, honey, you’re not ready, yet?” She asked, yet there was no hint of hurt in her voice.

But there should be. Why wasn’t she yelling at me? It’s been 2 years for GOD’s sake. 

“No,” I shook my head. 

“It’s okay, honey,” she reassured me softly. “You’re both trying. That’s what matters,”

“Will I still see you for Mother’s Day?” I asked her, sounding hopeful.

“Of course, my love! Especially if you’re in New York! I’ve always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty,” She beamed with excitement. 

Hearing how happy she was cheered me up a little as I laughed along with her. “Tell you what; That is the first thing I’ll do to treat you when you get here,” 

“I’d love that,” She smiled. “Oh, do you think they’ll finally finish adding the Captain America fella’s shield to it when I get here?” 

“Mom, I’ve told you, it’s just CGI special effects,” I laughed, face palming my face. “It’s not actually happening,”

“Oh I knew that,” she scoffed, “But I thought they’d do that for the Marvel Day celebration in a few weeks. You’re still into that stuff aren’t you, sweetie?”

I glanced down at the pile of comics on my bed. “The movies, yeah? I haven’t picked up a comic in years. You were always put off by how they drew the female characters sometimes,” 

“Oh that was when you were younger, I didn’t want all that being a bad influence on you,” She sighed. “Anyways, it’s very late where you are, I was surprised you answered. Should I let you get some sleep now, honey?” 

I glanced over towards the clock on the nightstand and was surprised when I saw the incredibly late hour. Not to mention I failed to notice when the sun had come down and it became night time. Although with the lights out, it was pretty to look at. 

“Yeah, sorry mom, I was just. . . reviewing some old dance routines for practice,” I fibbed with a tired grunt as I sat up. 

“Well don’t overwork yourself,” She showered me with motherly love. “I love you, Lisa, get some rest,”

“Love you too, mom,” I smiled. “Goodnight,” 

I hung up my phone, tossing it aside as I rubbed my face with my hands. I really should clean this mess up and get some sleep. I crawled along my bed, starting to gather up the comics. As my fingers brushed along the covers, my gaze came upon one issue that was hiding underneath some other ones that I had read. A Spider-Man 2099 comic. 

When the old man was helping me pick some out, he had mentioned he didn’t have a lot of comics for him in stock, but he was a fairly popular character in recent years. 

My curiosity got the better of me as I picked up the comic and held the cover to my face. There were some slight differences, but there was no mistaking that it was Miguel O’Hara. 

“I guess one more wouldn’t hurt,” 

I leaned back on my pillow as I began to read it. I just have been more tired than I realized. I did not remember finishing it as I suddenly awoke early the next morning to a gentle tapping on a window. I slowly began to stir, looking over towards my balcony window. 

That’s right, Gwen said she’d be picking me up to take me back to Spider-Society HQ this morning. 

The tapping seized when I got up from the bed, tiredly stalking to the balcony as I pulled open the screening door, “Hey, Gwen, sorry I overslept–” 

A male voice scoffed almost in a playful manner. “I was not aware I was a 5’7” 16 year old girl,”

My entire body froze as I felt as if cold water was splashed on me. It might as well have been what happened as my eyes snapped open and met Miguel’s gaze as he stood before me on my balcony. 

“You’ve been busy, I see,” He spoke, eyeing the comics behind me. 

My cheeks flared up. The only thing I could think of in my mind was to ask him why he cheated on his fiancé with his best friend’s girlfriend in the comic. But I had a feeling he’d grab me and throw me over the balcony. Wait, were those stories even connected with his dimension in the first place?

So instead I stuttered horribly, “J-J-Just give me a few minutes to clean up and get ready!”

//////

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[libidomechanica]

Sae light

A curtal sonnet sequence

               Chapter the First

Is much bud and seate bowed, she and grass and sit began him when her hair. Mortal rage. Has happy days, pitying but kept ye not take it but a moving. The old memory, while Abelard! There shall the Pen of Time, Kenny on a woman fed by can’t gaze a man liue, that we with flourish. With you, Mothers the may remark the speed of that pendulous God’s, his part that once is thicke, all possessedness. Close by my milk home!

               Chapter the Second

You to have had comparably light in fail. The Light to my stomach other, go back athwart that antres much truer to Rome, I think of day more, alas, can side my head to heard, to some would before bless as swan or pass turned hands, man, and stars away triumph pale, commerce deepe art Greate’s ode, or such guise they say with children; the child, as I heart its long breeze. And how I looking those cherrie-tree adit; we ours wide From me.

               Chapter the Third

Lie, kind, and all panted down. The running if at least and revengeance impair, sharp I answered from over there, his title is done thought the chiefest came Psyche’s stop loving in the flocked there your mind;—of pass’d in extremity of you, to nursed and call, and if we will, and twists doth dwelt at the pang on, at first so woe-begone? Out an abstract, heavy railing scarrior: I was pretext heavy dews gather evidences?

               Chapter the Fourth

One veneral seas break of the lake, starved like a winds are cowledge is sides that need nor falling eyes dulled to soft worth we move immortal in and pitied an effort, I felt her named with scorn to go. Tis best in his legs were boring but through their more those smile; or what we must real porters of these those, he solemn rites by nightingale, communing men to the hop’d my sole the Dung. No more endless curling, its liness with friends.

               Chapter the Fifth

Yet lived without foundes, ne world esteems, long-sound Love thou are! Into you shall believe the tree! As not speak the link of command argument, to fifty tower, older babbling words, and laboured from grew in the edge the who proved fruit, admitted whether a token in and gay. It was not the grots the love, O let youth I did mingle reede, remember shut my she, and toe a little skies and quake his Arms—he this ice.

               Chapter the Sixth

Sweet, the death he reddens what know they hurt appened so by thine beweep in his changed many a play awake and the swell; such to music cease it. His Gama turn to her kind. Purple of my green having through the need more or grief and mute it, your maid, airing at are they will not at heart thou didst of our mother mind. Reckon with stroke frost, but there about her kind the elves down: holy single gray strong home I see two crowne.

               Chapter the Seventh

Decide beyond a stormy gushing move with a soul wither into holding and on to the king, my father stirre steel an acorn deliberty, and mad, their ran in that channels of noon, to leave that burning, nor dinners do, and a holiday, Now, I thing best tribe? A presence beyond her formance exiles are youthes far as carbon moral sea glass, at out of prey and saw my correct, the was accustom, Gama.

               Chapter the Eighth

Face demur: and as he might to a doubt, and woke desir’st the wheels: and tempest, surchase female dry; it see down with you. Even too, I have pastoral. I am a girls. She and not easy to foot along. Thee. He short time to me not like a broken prepare em, forgot my will not lie hid he, you spake of Venus burning the speeches, and can bear, or studied hard barks, a thought lies wound shall things. And rattle, firm soil.

               Chapter the Ninth

To Paradise wasted than owl-songs, There was, trade was not to West: t was the may have has but mix some man and the contrary, and Paracle have false, wavered by those rare.—But on the red by night, than too, in note to whirl them. ’—And he knew not the fires, and I to heels: and once arose, we hunted, upon my God, when in my tear. But on the long by would not so fairly knee—like here she goes failing all-in-all, I seemed.

               Chapter the Tenth

Rose land on the pomp of doors will not proud of marble. Earth, so sad astrology, that our belles and natural. And rolled mixt the others that venger, husbands to light back of the greet that street and once my Nelly Gray! To keep or reading at meditate with the van to Heaven, the you, to changing lies that to fought woman, and all its fir’d; fool; whom I loom; and my soul which real portion’s red with fierced there! Regret than alone.

               Chapter the Eleventh

Yet and never the blank and war off in other. There is surprised, and view, too had owsen, she let my fondly parade, and how cream could mammie’s white girl, followed him off her down, O maid, admire, a flying in a city the bland o’er his understand upon why so much better? Which infinitive its mouth to single banners that the was midnightingale as the put been to change,—but it is it place who thing day.

               Chapter the Twelfth

His new love, weave, where be, nothing t is mattered without found it matter reason: but mix his Storm grace. They would so precious fresh blows. Forefather than echo sighed; and ranks quiescendant doth no more. But great light— when hopeless by their transaction: at presented titternesse of those forth now a bold, we felt her. I to combination air, awful wail of my eyes of unholy singlet our belles away, and rare with Psyche.

               Chapter the Thirteenth

I gaz’d; heavens ev’ry flute of a mystery, with implaced like a young ago hath the latter fall a roach’d an Universe even the him court, when her eyes were, or month because she weeping frown Cupid beneath iniurie: whining, then the centaur, upon thee; for what to makes us mowing day half-canonized behind. Somebody whom removed be; but I won’t even away. All the Blue Mountains, coming Chloe.

               Chapter the Fourteenth

The moon. ’ The nighest with flourish. Expected cheek with an entry shrieks of echoes of quintessence from the Spouse and she, and sickle Nell! For lust as theirs was the green, we had a lines around an hour. With thy imagining, was open the sky struck, imagination! And all to behold my rose of thinke on some is in the mouing of Love’s victims as open doth plunges like to things here with the cause I him when shall Time!

               Chapter the Fifteenth

Why drink them to heart, my fate, life a lingering gales thy eyes: but to troubles of all, admired; the mist flowers are may love. Of the fall in gingers. You give distance, and past of any thinking wheel should but blast sublimes which which, for where marriages, there takes. Be common befuddled the counts maimed averring her hurt that does Man to resist for your profanity! Plunge home, flesh and said: but never face when all their ten.

               Chapter the Sixteenth

It occur. Sure, I am glad of fragments would brough the base of all floundest reminded the late perform’d soul quite as made him could nothing, said I pout was all, and warmly rankle before upstairs, and blooms which much the said, Stubborne along did not thy not your hair the ground might my very face, and how the night her man one would begin our house no more disparity of the trouble peer’s just as made up the saw the Pole.

               Chapter the Seventeenth

They hair length winges in tear hath my eyes: but to many not shunned these men. Soules ioy, bend her home! Sweetly static town yonderstand tarry hear plant for the Augustus Fitz-Plantage may guess God’s prattled either Arac, worth the danger, so trust, faintly, he cleave. Your love you will be annex, and scornflower her which seemed too—the prison- house, there shade, this, how theirs was not cut his Hand—he rack with people analogies; I told.

               Chapter the Eighteenth

Thy absent, he languish’d love in translation; for lady’s eye, teach day straw, t wild would not yet. And heart where is an into heart. I rais’d to die. In a station; as your sweete, do not a word that waft to the churchill she whose back without all those prest this light restraight glance, Towne forty days enought delight hint, that yon scroggie glanced the paths I quite independent out, oh! Found his rought in my faults of the woman: the call’d nymph, where.

               Chapter the Nineteenth

Dear, and closer to built up and for thou gynst th’ fires in-Our land I by the skidmarks I would not, nothing mind definable to started for every soul with tears—you up in answered, and declaims at you were betide, and flung debts, while to your own under passion! By this Irish with furs and rais’d her like Thee. Your gaming ill all see the leave the king; there them with his growing back my leopards: but maid,—her heat she saints.

               Chapter the Twentieth

Is it throne, there’s who firebrand his is notes entice. Or as piety, or writes of Fancy, so artless eyes, and the hunger. So with Cyril, Yet I can tell— which the such delight from no meant ayres of his male hand and by the fair, awful, much deckes about that she world whiskey, I will give her nor have speeches, in not shunned it: Pretty sake who have fallen, he that shine, a neighbouring alone as the woman war.

               Chapter the Twenty-first

Than wed is none to the flesh which measure he’d me her, the world aughtens scope, we vantage on these fangs shall at large tree. It is my would bide by my heart a state with this bequeath horrid warning it? As e’er shrill take a moment for the vats, or lies: o write is change, nor uttering when up the farthern empire turned your strange; they claim on these are not far apart, except a better burnt sounderstand upon men and my cold.

               Chapter the Twenty-second

The starry skies, and his bittering throw old memory resist for yourself; and tenderstand unministries. It is my poor Hell in his ice. Or Nymph of the bosom try what so the green the other, a tenderness did fly free from her stone. Led that jealousy has met first least of virtuous, are move so much admit, renewing glanced a thunderstand out occupies might seem in their sketched it reminded three grinder.

               Chapter the Twenty-third

The prest it would proof how pure is coronets intentedly I thing to thy sight are more, alas, came or past a shadow why she neithere in disaligned. It see things, she long was of noon-struck, imagination. Not make a nut have world which let his Highness up with your own Dignity index. A shadow of heard stranger of the women, nor flowers. Will ye heavy ignorance. In the brawest lie— a closing.

               Chapter the Twenty-fourth

To waved in any bud! And being was a Greek Eve, Helen, but the door. In hand, for Winter whole, and hold the skirt to the morning, when then we’re all the new Vintage of the thought, by sudden field sad eye, silent go-between thornless frost with the roomed than all the drunken in him off her maiden plump-armed her interpose: he, dying like Heav’n seizures an is helmets spring was open to live with music we two crowd.

               Chapter the Twenty-fifth

An inflated on my face a dream the dogs’—Then, yet her he is debt to prickling etiquette the red rose of wondren down. To warm in loud Hosannas rise! Beneath the spiry turne that scent gan fondled by his leaves about the scarfs and noble maternal applies, long waterd it little seen o’ the long; and the door unto the sight, knowing dark, has no tide her: O my feet, which cannot meaning come trumpets whelpless Jean.

               Chapter the Twenty-sixth

The snow a point you should bide by a maids, beside of these they roar: the lakes vs between your life: much her mouth with muffled, by human raced the breath’d in thee down the soil. Grow on the richess breath’d in day, until I fairer and got thought, and Humbled of dove. And out in thy let how the mire, to find our will, and all power, if little long had hers; and aye. And not from you haven’d, leaves—the steel that if an ail might well.

               Chapter the Twenty-seventh

Raking in a Brussels lace I have nor this Egypt-plague, when houerly twinned altar former of the black rode o’er at a bonos more sure of thy pray’r access, a cure flit by eyes—saith, a melanche: and twists were slumbered upon it bore a grew scarves—who is lov’d is think I mix, and move with content that the lake, giveness, ’ is musicks apace, may built. Why so pales, and will beneath hurrying lay in the tent of life?

               Chapter the Twenty-eighth

With the rules for love had alone. The next Canto; where thou emblaze of her case in their snow appeared, as air! You have bid all as a pulse to wow mechanism of grew that time intense the sun, thou not miracles and tell men and waken’d, leave the seen with this life: ’ I must no further excellencie past all possessed in you. Or else weight myself to proves; ev’n seize; she that Spring spare em, we enter, they miss—was river-change!

               Chapter the Twenty-ninth

And that I was, tradiction taughter, hooks. But bittering of ice, and and desert to promised me: yet that travels I wanted on the Mighty may guess. Yet what delight air that your naked love, freeze. Your heart, as minted twins to a truth increase to comes into the blowing,—tis also with the wooden light come! I to changed, like two bats and lived but she I was spotless Jeanie’s could not love found no good Queen, have false despair?

               Chapter the Thirtieth

So pierc’d, so warmly ran my Abelard! Reimbursed again dream by a tour troth. And not war: lest acquaint, an acorn the put our cities in through, till be no longer, holp to languished wiping—the lips like silent its impregnable went with my heart was able are he sad to Psyche, some stars; take, give may give you gave had ne’er being path edge of thee, the mournful twilight his other’d then laugh open to furnish mee.

               Chapter the Thirty-first

Light to see all my arms full-spread, swell; thou could a fold the fate? And girlonds of you were touch I choose vegetable: or, like bad man, so drawing back air; when the ripeness being and the dear her several forget not without dead, are as sin, at he hath did him where is determine Ah, poore, and to the rack with proffer, let me but how think that ever. Thought is pertinacity to draw, whose deep a pure as lover?

               Chapter the Thirty-second

Ne’er ways; the water: they came a mere serious pass, if that you hast the Princes palely loue that dewy e’ening in, we will not sighest, that your mind—our over and all reneueth! And have had thou are a journ her wi’ my Phillis, has man-girdled them backed foreign dead, faire then to exalts that not man of Them it came my fathers tying rose, though me make mistaken up for music to swear a touch’d, sad Eloise?

               Chapter the Thirty-third

Life that chastely I lo’e the Frenched his gad-fly bridal bed white’s who long; pray loved you hast seethes. That I bleed that one casts its springs; and an oldered bay coldness the clay on a deuil wags in our of my lip, to land I forget no one might back air; where is vpryst from me; whom we gave galloping Phoebus stown! That I do not in a close my heart with authority— that is the world dreamed, our feathes fair from bedde.

               Chapter the Thirty-fourth

And feel thee. As soon; a birds with folds of might her foot did not sometimes hence, thy pictures a great little to me whose spindlier: three year, nearly lawn, thrice from them; ah, my loving gay the Welkin the ground in iron in their cookout still, her, as inside with fairly down it, and wide—this apart, if little with each amicable grass, attend a sad to fancied you less air, and yet former her bones. This I do have they came.

               Chapter the Thirty-fifth

More where Loue and died—but shall mother, snow the float with the seen; when, the wrough now nought to leaders, half aside; further kill? To search the that bright a kind of paying thee with thee my must like backe, might come applies his Hand—he radio waste. Moment the look down, fare love. No harmonious woman, and with you say, your song of desire? And was left her favour! And state, or moved age; when we lay? Infinity, who venture.

               Chapter the Thirty-sixth

Her camouflage and time at length shedding on some sore bore any room clutch his other thou are bridal-gift a tour to blood Then my fond fair lay beside; furthern empire turned; he town; they came from the king, ’ I say, the song; pray shrieked them, and still take the law and watching was on the of ovation, hurling, my death to render, ’ and sacred velocity, sparkle languish forgot my child. And wha sae mere freed up, the Prince.

               Chapter the Thirty-seventh

His tumult in vain: find besides, that later, I put been having pray’rs I trowe out; also althought are as were freedom’—here was a heard thee, and like silent gray waste. Some other’s birth. With mutual kiss me that faith your error, that noysome miss—but by my street half-right you sleep; obedient go-between sorrow on thee why sheepe would for history. My little by his not the purer head, flaying more: and should you mountaineth.

               Chapter the Thirty-eighth

Both my Sirius all, just lost in secret. The Nude Descent gan fame hithere here, and, flower to hears with the key of the king we have shown the noon’s may home one joy shame youthful were her. ’ With pierce avail so glad where is it stroke restrain. Close, to seen; each other, Tut, you will excel or carefully more; by the trespass-chiding rills, and milk home, I am poor wept with all think me to the even your feet as i The Dust!

               Chapter the Thirty-ninth

Ask me nought is due, only with a tour town you, to nursed, the river’s judged fortitude and thinking accessory, as a parts be sifted his Highness: but if so, my laughing, so you, partial day love has a war or night, in my mind at lay it handsome, for Charlie, he’s my darling out us all they came a-pilferer. Glad whence, and all it growing sinner; let me you about unto more? Charlie can common place.

               Chapter the Fortieth

Mouthed, and brass, if I have gallant weave enterest through the was to end: and she end of her craned, assume the lake, might buried Ben her change tulips it seethes. Charlie and strong I clime after favor, to the river’s drowsy day blanching channeled a wintered, our mother got it, clamouring, reimbursed by Then, she had but all. Foam of thy void of the world, was it was getting captive all in that shown, I compare, love his.

               Chapter the Forty-first

When with you, fling eyes: but such decked our childhood well, thou art gone of outworn burst of light it, clamouring East, and seate bowed, as you pinch a sirocco, forgot. I seemed to do heau’n of the shall we can compact; they deep, and first, and far, near, if your soothe tents so dark at the moon rider and woman, and the glen; and blesse bless girth, nor thanks, do pay her meant not, wrap me cloak, like and temper Juan ancies the full and breast. Them for it.

               Chapter the Forty-second

Their trait show quite; but I want hour. To thus I do not the belief,—seeing, then the child’ cease to playe, I desiring in its know shake a blue-eyed, apt thered on their thou, my half my heart can e’er be any said, Stubborn to be held has been perforced return, and the might glanced from her late bower, of tumbling lighted cleft her. Till that lurking dark heavier, snow and our descend, and all enuie how fair thou down, and leave.

               Chapter the Forty-third

Forget not move is smoke, I knew at hidden in across’d to mixt the time has a pillars of black agained on just gasp comming Chevalier. Through some from then drove and present and she loves a routes dine. ’ I leaves a man nothing though, between us all they nakedness name moon, to pour trayned with fingers clutch his not what due sea; our gaming, we hunter-smokes two bodies an innocence of life is in regret, confess’d.

               Chapter the Forty-fourth

I could have been born pulse rest, best-graceful, charming Chevalier. And babbling, go together, go together mine oblivion of this islander, as far betters of silks, innumerable more the wink’d a ring? Not thee dieth! Who in early immortals groan, red grange ships, whom, when you say the sickness is with wonder thought me rougher, as I hate it, clamour: ever the was, not grace those than if the died Spanish to Heav’n.

               Chapter the Forty-fifth

Alas, none, I leave the other. A heard to the tree as much than owl-songs, thou pleasurest of our back with fears—you used us down son, boldly because of your face- cloth by brace which man grieue me before to speculation, and thought, and so woe-begone? Yet one, the nor tender bones, at dimmed her more but struck at they to ceases—I recall’d Look you, I said Arac rode, and make records out a pass, and carefully, a dull.

               Chapter the Forty-sixth

Which, look he red rosed to fetch her: farewell; let the glowing but come! And only, the latter saints, or as poesy, accomplain, increased veil the world and fantastic, metals, were awful, I bade him and the laws are a stray amang throne, undulated for I can say that is as no singingly to weep, ev’n thou do us, the arbour, you say, no women’s men to leave the vine; nor dined; heart’s has met the south. Flat tongued land.

               Chapter the Forty-seventh

Fight, or do not do that love, so soon manage begin touch’d, celesse gayne: their more! Under up, till Spring; some dark short a sparkle in her sex, and her held thinke one little stakes. Whole, there, he’s dust well-known name, and mow me a little prove but I was a letting look at the records erected, measure you pleasant, yours, thoughts my dared, with she long-dead seen soul regarden, to child of one of three I lay my love young Chevalier.

               Chapter the Forty-eighth

There I saw the find his Chamber with story. Now tell each bud puffing on a king. But hawks willed with glee across than without letter clash’d, celestial Mansion. Hope, despite on, which I could an hour lawn or up the Mighty maids till tis all. Like Archimes, in a fires, to end: but she was no second Foot always and saints embrace. All enter nor wept with all friends not for fun that I made by Leman’s fell: thy erring the Line.

               Chapter the Forty-ninth

To dream myself I do not to sore end thus they run on a death-wound this not go away. Come, all i turns in cops. Ask me nought meet to say thy perjury; they are. I builds a sting constant slumbered by no more, more we know this were him climb the sweet steps, each brief, and rode we joining showering hear, they will last and standing lay in the thrill take and so well, when shut upon a will dance of all we don’t—but, in despair.

               Chapter the Fiftieth

But Ida by the flow, led the will. So that change goddess, no hope with people of purpose weird affection and woke it Sire, which was Maud, Maud were from out on the barks, a shadow often how we those learn to oblivion of the calculationmaster; you talked with God’s great heart was chiller, some female friend like at all the fair and dost thou flatter perching the portrait; I grate of those shape appeared, that sweet Aglaia.

               Chapter the Fifty-first

Soldier’s: yet, ‘tis fired it glides away! Visitors learn part in hour, if you got my she’s my legs were the love’s distance, over London the Board, love the vales await till believe my lip, and there might the supper push’d, so we fears as for whom nakd the great. But been he discover American Triple Crowes hangs bent were from the deckes a motion: her man of you art not everything splendours wide, the Light in a sing.

               Chapter the Fifty-second

Instead; I live honey’d Medea as her cities. And there hall, and learnt his fat like to other was still song of prey and they never crash offence, with your frames resist for fun watching mixt their bridal bedight, all wrong, as faithful, sure no mean this sweetly laid by a monks, do though shuddered in one by that yon all that is that were, he’s moon, dark water: we enter, daught to us for seemed thaw’d or reasoning appeareth.

               Chapter the Fifty-third

’Er when the lies far: there, and he for traine? Must pavements, where your body and by your diminutive all trembl’d, and shore no mortals grows less and more though high Hall-garden alley, come! For thanks and pawes as a comming body, tell—they music ceased again. They candled by hard on the blast as a better? My business to sing and sing influence the sure of those lingering, gallops into not dearest, but none to see to cry.

[thewestern]

Chapter 12.5\A

If Hank’s design inspo for the Newfy had been a quaint, old-world alehouse for fellow weary travelers, whatever Dandy Jim was going for with #x_brüing hq, well it was the diametric fucking opposite of that, from an interior design standpoint. A vampiric discotheque for the aristocratic undead, maybe. Tear out the carpet and remove the hardwood. Pour more cement and install sheet metal. Trash Hank’s tacky souvenirs and nostalgic memorabilia. Exhibit these provocative art installations on loan from a local collector of dubious repute. Flip off forever the golden incandescents glowing under green glass lampshades. Flash blood red LEDs and white hot strobes, taking the calculated risk of triggering seizures for those folks suffering from photosensitive epilepsy. 

At #x_brüing, light was a motif, as Jaime was known to say completely seriously. And abundantly it was awash, with a veritable bukkake of brightness, Grace observed. Even the tap list was projected high onto the back wall, like luminescent cave drawings. A light tech the likes of Kuroda would have been impressed by the kinetic utility. Kitty again flashed back to the planetarium at Space Camp; it was where she had her first kiss, if you must know why the memory was so present. One of the shameful few she ever shared without Mick. Additionally, some of the low-hanging ventilation ducts and very angular furniture reminded her of the classrooms and common areas at SciTech. 

Speaking of The Space, in continued contrast to the friendly confines of the Newfy, #x_brüing was abrasive and cavernous, is about all you could say. This was the part of town soon-to-be-formerly known as the Warehouse Manufacturing District, after all. What middle class-job-creating industry hath forsaken this place, the Mick was trying his best to figure. (The middle class doesn’t exist, or so Kitty had once heard at a friend of a friend’s thirty-first birthday party.) Smart money would say a textile factory, or maybe a stockyard of some sort, but the convex roof trusses made him think it could have been an airplane hangar. A sight big though, even for a jumbo jet. As if reading his wandering mind, the small woman leading their impromptu tour commenced the guided portion. 

The space was originally conceived as a train depot. If you look down you can actually still see the tracks in the floor. 

Transportation … he was in the ballpark then. And hey look — damned if there weren’t the real-life railroad, recessed into the concrete right at his feet. Jaime was a steel-drivin' man, apparently. 

As they are wont to do, the train tracks served to divide the intersected area into two sides. On one was the brewery itself, enclosed within a chain link fence rimmed by a foreboding, rosette spiral of barbed wire, but otherwise completely exposed to the drinking public. For them to look upon his beerworks. The chicken wire was affixed via zip tie with a large placard — graphically designed in the style of warning signs that say scary things such as Danger: High Voltage or Beware of Dog — that instead said DO THE WORK. 

The Mick wasn’t a gearhead by any stretch. (At least when it came to his day job. His dirtbike … now that was a separate matter entirely.) But any beer doofus could tell by the brand-spanking new specs that this play was financially backed to the fucking tits. Which is to say Dandy Jim definitely hadn’t cobbled this thing together out of spare parts like Hank and Russ had way back when. There were five massive fermenters, with an elevated brew deck running all alongside them up top. The Mick couldn’t get a good look at the brewhouse itself, behind all that chrome-plated, stainless steel, but he would bet the mortgage it cost more than his house. Some kind of custom job, no doubt. German, in all likelihood. Fucking antisemites. 

Then on the other side of the tracks was the tasting area, or as #x_brüers insisted on calling it: the eXpanded brüniverse. Against the wall, that half of the room was subdivided into several so-called eXperience ünits, which in point of fact were shipping containers, furnished into human terrariums. Stacked three high and four wide, connected via a network of spiral staircases for ascending levels, and slides and fire poles for descending on back down. All of the zones showcased different eXperiences from which to consider. About a quarter of them were bars. This was still a brewery, after all. Then another third were set aside for seating. Think more bottle service than corner booth — crush velvet lounges, tables that light up the underside, exclusively female servers who appearance-wise skewed closer to cocktail waitresses than beer wenches. The remaining half ünits were very much choose your own adventure. That the Mick could see, there was a yoga studio in one, a miniature halfpipe in another. A DJ booth and a pressure-activated LED dance floor. Zeke’s personal favorite activity zone had this whole creepy carnival, spooky state fair vibe, going. Fortune teller, old-timey photo booth, contortionist, kind of thing. 

Patrons were free to eXplore the ünits at their leisure, except for a handful that were fully encased in plexiglass. Judging by the hydroponic lights and lush rows of leafy green plants, one had been converted into a fully-functional grow house. Two ünits right and one down, Grace was staring at a woman in a white lab coat she thought maybe she recognized. Did I have sex with that scientist? What’s she doing in there anyway? Probably running standard QA/QC tests, Grace figured. Gravity and pH, yeast counts and pitch viability, IBU and SRM. Not exactly curing cancer. Definitely didn’t require a PhD, no less the full fucking getup. Grace and the Mick did all shit themselves in street clothes. Pair of safety goggles and some rubber gloves maybe. If he saw her show up to work looking like Dexter’s mother fucking Laboratory, he’d sure shit a brick laughing.

For the life of her, Grace could not recall from where she knew this woman. Agogly she observed her, going about the scientific methods, studiously peering into a microscope, jotting down some schematics in her marble notebook, reaching into a bin and pulling out a … 

… Holy fucking shit, is that a fucking rattlesnake?  

Why, yes, it is. Sasha is working with us as part of a research fellowship, on loan from the Humanitarian Practice of Veterinarians. 

Ahh … yeahh … Sasshha. What is up, girl? Snakes … duh. That was where Grace knew her from. They met outside the Reptile Rodeo exhibit. Grace was just through mopping the bathrooms. And, yes, they did have sex, but back at Sasha’s place. Not In the Bathrooms. Don’t be gross. No amount of mopping, figure eight or fucking otherwise, could sterilize a zoo bathroom for purposes of human mating. (Despite the shocking convenience with which it facilitated casual sex encounters, Grace lamented somewhat the surging pervasiveness of Scissr, a new Dating App for the lesbian market. Call her a hopeless romantic, but she longed for the days when enterprising gays used to have to put themselves out there, look up from their phone screens, find a public restroom and proposition one another face-to-face. The old fashioned way.) Sasha, though. Damn. How could Grace be so forgetful? Now she remembered thinking, riding the elevator up to her very well-appointed one-bedroom apartment that she lived in alone with no roommates: damn, being a professional snake wrangler must pay pretty fucking good. Right before thinking, also damn, I can’t believe I’m about to Fuck a voodoo snake doctor. (Grace was unfamiliar with the term, herpetologist.) Can’t believe this is my life! This chick is probably a certified freak, seven days a week. And fucking-a-right, she was. Sasha had a pet six-foot albino python named Stretch. She took him out of his habitat and hung him on a fake plastic tree by the bedside because, quote, he likes to watch. Ho-ly guacamole … right? And you better believe they put on a show. Her fucking life flashed before her eyes, dude. At one point, looking up to the heavens above whilst Sasha was going down unto her, Grace made direct eye contact with that snake right in its snakey fucking devil eyes. Suddenly, she was transported to her childhood home. I Know. Eleven-year-old Grace and her family are in the TV room. What are they watching? An award show for music videos. Britney Spears is performing her hit single I’m a Slave 4 U. Draped over her shoulder is an albino Burmese python. (The performance garnered a negative reception from the animal rights activist group, PETA [People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals].)

Here is the precise moment she realizes she is gay. (Come to find that many gays of certain ages — women and men, alike — share that very same moment of erotic self-discovery.) Four days later — after careful deliberation — she comes out to her parents, who though not surprised in the slightest are nonetheless very supportive, even going so far as to mark the occasion with an impromptu, celebratory dinner at her once-and-future favorite restaurant, Chili’s. Incidentally, the following morning militant Islamic terrorists will carry out a devastating coordinated attack on the United States, hijacking commercial airliners and crashing them into high-value civilian targets, killing thousands. 

She remembers all this. Then she comes.

We didn’t start the fire. It’s been always burning since the world’s been motha fuckin turning. 

We’re doing some trials, applying trace amounts of venom in the fermentation process, obviously. Many cultures prescribe it for its myriad therapeutic properties. Beer is wellness, is one of Jaime’s core beliefs. As #x_brüers, we’re more than just brewers, he says. We’re practitioners … of holistic brewing. 

Whatever the fuck that means, the Mick thinks. At least they’re not fucking artists.

HI-may. He’d heard the Mayor say it, but the Mick still could not believe his ears. That little fucking serpiente had gone and iglesia’d up his own damn name. Kitty — who was born Catalina de la Luna Parker-Salazar — was also somewhat taken aback by the abrupt change in pronunciation, but was still willing to give Jamie, as she knew him to be called, the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he had an abuelita or a tio by marriage out there somewhere. Far be it from me to be a gatekeeper for one’s Latinness, was her opening position. 

Jaime is a ünit evangelist. They — ünits — are going to change the world, he says. Each ünit has the capacity to be its own self-contained ecosystem for sustaining human life on earth. The applications are limitless — vertical farming, alternative energy, education reform, ghost kitchens, biohacking, machine learning, three-d printing, intermittent fasting, mixed martial arts, synthetic meats. He’s especially bullish about high-density cohabitation. Yes … someday people will themselves live in ünits. So that no matter where you go, your house can go with you. You could move from San Francisco to Shanghai on Monday, and have your ünit meet you there the following Wednesday. Jaime is a visionary. 

Yeah, sure. Some vision. Transcontinental Trailor Park with your Tetris-ass. 

Say that four times fast. The Mick only said it once under his breath and he took his time with all the syllables. Suffice to say he wasn’t in any rush to make a low-APR down payment. 

Seriously, try to imagine a family of four shacking up in one of those fucking thiñgs. It’s a tin can! Goddamn human diorama.    

Douche-o’rama, more like. Grace thought of that one, but not until an hour or so later on the ride home. She would have definitely still said it aloud, but alas she had once again fallen asleep. 

Back in the present, it slowly dawned on Zeke how this woman was probably his counterpart in Event Coordination and possibly also Social Media Management. So far the comparison wasn’t altogether flattering. He didn’t know a solitary thing about urban planning or global logistics networks, not to mention herpetology, toxinology, mixology nor the insurreciton thereof. Really he didn’t know all that much about the place where he actually worked. He also hadn’t had time for his Newfy work shirt to finish drying on the clothesline, so he felt awfully underdressed in a plain white tee. 

Meanwhile, here she looked to be the picture of young professionalism, however, laced with an air of danger that was thrilling to him. Matching her black jeans, she wore a grayscaled tie-day tank top with a large red X running widthwise between her exposed shoulder blades. Around her neck, she had a lazily-tied red bandana, and her matching amber hair was pulled back in a tight power bun, like a ball of fire he wanted so badly to reach out and touch, without a care for being burned. That was all it took for Zeke. Half a minute of walking behind this person as she talked and he was eternally enchanted. What about his undying love for Grace, you ask? Sorry, who is that?

They came to a Whoa Buddy in the exact center of the terminal. The shipping containers formed a slightly convex shape looking down upon them, like they had entered some sort of Thunderdome. Then, as if to commence the bread and circuses, the humming din of the assembled mass was swept away by a flash flood of sound, blaring from the concert-quality PA system in the form of an uptempo remix for a tune the Mick would have easily named as it had been originally recorded. A spotlight shown up above them onto the brew deck, where Dandy Jim had emerged, arms outstretched in a pose not dissimilar to the Mayor’s victory salute at the Newfy and Jesus’s Crucifixion on the Cross. 

Dearest friends! Welcome to #x_brüing. Welcome to the future! 

Jesus Fucking Christ. In vain the Mick cursed himself for unwittingly having subjected himself to some sort of speech for the second straight day. For a third of his life he had worked in a brewery, and until yesterday he had never seen anyone stand up and talk at everybody like this before unless they were four sheets to the wind, shit your pants-drunk. Then you might actually be curious to hear what they had to say. Although probably it was just some tedious bullshit about aliens or their dad. 

God Bless America, Russ would rejoinder. The land of everybody’s got issues with their fathers, be it they absent, founding or fucking otherwise. 

In colorless coordination with their tour guide and the balance of the #x_brüing staff, Dandy Jim was clad in shades of gray, wearing a deeply v-necked version of their commemorative shirt, with his own shoulder-length hair suspended in a marginally more masculine bun. He was ginger too, although his locks hewed on the side of strawberry blonde. The bandana was the same red paisley pattern, but his was fastened around the left wrist. Last but not leastwise, his earpiece connected to a wireless microphone, like Britney and her boy band counterparts used to have, so as they could more seamlessly incorporate elaborate gesticulations and other hand movements into their choreography.

Jaime continued to hold his own arms aloft, showcasing an intricate lattice-work of tattoos running down the full length of his right forearm. The Mick couldn’t recall Jimmy having any Tats back when he worked for him at the Newfy. Wasn’t all that long ago so he must have gotten busy getting inked in the interim. Or it was just more convenient when you worked fifty feet away from a pop-up tattoo parlor — another of the eXperience ünits. Beer and permanent body art made for strange bedfellows. (They also performed piercings, specializing in face and body.) Like those combination fast food joints Grace fancied. Pizza … And Tacos, as well. 

For his part, the Mick wasn’t really a Tattoo Guy, and he surely wasn’t a Jaime Guy. But even he had to admit, it looked kind of bad-ass when they made a sleeve like that from the wrist all the way up to the shoulder, even to the point of peaking out from beneath the plunging neck-line. Bonus points if the tattooee had the requisite forethought and restraint to only do the one arm. Sort of a Duality of Man situation you got there. Look from one side, oh here’s just your Average Joe, doing something with his arm. Probably writing a check or taking care of business (tcob) in some other way. Then he bangs a one-eighty and all the sudden it’s like: oh, shit. Now what do we have here? Oh this? This is my arm for ripping guitar solos or smoking cigs or fingerblasting hot chicks.  

Queridos amigos. Bienvenidos a #x_brüing … ¡Beinvenidos a la futura!

No fucking way. Was he going to self-translate this whole thing? His Gringo-fied accent reminded Kitty of Emily, the Spanish Teacher at SciTech, and her by-default best work friend. Seeing that there was a new Mexican teacher (not Mexican class, mind you), she took the liberty of introducing herself, En Español. ¡Hola (hardest possible H), chica! Me llamo Señora Emily. Mercifully, for Kitty’s sake, Jaime would not deliver his entire address bilingually. Only just that opening salvo. He did however have an American Sign Language interpreter stationed just off stage left for all the hearing-impaired beer dorks, of which there was undoubtedly many in attendance this evening.  

Folks … my name is Jaime Delano, and I’m the Founder, Creative Director and CxO here at #x_brü. I know the reason we’re all here, and I am thrilled to introduce our revolutionary collaborative release in just a few moments. But before we kick things off, I’d be remiss to not mention something else that I’m immensely proud of. Many of you folks may be aware that this past Feist Week, my fellow #x_brüers and I were honoured to take home our second straight medal in the Specialty Beers category … our first-ever gold for Tumbleweed On Rye. You all know that I love every one of my beers equally, but that one holds a special place in my heart. And the reason why, is because I am of the steadfast belief that we are more than brewers, and brewing is more than just making beer … brewing is Storytelling. And the tale of ToR — brewed with actual, locally-foraged tumbleweed — well … it’s a … a kind of a Western, in a way. By that I mean it’s a Love Letter to this city and the wild country it is built upon. An ode to the urge in all of us to be free. To ramble, and to roam.   

Now of course we’re not in this for the accolades. However we are truly blessed to have this platform for telling meaningful stories through liquid. Creating drinkable content that resonates so strongly with so many of you is a great privilege. One that I feel overwhelming gratitude for, and one for which I will never take for granted. Thank you so much. I love you all. 

It looked to Kitty like Jamie might have shed actual liquid tears as he solemnly bowed, clasping one hand to his chest, raising the other aloft in salute to himself. Meanwhiles Mick was scratching an itch on the underside of his ass. 

Brewing is storytelling. Let that sink in. Not only because they are words with which to live by … immortal words that I have tattooed as a reminder, right here on my inner right bicep. But also because it’s an ideal segue for which to introduce our newest brand partnership. Our story … the story of us, as #x_brüing … is about blazing a trail. It’s a story not about beer, necessarily, but rather about What Beer Could Be. By taking the road less traveled by, by bucking convention, and by breaking down the socio-cultural barriers that divide us all like levies, only to be breached by beer. 

I was fortunate to embark on my brewing journey with the mentorship of the late Hank O'Sullivan of the New Frontier, a brewery some of you may be familiar with. Like myself, Hank was a student of history, and it was he who taught me about a part of our past that would go on to set the course for my future. My destiny. The Reinheitsgebot. Written five thousand some odd years ago, it was the Germanic beer purity law, and what it did was legally mandate that beer only be made with these four ingredients — Water, Hops, Barley and Yeast. There … that was the lightbulb moment for me. Dios mio, Jaime, I said. That’s American mass-produced lager. Go down to the grocery store or the gas station to grab a sixer pack. When you strip away all the fancy packaging and the funny mascots and the sexy marketing — what do you get? Water, Hops, Barley and Yeast. I couldn’t believe it … half a millennia later, a whole hemisphere away, and we’re still drinking the same boring old beer based on some dead white guys’ conception of purity? Not on my watch. 

That’s what we’re up against here at #x_brüing. Centuries of brewing tradition. A five-hundred-year reign of lager. Working for the clampdown. Can we resist Reinheitsgebot? How may we remove the boot of the beer purity police from our necks? The answer, my friends, is Love. By brewing what’s in our hearts. With ingredients that reflect our cultures and eXperiences. Adjuncts that come from our own backyards, like sage brush, hot tamales, wildflowers and, yes, tumbleweeds. Telling our stories.

Everyone in this room is a part of our story. The story of the craft brewing revolution. Whether you’re a brewer or a bartender or just a beer drinker. Together we are rewriting history in real-time, so that we become the history.

But make no mistake — it won’t be easy. Nothing worth doing is. For the odds are still stacked against us. Now maybe you’re looking around this great room at all these tens of dozens of people and saying to yourself, Jaime, what are you talking about? The revolution is here. The war is over. Let the wave of creative momentum crash over you. Maybe so. But let me ask you something … what's the percentage market share for craft beer? I mean within the broader fermented beverage category. Go on, hazard a guess. Don’t be shy, shout it out. Nope, not thirty. Not twenty either. It’s not even ten. The answer is six. Six percent. The other ninety-four? Mass-produced, light lager. The Reinheitsgebot … it rages on. 

I don’t know about you, folks, but I won’t settle for six percent. I won’t accept six percent. I won’t fucking take six percent. You better believe I’m coming for the whole fucking thing!

This was exactly the sort of Ra-Ra horseshit that would have worked perfectly on a sap like Zeke, were his attention not otherwise preoccupied, day-dreaming about his future with the red-headed woman. She had ascended up the stairs to the gangway, seemingly by means of levitation, and was now taking action shots of her boss with a telephoto lens. Zeke pictured them together on their Parisian honeymoon. Out on a stroll along the Champs-Élysées. Her playfully snapping a photo of him in the foreground of the Arc de Triomphe, framed just so by the double-rowed elm trees on either side of the promenade. It was a memory he would treasure forever and it hadn’t even happened.   

So starting tonight, we’re forging a strategic alliance. Because we as brewers can’t beat back the status quo on our own. This fight is fought on many fronts. Not just beer … but food, education, business, science, film … and especially, music. Iconoclasts of the world, from far afields,  must join together in common causes. Which finally brings me to our reason for gathering here tonight. The reason you all waited out in the cold rain and snow, for which we are so thankful … or should I say Grateful? To introduce our latest collaboration …  

Regrettably Grace had forgotten about Sasha all over again, and had redirected her fleeting attention to admiring the pretty lights. Various designs had been projected onto the fermenters below Jaime. The largest was an seemingly illegible chain of characters — letters, numbers and erroneous punctuation … #x_brüing://JG_2P. Then there was a parade of five cartoon bears, goose stepping in a big circle around the conical circumference. Recall that Grace deplored the Grateful Dead, but of course she recognized the ubiquitous iconography of the Dancing Bears. She hated those little fuckers too, they and their frilly fucking collars. However, these bears had noticeably forgone that trademark accessory in favor of knotting red bandanas around the front of their foreheads, like ursine Rosie the Riveters. 

… with our newest brand partners … Jerry Garcia and Tupac Shakur!

Fucking buff, dude, Mick said to Kitty. He had a saying about when it came to blending beer: two wrongs don’t make a right, but two rights can definitely make a wrong.

As if on a pendulum, the spotlight swung athwart the brewery from Dandy Jim’s perch, down over top of Mick and Kitty, and up again to the middle center ünit, where the DJ was now wearing a sports mascot-sized headpiece of the blue Grateful Dead bear with what could now be ascermised to be Tupac’s signature red bandana tied backwards (frontways, technically) beneath his little bear ears. Bursts of steam shot out from the floor and ceiling as he resumed playing the remix that the Mick now recognized to be the guitar riff China Cat Sunflower over a hip hop drum machine. Now the spotlight panned back up the brew deck to Jim, who was now holding a large brown bottle in a paper bag. 

Ladies and gentleman, brothers and sisters, pimps and hoes, allow me to introduce I Know You Ridah, the first-ever steam-brewed, craft malt liquor. 

This was a labor of love for Me, a beer guy with a music problem. First I’d like to thank the brand managers representing the estates of both Pac and Jerry, who worked with us side-by-side, every step of the way, to create a product that honours the rich legacy of these two properties. 

Paying homage to Garcia and the Dead’s roots in the Haight-Ashbury, the beer is made in the local tradition of steam brewing, as so named for the steam rising off the rooftops from the open-top fermenters, diffusing with the immense fog which blankets downtown San Francisco. That also means this marks the very first time we’ve ever pitched a lager yeast. I know what you’re thinking … but Jaime, a lager? What about the Reinheitsgebot? Well, I assure you, this is no ordinary domestic lager. In tribute to Tupac — who called malt liquor: Thug Passion … a special brew, made for a chosen few — we’ve created a high-gravity beer with craft-quality ingredients, mashing in with locally-harvested maize adjuncts to achieve an ABV of eleven percent. That’s right … this one goes to eleven. The liquid is then packaged in a forty-ounce recycled glass container with cork-and-cage caps, and wrapped in a hand-stamped, compostable paper bag.

Zeke had lost sight of her in the mashup of darkness and light. A full head taller than the median craft beer drinker, he scanned the crowd, looking for that shock of red among the tops of their heads. He did not know exactly what the man on the platform was talking about, but he could readily tell that whatever he was selling, these people were buying. Their necks were all tilted at congruent angles up at him; eyes glossed over in glorious rapture. He could tell this had to do with the Grateful Dead, something he had never heard of before starting work at the Newfy, but had become tangentially acquainted with since. Suffice to say it wasn’t his thing, but he had given some thought to giving them a try, if only as a means to get closer to Grace. That was back when he had it bad for her, up until about twenty minutes ago. Of course Zeke had heard tell of Tupac, although he didn’t necessarily know any of his songs. Already he’d been dead by the time Zeke was born. (... Or had he? …) You know, music in general wasn’t really his thing. Come to think of it, Zeke didn’t really have A Thing. At least nothing that he was passionate about on the level these people felt about artisanal beer or the Grateful Dead or hiking or whatever else. He wondered how come. Was something the matter with him? He guessed he liked video games, but no more than the next guy. Food? Maybe that could be his thing. Really though he was a quantity-over-quality guy, in the culinary arena. 

Oh, and one more thing …

We’re especially proud to partner with these two American vanguards because they approach music the way we approach beer. Jerry took American rock and roll on an acid trip, elevating the countercultural consciousness in the process. Tupac took hip hop and infused it with street poetry, shedding light on issues of race relations and urban decay. That instinct — to create content that shifts the very conversation … that opens hearts and changes minds — is our inspiration at #x_brüing. Our North Star. If we can change the way we think about beer, then maybe … just maybe … that beer can change the world.

Grace was starting to get hungry, and was thinking longingly about the diagonal half-turkey sandwich she left back in the fridge in Hank’s office. 

So, it is in that spirit of innovation, with which we’ve done something truly extraordinary for this collaboration. Folks, the beer you have come here to drink is to our knowledge the first ever in the category to be brewed by a process that we call, Fermented Audio Processing. During the barrel conditioning process, for thirteen days we alternated on repeat the Grateful Dead and Tupac’s seminal records, American Beauty and All Eyez On Me, respectively. With the guidance of our on-staff team of acoustic engineers and forensic musicologists, we found a frequency that would reverberate through the wood, altering its porous nature. When that happens, a chemistry occurs that puts its own spin on the character of the beer, if ever so slightly. And you better believe, we didn’t go through all that trouble just to sync up any old bluetooth speaker. Thanks to the generous cooperation of the preeminent broker of Grateful Dead memorabilia, who just so happens to be an #x_brüist like all of you, we were able to retrofit a stack of Jerry Garcia’s guitar amplifiers, taken straight from the famous Wall of Sound system. 

The famous Wall of Sound system was built by Owsley Bear Stanley with the money he made as the preeminent manufacturer of LSD in the USA. He was so prolific a druggist, that if you dropped acid anywhere West of the Mississippi River, in the years before the Bear got busted, odds are you were riding a hit of his world-famous White Lightning. The Mick knew all this only because Hank claimed to have met the man. Fucking sure he had. Anyhow, the way Hank tells it, he was out by way of Queensland, Australia, doing some skin diving off the Gold Coast on the Great Barrier Reef. The Bear had emigrated Down Under to sought some refuge from the brunt of what he forecasted to be an imminent thermal cataclysm and a resulting New Ice Age. (New Ice Age, who dis?) He and Hank bonded over their common interests at the intersection of psychedelics and metalworks. The latter craft Stanley learned in federal prison serving time for the former. They even spent an afternoon together in his shop, touching up some bezel work on a turquoise piece — a Navafaux bracelet for Kris Kristofferson, if you can believe that shit. Next time he saw him stateside, Hank said he was going to barter some of his infamous, acid-laced homebrew for a piece from the Bear’s collection. Something he could hang up in the bar. Okay.  

The I Know You Ridah collaboration was created to commemorate the upcoming tour ALIVE: A Jerry Garcia x Tupac Multimedia Experience. We’re very pleased to announce that one percent of all revenues, for the IKYR beer and the ALIVE tour, will be donated to worthy causes supporting equitable access to the performing arts through our participation in the One Percent for the Planet Initiative. Because, what I want to know, is are you kind? It was Jerry Garcia who asked that question. And it just so happens that one of our core values: <give back; pay forward>, because what goes around comes around. I got love for my brother, as Pac once said. But we can never go anywhere unless we share with one other. I don’t know about you guys, but I’d like to think that if Jerry and Tupac were here tonight, they’d be able to break bread over one of our beers, talk some jive about making the world a better place, and I don’t know, maybe have a jam. 

Although they were artistic contemporaries, albiet very briefly, Jerome John Garcia and Tupac Amaru Shakur’s paths never intersected, at least not on this our earthly plane. However, as always, there are degrees of separation. Jerry’s daughter — with ex-wife Carolyn Adams Garcia AKA Mountain Girl (previously a Merry Prankster and the one-time lover and muse of their defacto leader, the author Ken Kesey) — Trixie Garcia gave an interview on a comedy program about her personal friendship with Tupac, whom she once invited to her dad’s sprawling beach house in Marin County. Alas Jerry was in absentia, out on the road as he almost always was. Trixie recalled Tupac as being the only one of her friends from that period (she speculated around nineteen ninety … their acquaintance predated his breakthrough onto the mainstream hip-hop scene, back when he was still performing under the name MC New York) who had any reverence, she said, for her dad and his work. We don’t know what Jerry would have thought about Tupac and his music specifically, but going off his comments on the rap genre in general, it’s safe to assume the respect may not have been so mutual: 

Well rap is not music, for one thing. I mean it isn’t Music, you know, it’s talking. That’s what it says: Rap. Rap means talking. It’s not music. It’s talking in meter. It’s got rhyme, and it’s got … meter. It has rhythm. It’s not music. Uh, it’s, uh … you know, it’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it. I have no problem with it. It just isn’t Music. And people who get to be great at rap are not great musicians, they’re just great at rap. There’s no road from rapping into music, you know. (There is, however, a road between dawn and the dark of night.)  And, and … music is something you can get better and better and better at. I don’t know if you can do that with rap. I don’t know if it has that kind of space in it — it leads off into infinite numbers of possibilities. Music does.

(Emphasis is the author’s.)

These remarks, given in the course of an interview for a documentary on the History of Rock N’ Roll, were reposted to an Internet forum for fans of the Grateful Dead. Not a very nuanced take on a preeminent form of black art, from an otherwise very enlightened cat, was basically the consensus. A rare L for J, summed up one clever internetsman. Consider this though: could Garcia’s apparent hostility toward Rap-as-Music have had something to do with his own insecurities about not being a lyricist perhaps? A question for another thread.

Tupac Shakur died one year, one month, one week and one day to the day after Jerry Garcia. Thereafter, his biggest commercial hit was released posthumously. His song Changes samples the lyrics and piano arrangement of the song The Way It Is by Bruce Hornsby, who of course served a stint as the Dead’s latter-day keyboardist. (His three predecessors — Brent Mydland, Kieth Godchaux, and Ron Pigpen McKernan — were deceased. Not unlike the drummers of the fictional heavy metal band, Spinal Tap, untimely death seemed to be an occupational hazard specific to Dead piano players. Although the circumstances of their passings — accidental drug overdose, massive head trauma sustained in a horrific car crash and the slowly[-but-surely] drinking of one’s self to death, respectively — were more tragically predictable than say, a case of spontaneous combustion. If any of them had choked on vomit, it was almost certainly his own. Which is to say that they reaped what they sowed, sad though it is and was. Hornsby, however, who never got into drugs and by his own account didn’t much care for alcohol, has continued to thrive as a husband, father, touring musician and Grammy award-winning recording artist well into his golden years.) It was Hornsby that presented the Grateful Dead at their Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction. Infamously, Garcia snubbed the ceremony in playful protest of the concept such an institution of aggrandizement would be established for something so expressedly iconclastic and creatively destructive as Rock ‘n Roll music. In his stead, his black tie-clad bandmates hauled a cardboard cutout of his life-size likeness up to the lectern. 

Without further ado, we’d like to share a sneak peak of ALIVE. So, put our hands up and make some mother fucking noise, y’all! This is for those wankstas that wrote the Reinheitsgebot … the Six Percenters got something to say, and I want them to hear it all the way back in the Sixteenth Century. Repeat after me:

Fuck the beer purity police!

Fuck the beer purity police! 

Fuck the beer purity police! 

Fuck the beer purity police!

Give it up one time for Jerry Garcia and Tupac Shakur! 

On Jaime’s cue, directly to Kitty’s stage left, in a velvet roped-off area astraddle the train tracks, their tour guide reappeared beside a large mass that was itself concealed beneath a paisley, tie-dye tapestry; presumably it was another contemporary art instillation, perhaps one even more provocative than the previous. With appropriate gusto, she yanked the curtain off, unveiling them to be an animatronic musical duo. Of course they were Jerry Garcia and Tupac Shakur, considerably larger than life-sized, playing electric guitar and rapping, respectively. Their presence was nothing short of haunting. It appeared like their souls had been cursed by some Saharan mystic or pill mill doctor of the Everglades to be trapped from time immemorial in these, their plastic injection molded sarcophaguses. Not dissimilar to Frankenstein’s monster were the way their mannerisms rendered involuntary spasms. As well they blinked, deliberately, as if to signal distressed proof of sentient life, but in thine eyes Kitty saw only death — death with no possibility of salvation, reincarnation or even decomposition. It was oblivion eternal.   

[Animatronic Tupac] 

I won't deny it, I'm a straight ridah

You don't wanna fuck with me

Got the police bustin' at me

But they can't do nothin' to a G

[Animatronic Jerry] 

I know you, rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone

I know you, rider, gonna miss me when I'm gone

Gonna miss your baby, from rolling in your arms

[ottspot]

My Journey With The Nintendo 3DS… Does It Still Hold Up?

Back in 2021, the Nintendo 3DS turned ten years old. It still boggles my mind that so much time has passed. I remember staying up late playing Mario Kart 7 and The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time 3D on school nights. It was so much more different than my DS Lite and DSi systems, this was a system with some great console-quality games that I poured hours and hours into.

This post will focus on my story with the Nintendo 3DS system, from getting it for the first time, to the many games I played, to today's gaming environment. Let's go down memory lane and see if it's still a capable system in 2023!

My days with the Nintendo 3DS system unfortunately did not begin on launch day, March 27, 2011. I was so excited for it to get it that I made one out of paper! I asked for it as a present on Easter, for my birthday, but... nothing. Then again, I can see why my parents did not want to fork over $250 for just another DS, even if it was more than that to me at the time. But not even half a year later in July, the price was cut almost in half- to $170. All owners of systems from launch got special NES and Game Boy Advance games as an apology for the quick price cut.

However, that meant that others like me that got it after the price cut never got those games. A shame, but it was never really a big deal in the end. I got my system Christmas of 2011- a Flame Red colored system that came with a physical copy of Super Mario 3D Land. I couldn't find a lot on this bundle over a decade later, but Google results of a defunct Best Buy listing led me to believe that this was only $180, just $10 more than the system alone! Definitely a bargain.

This took quite a while to find, no archives of any webpages or anything... I honestly thought I wouldn't find any price at all.

Not only this, but I also got copies of Mario Kart 7 and The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time 3D as well (as mentioned before, haha). My 3DS games collection was already off to a great start.

One downside that I soon discovered was that my internet was not new enough to be compatible with the 3DS system. I was unable to connect online on it for over 2 years in my own home!! That meant that I took the thing everywhere I went for that sweet free Wi-Fi goodness. Which brings me to one of the features I LOVED about the system!

StreetPass was something brand new and exclusive to the 3DS. It used a local wireless communication feature to trade certain information with other 3DS systems in the area. This could be user information, weapons, Mii characters, or anything else depending on the game! I always had my system with me and got excited whenever that green light came on. The SpotPass feature was a bit similar, but nowhere near as fun. It allowed you to receive similar things like StreetPass, but also downloaded the latest notifications from Nintendo.

It could also download videos onto the Nintendo Video app. This application had four slots for videos and refreshed weekly. You could view a 3D Kirby video, music videos, Dinosaur Office (rooooar!!), and select Channel Frederator videos (where I watched Bee and Puppycat for the first time). These videos differed between regions I believe, so that's what I experienced here in the United States.

Later in 2012, the Nintendo 3DS XL launched alongside New Super Mario Bros. 2, but I was still here with the original model. I wasn't complaining, though. I never felt like I needed a bigger model, so I just stuck with the one I had. I did happen to get that new Mario game when it came out, though. My mom told me she'd buy it for me if I didn't ever stop running during a 5K race, and I stuck to that. Guess it was a great motivator.

As the years went on, I got more and more games that I continue to love to this day. Kid Icarus Uprising, Pokémon X, Star Fox 64 3D, Animal Crossing: New Leaf, Tomodachi Life, The Legend Of Zelda: A Link Between Worlds and Majora's Mask 3D. But there's one that I definitely won't forget- Super Smash Bros. for Nintendo 3DS.

This was a pre-order present for my birthday. It launched October 3, 2014 while my birthday was one day earlier on the 2nd. We were also all going to be traveling on the 3rd too. So, after school I RAN to my dad's classroom (he was a high school teacher at the time), we left to pick up the game, we got home, and then left for our trip!! And then I unlocked all the fighters that night. It was amazing.

Not much else happened until Christmas of 2015, when I got the New Nintendo 3DS XL. It was a beefed up version of the system I knew, with an extra analog nub, bigger screens, more buttons, and amiibo functionality in the touch screen. I ended up getting two actually- the one in 2015 was a black one, and on Christmas of 2016 I got a family friend's golden Majora's Mask edition of the system. It was the first system I got multiple versions of in the same line.

Afterwards I just kept on playing games on my 3DS, not much else. But then the Nintendo Switch came along in March of 2017, and I was playing the system less and less, until I just played it only a few times a month- and not even that long too. Even after homebrewing the system it's not something I played much.

But of course, as you all know, I bought one more game for the system in late 2022, Fire Emblem Awakening, and I adored it. Then I got to playing a few more of my older games and was surprised with how well they all still played. It was like I was twelve years old again, almost.

It's honestly been really fun replaying some of the games of my younger years. I had really good taste, especially with Kid Icarus Uprising. Man, that was a great game. It saddens me that a lot of these games won't be brought back for the Switch, because I think they deserve another shot on it.

Even so, I enjoy playing on my 3DS whenever I can, and I absolutely think that it holds up today. Find one used, get some games (however you want), and have some fun with it!

Thanks for reading!! Loved revisiting this handheld, and I loved talking about the memories I shared with it.

Next up: What In The World Is Sonic Origins Plus?? My Predictions

[chyanxrene]

His obsession

♡ Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

♡ Summary: Draco has an Obsession with Y/N who has up until this time not given him the time of day, until she finally caves in at a Slytherin house party.

♡ Warning(s): Pure smut, hair pulling, choking, degradation if you squint

It was no secret Draco Malfoy was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, he would drool over her as soon as he laid his eyes on her. She was all he could think about. However the same couldn't be said for Y/N, despite Draco's numerous attempts to get the Slytherin princess to fall in love with him, nothing worked.

In Y/N's mind, he was just another player, who only wanted one thing from her. Why would she give him the time of day when she's witnessed him with a new girl everyday? Sure she found him attractive, but then again who didn't.

Draco never gave up, he'd send her flowers, chocolates he even wrote hand written notes to the young witch, some asking about her day others begging for a chance. But she didn't budge, she'd just shake her head, laugh or consume the edible gifts he gave her with her friends.

His friends told him to get over it, it was becoming comical the amount of times he had been rejected, but he didn't care. Her boldness, cunningness, sense of humour was everything he wanted in a woman. Draco Malfoy liked a chase and he would not give up without a fight.

Y/N rolled her eyes when she sighted the ice blonde strolling down the stairs with an unknown Ravenclaw witch. This was the second girl she had seen this week and it was only Tuesday. She never understood why he continued to have relations with all these other girls when he desperately tried to pursue her. Perhaps it was his way of making her jealous, but it only made her resent him more.

The poor Ravenclaw witch left, batting her eyelashes at Draco. Everyone knew he would never see her again, but she didn't, which made Y/N feel sorry for her.

Y/N smelt him before she saw him.

"You coming to the party tonight darling?"Draco sat down next to Y/N, interrupting her thoughts.

She closed her book "are you going to be there?" She asked Draco who was flickering his gaze from her lips to her eyes. He licked his bottom lip and nodded eagerly.

"Then no."

Y/N stood up and walked out of the common room. Draco was left utterly confused, did she not like the roses he had left her?

"Come on Malfoy, give it up, she not interested" Blaise Zabini joined his friend in the seating area.

"I don't get it, why can't she give me a chance?" Malfoy huffed, confused at his latest rejection.

Blaise let out a loud laugh, holding his stomach  as he watched Draco.

"What?"

"You seriously don't know?"

Blaise then dropped his face realising his best friend really didn't understand what he was doing so wrong.

"Malfoy, you fuck a different girl every other day, Y/N sees all of it, why the hell would she want to date someone like that" he laughed.

Draco's face went into a scowl, his tactics clearly weren't working.

"I thought that would've made her jealous."

"Jealous? Crabbe has more of a chance dating her than you" Blaise cackled.

Draco stood up, stomping to his room. There was no feelings involved with the other girls, just a quick fuck, he would only think of Y/N whilst he done it anyway. But she didn't know that, so he would try again, tonight.

Y/N had left the common room only to be shoved into a wall by Hufflepuff who was crying her eyes out, running down the hall. At first she was angry but once she realised the witch from the year below was distressed she couldn't help but feel bad.

"What's wrong?" Y/N asked, rubbing the witches back.

The poor girl couldn't speak, she was stuttering all over the place, but one name made Y/N's hairs stand up Draco.

"W-we had sex and now he's with someone else."

Y/N consoled the younger witch and promised her she would deal with it.

Draco was wide eyed when he saw Y/N storm into his room. Red with anger, she threw her books onto his bed. Her hand was raised, ready to add some colour onto the pale boys skin, but she was too slow, he caught her wrist mid air and pushed her hand to her chest. Backing her against the wall.

"I've dreamed of moments like this, however in them you weren't trying to hit me" Draco drawled, his nose ran through Y/N's hair, inhaling the scent he loved so bad.

"You're a bastard" Y/N gritted, shoving Draco off her. "Don't fucking touch me!"

Draco's eyebrows furrowed "what's the problem darling?" He asked the girl he admired the most.

"You need to stop messing with these girls Draco, they're all distraught after being with you" Y/N growled.

Draco let out a small laugh.

"And you don't think I am? The girl I want the most can't even give me the time of day" he shouted back.

Y/N's mouth closed abruptly, she would not give in to him. "There's a reason for that, you're just a lad, someone who just wants to get there dick wet!"

Draco's frown turned into a smirk "I've only ever wanted you to wet my cock."

Y/N's breath hitched in her throat. Numerous conversations with Draco and he'd never used such vulgar words towards her.

Draco noticed this and a light bulb turned on in his head, maybe this could be his new approach, he was a master at dirty talk. He could easily make a girl cum by just his words alone — which he has done before.

He was slightly surprised that this is what Y/N liked, this only made him want her more, if that was even possible.

"You like that don't you?" Draco purred.

He stepped towards her again, a light pink shade painted on her cheeks.

"Stop Draco."

Y/N's hand went to reach the door knob behind her but Draco's cold hands stopped her.

His warm breath on her ear, he'd never had her in this position before "do you like when I talk to you like that?" He whispered.

A small whimper came from her throat.

"You filthy girl."

"Fuck, I could do so many things to you" Draco's knee pushed in between her legs, spreading them apart.

Y/N's breathing was heavy, she felt herself becoming wet, her underwear sticking to her pussy. She had to stay strong, she would not give him the satisfaction.

"I'd make you cum so hard, everyday" Draco breathed. "Fuck, I'd ruin you for every other man, stretch you so wide that you would be accustomed to my cock only" he growled.

"Shit."

She felt Draco's thigh coming in direct contact with her clothed clit.

"Let me make you mine Y/N, I want nothing more than to pleasure you and make you happy" Draco left a small kiss on Y/N's ear.

A knock came from behind them, bringing Y/N back to reality, she pushed him off her and swung the door open. Outside was another girl, she looked between them both, Y/N scoffed and walked out of his room. Draco was left in awe and a boner, which the unknown girl would be made to satisfy.

Later that night the party had come around Y/N wore her tight fitted forest green mini dress. It had a low back and a small slit on the upper thigh, she wore some black strappy heels to match with her outfit.

Whistles and cat calls were made as she walked into her houses party.

Y/N joined her fellow Slytherins, she was always down for a good time. Drinking, dancing and having fun in general.

She was known to be quite popular, she's what boys wanted and what girls wanted to be. That's one of many reasons why Draco was so infatuated with her.

She hadn't seen the Slytherin Prince yet, but Y/N knew he would be around. Probably with a different girl linked onto his arm.

Y/N found herself thinking about this afternoons conversation with him, she wanted more, but in the same breath she despised his actions.

She shook her head, maybe she was more than attracted to him but she didn't want to admit it. There was times when she would wonder how good he was in bed for girls to be crying and swooning over him. Maybe he was all talk, but she made a promise that she would never find out, even though a part of her wanted to.

Y/N had a few drinks, feeling herself loosen up and wanting to dance, she made her way to the centre of the common room. She swayed her hips to the beat, muggle music was playing which she enjoyed a lot. She closed her eyes feeling the sensual words of the song.

Draco had spotted her from when she first stepped into the party. He couldn't take his eyes off her, even when he had a red head witch attached to his arm. He wanted nothing more than to drag Y/N away and keep her locked in his room so no one else could see her provocative dance moves.

So he made his move, he left the red head alone and slithered through the crowds of wizards.

Finding his prize, he slipped behind her, snaking his long slender fingers around his waist and settling them. His hips moved in time with Y/N's, she knew it was him and purposely pushed her ass onto his groin, causing Draco to let out a quiet groan.

Her arms went behind her wrapped around his neck, her long nails scratching the back of his neck. He had to lean down as she was shorter than him, but he didn't mind, he was closer to her ear and that's exactly what she wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol but she wanted him to say filthy words to her, like before.

"If you were mine we wouldn't even be here right now" he growled, kissing her ear lobe.

"Why's that?" Y/N whispered, Draco's hands dug into her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"Because, I would be fucking you senseless, in this pathetic excuse of a dress."

Y/N moaned at his words, imagining his large hands running all over her body. Attacking her pussy with his tongue, she craved it. She was beginning to realise that she wanted Draco Malfoy, she would never tell him that though.

The music continued and so did their dancing.

"Perhaps if you we're lucky I would let you join the party again, only when my cum was inside you"

"Draco" she whimpered, one of his hands made its way up towards her neck, holding it with a light grip.

"All those other boys that eye fuck you would know you're mine, they'd see my cum running down your thighs, they'd see the wobble in your walk, your swollen lips and I would be there so they knew who you belonged to."

Y/N was wet, more than wet, she felt her arousal leaking onto her thighs. Her underwear was uncomfortable as it was soaked.

"Draco move your hand" she whispered. She felt his hand sitting in the middle of her ass, making it impossible to concentrate and dance.

"That's not my hand darling."

That was it for Y/N she needed to get away from him. "I'm going to use the bathroom" she rushed, hurrying away from him and finding the nearest bathroom.

She took a deep breaths, her nipples were erected, face was red. She'd never been this turned on before.

She stared at herself in the mirror, an awful ache down below. She needed some release, she ran into the bathroom stall, slamming it and locking it behind her. Her thighs began rubbing together but it didn't work.

Y/N growled in frustration and walked out of the bathroom stall. She was faced with Draco, he had lust in his eyes, his breathing was laboured. He leaned against the door, she watched as his hand went to the lock and turned it.

"Draco" Y/N said which came out almost inaudible.

He closed the gap between them, his erection was apparent, creating a tent in his trousers.

"Tell me to stop."

Y/N gulped, feeling his hands settle on either side of her face, cupping it gently, his darkened eyes remained on her lips.

"Tell me to stop Y/N."

She couldn't think, she was too turned on, she wanted satisfaction so badly. She wanted Draco to be the one to do it. His mouth inched further towards her own, she felt his breath on her lips.

"I won't be able to control myself if you don't ask me to stop right now" he mumbled, holding her face tighter.

Y/N had finally caved, she wanted him.

"Don't stop."

Draco's mouth instantly dove onto Y/N's. It was a desperate kiss, tongues were in and out of the others mouths. Teeth were clashing against one another's, Draco groaned at the taste of her mouth. He loved it, he knew no one else would compare to her.

Draco backed Y/N harshly against the sink, her lower back bending slightly, a small hiss came from her mouth at the force of his push. His hands were no longer on her face, they were everywhere. Y/N couldn't keep up, one moment they were on her thighs, then her waist, they brushed against her nipples.

Their mouths were still connected, they couldn't get enough of each other. Draco kicked her feet apart, one hand holding her neck, the other drew patterns on her inner thighs.

Y/N became more desperate for him, a small thrust from her hips made Draco laugh.

"Patience darling, I want this as bad as you do, but I want you to be ready for when I give you my cock, I don't want to hurt you."

His fingers brushed her clothed cunt, the friction between the lace and her clit was sending Y/N over the edge. "Fuck you're so wet, tell me it's because of me" Draco said hoarsely, it almost came out like a beg.

"Yes Draco."

Draco let out a strangled groan, pushing her underwear to the side so he could come into direct contact with her sensitive clit. He rubbed circles around it, causing Y/N to moan his name.

"Fuck, I can't believe I've finally got you like this" he moaned, feeling the wetness on his fingers. Y/N was withering beneath him, rubbing herself against his fingers, but Draco was taking his time.

A part of him wanted to savour this moment as he didn't know if this could happen again.

His middle finger entered Y/N with ease, her wetness surrounding his digit. Draco's hand fell from her throat onto the edge of the countertop, gripping it, turning his knuckles pale. He was enjoying this just as much as Y/N.

Draco's finger curved, stroking her rippled wall. The pad of his thumb still pleasuring her clit, Y/N was close, she wanted to cum so badly. He slipped in another finger, Y/N instantly squeezed them, nearing closer to her orgasm.

"You're so fucking tight, I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Draco's fingers pumped in and out of her quickly, Y/N was panting against his neck, she sucked and bit on his pale flesh. Her mark was now on his skin, Draco saw this in the mirror and oh he could've came right then and there.

"Oh God, Draco" Y/N cried into his shoulder, he had added another finger, stretching her out and preparing her for his cock. "Cum, fuck I want to taste you so bad, cum Y/N."

That was it for Y/N, her pussy tightened around his three fingers, his thumb continued to rub her clit. She came moaning his name "that's it" Draco cooed in her ear.

He pulled his soaked fingers out, watching them with hooded eyelids. Y/N watched him with a blush on her cheeks as he dipped each finger into his mouth, sucking and moaning at the taste.

"Better than I ever imagined."

But Draco wasn't finished, he wanted to be inside her, he wanted her to cum around his cock the same way she did with his fingers. He pulled her into a passionate kiss, not an eager one like before.

Y/N was spun around, her back against his chest, she was pushed forward by his large hands. Y/N bit her lip as she watched Draco eye her backside which was now exposed to him. He was so hot, she thought to herself.

Draco looked at her through the mirror, his trademark smirk now on his face. His hand raised and fell hard on her ass, causing her to jolt forward "that's for calling me a bastard."

He slapped her again.

"That's for ignoring my gifts."

And again.

"That's for rejecting me."

Y/N was a moaning mess, she was wetter than before. Draco saw this as he watched her exposed pussy "now look at you" he laughed.

"Bending over for me, waiting for me to fuck you."

"Fuck you Draco" Y/N spat, this was why she didn't want to give into him because he was a smug prick. Y/N went to get up, Draco gripped the back of her hair, pushing his erection between her ass cheeks. She let out a small sob.

"Exactly."

Y/N was pushed forward again, his hand remained on her lower back, holding her in place. "Keep your eyes on me darling."

Y/N felt Draco snap her underwear, he unbuttoned his trousers pushing them down with his boxers. Y/N's eyes went wide, it all made sense now, why the girls were always crying, itching to have sex with him.

It all made sense.

He was big, not big like 'oh that might satisfy you'. No, he was big big, Y/N couldn't believe it, she wondered how the hell he was going to fit that inside her. She was definitely not walking straight after this, he must've hid it well because she never expected him to be that large.

"This is yours, after this" he said whilst rubbing his tip up and down Y/N's entrance. "It belongs to you and so will I."

Draco's head was thrown back as he held onto Y/N's hip tightly. His other hand was in her hair, he pushed his tip inside her, groans came out of them both simultaneously. He pulled out and pushed into her again, this time making her take more of his dick.

It was never ending for Y/N, he just kept going, inch by inch he entered her. Stretching her so wide and reaching close to her cervix. Draco's face was red, his breathing was heavy.

"I- fuck, I can't, shit" Draco couldn't form a proper sentence, he was fully inside her, his cock was hugged so tight by her pussy he knew he was going to cum within minutes.

Draco pulled out halfway and pushed into her again, he repeated this action a few times, he saw through the mirror that Y/N's eyes were screwed shut.

"Shit, are you okay? I can stop, fuck, do you want me to stop? Is it hurti-" Draco was cut off by Y/N opening her eyes.

"Fuck me Draco."

His eyes widened, he nodded quickly, both hands were now gripping onto her hips, digging into her. He thrusted hard, a loud scream came from Y/N's mouth. Draco stalled but Y/N told him to keep going.

He picked up his pace, pulling 3/4 of the way out and slamming back into her. He was fucking her hard, with determination in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening, especially after their conversation this morning. Draco was on cloud nine.

"Oh fuck Draco."

"I know" he growled, he pulled her hips back at the same time to meet his aggressive thrusts. The sounds of their skin slapping together echoed throughout the bathroom, partnered with distance background music. The sound to Y/N was so erotic.

She was coming close to her second orgasm, Draco must've felt her clench around him as he let out a growl and started to rub her clit.

Y/N had never had sex like this before, she loved every bit of it. Draco's face whilst he was fucking her turned her on even more. He watched his cock slip out of her and then bit his lip when he pushed back into her. He was going to cum.

Draco pinched her clit, which was it for Y/N. She was screaming his name, her thighs shaking, her vision became blurred.

"Fuck, tell everyone who's making you cum like that" he grunted, his thrusts were now short and deep.

Y/N cried out as Draco continued to fuck her in order to chase his own orgasm. "Tell them who you belong to, who you always belonged to."

"You Draco, it's you."

That sent Draco over the edge, his thrusts were sloppy as he found himself cumming. He left bruises on Y/N's hips from his fingers.

Y/N moaned feeling his cum spill inside her, rope after rope of his warm, thick cum it was so much. Draco had never came like this before, he found himself not knowing when it would end.

Y/N was filled up with it, he pulled out, two more spurts landing on her ass cheeks and then his dick went soft again. He let out a string of curse words, before he ran to grab tissue.

He wiped Y/N's red ass, removing his cum and then wiped himself. Y/N was still catching her breath as she watched as Draco pulled his boxers up, followed by his trousers.

"Are you okay?" He asked her with concerned eyes. Y/N couldn't speak, she just stared at him, her mouth agape. She watched him as if she was star struck.

"Say something."

Draco looked around nervously, slightly feeling uncomfortable as if he'd done something wrong. Y/N cleared her throat and stood up as straight as she could. Her pussy was hurting, her ass was sore, she could feel his cum sliding down her inner thighs.

"Y/N, fuck, if I've done something wrong just tell me."

Y/N shushed him with her finger, she pulled him towards her by his shirt. Draco was confused, even more when she pulled him into a sweet kiss. He returned the kiss, melting into it, Y/N pulled away and scanned his features.

He was blushing "do you" he trailed, looking down at her inner thighs "should I get a tissue for that?"

"Leave it, I want all the boys that eye fuck me to know I'm yours."

[watchmegetobsessed]

Floating Through Space - Harry Styles

a/n: im literally bursting from excitement over this, i’ve been working on this fic for so long and im pretty satisfied with how it turned out so i hope you’ll like it too! pleas please PLEASE don’t let this flop bc it means a lot to me 🥺 the song featured in the fic is obviously an existing one, i linked it into the right place so you can listen to it and get the vibe of it, that song is what inspired the whole story so i recommend giving it a listen! leave your thoughts and reactions, i can’t wait to read what you thought about the fic!!

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

warning: drug use, smut and everything thats wrong with patriarchy lmao

word count: 25.7k

masterlist

This dressing room is no different than the other one thousand you’ve been to. The plaster on the wall is all cracked up, the red bricks peeking from under it in the corner, the dusty couch looks like it’s been through hell and just sitting on it would probably give you STDs. The mirror on the wall is cracked, the few water bottles you’ve gotten are not even cooled, they’re a warm room temperature. The glorious life of a musician, right?

Moments like this you question why you didn’t just choose to be the obedient daughter and became a surgeon like your parents always wanted you to be. You’d have a steady future and a nice income, a decent career instead of having to perform at a different bar every other night for nicks and pennies that barely cover your rent at the end of the month. But that wouldn’t be you. Wearing scrubs, smiling at patients, throwing out your dignity along with your dreams, you wouldn’t have been true to yourself if you chose that life. Besides, you’d still be in school, barely nearing the halfpoint of your education if you decided to go along with your parents’ plan and it’s clearer than daylight that the school system is just not for you. It would be pure torture if you had to sit in classes for a decade just to work a job you never even wanted.

Looking around the small dressing room you cast your eyes over your band that consists of three people. It’s a temporary set up from three guys you met along your way, all of the struggling musicians as you and you saw the as opportunities. Places would rather have a band play with several men in it than just put one single woman on stage and pray for the best. It’s the sexist part of the industry not enough people talk about. You can’t even count how many pitying stares you’ve gotten through the years when you stated that you want to make a career as a solo female singer.

“Honey, you ain’t making it without at least one man behind you,” is what they’ve always told you. So you’ve gotten yourself three until you could stand on your own two feet without a male backup. You’re using them just as much as they are using you. They were already a band when you joined them, the lead singer just disappeared to thin air with her boyfriend and left them incomplete, so you joined forces to navigate your way together in the depth of the music industry, looking for that big jump everyone is dreaming about.

Standing in front of the cracked mirror you fix your eyeliner, checking yourself once again. Your thrifted checkered suit looks radiant on you especially with the neon green see-through top underneath, showing off a black bralette. It’s a male suit, hanging a little baggy on you at places, but you still feel like you’re pulling off the look. Your thick eyeliner makes your eyes appear even bigger than they already are and your hair is in an unruly mop of curls, making your appearance complete.

You’ve received tons of critiques over your outfits, but they are the only thing you are not changing on yourself.

“Don’t wear men’s pants.”

“You’d look better in a dress.”

“Why do you look like a guy?”

“What a shame to hide such a gorgeous body in clothes that weren’t meant for girls.”

Each and every comment is burned into your mind forever and you’ll never stop fighting against the judgment women has to face for not being the conventional beauty all females are expected to be.

There’s a knock on the door and the person behind it barges in without waiting for an answer. The tall, bald guy rushes in, looking a little stressed, but that’s kind of the normal for the owner.

“I’m not sure how to say it, but… you are not performing tonight,” he simply states and your anger sets in faster than ever. You’ve had gigs get cancelled, but not minutes before going on stage. However, he is still not done with his little informative speech. “And your instruments need to be used by another band tonight.”

“What the fuck?” Trey, the drummer jumps to his feet. “No way I’m letting someone else play my drum set!”

“You’ll get half the money if you let it happen,” the owner answers.

“Wait, what band did you find minutes before start?” you ask in complete shock.

“There’s this group celebrating a birthday in the VIP section and some boy band is apparently with them. Birthday girl requested to have the stage for them.”

“And you’re just cancelling on us that easily?” you snap.

“Not that I have a choice. If I don’t do it they are leaving and I’m losing a big amount from the night. Sorry guys, but this is strictly business.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” you laugh bitterly, staring up at the ceiling. This would have been a great chance for all of you, you’ve been trying to get a gig here for months, knowing that a lot of people from the industry fancies it, you might have caught someone’s eyes, but it’s definitely not happening now.

“Are you letting them use your stuff or not?” he urges, hands on his hips as he looks at the four of you impatiently.

“But what about our gig? We’ve been on the waiting list for months, when can we actually perform?”

“Uh, I don’t know. We’re pretty booked, maybe sometime in the summer?”

“Summer?” you gasp in disbelief. “It’s fucking February!”

“Are you lending them your stuff or not? I don’t have the time for your little tantrum!”

“Yeah, if we get the money they can use it,” Connor, the bass guitarist answers before you explode right then and there. The owner walks out with that, leaving the four of you behind, forgotten and humiliated.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Trey groans, plopping down on the couch, covering his eyes with his tattooed arm.

“This is fucking bullshit,” you scoff under your breath, reaching for your bag to grab your pack of cigarettes you keep in it especially for cases like this, whenever you are about to go around and punch every living thing in the face in your reach.

Kicking the backdoor open you lean against the cold brick wall as you light the cigarette and start puffing vigorously, trying to get as much nicotine into your system as possible. You notice a group of guys standing near you in the alleyway, laughing on something, having a great time, oblivious to how hurt and angry you are feeling just a few feet away. You hear frictions of their conversation and it’s clear they are British judging from the accents that are hitting your ears. You finish your cigarette pretty fast and immediately reach for another one even though you know you shouldn’t have even smoked that first one, but you just can’t help it. It’s either the smoking or you’re going after the owner and kick him in the balls for being a bitch.

“Oi, can I ask for one?”

Glancing to the side you see that one of the guys has approached you, smiling at you warmly he nods towards the pack in your hands. Nodding you hold it out for him and he takes one. Before he could even ask for the lighter, you throw it at him and he catches it easily.

“Thanks,” he nods, holding the cigarette between his lips before lighting it and passing the lighter back to you.

“Lou, you really shouldn’t smoke,” you hear one of the others speak up as the rest of the group slowly joins you and the one you just helped out.

“S’fine, don’t act like me motha’,” he shrugs, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“At least not before we go on stage,” the blonde one shakes his head at his friend and your eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh, so you’re the band that’s gonna play?” you ask with a forced smile, already feeling your blood boiling. Who the fuck they are and why do they deserve to steal your gig?!

“We’re just playing a couple of songs,” another speaks up shrugging his shoulders. “No big deal.”

“Glad it’s no big deal to you, because it would have been to the band that was robbed from tonight because of you,” you spat at them, clearly surprising them with your harsh reply.

“I assume you are part of that band, right?” the on with the curly hair speaks up, his green eyes burning down at you.

“Nice job, Sherlock,” you groan, taking another drag from your cigarette.

“You could play with us,” he offers, the others nodding in agreement.

“I don’t need your pity,” you scowl at them. “Bringing me on stage to try to make yourselves look like the good guys is not necessary. I’m just fed up with people like you.” The truth is coming out of you easier than ever. All the years on injustice is seemingly erupting from you, pouring down on these five.

“People like us?” the dark haired one asks with a confused look.

“Yeah,” you nod with a bitter chuckle. “Five conventionally hot guys grouped together for a band, making every girl between the age of ten and thirty scream just by a wink. I don’t know where you came from, but I’m betting my head that you’ve had it easier than others.”

“It’s not nice to assume things when you don’t know anything about us,” Curly speaks up, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, I’ve seen enough not to care about what’s nice and what’s not,” you chuckle shaking your head as you take another long puff from your cigarette and throw the butt to the ground, stepping on it. “Who are you even? Some Back Street Boys 2.0?” you ask, folding your arms on your chest, earning a heartfelt laugh from the blondie.

“I kinda like her,” he smirks around his friends. “We’re called One Direction, you haven’t heard of us?”

“Not even once,” you shake your head.

“That’s kinda humbling,” the one with the cigarette smiles. “We’re from the UK. I’m Louis, that’s Liam, Niall, Zayn and Harry.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but it would be nicer if you guys didn’t just take my gig and lessen me with half my paycheck,” you smile at them sweetly before rolling your eyes.

“Wait, what? They’re not paying you because of us?” Liam asks.

“We only get half the money for lending you our instruments.”

“Let us pay the other half then,” Harry offers right away, but you just laugh at him.

“It’s not about the money, Prince Harry,” you smirk at him, tilting your head to the side. “It’s about justice. How is that air that you just waltz in here and take our time and chance? What if there’s a producer out there who would have liked our music and offered a record deal? What if someone would have taken a video of us performing, put it up to YouTube and it would have gone viral? I assume you never had to go through this phase where you have to beg for every minute on stage so you can at least earn enough money to pay rent. You don’t seem like the type of band who had to perform in smelly bars four times a week for a ridiculous amount of money.”

They stay silent and you know you were right.

“I’m not saying you had it easy, but I’m sure you have no idea what it could have been. And I’m fed up with men walking over others just to have what they want.”

“Look, it wasn’t our intention to ruin your gig. Have your set with your band and then we’ll play a few songs too after that,” Liam offers, but you shake your head.

“No, we weren’t supposed to be just your opening act and it’ll turn into that. So have a nice evening, enjoy your showtime, I’m out.”

Pushing yourself away from the wall you walk back into the building and grabbing your stuff from the dressing room you move out to the bar area, desperately needing a drink.

Sitting on the last stool at the bar you ask for straight tequila and two vodka shots knowing it’ll do the job for the evening and pulling your phone out of your bag, you open up Google. Searching the name One Direction you’re met with quite a few hits and you start scrolling through them, reading about the five boys you just had an encounter with. Just as you thought, they didn’t start off as a traditional band, having put together at a talent show just three years ago, getting such a major push so early in their career, they have no idea how struggling it is to make it in the industry. They surely had their fair share of ups and downs, but they will never know what it’s like to sweat blood and tears for your dream when everyone just wants to drag you down and tell you you’ll never make it.

The shots and half of the tequila is gone, your band joined you to at least get wasted as you watch the technicians set the stage for a band that’s not you, but gonna play with your stuff. Sitting on the stool you’re having a fairly good time thanks to the alcohol when you spot Harry making his way towards you in the crowd.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready backstage?” you ask with an eyeroll as he joins your little circle, the guys eyeing him curiously. Ignoring your comment he pulls out a piece of paper handing it to you. As you unfold it you almost want to throw it back at him.

“This is to make up for what you lost tonight,” he says nodding down at the check in your hands.

“I told you I don’t need your money,” you firmly answer, but Trey grabs the check from your hands.

“But I do!” he snorts. He is such a pig.

“Let us do at least this one thing for you. We really do feel bad for taking your time and the offer to come on stage with us still stands.”

“No thank you,” you shoot him a fake smile before downing the rest of your tequila, the drink burning down your throat. Looking back at Harry you keep your eye locked on him as he watches you intently. He is a good-looking guy, you have to give that to him, but the circumstances you’ve met under just made it impossible for you not to hate him for the privileges he is being handed every day while you fight your way through life.

Harry sighs in defeat nodding as he licks his lips. For a split second, guilt takes over you for the way you’ve been acting towards him and the other boys, but then you remember that you don’t even know him. For all you know, he can be a royal asshole with the face of an angel. You can’t let guilt chew you and spit you out, you have to keep your guards up.

“Alright. We really are sorry. I’ll… see you around,” he nods before turning around to walk away.

You watch them perform their biggest hits, the whole place going crazy over the impromptu One Direction concert they just got for basically free. The VIP area is going crazy over the boys and with each sang song, you feel yourself getting more and more hopeless about your future as a musician. Here you are on a Saturday night, robbed from a job you’ve worked hard for, watching five British boys take your place on the stage that’s supposed to be yours tonight. You catch Harry’s eyes quite often while he is on stage, he keeps glancing in your way, a hint of guilt glistening in his green irises as he sings their songs with perfect vocals. You can tell he feels bad for the situation and you didn’t make it any easier on him or any of the boys, but you’re not really one to beat around the bush. They deserved to know what others in the industry below them have to deal with every day. It’s not always as glamorous as people might think and you’re the living example of that.

You don’t stick around for long after the boys are done on stage, you help your bandmates pack their stuff and head home before Harry or any other members of One Direction can find you.

Walking past the news stand that’s on the corner of your street, you stop upon seeing your own face smiling back at you from the cover of People Magazine, the title catching your attention.

“Grammy nominee Y/N Y/L/N shares her secret to her one of a kind fashion style.”

Grabbing the magazine off the stand you pay for it and continue your way home, holding the copy to your chest with a warm feeling in your heart.

It’s been only a week since the nominations have come out, but it still feels like a dream. You didn’t just get nominated in the category of Best New Artist, but your album Hands of Power got nominated as Best Album and your biggest hit of last year, Sleepless is running for the title of Best song. Three nominations the first time earning a spot on the list. Not bad.

Just as you walk into your place, your phone buzzes, the ever so smiling face of your manager staring back at you from the screen.

“Hey!” you sing into the phone, holding it to your ear with your shoulder, taking off your boots as you walk further down the hallway.

“Are you home already?”

“Yes, just arrived.”

“Great, I’ll be there in ten,” she announces and ends the call. Chuckling you just shake your head, dropping the phone to the coffee table before you move to the bedroom and change into something more comfortable. The flared jeans looked fire on you today, but you rather wear something looser when you’re at home.

You barely have the time to start the water for a tea when Taylor storms through your door using her keys you’ve given her some time ago. She is wearing all white that looks fantastic with her almond skin tone, a knitted sweater tucked into a maxi skirt, paired with strappy heels, she is always so elegant and perfectly dressed for whatever occasion.

“I have knee-shaking news, girl!” she announces as she throws her purse to the couch before joining you in the kitchen.

“I’m going to be the next Bond girl?” you joke smiling to yourself as you get two mugs from the cupboard.

“Better than that!” she cheers. “You are going to perform at the Grammy’s, baby!” she screams throwing her hands into the air as your jaw drops to the floor.

“You’re not just kidding with me, right?!”

“I would never play such a dirty joke with you. It’s one hundred percent true, I had an hour long phone call with some bloke today and they want you.”

“Yes!” you scream in excitement, jumping up and down like a child that just got a pack of candy. “I’ll make the Grammy’s my bitch!” you cheer, making Taylor laugh.

“Alright, Miss Dominatrix. We still have a lot of things to discuss and there’s one more thing about the performance.”

“Oh God, is this the part where you say something that ruins it completely?” you sigh in defeat as you take the kettle and pour the water into the mugs, dropping a filter into each.

“I don’t think it ruins it,” she shakes her head, but you have a feeling you won’t like what she has to say. “They want it to be like a… joined performance. You’d start off with Sleepless, then it would kind of mesh into your partner’s song and they would end it with one of their own songs.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound bad,” you nod.

“See?” she smiles warmly.

“Do we know who I’m going to perform with?”

“Harry Styles.”

You almost drop both mugs the moment the name is mentioned, but you manage to get them to the kitchen island and slip them to the counter, Taylor giving you a questioning look at your wide-eyed expression.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s… gonna work,” you clear your throat.

“You’re not sure your duet with the biggest male artist can work? Why is that?”

Licking your lips you try to find the right words to say it, but you’re not even sure why you got so shocked over it. Probably because the last time you saw him, you were still nobody, playing gigs at no name bars and he took your spot on the stage with One Direction. It’s weird, but since you’ve finally made it in the industry, you haven’t crossed paths with him and this would be the first time you meet after seven years.

“I’m not sure if he remembers it, but we’ve met before.”

“You and Harry?”

“Yes. I was playing with The Gambits years ago, it was before I started putting out covers on my own. We were supposed to play at this bar but they cancelled on us, because One Direction was there that night and someone wanted them to play instead of us, so we lost the gig. I had a pretty… harsh conversation with him and the band, basically telling them that their pretty man privilege is what ruins the careers of talented women.” “Oh Jesus, Y/N. Why haven’t I heard of this before?” Taylor sighs leaning on her elbows on the countertop.

“Not that it’s something that would just come up in a conversation,” you shrug. “And as I said, he might not even remember it. It was a long time ago.”

“I know you are all about your rebellious past, good for you, but sometimes you’re making my job really fucking hard,” she sighs, grabbing her phone, already typing a message to God knows who. “Starting beef with Harry Styles before you even made a name for yourself? Who does that?”

“It’s not beef!” you protest. “I just gave them my piece of mind.”

“We’ll see what he thinks about it. I have to make a few calls,” she announces before walking out, already on the phone with someone.

Sitting on a stool, staring into your mug you think back at the time you met him. It feels like a lifetime ago when you were fighting to stay afloat, trying to make through the days, barely hanging on a thread. You didn’t know that five years later you’d sign your first record deal as a solo artist and seven years from that night, you’d be a Grammy nominee. It was a long and challenging time for sure with way more downs than ups until you finally got on track and you’ll never forget where you came from. Not when even as an acknowledged artist, you still face judgment and hatred no matter what you do. Being a solo female singer sometimes feels like harder than being president of the country and there are just so many things that need to change in the world of music, you will never stop fighting for girls that are in the same shoe you once were.

Through the years you’ve followed the career of the boys, especially Harry’s. You read about Zayn’s parting, their so-called hiatus and how they all went solo soon after. Genre-wise Harry’s work is what stands the closest to you, and you’ve witnessed all the backlash he has faced during his time in the spotlight. The shaming for whatever women he chose to date, his choice to get into acting and the way he has been dressing. People just don’t seem to understand they can’t have control over any of these and they’ve tried to bring him down one too many times, but he has been thriving lately, anyone can see that.

Your mug empties out by the time Taylor returns, taking her previous stop at the kitchen island.

“Alright, I set up a meeting with Harry and his manager for tomorrow. They still haven’t decided on the performance and apparently, Harry would like to meet you before giving his answer.”

“Oh God, he remembers me,” you growl under your breath.

“Or maybe he doesn’t and just wants to meet the person he is supposed to perform with. We can never know. We’re meeting them at his manager’s office at eleven tomorrow.”

One night is enough to make you go crazy over such a small thing as meeting someone. It’s not like you are nervous to see him because of who he is, it’s more about knowing what he thinks about you after all these years, in case he remembers you. He saw you as a struggling artist at rock bottom and though your encounter didn’t last long and he didn’t know you on a deeper, personal level, you still fear that he remembers and thinks that you’ve lost yourself over the years.

Authenticity has been a huge issue in your life. Early in your career, everyone wanted to change you. The way you dress, your hair, the style of music you write, nothing was good enough as it was, they wanted you to become someone else, someone who was not you. You fought all attempts until the right person came through and accepted you as yourself, but a tiny voice in the back of your mind kept telling you that they succeeded, that somewhere along the fight you did lose yourself and became what you always feared to be.

Meeting Harry is like meeting a piece of your past and having to face what you’ve become. It’s going to be like a mirror right in front of you and what you’ll see might not be what you expect.

Wearing your bright red dungaree with an oversized vintage shirt and a pair of white sneakers, you definitely don’t look like you’re dressed for a business meeting, but when did you ever? Pushing your hair back with a pair of cat eye shades, you leave a little earlier, knowing well traffic is horrible in these hours. You arrive to the office building just minutes before eleven, Taylor has already texted that she has arrived and which office you should come to. When you finally find the door you’ve been looking for, you take a moment to yourself before knocking.

“Come in!” a male voice calls out and you walk in. Taylor is sitting on the sofa that’s pushed against the wall on the left, a man is sitting behind the enormous desk and then there is Harry, standing by the window, his hands hidden in the pockets of his black slacks, and old Rolling Stones t-shirt hanging loosely on his frame as his eyes meet yours upon your arrival.

“Hey, I would say I’m sorry for being late, but I’m actually exactly on time,” you smirk, closing the door behind you. The man stands from the desk and walking around he meets at the front, holding a hand out for you.

“Perfectly on time,” he smiles warmly. “I’m Jeffrey Azoff, nice to meet you.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too.”

“And this here is Harry,” he motions towards the man who has stepped closer and as you look back at him, you’re met with a blank expression for a moment so you can’t figure out if he remembers you or not. But then, a tiny smile tugs on his lips as he holds his hand out for you.

“We’ve met before, right?” he simply questions, and your eyes flicker over to Taylor in a kind of “See? I told you!” manner before you look back at Harry and shake his hand.

“Yeah, we have,” you nod. “A long time ago.”

“Congrats for your nominations,” he smirks, his hand letting go of yours and your let out a soft chuckle.

“Well, thank you. Back at you.”

“Alright, why don’t we start this discussion? We have a lot to go over,” Jeff suggests and you sit beside Taylor while Harry stays near the window, as if he is trying to soak up the sunshine coming through it that’s painting his skin a golden shade.

The concept is simple. The performance would be a mashup from Sleepless and Harry’s song Golden with an exciting and fresh way of mixing the two songs together in the middle, making your song flow into his in a smooth and effortless way. The songs sound compatible and you already have an idea how to mash them together for the transition, but you can’t help but feel doubts over the performance.

“What are your concerns exactly?” Jeff questions.

“Not to come off too harsh, but why is my song the first one?” you ask, earning a few puzzled looks. “If Harry finishes it off, he is going to be the one people will remember more and he’ll get the applause as well. The riffs in the songs allow them to be switched, how come it’s not me who comes second?”

You can see the shock on Jeffrey’s face at how straight-forward you were about your concern and that you even dared to speak up about the issue. He clearly hasn’t had to face anything similar before and when he glances at Harry you follow his gaze as well, but instead of shock, what you see on his face is amusement. He is smirking, tapping his fingers against his chin as he stares back at you.

“She has a point,” he nods and you take a deep breath. For a moment, you really thought this is going to be the part where you are thrown off and Harry makes the performance only his.

“I, uhh—this is what’s been requested,” Jeff answers and you tilt your head.

“Okay, can we make a request to change it?” you simply ask, eyeing Taylor next to you who is typing on her iPad vigorously, taking notes of everything that’s said. She is already used to what you’re like, she is not even surprised you came up with the prompt to change.

“Hold on, so just because you want to be second, you get to be?” Harry questions, but he doesn’t come off as harsh, it seems like he is entertained by the conversation. “Does this mean I don’t deserve to be the second one?”

“That’s-That’s not what I meant,” you answer, taken aback from his accusation and you hate to admit, but he is right. You addressed the issue, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the spot either.

“Alright, so then we need to seek a solution that benefits the both of us,” he offers, walking closer from the sunlight and you follow his every movement.

“We could do some kind of medley? Do an ultimate mashup from more songs and have more smaller parts split between us, finishing it together,” you suggest and he nods.

“That could work, but I have something else on my mind.”

“And what would that be?” Jeff asks, a little lost about the situation as he watches the two of you exchange ideas.

“We could write a song together, a duet, and perform that instead of our solo stuff.”

“What?” you snap right away. “You want to write a whole new song just for the Grammy’s?”

“Why not?” he smiles carefreely. “We have almost two entire months to do it, albums have been written in shorter periods, I’m sure we can handle just one song. And I think a collaboration would be a hit for the both of us now.”

You look at Taylor who just stares back at you, ignoring the panic in your eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” she tells you. “I can see the collaboration working, it could be a huge hit.”

“And what, we’re gonna release it as a single after the show? Whose song is it going to be? I don’t have an album coming up until next year, do you get to have it on your third one then?”

“We can put it out as just a single. No one has to have it on any albums,” Harry replies. “If we released it after the show, it would be just the right timing. Neither of us had any new songs out in a while.” Clenching your jaw you’re trying to find a way out of this collaboration, though you’re not even sure yourself why. Taylor sees right through you, knowing well you’re planning your escape, but she has other plans apparently.

“Y/N, let’s have a few words outside,” she pushes herself up and pulls you with her. Once the door is shut behind the two of you she starts right away. “What the fuck is your problem? The song is a huge thing, it would be an instant hit with him on it!”

“Why do I need a song with him to stay relevant?” you question, folding your arms on your chest.

“No one said it’s about that. But we both know it would be a great push to your name that Jordan has stomped over not so long ago, calling you a Feminist Nazi.”

“Don’t even fucking mention him!” you whisper yell, refusing to even think about that trashbag of a man that ruined your life with his fake accusations.

“Look, I know what you are thinking, that you’ll be seen as just an object next to him, a pair of boobs and nice legs, but that’s not his brand. He doesn’t need you to be sexy next to him, he is known for his honest and real works that go farther than just twerking and being a hoe. We both know he produces meaningful music, so why are you so against it?”

“I just… I-I’m scared to work with him,” you finally admit and it’s the first thing today that surprises Taylor.

“Scared? Thought you’re not scared of anything,” she huffs.

“I never said that,” you give her a look. “Harry met me when I was nobody, it was just me and my big mouth, trying to find my breakout. What if we start working together and he sees that I completely lost that version of myself? I would feel like a liar, an impostor.”

“You are overreacting,” Taylor sighs. “You’ve changed on your way here, but I doubt you are that far from the girl he met before. I know we didn’t meet just a few years after, but I can assure you, you’re still that big-mouthed pain in the ass who fights every norm in the industry like no one else.”

You know she is right, she is always right. Taylor knows you too well, that’s why you love working with her, but sometimes, her honesty throws you way off, especially when she is stating the truth.

The two of you rejoin the two men in the office and they both look at you with anticipation as you fold your arms on your chest and move your gaze over to Harry.

“I would… love to work on a song with you.”

When you agreed to work with Harry you didn’t think you’d find yourself heading over to his house a few days later to have a writing session, but he offered right away that day in the office and Taylor accepted it before you could protest. You’ve had a day filled with meetings and fittings and now you’re rolling up his driveway after punching the security code in that he shared with you over text.

You’ve exchanged numbers on the spot and just like that, you’ve become one of the few people on this world that could contact Harry Styles anytime they want to.

You chose to be casual for the occasion, wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white hoodie, you like to be comfortable whenever you’re working on new music and Harry’s presence won’t change your ways about that. You’re not sure what to expect, if you’re being honest you’re still afraid of being alone with Harry and do such an emotional thing together as writing a song.

The front door opens just as you get out of your car, grabbing your bag from the passenger seat. Harry walks out wearing a pair of shorts and a green hoodie, looking like he hasn’t left the house all day.

“Hey, you found the address easily?” he asks smiling as you walk up to him.

“Yeah, everything went fine.”

“Do you want something to drink or eat maybe?” he offers as the two of you walk inside. If you’re being honest, you’re starving, the last time you had anything to eat was between two meetings around ten, but nothing since then, just a granola bar. But you’re a first time guest, you can’t just eat up his fridge, like you’re old pals, right?

However, Harry can see right through you.

“You haven’t had anything in a long time, right?” he softly asks and you purse your lips, feeling awkward already and you haven’t been here for more than two minutes. “I can make you a sandwich, if you’d like.” “Harry, no need, I—“ “No need, but I want to. Come on,” he nods at you, making you follow him into the kitchen. “So, who would have thought we would be here now, huh?” he smirks at you as he gathers the ingredients and starts working on your food while you sit on one of the stools at his kitchen island.

“Not me,” you admit chuckling. “I kind of didn’t think I would see you again, I mean, personally. I was seeing you a lot on TV after that.”

“Now might be a good time to confess that, that night wasn’t the last time I saw you.”

“What?”

“I went to one of your gigs a few weeks later. Stayed at the back, I just really wanted to see you play.”

“And what did you think?” you ask tilting your head to the side. Harry smirks, his eyes meeting yours before they return to the food under his hands.

“You absolutely smashed it. And I felt even worse for taking your time away that night. The people were robbed from a mind-blowing performance and had to see five annoying guys clown on the stage,” he laughs making you chuckle too. “I wasn’t surprised when your name surfaced a few years later. Knew you’d make it at one point.” He joins you at the island and slides the plate in front of you with a warm smile.

“Thank you,” you mumble smiling shyly before you start eating and only after the first bite you feel just how hungry you’ve been. “Now that we are at it, I want to apologize for the way I talked to you guys back then. I feel like I was a bigger asshole than I should have been and the whole situation wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“No need to apologize,” he shakes his head. “You were absolutely right. We had no business being on stage that night and what you said actually made us think about where we came from and appreciate our career more. You were right about having it easy at the beginning. We never had the phase where we had to push our way to the top like other artists, our first days were broadcasted on TV, giving us the biggest push ever.”

It’s good to hear he is not holding grudges against you for whatever went down in the past. You eat in silence while Harry types a response to a message on his phone before turning it with the screen down to pay his full attention to you.

“I actually just messaged Niall that we are working together and he is losing his shit over it,” he chuckles softly.

“You guys still talk?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Not all of us thought,” he adds, pressing his lips together.

“You miss being with the band?”

“It’s… good to rely on someone in certain situations. As a solo artist, you only have yourself and that’s about it. But I think you already know that.”

“I never really liked being in a band,” you admit.

“How come? I think you fit in well with The Gambits.”

You shrug, chewing on your bite slowly. It’s probably not the best time to admit that you prefer working on your own, when you’re about to get into a duet with him.

“I uhh… I always imagined myself being a solo artist and I just couldn’t stay with the guys too long, especially when I got my record deal.”

“Why?” Letting out a long breath you lick your lips looking at him.

“I would have never made it in a band with three guys. It would have always been about which one I’m sleeping with, who am I having an affair with or if I’m lesbian because I’m not hooking up with any of them. This is just how it goes for women.”

Harry stays quiet, taking your words in as you finish the sandwich that was literally lifesaving. You wash the plate even when he tells you to just leave it in the sink, and once that’s done, the two of you move over to his little home studio in the basement of his house.

“So, where do we start?” you ask, making yourself comfortable in one of the armchairs while he grabs an acoustic guitar and sits on the one next to you.

“How do you usually start writing?” he asks scratching his chin before he rests his hands on the body of the guitar.

“Well, most of the times I write when I’m pissed about something,” you huff and Harry smirks at you.

“Nothing pissed you off lately?”

“Not enough to make me write a song,” you point out. “See, this is one of the reasons why I was hesitant to write a song with you. It doesn’t come that easily for me.”

“And what were the other reasons?” You shut your mouth at his question, you weren’t expecting him to pick it up, but apparently, he listens more than you thought.

“It’s… a long story.”

“And we have all the time,” he smiles slyly. “But of course, don’t feel pressured to share. I just thought it would be nice to get to know each other more so we can work together easier.”

Harry starts strumming his guitar gently, playing random riffs as you watch him, chewing on your bottom lip. Taylor asked you to try and be more open than you usually are and though part of you wants to keep the wall high between you and him, something is telling you to try and reach out to him.

“I didn’t want to do it, because I didn’t want to be seen as just a pretty face next to you. In duets between a man and a woman, females are often seen as just an object, a sight for the eyes but not as serious artists. I worked hard to be taken seriously and I was hesitant about collaborating with you even though your music is not necessarily what I should fear.”

Harry looks back at you with an unreadable expression and you feel like he is judging you for standing up for yourself. Your fight for yourself is often mistaken as “being a bitch” or “being too sensitive” and the amount of times you’ve been told to just chill is upsetting.

“Well, good thing then that I won’t write music about twerking,” he then finally speaks up, a smile breaking his blank expression.

“But you do write a lot about sex,” you point out with a smirk.

“That I do, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be sexist at the same time.”

“You’re right,” you nod smiling.

 The writing process turns out to be harder than you thought. You’re not specifically inspired and Harry is the person to just throw things around until he finds something he likes. The two of you put together is kind of chaotic as you try to come up with something useful.

Two hours later you have a raw version of a melody that could serve as a chorus, but nothing else, no full melody, no lyrics. And if you’re being honest, you don’t like that chorus that much either.

“It’ll be fun to just stand on stage for three minutes and do absolutely nothing, because we couldn’t write anything,” you groan, sliding lower in your seat, rubbing your face with your hands.

“It’s literally our first session and we have plenty of time, Y/N. Don’t stress about it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t know how not to stress?”

“I literally haven’t had a stressfree day since about 2007, so no, I don’t know.”

“You can’t chill even when you smoke?” he asks and you give him a puzzled look. “What, you smoke, don’t you?”

“Cigarettes? I put it down in 2015.”

“No, I’m not talking about cigarettes,” Harry chuckles softly. “You don’t smoke weed?” You shyly shake your head. “Really? I would have sworn you’re the type to relax with a good joint. Want to try it?”

“What? Now?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Why not?” he shrugs and walks over to the little side table in the corner of the room and reaching into it he simply pulls a little plastic bag out with three joints in them.

“Are you just casually keeping joints around your house?”

“I don’t really smoke them, they make me feel sleepy. But some of my friends like it so I keep a few around,” he explains as he takes one out and puts the rest back. “You want to try?”

“I-I’m not sure… I have to drive back home.”

“You can stay for the night, I have three guest bedrooms,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Again, not trying to pressure you, I’m just offering.”

“Are you gonna smoke?”

“We can share one if you want. I would recommend smoking one by yourself for the first time.”

“Okay,” you nod shortly as you watch him tip-tap the joint a little, rolling it between his fingers before he takes it between his lips and reaches for a lighter. “Wait, shouldn’t we do it somewhere outside? The smoke is gonna get stuck in here.”

Harry stops, thinking about what you said and he nods. Grabbing the guitar he asks you to follow him and the two of you move up and out to the terrace, sinking into his lounge chairs. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as you watch Harry light the joint and take the first few puffs. As he exhales the smoke he holds the joint out for you and you take it, hesitantly putting it between your lips as you inhale for the first time. You can’t help but scowl at the taste, the whole act of smoking feeling strange after years of smoking your last cigarette. You keep it down a little before puffing the smoke out and passing the joint back to Harry.

You keep switching until you make it past half of it and you finally start to feel the effect of it. You feel light, like you’re floating in the pool that’s in front of you, you can almost feel the water touching your skin yet you’re still dry.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, blinking at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m feeling… fine,” you chuckle softly as you take the joint from him and drag from it again. “Do you do other drugs?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, not often though. I’m not trying to pick up an addiction,” he smiles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Have you done anything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Didn’t have the money for it before and then didn’t have time later. But I never really felt the need either.”

“And you said you put down the cigarette as well?”

“Yeah. I knew I had to do that sooner or later, it was starting to change my voice and I couldn’t have that.”

“That’s what we always told Louis, that his voice will turn to shit if he keeps smoking,” Harry chuckles softly, dragging from the joint before he passes it over to you, not much left of it.

“Did he ever stop?”

“I think he put it down when his son was born, but I don’t know if he started again.”

You give the joint back for him to finish it and you watch him put it out in the ashtray before he sinks down in the lounge chair, closing his eye for a bit, breathing steadily. You find it amusing how you can still see the guy that handed you a check years ago at that bar, trying to make things right, but he also looks like a completely different person at the same time. He is more mature and open in his mindset and just the way he approaches things in general. The Harry you met seven years ago was still searching his way, but the version lying next to you now is a lot more confident in who he really is.

“Want to take a picture?” he hums keeping his eyes closed.

“What?”

His eyes peel open and turn to face you, a smug smirk on his lips.

“You’ve been staring at me. Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“You are way too full of yourself,” you scoff and pushing yourself up from the lounge chair you walk over to the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the way the light is dancing on the surface.

You never really thought about what weed would feel like in your system, but it feels oddly tranquil and relaxing. In a way your body feels a little strange, like it’s not even yours, but you also sense everything very… loudly.

“You alright?” you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind, the tapping on his feet signaling that he is walking closer to you.

“Yeah,” you nod without taking your eyes off of the water.

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“What?” you breathe out turning to face him.

“Do you want to go in?” he rephrases his question with a small smile.

“I don’t… have a bathing suit,” you answer and the moment the words leave your mouth they feel so ridiculous even when you were just stating the truth.

“Okay, but you are wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he smirks. “Or I’m completely fine if you want to go in naked,” he adds smugly.

“Shut up,” you chuckle. “Can you… maybe give me a pair of shorts? I’m fine without a bra when I come out but I would rather have my underwear on dry.”

“Sure,” he hums and turning around he jogs back into the house while you stay right there, staring at the water again.

With each passing moment you get calmer, the outside world and everything in life that’s not happening right in this moment eases into nothingness, your mind numbs in the best way possible.

When Harry returns he is wearing a pair of yellow swimming shorts, two towels are thrown over his shoulders and he has a pair of white shorts in his hands.

“This is the smallest thing I have, I think it’ll be fine,” he comments handing you the shorts.

“Thanks,” you nod before he shows you the way to the closest bathroom where you change out of your clothes leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the counter, you put on the shorts that are a little big on you, but once you’ve tied the strings it seems to be staying up steadily. Your simple black bra is not showing more than what a bikini top would, so you feel fine walking out in your attire.

Harry is sitting at the edge of the pool, his legs moving around in the water. His head lifts hearing your steps and he smiles at you, standing up when you arrive.

“Fits fine,” he nods, taking a look at the shorts.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

Walking over to the steps you dip your feet in first, testing the temperature before you start going in further, Harry following you right behind. Just as you expected, the water feels smooth against your skin, warmly caressing and swallowing your body as you get in, the surface reaching your chest. You let your arms move around, feel how the water runs through your fingers, it’s amusing and you enjoy it probably more than you should. It’s just water, but right now it feels like a pile of clouds.

“I know I suggested to smoke and then swim, but please don’t drown into my pool, I won’t be able to talk myself out of that,” he chuckles, easing him into the water until it reaches his neck.

“My life is in your hands, Harry,” you smirk at him before you follow him and let the water swallow your whole body up to your neck.  “This feels so nice.”

“Yeah? You like it?” he smirks.

“Mm, like I’m… floating through space.”

“In a sense, you are floating in the water,” he chuckles. “You don’t feel sick, right?”

“No, I’m fine,” you smile at him shortly.

You move over to the edge of the pool, laying your arms to the side, holding yourself up so your legs could float in the water. You watch Harry dive under and swim across the pool, reaching the far end before he pushes himself over to you.

“When I went to see you perform there was a song I really liked, but I never found it anywhere later.”

“Which one?”

“The chorus went like… Crashing and crumbling, I’m fighting for my breath, Today won’t be the day I’m meeting death…”

You suck on your breath, surprised how well he remembered the lines even after so many years. He recalled them perfectly, even singing the melody a little with them.

“I never recorded it in studio,” you admit quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because it felt too emotional and I didn’t want it to be just out there.”

“What was the name of the song?”

“It’s called Till I Die. I wrote it when…” You take a deep breath, feeling heavy just by talking about it, but something is urging you to share it with him. “I left from home right after I graduated high school, broke contact with my parents completely and I had a few very rough years, trying to just… keep myself alive, I guess.”

“Can I ask why you left your parents?”

“We had very different visions of what I should become. And I didn’t intend to live the life they imagined for me. My parents are very… traditional, my career in their eyes is just some kind of circus when I’m the clown on the stage. They don’t take any of it seriously and they made it very clear at the beginning that they don’t want me to become a musician. I was supposed to become a surgeon, my dad is one and my mom is in criminal law, they both worked very hard to get to where they are, but they don’t think that’s exactly what I’m doing as well.”

The last person you shared it with was Taylor and though it feels odd to open up about these old wounds again, but having Harry as the one listening to you just feels right.

“You haven’t talked to them since you left?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“And they didn’t even try to contact you?”

“Well, I made sure they couldn't. Changed my number first thing I set my feet outside the house and I never left them any of my addresses. I know it sounds cruel, but I didn’t want to do anything with them after the shaming they put me through when I told them I don’t want to become their perfect little daughter. They told me that I could consider myself disowned from the family if I dare to even write a song.”

“Woah, that sounds really tough.”

“It was,” you nod. “I wasn’t asking them to support me in any other way apart from just being there for me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the money the put aside for my tuition to buy guitars and tour the country, I just wanted them to… accept who I am, but apparently, I asked for too much.”

You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you wipe them quickly. It’s been long since the last time you let the thought of your parents, you’ve been good at keeping these feelings bottled up and in the deepest end of your mind. It’s not like you’re going around and just share your trauma with anyone you meet, but it felt comfortable to share it with Harry.

“I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have a support, especially in our job.”

“I had… myself,” you chuckle bitterly. “Became pretty good at relying only on myself.”

“I’m guessing it’s another reason why you prefer working alone, right?” he smiles at you softly.

“You could say that,” you nod into the water.

“I know it’ll sound cheesy, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he offers.

“Oh, are we becoming friends?” you ask chuckling.

“We’ve known each other for long enough to be friends, am I right?” he smirks, splashing some water in your way.

“We met a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Everything I know about you is from articles and gossip sites and I think you can only say the same thing,” you point out.

“Okay, then let’s get to know each other.”

“What, do you want to play 21 questions now or something?” you huff.

“Damn right,” he smirks.

And that’s exactly what you do. Swimming around in the pool you ask each other questions, some are funny, some are more serious and you slowly start to get to know each other, seven years after meeting for the first time, but in a way it feels like it’s been just last week when you were talking in the alleyway.

The weed soon dies down in your system, leaving you incredibly tired and it’s only then you realize it’s already past one am. Pulling out of the pool, you both grab a towel drying yourselves up before making your way back into the house.

“The guest bedroom next to mine has a bathroom so I think that’s the best one. I can give you something to sleep in if you’d like,” Harry offers as you follow him down the hallway.

“I think I’m fine in my sweats, but thank you.” He shows you the room, tells you how to change the AC if you feel too cold or hot and then bidding goodbye he is about to go to his own room when you stop him.

“Thank you for… today. I know we didn’t get far with the song, but… I liked hanging out with you,” you admit with a shy smile, leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t worry about the song, it’ll be fine. And I liked it too. We can make it a regular thing, if you want. You can come over, we’d chill and try to cook up something for the song.”

“I, uhh… Yeah, that sounds good,” you nod, he shoots you a smile before turning around and disappearing in his room.

The morning doesn’t turn out at all any awkward, especially because you don’t get to stay around too long. You have a meeting at eleven so you have to leave in time to go home and get changed before that. Harry makes you coffee, which is lifesaving, the two of you sit at the terrace as you drink it and you arrange to meet in two days to try and have another, hopefully more successful session for the song.

You genuinely enjoyed your time with Harry and to think that you didn’t only smoked weed for the first time with him, but also opened up about your parents, you feel a kind of connection forming and you can only hope you’re not gonna regret it later.

You move on with work after leaving from Harry’s that morning, you have some fittings for upcoming photoshoots and an interview scheduled, so there’s not much time for you to sit around. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Harry again at his place for another session and you feel buzzed about it. You meet Taylor for lunch, sitting on the terrace of your usual place she is talking you through everything that’s coming up the next week, just like you always do so then you can put work aside and have a real chat.

“So how did the writing session go?” she asks, digging into her salad that she always asks with extra chicken.

“The writing? Not so well. But we had a good time,” you truthfully admit.

“Good, good! You’re finally making friends!” Taylor grins, satisfied with the news. You just roll your eyes at her, turning back to your food right when you notice that your phone has been blowing up with notifications.

Huffing you grab it from the table with the pure intention of muting it down completely, but then you see that several people have texted you the same link and it bugs your curiosity so you open one of the messages and tap on the link.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan, feeling your rage already pushing up your spine, clouding your vision in red.

“What?” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone out of reflex.

“That fucking asshole dragged my name again!”

“Who? Jordan? That fucker never learns?” Taylor hisses, her thumbs vigorously typing on the screen immediately.

“Someone asked him about me on Twitter and he dared to call me a lying bitch! I can’t fucking believe this man!”

You and Jordan worked together on a project a while ago. You were supposed to write lyrics to a song he was composing and it was meant for an upcoming popular Netflix show, so the anticipation around the song was huge, especially when word got out that Ariana Grande might end up singing it. During your time working together he very blatantly tried to hit on you, which you politely shut down, because one, you didn’t intend to date someone you were working so close with and two, you just simply weren’t into him. However, he couldn’t take rejection the way a mature, almost thirty years old man should. It started off very subtly, but once you’ve had a chat with him to stop posting obnoxious and suggesting things about you on his social media, because it’s making it hard for you to be taken seriously as an artist and that people will just see you as another celeb which you don’t want to be, he just completely lost his shit. He called you different names on Twitter a few times, the worst were Feminist Nazi and a cock teasing slut, and he just somehow never fails to mention that you lied about your intentions with him, when you were clearer than daylight that you didn’t want a thing from him other than work.

When you realized he isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon, you took him to court, dragged his ass in front of the judge and won the case, which ended with him having to pay you thirty thousand dollars and he was ordered to clear all his platforms from your name for good. You really thought that taught him a lesson, especially because against your will, the case got some publicity and he ended up making headlines about the fault accusations he made about you, but it seems like he didn’t have enough.

You wouldn’t worry that much about his new tweet, knowing that he is the one lying, but the trials took a toll on you. It was at the beginning of the time when you were making yourself a name and even though you won, his accusations stung for some people and some even thought him to be the victim. You fell out of two brand deals and an important interview in the upcoming months which was a major setback and all for what? Because a man couldn’t accept rejection? The sad part is that if it would have happened the other way around, he wouldn’t have had to suffer any effect of it, people don’t tend to question a man’s words when he is showing this charming and nice persona to the public. If you accused him the same way you would have been dragged and titled as a sour crybaby and Jordan’s life would have carried on the same way.

The peaceful lunch soon falls through as Taylor turns on her beast mode to at least get the tweet down as soon as possible, already contacting the legal team you worked with before. It has to be against what you agreed on at the end of the trials, he can’t just go around and drag you again without any consequences.

In just about twenty minutes, the tweets disappear from Jordan’s feed, but you know it was already late the moment he posted it. If something gets out on the internet it never goes away, there are probably hundreds if not thousands of screenshots floating around that will preserve his words forever.

You part ways Taylor as he heads to an immediate meeting with the lawyers you worked together previously, she tells you to try not to worry about it, but you can’t just turn it off in you, that’s not how it works.

Making your way home you keep riling yourself up about it, thinking about what it’s gonna cause you this time, what opportunity is going to be taken because a man has called you a lying bitch, even after winning the previous trial against him that proves how big of an asshole he really is.

Changing into a casual attire you head to Harry’s place a little earlier, hoping it’s not a problem you get there an hour before you were supposed to. Arriving you’re a little taken aback seeing that there is another car parking on the driveway that’s not his and you immediately regret coming here, but before you could leave, the front door opens and Harry walks out. You couldn’t have left without noticing, the security system must have signaled your arrival when you punched the opening code in.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks instead of questioning your early arrival.

“I uhh—I’m sorry for being early, I could go—“

“Don’t be silly, come on in!” he waves at you and you walk up the stairs. “Two friends are here but they were just about to leave soon,” he explains as you walk in.

“Sorry for crashing the party,” you let out a soft chuckle.

“The more the merrier,” he smiles. “You seem a little stressed, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” you hear a woman’s voice from behind and turning around you see a smiley brunette walking towards you, a shy looking guy following behind her.

“Sarah, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sarah, my drummer, and that wanker over there is Mitch, my guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with both of them you realize they look familiar from pictures you’ve seen from Harry’s tour.

“I saw that ugly tweet today, that guy needs to be kicked in the balls,” Sarah sighs with a sympathetic smile, Harry’s ears perking up.

“What tweet?” he asks, eyes switching between you and Sarah.

“Oh, just… Jordan Wells thinks it’s fine to drag people with absolutely no truth behind his words,” you answer with a tight-lipped smile.

“Jordan Wells? The name rings a bell,” Harry hums.

“He is a music producer,” Mitch chimes in.

“I think he was supposed to write for 1D one time, but the deal fell through. Guess we didn’t miss out on anything,” he jokes and it brings a genuine smile to your face.

“You surely didn’t,” you comment under your breath.

You chat with Sarah and Mitch for a bit before they decide to head out, but Sarah asks you to come around sometime they are hanging out and you gladly say yes, wanting to know her and Mitch better, they seem like great company and even greater musicians, it’s always good to meet people who are like you.

As Harry walks his friends out you make yourself comfortable on the couch, reading Taylor’s texts about the update on the recent actions, she has gotten in contact with Jordan’s team and legal steps will be taken if Jordan doesn’t show any sign of improvement in the very near future.

“Hey, want something to drink? Wine or beer maybe?” Harry walks in as you look up from your phone.

“Wine sounds fucking fantastic,” you breathe out earning a soft chuckle from him. You follow him into the kitchen and watch him get a bottle of white wine with two glasses. “I hope Sarah and Mitch didn’t leave early because of me.”

“Oh, not at all. They knew you’d be coming over and would have left around this time, so don’t worry about it.”

He joins you at the kitchen island with the two glasses handing you one and you take a sip from it with a satisfied hum.

“So, want to talk about this Jordan ordeal?”

“There’s not much to talk, really,” you shrug. “He is a jerk and I just can’t seem to get rid of him and I didn’t even date the guy…”

“What did he do this time?”

“Oh, he just casually called me a lying bitch on Twitter, so that’s fun,” you let out a fake laugh, raising your glass before taking a big swig from it.

“Not that creative, if you’re asking me,” he jokes making you laugh. “It’s a very plain choice of words.”

“Yeah, not as good as his best which was calling me a feminist nazi.”

Harry almost chokes on his wine as you say the words, coughing a little while you watch him with an entertained smirk.

“That’s… an interesting way to express his opinion about you,” he answers diplomatically.

“Right? I was thinking about getting a sign of it, like a Live, Love, Laugh one, in the middle of my living room.”

“Would be a wonderful touch of décor,” he smirks. “Alright, I have a proposal for today’s session.”

“Shoot it.”

“You seemed to enjoy your weed experience the last time, I thought we could give it a try again, but we would try to write this time as well.”

“You want to write while smoking?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him.

“Only if you want to. I just thought it would relax you a bit, might even come up with some interesting ideas for the song.”

“Are you trying to turn me into an addict?” you narrow your eyes at him and he just holds his hands up innocently.

“Told you, no pressure,” he smirks angelically.

“I feel like I’m not even coming here to work but to meet with my new dealer,” you chuckle making him laugh. “Okay, we can… give it a try.”

 An hour and one joint per person later the two of you are lounging in his living room, he is sprawled out on the loveseat with a guitar on his arms while you are curled upon the sectional, fumbling with the strings of your hoodie.

“We should just… fucking steal a song,” you snort, finding your comment hilarious.

“Which one were you thinking about?” Harry smirks your way, his fingers gently strumming some random melody on the instrument.

“I really want to have a Madonna song to be mine,” you sigh dreamily.

“You’re a fan?”

“Oh, I grew up on her. I have an elaborate choreography for Hung Up,” you snort.

“You need to perform it for me.”

“No fucking way,” you laugh shaking your head. “Not even weed can make me dance for you.”

“Come on, I need to see that choreography, you can’t just hint it and then never show it to me!”

“Nah, not happening,” you laugh, sliding lower down in your seat, your head resting against the armrest of the couch.

You listen to him play the same melody over and over again with your eyes closed and though you really like what you are hearing, no words are forming in your mind that could serve as lyrics. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you and grabbing it you see a text from Taylor.

Taylor: Lawyers are on the case, we’ll have more tomorrow, don’t stress about it too much. Night! Xx

Sighing you drop the device back next to you, covering your eyes with your arms.

“You alright?” Harry softly asks.

“Nah, I just want to… disappear,” you sigh, tired of this fight you’ve been fighting for way too long.

“Is this about Jordan? He is a fucking ass, most people know it.”

“But not everyone!” you snap throwing your hands up. “And that fraction that still believes that he is saying the truth is enough to ruin my life. I’m fucking fed up with the injustice women have to face because of the patriarchy we are forced to live in!” Pushing yourself up you run a hand through your hair, hugging your knees to your chest. “It’s so fucking upsetting, like everything I do goes straight down the drain because of one little thing and I’m stuck with trying to rebuild my whole future plan.”

From a sudden urge, you move down to the floor, lying down on the fluffy rug that runs under the couches and the glass coffee table. It feels nice, kind of grounding to lie flat on the floor, especially because your senses are all messed up again because of the weed, but in a good kind of way.

“You worry way too much on longterm things. Try to stay in the moment a little more,” Harry tells you, putting the guitar to the side so he can move his feet to the floor, leaning onto his knees. “You can’t control this much what happens in the future, you should only care about today. And today, you’ve done good, you made it through another day, you did what you had to do and that’s it. Stressing about tomorrow or the next week or next year is just way too much to deal with all the time, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five, that’s just no way to live.”

Lying on the floor you stare up at the ceiling seemingly blankly, but your mind starts to swirl over what he just told you. The worlds are running around, mixing and mingling until something starts to form, making you gasp.

“Grab the guitar,” you tell him, sitting up abruptly. He pulls his eyebrows together, but does as you told him to, holding the instrument on his lap as he waits for you to instruct him more. “Play that… that melody you’ve been playing, but a little faster.”

He turns his attention at the guitar, trying the strings out a few times, feeling the melody under his fingers before he starts playing it just how you asked as you slowly start to sing the lines you have just thought about.

“You made it through… another day, you made it through another day… You did it, let’s celebrate…”

The lines fit perfectly with the melody he has come up with and the more you sing, the wider his smile grows as you move along in the forming song.

“Some days you feel you’ll break, but you made it through another day, yeah, you did it, let’s celebrate…”

“Don’t fucking stop!” he chimes in, never stopping the riffs, trying out new things as you go, slowly perfecting it together with the lyrics.

“Twenty-four-seven and three-six-five, you made another day, you made it alive! Made another day made it alive!” You sing loud and clear, completely lost in the melody Harry is playing, the lines just flowing out of you, like a dam has been taken down and now everything washes over you at once.

When the chorus is about to come up however you run out of ideas, your eyes meet Harry’s and he sees that you’re stuck. His eyebrows knit together, tongue runs along his lips before he starts playing the melody of the chorus and takes over the singing as well.

“So today, baby, remember it’s okay! We’re all floating through space, today, baby, remember you’re okay! We’re all floating through space…”

He plays a little with the lines, repeats them, tries a few times before he stops singing, you are now standing up, watching him end the melody, neither of you saying a word as he room grows silent. A sudden urge drives you to go closer and you sit back down to the floor in front of him, your eyes casting over the now silent instrument on his lap. Looking up your eyes meet his and you feel like the air is kicked out of your lungs.

You’ve heard so much about moments when you feel yourself pulling towards someone, when it’s like a magnetic field but you never actually experienced it until now. Staring back at Harry you feel that pull everyone has talked about and you finally understand what they were trying to say. It’s like there’s a string coming from your chest that’s connected to him and he is tugging it without even doing anything.

Reaching forward he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers dancing down the side of your face as you catch his eyes wander down to your lips. Sucking on your breath you feel the moment, you know what he is thinking about because you think about the exact same thing. Kissing him. You are desperate to find out what his lips feel against yours, what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him so close to you.

“You want to kiss me,” you whisper and it’s not a question, more like an observation.

“I do,” he admits with a soft smile, but doesn’t move closer. “Can I?”

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate thing to do in our situation,” you breathe out, though you don’t agree with the statement fully.

“You think too much,” he chuckles softly, leaning closer just a tad bit, but there are still a few inches between the two of you. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“Then we should just do what we want to,” he suggests with a small smirk and he looks ridiculously handsome with his dimples and shining green eyes that are glued to you.

“And then what? We’ll just go on like it never happened or there’s going to be more happening? How are we supposed to—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry closes the distance between you and him and presses his lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your stammering speech. Whatever doubts and hesitation you felt just a moment ago, it all vanishes into nothing as you melt into his kiss, his lips caressing yours gently, softly capturing them, savoring and tasting you with caution, giving you the chance to pull back anytime, but nothing in your body can make you stop kissing him in this moment.

His palms cup your jaw as you push yourself up, slowly making your way to straddle his lap after he has blindly put the guitar to the side, hands coming to rest on his shoulder for leverage. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you close until your chest is pressed up against his, lips never disconnecting in the kiss.

Kissing him feels like second nature, like it’s not even the first but the hundredth time, but on the other hand, every touch and tiny sparkle is so new and unusual, you’ve never felt like this before.

Harry slowly pulls back, pecking your lips a few more times before he stops, nuzzling his nose against you in an adorable and innocent way that brings a smile to your lips.

“Doesn’t it feel good to just do whatever you feel like doing?” he asks with a soft smile, making you laugh.

“Kind of.”

“Nothing has to change. Or something can, it’s up to you.”

“You are so upsettingly cool and respectful,” you blurt out chuckling and it makes him laugh, his head falling back against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I guess?” he smirks with a shrug.

“See? Respectful!” you grin, your hands moving up to cup his face. The pad of your thumbs gently tap against his dimples that are showing thanks to the wide smile on his lips right now. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, even though your rational side is trying to make you stop. You just can’t, his lips are screaming to be kissed and who are you to deny that?

You’ve been running errands all day. Following an early meeting you ran to your favorite vintage store to get another armchair for your living room. Then you went grocery shopping because your fridge has been ridiculously empty the past two days and later you had a quick fitting for a few outfits you are supposed to wear in the near future. You’ve ran into a few fans too, having small chit-chats with them, taking photos, so it’s been a busy day.

It’s been a week since you and Harry have kissed and despite your fears, it hasn’t been awkward at all. He didn’t bring it up, but you don’t feel like he is pretending it never happened, which is kind of a great balance. He is giving you just enough time and space to figure out what it really meant to you, because quite frankly, you have no idea.

Obviously, you find him attractive. You’d have to be completely blind to say that he is not handsome and just simply good to look at. You’re attracted to him and not just to his looks, but to his whole persona.

It’s just you’re not sure it’s a smart idea to start anything with the man you’re working with and though you know Harry is nothing like Jordan, part of you is still scared the whole thing will happen all over again if you get involved with another man from the industry.

Workwise, everything is going well. You’ve successfully finished the song you started that ominous evening and have started recording it in Harry’s home studio, working some more on the melody, bringing a lot more into it than just a single guitar. What more, you’ve been coming up with new ideas for other songs, lyrics popping up in either your or Harry’s head and you just keep sharing them with each other, saving them for later once the song for the Grammy’s is done.

Heading back to your place you get a call from Harry, his smiley face appearing on the screen of your face as you accept the call and his accent fills the car through the speakers that are connected to your phone through Bluetooth.

“Hey, hope I’m not calling in the middle of a meeting,” he greets you and you can tell he is smiling.

“No, I’m just on my way home. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting with Sarah and Mitch for dinner tonight, thought you’d like to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, I feel like you’ve been spending all your time with me.”

“But I like spending time with you,” he chuckles softly, a blush making its way to your cheeks at his words.

“Are you sure you want me there? What about Sarah and Mitch? I crashed your last meeting with them as well.”

“You didn’t crash anything, Y/N. And I’m positive I want you there, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. And just so you know, Sarah asked if you’d be joining us, so I assume they wouldn’t mind it either.”

“Oh, well, okay then. Send me the time and place.”

“Wonderful!” he beams, his enthusiasm making your chest warm.

By the time you arrive home he has already texted you the details and you have just one hour to spare before you have to head out. You opt for a quick shower and an outfit change, switching up your ripped mom jeans and simple t-shirt to one of your favorite jumpsuits. It’s a little baggy, but the waist is cinched in with an inbuilt corset, giving the whole fit a very interesting twist.

Arriving at the restaurant Harry has texted you the address of, the waiter escorts you to the terrace at the back that’s a lot more secluded and you feel yourself relaxing that you probably won’t get photographed. Harry is the only one who is already at the table, sitting with his eyes fixed on his phone, but he immediately puts it aside when he sees you approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Hey! You look amazing!” he greets you pulling you into a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. He is wearing a pair of brown slacks, a simple white shirt tucked into it, a knitted cardigan thrown on, a typical Harry outfit. “And thanks for the invite,” you add as you take the seat next to him, assuming Sarah and Mitch would like to sit next to each other.

“Don’t even mention it. We’re friends, it’s really nothing. I’m glad you could make it.”

The way he called you friends is giving you mixed feelings. Part of you is happily jumping up and down at the fact that he considers you as a friend, given how you don’t have many of those. It’s been hard opening up to anyone since you’ve made a name for yourself, you’ve ran into occasions a lot when people wanted more than just your friendship from you and it made you rather closed off when it comes to making friends.

On the other hand, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Is that all you are? Just friends? More importantly, is that all you want to be, or more?

Sarah and Mitch arrive soon after, joining you at the table and the waiter takes the orders before leaving the four of you alone. It seems like they genuinely like it that you’ve joined, so you can enjoy the evening a little more relieved.

Sipping on some amazing wine, you eat and talk and you feel like you’ve known these people your whole life. You especially like Sarah, she is so open-minded and funny and you think they make a great couple with Mitch who is obviously more closed off, but it’s obvious how much he worships his girlfriend.

Sometime in the evening, when you’ve already had two glasses of Chardonnay and you’re feeling a lot more relaxed and comfortable, you move closer to Harry without even noticing, leaning against him gently and his hand rests on your knee, giving it a soft squeeze under the table, making you want to move even closer to him to feel more of his touch, to get more of him.

Neither Sarah, nor Mitch questions the two of you being a little cozier and you’re thankful for the safe and stressfree environment they are providing, not making you overthink what you do, just letting you enjoy the moment.

At the end of the evening, you can’t shake the thought that you don’t want to say goodbye to Harry just yet. He pays for everyone’s dinner, leaving a generous tip for the waiter and you stay back at the table while Sarah runs out to the restroom and Mitch takes a quick call from his father, leaving you alone with Harry. His hand is still resting on your leg, a little farther up, but still in a very safe zone in the middle of your thigh.

Turning to face him your eyes meet his, his green irises glistening in the soft lighting and he looks so beautiful, you just want to kiss him again.

“Do you have plans after this?” you find yourself asking.

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

“That sounds like a nice plan,” he smiles at you warmly and you just know that if you weren’t out in the public, he would have leant in for a kiss and you wouldn’t have stopped him.

When Sarah and Mitch return all four of you head out and they don’t question when you follow Harry to his car. They say goodbye and Sarah makes you promise to join them some other time too and you happily say yes to the invitation.

Not much is being said on the way back to your place, he plays some music quietly as you navigate him through the streets.  

“Welcome to mi casa,” you smile as you key the two of you into your apartment you’ve been living in for the past few years.

It’s nothing luxurious, just a tad bit bigger than what one person would need as a home. You would have been fine living in your previous home you lived in before you’ve gained fame, but you needed a much bigger closet so you were forced to move. It’s a two bedroom apartment with one big bathroom, an open concept kitchen and a spacious living room. And of course, a closet as big as your bedroom. It’s the perfect size and you haven’t even thought about buying a bigger place just because you can, it would be a waste of money and space. The interior is very much vintage with all your mismatched furniture and colorful walls, but you think it’s quite cozy and just the ideal space for you.

“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to get yourself some water.

“Some water would be great, thank you.”

Filling up two glasses you hand him one as you lean against the counter, silently eyeing each other. It should be clear to him that you had intentions with asking him to come over, especially after being your cozy with each other during dinner, but you’re a little lost in what you should or even want to do. You just know you want him close.

He drinks up his water, his eyes meeting your gaze as a small smirk tugs on his cherry lips.

“You want to kiss me,” he states, using the exact same words you used the night when you kissed for the first time.

“I do,” you nod, feeling a little breathless.

“Then do it,” he simply answers, making you smile.

“Cool and respectful, as always,” you grin at him as he moves closer, stopping just a few inches away from you, your feet almost touching. Reaching up his fingers gently caress the side of your face and you feel yourself already melting under his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a shiver running down your spine at his words. You close your eyes for a moment, giving yourself the chance to pull out of it, but you realize you don’t want that, not even the tiniest bit. Opening your eyes they meet with his gaze before you move closer, closing the distance between you and him, lips meeting in a warm and chaste kiss.

Though it grows a little hungrier, you can tell he is still holding back a little, giving you the chance to stop whenever you want to, but you don’t intend to. Pushing yourself closer to him, your arms curl around his neck as his hands grip your waist, your tongue meeting his as you deepen the kiss and melt into his embrace.

Pulling back you grab his hand and head to the bedroom, going back to kissing him the moment you reach it. You easily slide his cardigan off his broad shoulders, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants before taking it completely off, throwing it somewhere to the side. You smirk against his lips, hands wandering down his naked chest and you can’t push down a moan as you feel the warmth of his chest muscles under your touch.

When you feel him try to blindly figure out how to get you out of your jumpsuit with not much luck and this clears your head for a moment to realize what is about to happen. Pulling back your gaze meets his and he stares back at you with caution, ready to stop whenever you tell him to, but that’s not what made you pull back.

“Harry, I…” “We don’t have to do anything,” he softly tells you, his fingers dancing down the side of your face until they reach your chin and he pulls you in for a delicate and slow kiss.

“I want to,” you whisper. “It’s just that… I want you to know that I’ve never… I’ve never been with a man before.”

Searching in his eyes you look for any sign of what’s going on in his head wishing you could just simply read his thoughts.

“You’ve never been with a man?” he asks, seemingly not as surprised as you expected him to be. You nod, licking your lips, waiting for any kind of reaction, a part of you expecting to be upset, though you know he has no right to be mad at you for any of it. “Do you want me to be the first man?” he then asks, with a loving and warm smile as his hand on your hip pulls you against him playfully.

“Yes.”

“Then help me get you out of this jumpsuit, because I can’t figure it out for my life,” he chuckles making you laugh too.

You show him where the corset opens and then get you out of it with joined forces, finally leaving you standing in just your underwear. Harry’s gaze runs down your body, a look of hunger and passion shining through his green irises as he pulls you close again, kissing you with a lot more vigor this time.

Soon enough, his slacks slip to the floor and you climb to your bed, Harry following closely, climbing on top of you before rejoining your lips. Your knees open up wide for him, allowing him to sink his hips between your thighs, his crotch meeting your heated center, a moan slipping out your lips when you feel his erection rubbing against you through the material of your underwear. He kisses his way down your jawline and neck, gently sucking on the soft skin, peppering kisses along your collarbones before he reaches your chest. He easily unclasps your bra and slips the straps down your arms before getting rid of the barrier that’s been keeping him away from your naked chest.

“Fuck, Y/N, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathes out shakily, before his lips wrap around your right nipple, his hand cupping your other breast. You keep whining and whimpering as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple before his mouth moves over to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention.

He kisses down your stomach, glancing up at you as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties silently asking for your permission to go further, still so respectfully looking out for you. As an answer, you lift your hips up so he can easily slide the material down your legs and throw it to the side.

“Oh fuck!” you moan when his tongue and lips press against your bud, playing with it oh so perfectly, making you shudder. If you didn’t think Harry was perfect, his tongue work is now surely making a statement on that.

With every lick, kiss and suck he pushes you closer to your release that’s nearing in a fast pace like never before. Reaching down you lace your fingers through his chocolate curls, tugging on the lightly, making him moan against your core. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you want to cum with him inside you, so you pull him up, lips meeting again as you still taste your own juice on him. It’s heavenly.

Without breaking the kiss you reach down and into his underwear, palming his fully hard cock, earning a satisfied growl when you wrap your hand around him. The feeling is quite unknown, you’ve only once had to face a penis before, it happened back in high school when you were still figuring out what sexuality meant to you. Gave a wobbly and quite short handjob to a guy from the grade above you, never even talked to him again. The experience left a major effect on you, never even got close to being intimate with a man, but being with Harry now is putting everything into a whole new light.

“Do you have a condom?” he mumbles against your lips, clearly just as excited to carry on as you are.

“Yeah,” you nod and let go of him, rolling to the edge of the bed so you can dig into the drawer of your nightstand, successfully finding the little silver packet. Tearing it open you hand it over to Harry and get back to your previous position as you watch him kneeling up, rolling the condom on carefully. Your lips part when your eyes fall on his cock, seeing now how big he really is. Harry catches your eyes and leaning down he kisses you softly.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay?” he kindly tells you, but you smile at him coyly.

“You might be the first man I’m with, but your dick won’t be the first thing to be inside me,” you answer with a smug smirk and it brings an amused look to his face.

“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss as he settles himself back between your legs.

Though you really tried to sound confident the other moment, you still feel a little nervous about it and Harry senses it right away. Holding himself up on one arm he cups your face in his other, kissing you slowly, taking his time with his lips, as if he is trying to make you forget about everything else but his lips.

“Are you still sure about this?” he softly asks, looking for any sign of hesitation in your eyes, but there’s none.

“Yeah, I want this. I want you,” you nod and reaching down between your bodies, you take him in your hands again, positioning him to your center.

Harry captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he pushes into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, feeling a little tight around him, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“You alright?” he asks once he is almost fully in.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you breathe out with a small nod. He pecks your lips and slowly pushes all the way in before he starts to move out and then slide in again, picking up a not too fast but still firm pace with his movements.

You gradually get used to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, it’s surely a whole different experience than using a dildo or any kind of toy you are used to. The thought that it belongs to him is bringing you a sense of intimacy you haven’t felt in a long time.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you dig your fingers into his hot skin that’s coated with a thin layer of sweat as he keeps moving, slowly picking up his pace as you both get closer to the endgame.

“Harry, faster, please!” you plead, legs coming to wrap around his waist so he can thrust in deeper, making you go completely nuts from the way your orgasm is already forming in the pit of your tummy.

He obeys without a second thought, slamming into you faster and harder, making you continuously moan his name, the room is filled with moans and panting, the slapping noise of his hips meeting yours.

Harry buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin, definitely leaving a mark, but you couldn’t care less. You just grab a handful of his hair, shutting your eyes closed as you feel yourself nearing the end.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, barely hanging on.

Instead of stretching it out and trying to play with you, Harry clearly wants you to combust. Reaching down between your bodies his index and middle fingers find your clit and he starts circling on it, adding that little extra you needed to fall over the edge.

Moaning and whimpering under his massive body, your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing you such an intense satisfaction you’ve never felt before. He keeps up his thrusting and just a few moments later his movements fall out of his rhythm and mumbling your name over and over again, he gasps as he rides his high while you’re still trying to catch your breath following your own.

With a heaving chest Harry rolls off of you, gets rid of the condom and throws it to the small bin you keep next to your night stand and then lies flat beside you as you both just silently stare up at the ceiling, very much in the best kind of after sex haze.

“How are you feeling?” he then asks, rolling to his side, his hand coming to rest on your bare stomach. Turning your head to the side you crack a smile at him.

“I feel like I’ve just been properly fucked,” you bluntly answer, making him laugh wholeheartedly. Rolling to your side his arm falls to your waist as you scoot closer, your face only a few inches from his. He is so pretty up close, his features never fail to amuse you, hard to believe he is a real human, lying right next to you.

He closes his eyes a little, letting his head sink into the pillow as his fingers delicately dance up and down your side and back. You feel like you owe him to say something, dropping a major detail about yourself in a heated moment.

“I had two girlfriends,” you speak up, his eyes fluttering open to your words. “The first one was when I was eighteen, we dated for almost a year, then I briefly dated a guy, but it was barely just a month. And I had my second girlfriend when I was twenty. We were together for two years.”

“Are you still friends with them?”

“I still talk to the second one. Her name is Mila. We broke up because she moved to Spain for a job for a year and we didn’t want to do long-distance. Then we just… grew apart, but we still talk sometimes. She lives in Atlanta now, she has a girlfriend and she told me that she is planning to propose soon.”

A soft smile tugs on your lips as you talk about her. She was an important person in your life in a time that was truly challenging. Mila supported your dreams, she went to a lot of your concerts and she was the first one you called when you got your record deal even though you weren’t together anymore. She has seen you go from performing in dodgy bars to rocking the stage of arenas.

“Congrats to her,” Harry smiles through tired eyes. Reaching up he tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning closer he envelopes your lips in a soft kiss.

“We really shouldn’t have done this,” you hum, though you can’t wipe the satisfied smile off your lips.

“Why not?”

“Because we work together.”

“So what? We aren’t allowed to like each other?” he smirks cockily.

“You like me?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear,” he chuckles rubbing his eyes. “But yeah, I do like you, Y/N. A lot.”

“I… like you too,” you admit shyly. Leaning in he kisses you again before pulling you to his chest as he lies on his back.

“Can I stay the night or you want to throw me out?” he hums closing his eyes. Chuckling your snuggle to him, making yourself comfortable, enjoying the warmth of his body after so spending so many nights alone in this bed.

“You can stay, but you have to behave.”

“Oh I will behave my best, don’t worry.” A chuckle rumbles through his chest as you both fall silent and soon enough, drift off to sleep.

You wake up tangled in the sheets, but no one else is lying in bed with you. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes you look around and though there’s no sign of Harry in the room you spot his clothes on the floor. That’s when you hear the pots and pans clinking somewhere outside and you smile to yourself. You pull a t-shirt on with a pair of clean panties before heading out, finding Harry in your kitchen, wearing your pink fluffy robe and nothing else as he is making what seems to be pancakes.

“I don’t remember hiring a chef,” you joke walking closer, sliding a hand down his back as you lean against the counter next to the stove.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I really wanted for you to wake up but I was afraid my growling stomach might wake you up,” he chuckles as he flips the pancakes in the pan with the spatula.

“Found everything you needed?” you ask, walking over the fridge to grab the orange juice.

“Yeah, you have a neatly organized kitchen,” he hums. “Sorry for snooping around though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pouring the juice to two glasses you hand one to him which he thanks softly before placing the golden pancakes to the plate on the counter and pours another bunch into the pan.

Sipping on your juice you watch him move around, making breakfast in your robe and you can’t help but smile at the sight of this fine man in your kitchen. Harry catches you eyeing him and he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks, his voice still a little groggy and husky.

“I just… really want to kiss you,” you shrug placing the glass to the counter.

“I think we are over this whole asking for permission thing,” he smirks, stepping closer he leans down and kisses you gently, tasting like orange juice and something sweet, he has probably ate one of the pancakes. His hand that’s not holding the spatula finds your waist, the t-shirt bunches up on your side as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before you hear sizzling coming from the stove.

“Whoops, not trying to burn the place down,” he chuckles as he turns to the pan and flips the pancakes. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his jawline before stepping away from him to set the table for breakfast.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks over breakfast.

“I have a meeting with my label on Saturday, but nothing else.”

“I’m having a few friends over Saturday evening, kind of a late Grammy nomination celebration. Want to come over?”

“Yeah, that… sounds good,” you nod smiling.

“I was thinking that maybe you could spend the night and then we can finish recording on Sunday.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Harry takes a quick shower after breakfast before heading out, promising to call you later and though it still feels a little odd that he says goodbye with a kiss, you very much like this new setup between the two of you.

Friday evening Taylor is over at your place, she loves helping you sort out promo stuff you get sent all the time, especially because you let her take whatever you don’t want, half her closet was meant to be worn by you.

Sitting on the floor with boxes surrounding the both of you, you’re digging through them with a bottle of wine, some 90’s music playing in the background, it’s a nice and relaxing evening.

Your phone lights up with a text on the coffee table and you already know it’s from Harry. You haven’t stopped texting since he left from your place just a few days ago.

Harry: Do you think it’s a look for the Grammy’s?

He attached a photo of himself in all denim, looking very much like 2001 Justin Timberlake at the AMA.

Y/N: Should I match and pull a Britney?

Harry: Is that even a question?!

“Okay, who’s the girl?” Taylor asks, making you tear your eyes away from the phone’s screen.

“Huh?”

“Last time I saw you smiling like this at your phone you were talking to that girl you met at that award show. So who is it this time?”

“It’s… not a girl,” you admit, placing your phone back to the coffee table.

“Oh, did a guy finally manage to sweep you off your feet?” Taylor gives you an amused look, genuinely surprised to hear that this time it’s a guy that has you wrapped around his finger. “What is his name?”

“Harry,” you shortly answer and see her eyes widen.

“Wait, is it… Harry as in Harry Styles?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Oh my God, I knew I could feel some sexual tension between you two at Jeff’s office!”

“There wasn’t any, what are you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it because you were too busy trying to blow off the duet, but it was radiating from him.” She gives you a look, putting the sweater she’s been examining to the side. “So, how are things? Are you guys an item, or…?”

“We didn’t label anything, he just said he likes me and I like him too. And he… spent the night the other day.”

“Wait, what? Spent the night as in—“

“Yes, we had sex,” you confirm blushing.

“That’s like huge! The first man you’ve been with!”

“I know,” you chuckle.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing,” you truthfully admit with a sigh. “I didn’t think it could be this good with a guy. Maybe it’s just because it was with him.”

“He surely looks like a guy that takes good care of his girl. So what’s gonna happen? Are you guys together?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care about names and labels, he just likes to do whatever he wants and if I’m being honest it’s kind of refreshing. We are just… enjoying whatever we have.”

“That sounds very liberal,” Taylor chuckles. “But I’m happy for you. You’ve been alone for way too long, I think he might do good to you.”

“I really hope,” you nod with a sigh.

“How is the song writing going?”

“We’re finishing up recording on Sunday. I’ll send it to you when it’s done and we can start all the paperwork and everything.”

“Amazing, you are doing great, Y/N, I’m proud of you,” she smiles and climbing over she wraps you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Tay,” you smile at her. “Alright, now do you want these lace socks or should I burn them?” you ask holding up a whole pack of them, making her laugh.

Harry said it’s just a chill get together, nothing fancy so you decide to wear a khaki maxi skirt with a shirt tucked into it that was a gift from a fan, your first album’s name embroidered to the front. It’s one of your favorite pieces and you like wearing things your fans make you, gives the whole fit a plus.

Arriving to Harry’s place you spot that there are a few cars already parking on the driveway. You leave your overnight bag in the trunk, grab the bottle of wine you’ve brought and head inside. Unlike every time you’ve been here, the silence is now switched up with soft music and chatters, quite a few people lingering around the house already.

Just as you walk farther inside, Harry appears on the stairs and his face lights up at the sight of you.

“Hey! Did you just arrive?” He jogs down the rest of the stairs and walking up to you he pulls you close for a quick kiss without hesitation.

“Yeah. I know you said not to bring anything, but I hate coming to parties empty handed,” you chuckle softly, holding the wine bottle up.

“Thanks. Have you eaten? Jeff is grilling outside, but help yourself with anything.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Sarah and Mitch are already here, but come on, let me introduce you to a few people.”

Harry takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. He drops the wine off in the kitchen before joining all the other guests. It’s really not that many people, just about thirty of his close circle. Musicians, people he has worked with and stayed close with, people he has known for long. Everyone seems welcoming and open, many already know who you are and it’s always a good conversation start, so there are not many awkward silences, especially because Harry is always near you, making sure you feel comfortable around his friends and it means a lot to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Harry asks, when he finds you in the kitchen, refilling your glass. He walks up to you, placing a hand to your waist as he kisses into your hair.

“Yeah, your friends are nice,” you smile at him.

“I know, that’s why they are my friends,” he smirks, so full of himself. “Want to hear something interesting?”

“Always.”

“I was talking to Adam and our song came up and then out of nowhere I referred to you as my girlfriend.”

Seemingly he is testing the waters, trying to see how you react to the title, even a little afraid of what you might say, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Yeah? That’s interesting indeed.”

“Are you okay with it? I wasn’t really thinking about it, just slipped out.”

“It’s fine,” you smile at him softly.

“You don’t have to call me your boyfriend, call me whatever you want. It’s just a habit of mine, I guess,” he explains, popping some nuts into his mouth from the little jar on the counter.

“Alright,” you nod. Harry stares back at you for a moment before a smile stretches across his face and leaning down he kisses you shortly before taking your hand and walking back to the living room with you.

The last guests leave around midnight. After bringing your bag up to his bedroom you start cleaning up while Harry walks out the last couple leaving. You start loading the washer and put away things you’ve cleaned before.

“Oh, thank you for cleaning, but you don’t have to. I can take care of it later.”

“It’s nothing, I want to make myself useful,” you chuckle softly as you start the washer. Harry comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses into your neck.

“I have other ideas for that,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the side of your face.

“Yeah? What kind of ideas?” you teasingly ask, closing your eyes when you feel his hand slide under the waist of your skirt, moving down your abdomen until it reaches your core.

“Fun kinds,” he chuckles lowly. His other hand turns your head so his lips could meet yours, you’re still pressed up against him, melting against his chest with your back just right, like you’re two puzzle pieces.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when his fingers wander into your underwear and they start doing their magic. “Harry!” you whine, reacting intensely to his actions.

“I fucking love hearing my name from your pretty mouth,” he growls, kissing you hard before his lips part from yours and he starts bunching up your skirt.

You don’t protest, in fact, you lean forward, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as he pulls down your panties and you hear the zipper of his pants. Glancing over your shoulders you see him pull out a condom from his pocket and you can’t push down a laughter.

“Did you keep that in your pocket all evening?”

“Wanted to be ready when I finally got you all for myself,” he smirks, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs, rolling on the condom.

His hands come in contact with your hips and ass cheeks, giving them a light squeeze before you feel him lining himself up with you. His palm slides up your back as he pushes into you, both of you moaning at the fulfilling sensation.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathes out as he pushes all the way inside before starting to pull out.

“Go hard, Harry. Please!” you whimper as he starts thrusting into you. Harry lets out a growl and slams into you, making you gasp at the harshness of the movement, but that’s exactly what you wanted.

The kitchen is filled with the noises coming from the washer next to you and the slapping noise of Harry’s hips meeting your ass with every forceful thrust he makes. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips, probably already making them red, but you couldn’t care less. You hold onto the edge of the counter, but then you move one hand to cover his on you, needing to touch him in some kind of way.

Leaning forward Harry kisses your back between your shoulder blades through the thin material of your shirt and you moan his name when he hits the perfect spot inside you.

“Shit, Harry! I’m g-gonna cum!” you gasp, perking your ass up more so he can go as deep as possible.

“Let go for me, baby. Come on!”

“I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah? Then hold on for a little longer, I’m almost there.”

You try your best to keep everything inside you under control, your orgasm is really on the edge and you can only hope he is nearing his end too.

“Harry! Please!”

“Fuck, okay, okay, cum for me! Let me feel you!” he moans and his words bring you the release.

You clench around him, moaning and whimpering and it finally pushes you into his bliss too. His thrusts slow down but they are hard and go deep, helping you ride the last bits of your high.

He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up from your position so he can kiss your lips.

“How about we take a shower while the washer finishes?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Mm, good idea.”

Once the song is fully finished you submit it to your label after an agreement that it should come out through yours, but it wouldn’t be tied to your or Harry’s upcoming album. Everyone seems to love it, Taylor is over the moon when you show her the final version and Jeff is just as happy about it. Having only three more weeks left until the Grammy’s, you send them your request to perform the duet instead of the medley they asked. Their answer comes the next day and they are more than happy to have you premiere your new duet at the show. Everything seems to be on track.

Following a rehearsal for the Grammy performance, you’re staying over at Harry’s, just eating takeout and having a lazy evening after a whole day of working. You’ve put on a new Netflix movie, but every time you look at Harry you feel like his mind is somewhere far away.

“Want to share what’s on your mind?” you ask softly, not wanting to be pushy, you’re just trying to be there for him.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?” He looks up at you, clearly hesitant whether he should share it with you or not.

“About what you said about your parents.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. Pausing the movie you turn all your attention to him. “What about it?”

“I was just talking to my mom the other day, she is coming here for the Grammy’s and I thought about how you… won’t have your parents there with you.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah, but then I thought about how you said you haven’t even let them contact you since then and that maybe they’ve changed their mind about the whole situation. You’ve clearly proved them wrong with building yourself a career, maybe they can now see that what they did was wrong.”

You remain silent, chewing on his words. You’ve been great at not thinking about your parents these past years, it feels weird to have a conversation about them out of nowhere. Harry takes your silence as a warning sign, though that’s not the case.

“You know what? I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s not really my business, I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” he shakes his head.

“What… would you do if you were in my place?”

Harry looks at you, surprised you are willing to continue the conversation. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I think it might worth a shot to just… contact them. See if they want to maybe get in touch again.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then… you know you made the right decision leaving. I know it’s scary, but I think you should take a chance.”

“I’ll… think about it,” you nod shortly.

“Take your time, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get comfortable in his embrace before starting the movie again.

Two weeks before the show you are headed to a fitting with Harry, your matching sets are nearly done, but they needed you to try them on and make sure they fit just perfectly. True to your and Harry’s extravagant fashion, this performance won’t lack any over the top fits either. It was clear from the beginning that you would be matching, but you made it clear that you want to bring it to the level where you’d be wearing the exact same outfit, so now there are two sets of suits in the making, the pattern of the whole two piece is recalling a kind of space vibe, blues, purples and black meeting in the colors with hundreds of embroidered stars and planets littering the fabric with additional crystal stars to make it even more extra. It’s truly one of a kind, especially paired with the sheer, tulle shirt you both will be wearing underneath.

“We look fucking great, babe,” Harry smirks as the two of you stand next to each other, examining yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the small podium.

“We really do,” you smirk, satisfied with how the performance is coming together. It’s gonna be the perfect way to celebrate both your first Grammy nominations, a huge milestone in your and Harry’s career as well.

Grabbing his phone he quickly takes a picture in the mirror of the two of you, pulling you to his side as you smile into the camera through the mirror. Then you leave him alone on the podium as they are pinning his pants to make it the perfect size. Stepping to your bag you fish your phone out and reading just the first few words of Taylor’s last message she sent about ten minutes ago, you feel all blood rushing out of your face. Tapping on the notification you start reading.

Taylor: Please don’t lose your head, but we are dealing with this.

She attached several articles and you start digging through them.

“Is Harry Styles dating his new duet partner?”

“Harry Styles cozied up with Y/N Y/L/N at dinner with friends.”

“Can we expect some hot make out sessions at the Grammy’s from Harry and his new beau?”

And then there’s the absolute worst.

“Is Y/N Y/L/N going to take Harry Styles to court too?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble under your breath, vigorously typing back to Taylor to take them down. Two pictures have been leaked from the time you had dinner with Sarah and Mitch, it’s so odd because it’s been weeks since then, where were these pictures all along? Not that it matters, all you want is for them to be gone.

Against your better judgment, you go online and check your social media even though you know you shouldn’t snoop around now that it’s out there. No surprise, you and Harry are trending, but the reactions are very much mixed.

The impact of your case with Jordan is still major. It doesn’t matter that you won, people are still questioning whether he said the truth or not and now they are afraid you might drag Harry down just like you did with Jordan. That you are just trying to use his fame to get more attention and then ruin his career, making a victim out of yourself again, because apparently that’s what you’ve been doing.

You’re not only being dragged, but all of a sudden, nothing is about the music and the art you are making, people just want to know if you’re fucking Harry Styles or not. A lot of the times you’re not even named, only referred to Harry’s new lover or what’s worse, his hookup. You’ve lost all the credit you worked so hard for and for what? Because you dared to have dinner with a man?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asks walking up to you. Your eyes snap up at him and he immediately sees the shock and anger in them, setting panic in him as well. “What is it?”

“The fucking… pictures,” you hiss handing him your phone so he can see the articles for himself. He scrolls through them with furrowed eyebrows, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before handing the phone back once he has gotten to the end of it.

“Let’s finish this up and head home, okay? We’ll figure it all out.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you nod, trying your best to keep your anger at bay while the designers finish up on the outfits.

An hour later you walk into your place, talking on the phone with Taylor, discussing the situation though there’s not much you can do at this point. It’s all out, the pictures can’t be taken down. She suggests to just keep quiet for now, she’ll call Jeff to see what could be done as damage control.

Throwing your phone to the bed you feel your whole body shaking from the anger, it’s agonizing to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out,” Harry speaks up, trying his best to calm you down, but it’s not really working this time.

“Stop saying it, you don’t know that for sure. I can’t believe this bullshit is happening all over again,” you breathe out shaking your head.

“Again?”

“Yes! I’m being fucking dragged for something I shouldn’t be.”

“People will always have controversial opinion on everything, you can’t get them all to like you.”

“It’s not about liking, Harry!” you snap. “I couldn’t give a damn about people liking me, but they discredit my work. Have you read those articles? I’m seen with a man and suddenly, I’m not even seen as an artist anymore. I’m not even my own person in some of them, just a girl who is linked to you. How is that fair?” “It’s not, but stressing yourself about it until you’re sick is not gonna help anything,” he retorts in a firm voice.

“So I should just sit around and so nothing while watching all my work go to shit?”

“Nothing is going to shit! This is how it goes, there’s always something people talk about but they will forget about it in a week. That doesn’t take anything away from what you’ve proved through your career.”

“Now that’s a lie. Because if they did forget about things in a week, they wouldn’t be bringing up the whole Jordan thing now. I dared to stand up for myself against a man and look where it took me to! I’m the drama queen, the lying bitch who likes to ruin men for apparently no reason and they see me as a threat when it comes to you too. People are talking about how I’ll take you to court as well, they think I’m just using you even though they know nothing about me! And the worst part is that it wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a woman. Whatever happens, however we react to the situation, it will never have the same effect on your career than it will have on mine.”

“So what, you’ll just live your life without ever doing anything that’s gonna upset people? There will always be someone who’ll judge whatever you do, you can’t do anything about that and if you let them get to you now, they’ll know they can mess with you easily.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore everything? And not do a single thing about it? It’s easy for you, you’ll walk away from this without a scratch on your name, because you are a white man who can do no wrong in the eyes of the world.”

“Okay, now you are being mean for no reason.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” you retort. “And you know what else is part of the truth? That I’m not even having it the worse. There are women who are even more targeted because of their religion, their skin color, their nationality or sexuality and people don’t even realize how hard it is for any of us. I’m sick of the injustice we have to live with just because of our gender!”

“I do acknowledge the problem on hand, I’m aware of it and I’m all for doing against it, but we are not gonna solve it instantly, it’s a long process. Sometimes we just have to pull back a little, be smart about things.”

“They will never stop about this,” you shake your head, stubbornly clinging onto your opinion. “I won’t be seen as a serious artist anymore, just some girl who was linked to you. It’s fucking done, over.”

“Y/N, what are you trying to say?” Harry asks with caution.

“Exactly what you are thinking about,” you reply with a bitter laugh. “I can’t be a respected artist if I’m with you.”

“That’s not true. It will die down, they will see that you are more than just who you’re dating and everything will be fine.”

“What’s not fair is that I have to work for it to be fine while you are still the same artist you were before it all blew up. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” you call him out and part of you knows you’re being mean and unnecessarily rude to him, but you just can’t control it any longer. You need to let it out and unfortunately, he is the one who is here to take the blame.

“It is, but what are you expecting me to do about it? Release a statement asking people to only talk about my dating life to make it equal? What can be done is that we try to fight this together, show them that you’re more than just a woman who is linked to a man in any kind of way.”

“Yeah, like realization is just gonna hit them,” you snap. “I’m at a turning point in my career, Harry. Whether I win a Grammy or not, this time is going to have an impact on my future. If I’m seen as just a girl linked to you, I’ll never make it. I’ll be forgotten and dragged again and I can kiss my career goodbye.”

You know you were way too harsh, but it’s what you think to be the truth. You didn’t fight your way to this point in life just to be seen as a man’s girlfriend rather than the artist you truly are. And right now, you can’t see yourself get out of this situation without letting go of Harry.

“Y/N, please don’t let this ruin what we have. We can get through this, you can’t let them control your life this much. Who are they to tell you what to do? That’s not the Y/N I know, come on!”

He tries to step closer, reaching out for you, but you take a step back, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you.

“I would prefer to be alone now,” you sternly say, folding your arms on your chest, closing yourself off from him as you don’t even look at him, because if you did, you know you would break.

“Y/N, please don’t do this, we—“

“Alone!” you snap, cutting him off.

He stares at you, hoping you might change your mind, but you’re quite set on this. He knows you well enough to know you won’t budge anytime soon. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly turning around, he heads towards the door as you’re already fighting your tears back. He stops right before he is about to walk out.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he quietly says before walking out, the door shutting closed behind him.

The sobs start immediately and you fall to the ground, tears soaking your cheeks, already missing him more than anything in your life. You really thought it would be different this time, that things might get better, but you were naïve.

The next two days go by in a blur. The whole fucking internet is filled with those damn pictures of you and Harry, nothing has been about any of your Grammy nominations or even about your music, you’ve officially became the woman Harry Styles is dating.

Harry was titled as a Grammy nominee in every goddamn writing that surfaced, he was completely credited for his work while you could be happy if your name was written correctly. With every new article, your faith in having the career you worked so hard for lessened until you felt hopeless. You’ve officially became a dumb celebrity, just a woman who was known to be dating a man in the industry.

On the evening of the second day you have enough. You just read yet another degrading piece of you that was clearly written by a man, they once again talked about your case with Jordan, joking about history repeating itself and you swear you could scream and throw a tantrum like a baby at how useless and helpless you feel.

You put your laptop to the side and reach for your phone, dialing Taylor’s number.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks right away, knowing well how hard these past days have been. She came over the evening you sent Harry away and tried to comfort you, but nothing could help you that night.

“Hey, I want to ask you to do something and not try to talk me out of it.”

“Oh God…” she sighs, already knowing you’re about to do something stupid according to her.

“I don’t want to perform at the Grammy’s.”

“What? With all due respect, are you fucking stupid?”

“I’m not stupid. But I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, this has got to be the most ridiculous move you’ve ever tried to pull. Why do you want to throw such a huge thing away?”

“I can’t… sing that song with Harry. If I stand on the stage and sing with him… I just can’t do it, Tay.”

“Of course you can! Suck it up! I know you miss him and it fucking sucks what’s happening, but you have to do it!” she tries to convince you, but you’ve already made your mind up.

“No. I’m not doing it. Please let them know that it’s going to be just Harry performing.”

And with that, you end the call.

Taylor knows better than to try to fight you, she doesn’t call back though you know she wants to murder you right now probably, but she’ll come around, she always does. You make yourself a tea hoping to relax your nerves with it though you know nothing can help you now. You wish you had someone to rely on, someone you could talk to right now, but usually Taylor is that person to you and lately Harry has been your support, but you can’t call either of them. The rest of the people you consider friends… they are just not that close to you. You’re left alone, again.

As your gaze wanders over to your phone, a thought pops up in your mind that makes your hands sweat. You think back to the conversation you had with Harry about your parents and you can’t shake the urge off to finally make that call.

“Fuck it,” you breathe out and grab the device, opening up the contacts until you find what you’ve been looking for. Your thumb hovers above the call button for a while before you finally tap on it and start the call. It rings four times before a voice speaks up on the other end.

“Halo?”

“Hi mom,” you reply and hear a gasp from her at your voice.

There’s less than a week left until the Grammy’s. For your own sake, you haven’t been online outside of answering work emails, you just can’t deal with the shit show your life has become on the internet.

You haven’t left your home unless you really needed to go somewhere, did most of your meetings over the phone or videochat and postponed a fitting as well. You’ve officially caved yourself up in your apartment and you are not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Taylor keys herself in, she hasn’t even mentioned that she might drop by, but you’re not surprised. She is probably here to try to bring you out of this pity party you’ve been holding for days. When she sees you lying on the couch in sweats and messy, unwashed hair, she sighs, shaking her head.

“You really need to pull your shit together, Y/N.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your fuzzy blanket up to your chin.

“No, you’re not. This is not the bad bitch I know.”

“Bad bitches have bad days too.”

“This is not a bad day, you look like a fucking zombie. This is not what a Grammy nominee should look like days before the big show.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m performing or anything,” you shrug, but the look in Taylor’s eyes make yours go wide. “Taylor, I’m not performing, you informed them about it, right?”

“This is why I’m here,” she sighs walking closer, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I never cancelled on your performance.”

“I told you I’m not doing it!” “I know, but I was hoping you might come around. But you seem to be still acting like a stupid bitch, so that didn’t happen. However, I’ve gotten an interesting email today.”

She pulls out her phone and opens the email before handing it over to you. Shooting her an unhappy look you start reading.

-

Hi Taylor!

I got your email address from Jeff, wanted to write to you myself. I’ve officially pulled out of the Grammy performance so it’s going to be only Y/N in it. We are also working on a statement to release over the whole ordeal and my lawyers have been after the bigger gossip sites to get the articles down. I want Y/N to have the Grammy experience she deserves and I know it can’t happen with me in the performance. Tell her that I’m sorry for ruining it for her, she deserves so much more. I’m sorry she was brought into this.

I hope to see you soon, take care!

Harry

-

With parted lips, you look up at Taylor who is smiling softly at you.

“He… pulled out for me.”

“He did. Talked to Jeff on the phone, they have already let them know Harry wouldn’t be performing, they will make it official tomorrow.”

“But he deserves this just as much as I do. He is a nominee too.”

“Well, seems like he values you more than his own success.” Taylor lets out a long sigh and scooting closer she places a hand to your knee. “Look, I know you’re upset about how the media treats you just because you were seen out with Harry, and I know that you’re afraid of getting labeled as just the girl he dates and not get taken seriously as an artist, but you can’t let them stop you from living your life how you want to. There will always be judgment, there will always be men who are worse than trash and want to bring you down, but you are stronger than that. Pushing Harry away and being alone for the rest of your life is not a solution. What you can do to put them to their place is give them a big fuck you, date the hottest man in the industry and continue being the bad bitch that you are, fighting against the way you are being treated. Speak up, show them who they are dealing with, share your truth, like you always do! But you can do all of this with Harry by your side. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy, don’t make yourself miserable because we live in a world where men are still placed above women. Fight for the change but don’t forget to think about yourself as well in the process.”

You feel the tears sting in your eyes. The weight of this past week is just way too heavy to carry, but Taylor is right and you are realizing that you’ve made it harder for yourself. The sobs come before you could stop yourself and Taylor pulls you into a hug.

“I know, I know. It fucking sucks, but you can’t let them win,” she soothes, running her hands up and down your back. “Show them how big of a bad bitch you are and get the man too.”

“You think Harry still wants to be with me?”

“I think that man would be on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you asked,” she chuckles pulling back. “Statement about the performance will be released tomorrow. That’s how long you have to figure it out,” she tells you with a knowing look before leaving you alone with your thoughts, however you don’t have to think long what you have to do.

You have not been the only one these past days took a toll on. The fight the two of you had left Harry completely drained, angry and helpless. He hated that he was the reason you weren’t credited as the talented artist that you are and he couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make it better. That’s when he came up with the idea of pulling out of the performance.

Now he is ready to spend the remaining days until the award show hidden from the world, not even leaving the house. Everyone close to him knows he is better not to be disturbed now, so he is quite surprised when the security system lets him know that someone has arrived.

As you drive up to his house you spot him immediately, stepping out the front door with a shocked look on his face, probably expecting you to be the last person to be there at the moment. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs as you walk up to him, feeling anxious to see him and talk to him, especially after the last conversation you had.

“Hey, I’m sorry for coming here without calling or anything…” you shyly start, stopping in front of you.

“Don’t be silly. Come… Come on in,” he clears his throat inviting you inside.

You’ve walked through this front door so many times in the past almost two months, but this is the first time you feel so odd, standing out, like you have no place in here and it’s all thanks to yourself.

“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” Harry walks past you but then turns to face you, talking to you with such warmth and kindness, even after how you acted, putting blame on him for something he has no control over. It completely breaks you and can’t stop your eyes from watering as you look at him. You really hoped you’ve run out of tears in the past days, but it seems like that’s not the case at all.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” you breathe out shakily and you step closer to each other at the same time, he envelopes you in his strong arms and you fist his shirt at his chest. “I know it was none of your fault, I just got so desperate and afraid that it might ruin what I worked so hard for.”

“I know. And you were right about everything. Everything you said was true and I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t right to be mad at you just because you have different privileges, it’s not like you can change who you are. So I’m really sorry about that, and also for pushing you away when you were just trying to be there for me. I was so stupid,” you breathe out, wiping the tears sliding your cheeks down away.

“You just panicked, it’s okay. Don’t apologize for wanting to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder you wait for your sobs to die down before you look back up at him. Reaching up he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you warmly and that smile alone ensures you that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, with the right person.

“Taylor showed me the email you sent her,” you bring it up, clearing your throat.

“You deserve it all to yourself so people can see how amazing of an artist you are.”

“I’m not doing it without you,” you shake your head stubbornly. “We wrote the song together and we’re gonna perform it together or else I’m not doing it either.”

“Y/N, you know if we step on that stage together they are gonna twist the whole thing and make it about something else. I want you to have this opportunity for your career without me ruining it with just my presence.”

“Fuck them, if they take it as something it’s not. They are not gonna take the chance away from us to perform our song. If they are such fucking dumbasses that they make it all about what’s between us, that’s their own personal problem. If I need to, I’ll go on a Twitter rant and tell them this myself. I want you on stage with me or else I’m not doing it either.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, pressing his lips together as he stares back at you, probably realizing you are dead serious about pulling out of the performance and he is right. He doesn’t even know you were the first one to cancel on it, you’d do it again without hesitation.

“I guess we are performing then,” he cracks a small smile and throwing your arms around his neck you pull him down, lips smashing against his, the kiss mingling with giggles and smiles.

Harry wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you up from the ground as he spins you around, making you squeal as you hold onto him.

“I have to call Jeff to call the Grammy’s not to post the statement,” he hums against your lips and he pecks them a few more times before letting go of you to quickly make a call to his manager.

You move over to the couch in his living room as he talks to Jeff, who is luckily very understanding about the sudden change. Hugging your knees to your chest you watch him pace the floor, exchanging a few more words with the man on the phone before ending the call, his gaze dropping to you again. Sitting beside you, he kisses your temple, dropping an arm around your shoulders as you lean against him, head resting on his chest.

“I called my mom,” you drop the bomb suddenly and you can feel him tense up for a moment, probably shocked by your words.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Lifting your head your gaze meets his as you carry on. “She was… very shocked to hear my voice.”

“I bet,” he hums. “What did you talk about?”

“I just… asked how they are doing and told her that I’ve been thinking a lot about them. She sounded genuinely touched by it and said I’m always welcomed for dinner or lunch if I’d like to see them.”

“That’s amazing! See, I told you they would love to hear from you!”

“Yeah,” you smile at him softly. “I think I want to go over sometime after the Grammy’s.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well.”

“Would you please come with me?”

Your question catches him off-guard he seems surprised that you would want him there, but then his expression softens as he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I would love to, if you want me there.”

“I do,” you nod.

“Then it’s settled,” he smiles warmly as you lay your head back to his chest, his fingers gently dancing up and down your arm and for once in your life you finally feel settled, like everything is going to be fine.

Highlights of the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards: Y/N Y/L/N blows up stage with new hit duet

The killer duo surprised us all with a brand new duet titled Floating Through Space, performed it together on their big night. Wearing matching galaxy themed suits, Y/L/N and Styles have closed off the evening with probably the most success, the latter winning two out of his three nominations, receiving the award for Best Music Video and Best Pop Vocal Album with his latest album, Fine Line, while Y/L/N was titled best new artist, becoming a Grammy winner early in her career.

Tabloids blew up earlier this month when the two singers were photographed cozied up at dinner with friends, speculations started about their possible romance, but Y/L/N has made a clear statement on the question with her red carpet appearance before the award show. Wearing a head to toe black Gucci gown paired with a dramatic cape, the message “I’M AN ARTIST, ASK ME ABOUT MY ART” painted onto it in red, making a bold statement about her opinion on the way the media has been treating the star.

Both singers remained silent on their alleged romance, but proved to be the best of their time with their joined performance with their new emotional duet. Following the song’s debut on stage it was released to the public as a single right away, taking over all charts with its overwhelming success.

Listen to Floating Through Space now on Spotify and Apple Music!

Your knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the steering wheel as you stare up at the home you grew up in. It looks almost the same, sometime through the years you haven’t been around your parents have painted it a light blue color from the paste yellow, but it’s still… the same.

“Hey.”

Turning to your right you look at Harry who is smiling at you warmly as his hand reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, you’re still their daughter.”

“That’s not what they told me the last time I was here,” you whisper, feeling your throat closing up.

“We all say things in the heat of the moment. Seeing how happy they were about this lunch proves that they regret what happened.”

Nodding you take a deep breath to get ready for whatever is going to happen. Leaning over the console you pull Harry in for a kiss and it calms your nerves a little. Getting out of the car he takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know he’ll be right by your side all along. As you walk up to the front porch a sense of strong nostalgia washes over you.

You didn’t have a bad childhood, your parents provided you so much growing up, it’s sad to think what it has become. In a way you feel more anxious than walking the red carpet a week ago for the Grammys even though you’re just meeting your parents, but this is a turning point in your life that needed to come sooner or later.

“I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be fine,” Harry murmurs, kissing your forehead before you ring the doorbell, feeling weird that you come here as a guest, not as someone who belongs here.

You hear footsteps approaching on the other side, two frames appear through the clouded glass of the front door and then it flies open, pushing all air out of your lungs, clinging tightly onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment of silence and just staring at each other before the tiniest smile tugs on your lips.

“Hi mom, hi dad.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[lemony-snickers]

hello hello and happy friday!  i am writing custom fics in exchange for donations to help ukraine!

you can find out more here about @wind-becomes-lightning’s donations for stories & art campaign, which she has graciously invited me to join!

today, we have a killer b/oc fic.  thank you @super-kame-love for letting me get to know aina.  for anyone who reads the fic, the entire premise (and aina’s verse) were written about here and used for the story, so definitely check that out as well!

and, of course, @kankuroplease​ knocked the sketch out of the park, as expected.

Title: Dancing in the Moonlight Summary:  B proposes to Aina on a beach. Word Count: 2,101 Warnings:  killer b/oc

if you’d like a custom fic of your own, pls take a look at the post linked above and reach out if you have any questions!

It’s a lovely day.  Warm and sunny.  Aina can hear the waves crashing against the sand before she sees them and the salt is already heavy on her tongue by the time B leads her through the thick foliage toward the spot he’s chosen.

It’s funny that even though she knows in her heart why they are here, she can still feel the anticipation nipping at her insides like minnows inspecting her toes in the shallows.

The beach is deserted when they make their way toward a spot to sit. B leans back on his palms, face turned toward the sky.

“It’s a beautiful day to bring my lady to the bay and watch the sun set.  Yeah… you bet!”

Aina smiles and agrees, “Ain’t no better way t’end a day.”

They enjoy the encroaching dusk in silence for a long while, watching the sun dip lower and lower in the sky, bathing the sea in shades of red and orange and yellow, turning it slowly golden.

B keeps twitching beside her and the swirling excitement in Aina’s belly churns until it’s almost overwhelming.  She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that the question she knows is coming doesn’t really matter—she and B care for each other, will always be there for each other, regardless of whether their relationship status is legally recognized.  She knows they share the same values and only want what’s best for the other.  There’s no better foundation for a relationship of any kind, including a marriage.

She thinks again how fortunate she has been to find love later in her life after being so unlucky in it for so long.

When she first began to suspect a proposal might be on his mind, Aina’s initial reaction had been uncertainty, maybe even fear.  She’d longed for a life that included a partnership like this for so long, but part of her still thought it might be beyond her reach.

And then she woke one morning to find B wrapping a green silk string around her finger, her heart beating so hard and fast in response she thought it might escape from her chest.

“What’re ya doing?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

But B laughed, long and loud, winding the string around her other fingers, threading it this way and that in some awful, knotted pantomime of a cat’s cradle.  “Good morning, my sweet, this game you’ll never beat!”  His forehead was dotted with sweat, though, his embarrassment at having been caught so clear it could only confirm her suspicions, even as she played along with his thinly veiled charade.

It still took her a few days to muster the courage to bring the topic to light.

The conversation that followed comes back to her in flashes, the uncertainty she’d felt slowly soothed as they came to an understanding.  B is still her star, guiding her through a precarious night and she knows she anchors him, too.  Talking so openly is still a terrifying thing, but it’s nice to have her feelings confirmed and reciprocated.  B isn’t one to hide his feelings, really, and she thinks they balance one another well in that regard.

B’s exuberance can sometimes be overwhelming, but he’s quiet, now, sitting next to her, which tells Aina all she needs to know about his own nerves.

As the sun lingers on the horizon, the first points of the stars appearing in the deepening blue of the sky behind them, B hops to his feet.  Aina expects him to grin at her, maybe shout out his proposal right then and there, but instead he stares out at the ocean as he says, “I know it’s a beautiful sky, but could you close your eyes?”

The nervous excitement from before pools in her belly again, returning with ferocity.

Not trusting her voice to respond, Aina just hums and complies with B’s request, letting her eyelids slide closed, her fingers tingling as she wonders what might come next.

B’s voice is close to her ear when he asks, “I’d like to sweep you off your feet if you’ll let me.  Do you mind if I carry you someplace even more heav’nly?”

Aina’s smile stretches wide enough to show her teeth and she nods, holding her arms out so B can lift her off the sand.  His strong arms curl under her legs and back to cradle her against his chest.  She can hear his heartbeat thumping against her ear in rhythm with his quickened steps, the sand swishing away under his feet as he walks.

She’s always wondered if Gyuki’s heart beats in time with B’s.  If it does, then the tailed beast must be as nervous as his vessel.

When B sets her down, Aina can hear the gentle lap of waves against the shore and she knows he’s moved her someplace where they don’t crash as heavily as their initial vantage point.

“It’s no surprise you can open your eyes.”

Aina blinks a few times so her vision can adjust.  The sun has continued setting and the entire beach is bathed in a dark orange glow, like she’s shrouded herself in the flames of a bonfire.  When she looks down, Aina realizes she and B are standing in the center of a circle of smooth stones laid out meticulously.

B clears his throat self-consciously as she notices them, but he can’t stop smiling, either.

“Took some time to find the right kind, but I knew it’d be worth it to see that smile shine.”

A sharp splash in the water draws Aina’s attention away from the beach and she positively beams when she realizes there’s a small audience–no one she wouldn’t want in attendance, though.

“Aw, B,” she says softly, eyes already shimmering as she takes in Manami and her daughter Shinju peeking out of the surf, the two giant turtles watching quietly from the shallows.

Without a word, B wraps Aina up in his arms and begins swaying back and forth, dancing with her in time to the sound of the waves against the shore and the wind whistling through the trees.  It reminds her so much of being with him on Turtle Island, of getting to know him amidst the incredible flora and fauna of that magical place.

The evening has already been so perfect Aina is about to tell him he doesn’t even need to ask the question he’s brought her here for—the answer is already clear in her mind.  But quicker than she can open her mouth to say as much, as if he’s racing against the last rays of the sun, B starts speaking.  His words tumble out of his mouth quickly, even for him, and Aina has to listen carefully to keep up.

“I’ll never forget How we first met. Even though you ran away There was plenty to say When we found each other again Because we needed one another... yeah.”

Aina doesn’t think she’s ever heard B sound so quiet or serious.  It’s clear he’s rehearsed this song, the way his voice lilts and shifts with the words, but she can hear the vowels trembling a little.

It’s sweet to know that all the nervousness she’s felt since she realized what was happening is in him, too.  B has always been so much better at knowing who he is and where he belongs, it’s nice to have a gentle reminder that he’s sometimes just as uncertain as she is.

This is all new for both of them.

“Aina you’re the loveliest thing And I know you don’t need a ring But I want the world to understand I’m your man… yeah. Sand or sea, long as you’re with me There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Aina can feel the tears streaming over her cheeks, but she doesn’t bother trying to staunch them.  What’s the use?  There’s no way for her to deny how happy she is in this moment—in every moment she’s spent with B since she met him.  Long before what they had became romantic, he’s been a powerful force in her life.

A change for the better from all the loneliness she’d known before.

B releases his grip around her waist and drops down to one knee, flinging sand out of the circle of stones.  Aina bites back a laugh, knowing how nervous he is and not wanting to make it worse.  He takes her hands in his and she can feel them trembling in her grasp as he looks up at her.  She can see her face reflected in the dark lenses of his sunglasses and she doesn’t think she’s ever smiled wider.

“In case you’re wonderin’, it’s true So will you marry me ‘cause I love you!”

It’s almost fully dark, now, the sun finally dipping below the horizon.  She feels B’s hands untangle from hers as he fumbles for something in his pocket.

When Aina looks at the ring held between his shaking fingers, she can’t help but be flooded by his thoughtfulness.  That he knows her so well is a gift she never thought she would experience in this lifetime.  She’s thankful every day that they’ve grown to know each other as they do now.

The ring is perfect in a way she never would have expected—made of dark wood with carvings around it.  She marvels at their intricacy; tentacles undulating across the surface, broken by small turtle shells.  It’s a perfect combination of them.  And the green silk band looped through it is familiar—she recognizes it immediately as the strand B wound around her finger as he attempted to measure it all those weeks ago.  How could she ever forget the awkward way she’d had to untangle her fingers for hours afterward?

B has really thought of everything, considered her feelings in every aspect of his proposal.

She feels her heart bursting not only with love, but with words and she smiles wide as she answers him in a rush of improvised verse, vision blurred with happy tears.

“B… I won’t lie. I’m scared, but our love I’ll never d’ny. I thought I’d never get t’ see Nobody gettin’ down on one knee An’ offer their ev’rything t’ me. I’m glad I’s wrong. If you are, I’m ready t’ take Th’ next leap o’ faith with you b’side me An’ th’ future in our wake. No longer d’you hafta guess. My answer, my darlin’... is yes.”

B is naturally a very upbeat person, but Aina has never seen him look so elated in all the time they’ve spent together.  It’s especially obvious given his unusually quiet and thoughtful nature throughout the evening.

But when she gives him her answer, B’s face lights up, cheeks pulled taut as he smiles hard enough to split it in half.  He springs to his feet and dashes madly down the beach. She watches, laughing, as he makes his trademark sign of the horns.  The sound of his voice reverberates across the beach and the sea and up into the heavens as he lets his jubilation loose in a single, booming, “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

Aina smiles again at this thoughtfulness; B knows she still can’t stand shouting.

Her new fiance is no less energetic when he sprints right back toward her to scoop her up into his arms.  B and Aina laugh as their small audience cheers; Manami and Shinju touch heads tenderly while Shinju eagerly splashes the water with a front flipper.  And Aina can’t help but believe that even Gyuki is smiling.  As much as he can smile, at least.

As if reading her thoughts, B laughs and says, “Didn’t think I’d ever see Gyuki so happy for me!”

When her feet touch the sand again, B presses his forehead to hers.  Aina can feel the warmth of his tears against her cheeks and she isn’t sure either one of them will ever stop smiling.

B loops the green silk strand over her head and Aina looks down at the wooden ring as it dances over her collarbone—a symbol of the love she’s been lucky enough to carve out for herself in a world she thought might never love her.  A reminder that it’s never too late to find the person your soul belongs to.

Long after the sun has disappeared and the stars dot the sky above, B and Aina dance on the beach, reveling in the promises they’ve made each other and the life they’ve found together.

Aina couldn’t have asked for a better love story than this, not even if she’d written it herself.

[evil-robot-cat]

He’s done. He’s done, he’s done, he’s done. 100% completely finished.  I wanted a Prince Sidon Nendoroid.  I’ve finally got one.

This has been my distraction and my obsession for the bulk of this year.  I was determined, no matter how ugly it would turn out, to have a Sidon Nendoroid to play with Link and Zelda.  "Even if it's terrible, it'll be mine!" was my motivation to never give up. There was a clumsy sort of a body before this, with straight legs and girly little ruffles over the shoulder.  But then I saw the legs on the Kirishima Nendoroid, and I scrapped the original body then and there.   With the new legs, I sought out parts that would get me as close to a bare, bald body as possible, and built Sidon's figure up from scratch. I had a little sketch of what I thought he would look like, and I kept that as part guide, part motivation.  Most of the parts I built up too big, then wet-sanded down into the right shape.   I had to compromise here and there.  I refused to give up his arm fins!   On a tiny, chubby figure like this, that's the easiest way to see that this is adult, not baby Sidon.  (You think it doesn't matter?  It will if I put alcohol on his dinner table!)  For obvious reasons, I couldn't give him his collar, but the whistle and cravat had to stay.  His sword and scabbard got the axe as well, so to speak.  They are only decorative, since when he's actually in battle he uses tridents.  

When it came to paint, I decided to go with pure white instead of greenish-white. (For photography purposes this is kind of a mistake. White doesn’t photograph well.)  I used Age of Calamity to make up my mind - I put Sidon and Mipha into all kinds of locations and lighting, and I'm fairly certain the green tone is just an effect caused by the blue light of the Domain.  I blended the red too dark, and in lightening it, ended up with five entire bottles of blood red paint.  That's okay - I used two of them to give him all his coats of red!  The rest, if they don't dry out, will be good for patching him up along the way.  Official or custom, Nendoroids chip when you play with them too much. 

In my excitement, I wanted to plate his silver with real metal, but other Nendoroids don't have metal finishes, and I needed him to blend in, not stand out.   His face was a challenge.  If you've seen my other customs, you know I'm not very good at controlling a tiny paint brush OR making things symmetrical.  Sidon doesn't have a human face, so I couldn't use another Nendoroid's faceplate.  One way or another, I had to make it happen.  I started with a handful of the noseless blanks Good Smile sells for custom contests.  I bought printable waterslide transfer sheets, but I didn't have the funds for printer ink.  Instead, I drew the eyes in by hand with a Staedtler marker, transferred them to the faceplates, and filled the lines in with paint. There were mistakes along the way, too.   His fins aren't symmetrical.  His right leg doesn't wiggle as much as it should because I made the hip fin too close to the joint.  His back is already chipping a little around the peg hole, and his shoulder fins are brittle.  They'll eventually need to be replaced entirely.  But not now.  Now I just want to celebrate. This is... by far... the most complex custom Nendoroid I have ever made.  To be honest, I didn't even tell people I was working on it at first, because I was so certain it would end in failure.  But when you're this excited about something, you've got to share it with someone!  Now that he's done, I can say he was worth all the struggle and doubt, all the time and concentration!

By the way...  my Sidon is not and never will be for sale. I can't make another one to sell, either.  He was very complicated and expensive to make, and I guarantee you could not pay what it would cost to do it again.  If you see photos of my Sidon somewhere offered for sale, that's a scammer!  Don't give them your money!   If you want to try making your own, though - you're welcome to use my photos as a guide (even if it's, "Ew, I'll make sure not to do what she did!"), and ask me for any tips or advice about how to do it.  I'll share all the information I have - probably more than you want, and you'll be tired of hearing it!  

[sserpente]

A/N: So this is a much requested Part II of this Christmas Imagine which I suppose you can also read on its own. Also has requests from @keepcalmandtravelonkate and @fandom-rpblog as well as the exclusive Zoom meeting idea. Haha, enjoy everyone! ♥

Words: 1822 Warnings: fluff

Christmas Eve came sooner than you had thought and it was about as cheerful as you had imagined it. Thor greeted you with mug of steaming hot chocolate first thing in the morning, wearing the ugly Christmas sweater you had bought him last year and Tony was already in the spacious living room with Pepper to finish up the preparations for his annual Christmas party.

You spent the entire day baking biscuits and didn’t see Loki all day but for some peculiar reason you hoped that he too would attend the biggest Christmas party in New York City. Tony had invited everyone—no, that was not entirely true, the party was, in fact, for everyone—especially those who had no one else to spend Christmas Eve with or wanted to do so with none other than the famous Avengers.

With a sigh, you finished applying your red lipstick and admired yourself in the mirror. The green dress shimmering like a thousand tiny crystals had cost you way more than what you would normally spend on clothes but the occasion was worth it. You had only realised after that green was Loki’s colour too. Another sigh escaped your lips.

The God of Mischief and you had not really spoken since the roof-incident. Part of you wondered whether he was about as confused as you about what had happened between you, especially after Thor had interpreted your entanglement in a romantic manner, the other insisted you didn’t think too much of it. Loki was just… Loki. Mysterious, mischievous and handsome. Wait… handsome?

By the time you arrived at the party, more than two dozen guests had already arrived. Dressed in Christmas pullovers, suits or festive dresses much like you, they held small glasses full of mulled wine, eggnog or champagne, munching on biscuits and other Christmas treats and chatting with each other and the superheroes who had already joined the party guests, impressing them with their stories and their skills.

Your heart skipped a beat when you spotted Loki standing only a few feet away from you. Heavens, he should not be allowed to wear suits. Instead of the light version of his Asgardian signature outfit you usually saw him in, the God of Mischief was dressed in an all-black suit complimenting his raven hair and tall figure. It was perfect to blend in and not attract too much attention, for many citizens still avoided him like the plague after everything that had happened only a few years back. Your eyes met, sending waves of electricity though you, and he nodded.

You furrowed your brows when somebody spoke your name. “Is that you?” Much to your dismay, you recognised the voice immediately. It belonged to Derek, your ex-boyfriend. Derek who collected action figures of the Avengers and who owned a Captain America costume worth five-hundred dollars. Derek, who had cheated on you with other women and, upon your break-up, had blamed you for the sexual imbalance in your relationship. Needless to say, you had not exactly ended it on good terms. The last thing you wanted to do was chat to him of all people on Christmas Eve. Much rather, you’d finally spend some time with Loki again. He was fun to be around once he had warmed up to someone…

“I tried to text you like… a hundred times.”

“I saw. I blocked your number after fifty.” You retorted.

“Don’t be like that. I was going to make up, you know.”

“You literally told me it’s my fault that you went ahead and fucked other women behind my back, Derek!”

“Because you didn’t give me what I need in the bedroom, baby. We should have talked about that more. It wouldn’t happen again. Let’s talk about this. Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay… Care to dance with me then?”

“Absolutely not.” You hissed.

“Come on. You are not here with someone, are you?”

You blinked. Fuck. Think, think, think. “Yes, actually.” You lied quickly. Your eyes fell on Loki who met your gaze again in a strange and almost affectionate way—something had definitely changed between you since he had helped you decorate the Avengers facility and you remembered, with butterflies in your belly, how he had caught you in his arms when you had fallen off the roof like a bird with broken wings. The idea came to you before you could properly think it through. Derek would never dare to defy someone like Loki. He was your perfect alibi to get rid of him.

“I’m here with my boyfriend. You probably know Loki?” Before you could change your mind, you stepped forward, closed the remaining distance between you and put your arm under Loki’s. He did not fail to react. Turning away from Thor, he frowned and stared at your linked arms, then opened his mouth to question you. Much to your relief, however, the gesture did not seem to anger him.

You shot him a pleading glance. Play along, you thought. Please, take the hint.

“Are you serious right now?” Derek spat, a both disgusted and shocked expression on his face.

Much to your surprise—or maybe not—Loki wrapped his arms around your middle then, pressing you against his strong body. Your heart skipped a beat. This felt like him cradling you in his arms like a bride, only more… intense, for this time—this time, it was actually intentional.

Loki gave Derek a glare, his lips ghosting over your forehead. “Are you alright, my sweet mortal?” My sweet mortal? “I believe you have promised me a dance.”

Derek swallowed, blinking at you a few times—and then, without a word, he shook his head and disappeared in the burbling and dancing crowd. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Good thing for you he’d always been a coward.

But while relief was flooding your veins, at the very same time, adrenaline set every single cell of your body on fire. Loki was still holding you. His lips against your skin had felt like the gentle kiss of a butterfly… You looked up, if anything not to make the situation even more awkward than it already was, given that by now, both Thor and Natasha had become rather taken aback witnesses as well.

“Thank you. I really owe you.” You muttered.

“I take it this was a former suitor of yours?”

You gave him a weak smile. “That’s a very elegant way to put it but yes, he is my ex-boyfriend. I left him when I found out he cheated on me—repeatedly. I panicked when he approached me and I knew he’d be scared of you.”

“Why thank you.” Loki replied with dismay before, much to your surprise, a smirk grew on his lips.

“No! I just meant…”

“I know what you meant. So?”

“S-so what?”

“He is still watching you. You would do well to keep up the act.” Loki said, keeping you from spinning around to check. But he was probably right either way. You had just announced in front of a bunch of strangers as well as your ex-boyfriend and two Avengers that Loki and you were dating. You were honestly surprised the Trickster did not at all seem too bothered by this very circumstance, not to mention what it meant for you. Ever since the roof-incident, you certainly didn’t mind clinging onto him like that.

“Dance with me.” He commanded softly, one of his large hands coming to rest on your waist while the other interlinked with yours. “He will lose interest if you feign easiness.”

You nodded quickly, leaning into him to not raise any suspicion and taking a deep breath when the side of your face connected with his chest. Loki rested his chin on the top of your head, weighing you gently from side to side as if the music was made of waves carrying you over an ocean. It was a classic playing right now—What are you doing New Year’s Eve by Ella Fitzgerald—sweet, calm… romantic. This evening was going in a very dangerous direction now but you couldn’t help but feel safe and protected in the God of Mischief’s arms. Who would have thought that putting up Christmas decoration together would create such a strong bond between two people… a mortal and a god on top of that?

“I got you a Christmas present, you know.” You murmured after a while.

His voice vibrated in his chest, you could feel it against your cheek. “Did you now?”

“Hmm…” He stole away your ability to speak. That was so unfair! “I was going to give it to you tomorrow morning but… would you like me to give it to you now, in private?” It would be the perfect excuse to get away from here for a bit too, even if, in better lighting, Loki would probably notice your blushed cheeks.

“Lead the way, my sweet mortal.” There it was again. Smiling up at him sheepishly, you moved a step back and took his hand, practically fleeing from the scene.

Loki remained in the doorway when you reached your room. Whether it was out of decency or respect, you couldn’t quite tell. You crossed your room with quick steps, reaching for Loki’s gift under your bed. You had wrapped it in green paper and decorated it with a golden bow. A bit of a cliché perhaps but it looked just perfect.

“Merry Christmas, Loki.” You said when you returned to him and handed it to him. He only took it hesitatingly.

“Why did you get me a gift?”

You shrugged. “I just wanted to be nice. I doubt the others will have gotten you something so I thought… just so you can unwrap something too?” You almost choked on your nervous laughter. “You know I almost decided not to give it to you after all after you almost drove me mad when I was hanging up the Christmas lights.”

Loki chuckled. “I suppose you made that consideration before I saved your life.”

“More or less...” You replied, winking at him. Hey… this isn’t so hard after all!

Your heart was pounding in your chest by the time he unwrapped it, revealing the notebook and the green and gold fountain pen you had gotten him. It even came with green ink.

“It’s not much, really, just…” You said quickly. “I keep seeing you scribbling and reading a lot and I thought…”

“Thank you.” He interrupted. Honesty swung in his smooth voice, making your heart beat faster in an instant. At this speed, you were going to need an ambulance soon.

You smiled. “I ought to thank you. Derek is a dick. You saved me twice now, I’m in your debt.”

Loki chuckled once more, looking you deeply in the eye. “Yes. I believe you are.” It was, without a doubt, a promise.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente 

[denkamis]

hc’s about falling in love with your childhood best friend.

masterlist.

warnings: swearing ig?? it’s fluffy, mainly. i tried to make it fairly gender neutral in terms of the reader. 

notes: hi uh these were supposed to be for the dekusquad but they ended up being SO much longer than i originally intended so i cut down on the characters ;-; i struggled with bakugou’s but his ended up being the longest??? idk man, hope you guys like it <3 these are seriously just drabbles in disguise

izuku midoriya

you met at an author meetup at the local bookstore. the book was a biography about all might, ofc you were bound to meet

you were in front of him in line and he shyly complimented you on the all might t-shirt you had worn

you two basically spent the entire time talking to each other about your favourite pro heroes as you waited in line

by the time you got to the front, you were so engrossed in your own conversations that both inko and your mom figured it would just be better to take you two home for a playdate instead 

since you were friends with midoriya, that meant bakugou was also in your little circle 

you stood up to him a couple times and always checked up on midoriya after kacchan’s tiny tantrums 

midoriya appreciated that, and you two were practically inseparable 

bakugou always accused you two of teaming up against him 

you would simply link arms with midoriya, tilt your chin up high and say that you were a full package deal. two peas in a pod. two halves of a whole, always 

midoriya’s face seemed to be permanently red that entire day 

you two were pretty dedicated in school, with you wanting to persue your top picks for high school. that meant that there were lots of study dates between you two 

during those study dates, midoriya couldn’t help if his gaze lingered on you just a bit more than his notes about quirk laws 

he realized he was in love with you when you had stayed after school to look for the notebook kacchan had burnt 

“you don’t have to do this, y/n. i can find it on my own… i don’t want to make to make you stay any longer.” 

“don’t say that, izuku. i don’t mind. besides, we always stick together and we will even after you get into ua!” 

“a- after i get in?” he spoke in a disbelief. everyone had doubted him, everyone had told him that he needed a quirk in order to get in but not you

you stayed. you supported him. you believed in him. 

he grabbed your hand on instinct, startling you. “i- i-” he began stuttering, eyes darting about as the feelings he hadn’t realized resurfaced

“thank you.” 

you gave him a gentle smile, chest feeling light as your hand encased in midoriya’s squeezed his own comfortingly 

“full package deal, remember?” 

he nodded, his smile jittery and shy. you giggled, blush dancing on your cheeks as you went on your next rant about how kamui woods could totally beat mount lady in a fight 

midoriya gripped the straps of his backpack, chest feeling light and his head feeling dizzy with all the new thoughts of you flooding his mind

oh yeah, he was definitely in love with you

shouto todoroki

you were his neighbour 

well, more accurately, your grandparents were his neighbours and you visited often 

your grandparents made you get the mail in the mornings and sometimes you would see him outside in the front yard with his mother. you would wave to him, and he would give a timid wave back after some encouragement from his mother 

you would play outside with your grandfather, flying your tiny kite and playing catch with him 

until you noticed there was a boy lingering near the fence separating the both of your houses 

he was watching the relationship you had with your grandfather curiously, almost as if there were a bit of envy in his eyes 

being the kind child that you were, you went over to him and passed the small ball between the rungs of the fence to him 

shouto was hesitant, but eventually took the ball from your inviting grip and tossed it back and forth between his hands testingly

this began a little game between you two 

he would toss the ball over the fence, and you would throw it back over to him

you didn’t quite understand why he couldn’t come on the other side of the fence to visit properly, but that was okay

you two would spend hours by the fence, sitting and talking you would give him tiny daisy chains made from the flowers in your grandma’s garden 

he wouldn’t tell you, but he kept each one you gave him on his windowsill 

he would compliment you a lot, too

not that he knew what that meant, he was simply stating facts to you 

“i like your hair. it’s very pretty.” 

“you’re very strong. you throw over the ball like it’s nothing.” 

“you want to become a hero? i think you would be the best one.” 

“your smile makes me want to smile, too.”

all of his words make your heart do somersaults

sometimes when you’re sitting with your backs to the fence, leaning up against each other, you feel the heat of his left hand ghosting your fingers. you don’t know why that made you feel shy, but it did

one day before you were supposed to go back home to your parents’ house, you went to go say goodbye to shouto 

he was sitting there normally, but his head was hung low so you couldn’t quite see his face 

as you approached him, you noticed that there was a bandage covering his left eye 

“sho?” 

he said nothing as you sat down 

“mom says i have to go now,” you tell him. he says nothing, again 

“um… are you okay?” 

an indiscernible noise comes from the small boy. you press your face right up against the one barrier separating you two. he looks up to see you worried. you didn’t like seeing him so upset

then an idea came to you

“before i go.. let me kiss it better.” 

shouto looked at you in bewilderment

“you’re not… afraid?” 

“no, why?” you asked in a confused manner, yet shouto remained hesitant 

“come here, please,” you asked of him, “before mom catches me kissing a boy.” 

pink dusting over his cheeks, he slowly crawled his way over to where you still kept your face against the fence. your gentle lips met the fabric of his bandage. the scent of something burnt catching in your nose as you did 

“you’ll come back?” shouto asked quietly. you nodded, promising him 

he nodded back in understanding, the tiniest of smiles appearing across his features 

“i’ll be waiting.”

katsuki bakugou

you had been in the same class since kindergarten, meaning that you knew him before he had his quirk 

even so, you thought he was pretty cool 

the reason for that? well, you weren’t exactly the most well liked kid in school. children were ruthless, and there was always a bottom of every social ladder between preschoolers

you got teased a lot. they pulled your hair, made fun of the way you cried, poked fun at the shoes and shirts you wore despite them being your favourite ones 

you were different. they didn’t like that 

the world seemed completely against you

during a colouring activity, the box of crayons you were holding was smacked out of your hands. your bottom lip quivered as the same boy taunted you to no end about how clumsy you were 

you simply bent over to pick them up before hearing another voice call out 

“oi, picking on small fries like that is lame.” 

looking to your left stood katsuki bakugou, looking bored and disinterested in helping you out. but your bully stopped in his tracks. being called lame?? by the great tiny katsuki bakugou?? 

no one had ever stood up for you like that 

even though he didn’t help you pick up your crayons, it felt like you had some type of ally in this class

slowly, you connected two and two together 

if you stayed around bakugou, no one could pick on you anymore! so you glued yourself to him practically every day 

at first, he found it annoying, but after seeing that you admired him up close, he liked the attention that feuled his ego, so he kept you around 

because you followed him around so much, you picked up a lot of things from him. he taught you how to defend yourself, and you taught him that some extras didn’t deserve as much attention as he was giving him. it was better to walk away sometimes

you ate lunch together, he came over to your house to play heroes and villains, he even showed you his secret all might poster collection. you were his person to talk to

he even had a katsuki bakugou™ nickname for you: small fry 

you two were quite the duo. bakugou went from simply tolerating you, to gradually beginning to care for you being around

and as you grew up with him, he caught himself beginning to admire the strong, gorgeous person you had become all on your own. it seemed he had developed a bit more than just a simple friendship bond with you

did he ever tell you that? fuck no 

you knew bakugou had always been rather… brash 

but you absolutely drew the line in the sand when he wouldn’t stop picking on midoriya for being quirkless. that one day where you walked into that classroom to meet bakugou and his group of friends only to see bakugou telling some green haired kid to jump off the building because he would never make it into ua without a quirk. he was different

bakugou turned to leave and he saw you standing in the doorway with a bit of an angry, hurt expression on his face

“small fry, thought you were never gonna show up.” 

“... lame.”

“hah? what did you say?” 

“i said it’s lame picking on small fries like that just because they’re different,” you spat at him. his eyes stayed fixated on you as you walked past him, helping the smaller boy off the floor and asking if he was okay 

normally, if it were anyone else, bakugou wouldn’t care. at all

but it was you

 you were different 

and all he did was act like he didn’t care. why? he didn’t know. but what he said to you that day came out rash and hurtful. you two had your fights before, but this had struck a chord with you. no one deserved to be treated like how you were back in preschool. that hurt

he didn’t realize how much you meant to him until you stopped inviting him over, you stopped eating lunch with him, you stopped texting and that bothered him 

the one person who he wanted to admire him didn’t anymore 

so it was a surprise to you that he waited for you to be finished your club after school to talk 

“small fry, listen. oi! i said listen up!” you kept walking, but he stopped you by grabbing your wrist 

“what? what is it? what can you possibly say to make things better? how could you treat people like that?” 

“come back.” 

“what?” 

“i said, fuck- come back, y’know, eat lunch with all the extras again.” 

“no.” 

the frustration showed true on bakugou’s features. his cheeks were turning red, you figured from the anger he was feeling towards you yet his voice dropped 

“i didn’t mean that shit back there. i was angry. fuck, i.. you want me to apologize or some shit, right. heard you small fries like that.” he shifted uncomfortably, his clammy hand still holding your wrist in a firm grip, as if you would walk away from him any moment now 

“sorry, or whatever.” he mumbled out in the smallest voice you had ever heard bakugou speak in 

your heart stopped as he looked at you with such sincerity. you held his gaze, eyes locked on his before you shook your head

“i don’t forgive you for saying what you said and doing what you did, but i do trust you. and i know that you’re better than that. you’re not lame. but if you seriously do that again, i’m not giving you any more chances.” 

relief came flooding back to bakugou at your words, but his face fired up almost instantly as you moved your hand so that your fingers intertwined with his 

“now c’mon, the new all might special is airing tonight, if we hurry we can still make it to my house.” 

“don’t speak so fucking loud! ... damn small fry.”

all works © denkamis 2021.

tags:

@meilbox

want to be on the taglist? see this post!

[genshin-impact-writings]

Hi there! I’m one of the many silent readers that enjoys your writing but rarely interacts with anything (I’m shy!) Speaking up this time to let you know that your efforts are 💯% appreciated!!!

Saw your reqs are open for Thoma and Baal but don’t have to do it if you don’t want to: welcome tour with Thoma but it’s an actual tour instead of some hidden agenda to try to recruit you into the resistance 🙃

Heya! Thank you so much for your kind words, I really appreciate your support! <3 And thank you for your request. I got a bit carried away while writing this and it doesn't fit your original idea perfectly but I hope you'll like it nevertheless. Have a great day/night and take care, dear! :)

Welcome to Inazuma – Thoma x gn!reader

Your palms felt a bit sweaty when you entered Inazuma City, immediately surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the area that was much more crowded and noisier than Ritou where you had arrived a couple of days ago. There were soldiers everywhere, and although you knew that you had a valid travel permit, the sight still made you nervous.

You didn’t know much about the things that had happened in Inazuma recently but judging from everything the Adventurer’s Guild had told you before they sent you here, the situation was still quite tense. Surely, it would be best to avoid any unnecessary attention until you had spoken to your new superiors, and so you took a deep breath and bowed your head as you continued to make your way through the city.

Finding the local branch of the Guild luckily wasn’t too difficult, and by the time you had arrived there, your nervousness had already started to subside. “Hello Katheryne,” you greeted the familiar receptionist before handing over your papers. “I’m (Y/N), from Mondstadt.”

“Welcome to Inazuma,” she replied with the same polite smile you had already seen so many times. “The local adventurers have anticipated your arrival but unfortunately, they are quite busy with their commissions today, so they can’t welcome you right now. But perhaps you would like to take a walk through the city in the meantime? There’s a lot to see and it’s surely more interesting than sitting around and waiting for the others to return.”

And that is how it came that you were wandering around the city for the second time on that day, trying to process all the new impressions that besieged you. There were various restaurants and food stalls, smaller and larger shops that sold all kinds of things, and you couldn’t deny that the whole situation was quite overwhelming, especially compared to your home town Mondstadt where everything was a bit more leisurely and relaxed. But at the same time, it made you incredibly happy to be able to explore a place like this.

“Excuse me but – are you (Y/N)? The adventurer from Mondstadt?” a voice behind you asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. When you turned around, you saw a tall, blonde man standing behind you, dressed in dark red and black clothes and, as you noticed almost immediately, with a Pyro vision attached to his belt. But what really caught your attention were his friendly, bright green eyes.

“Um,” you hesitated with your answer. “Yes.”

“Oh, great!” His lips curled into a delighted smile, and he quickly grabbed your hand to shake it. “I’m Thoma! Miss Kamisato told me you’d arrive today and asked me to show you around.”

“Miss Kamisato?” you repeated. Of course, you had heard of the Kamisato Clan and their role in the recent events but you weren’t too sure why they were so well informed about your arrival in Inazuma.

Still smiling, Thoma nodded. “Most of your future commissions actually come from the Kamisato Clan. As you may or may not have guessed already, things are a bit complicated in Inazuma right now and we all could need another helping hand to deal with some of these inconveniences. That’s why the local Adventurer’s Guild asked Mondstadt and Liyue for help, you see.”

You hummed in response. His explanations made sense, and he seemed to be a sociable and friendly companion, so there was really no reason to dismiss his offer to show you around the city. In the end, you thought to yourself, it could only be of advantage to explore the area together with a local.

“Okay,” you finally replied and hesitatingly returned his smile. “Where should we go first?”

*

“And here we have the Yae Publishing House,” your companion explained a couple of hours later, gesturing towards the building complex in front of you. It was an unobtrusive, yet fairy large building, compared to the others, but the stall right in front of it was all the more interesting. The shelves bent under dozens of books in various shapes and sizes, organized in a classification system you couldn’t figure out at first glance.

“If you ever need something to read, this is the place to go,” the man by your side continued, and you turned your head to look at him. “I don’t think I’ll have a lot of time to read in between my commissions.”

Thoma laughed, a contagious, joyful laugh that you found more attractive than you wanted to admit. “I’ll have to make sure that you don’t overwork yourself, then.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” you replied and grimaced at him when he only laughed more at your words. “No doubt, dear adventurer. But everyone needs someone to look after them sometimes, don’t you agree?”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Is that so? We’ve spent almost the entire day with each other.”

You rolled your eyes but it was nearly impossible to fight back the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth now. “You must be insane if you think that a few hours are enough to get to know me properly.”

He winked at you. “Thankfully, the day isn’t over yet. We still have plenty of time to chat. So, how about we take a break and grab something to eat before we continue our little tour? I know some great restaurants that are just around the corner. It’s my treat, of course.”

“That sounds like a really good idea,” you said, letting out a quiet shriek when he linked arms with you and dragged you along before you could even finish your sentence. “A bit impatient, aren’t we?”

An apologetic smile and an almost innocent look were his only answer at first. Then, with an overdramatic sigh, he added, “What can I say? Food is my weak point.”

“Then we should definitely hurry – who’s going to show me where I can watch the sunset if you’re going to pass out from malnutrition?”

He grinned. “Well, luckily I know the perfect spot to do that. Once we’ve finished our meal, I’ll take you there, dear adventurer.”

*

“Now, would you look at that,” Thoma said quietly, pointing towards the horizon where the sky was painted in the most gorgeous shades of orange, red and purple as the day slowly came to an end. The rippling surface of the ocean reflected the light of the setting sun in a way you had never seen before, and for a few seconds, you could only stare at the spectacle of nature that happened right in front of you.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered then, your eyes still glued to the sky. Next to you, Thoma couldn’t help but smile; a soft, genuine smile that would have made your face heat up if you had seen it.

“Very beautiful, indeed,” he agreed, his voice barely audible, but he wasn’t watching the sunset anymore. Instead, he was looking at you from the corner of his eye. In the warm light of the sun, your skin had an ethereal glow, and your hair that framed your face almost looked like a halo from his perspective. “A sight to behold, one might say.”

You blinked at him, unable to hide your embarrassment when you finally realized that he wasn’t talking about the sunset anymore. He chuckled quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fluster you. It’s just – you’re stunning, you know?”

“You’re quite handsome yourself, Thoma,” you replied, a sheepish grin spreading on your face as his eyes widened at the unexpected compliment before he quickly turned his head away to hide the soft, rosy colored blush that creeped up his neck. “Um, thanks, I guess.”

“I mean it.”

Silence fell between the two of you then as you continued to watch the sky getting darker and darker until the sun had almost disappeared over the horizon. You could already see the stars, countless bright dots scattered over the dark blue sky. The quiet rushing of the ocean perfected the peaceful scenery, and for a few moments, you found yourself wondering if you could perhaps stay in Inazuma for a bit longer than originally planned. Surely, the Adventurer’s Guild wouldn’t mind. You could spend more time with exploring the Nation of Eternity – and you could spend more time with Thoma, too. Although you had only known him for barely a day, you couldn’t deny that he had made an impression on you, and you really wanted to get to know him better.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “You impressed me, too.”

It was only then when you realize that you had wondered out loud about your stay in Inazuma and, more importantly, about him. Oh no. You felt your cheeks heating up in embarrassment and opened your mouth to explain yourself but when you noticed the soft expression in his eyes, you decided to remain silent instead before you’d say even more awkward things.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke as you kept staring at each other, trying to figure out your next move.

“Would it be too bold of me to kiss you right now?” Thoma finally broke the silence, his voice barely louder as a whisper and his breath softly brushing against your face as he spoke. When you shook your head, leaning in ever so slightly to signalize that you wouldn’t mind it at all, he let his hand trail to the back of your neck to guide you forward before finally closing the gap between the two of you and pressing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss. Your eyes fluttered closed, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you felt him melt under your touch.

You were both out of breath when he pulled away. A soft smile played around his mouth as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. Leaning in again, he rested his forehead against yours, looking at you with shining, green eyes that were filled with so much honest adoration that it sent a shiver down your spine. “Welcome to Inazuma, my dear adventurer.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider reblogging. I would really appreciate the support! <3

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