#this is the first time I posted anything so maybe I might post more. it’s a maybe :)

[stylesharrys]

The Box | Part Two [Boxerry]

Y/N and Harry find themselves on the run from the same people that killed Sam, and Y/N isn't sure how much more of this she can take. 

A/N: this is the final part of the series, still mad that it wouldn’t let me post it as one big fic but it is what it is. I’m working super hard on some new things for you guys and I’m excited to share them when they’re ready… but I do have a couple more old exclusive pieces I might share first :) 

Warnings: (in no particular order) mentions of death/loss of a sibling and grandparent, mentions of miscarriage, unsupportive parents, swearing, brief descriptions of illegal fighting, money laundering, use of weapons, brief mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder, smut; kissing, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, protected sex, oral (both receiving/69)

WC: 14.8k 

//

“Y/N, you forgot to sign off on meds.” 

With a very tired sigh, Y/N huffs to herself. She’s been like this all day, messing up here and there, forgetting things she wouldn’t ever usually forget. But that’s what happens when Y/N gets in her head. She makes mistakes and finds it difficult to think straight. 

She wouldn’t have this problem if she didn’t sleep with Harry. If he didn’t sneak out while she slept like she had told him to. But alas, here she is, unable to think about anything else other than the dull ache between her thighs where she craves him the most. 

She probably wouldn’t be this pent up if they spoke about it — or spoke at all in general. But they haven’t, not really. In the last two days, they’ve shared a total of six texts between them, and she doesn’t even have to look at her phone to remind herself of what they say. 

Harry: I left while you were sleeping, thought it would be best that way x

Y/N: yeah, I get it x

Y/N: I won’t be able to come to the club until Wednesday if that’s ok. Working late the next two days

Harry: no stress, come whenever u can x

Y/N: just to make you aware, Mary has started new medication for her diabetes x

Harry: cool, thank you x

The small conversation had been spread over 48 hours and Y/N isn’t sure how to feel about that. Is that a hint that she should take? That he’s not interested in it happening again, even though they alluded to another time when they were together? 

It’s the unknown that’s had her so worked up today. So much so that even now, fixing her mistake on the medication sheet, she somehow almost signs the wrong name off. 

Handing the pen back to Cynthia, Y/N finally grabs her bag and zips up her jacket to leave work. She doesn’t waste a second before opening the door and allowing the biting chill of the night's air to nip at the skin of her face. 

The idea of a steaming hot bath and a glass of white wine sits heavy in her mind as she makes for the car park, tries to think of the best way she can take her mind off Harry this evening. 

She supposes she could catch up with one of her shows, maybe even start the book she bought last week and still hasn’t got round to opening. 

A book, bath and a glass of wine is what she decides on — she might even be cheeky and order food in or pick something up on the way home. 

It’s only a few more steps to her car when she hears an engine turn on a few spaces from her. Headlights light up the dark, illuminating her way slightly and she squints. 

The late shift ended two hours ago and no one else is finishing or starting shift at this time of the night. She wonders if it’s just someone who lives locally that’s using their parking lot, but the harder she looks, the more unnerved she feels. 

Y/N recognises the three faces in the car — two in the front and one in the back. She remembers their intense gazes from the pub just a few nights ago; where Harry got extremely uptight about their presence — and now, they’re here, outside of her work, staring at her. 

That familiar feeling of fear settles heavy in her stomach and as if out of impulse, she begins to slow her speed and sifts through her purse, appearing as though she’s searching for her keys. 

She stops then, subtly pulls her phone out and turns around back toward the building of the care home, like she’s lost what she’s looking for. It’s when her back is completely toward the car and her feet slowly carry her back to the front door to not appear spooked, she’s dialling Harry’s number and bringing the phone to her ear. 

It only rings once and then he answers. 

“Hey,” his voice is light, happy. “I was just about to call you.” 

“Harry, I need you to pick me up from work.” The panic in her voice stirs something worrisome in Harry’s gut and his once airy tone is diminished. 

“Okay, I’m coming. What’s wrong, Penny? Are you okay?” 

“Those guys from the pub the other night are here. They’re in a car right by mine and I’m scared. I don’t know what to fucking do!” 

He’s swallowing down the bile that crawls up his throat, grabbing his keys from the table in the office as he stands. 

“Are you in your car?”

“No, I was walking out of work when I noticed them.”

“Go back inside and meet me out the back. Do not leave the building until I text you.”

“Can you please stay on the phone with me?” 

His heart clenches, hands balling into fists. He doesn’t say anything to anyone as he leaves the club, only a few of the guys training in the space. 

“Yeah, just keep talking to me. How many guys are in the car?” 

Y/N hears him start up his engine as she re-enters the building and rushes through the halls. “Three.” 

Harry doesn’t have to ask what they look like to know who they are. The anger that consumes him begins to shake his body, red slowly blurring his vision and he hasn’t driven this fast since the night of Sammy’s death. 

“Harry, who are they? Why did you get spooked at the pub when you saw them and why the fuck are they waiting outside my work?” 

He doesn’t answer her. “I’ll be two minutes, just stay inside.” 

She doesn’t like the way he dismisses her question, how she’s being left in the dark, purposefully. That fear begins to ache in her fingertips, heart racing against her ribcage and those familiar signs of a panic attack begin to make themselves apparent. 

“Har… I can’t breathe. I’m freaking the fuck out.” 

“Don’t,” he tells her, voice stern. “I’m coming around the corner. It’s gonna be fine…. I’m outside.” 

She pushes through the back door quickly, eyes frantically searching for his Chevy when she finally spots his headlights. Harry flashes them at her, leaning over to open the passenger door and Y/N’s quick to get inside and lock it shut behind her. 

The state she’s in makes Harry feel sick. Eyes like a deer in headlights, fear prominent in every feature. She turns to him with a wild look, swallowing thickly. 

Harry reaches for her hand and gives her a reassuring squeeze before reversing out of the narrow road and turning back around. 

“What the fuck is going on?” 

He keeps his eyes fixed on the road, ignoring her question until she calls his name again, much sterner this time. 

“Tell me what is going on.” 

He looks at her briefly, dragging his eyes back to the road again. This is not how he wanted it to go. He didn’t want her caught up in this mess and he didn’t want to have to be the one to explain Sammy’s death. Much less under these circumstances. 

“I’m going to take you back to my place and I’ll explain everything there, okay?” 

Y/N shakes her head profusely, tearing her hand from Harry’s hold as the panic refuses to subside. 

“No, that’s not okay. Harry, I can’t—“

“Penny! Stop. Do you trust me?” 

She blinks at him. “What?” 

“Do you trust me?” he repeats, accentuating every word. 

It’s not something she needs to think about. Maybe it’s a bit crazy, a bit premature, but she does trust him. With her life. 

She nods her head once. “I trust you.” 

Her words sit a little heavy in Harry’s chest. She trusts him. The confirmation of it doesn’t relax him like he thought it would. Because Sam trusted him, and Harry was too late. 

He’ll be damned if history repeats itself. 

“Then trust when I say I’ll explain everything when we get home. You’re safe with me, and I need you to calm down.” 

He knows it’s easier said than done but when he doesn’t hear Y/N complain, and he feels her relax into her seat the best she can, that heaviness sits a little lighter. 

“Okay.” 

The usual forty minute drive to Harry’s apartment takes just under twenty minutes. The roads are clear and Harry’s not ashamed to admit he stepped on the gas a little harder than usual. 

To him, this isn’t a time to take a leisurely drive and admire the night's view. Because if this is anything like before, it’s life or death and Harry won’t allow the latter. 

His flat is on the third floor of a fairly large complex. It’s stealth-like, how he guides her through the halls and into his flat. She takes it in for a few seconds. Clean, tidy, minimal. 

Like he can up and leave at any given moment if necessary. 

Harry throws his keys on the coffee table and rushes to the window, closing the blinds before wandering to the kitchen to do the same. A frown sits heavy between his brows and there’s something a bit erratic about him. 

The composure she had just moments before is quickly dwindling and soon enough, she’s back to panicking again. 

“Can you tell me what the fuck is going on now?” 

Harry chews on the inside of his cheek, hands on his hips as he looks at her. Neither of them really take into consideration that this is the first time they’ve seen each other since they slept together. 

And now is not a time to bring it up either. 

Harry huffs. “Look, those guys are bad news. Mentally fucking insane, okay? They had it out for Sam and now they’re after you.” 

Y/N stares at him, blinking her eyes wide. “Excuse me?” 

He doesn’t want to tell her, can't stomach the idea of it, but Harry knows he doesn’t have a choice. He can’t keep her in the dark about her brother forever. And now that the same people are after her, she deserves to know the truth. 

“Sam wasn’t always this great guy, Penny. He had a dark side and they were a part of it.” 

The mention of her late brother makes her heart twist. Her chest begins to rattle as she tries to take in his words. To understand what he’s trying to get at. 

“What are you trying to say?” She poses the question carefully, not wanting to read the situation wrong. 

A look of softness flashes across Harry’s face as he takes a step closer. “Sammy’s death wasn’t an accident,” he begins, “Those guys ran him off the road and killed him.”

It’s all too much and everything starts caving in on her. Y/N can hardly breathe, can barely even see. There’s a drumming in her head that deafens her, a haze in her eyes that blinds her. 

Her brother didn’t pass away. He was taken — his soul torn from his body before he was ready to go, and Y/N can’t stomach that. Can’t handle the truth of what Harry’s told her. 

How is she supposed to live her life now? Knowing her brother was murdered. Knowing they are the reason for it. 

“Why?” she cries through laboured breaths. 

“Sam owed them money.”

“How much?” 

There’s a pause, and then… “Thirty grand.” 

She’s completely exasperated, struggling to comprehend anything he’s saying. Was thirty grand really worth his life? 

“He was late in paying them,” Harry continues. “We had Feds on our backs watching the club and all of our transactions, we couldn’t risk it.” 

Y/N looks at him, brows pinched tightly as she struggles to see through the onslaught of tears. “So he just refused?” 

Harry shakes his head. “No, not at first. But then they uh… they went after this girl he’d been seeing—“

“—Amira?”

Harry nods. “They tried scaring her, to give Sam a message. They roughed her up — Penny…” he pauses, like he’s preparing himself to say what he needs to, and just when Y/N thinks it couldn’t get worse, it does, “She was pregnant. And she lost the baby because of it.” 

Harry doesn’t give her time to properly process his words, figures it’ll be best to rip most of the bandaid off at once rather than in small increments. 

“Sam lost his shit, told them that they’ll never see their money and that he was after them. One night, they showed up at the club and all Hell broke loose. They ran, we followed — Sam in one car and me in another.” 

The way his voice begins to dwindle with every passing word makes Y/N’s stomach sink. Like she knows what he’s leading up to, that he’s about to divulge the traumatic truth of her brother's death. 

She doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to hear what will haunt her for the rest of her life. But her heart needs the truth — needs to understand what happened to him, needs revenge. 

“Sam was always a better driver; faster,” he croaks, and he falls silent for a second or two until he speaks again with a broken voice. “I heard the sound the same time I turned the corner — his car had flipped and was wrapped around a telephone pole. And they were gone.” 

Her heart is in her stomach, a numbing pain searing through her veins. Pain for Amira and their baby, pain for Sam, pain for herself. But with the pain comes anger. Anger toward the men that killed him. Anger toward the fact that Harry’s always had this knowledge of Sam’s death and didn’t say anything until now, when he felt he had to. 

“You’ve known this whole time.”

There’s little to no emotion in her voice, and the blank expression in her eyes begins to unnerve Harry slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“So you just weren't going to tell me at all?” 

Harry’s growing frustrated but he knows he has no right. He kept this secret from her, he chose to protect her from the truth and is only now realising the consequences of that decision. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You can hate me all you want but right now, we need to get out of here.” 

A slither of confusion cracks through that empty facade as she takes in the desperation of his voice. Like she’s only now just remembering the severity of the situation they’re in. 

“What?” 

“It’s a matter of time before they check your place, check mine and then riot the club. They didn’t just stop after Sam. They’re trying to take over The Box and that includes getting rid of you and I.”

That all consuming panic is quick to surge through her body, chest rising and falling rapidly as the anger subsides to fear. 

“So… so we need to leave town.” 

He nods slowly at her shaky words, allowing her to take the lead as much as she can so she doesn't feel forced. Y/N scratches at her forehead, keeps her eyes on the ground below her. 

“Okay. Uh… I take it we can’t go back to my place. Can I, like, borrow some clothes or something?” 

“Yeah,” Harry breathes. “I’ll pack a bag now, you should probably call work, tell them there’s a family emergency and you won’t be in for a few days.” 

He leaves her for a few minutes, rushing off to pack a bag in his bedroom. Y/N’s fumbling to type a text to her manager, struggles to keep the tears at bay. 

It’s all too much. It’s one thing to find out her brother was murdered, but to hear the same people that killed him are after her and Harry now? She feels like she can’t breathe. 

//

“Hi, d’you have any more rooms available for the night?” 

He’s softly tapping his finger on the reception desk, eyes on Y/N as he speaks and she’s full of the jitters. 

Harry sped their way to the next town over, pulling into the first motel they came across. She was silent for the majority of the drive, too in her head to offer a coherent conversation but Harry understood, so he didn’t press it. 

And she’s the same now, curled into herself as Harry hands over enough cash to pay for their room for tonight, and lugs the bags in his hands with the room key, making toward the elevator. 

“I’m sorry I kept the truth from you, I didn’t want to taint your memories of him.” He breaks the silence as the door closes and they’re carried higher through the building. 

“That wasn’t for you to decide.”

It’s quiet but he hears her, loud and clear. Harry hates that he’s made her feel this way – that he’s gotten her mixed up in this shitshow. He’s guilty, blames himself for everything that happened to Sam, everything that’s now happening to her.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks out. 

He looks down at her, brows pinched as she gazes up at him through fluttering lashes and hooded eyes, “What for?” 

“None of this is your fault, I know you were only trying to protect me from the truth. Don’t do that again.” 

Harry nods curtly as the doors open and he leads them down the hall in search of their room for the night. He unlocks it, flicks on the lights and lets Y/N walk through first. 

It’s nothing special, just a standard cheap hotel room, but what does catch Y/N’s eye is the bed. Just the one. And she’s reminded of the last time she saw him, when he was in her bedroom, fucking the life out of her. Despite the circumstances, she’s not opposed to sharing a bed – it might make her feel a little safer – but they’ve not discussed their previous meet-up and she doesn’t know what to make of it. 

Harry notices how her gaze stays fixated on the bed and heat rises to his cheeks. “I’ll take the sofa.”

Y/N turns to him, brows pinched. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not exactly strangers, Harry. We’ve literally had sex together — I think we’re past the formalities.” 

The bluntness of her words has Harry’s eyes widening. His lips part in shock at how brazen she appears about their hook-up. Harry had begun to think she regretted it, and that was why she didn’t bring it up. 

Clearly, he’s been sorely mistaken. He thinks. 

He clears his throat, forcing a cough. “Right.” 

He plants the bag on the sofa and retrieves a pair of boxer shorts and an old t-shirt, handing them both to Y/N. She takes them, guides herself to the bathroom and shuts the door. 

It takes Harry a few seconds to regulate his breathing — to get a grip on his emotions and the numbing fear that rattles his body. The whole ordeal is a bit too triggering for him — like he’s potentially going to relive his best friend's death through Y/N. 

He doesn’t know what scares him more. What could happen to her or the lengths he’ll go to to protect her. Either thought is too much to process, so instead he lets his mind wonder about the other situation at hand. 

She’s about to get into bed with him, wearing his clothes, after they hooked up a couple of days ago and are yet to discuss what the hell it means for them. 

And Harry’s aware that it’s definitely not an appropriate time to be thinking about it, but he is. Because he hasn’t been able to stop since it happened. 

He’s torn from his thoughts when the bathroom door opens and Y/N creeps into the bedroom. His heart is lodged in his throat at the sight. His clothes are too big for her and her legs look incredibly soft and smooth, the hem of his t-shirt barely covering her bum. 

“There’s a spare toothbrush on the side. Bathroom’s all yours.” 

There’s not much emotion in her voice now, and Harry can tell from her puffy eyes that she’s been crying behind that bathroom door. His heart cracks a little but he doesn’t say anything. 

Instead he uses the bathroom, strips into a pair of boxers (hoping Y/N won’t mind as he didn’t pack a whole lot of clothes), and brushes his teeth before joining her in the hotel room again. 

She’s under the covers now, only his bedside lamp on and Harry’s heart starts to thump. It’s been a while since he’s laid in bed with someone without something happening. 

Nevertheless, he crawls in beside her and flicks off the light. He keeps a respectable distance between them but still close enough to make out the shadows of her face. That’s when he hears it, the soft sniffles and shaky breath. 

A sigh escapes his lips as he shuffles closer with arms outstretched. He half expects her to push him away, tell him no, she’s still angry with him, but she doesn’t. She coddles herself into his chest instead and lets him hold her — comfort her. 

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Penny. I promise.”

And while she appreciates the reassuring words, it doesn’t do much to soothe her fear and anxiety. Nothing could make her feel safe right now — not even Harry’s warm and strong body keeping her close. Not completely safe, anyway. Not now that she knows the truth. 

What she thinks she needs is a distraction. Something to make her forget, even just for a short while. So it’s not really a surprise to her when she finds herself pulling out of Harry’s hold just enough to crane her neck up to look at him. 

He’s already gazing down at her, eyes as dark as the night. With softly puckered lips, Y/N leans up just enough to press a gentle kiss against his mouth. 

It surprises Harry, if he’s honest. He never would’ve taken her for someone to initiate things first, but he has to remind himself that she’s the type of girl to go after what she wants, and she was the one to initiate things last time. 

He kisses her back just as softly, lips moulding to hers as they both lay on their sides, Y/N lifting her leg to wrap it around Harry’s waist. 

It’s a bold hint that Harry gets, and he pulls away slowly to get a look at her, to search for a single shred of doubt or hesitation. When he falls short, he noses at her temple. 

“It’s probably not a good idea tonight,” he breathes, trying desperately to ignore the way his cock lunges. “Your emotions are really heightened right now. I don’t want you to regret it in the morning.” 

She shakes her head. “I won’t. I didn’t regret it last time,” she tells him, “I just need to forget for a little while.”

Harry swallows thickly. So she doesn’t regret it. And she wants it to happen again, right now, to forget. 

“I uh,” he clears his throat, “I don’t have anything — I don’t have a condom with me.” 

Y/N blinks, lips parting. The idea of not using one does cross both of their minds but they’re smarter than that. 

Her hand reaches between their bodies, fingertips grazing across the throbbing length of Harry’s hard cock beneath his boxers. 

“We can do other stuff, can’t we?” 

Her voice is a sensual whisper and it makes his head spin. She’s compelling, everything about her. So he’s not very shocked when he finds himself nodding his head and leaning down to greet her in a kiss again. 

Y/N palms at his clothed cock, hips gently rocking as she tries to get closer. This is what she needs. Him. Anything he’ll give her to make her forget what life is like right now — what she’s running from. 

Harry’s hand cups the side of her jaw, kissing her a little harder. Her spare hand reaches for his wrist to move it away, guides it down their bodies and between her legs until he’s cupping her aching heat through (his) boxers. 

“Are you sure?” 

She squeezes his cock, dipping her fingers into the waistband of his underwear. “Touch me, Har. Need it so bad.” 

He swallows thickly, palming at her heat as a shuddered moan slips from her lips and into his mouth. She wraps her cool fingers around his shift, a hiss sounding from the back of his throat. 

“Need to forget everything, H. Just want you.” 

The neediness in her voice sends him spiralling, latching his mouth to hers with as much force as he can muster. The kiss is messy, dirty — all tongue and teeth and Y/N thinks it’s the hottest thing she’s ever experienced. 

Her hand begins to bob on his cock, long strokes and as she reaches his tip, small beads of precum coat her fingers, smearing across his length. He seethes, a hum soon following as he tries to stay quiet. 

But Y/N doesn’t want him to be quiet. She wants to hear him, how she’s making him feel. 

She pumps a little faster, grip a little tighter. Harry’s sneaking his fingers into the boxers she’s wearing, swirling his fingers between her folds and she’s soaked — almost dripping, really. 

“Jesus Christ, Penny. You’re fucking soaked.” 

She moans into his mouth, bucking her hips against his hand. “I told you not to call me that,” she pants. 

“M’sorry, baby.”

She nods against the kiss. “Yeah, that’s better.”

A breathily laugh escapes Harry’s mouth, his finger prodding at her fluttering hole. She’s eager for him, desperate. Just wants to feel full of him — of whatever he can give her. 

He continues to tease her, thumb on her clit while she lazily tugs at his cock. It’s not enough for her, the gentle touches, she wants her brain turned to mush so she has no choice but to not think. 

Maybe that’s why she shuffles her position beside him until she’s kneeling by his hips and tugging his cock free from the confinements of his boxers.

Harry watches with hooded eyes as she leans down to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his leaking tip. His head falls back against the pillows, chest rising and falling rapidly as she works her warm mouth on his cock. 

He keeps his hand between her thighs, fingers pinching delicately at her puffy clit, a little too fucked on the feeling of her moaning around him. 

Y/N licks messily from the base to the head, swirling her tongue across his slit before taking him into her mouth. She doesn’t mess about with it, takes as much as she can at once and lets him hit at the back of her throat. 

A gruff moan escapes Harry’s lips as she gags around him, spluttering profusely as strings of saliva dribble from the corners of her mouth. 

He reaches his spare hand down for her head, tugging at the roots of her hair to get her attention. “Turn around,” he breathes heavily. 

She pulls off him, brows pinched. “What?” 

“I wanna taste you at the same time,” he gulps. “Turn around.” 

His hand leaves her head, reaching for the boxers on her waist to tug them down while the other continues its assault on her dripping cunt. He relents for a moment to tug the underwear down her thighs and past her ankles, throwing them across the room and helping situate her above his face. 

She lets out a squeak at his eagerness, nose bumping the tip of his cock but Harry doesn’t care. Her cunt hovers over him, soaked and puffy and a quiet moan slips from his lips at the sight.

With his hands on her hips, he eases her down to latch his mouth around her cunt, slurping at her wetness as he’s finally awarded a taste of her. And he’s hooked. Completely fucked out. She’s sweeter than anything he’s ever had before and he’ll be devastated if she never allows him a taste again. 

Y/N covers him with her mouth, suckling as much as she can fit and bobbing her head with every stroke her tongue offers to the underside of his cock. They’re both messy and sloppy with their actions, eager and desperate for a release.

The hotel room will no doubt stink of sex for days after, but neither of them care. They can barely think straight as it is. 

Harry can’t get over the taste of her, wants it staining his tongue for the rest of his life. He reaches a finger down to probe at her hole, pushing in with ease as she clenches around him. 

Y/N lets out a muffled moan around his cock, the sound sending vibrations through Harry’s body which makes him twitch against her tongue. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbles against her cunt, finger curling before he adds a second one and fucks them into her. 

Her thighs are trembling from the sides of his head, locking him in slightly to stop him trying to move away. Y/N takes him deeper into her mouth, relaxing her jaw and Harry takes the hint to start bucking his hips into her. 

It’s filthy, the noises she makes, the way his cock jabs at the back of her throat. Her pussy grips his fingers like a vice, walls fluttering and he knows she’s close. With his spare hand, Harry strikes a smack to her ass, pawing at the fleshy skin before spanking her again. 

She’s positively dripping into his mouth, her body so worked up that she can barely keep consciousness. Her eyes are stinging with tears as he thrusts harsher, effectively restricting her air supply as he does so. 

But she’s never been so turned on in her life. Sixty-nine-ing with Harry in the pitch dark. 

“Fuck! Baby, I’m gonna come.” 

He expects her to pull off him, but she doesn’t. Instead, Y/N forces her mouth further down and sucks, hand reaching between his thighs to massage his balls. 

He’s crying out her name as he releases, spurts of warm come shooting down her throat as her own orgasm rakes through her body. 

Harry laps it up the best he can, cock still buried down her throat as she comes around his fingers and drips into his mouth. She’s begging for him, whining his name as he removes his fingers and sucks them dry. 

She can feel him soften against her tongue, and with as much energy as she can muster up, she pulls off him with a heavy breath. 

“Y’okay?” 

She hums, a little floaty if she’s honest but it worked. It made her forget and now all she wants to do is sleep. 

“Mhm, thank you.”

Harry grins tiredly to himself, helping her off his chest and to lay back beside him. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and plants a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

“Let me get you some water.” 

Y/N watches him through bleary eyes as his cute, naked bum moves over to the desk across the room. He comes back, soft length still impressive, and hands the bottle to her with the cap undone. 

“Here, take a sip,” he guides the bottle to her lips and encourages her to drink before taking a swig for himself. 

Harry climbs into the bed beside her, arms outstretched and she’s quick to nuzzle into his hold. He strokes the hair from her face, keeping her close. 

“Get some sleep. I promise I’ll still be here in the morning.” 

//

Rustling from outside the hotel room is what stirs Harry awake. He’s groggy as he blinks away the sleep, arms aching from Y/N’s head as she lays cuddled up to his chest.

His heart swells for a moment at the sight of her — and then he hears it again, the noise. There’s whispers and footsteps padding outside the door, three voices.

He’s careful when he stands, not wanting to wake Y/N if he’s just overreacting. But when he levels his eyes with the peephole of the door, his flight or fight kicks in and his heart thumps in his ears.

Harry pulls away from the peephole quickly, back against the door as he tries to remain as silent as humanly possible. Y/N stirs in the bed, reaching out for him but he’s not there to cuddle again.

Her eyes flutter open, brows furrowed as she slowly lifts her head from the pillow in search of him. That’s where she spots him, against the door with a bewildered look in his eyes.

Her mouth opens to speak, but she quickly shuts it when Harry brings a finger to his lips, signalling her to stay quiet. Her heart begins to thump again, bile in her throat and she’s frozen on the bed, sheets clutched close to her naked body.

“Let’s try upstairs,” he hears Ryce say, “They’re not on this floor.”

Harry waits a moment before turning his body to peek through the peephole again. They’re slowly sauntering off down the hall, clicking the button for the elevator and stepping inside shortly after. He turns back to Y/N, chest heaving and eyes wide.

“Penny, get dressed. We need to leave, now.”

It’s a rush, to get dressed and throw everything haphazardly into Harry’s backpack. Their hearts patter wildly, breathing ragged as fear consumes the pair of them.

It’s frantic, how he looks at her, keeping her behind his back as he slowly opens the door to peek his head out. He scans the hall, straining his ears for any sound of movement and when he falls short, he very quickly and quietly tugs her out of the hotel room.

Harry leads them to the staircase, trainers skidding across the linoleum floors with every step they jump down.

“They found us, didn’t they?” she asks through laboured breaths.

He doesn’t reply, instead tightens his hold on her hand and forces her to move quicker, taking three steps at a time instead of two and she struggles to keep up with his long strides.

Harry pushes through the door of the stairs, not slowing as they race through reception and out into the cool air of the early morning. It’s then that they break into a sprint across the parking lot to reach Harry’s Chevy.

Then they hear footsteps, the door of the hotel building slamming shut. Harry throws a glance over his shoulder, catching sight of the three lunatics that are after them.

They’re slowly approaching, picking up their pace as Harry and Y/N get closer to the car. He unlocks it from a distance and throws the backpack to Y/N.

He turns to her, finger pointing in her face. “Lock yourself in the car. If they get the upper hand, you drive and you don’t look back.”

The look on his face scares her, rattles her to her core. She tries to shake her head but Harry’s shoving the keys in the palm of her hand and pushing her closer to the vehicle.

The three of them grab him at once; Ryce and Scott holding him by the arms and shoulders as the bigger man, George, throws punches against his stomach. The sight of it makes her sick, has her knees buckling and heart aching.

Nimble fingers struggle to open the car, brain fuzzy as she rushes to throw the bags in the back seats. Y/N shuts the door behind her, locking the car again as her chest rises and falls with every shaky break she takes.

It’s torture, watching as they beat him – the way they pin his arms back and take advantage of his inability to fight back. He takes every hit and punch like a man, doesn’t allow his guard to falter no matter how hard the strikes may hurt.

And it’s like they see that, too. Like they notice it’ll take a lot more than a few blows to ruin him. Maybe that’s why George relents his assault for a moment and fixes his gaze to the car – to Y/N, cowering in the backseats like a lamb ready for slaughter.

And it’s when he slowly begins to stalk toward her that Harry’s heart begins to thump a little too hard. It’s when George starts to bash his hands against the backseat window that he starts to burn a fueling fire of rage.

He struggles against the hold that Scott and Ryce have over him, unable to tear his arms out of reach. Until he hears her scream and the backseat window smashing.

Y/N can’t breathe, heart lodged in her throat and tears stinging at her vision. She watches completely frozen as George reaches his hand in and unlocks the door. Watches the sadistic smirk that plasters across his lips as he opens the door and reaches for her ankles.

“No! Get off of me!”

Her screams are futile, her body breaking into hysterical movements. Her legs kick harshly at his grabbing hands, her foot striking his throat which allows her barely a few seconds to search for something, anything.

Y/N’s eyes avert to the footwell of the passenger's seat when she sees it. A crowbar. Her fingers wrap around the metal at the same time George’s wrap around her ankles. She’s pulled from the backseats, back crashing onto the concrete of the parking lot. And in one swift motion, her arm swings forward and the curve of the bar wraps around the side of George’s head.

In an instant, his heavy build falls off her – collapsing onto his side. She waits for a beat, her eyes wide and searching for any sign of life. There’s no blood, no sound. Tentatively and with trembling hands, she leans closer to his still body and poises her fingers beneath his nose.

One breath. Two, three.

She clambers away from him with a deep breath, unsteady as she rises to her feet. She’s allowed no time to process the situation, to calm herself. Because right before her eyes, Harry is fighting for his freedom.

This time, Ryce has Harry’s arms pinned behind his back, looping with his own and Scott delivers much harder blows to Harry’s face and torso. His legs kick out, arms thrashing in Ryce’s hold but it doesn’t do much damage.

Tightening her grasp around the crowbar, Y/N doesn’t quite know what comes over her. Whether it’s fear, anger or something entirely different. Whatever it is, compels her to swing the crowbar across the backs of Ryce’s legs – the shock and force of the blow buckling his knees just enough for his hold on Harry to relent.

Y/N doesn’t give him time to turn before she jumps onto his back with her legs around his waist and the crowbar wrapped around his throat. Her body moulds to his like a bear hug, an unknown strength unleashing itself in a desperate attempt to keep him from Harry just long enough to regain his strength.

And Harry doesn’t waste a moment of the opportunity. His fist beats against Scott’s face in rhythmic blows until his body is on the ground and he can’t fight back. Harry’s knuckles stain with blood and grazes, delivering a final pinch to the bridge of Scott’s nose before climbing off his bruised body.

His chest heaves, every breath feeling as though it tears his lungs. Harry spits the build up of blood in his mouth on the floor, rolling his shoulders back and flexing his fingers before they return to their fisted state.

Ryce is red in the face, fingers wrapping around the crowbar that Y/N pulls against his throat. The anger in her face is starling to Harry, something he’s never seen before — not even in himself. A hatred so pure it could kill.

Harry approaches them quickly as Ryce throws back his elbow and it meets with the side of Y/N’s stomach. All at once, her hold on the crowbar and him falters and she’s sliding off his back and doubling over on the concrete.

Ryce throws a punch but Harry is quick to dodge, despite the fact he’s still attempting to catch his breath. Before he rises, he reaches for the crowbar and swings it against the side of Ryce’s body.

He seethes out in pain, struggles to stand straight to fight back. He messily throws his fist, easier for Harry to dodge this time and he returns it with another blow across his knees with the crowbar.

Harry throws it to the side, watching with heavy breaths as Ryce tries to steady himself again. Harry doesn’t give him the chance. He squares his fist against the side of his face and he pummels to the ground.

It’s silent for a moment, aside from Harry’s rapid breathing and Y/N’s soft whimpers as she clutches her stomach and steadies herself on her feet again.

Harry backs away from the mess they’ve created, guilt crawling up his throat as he turns to look at her. There’s a cold expression painted across her face, eyes void of anything other than a predatory gaze.

She’s got the look of someone who’s desperate to survive. That’s what this is now, sink or swim. And she knows it.

They don’t share any words, just a look. But that’s all that’s needed. That one look says everything. They’re in this together — it’s them against anyone who tries it.

It’s silent as they both get into the car, Harry picking his keys up from the floor before he starts the engine.

It’s silent when they pull out of the car park, the sound of the cold air whipping through the shattered window in the backseats.

It’s silent until Y/N finally speaks. “Where are we going?”

Harry waits a beat, eyes focussed on the road. He can’t bring himself to look at her, to be faced with her expressionless gaze again. So he looks forward, grips the wheel and clears his throat.

“To see an old friend.”

//

His body is beginning to hurt as he pulls into the familiar garage. It’s been a while since Harry’s been here and everything looks the exact same as it did last time.

He kills the engine, lets his hands slip from the wheel and he finally turns to Y/N, who’s already looking at him. She takes him in, properly. The cuts and bruises that begin to form on his soft skin, the bags that protrude under his eyes from lack of sleep and a couple of punches he caught.

It hurts her heart to no end. She wishes none of this was happening.

“Are you okay?” he finally speaks, voice soft.

She nods, but they both know she’s not. Not really.

“Are you?”

He huffs out a small laugh and reaches for her hand that sits in her lap. “I’ve been better.”

She doesn’t understand it — how he always has the energy to try to make light out of any situation. Y/N looks away briefly, taking in the surroundings of the garage.

It’s like any other she’s been to. A few old cars spread across the place, some that are very clearly undrivable and others that she thinks probably only needed a quick fix.

Her brows pinch when she thinks about why they’re here. Is a blown back window really what’s important right now? She looks back to Harry with parted lips, but he already knows what she’s going to say.

“It’s my friend's garage. He’ll be able to help with more than just a smashed window.”

Y/N nods curtly, unsure if she’s understanding what he’s letting on. She also doesn’t have any suggestions as to what the fuck else they could do to help them out of this situation, so she puts all her trust in him and this unknown friend, and prays that her brother will keep them as safe as he can.

Her eyes look forward again, noticing a man and woman emerging from a wide door to the left. She looks back to Harry, a smile on his face as he opens the door and clambers out.

Y/N follows suit, shrinking into herself a little as the two unfamiliar faces grow closer.

“No call?” the man speaks loudly, arms across his chest.

Harry shrugs, walking closer. “No time.”

A smile breaks across the man’s face as he and Harry meet in a brotherly embrace. They’re squeezing tight, smacking each other’s backs until the man pulls away and gets a look at his friends face.

“Christ, H… did you even get a hit in?”

Harry smacks him in the chest and moves slightly to greet the woman. “Hey, Ashley. How’ve you been?”

She offers him a small hug and smiles. “Better than you it appears.”

Harry pulls away with a seemingly shy smile, turning back to Y/N who remains hovering by the Chevy. He points to her with an open palm. “Penny, this is Ashley and Jimmy. Guys, this is Y/N… Sammy’s sister.”

A heavy silence falls upon the shop – so quiet they’d be able to hear a pin drop. She offers a half wave, pursed lips and teary eyes. Harry is quick to make his way by her side again, an arm wrapped loosely around her waist to offer some form of reassurance.

“Jimmy and Sam used to knock about together,” he tells her. “Jim’s actually the one that found the club and convinced Sammy to take it on.”

He offers a polite smile and wave but there’s nothing but pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss. Sam was a one-of-a-kind kid.”

She nods, doesn’t want to reminisce on her late brother. Not right now. Not after the morning they’ve had.

Harry clears his throat and scratches at the nape of his neck. “M’sorry to throw it on you guys, but d’you mind if we crash for the night? We’re in a bit of a mess right now.”

There’s no hesitation when both Jimmy and Ashley nod their heads. “Of course, stay as long as you need. Come on upstairs, I’m just about to fix up some lunch, you guys can get cleaned up.”

Harry follows them through the garage, hand on Y/N’s lower back to guide her through. She stays close to him, far too on edge to be as trusting as Harry. She has to remind herself that they were also Sammy’s friends. And he didn’t put his trust in just anybody.

“Thank you, I promise we’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

Their apartment above the garage is nice. It’s rustic and chic at the same time and Y/N finds herself drawn to the canvases that litter the walls in the hall and living room.

Jimmy seems to notice. “They’re Ash’s,” he says with a smile. “She’s a wicked artist.”

Y/N hums, a small smile painting its way on her own lips. She’s desperately trying to ignore the dull ache in the side of her stomach, tries to play it off like every breath isn’t hindering her in some small way.

They follow through to the kitchen, the same sort of vibe with a wooden kitchen island and black, steel stools. Harry guides her to take a seat and sits himself beside her, both watching Ash as she pours them each a cup of coffee.

“Did the Chevy take as much damage as you?”

Harry scoffs out a laugh and takes a sip of his drink. “Still as mouthy as ever,” he quips back. “But no, she’s just fine – apart from the back window. That got smashed to fuck.”

Y/N watches them back and forth, how they talk with such ease, like the past twelve hours didn’t happen. It has her head spinning, has her second-guessing that Harry isn’t taking this as seriously as he made her believe.

She stands abruptly from her stool, the steel screeching across the hardwood floors. All eyes fall on her and she gulps. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Ashley nods, pointing to the door just down the hall. Y/N mumbles a quiet ‘thanks’ before rushing off and pressing her back behind the locked door.

She just needs a moment. A moment to think and breathe. This is all way too much for her to handle right now and she’s never felt so alone in her entire life. It hurts her heart, her head – everything. Tears are stinging at her waterline, threatening to spill over but she wills them not to.

A small knock on the door is heard and then… “Penny? It’s me.”

Y/N swallows down her feelings and unlocks the door. Harry lets himself in; worrisome eyes and tender hands on her arms as he closes the door behind him.

“Y’okay? I know this is all probably scaring you.”

She stares at him blankly. “Scaring me? Harry, I’m fucking terrified and you’re out there laughing without a care in the world, having a catchup with an old friend, while I’m just silently freaking the fuck out.”

He coos her, pulls her into his chest and ignores the pain he feels as he holds her close. “M’sorry, m’just trying to forget about it all for a moment. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, I swear.”

Her breathing is erratic against his chest, hands balling fists of his shirt on his back. Harry strokes the hair from her face and kisses her temple, shushing her the best he can to try and encourage her to steady her breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles into him.

Harry shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. Why don’t you go for a nap, hmm? Jimmy’s gonna take a look at the damage on the window and I’m gonna talk him through everything that’s happened… see if he has any ideas.”

While a nap does sound good, Y/N’s not sure she’ll be able to switch her mind off. She doesn’t tell Harry that, though. She figures he’s also got enough on his mind, he doesn’t need to be dealing with her fussing all because she can’t sleep.

So she nods her head and pulls out of his embrace. “Yeah, okay. A nap sounds good.”

//

It turns out it wasn’t as hard to fall asleep as Y/N thought it would be. As it goes, severe stress and exhaustion happen to have that effect when the adrenaline wears off.

Ashley was kind enough to lend Y/N a spare top and some sweatpants, washing her previous clothes so they would be clean and dry for when they leave tomorrow. She stretches in the bed of the guestroom, eyes flickering to the clock that reads 17:08 and her eyes widen.

She didn’t expect for a little nap to turn into five hours of sleep and she’s slightly upset that Harry didn’t think to wake her. Her stomach grumbles and it’s only now that she realises she hasn’t eaten in just over twenty-four hours.

Her fluffy sock-clad feet carry her out into the hall, light chit-chat coming from the very end and she follows to the source of it.

They all sit at the kitchen island; Jimmy, Ashley and Harry. There’s a frown set between each of their eyebrows but Harry’s soothes out when he notices Y/N’s lingering presence by the doorway.

“Hey, are you feeling any better?”

She hums. “A little.”

He pulls out a chair for her to take, Jimmy and Ashley quietly talking between themselves as Y/N sits with them. Harry offers her his drink and she takes the glass in her hands, swirling the brown liquid as she brings it to her lips.

“It’s whis—“

She gulps down his drink before he can even finish — doesn’t even care what it is just that any drop of alcohol will do for now.

He stifles a laugh and takes back the empty glass, reaching for the bottle on the middle of the table to refill his drink.

“What are you talking about?” she asks, all eyes now on her.

Harry clears his throat. “Just trying to figure out how to get rid of the guys that are after us.”

She raises a brow, somewhat expectant. “Any luck?”

“No, not yet.” She hears a voice, her eyes following the sound to Harry’s phone that’s on the kitchen island, Niall’s contact on the screen.

“Oh,” she peeps quietly. “Hi, Niall.”

“Hey, Y/N. How are you holding up?”

She scoffs. “About as well as Bambi on ice.”

He laughs at her comment, a hearty one at that. Harry smiles softly at her, can feel the nerves and anxiety bubbling off her aura in waves. It hurts to see her like this, so curled into herself and scared.

“So, let’s lay it all out again,” Ashley speaks a little louder.

Harry and Jimmy lean forward in their seats simultaneously. “As far as we’re aware, it’s just the three of them; the brothers—“

“—Wait, they’re brothers?” Y/N pipes up with knitted brows.

Harry nods. “Mhm. A lot of the guys that train at The Box were in gangs, the Scavello brothers were rivals to a bunch of them. They’ve all got screws loose, multiple personality disorders.”

“And schizophrenia. The worst case of it.” Niall chips in.

The newfound information does nothing to cease her fears. If anything, it only intensifies tenfold and Y/N begins to find it difficult to breathe.

“Right,” Harry swallows thickly. “So it’s the three brothers, all hellbent on getting revenge for Sammy not paying them they’re thirty grand. We already know they won’t stop until they get the club or feel… satisfied enough to move on.”

There’s something about the way Harry words it that makes Y/N shiver. She doesn’t know how much longer of this she can take, how much more dangerous it’ll get. At what point will they feel satisfied? When they’re run out of town? When they’re beaten and bloody? When they’re six feet under like her brother?

“They’re known for a lot of shady shit, too. Few years ago Ryce had stabbed someone in a pub… pretty sure he’s still on the wanted list.” Niall speaks again, like that’s the worst thing they’ve ever done.

Y/N has to bite her tongue. She doesn’t know if they’re aware of the truth about Sam’s death. And if they’re not, she isn’t about to announce it. She won’t allow for him to be remembered as the guy they killed.

Not now. Not ever.

“So have you not thought about tipping off the police?” Ashley asks, slightly incredulous as if it’s the most obvious option there is. (Which in all honesty, Y/N completely agrees with).

But Jimmy shakes his head profusely, clasping his hands together on the kitchen island. “No, no way. The Feds are already suspecting the club of illegal activity. It’s just going to give them more ammo. This needs to be dealt with in-house.” He points his finger downward, tapping against the counter.

Y/N chews on the inside of her cheek, the gears ticking in her head as she thinks of an alternative idea.

“What about a set up?” she suggests. “We meet them somewhere and… Ash, maybe you could call in and say you’ve driven past a group of guys attacking a couple…. If they get arrested it could give us some time to figure out something more solid?”

She knows it’s a lame idea, but it’s something. No one else seems to be putting theories to the table.

And of course, Harry is the first to shake his head. “No, too dangerous and they won’t fall for that. They’re insane but they’re not stupid.”

She slumps at his words, slightly offended by his tone but she doesn’t let herself get into that. Really, Harry’s distaste to her idea is the least of anyone’s concerns right now.

All eyes fall on the phone in the centre of the table, “Any ideas, Ni?”

He’s silent for a moment, then a huff is heard. “Personally, I think the best option will be to come back to the club. They’re gonna riot at some point. Might aswel be prepared for it. We’ll get the boys in tomorrow and figure out a plan between the lot of us.”

It’s a bit annoying that the simplest of ideas doesn’t suck. That logically, it’s probably the smartest and safest move to make. Because Niall is right. Eventually, the brothers will riot the club, and what the fuck are three psychos against a gym full of angry boxers?

The doorbell sounds through the kitchen and pulls Y/N from her thoughts. Jimmy stands, legs of his stool scratching against the floor as he grabs his wallet from his back pocket.

“Let’s call it a night then. Pizzas here. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

The mention of food almost has Y/N’s mouth watering. They say their goodbyes to Niall, no one’s stress easing in the slightest but at least they have somewhat of a plan and she doesn’t feel so alone anymore.

Those boys at the gym would fight tooth and nail to protect Sam’s legacy. She just prays that it’ll be enough.

Not much is said as they eat their dinner. Harry and Jimmy reminisce on a few memories with Ash chiming in here and there, but for the most part Y/N stays silent and focuses on her food.

They stay like that for another hour or so until Harry’s eyelids grow heavy and start to sting. He’s exhausted, to say the least. His body still aches and as he glances over at Y/N, he can tell that the five hour nap has only made her more tired.

He leans closer to her, lips ghosting her ear. “D’you wanna go to bed?”

She turns her head just slightly to get a look at him. His face is a lot more busted as the night has gone on and the sleepiness that takes over his features pinches her heart a little.

Nodding her head, she stifles a yawn. “Yeah, you look pretty tired, too.”

Harry grins as he rolls his eyes, leaning away from her now to finish the last of his whiskey. He places the glass back on the counter, clearing his throat to catch Ash and Jim’s attention.

“We’re going to head to bed, long day tomorrow.”

Jimmy puffs out his cheeks with an exhale, nodding solemnly. Y/N gets it, can practically feel the anxiety that rolls off him. While he’s good at masking his expressions, there’s not much he can do about his vibe.

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. You know where everything is if you need anything.”

Harry guides Y/N off her stool and down the hall again after saying goodnight to the others. They don’t bother to turn on the light, instead opt for blindly feeling for the bed with their legs and Harry helps her get comfy.

She expects him to round the bed and crawl in next to her, but he doesn’t. Instead, he brushes the hair from her face and stands back with a gentle smile as he regards her.

Y/N’s brows pinch together when he speaks. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”

“Why?” she asks.

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t you staying here with me?”

He smiles softly, shuffling closer to the foot of the bed again. “Didn’t want to assume, that’s all.”

It makes him feel something deep in his stomach — how she craves his presence and wants him close. There’s a swell of something similar to pride in his chest at the realisation of how deep her trust for him runs.

“D’you want me to stay, Penny?”

She sinks further into the bed, seemingly trying to hide half of her face from his gaze. “Only if you want to,” she replies.

Harry’s smile grows slightly and he nods his head, kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his jeans. She watches, rather closely. He’s right beside her still as he strips down to his boxers before he closes the door and approaches the other side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his warm skin, small hisses and grunts slipping from his lips at the discomfort in his ribs and abdomen. It makes Y/N feel funny, knowing just how hurt he must be. She was witness to the assault, she’s a little surprised how well he’s taking it.

She has to remind herself that he is a boxer. And a fucking good one at that.

Y/N turns onto her side, her face just a couple of inches from Harry as their eyes adjust to the darkness, desperately trying to map out the others face under the dim moonlight that threatens to peek through the curtains.

Her ankles rub together as they do every night as she tries to settle herself for bed. Something she’s done ever since she was young. Harry can feel the movement beneath the sheets, but to him, he reads it as a sign of feeling cold. So he shuffles a little closer and intertwines their legs, resting a heavy palm on her hip.

“Harry,” she whispers into the night and he’s already looking at her.

“Yeah?”

She waits a moment, unsure if there’s any use in admitting her quarries right now. There’s nothing he can do or say to soothe her, not with the mess that awaits them.

And yet she finds herself uttering it anyway. “I’m scared.”

The broken octave of her voice is felt deep in Harry’s chest, that primal and protective sensation kicking in again. It makes his brows twist in something that can only be described as annoyance. But it’s not directed at her, Harry doesn’t think it ever could be.

“I don’t see an end where we all make it out of this.”

The admittance she whispers aloud is frightening to her. As if speaking her fear is willing its existence to the universe. It has her cowering into herself with shaky breaths and eyes tightly shut.

“We will,” Harry speaks, not allowing a second of doubt to build in her pretty little head. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Her eyes peak open slowly, readjusting to the darkness again when Harry slowly inches closer until the tip of his nose nudges against hers.

“Before Sammy died, he always told me to look out for you — in case anything ever happened to him. I keep my promises, Penny. No matter what it takes.”

She believes him, wholeheartedly. She trusts that he’ll keep her safe, that he’ll fight for the club. The blanket of safety that comes with Harry’s presence begins to consume her — keeps her close and warm and respected.

Maybe that’s why her eyes begin to droop until she can no longer keep them open. She cuddles into his chest, face nuzzling in the crook of his warm neck and his scent envelopes her senses as she slips into a slumber.

Harry can feel her soft breathing even out until her body relaxes against his. He lays awake, admiring the slope of her nose and her lashes that flatten across her cheekbones.

The need and desire to keep her safe prevails over any other senses. His mind falls short when he considers what he wouldn’t do to protect her, to give her the life she deserves.

And it’s not because Sam asked him to.

//

When the sun rises and the moon rests, the tension they felt the day before returns full force. Few words are shared between the four of them as they prepare for the day ahead. It’s like nobody wants to state the obvious, that this could very well be the last time Jimmy and Ashley see Harry and Y/N.

She tries her best not to think about it, not to get too deep in her head. She’s brushing her teeth in the bathroom, eyes lacking their usual glint but that’s no surprise — she doesn’t think it’s been there since Sammy’s death.

A knock on the door breaks her gaze from her reflection. Harry leans on the door frame, arms folded over his chest as he offers the young woman a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jimmy’s just finished replacing the window. We’re good to go whenever you’re ready.”

He keeps his voice light and soft, not wanting to pressure her when their situation is already stressful enough. She nods her head slowly at his words, rinsing off the toothbrush under the water.

“Yeah, okay. Uh, just give me a minute?”

“Sure. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.”

He leaves her in the bathroom, bounding down the stairs as he returns to his friends in the garage. Jimmy’s wiping his hands on an old rag before flinging it across his shoulder.

“She’s all set, changed out your back tire, too. Looked like it was about to blow.”

Their hands meet in a greeting, chests bumping in that brosome hug most guys do. Harry sits his hands on his hips as he takes a look at the Chevy. As good as new, he thinks.

“Man, I appreciate you and Ash helping us out. You really saved our asses last night.”

Jimmy waves his hand in dismissal as he shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s what brothers do.”

There’s an appreciative smile on Harry’s face as the door opens again and Y/N’s body shuffles through. Even from across the garage, he can see that glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.

She approaches quickly, and by the way her shoulders are slightly raised and head a little ducked, Harry can tell she’s anxious.

He holds an arm in the air for her, allowing her to settle into his side before resting the arm across her shoulders.

“Thank you, for everything,” she says just loud enough for Jimmy to hear.

He nods curtly, leaning forward on one foot with an open palm for her to shake. “It was lovely meeting you, Y/N. I’m just sorry it was under these circumstances.”

She smiles through pursed lips and shakes his head with the same pressure he offers. “Me too.”

She excuses herself to load the bags into the back of the Chevy and waits for Harry in the passenger's seat. Y/N watches them chatter quietly, the mention of Ashley being at work and that if they need anything to not hesitate to call.

It’s merely a couple of minutes before Harry joins her in the car, twisting the key to start up the engine and as he pulls out of the garage, he throws his arm out of his window to wave goodbye to Jimmy.

They share a look as they drive down the road, a nervous glance that promises they’re in this together. Harry reaches for her hand in her lap and intertwines their fingers.

She doesn’t say anything as he guides their hands to his mouth and presses a kiss on her knuckles. And he doesn’t say anything when she squeezes his a little tighter.

They remain silent for the most of their drive. It’s late afternoon by the time they arrive at the club and it’s safe to say their guards are up high. They’re eyes are scanning every inch of roads they drive through, hearts thumping in fear and anticipation.

But they don’t see anything.

Harry pulls up outside, putting the car in park and they both exit. There’s an eerie energy that surrounds them, like the universe is taunting and playing on their fears.

They can’t ignore it, even if they tried.

They enter through the back door, feet scuffling against the concrete ground as Harry guides her through. Niall had already rounded up the guys with the prompt of a family meeting taking place. So it’s no surprise that they’re already gathered by one of the boxing rings.

“Thank you all for coming,” Harry calls out to everyone as he and Y/N make their way closer to the group.

There’s a few mumbles of replies and gasps at the sight of Harry’s bruised face, and lots of nodding heads when they come to a stop before them.

“I’m sure you’re all familiar with the Scavello brothers and what they did to Sammy,” a chorus of disgruntled expressions appear throughout the faces of the group.

Y/N can’t look — keeps her eyes downcast on the floor.

“Well, they’re no longer in hiding. They’re back and they’re after us,” he sways his finger between himself and Y/N, “And this club.”

Niall steps forward, inching closer to the pair who regard the larger group. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but everyone needs to be prepared in case something does.”

Harry watches the way his members nod their heads and clench knuckles into fists. He can feel the anger and heartbreak that resonates within the gym.

“I need every single one of you on guard in case they show up. This is Sam’s life here. And we’re going to protect it like it’s our own. Understood?”

//

It’s been four days.

Four long, gruelling days of looking over their shoulders and Y/N keeping her keys between her fingers whenever she goes to and from her car alone. Not that that’s been a regular thing, Harry had convinced her to stay with him and his place. And after a bit of compromise, Harry agreed to stay at Y/N’s so she wasn’t on her own.

And it was a bit awkward at first. She didn’t ask for him to stay in her bedroom with her, allowed him to turn the sofa into his temporary bed. But by the second day, the awkwardness evened out to a disturbingly, comfortable, domesticated situation.

Y/N cooked and Harry cleaned. They picked shows to watch together and neither left the house alone. Y/N remains on emergency leave for a week, but Harry’s assured her that when she returns, he’ll drop her off and pick her up.

There won’t be a chance for the same thing to happen again.

Today is no different. They woke up together, picked at their breakfast — both still struggling to find their appetite — and drove in Harry’s Chevy to the club this afternoon.

It’s nearing 5:30 p.m. and they’re both sitting together in the office. Y/N’s sipping on her coffee with a Manila folder in hand, Harry typing data into the computer while taking sips of his own blend every now and then.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to host fight nights with all this going on?”

Harry pauses his typing for a moment, head tilting as he looks at her. He hums, nods slowly. “You’re probably right, we’re just losing money each night that we don’t. The guys are gonna start getting frustrated. For a lot of ‘em it’s the only source of income they’ve got.”

It’s a tricky one, Y/N knows that. Their livelihood is important, but so is their safety. It seems more likely that the Scavello brothers would make an appearance on a busy night like tonight. Friday Fight Night.

A thought occurs to her. “What about an advance?”

Harry’s bows knit together. “An advance?”

“Yeah,” she nods. “We’ve got just over two hundred grand stashed under the floorboards, Har. We can offer an advance to those who need it — they can pay back in instalments when we start up fights again.”

He mulls the idea over for a few seconds, not really finding many cons to the proposal. He nods his head, digging through the draws of the desk for a notepad and pen.

“Want me to go and take names?”

Harry shakes his head. “We need to get this place looking legit first. Destroy anything that holds passwords, account numbers — anything that tries back to the illegal fights. If they or the Feds come snooping, our noses are clean and they have nothing to say otherwise.”

Y/N’s about to reply, to suggest burning any correlating paperwork when a ruckus from outside the office and in the gym is heard.

They look at one another, eyes wide and churning stomachs. Harry stands first, bringing a finger to his lips as he motions for Y/N to stay quiet. The ruckus gets a bit louder, a chorus of disgruntled sounds heard.

Harry inches toward the door first, an arm outstretched to his side in an attempt to keep Y/N behind him. She follows suit, hands trembling slightly and she struggles to see over his broad shoulders.

But Harry can see. He sees the three brothers, but they’re not alone. They’ve brought a posse with them and their hands are all equipped with anything you could think to use as a weapon.

Hammers, knives, baseball bats. If it wasn’t such a dire situation, he’d find it ironic that Ryce is gripping a crowbar.

He’s the first to notice Harry’s presence and his blood is quick to run cold. He taps at Y/N’s side, trying his best to buff out his body to shield hers from their view.

“Stay in the office and lock the door. Text Jimmy and get rid of everything.”

He shoves her backward slightly, reaching for the door handle to close it behind him. She locks the door with nimble fingers, racing around the desk to retrieve Harry’s phone and find Jimmy’s contact.

It’s Y/N. They’re here.

She drops the phone on the desk after sending the message, opening the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. She can’t stop her hands from trembling, has to continuously replay the plan in her head.

Jimmy calls the police which gives Y/N time to destroy anything illegal while Harry fights them off just long enough for the police to arrive, and everyone prays that nobody gets hurt or killed in the meantime.

No matter how many times she reminds herself of the plan, it doesn’t soothe her fears. Anything could go wrong at any given moment.

It’s not just the three of them this time, they brought friends and it’s going to get messy.

She grabs Harry’s gym bag from the corner of the room and collapses to her knees by the desk. Her fingernails struggle to pry the floorboards up until she spots a flat-headed screwdriver poking out from the gym's tool bag.

It works to her advantage, a few good tugs and pulls and the floorboard pops up with a creak. She’s careful when she pulls it out completely, throwing it to the side and grabbing handfuls of the wads of cash.

Her movements are frantic as she shoves them into the duffle bag, the commotion from outside growing louder and louder. She fills the bag with the money and rushes to take off her jacket, throwing it into the bag to hide the cash and she zips it up, kicking it under the table and smacking her floorboard back in place.

Y/N moves to the filing cabinet, fumbling through the drawers in the desk for a lighter. The papers she retrieved earlier are thrown into the trash can, fingers desperate to spark a light but a thumping on the office door stops her — panics her.

It bursts open after the fourth budge, hinges almost flying off and there he stands, Ryce Scavello, bloody and bruised and gripping a crowbar.

All colour drains from her skin, a sickness within her stomach that’s all-consuming. There’s a maniacal smirk painted across his thin lips and the mark across his neck from her use of the aforementioned weapon still paints his skin deeply.

“Are you going to put up a fight as good as your brother?”

That fear morphs into anger the second the words escape his mouth, her eyes dark and blood cold. She flicks the lighter once more and it sparks a tall flame, and just as he’s about to step toward her, she throws it into the trash and the documents burn in a blaze.

Y/N dodges the first swing he throws, the curled edge of the crowbar nipping at her hair and pulling a few strands out of her ponytail. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears as she ducks from another hit and he laughs at her, sadistically.

“Well you’re certainly as fast as him. Did he teach you that, hmm? Did big brother Sammy teach you how to fight before I killed him?”

She does her best to block out his words, raising her fists to cover her face and her legs spread in the same stance Sam had taught her growing up.

She channels him, everything he ever showed her. She lets her brain reminisce about their occasional sparring sessions because Sam was hellbent on teaching her the right ways to defend herself.

Back then she always told him he was being dramatic, that she’d never put herself in a situation where she’d need to fight for her life.

And now, she can hear his reply in her ears, as clear as day: These situations find you, and you need to be prepared for them.

Ryce lunges for her again, catching her in the temple with his fist at the same time she kicks into his kneecap. The crunch of his bone is heard but it doesn’t stop him.

He somehow gets closer and wraps his hand around her throat, a vice-like grip as he slams her body onto the desk and knocks everything off, her and Harry’s coffees spilling on the floor.

Y/N thrashes her legs against him, fingernails scratching at the skin of his face as her thumbs probe harshly into his eyes. Ryce’s grip loosens just enough for her to try to shuffle away, but his hand is replaced with the crowbar and he’s choking her out like she did to him.

He’s seething above her, her own hands now desperate on the bar to try to pull it off, to give herself relief. It doesn’t work, he’s overpowering in every sense and the lack of oxygen she gets makes it harder to move.

Y/N’s eyes are frantically searching for something — anything — to use to her advantage. Her line of sight falls short until she notices the large metal stapler that’s hanging off the edge of the desk. She pries her fingers out as she stretches for it, nails scratching against the metal until she’s able to flick it closer.

The second she’s able to wrap her fingers around the stapler, her arm swings and it thuds heavily against the side of Ryce’s head. Once, twice, three times.

His hold on the crowbar across her throat loosens until he drops it onto the floor. Y/N’s gasping for air, eyes wide and chest heaving as he holds the side of his head in agony.

That’s how Harry finds them — Ryce on top of her on the desk, grunting in pain and anger. He doesn’t allow him another moment to regain himself before Harry swings for the side of his face and Ryce’s body clambers to the floor and off Y/N.

She’s frantic, struggling to grasp reality as Harry reaches her. His hands find her face, gentle touch as he coos to her, promises her it’s okay and he’s got her.

She gets a look at him, bloody and bruised and his bottom lip is split and already swelling. Y/N sits up with the help of Harry at the sounds of blaring sirens and she turns to him, swallowing thickly.

“Grab the money, we need to go.”

Her gaze meets the unconscious body on the floor, anxiety still bubbling in her chest at the realisation that in a few short minutes, this could be completely over with.

Harry reaches for the bag of money when he notices the trash can on fire. He doesn’t need to ask to know she’s burned the documents. They leave the contained fire to burn as they leave the office, both hobbling and gasping for breath.

Police begin to infiltrate the gym, batons in hand and guards to their bodies — as they would for any kind of riot. There’s at least seven officers, all shouting commands to get on the ground or stay where they are.

The gym is in distress. Photo frames and trophies on shelves have been smashed and broken, weights are strewn across the floor, some clean and some with blood. Their hands all reach into the air in a form of surrender and before long, the majority of the trainers and rioters are in cuffs.

An officer approaches Y/N and Harry, quite polite as he assures them he isn’t going to cuff them unless given reason.

“A few of your friends said you two are the owners?”

Harry nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah, that’s right. We were in the office when they showed up and then a fight broke out.”

The officer squints at Y/N and she squints back, reading his name tag as Jones. He looks back to Harry.

“Who’s they?”

“Ryce, George and Scott Scavello. They’re brothers.”

Officer Jones raises an eyebrow at Y/N’s words. “You know them?”

“Uh, we’ve had some trouble with them in the past.”

Y/N’s head snaps to look at Harry, wonders what the fuck he’s going to tell the police, if it’s really a good idea to mention what they did to Sammy. Couldn’t Harry get into trouble for withholding evidence about a crime for all this time?

Jones clears his throat. “Do you wanna expand on that?”

Y/N decides to speak up again. “My brother, Sam, owned this place with Harry before he died. The Scavello brothers tried to join the gym but Sam didn’t want that kind of riffraff associated with the company. They didn’t take it well and now, I guess this is them fighting it.”

Harry watches her with fluttering eyes, slightly amazed and somewhat concerned with how easily she was able to fabricate part of the truth like that.

Officer Jones nods as he jotts down a rough summary of her words, looking to Harry in case he has anything more to offer.

He blubbers for a moment. “Uh, yeah… what she said.”

He writes a little more, turning to look over his shoulder to no doubt report anything extra he may need to. It’s only for a couple of seconds, which allows Y/N and Harry to share a look that screams don’t say anything stupid, and he’s back to facing them again.

“So, you say you’re the owners?”

Harry and Y/N nod simultaneously, eyes downcast to somewhat avoid the officers gaze. He hums, scribbling some more.

“Do you have proof of that?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I can get you the ownership contract.”

Y/N watches meticulously, tries to work out what Officer Jones is writing by the way he scribbles but it’s no use. He taps the pen on the pad, looking around.

“Do you have any security footage? So we can confirm your story.”

Y/N looks at Harry. Do they? She hopes there isn’t a camera in the office, or else they’ll find the footage of her burning illegal evidence. But if they have cameras in the gym, isn’t that going to expose the fight nights? Her head is spinning.

“Yeah…. Niall!” Harry calls over for the blond, who quickly jogs over with a bruised eye and a cut across the bridge of his nose.

“Ni, would you mind showing Officer Jones the security footage from this evening.”

Y/N swallows thickly, watching as Niall guides Jones into the trashed office. She smacks Harry’s arm, eyes wide when he turns to her with pinched brows.

“Ouch… what was that for?”

She grits her teeth. “Why have you done that? He’s going to find all sorts on the cameras!”

Harry lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head. “We turn the cameras off at night.”

He watches her body visibly relax; shoulders slumping and eyes dropping. From their spot by the office, they can see the damage that’s been done.

Blood stains the floor in several places, gym equipment broken and there are at least seven holes in the walls that Y/N can see. She spots the brothers, all conscious now and strapped up with cuffs.

There’s a few more officers that take statements from the members of the gym, a couple of those being detained for aggravated assault and they don’t bother to argue that it was self defence. They played their part, they protected Sam’s legacy. And they know both Harry and Y/N will bail them out by morning anyway.

The adrenaline rush that she’s been on for the past week is slowly seeping from her pores. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt this exhausted in her entire life and the harsh realisation of what they’ve been through begins to hit her like a tonne of bricks.

“Harry,” she whispers softly, “I don’t think I can stay here anymore.”

He turns to her with pinched brows but her gaze is far too focused on the blank space ahead of her to realise.

“What?”

She swallows. “There’s too much pain here. Everything hurts since losing Sammy.” Her voice breaks as she speaks.

Harry blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of the situation. He thought they had something, that something genuine was forming between them and now she wants to leave? To run away?

“What about the club?”

She scoffs out a laugh, finally looking at him now. “You had it on lock this whole time.”

“Well what about me?” he argues. “What about us?”

There’s hurt in his voice and Y/N can’t help but feel confused butterflies in her stomach. Us? She never considered that there would be. Despite the two times they hooked up and the intimacy their friendship shared, she didn’t think Harry would ever want anything more. And now he’s telling her that he does?

It hurts her, deep in her soul. Because she harbours feelings for the fighter, strong feelings. But the thought of it scares her too much. What would Sammy think if he could see them now?

When she doesn’t reply, Harry speaks again.

“If you really want to leave, I’ll come with you.”

She laughs at this, and she laughs loud. Shaking her head, she looks at Harry again. That hopeful glint shines in his eyes and it breaks her heart.

“No, Harry. You barely even know me.”

“I know enough,” he retorts quickly.

Her hands find her hips as she turns her body to face his. “Harry—“

“No, come on,” he interrupts her, “Whatever this is between us is only just starting. Don’t walk out on it.”

She huffs, frustrated. “I’m not walking out on it.”

“You’ll regret it if you do. You’ll regret leaving the club and my Gran will be so heartbroken…”

“Hey,” she pouts. “Don’t bring Mary into this.”

“It’s true!”

There’s a wide smile on his lips now and one creeps its way onto Y/N’s, too. He knows what’s going on in her head — how she’s considering what he’s saying, what he’s feeling.

His gaze softens when their eyes meet again. Harry reaches for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

“At least think about it a little more before you decide to leave. Don’t make hasty decisions…”

“Harry…” she sighs, her smile faded to a slight grimace.

He’s right and she knows it. But it doesn’t take away the pain she feels in this town. It doesn’t make moving on from her brother's death any easier. Everything is a constant reminder of him and what happened to him.

Everything but Harry.

“Go on a date with me,” he proposes, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

Y/N’s brows raise as a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “What?”

“C’mon, one date. And if I can’t convince you that we have something real, and that you should stay… then I’ll understand.”

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth and weighs out her options. She could very easily decline and leave town right now, to never speak to him again or return.

But the idea of going on a date and seeing where this connection goes sounds a little more enticing. Because deep down she knows that running away won’t solve anything. It won’t make her forget the truth.

If she leaves now, she’ll never come back. And she’ll forever regret walking away from her brother's legacy and whatever her and Harry could’ve been.

He dips his head down to catch her line of sight again, a playful smirk etched onto his face as he squeezes her hands. Y/N makes her decision there and then; to not run away, but to stay and see where fate will take her.

“Fine,” she smiles. “One date.”

//

Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!

Tags: @kissfromadove @stilesissaved @kiwitsayedsugar @savannahwendel @triski73 @stylesfever @babyyhoneyyy @theresnooneheretosave @ellaorchard @itsmytimetoodream @daphnesutton @matildasatellite

[dalliancekay]

"There is no 'our side', Crowley!"

I was looking for this gif and every post I came across was some variation on how poorly was Crowley treated here. Poor boy. How utterly cruel of Aziraphale. How heartless. How he just dropped Crowley like a hot potato. Cos Heaven was coming. And Aziraphale decided that they were over. And he was going back to them. Or something. If you know any that look into how Aziraphale is feeling, please tag me. What do I think Aziraphale is feeling?

Well. Was he happy to have Armageddon coming? No. But he did think it was inevitable.* However. They tried to influence the Antichrist. But had the wrong boy. Then they tried to think of how to find the real one and in that short time - what? Kill him? Talk to him? They had no idea what the kid is like. What powers he has. None.

The Great Plan. It is coming to its fulfilment. It is written. The War is about to begin. Heaven and Hell. The big one. They both know this. And this is not something Aziraphale or Crowley can avoid. It's not something they can just stop believing in. They had their Arrangement, their side (sort of), and they managed not to get caught. But now? Now Aziraphale is right. There is no OUR SIDE. There never really was. There might have been a moment in their existence on Earth (about 12 hundred years?) when they could feel like/pretend they are having their own side. But now the full reality of their existence is back. There are Heaven and Hell and they are preparing for War. They have no interest in Earth. Aziraphale and Crowley are tiny pawns in a very big picture. They belong to their respective sides. They always have. Even when they found ways to work together. (Mostly cos their sides are conceited idiots both.)

And so Aziraphale decided for one more desperate attempt to get God to see how the whole thing can be avoided. Does he think She might understand? We don't know. Does he look full of hope as he walks back to his shop? He doesn't. He gets broken up with again by Crowley who nonsensically (and yes, romantically, sure) wants to go to another star - to do what? Wait till the end of universe reaches them? (Why is everybody always defending Crowley? And act like he's being reasonable there?) And then Aziraphale gets punched in the stomach. By a fellow angel. And told by Metatron to not be a bloody fool. Essentially.

And discorporated.

And then he DESERTS the War AND Heaven (that he apparently still has faith in...) and goes on a limb to find the boy and just see if he can come up with something. Anything. Thinking Crowley is gone. Packed his stuff and left. Possibly with the friend he was talking to when he tried to call his flat earlier.

Because Aziraphale feels the War and ending of the world is such injustice. Written or not. Great Plan or not. Maybe he didn't think at first he could make any difference but Crowley showed him it's worth considering it. *Crowley is always showing Aziraphale that things can be questioned. It took Aziraphale moments to reconsider letting things just play out and instead fight to the last breath he doesn't need, for Earth instead. The conditioning he needs to fight isn't that Heaven is good and right. The conditioning he needs to fight is that things can't be changed. That it is all written out. That he is nobody and can't influence anything. Aziraphale's biggest fight and learning curve is in having faith in himself. So. Much like he felt it was unfair to leave the first humans unprotected and how he felt killing Job's kids was cruel, he disobeys and does his own thing again. He learns he can. But all this comes at a cost. To himself (thinking he will Fall for these things) but also to his beloved - and THAT is much harder for him. He would never want to put Crowley in danger. And he does. Every time they meet. The guilt he must feel for this.

Aziraphale lives between two sides. And they are both awful. And he is often misunderstood for just acknowledging this as reality he and everything else exists in.

I think his view of his reality is pretty accurate. There is no our side. They wanted one. But they can't leave their sides. Even after S1 they couldn't. Not really. And they both knew it. And no, he is not in clutches of Heaven or sometimes reverts to their indoctrination or anything like that. He goes along with Heaven as far as he MUST. And his life alongside his demon, however tentative, was always precious to him. And when it got threatened.

And got threatened again.

Aziraphale had to do the best he could and just do something. Anything.

Is Aziraphale always right? No. Does he make mistakes? Yes. I am never saying Aziraphale is faultless - but I think many things he is blamed for are not right. And I also think Crowley is often seen as can do no wrong. Everything he says is right. He knows more. Understands more. If he disagrees with Aziraphale than it follows that Aziraphale is wrong. That's not true. They are both beautifully rounded, full, flawed characters I love. They complement each other in ways I bet I have not even noticed yet. And they are their own beings too. They don't only exist for one another.

[homestuck-archive]

HOMESTUCK: BEYOND CANON 6/12 NEWS POST

Hi, James here. Happy American Karkat day. European Karkat day, of course, being on the 6th of December. That’s how birthdays work. Don’t look it up.

Some of you may have noticed I am going to be on a stream with a “Virtual Tuber.” Depending on when exactly this goes up, that might actually be going on right now. If you are coming from over there it is very likely you are just now learning we are still doing Homestuck in 2024. Welcome back. You missed a lot but don’t look any of that up either.

What news for the birthday boy? As you may have seen across various platforms we’re partnering with Makeship, and launched a petition for a Highly Marketable Karkat Vantas Plush! The way this works is, they gauge interest by seeing if we can get 200 people to pledge they’ll buy it before the company commits to producing anything. Their business model allows them to do this at no up-front cost to us which is good because it takes a lot of money to manufacture and ship things. Once we reach our initial goal they then move forward with production and do design revisions, prototyping, etc. They send us a little sample and once we’re all approved and on the same page they do a limited pre-order run. For the first 399 pre-orders we get a 10 percent revenue share, which then changes to 30 percent once it hits 400. You might be thinking “Hey man, that's not very much!” and you’d be right, but they cover all manufacturing and fulfillment and shipping costs. And I don’t own a warehouse. So. This is fine with me.

I did promise to try and be more transparent with what's going on behind the scenes, even when it is boring. The thought process here is that, while less lucrative overall than producing and shipping ourselves this will allow us to try out more merch options. We’ve designed some apparel, and are working out something with Andrew and the usual merch guys. This might take a while, I am still new to this. That Vinyl is still on the back burner as we wait for a few holdouts that sort of make or break things. (There are people who are notoriously hard to get in contact with, so it is taking a while and I overestimated my ability to get this done in a timely manner while in poor health. That's on me.)

The whole idea here is to get you guys some cool stuff, and to pay my team more. Right now the Patreon is doing alright, and we’re trying out some new exclusives over there. Music previews, merch previews, and things like that for paying members. Nothing required to enjoy the comic, and things people will all see eventually. Since I’m trying to pay my team as fairly as possible I split everything we make evenly. Right now, for each team member it comes out to a few hundred bucks each per month which is pretty nice for getting to work on Homestuck, but isn’t exactly a liveable wage. And you see how much work they put into it. I want to give them the world, short of that at the very least a fair wage for all the work they do. Also I don’t know if you’ve noticed but a sandwich costs $19 now for some reason. That in mind if you are a company or private individual and want to pay me to promote your product let's talk. We can work something out. I will put it in Homestuck. I will make Rose Lalonde say she loves the bold refreshing taste of Diet Mtn Dew G’raha Tia Blast. I am not joking. This is my solemn vow. Maybe it's time to bring back the “Your Fantroll Gets Put In Homestuck” deal.

Anyway, two updates this month. I Like this schedule, so it looks like we’ll be keeping it up for the near future.

So to Summarize the key points so there’s no room for confusion:

Karkat Plush Makeship petition (the pre-pre-order, even) is now live

Trying out this style of limited run merch to see what's possible

Apparel incoming, not sure when

Still trying to work out details with musicians, sorry.

Fun new Pateron exclusives, including music and merch previews. Maybe more?

Open to more collabs

Sticking to shorter, more frequent updates for now.

Ok, thanks everyone have a good one.

[unformula1]

i didn't know you were doing loscar prompts! one with them & bags by clairo?

bags (LS2 x OP81)

oscar can’t confess, it’s too hard, it’s too confusing. w/c: 1256 day 43-44 of loscar posts until we get a loscar podium!!???? (series masterlist) masterlist | a/n: omg! i interpreted this song as a sad song, i don’t know how you interpreted it but don’t be afraid to share!! spill if you want the logan to oscar version!!

Oscar slowly circles his spoon in the melted ice cream as some random TV show plays in the background. He stares at the melted ice cream spin around and looks up at the TV, he lost track of which episode they were on about an hour ago.

He turns to look at Logan, who isn’t focused on the TV show as well, scrolling through his phone.

Oscar sighs and places his bowl of melted ice cream on the coffee table, which finally piques Logan’s attention. He looks up and glances over at Oscar, which is better than nothing.

They look into each other's eyes for a moment before it’s broken up by Oscar quickly averting his gaze to the couch.

He’s an idiot.

He wants to talk to Logan right now, okay no, he wants to violently pounce onto Logan right now. Shit that’s feral.

Oscar shakes his head. He hates himself, he wants to do anything but awkwardly sit at the two ends of the couch. 

He fiddles with his sweater.

The clock on the wall is screaming out to Oscar, every tick of the second hand is roaring right into his ears. Every tick is resounding.

The tension in the room is tangible, something thick wafting in the air between them. Oscar doesn’t know if it’s him or someone else that’s standing in between them right now.

He shifts awkwardly on the couch as the ticks of the clock become so much louder than before.

He hates this. He hates what he’s going through.

Oscar wants to talk to Logan, tell him how he feels and everything they’re supposed to be doing. He doesn’t want to watch TV or scroll on his phone.

Oscar takes one more glance at Logan, he doesn’t know, he can’t read Logan and it’s absolutely pissing Oscar off. He doesn’t know what to do from here, he doesn’t even know if Logan knows how he feels.

He’s just begging for there to be some sign for him.

When’s the right time for this? When will it come? Will Oscar have to wait forever? 

The distance between them felt like miles. It felt like the distance to the horizon, endless. He looks at Logan again, his sapphire blue eyes just glowing from his phone screen.

It was unreadable. Oscar doesn’t know anything, he feels like he’s floating in the dark, just alone in his thoughts.

But he knows he’s ready for Logan. If Logan ever needed him, he would be there.

Oscar will wait for Logan, however long it might take…

Oscar glances over again, suddenly it feels silent. There’s two of them, and whether Oscar makes the first move is up to him.

He mentally pictures himself in Logan’s arms, just being safe and warm. It would all be so much easier if he had the balls to make a move, or maybe it was smart to not make a move.

He suppresses them, clenching his fists and pushing them hard into the couch. A part of him wants to leap into Logan’s arms right now and the other part is holding him back.

Actually it was everything holding him back.

He didn’t like this feeling being bottled up in him but he had to keep it that way.

If they had to be friends for years before one of them opened up then he’d let that happen. It could be worse.

Oscar looks out the window into the night sky, just praying silently that something will spark between them. His emotions fire up in him, just knowing he could be so much more right now.

And he knows all that would do is scare away Logan.

“Logan.” Oscar manages.

“Hm?” Logan says, looking up from his phone, his blue eyes piercing into Oscar’s soul.

Right there, Oscar wants to crumble and fall into Logan’s arms. He wants to do everything but wait.

But Oscar wouldn’t start a fire now that would burn out within weeks.

“I-” Oscar stutters, mentally slapping himself, “Do you want a drink or anything?”

“Nah, I'm alright.” Logan smiles and Oscar feels his heart melt.

Oscar picks up the ice cream tub and walks to the kitchen, dumping it into the bin and taking a heavy breathing moment. 

Love isn’t supposed to be suffocating. 

He wants to spill everything, it threatens to spill. Everything bottled up over years, butterflies fluttering, willows blowing in the wind, shooting stars in the night sky. All the silent moments with his own thoughts which made him think about doing the riskiest things.

I love you.

Do you love me?

You do, right?

All Oscar wants is a moment of peace with himself and Logan, to just talk about everything.

Then both of them can pretend nothing ever happened.

Shit, sorry, I talked too much.

Oscar takes another deep breath, now leaning against the countertop. He looks at Logan in the distance, who’s gazing into the night sky.

Oscar wants to tell Logan everything, all the moments where Oscar fell so hard, how much Logan meant to him, everything Logan had ever made him feel.

All that.

What if. What if. What if.

Oscar feels his cheek flush just thinking about Logan and all the ‘what if’s. Maybe in another word.

Logan turns his head to look at Oscar, who’s staring.

Oscar feels his facade dropping, just seeing Logan’s little smile at him threatens to make Oscar drop everything.

“I wish...” Oscar blurts but cuts himself off

Logan chuckles and raises an eyebrow, “I’m sorry?”

Oscar feels his internal panic build. His external reaction is better either, he smiles awkwardly as he tries to hide the blush.

“Nothing, you’d make fun of me.” Oscar says to which Logan frowns.

“Aw c’mon mate.” Logan crosses his arms and stands up, “Don’t leave me hanging.”

I wish you knew how much I liked you.

I wish I didn’t chicken out of that drunk text.

I wish it was so much easier.

Oscar could think of a million things to say right now.

I’ve liked you for so long.

But all he did was smile.

Because the worst could happen.

Oscar was willing to sacrifice his feelings for this perfect friendship they had.

Logan could make fun of him.

Mate are you serious? 

That’s so stupid?

You actually like me?

He would be the next loser. He would lose everything.

So he would shut up now.

Deep down, he knew he wants Logan’s arms wrapped around his body, he wanted Logan’s warmth plastered all over him.

Oscar prayed hard for times like these.

He could do it now.

Or he could not.

He begged for Logan to see through his facade, and start their spark.

All he wants is Logan. He doesn’t know what Logan wants, and he really hopes it’s him.

Please. Please. Please.

The feelings all stir up into one confusing mix of emotions as Oscar fails to notice Logan now leaning on the countertop, opposite of Oscar.

He snaps back and sees Logan’s eyes shooting directly into his.

Logan smiles a bit and laughs.

It takes everything left in Oscar to nod crash his lips into Logan’s or aggressively make a move.

Could be worse.

Oscar wants to say everything, he wants to confess and let Logan do the rest.

He wishes he could.

But he can’t.

It’s too risky, the odds will never fall in his favour. Hopefully one day in the near future.

So they’ll stay friends.

So Logan will leave the house tonight with his bags.

[aphellos]

may i request 3 headcanons you have about yone and aphelios' friendship in heartsteel 🥺 ...

yaay wahoo! I've not read through a lot of your posts so I'm sorry if some of these don't align with your own! but id also love exploring their friendship more if you're up for it! 😳

I'd like to imagine that, in their earlier days in the music scene, they were either mutuals or knew each other in the online scene/forums at the time, since we learned they knew about each other's work in their interview and phel was the one who asked Yone to join! Being younger and an indie artist just sharing work from his room, Aphelios probably learned a lot about the industry's inner workings through Yone, and unfortunately how brutal it can be watching Yone's burnout in real time. No matter what, he would be sure to comment on posts and boost Yone's work when it was shared, and would reminisce about getting to see his mixing live one day. When Aphelios had his surgery he probably had a bout of inactivity for a looong time, but slowly returned posting his wips or tracks, maybe catching up with Yone's posts he missed.

Because of their age difference and respect he has for the other, Aphelios changes the way he types when communicating with Yone specifically. it's a lot more formal and with less internet terms/slang, he might even use formatting. But emoticons and emojis will still slip in here and there. He tries to be on his best behaviour around his producer too with less goofing off to prove he's working hard because he cares how Yone sees him and respects his opinion... and that making music together is basically a dream come true. If he doesn't go to Alune, phel is asking for Yone's opinion on beats or choices in his tracks. Sometimes he'll accidently send them at the ungodly hour he was working, but he'll try and cover himself with a bad excuse like the internet or reception must have been down until then. With all this in mind, I think it's difficult for Aphelios to talk about anything else but music with Yone. It's what brought them together and where they are in the band now, but really if they are friends then he needs to try and take an interest with other parts of Yone's life. It's just a little difficult. He'll bring up work things before talking about the weather...

Whenever caught in one of his Harmless pranks or bullying the other members of the band, Aphelios' instinct is to act completely innocent or justified in his actions. It's the worst with Yone, where he'll try and use Yone's secretive favoritism to his advantage - and the mentioned before good behaviour he always has with work to either slacken his punishment or in the rare occurrence of getting away with it scot-free. Does the threat of Yone's disappointment dissuade his actions? No, it only motivates him to get even better with hiding his tracks. Yone is, of course, the second-least likely victim to his schemes (the first being Alune.)

[bubblybloob]

Hey, so this kind of turned into a vent. Be wary going in, but it’s important if you engage some with my stuff. I think I’ve been thinking about it more as btg has become more active, and wanted to get it all off my chest.

I’ve wanted to bring this up for a while now, after my popularity grew. I’m sure some people have noticed my lack of joy at the 500 followers milestone, and the 600 one, but it’s a bit more complicated than on the surface.

So, there was something I haven’t really mentioned. It wasn’t ever really a secret, I just didn’t feel it was important, and was always taught it was dangerous to talk about and to dance around the subject if brought up. But I’ve noticed that the people on Tumblr find this kind of important to know when interacting. I know people on here can get really hostile, and this kind of became a secret because of that. I don’t know if it’s bad that I haven’t said anything or not, but I thought I should still make a post anyway.

So, I’m, in my country, since I know it might be younger or older in other places, a minor.

Okay most important stuff first. Yes, I’ve said or drawn mildly suggestive stuff, that’s mostly because I’m very unaffected by it and find it more amusing (I might be a little ace idk), though I do purposely keep stuff I make mostly tame simply because like- still technically a kid. I’ve seen stuff far more suggestive from afar before and just nod and say “mm, yes, that exists” and indifferently move the hell on with my life.

Being part of the STP community has been really strange for me and not all in good ways. I hate hate hate people looking up to me, or being jealous, or having anxiety talking to me because- in my head- I’m just doing everything and talking to everyone I can because I like making stuff and talking to people, and I feel so uncomfortable up on this pedestal where I’m held so high, but if I make one wrong step I’ll have tomatos thrown at me. It’s a really claustrophobic and isolating position and feeling and it makes me feel sick, anxious, stressed, and really really scared.

I like the community I’m in and friends I’ve made, but I’m really afraid I’ll say something unusual or wrong or maybe even offensive since I don’t know everything I’m supposed to say or do. I don’t know how to act when someone’s depressed, I don’t know how people feel about shipping, or designs for characters who canonically don’t have a physical appearance, or what the opinion is on all of the nsfw content. I do the Homer Simpson bush meme whenever I see it pop up because if there’s something that I do know, it’s that people don’t want minors reading their blorbos being sexy with each other.

(Side note: The amount of times I’ve accidentally clicked on an explicit fic thinking ‘Oo what’s this’ and then seeing what’s going to happen is… not staggering, actually. But enough for me to laugh in hindsight. I scroll to the bottom to read the comments to confirm my suspicions, and get the hell out. Happened with the same fics multiple times too because I forgot they were explicit and that I’d encountered them in the first place, wondered why I never read them and then boom, flashback, I never read the description like the fool I am).

And there’s the thing isn’t it. Some parts of fandom culture, it feels like all I can do is mess up. I just don’t know how I can handle all the fear of this attention?

Like, I don’t hate it. I like interacting, I like that people love my art despite my grievances with parts of my style, I’ve been so motivated to grow and get better because of everyone. You can all look at my oldest STP post and newest one and see the differences plainly.

But it’s really so much, and I’m as grateful as I am terrified. I’m terrified of hurting someone’s feelings when I don’t mean to. Like, what if I follow someone and they get excited because I’m a “big name” and then I decide to unfollow for whatever reason I might have at the time? I might crush that person’s soul or want to interact.

Despite my willingness, I do have problems with some ships, but I can’t voice any because what if I start a big argument with a bunch of people involved instead of the normal discussion I wanted to have? People are more likely to take my side because I’m the popular person, and we all know popular people are always right about everything and we must regurgitate their opinions without any thought put into how you actually feel. And then I’ll make whoever I was talking to retreat for a really long time, and everything will be awful and terrible forever and ever.

I can’t do that to people! I’ve been those people! I’ve was told things by people I looked up to and would get so so so upset, because I’m really emotional. I don’t want to hurt someone who might be sensitive like me.

I really just wanted to get all these feelings off my chest. Sorry if it got pretty venty. I’m open to discussing it, I’m still really scared to post this, it’s my only ever vent post, but I’ll try not to just save it in my drafts and let it rot.

[kenobihater]

of all the star wars movies, which of them do y'all 1) enjoy the most 2) consider the best quality and 3) think you've rewatched the most. add your answers in the reblogs or replies, i'm genuinely curious how much of an overlap there is within everyone's three answers. mine don't overlap at all! they're revenge of the sith, empire strikes back, and the force awakens :^)

[mizartz]

The man with his rucksack raises the gun. Danny looks at him, really looks at him, sees his wide eyes and trembling hands and thinks that it serves him right. Danny’s own eyes glow green and bright, blood dripping down his face. “Better make it count,” he snarls.

fanart for close enough to be whole again by @hailsatanacab <3 i am obsessed with this fic!!!

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[rithmeres]

genuinely these panels are going to make me ugly cry

[irritablepoe]

Little rant about my friend and consuming media lmao

Ok how do you consume media and still have NO IDEA who even the main character's name is? I recommended tma and bsd to a friend - well he started both. I ask him about it - like who his favourite character is or what he thinks of it - and he's so.... Confused almost? Like he just shrugged and said that he actually had no idea what was going on - which ok is kinda fair with bsd but like. you know the characters at least. Each one of them is introduced in some dramatic way, you can't MISS any of that and surely there's at least one character that gets your attention/that you relate to/that you find interesting. I mean ok maybe you forget the name or sth, but you at least remember the characters when I describe them to you, right? But no, my friend had no idea who for example Dazai was - DAZAI?! Like. What???? Or Atsushi.. the fucking main character???? Or chuuya???? Or - anyone??? I was so perplexed. How can you watch something and still have no idea about what you're watching?

The same happened with tma. I recommended it, he listened to the first few episodes. I asked him what he thought of Jon. HE DIDN'T KNOW WHO JON WAS I MEAN WHAT???? Oh idk he's just the guy reading the fucking statements. Before every statement he says "audio recording by Jonathan Sims" like how can you... miss that?

Idk, am I just consuming media so intensely or is he just... I don't even know.... Disinterested in engaging with the media one is consuming? It's not even that he doesn't like it. I asked him and he said it was good. But what exactly does he find good when he has no idea about. like. anything.

[sorikkung]

people interacting w wgoin in my notes... this would be a rly bad time to say all my writing will probably be on hiatus for the indefinite future huh

[rosicheeks]

🫶

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: December 14

"KMAG YOYO" by Hayes Carll

[mikesbasementbeets]

working on like 17 different motif compilation posts rn but half of them tie into each other and i can’t even begin to try analyzing what it all means….. i need to gather and sort them all like skittles first

[bitterpngs]

wip dump