#it was an easier choice before bc i was sure i really wanted to read this one and gojas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

friendlyneighbourhood-parker · 3 years ago

Text

nagging and napping

pairing: Steven grant x reader, Marc spector x reader, Jake lockley x reader

Summary: after a good-bye party for Layla you get hurt and the moonboys have to manage taking care of you on their own ways while making sure you remember that this wasn't your fault

Word count: 12 k

Warnings: child abuse, wendy's mentioned, panic attacks, wound patching as a way of showing affection, implied smut, the wounds really don't make sense i'm sorry, intrussive thoughts, negative self talk, mentions of blood and wounds angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

A/N: This wasn't supposed to be so long nor take as much time to write as it did! this started as a bucky fic back when Falcon and the winter soildier was airing but never really liked it. now I love it and loved writting it so I hope you guys like it too! also I think it looks way nicer on ao3 but if you want to read it here I won't be mad about it

special thanks to my amaizing betta reader @devilish-mirage her notes and sweet words are what motivated me to continue!

also to @bassist-vortex whom I now own a lollypop bcs it's longer than 6k and didn't mind when I texted him at 2 am about being so fucking done drafting this.

Come on, breathe

In, out. In, out. One, two, three

“Fucking hell!!!” You winced avoiding to look his way, your hands quickly trailing up to cover your mouth, muffling the string of curses.

Your mind frantically ran through every and any single possible scenario trying to detach itself from the notorious pain from the side of your body, the sting running across your back when the soaking cotton made contact with the wounded skin.

Breathe, just breathe

Teeth sunk into your hand trying your best to drown the scream creeping from your throat, your other hand trembling while holding up the t-shirt you wore to make his job easier.

God

You couldn’t even look at him not when the probability of seeing him frowning at you was huge. One of his hands held you keeping you as still as he could while the other cleaned away the scrapes on your torso.

“Told you to be careful”

It was the first thing he said after getting home, Marc placed you on top of the kitchen table and ran to get the aid kid from the wardrobe in the back, cursing at Steven for moving it from the top of the fridge.

In and out, breathe

He tried his best not to prolong the pain, dabbing carefully and looking up to check your reaction, or at least he tried to but your eyes never shifted from the window and even if they did they never fell into him.

His tone was harsh fuelled by his immense worry, he shook his head pouring alcohol into a new cotton. He knew his way around this but the way your chest moved and breath picked up made him nervous, the hand that was once holding you trailed along the outside of your thigh trying to ease you, and yet you thought he was furious.

“¿Te lo dije, o no?”

“Fuck off” You hated getting scolded like a child, the guilt bubbling in your chest. You side-eyed him before shutting your eyes and slamming your hand on the table.

¡Respira maldita sea!

You tried your best to regulate yourself before looking back at him. His eyes never left the place where the wound was, sitting on a chair to be head level to it and with the trash bin on his side to discard everything he used.

You were scared and yet his fear was greater, he was about to fucking scream.

He’s done this thousands of times before, not as many as Marc but his sudden ‘shutdown’ left him with no choice but to attend your wounds.

For fucks sake Marc, couldn’t you choose a better time to freak out?

To be honest he didn’t blame him, it was only his nervousness taking the best of him. In the past he had attended his own wounds before making that stupid deal with the moon god that got him the suit, but it was you they were talking about, none of them wanted to see you in pain and the mere thought of not being able to help you was enough for Jake being pushed forward.

He tried his best to be quick, to not linger in his mind and finish up so you could rest, but the voice of the worried British man that lived in him didn’t make concentrating any easier.

“Steven, si no te callas juro que-“ He whispered to himself and sighed looking back at you “Mi amor, I need you to stay still, ‘kay?”

You nodded lifting the t-shirt even higher, finally deciding to grip it with your teeth, it wouldn’t get in his way and would work wonders muffling you. The pain was worst, He expected you to flinch when he started stitching the cut on your shoulder but for some reason your knuckles turning white when you gripped the edge of the table seemed to have a greater effect on him as his hand began to shudder. He took a deep breath and glanced at your pained expression before continuing.

Where was Layla in a moment like this?

Took them home, remember?

The reason why he had to clean you up in the first place, the guy who you saw across the pub bothering a girl and her friend. The thing is you knew the guy, he ruined the night out you had with a couple of friends some weeks ago. The boys weren’t at home when it happened and Layla had to travel thanks to her line of work to recover some stolen goods, so you decided that going for drinks with your best friend was a good idea.

And it was, it really was until that twat started to roam around you just like he was doing with the girls. You were out as a makeshift ‘goodbye party’ for Layla before she had to leave to secure a buyer for the recently collected stolen goods. Marc went for more drinks while she excused herself to the restroom, you? You walked across the venue to strike him as soon as his hand tried to reach for the girl’s bum.

There is a downside about being constantly surrounded by people who commune with the gods, you sometimes forget you aren’t more than a mere human, you don’t have powers nor a fancy suit and every blow you get can be mortal.

And so when his fist collided against your side taking almost all your breath out of you, it was your doom and yet the second blow seemed even worse, some people ran to help you, others held him but your mind was only on the young lass who shivered on her friend’s arms.

On the bright side Marc and Layla got there before he tried anything else and yet it seemed to be a tad late, you were dizzy and needed to go home. It wasn’t really that big of a deal and yet the pain was present, mostly from your ego being hurt, some from the actual punch.

Marc made sure he was kicked out and you companied Layla to bus stop after she offered to take the girls home, you craved the air on your face and the feeling of it filling your lungs once more not expecting to be followed on your way back to the car. You could see Marc waiting for you, leaning against the passenger’s side, you held your hand up ready to call for him when you felt it. It didn’t come to your mind that he would take it further than a punch, but the sharp pain on your shoulder and your blouse being tinted in crimson made you let out a loud scream, one of pure pain and fucking regret. Just in time for Marc to watch it.

“Just a few stitches left baby” He tried to reassure you but it only made your need to go at him grow “Come on, breathe”

It’s not like you weren’t reminding yourself of that, to just focus on your breathing and forget about what was going on, to detach yourself from the pain but it wasn’t that easy.

“¡Mierda Lockley!” You tilted your head to the side heavily breathing.

“that’s right” once you snapped back to reality he was throwing away the last bit on cotton and placing a bandage to secure the stitches and rubbing your back carefully “We’re done”

He placed a kiss near where the bandages were, the pearls of sweat glistened on both of your bodies and a tired laugh came from within your lips, still high on the adrenaline you locked eyes.

“Thanks baby”

“Just please… don’t try that shit again” You felt his touch, his hands brushing your hair away, the sweet gesture making you close your eyes nodding to his request.

But he knew better.

He knew just like every other occasion you wouldn’t listen, not to Marc, not to Steven and most certainly not to him. He would have to use both his hands to count how many times he had to drag your ass out of situations like this, times when he got in time before something bad happened and the line of curses directed at the other person slowly died down on the way back home.

“You should’ve let me”

Your arms were crossed in front of your chest as you stared at the road, Marc was the one fronting that particular night, driving both of you to the flat.

“I don’t want anything happening to you” he sighed, his eyes never leaving the road “I wouldn’t be able to take it”

Not all of the occasions where the same but had few things in common, you wanted to help and they had to talk some sense into you before the reckless part of your brain decided to take action. This time was different tho, they didn’t have the opportunity to stay on the talking stage of the little routine, resulting on the little pep talk you were immersed in.

He reached for you carefully trying to lift you but the touch was met with your hand pulling his away before resting your back on the table. He was confused but didn’t complain.

“Leave me here” your voice was barely audible as you dozed off “Wait for Layla in bed”

Layla, one of your best friends and the one who used to have your place in Marc’s heart. At first they tried but their relationship was complicated, too many lies and too many betrayals can doom any marriage, they knew that, they knew how much damage the lack of communication had caused and yet they couldn’t part from one another. Too much history and feelings to even try and explain, but she had to move on to find peace and so she left for a while with the promise of being for him whenever he needed her, the silence and loneliness being something he grew accustomed to and yet it left him aching for the love she gave him.

Then you appeared in the picture, Jake was fond of you since the moment his eyes laid on you, going out of his way to rearrange for you and Steven to meet, let’s just say both of them fancied the tiny moments they had with you, Steven taking you out in the mornings for a cup of tea to his favourite spot and Jake preferring to drive you around the city at night even if you didn’t know it was him. Then you found out about Marc in the worst way possible, at a pub drunk as he could get.

He knew it could trigger him to switch with more ease but there was also the possibility of his mind going quiet for a second, to forget that the woman he loved wasn’t on his side for just a moment, to think that he would find her when coming back home. That’s when he felt your touch on his back and a kiss on his cheek followed by the little pet name.

“Hi amor”

Fuck he was confused as to why in the middle of him grieving and yearning for Layla there was another person who touched him the same way he expected her to do so. Then he opened his mouth letting his confused tone swoon you.

Wasn’t this Steven? Wasn’t this the man you’ve been seeing for the past month and a half? You were pretty sure he was and yet the strong American accent said otherwise. Until there wasn’t one, his gaze softening and his lips twitching in a broken smile as he tried to explain what was going on with the same accent you’ve grew to love.

You worked things out but not before scolding Jake for letting you believe they didn’t understand those little confessions of love you offered in your mother tongue. That’s how you started to date the three of them, completely mesmerized by every part of your moon boys. Then Layla came back, but not as the lover she used to be but as a friend, as the shoulder Marc could lay on whenever he needed, a place he could feel safe and someone who slowly became just as much as a necessity for you as it did for him.

“Mi amor, she’ll kill me if she finds you here alone” he laughed when you pushed his face softly “y no quiero dejarte”

“Jake, ya… porfa” He saw the way your chest movements slowed down finally falling asleep. He went towards the bed grabbing a pillow and blanket, placing it carefully under your head and covering your body to keep you warm.

You’ll probably be sore in the morning but right now the best he could do was leave you to rest.

He sat back where he once was, right next to you and his hand instinctively reaching for yours. The flat would’ve been in complete silence if it weren’t for your soft snores and the humming form Jake, singing under his breath a song he heard not so long ago, the one you played that rare morning while making breakfast. The aroma of coffee and tea dragging him out of bed only to find you wearing his t-shirt and underwear, moving your hips to the melody and mouthing the words.

“How are they?” Layla creeped through the front door slowly trying to not wake you up.

“Tired…” he rubbed his eyes trying to remain awake.

“It seems they’re not the only one” She kissed the top of his head and tapped his shoulder “You should go to sleep, I’ll keep an eye on them”

“Nah, nah. I stay, you can take the bed”

She shook her head as amused as irritated, she always knew how stubborn her boys could be, always wanting to have the last word and yet they hadn’t learn. There’s no use on fighting with her, she would be the one in the right but it amazed her how they always tried. She pushed his curls backwards leaning to be on eye level.

“Jake Lockley, either you go to sleep or I’ll drag you to bed”

He chuckled rolling his eyes grabbing her by the shoulders.

“Yes ma’am”

The cold of the night slowly became a chill morning as the hours passed, the drapes didn’t do much to cover the light that came through the window hitting your face, those moments after waking up were precious, where everything seemed fine thanks to having no recollection of what happened the night prior or even who you were, until you tried to move putting all your weight into the wounded arm and the sharp pain finished the job of waking you up completely. You kicked the blanket out of the way and saw the bruising and scrapes creeping from under your clothes.

“Mierda” you slipped right back where you once laid with a thud, hearing the creek of the chair on your side.

Layla rubbed her eyes yawning and her hand moved some curls out of her face, she was still wearing the same clothes she had on last night, her leather jacket hung from the chair she was sitting on and the traces of makeup in her face told you everything you needed to know. She didn’t get much sleep last night either.

“Good morning trouble maker” her tone was soft as her hand reached to mess with your hair before walking to the cupboard where you store the glasses “The boys are sleeping… it was hard to convince Jake to stay in bed all night”

Your forearm laid on your face covering your eyes, now that the rush of adrenaline and anger from last night wore off it became easier to think, to realize how fucking reckless you’ve been and how punching a guy twice your size wasn’t the brightest idea you could think of, but it was hard to make up good ideas with an intoxicated mind and the fear on a young girl’s face.

And then stopping your mind was almost impossible as it recalled every single detail of the night, how Layla rushed to talk with the girls while Marc took the guy form the collar of his shirt dragging him outside followed by a blurry ride home with him talking to you and telling you that everything was okay. You knew those words weren’t meant for you but for him, telling himself over and over again that you were okay, because you had to be okay, he reminded himself that it was just a cut in your arm, that it wasn’t even that deep and even if it was the first time you’ve ever been hurt like this you would still live.

“I wouldn’t be able to take it”

He probably blamed himself for not reacting sooner and Steven was probably trying to ease him. Trying his damn best to stop the tears that built up in his eyes, gripping the steering wheel with such force that you knew his hands would probably hurt the next morning; Steven would’ve taken control then and there if he wasn’t just as scared as Marc was.

Puta madre

“I’m sorry” you sighed, voice breaking “I’ll never do it again”

The coldness of the glass against your arm made you peek from behind it to find her handing you some painkillers along with water. “I know” she simply said

“No use on getting emotional, ‘kay?” the closest thing to a reassuring smile formed on her face, it was the best one she could give you right now at least, to convince you it wasn’t that big of a deal and yet you could sense the undertone worry.

“You want me to help you before heading out?” she pointed at you and gestured towards the bed where your partner’s slept.

She saw you shaking your head before slowly getting up, she tried to help you but you brushed her hand away – you needed this, to know that you were still able to take care of yourself even after that mayor screw up – before embracing her in a much needed hug, she held you close while making sure not to squeeze to hard. She remembers the first time she got hurt like this and knew how painful it really was.

“Do you have to leave so soon? Marc’s more bitchy than usual after you’re gone” you closed your eyes to the feeling of her hair brushing your face, the scent of honey flooding your senses. She rested her chin on your unwrapped shoulder.

“I know” she breathed out, there was a slight undertone of worry on her voice, one so miniscule that you didn’t really catch it “But I know you can manage him”

You smiled.

She left you all alone, the light creeping in and the cold wood under your feet sending shivers down your spine, the painkillers were starting to take affect as you felt drowsier, you crawled into bed, careful not to wake up the man sleeping besides you or to accidentally hurt the damaged shoulder. The feeling of his arm instinctively reaching out for you was soothing you to finally go back to sleep.

~☽☾~

You expected after opening your eyes to be greeted by an empty bed, it wasn’t uncommon for you to be left behind like that and you really didn’t mind it. Both Marc and Steven thrived in the mornings, the rush of waking up early and get things done just before heading out, to be totally honest it amassed you how even after staying passed midnight Steven still managed to get up before the sun even rose while Jake was the total opposite, who’s only reason to leave your side and the warmth of the oh so comfortable bed – Steven had such a nice bed for someone who tried for so long not to fall asleep – was to be able to surprise you with a breakfast with some ‘flavour in it’.

His words, not yours. Poor Steven couldn’t seem to see the end of it when he cooked for the two of you, Jake pestering him about adding something that once lived and now tasted better with some hot sauce on top.

The morning birds and your night owl.

But the sight the morning granted you was worthy of heaven. Steven holding you close to him completely fixated by the shapes he traced on your thigh still covered by the blanket, he looked up after you inevitably left out the breath you didn’t know were holding in, you saw the small wrinkles on the corner of his eyes once he smiled at you.

“Morning love” it wasn’t long until you realized that his every move where slow and careful, almost calculated as if he was scare to shift a wrong way and cause you immense pain. He kissed your temple “Didn’t want to wake you up”

His accent was thicker in the mornings, a mixed of his tiredness and the dehydration from the night prior, you had the habit of taking a glass of water with you to bed, having it by your side in case either of you was thirsty but from all your boys, the only who refused to drink from the water you provided was Steven.

“Happy you didn’t” you turned to face him ignoring the immediate discomfort, you replicated his smile only yours was tinted whit malice “I would’ve kicked you out of bed”

He couldn’t help but laugh

“You’re… unbelievable” you felt him turning away, trying to get up but your arms moved quicker than your mind could proses it, wrapping them around his waist to prevent him to moved.

The pain from your torso came back, a quick reminder to keep you in place.

Slowly

“Stay” you tried to pull him closer but the pain was making it harder than it normally was “Please?”

He turned to look at you, the pained expression on your face made his gut stir, to say he was worried was an understatement, Steven was mortified by your state. It was written all over his face and in the way his fingers were almost shaking in the moment he placed a revel strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll make us some tea” he leaned in to kiss your forehead and his hand cupped the side of your face “It’ll make you feel better”

“I don’t want to feel better… I only want to feel you” your voice was low and raspy, you moved closer burring yourself in the crook of his neck, your good arm held the weight and while the other gently wrapped over his shoulders keeping him in place, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“How about this…” he said after a beat of silence, his hand rubbed softly the arm around him and the smell of citrus with a hint of cinnamon flooded your senses, his hair was messier than usual and you couldn’t see his face but from the way his breaths became more irregular you knew his eyes were glued to your shoulder and his mind to your torso “I’ll bring us some tea and we stay in bed, yeah? I was thinking maybe some movies”

Be careful

You nodded against his neck, your nose rubbing against his skin sending shivers down his spine, he gave a light pat to your arm before kissing it and walking away from your side, you almost could feel yourself slipping back, your arm giving up under the pressure only making you whine when your back hit against the mattress, you left your hands where they landed taking almost all the space in bed.

The mornings beside Steven were nice, starting your day with tea – while Marc preferred the taste of morning coffee and Jake settled with a cold glass of water – and vegan breakfast, sometimes there was toast with jam spread on top, other times it was scrambled eggs with beans to the side; today he completely outdid himself, coming back with a stack of pancakes drizzled with honey and frozen berries on top, a little cup filled with bananas and your tea in hand. He placed your cup by your side and kissed the top of your head while his hand cupped the crane of your neck and the little gesture sent sparks to your heart.

You tried to reach for the cup but Steven beat you to it, passing the hot beverage to you. It was milky and smelled like cinnamon and honey.

“Wait…” your head turned to look at him once both of you were tucked back in bed, your laptop proned on his chest so that both of you could see it while cuddling, he turned to look at you raising his eyebrows “Does this mean the bookstore trip is cancelled?”

“We can do that later” you used his arm as a makeshift pillow while he held you close, his hand covered your eyes playfully “right now you need to rest”

“No I don’t” you shifted to your side, putting your weight on your elbow almost peering over him.

From there you saw how he rolled his eyes and still kept a tiny smile on his face, how the laptop was placed on the floor for a moment so he could shift on his side. Now that you both were staring into each other’s faces you could see it, it was faint but it was there.

He was scared, the doe eyes he tried to suppress where still there as his worry ate him alive. You really fucked up, didn’t you? He reached for you, brushing the side of your body and accidentally making pressure near your waist. He saw first-hand how your face screwed up and you hissed at the sudden contact.

Too harsh

“I think you do” the tired tone didn’t match the perked up eyebrow adorning his face, he turned to reach once more for the electronic device and all you could do was scoff.

It really wasn’t the fact that you had to cancel your plans that bothered you, neither was spending away your Saturday evening watching movies with Steven, but you felt like a burden. You were the reason they had to come home earlier last night, why Marc couldn’t spend more time with Layla even if you knew how much he had been looking out for it and why now Steven couldn’t go out scavenging for new books to fill the blank spaces in his bookshelves, because even if you insisted for him to just go without you he wouldn’t even budge.

Calm down.

Steven was glad you couldn’t hear his thoughts or you would get a glance of how he really didn’t know how to approach you right now, he tried his best to just breath it out but his first instinct was to leave you in bed and just sit on the chair by the end of it, just coming closer when you needed something, because he didn’t want to cause you pain. But he knew better, he knew that the moment he went away from your reach he would be causing you an ever greater pain, so he settled for distracting both of you from it until it was time for him to bring you the next dosage of painkillers.

You picked the movie, an animated one that you haven’t seen since you left college. You laid with his arm around you, his warmth mixed with the blanket and heather helped you not to shiver, as the hours passed the temperature started to descend and the movie ended just in time for Steven to make a quick trip to the kitchen, bringing you back a glass of water and a tablet of medicine, you opened your mouth slightly sticking your tongue out so he could place it there before handing the glass to you.

You saw how he strolled back and forth before coming back to bed, taking away the dirty dishes and bringing both of you a new cup filled with tea, his was sweet while yours was sour. You liked the taste of sweetness in the morning when it was still blissful and quiet while opting for a more strong taste in the later hours, maybe it had something to do with the fact that you could never seem to find sugar at work and always forget to bring your own, and right now that’s what you needed the most, a sense of familiarity and a taste of your routine.

Like everything was fine, like you didn’t mess up.

“Steven?” the next movie had already been going for a couple of minutes before you decided to speak up, at this point you weren’t even paying attention to it, only using the sound from the laptop as a way to drown out the otherwise silent flat and loud mind.

“Do you need something love?” he paused the movie already getting up.

Keep calm

You shook your head and looked the other way, trying hard to avoid his stare.

“I just…” trying to gulp down the knot forming in your throat was hard. The guilt from yesterday’s events was revived and you couldn’t stop but think of how everything would’ve been different if you just listened “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the night or today for that matter, I really wanted us to go and– “

He called for your name as he moved closer towards you “It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize”

“But I do!” there was an urge bubbling in the pit of your stomach, to find a culprit and the only person available to be condemned was you “I was dumb and reckless, and you always tell me but I never listen, and if only I listened this wouldn’t have happened”

“You saw being picked on and you went out of your way to help” his hand cupped your face softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb “There’s nothing to apologize for that”

“Still–“ you felt pressure on your face as he pushed his forehead against yours, it was nice. It helped you to notice how you were tangling your hands with the blanket, gripping it hard.

“Tell that little nob of yours to stop nattering” you closed your eyes trying to focus solely on his voice and drown out the thoughts that crossed your mind, you felt the way the mattress moved under his weight when he approached you, his face finding its way towards your neck “And come take a bath… you stink” his words came through with laughter and your eyes suddenly opened as you gasped.

“You little shit!”

Taking your shirt off was a challenge he imposed himself, unable to stand watching you while you struggled to even move the arm, you tried to push him away but after a while of just fighting with it you left him do it instead. The fabric being pulled and thrown away, his calloused hands were soft against your skin careful not to tuck at the bandages that kept the wound shielded from his eyes, it was better that way, the immense relieve of not having to face it just yet, avoiding thinking about it, avoiding acknowledging it besides the lingering knowledge that he had to give you a new dosage of painkillers just after shower and not to be too rough near it.

He could just pretend it didn’t exist for a few more minutes before he had to clean it and change it. Out of sight, out of mind.

The same can’t be said by the bruising and scratches on your torso, splotches of purple and green mixed with crimson dashes reminded you of watercolour and your hand instinctively mode to it. It was captivating, brushing near it without making any pressure, oh but was it tempting. Alluring you almost, like a chant that made you compliant to the urge to dig into it, to just lean into the splashes on your side and make sure that it wasn’t just a trick of the light.

But it wasn’t the light, it was an admonition. Don’t indulge into affairs of the gods and don’t drift into the business of others.

He reacted quicker than you did, managing to pull you away from those thoughts, his hand guided yours away from your skin and his lips left soft kisses on your neck as it was the closest he dare to get to the wound.

Steven made sure the water was warm and not too hot or too cold before he helped you get into the tub. He sat right next to it, scrubbing away the sweat and worried from you with the help of a sponge, you wanted to move his hands away, to take it from him but you aching body wouldn’t let you. So you just indulged against your wishes to the care your partner provided, he made sure to not get to close to your shoulder and to clean away quickly near your ribs.

The water echoed in the tiled room and the light steam from the tub painted the mirror, his hands were all over you but it didn’t feel dirty at all, the care that grazed his gestures as he moved from your legs to your torso and finally your arm, moving it around slowly to scrub it clean, while making sure you were alright.

“Does this hurt?” “Just let me know” “Do you need a break?”

You tilted your head, peering from the edge of the tub to look at him, his figure was soaked, his arms covered in water and soap reaching to the rolled up sleeves of his jumper, the stains where the water had splashed were darker and somehow his hair had managed to also get wet, your heart ached with the need to pull him inside with you and repay the favour by scrubbing his worries away, clean him of the nasty thoughts that tormented him.

“Steven” If it hadn’t been by the calmness in your voice he would’ve thought that something he did hurt you, maybe his hands were harsher on your scratches, maybe he moved your arm too hard and your shoulder was resenting it or maybe he was just too worried to be around you at the moment. He looked back at you rising his eyebrow and with what resembled a smile “Thank you for this”

You closed your eyes in time for him to kiss your lips, it was soft and quick but filled with the unconditional love you had for one another.

“Any time, love”

~☽☾~

You had to call in sick for work and explained what happened, you tried to push it back for as long as you could but Saturday came to an end and with that the deadline was something you had to face, at the middle of your peaceful Sunday Steven went away as Jake pushed himself to front ‘quiero ver tu carita hermosa’ was the excuse he gave that granted him with you smiling immensely and rolling your eyes, for him it was amusing seeing you faking being annoyed.

Right now you couldn’t be gladder to be sleeping and waking up beside him, after Steven thought it would be a great idea to put pillows in the middle of the bed to keep you ‘safe’, to keep you away from his touch. But Jake just laughed at the thought as he embraced you in his arms, softly but steady, feeling your chest moving as you breathing relaxed him into sleeping better, the pressure in his arms helping him to sleep through the night and the strong scent of his cologne having the same effect on you. You got up thanks to the smell of breakfast and the feeling of emptiness besides you, it was weird that you missed it but right now being left behind was the last thing you needed.

“Buenos días dormilona” he took the pillow on his side of the bed, letting it fall right in front of your face and this muffling your groans “roncas horrible, did ya know?

That little bitch

A shit-eating grin was plastered on his face, the one you’ve got to know real well, his hair was pristinely combed back and was wearing only a pair of boxers – which wasn’t unusual –, while Marc preferred to wear them combined with a t-shirt to bed and Steven couldn’t even fathom the idea of not wearing pants while sleeping. He preferred to lay with you like that, to be able to feel with every inch of his skin that you were there besides him, to know you were his and – right now – to know that you were okay.

“Mira quién habla” you scoffed at him, pulling the pillow into your arms, pressing it down a bit against your chest, the markings on your torso being something that don’t bother you as much anymore, and you were grateful because that meant that you could enjoy being able to feel his rougher grip on your waist as he hugged you against him. “You talk in your sleep and I never say shit about it”

He licked his lips trying to supress a smirk.

“I’m confessin’, mi amor. That’s between Konshu and I”

His tone was condescending and yet you knew he meant no ill intent by it. He saw you get out of bed and how you were struggling to get out of the shirt you wore to sleep, but he didn’t budge, knowing that if you needed his help you would ask for it. Eventually you did, he didn’t mind at all helping you take them off, enjoying the sight of you and to leave a trail of kisses along your back, on your shoulder blades and slowly coming up to the nape of your neck. You kept those little instances close to your heart, savouring the moment with closed eyes and total silence, to hear the loud ‘smack’ that his lips did against your skin. His hands trailed from your stomach, past the bruises and scratches on your waist and ribs to stop barely under your chest.

The movement was made with ease as if he knew not to tiptoe around you. To not make you feel weird about it.

Maybe it had something to do with your upbringing, after all, growing up in a house were movement meant working and that correlated to the amount of recognition you got, the praise and love being tide with how useful you made yourself to be. You couldn’t stand to be put, feeling ill and remaining still making you anxious. For some reason you thought that feeling couldn’t be topped by anything else and then you discovered it, being a burden was something much worse.

But Jake somehow knew about that, at times you felt like he could hear your thoughts just glancing at you, reading you like an open book. And so his steady grasp was there when he help you get a new shirt – one with the smell of his cologne – with all the unsaid feelings and longing for each other.

You could feel how much he craved to pull you closer, to forget about what had happened and just loose himself in your lips. For his mind to go quiet as it couldn’t focus on anything else but you, in your hands pulling him closer, to be engulfed by you. Or maybe you were the one with those cravings.

You walked up to the kitchen, taking a look at the now empty glass still placed on the table, the droplets of water rolling down from the water Jake took a few minutes ago. You ate the breakfast he cooked, the boiled eggs with enchiladas bringing you some remembrance of peace, you tried your best to stay grounded, to be present in the moment but he noticed how your mind trailed in the midst of it, a look he knew too well because he has been the one wearing it in the past. He was worried about you, not so much for the wounds that adorned your body, he knew how tough his partner was and that they could take that shit with ease, no, what really worried him was your mind.

Because he knew you like the palm of his hands and know how it wouldn’t give you a rest, filled with thoughts that even if Steven tried his best to scare away they still remained. He would do anything to help you stop them, he just needed you to open up about it. There was something else, something you weren’t telling him, something that bugged you with no end but he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

He called your name like someone does after being ignored for a while, maybe it was because of the way your fork had been circling against the empty plate or your lost gaze that’s being seeing right past him or even just because he has handed you the tablets of medicine as he refilled your glass with water.

You felt exhausted and scared that he might share the sentiment.

“Lo siento” you took the pills from him plopping it in your mouth and drowning it along with your words.

“Esta bien mi amor” his hand was now on your hair messing it up, he knew how much it annoyed you but he didn’t care because he also knew how much you tried to supress the fact that you actually enjoyed whenever he and Layla did it. “You don’t have to apologize”

“No, es que…” you inhaled sharp, looking up at him. His body was leaning on the table, his weight on both of his arms and the dangling star adorning his neck. “I messed up that night and-“

“I know what you meant, but you don’t have to worry about it” he crunched down, now he being the one looking up at you and you slouched feeling the back of his hand rubbing against your cheek “The bastard is gone, we made sure of that. And you’re okay”

“Wait you did?” You saw him nod content, there was that relief washing your features, not more furrowed eyebrows and worried eyes. “When?”

“no importa amor, lo que importa…” he got up helping you do the same, the feeling of your hands on his was something he couldn’t get enough of, the softness of them against his tainted skin sending a shock of tranquillity through his body “is that you lived to be annoyed by me for another day”

He saw the hesitance creeping back in your eyes and how this fixated in the way your thumb rubbed the back of his hand, tracing the scars that remained on them.

“Hey” his voice was soft, your foreheads pressed against each other and his nose softly brushing yours “Everything is okay”

“You promise?”

“I do” his grip on your hands became sturdier “And I’m no liar”

You left out a tired chuckle “Only when it benefits you”

“Hate the game not the player” the corner of his lips tugged up once more in that stupid grin you fell in love with. He came closer, his hands coming up to grab your head, you leaned into the touch, your hands wrapping around his wrists with a smile on your face.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying goes” you rolled your eyes but you weren’t actually annoyed, he knew that and you knew that he did.

“I’m pretty sure it is” he closed the distance, pressing his lips against yours and your arms trailed slowly around his neck, the discomfort was there and yet it was eclipsed by the pure ecstasy of tasting him, of having his hands not caring of your damaged skin, grabbing it to keep you right there for him.

Your leg moved up and he helped you to place them around his waist, to have you pressed against him. You could feel your stomach beginning to swirl in anticipation, your shirt riling up when he carried you carefully through the messy apartment back to bed. That bed, that precious bed that held you still like a home you don’t seem to be able to leave, your place of rest for the past two days. Coming to the point of feeling chained to it but right now, in this moment felt more like a throne than a prison.

Where you normally found desire and desperation with torn fabric and sloppy kisses was only love and peace, the care that he felt being transmitted to you. He needed you to realize and understand how much they loved you, for you to understand that forgiveness wasn’t something they could grant you, because it was something only you could give yourself. They didn’t blame you for anything that happened and you needed to understand that, god he really hoped you understood it. It wasn’t your fault.

It was written in all his actions, in how his lips grazed over the purple, green and scabs in his way down, because he knew how it felt to be ashamed of having a wounded body – even if the damaged was caused by protecting someone – and he refused on giving you that option. His hands holding your legs in place while he ripped sweet sounds of pleasure right from your throat.

Those words he gave you just minutes ago replaying in your mind like a chant that would be cemented in your brain for the rest of your days. “I promise, everything is okay”

His lips pressed against yours, shaky breaths clashing against them as you felt his grip on your hips and the way his eyes roamed your face for a sign to stop. There wasn’t.

Everything is okay

His curls hanging on your face while he kept a steady pace, not to rough but not to slow. Just like you needed, he mumbling sweet nothings in Spanish right against your ear, the words falling almost in desperation for you to catch them and keep them near your heart.

Everything is okay.

Your hands intertwined together faces adorned by blissful smiles.

Everything is okay

~☽☾~

Your arm was extended In front of you, the back of his hand against your palm as you tried to analyse every aspect of it, laying on the couch was nice, after talking for a bit while scavenging through the flat and realizing you were all out of snack both of you decided to go buy the missing ingredients for cinnamon rolls, the grocery bags laid on the kitchen counter still packed as the two of you laid together on the couch with a blanket laying across your lap, your back leaned against his chest and his fingers playing with your hair with the occasional kiss being left on the crown of your head.

“How about I become a vigilante?” you jokingly said, the humorous tone made him tilt back his head before nudging it against yours.

“How about ya don’t?” he said only half joking, if you didn’t know him as well as you did you would’ve thought he was angry at you, but he wasn’t.

It was hard reading Lockley sometimes, to the untrained eye it would seem like his waking days where just a cruel joke he had to live through, that he was angry just for existing but in actuality he just had that kind of face, the one that keeps people at arm’s length even if he is nothing but polite, forcing him to just cherish the company of the few people who seemed to look past it. Enjoying his time with the ones he cares about, going out of his way to see Crawley every now and then, going to Gena’s dinner whenever he had the chance, texting with Layla every other month and spending all the time he could by your side.

“Come on! It would be fun, I could star sparing with-“ you took a deep breath before continuing “At least you have to admit I would look great, covered in battle scars” you let go of his hand and leaned to the side to look at him comfortably.

He shook his head.

“Me gustas asi” he left a kiss on your wounded shoulder, it was loud but didn’t leave traces of pain “no te cambiaría nada”

The feeling of him pressed against you was comforting, the warmth of his body making the pain tolerable and traces of guilt only an afterthought that you didn’t even focus on instead the migraine inducing reminder that it was. And yet your mind didn’t seem to feel like giving up, making that aching question that you’ve managed to push back for a while something more present and distracting.

“So…” you said elongating the ‘o’ “I know you’re not mad at me”

He hummed for you to continue, there was a small frown on his face as he paid close attention to your words.

“And I know neither is Steven” you tried your best to find the exact words to describe what you were feeling, thinking, aching to ask but it was hard, why was it so hard? You sighed “But I… ¿Qué hay de Marc?”

“¿Qué con él?” His fingers grazed through the side of your arm as a way to tell you ‘hey, it’s fine! You can do it’

“Is he mad at me?” you blurred out, finally spitting out the thought that made your stomach swirl, you glanced at him before looking down to your hands, resting on your lap “I mean, even Layla has called to check on me and-“ you sucked in a breath, his hand reaching out to tangle in between yours “I haven’t heard from him since it happened”

“No mi amor” he pulled you in closer to him, as close as he could without harming you in any way. “He’s ashamed”

He couldn’t stand the tint of guilt creeping back into your words or the way you seemed to become smaller, hunching away from his embrace, how the seemingly nice afternoon turned slowly in something more. You turned to look at him, scooping to the other side of the sofa away from his reach.

“He feels like… this is his fault” he confessed, his eyes looking briefly to your shoulder before coming back to meet your gaze and his hand reached to his temple “and he’s fuckin’ yellin’ all of the sudden”

You wanted to ask for him, to be able to hold Marc and reassure him that none of this was his fault, but you were hesitant, never demanding any of your boyfriends to front before. But the need was there and it was big, so scared of what his mind could be telling him, because for a moment it reminded you of the echoes of your own thoughts. You knew Marc, how he could get caught up into himself, so blinded by the bad thoughts that kept him in place. Sure you had bad days but you also saw how hard his ‘good days’ seemed to be, coming close to those where you weren’t able to leave the bed without some encouragement.

Yet Jake seemed to understand just what you needed without having to spell it out for him and in a split second he was gone, pulling marc to the front. You saw how his eyes grew larger with hesitance and the fear that coated them, how his eyebrows were furrowed and the way his lip trembled as he backed, pressing his back harder into the sofa, and a sudden rush of coldness passing through made you shiver. You reached for his arm but he flinched at the movement, the striking paint going from the tip of your fingers to the wound in the shoulder and tearing a whine out from the depths of your throat.

“Fuck” he said, his eyes frantically looking at you – trailing from your eyes to your chest, down your hands, hips and back to your eyes but not the shoulder, never the shoulder- as he couldn’t stop his body from shaking, It felt weird seeing him like this, frail and scared. Like those nights he would wake up drenched in sweat from a nightmare and would plea you to go back to sleep before going for a new glass of water. But right now it was a bit different, looking like a stray animal that tried to find shelter out of reach from reckless kid that tried to pet him.

Because of you

You saw him becoming stiffer in front of you, how his breath seemed to come to a pause as his hands tried to reach out for you even if his mind screamed to do the opposite, to keep you away where he couldn’t hurt you anymore. The thing about Spector is that he knew deep down, under all the love and longing that he had for you how much danger you were in just by knowing his name, by wrapping your arms around him as you slept together with his back against your chest, and by having a knight for company.

Because that’s what he was and with that came the responsibility of protecting you, even if you insisted and proved how capable you were on taking care of yourself, it was something he felt obligated to do, to keep you safe since that tumultuous night you stumbled into him. Since he fell in love with your soft words and careful touches as if you knew how much damage he has gone through and just how badly he longed for someone to soothe him back to sleep.

When his mind decided it would be great to bring back those faces of the people he had managed to cause pain along his path.

In a loud house a silent room is a blessing, tucking his heart under the bed where the noise doesn’t reach. It’s only a matter of time until he learned that a loud house is something out of the ordinary, something to fear and want to escape from.

Fuck the loud noises, the yelling and screaming. Fuck the shattered plates and thrown pots, the cracking belts and the stinging hands.

He just wanted the peace, security and quietness of a tranquil house, a noiseless home. Things that you handed to him with ease, as if it was something so common, something that didn’t come from obligation, because it was so normal and yet he couldn’t comprehend that something like that could ever be given to him, even if someone had already done it before.

And yet you did. You gave it away without whining or expecting anything in return from Marc because the spark in those brown eyes and the creases that formed around his mouth whenever he smiled was enough pay for you. Feeling the need to scream into the wind how much you loved Marc Spector, to let the world know that no matter what happened you would be by his side. No, to be by their side, because your love didn’t stop at one of them, it seemed like your heart was made in the perfect way to fit into theirs, like a puzzle piece that would be incomplete otherwise.

He tried his best to remember that, to know that everything was okay but he saw how much he had been a toll in other people’s lived and he dreaded the idea of becoming one in yours. He noticed how less frequently your mom called since you started to date him, how you made up excuses not to go back home since you started to live together and how your spark seemed to die down whenever someone pointed out your hometown, it was miniscule but it was there and it pained him.

“Marc” you called for him, he had no idea when both of you left their place on the sofa or when you took his hands in yours, your eyes trying to catch a glimpse of his, making his chest ache in the process, seeing the worry building up in your features.

He should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around.

His hands left yours as soon as he realized, blinking to fight back the tears that started to pile up in the corner of his eyes. This was too much, the air starting to feel heavy and the walls seemingly closer than normal and yet to far apart, no matter how much air filled his lungs it wasn’t enough and he just wanted to go.

“Hey” you took his hand slowly placing it on your chest, his eyes following along. He saw the way your chest moves steady and slow, he tried his best to mimic the rhythm closely but it was hard “breathe” you mouthed, noticing how hard it was for him to actually listen to your voice.

Run

You saw the way he shook his head creating more distance between the two of you, not bearing to touch you knowing what he had caused.

“I- I shouldn’t have…” he tried to speak up but the dryness of his throat made it almost impossible, his hands reached to his chest pushing down on it in hopes for ease the pain growing on it and maybe even being able to push out the words in the process “It’s my fault, I should’ve gone with you, I shouldn’t have left you alone”

He stumbled through his words, trying hard not to listen to what his mind was telling him and instead stay with you and talk things through, he wanted to scape, to go back inside so whoever wanted to take his place could but he pushed through it, feeling both Jake and Steven close to him as if reassuring him with those same words he kept repeating to himself this past days ‘everything is okay’.

You wanted to run and pull him into a hug, to keep him safe and snugged against yourself with your hearts beating near each other but didn’t know if that was the right thing to do.

“Marc” you breathed “It wasn’t your fault, I wanted to go alone”

You were crunched over still trying to even out your breath, it was hard almost impossible with the circle of people around you, leaving barely enough space for you to think.

Layla was too focused on calming down the brunette girl that seemingly could cry a river all by herself, the one that trembled under her friend’s touch as she dragged her hand along her back to ease her. You wished the world would go silent for a moment so you could hear what they were saying without having to move.

That’s when you saw him walking back, almost sprinting to your side after getting rid of the guy that punched you. He wanted to make him pay for what he had done but the thought of you heaving here all alone while Layla made sure the girls were okay was enough to drag him back with that need being unfulfilled.

He reached out to you, helping you to get back on your two feet and getting a whine out of you.

“Are you-“

“Okay?” you cut him out nodding, the pain was there but nothing you couldn’t breathe through “Yes, don’t- yes bebé”

“Hey so…” Layla leaned on Marc’s shoulder once she was back “the girl’s came alone, apparently her birthday? Also exchange students” she sighed “They have no one who can pick them up or take them home”

“I- We can take them” you heaved through, still trying to recollect your breath.

“No” she shook her head and placed a hand on your shoulder “You need to rest, I’ll go with them, make sure they are safe”

You looked at them understanding that there was no way of changing that.

“I guess” you sucked in a breath and closed one of your eyes in a pained expression “But let me walk you to the bus stop, I need some fresh air”

Her eyes drifted away from you as she thought about it for a while, desperately wanting to say no but once she looked back at you, she understood exactly what you were thinking of.

“I guess” she finally said.

“I’ll go with you” he voiced out, his eyes left Layla’s to look back at you, he knew just how stubborn both of you were but hoped he could convince you somehow.

You shook your head chuckling and patted his chest “It’s not far, I’ll see you at the car”

You needed this, to be alone for a second. To know that you could be one minute without being scared, to know that this wouldn’t become something you’ll be afraid of next time you wanted to go out.

“I should’ve insisted” he wanted to step back but for some reason his legs weren’t responding to his commands, hot tears beginning to stream down his face.

You moved slowly towards him, afraid of making a wrong move that would scare him away. One hand resting on his chest while the other reached to wipe away his tears and slowly guiding him to look at you.

“Oh bebé…” it was soft and short but full of memories.

“No” he shook his head placing his jacket on ready to go down street with you “I’m going”

“Marc, please…” you weren’t asking anymore, you were begging to him and he noticed it “I need this”

He was afraid of the funny feeling in his gut telling him to not let you win, to push back and go with you even if you would be all moody in your way back home but the pleading eyes were too much, the sound of your desperate voice asking for his trust.

He sighed

“It’s my fault” he said once more and you couldn’t tell if those words were directed to you or to himself. His voice felt tinted by the bitter ring of Wendy’s and Jake grew angry at them while Steven felt pure sorrow.

“It’s not your fault” pushing through the pain your hands guided his head to press his forehead against yours “everything is okay”

It wasn’t much of a reminder this time, it was a promise.

It took a while to get him out of that heavy mind-set, his breathing becoming less frantic when he finally started to listen, to actually understand what the words that you gave him meant. He tried hard not to flinch away when your fingers reached for his, keeping the little hiccups at bay when your hand ran through his back, his eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, and he told you how his nose felt stuffy when you passed him a napkin. You tried to cheer him up, cleaning away the mess from his face while he apologized for ‘everything’, you didn’t exactly know what everything meant for him though and you wished to believe he only meant to apologize for forgetting how none of this was caused by him, for forgetting that his arms where the place that made you feel like you were truly home. Of course you reminded him with a simple ‘it’s fine’.

“How about we make the cinnamon rolls?” his eyes remained closed and his head leaned against your touch when you brushed his dark curls away from his face, enjoying the view of his now relaxed expression.

You always found it funny how your lovers shared the same face and yet they had their unique way of making it ‘theirs’, how they managed to look so different.

“Yeah, I’d like that” he replied nodding slightly, he felt you pulling your hand away and held it in place to leave a small kiss before any contact between the two of you was lost.

“Just… remember to double check” you laughed seeing him rolling his eyes, he pushed softly your hip with his fist before leaning to take out the bowl you always used while baking.

It was nice, knowing he wasn’t scared of being around you as he was a couple of hours ago.

“I swear the salt and sugar look the same!” he wrapped his arms around you.

Careful

He reminded himself once more, this time it wasn’t directed to Jake while patching you up or to Steven while dressing you down but to silence all the other nasty thoughts that threatened to ruin once more his time with you. He wouldn’t let them win, not this time at least.

He couldn’t let them because he wanted this, to spend his time away next to you, craving desperately to hear that laugh that melted his heart away and forget once and for all that anything bad could happened or that occurred in the first place. Nothing would keep that pleasure away from Marc, not even himself.

By the time you were done there were splotches of flours on your clothes and face, not even the kitchen counter and floors were speared of the mess. Marc’s proud smile when he passed you the sugar instead of the salt container was picture worthy and you tried multiple times to sneak a taste from the uncooked batter just for him to smack your hand away making you giggle.

He took a little bit of glazing with his fingers for you to taste, it was delicious.

You were laying on the floor, the cool hardwood floor contrasting with the heat coming from the oven, it was nice, the mix of the cool temperature on your back with the slight warm on the air, there weren’t a lot of things left to say emerging yourself in the comfortable silence, it only being disrupted by the ticking clock on top of the counter that counted down the seconds until the rolls were finally done. After a little while of lying next to Marc he finally spoke up, a little ”hey” rushing from him.

You turned to look at him, his eyes set on the ceiling and a smile slowly making itself present on his face, shining like stars in the night sky.

“Have I ever told you, what I thought when I first saw you?” it came with traces of laughter, the embarrassment of reminding that night mixed with pure disbelief.

You shook your head “No”

“I just- I just wanted to kiss you” the lights were dim making it hard to see, but you knew his face would be glowing in a lovely shade of crimson as he moved his hand covering his eyes “I couldn’t believe someone like you would walk up to that mess and call me amor”

It was late at night in the pub near his old apartment, the one he used to share with Layla, he couldn’t be further from home but he didn’t mind it – Steven’s flat never really felt like home to him anyways – as he could use some time walking alone with his thoughts, it wasn’t that late into the night but he was already as drunk as he could be and it was time to get going, he just needed to remember where his keys were.

It would also be really helpful to be able to stand up without gobbling and plastering his face on the floor. His head rested in between his hands leaning on the bar with a glass of whiskey he didn’t remember ordering next to him.

The pressure from a hand on his back made the man turn faster than you expected, not even his fuzzy senses could manage to slow down his reaction when he felt your lips pressed against his cheek. And then he heard it, your voice ringing in his ears and bringing him an unexpected sense of peace, one that he hadn’t realize would be possible since it left packed inside his ex-wife’s suitcase, fuck! Why was he thinking of her? That was the solely reason he had even gone out tonight.

To forget

“Sorry… do I know you?” his Chicago accent was stronger when he drank and in the mornings, but it’s not like the person in front of him would know that.

The hand left its place on his back as if the mere contact burned harder than fire and he couldn’t explain why he wanted to ask for it back, was he that desperate? That touch starved that he would feel the need to ask a stranger not to back away? To just keep you close to him and your touch on his aching body.

“Steven?” when the name fell from your lips it all made sense and he couldn’t help but feel worse for longing the touch from someone that wasn’t his to long for. He couldn’t be selfish and keep love away from his alters just because it was kept from him.

Fuck, his eyes focused on your lips feeling himself slipping away, his gut stirring at the urge to beg Steven to give him just five more minutes with you and maybe get to know each other.

This definitely would be a night impossible to forget.

The little bell from the oven rang and you turned with excitement, Marc got up and helped you so your eagerness for a sweet treat wouldn’t hurt you in the process, it was still a while for you to actually eat them and you knew that but fuck were you excited for it.

“I wanted to ask you” he was slicing the still hit rolls for you to finally have that sweet you were craving, after all your impatiens was notable when it came to stuff like this “about your má”

“Yeah?” your eyes jumped from the plate in front of you to him, going to the fridge and taking something to drink for both

“Did something happen?” he sat on the opposite side of the table, hand playing with his wristwatch.

“No, why are you asking?” you moved your plate to sit next to him, your hand reaching for his and your head resting on his shoulder.

“I’ve noticed she hasn’t called” he reached for the box of meds that made its home on the table, handing you some water along with them.

“Oh yeah, she’s just busy” you smiled and plopped them in your mouth “Starting a business is hard”

“What?” he tried hard not to sound as confused as he was but failed miserable “I thought- when did that happen?”

“Well… she’s always talked about it and, after a while of pushing I finally managed to convince her to open her own restaurant” you sighed and shrugged “told her I could go down there to help out for a while but she told me not to worry. I know she is busy and all but sometimes I just… it wouldn’t even make sense for me to visit her right now if I’m not going to help, you know? Don’t want to be a-“

You fell in silence, not knowing how to put what you were feeling into word.

“Burden?” he heard you hum and shook his head “You’re not. I really thought you fought or something” he was relieved to be in the wrong.

“Why would we?” he shrugged “well we didn’t so stop worrying about it”

“Is that why you haven’t gone?” he saw the way you rolled your shoulders, the pain no longer there.

“A part of it, yeah. But maybe we could go together next time? I would love for you to meet her”

You’ve talked with her about your boyfriends, it took her a while to understand what it all meant but once she couldn’t help but be glad her ‘little baby’ was loved by someone so strong and capable, sometimes she would say hi to them when you were on facetime.

“I would like that too”

You kissed his shoulder and then his neck, trailing up to kiss his lips, his hand cupping your face

And in that moment there weren’t big descriptions to be made.

Only silence and kisses with taste of cinnamon rolls.

me adding the translations? wow that's something new

¿Te lo dije, o no? - I told you so, didn't I?

¡Respira maldita sea! - breathe god dammit!

Steven, si no te callas juro que-“ - Steven if you don't shut up I swear-

Mi amor - My love

¡Mierda Lockley! - shit Lockley!

y no quiero dejarte - and I don't want to leave you

Jake, ya… porfa - Jake, come one… please

Mierda - shit

Puta madre - fucking hell

quiero ver tu carita hermosa - I want to see your pretty face

Buenos días dormilona - Good morning sleepyhead

roncas horrible - you snore horribly

Mira quién habla - look who's talking

Lo siento - I'm sorry

Esta bien mi amor - it's alright my love

No, es que… - no, it's just…

no importa amor, lo que importa… - doesn't matter love, what matters…

Me gustas asi - I like you like this

no te cambiaría nada - wouldn't change a thing

¿Qué hay de Marc? - what about Marc?

¿Qué con él? - What about him?

No mi amor - no my love

bebé - baby

má - (short for mom)

#jake lockley #marvel #moon knight #steven grant #moon knight system #marc spector #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockely x you #i'll die for soft jake #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfic #jake lockley fanfiction #steven grant fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending

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aspecpplarebeautiful · 2 years ago

Note

I’m so sorry if this is stupid, but is it possible to be aro while wishing you weren’t? I’ve never been in love, but I can imagine what it would feel like in the same way I can imagine what it would be like to visit Paris, even though I‘ve never been. I want that feeling, but I can’t ever envision it happening to me bc I’ve never felt it before. It’s an emotion that I lack the capacity to experience, like it’s just missing from my catalog of feelings. When other people describe it I don’t recognise it as something I’ve ever felt. But I know I want romantic intimacy. Like, I want a romantic connection, I want that experience, but I know it’s not there inside me. Is this aro, or is it something else? Thank you 💚

It is possible to be aromantic but wish you weren't, or still really want a romantic relationship. Sometimes people have a hard time accepting their orientation or lack of romantic feelings. Often it comes out of internalizing messages we're taught around romance, such as the idea that you need romance to be happy, that romance is the only way to have a deep meaningful connection with another person/romance is the most meaningful connection you can have with someone, that being in a romantic relationship gives us worth, etc.

None of these are true by the way, a lot of people live happy, fulfilling lives without romance, or without a long-term romantic partner, we can have deep meaningful relationship with other people outside of romance and not everyone's deepest relationship is with their romantic partner, even if they do have a close romantic partner, and our worth in inherent, it doesn't depend on what kinds of relationships we have or don't have.

One thing I like to compare this with is chocolate. Chocolate's often called the greatest food, something people can't live without, better than sex (ha!), etc. But some people just don't like it, for whatever reason it tastes bad to them. And they can force themselves to eat it, and maybe even tolerate it, but they'll never get that same experience people who absolutely adore chocolate have. But there are other foods, or just in general other things they probably do enjoy. Romance can be like that, sometimes it just doesn't bring that same experience, but there's probably other things out there that will be more fulfilling or feel more worth doing.

I like to look at aromanticism as being given a choice. Aro people have to figure out what kind of life they want to live, what kind of relationships are or aren't important to them, and what actually makes them happy.

(It's actually a choice I think everyone has, because that specific path of building a life around a romantic life partner isn't right for all alloromantic people either, but aro people are often confronted with it in a much harder to ignore way.)

Remember aro doesn't mean you can't have something you want to have, too. Just that you may not enjoy or appreciate things the way you would if you were alloromantic. Aros can still have close relationships if they want them, they can have life partners if they want them, some even still have romantic relationships and/or do romantic coded things, and that includes aros who have no romantic feelings at all. (Though I will say it can often be a lot easier to figure out this part after coming to terms with and accepting your identity.)

If you're not experiencing romantic feelings, I would definitely recommend exploring aromanticism because it is a very common aro experience, and a common reason why people ID as aro. And if you're looking for resources, I'd recommend seeking out reading up on aro experiences, Arocalypse and Carnival of Aros are great places to start if you're not sure where to look, but following aro blogs, checking out aro media is all good too. (You can find a lot of rec lists for books/podcasts with aro characters especially). And even if you don't end up IDing as aro, it will help remove that stigma and scariness of both being aro, and not having romantic feelings.

My other big advice is to go slow. Don't feel like you have to have this all figured out in a day (or that there's any deadline at all). Take time to process, and get to know and understand the aro community and identity. And trust that whatever direction you go, you will find out what matters to you, and what path is right for you.

Feel to ask if at any point you have any more questions, Anon. All the best and good luck!

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sufjanoflove · 3 years ago

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To Know Him Is To Love Him

Featuring: Nanami Kento x reader!

Synopsis: Falling for one another on the train

Warning: I didn’t proofread bc I’m just too lazy lol! 💗💗💗

About the song: I was listening to this song, repeatedly, while writing this so I needed to put it on here for you lovely readers xoxo

Entering the train, I had no idea what I was doing. Is it even called a train? A subway? Metro? I’m not sure, all I knew was that I was very lost. Keeping my composure, I enter the silver machine that is called whatever I want to call it, and find a seat.

Except, there were none. I got into the train 30 seconds before it was going to leave, obviously no seats were going to be left. I walk the isles as my favorite classical piece plays in my headphones, calming me down before I panicked. I always was too dumb to think things through, why hadn’t I arrived earlier? It’d have been easier that way, but I guess my mind was thinking of other things.

Like the fact that I randomly took a vacation in February from my teaching job, just one week would suffice. My kindergartner’s would understand, right? I needed a break, so I left abruptly on a Sunday morning, and went straight to France. But I saw some tickets for Vienna that were really cheap so I took my chance. France was good for the first three days, but I wanted to enjoy my trip even more.

Now, I was just wishing someone stabbed me to death so I didn’t have to endure this embarrassment. At last, I found an empty seat and sat. It wasn’t long ‘till I realized there was a book, reading glasses and a briefcase in the seat facing me. I know, I know, I should’ve left but there were no other seats! It was either be embarrassed by everyone in here or be awkward around one person. Maybe it’ll be a nice girl, become friends with her. Or an old man, since the glasses looked vintage alongside the briefcase. I had no other choice but to stay.

I opened my book, Murderer’s prefer Blondes, and left my headphones to shuffle through my classical playlist. I needed to calm down and Erik Satie did its justice. Only for like 2 minutes before someone sat in front of me. I decided to act mysterious, try to be cool and never looked up. I stared nonchalantly at my book, pretending to read.

“Good book?” It was a man’s voice, a very sexy one. It was smooth, and very pleasurable to the ears. I wanted to hear more of it, so I decided to be nice and respond.

“It’s amazing.” I looked up and he simply stared at me, smiled to my answer. Wow this man was handsome. My realization of my singleness punched me in the face just by staring at his handsomeness.

It was quiet for a moment, so I took out my headphones to hear the noises of the train and other peoples chattering.

He looked out the window before I spoke.

“Is it a bother that I sat here?”

“No, none at all. Why would you think so?”

“I always assume,” Shrugging, “I was just scared you were some pretentious businessman.” He chuckled before looking at his stuff.

“The briefcase does that for some.” He looks back at his stuff again, “I mean I am, kind of, a businessman.”

“Oo and what is a businessman doing in the countryside of France?”

“Running away from my problems.” He smiles, “and what would a young lady be doing here as well.”

“Far from young, I’m 25.”

“You’re young.”

“How old are you?” I ask

“Old.” He stated.

“Come on” I say, raising an eyebrow.

“27.” He chuckled, me laughing alongside him. 25 to him was young but 27 was old? I know it was a joke. It wasn’t funny but he’s cute so I had to laugh.

“I like your laugh,” he says, “it’s soft, like honey to my ears.” He complimented my fake laugh.. I should fake laugh more often. Pause- what if he was making fun of my fake laugh? I only fake laughed because of his joke.. This is why you’re single, oh my gosh!

Blushing, I hit his knee softly.

Swiftly, he caught my wrist, continuing, “I’m serious. It’s beautiful.” I tilt my head, smiling at him. His face was still serious but broken softly with a slight smile. I briefly analyzed his features, taking in everything like his eyebrows, his beautiful nose, and his soft lips. Those lips are so pretty, I wish I coul-

I shake my head, laughing at myself before looking back at him.

“It’s funny, I said the same thing not even a moment ago, just to myself.”

“Hm, I guess we both enjoy each others voices.”

“Guess so.” Coincidentally, it got quiet. We both stopped talking but stayed admiring each others faces. After a moment, he says

“You never answered my question.”

I gave him a confused look, “What would a pretty lady be doing in the middle of nowhere, in France?”

He leaned back into his seat, looking me in the eye. Seizing the moment, I began to ramble on and on about how awful my life is, how tired I am but how the little babies I get to see each day make up for it. How Europe seemed so beautiful on all of the films I watch, how I needed a breath of fresh air. To just enjoy life and it’s beauty, taking my start in Europe like every other American.

In the whole conversation, we both began to understand eachother and the reasons why we both were on a train, speeding through Europe. He spoke so little but his words painted thousands and thousands of pictures.

After what felt like forever, we stopped. Well the train did causing us to stop talking, and we realized it was because we arrived to his destination.

“We talked for three hours.” I stretched, looking at everyone leaving. He stayed seating, looking down. Why isn’t he leaving? He’s going to his stop.

“Hey, before you leave,” I leaned forward, forcing eye contact, “I’m Y/n.”

“I’m Nanami.” He looks up without looking towards me and out the window, a sense of stress washed over him. I could tell because my kindergartner’s would do the same as they’d debate whether or not to ask me about something. Was he going to ask me something? He’s 27, not 5 shut up.

“Come with me, y/n.” I choked on the Diet Coke I was drinking and covered my mouth. My reaction was not valid, not only did I overreact but I embarrassed myself. He didn’t ask you to marry him, not even to fuck him, yet I think ‘hey, maybe it’s a good idea to spit out your drink and have it dripping all over your lips’

Such an ingénue.

Nanami hands over a handkerchief, of course he has one, and I dab my mouth onto it.

“You want to kidnap me, Nanami?” I smile, as he puts his hands up shaking his head.

“Have you ever seen ‘Taken’? I’m not about to be sold. I know martial arts, mister. Try me.” I fold his handkerchief, and keep it on my lap.

“Look, I work a 9-5 every single day, coming home to an empty apartment, on an empty stomach with a migraine thinking my life isn’t worth it. Our long conversation proved to me that life is short and shouldn’t be spent on being stressed all the time. It should be spent on doing things for the thrill of it.” He looks at me, with his carved face. Staring at me, intensely, similar to a statue in a museum. Ooh a museum sounds nice, I need to remember to see one here.

“Now answer me, honestly, would you like to come with me?”

“No.” I reply, his face drops almost instantly.

Why would I word my answer like that? GOSH YOU’RE SO IDIOTIC YOU PROBABLY BROKE THIS MANS HEART BY WORDING IT THAT WAY??>! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!

He immediately reaches for his stuff but I grab his arm. “You should come with me.” The blonde man’s face responded with a cocktail of confusion and shock.

I grin, heart racing whether or not to ask him the same question.

“I’m just too excited for my trip to Vienna, i was in France for way too long already. The least you could do for me is come to my destination and I’ll hang out with you there.”

He ponders for a moment, a lady making an announcement that the train will depart soon. “Okay.” Nanami softly says, “I’m okay with that idea.” I sat next to him as he lifts a hand to brush my hair out of my face.

Kind of awkward because I reached up to push the same hair away and we bumped hands.

Laughing, we began to talk about the adventures that await us for the day.

———

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martianbugsbunny · 2 years ago

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Remember in S7, when Rumple told Wish Hook (I’m paraphrasing here bc I don’t remember the exact words) that he was basically the closest thing he had to a friend? I think that’s cool. I think it’s important, and lemme tell you why.

That curse, as far as I can tell, wasn’t on for too long. It wasn’t like the twenty-eight years the people in Storybrooke had to make their new friendships. And Weaver and Rogers were only partners for a few weeks to a few months of that time anyway. But that time was clearly important to Rumple, because A) Weaver seemed to like Rogers, even though he kept getting in the way, and B) he continued to like Rogers as Rumple. It’s a little harder to tell how Rogers felt during that time, because he often acts annoyed when he doesn’t understand what Weaver is doing, but in the end I think he wants to respect and even like Weaver, even if it’s hard to do so sometimes. Because Rogers never totally turns Weaver away; he doesn’t quit as Weaver’s partner, and he does go to Weaver for help every now and then.

I’m also gonna go out on a bit of a limb and say it appeared the Rumple enjoyed his time as Weaver, after he woke up. Once he knew who he really was, and what he was really supposed to be doing in Hyperion Heights, he legitimately went out of his way to be gentle with Rogers. He tried to include Rogers more in what he was doing, but he also couched his truths in terms that would be easier for Rogers to understand. If he just wanted to keep Rogers around as a pawn or an asset, he might’ve told him half-truths, but he wouldn’t have made them so easy to swallow or easy on Rogers’ mind. There’s a difference between Rumple when he’s telling half-truths to manipulate someone, and when he’s telling half-truths (specifically to Rogers) because the full truth would simply be too weird. Was he already a better man at that time? Yes, yes he was. But he had to make the choice to be kind to Rogers in particular, because he was still rough around the edges, and it was a choice he did make. Repeatedly.

Also, I’m willing to bet Hook and Rumple were friendly before the curse. First off, Hook’s reaction when the curse was broken was not Rogers’ feelings about Weaver, it was Hook’s feelings about Rumple. He seemed not only to tolerate his existence, but also kind of pleased to see him again. That’s not what I would expect if their only interactions before the curse were when Rumple found Alice to be the Guardian. (Although, honorable mention: Hook’s attitude went from “goshdarn crocodile” to “dude’s alright” pretty fast, when he realized that Rumple was protecting Alice from the magic of the Dark One.)

Anyway, after the *honorable mention* moment, there is clearly some time before the curse happens. Not quite sure how much, bc time in S7 is insanely fluid and hard to read, but I would go with couple months to several years. And since Rumple seems to have been hanging around Alice for most of that time (the way I read it was that Alice decided to low-key keep an eye on him when he lost his sanity, because she wished she could’ve done more to help him as the Guardian?) and if he was near Alice, but not always by her side, then I think it’s probably he ran into Hook a few more times. I’m going to stake myself on them meeting pretty regularly, and connecting on a deeper level now that they’re no longer enemies. It probably started as Hook asking after Alice, but over time he realized that he enjoyed having conversations with Rumple just because.

Regardless of whether they knew each other for several years total or less than a year total, it’s clear from how Hook responds to waking from the curse that he views Rumple as more than a simple acquaintance, and I think it’s also pretty safe to say it’s not just because Rogers and Weaver were friends. I also think their friendship after Rumple wakes up is pretty telling, because Rumple treats him differently than he’s treated basically anyone in the history of the show. There must be some deeper sense of fondness and loyalty there, although their relationship before that, which is fractured, but has an underlying draw for them both to return to each other, even if it’s by coincidence, is also pretty beautiful.

Is this analysis rooted in the fact that S7, and Weaver and Rogers specifically, not just Rumple and Hook, had an undeniable chemistry that led me to ship CaptainCroc in multiple different scenarios? I’d be lying if I said no. (One of my favorite ideas is Rumple realizing that he could have a new love, surviving the finale, and him and Wish Hook getting together.) But I also think that, as friends, their story is compelling and rather lovely, and the fact that it’s a completely different Hook, one who Rumple hasn’t had centuries of history with, makes it even more beautiful.

#once upon a time #ouat #rumplestiltskin #detective weaver #Captain Hook #wish hook #detective rogers #lil bit of captaincroc #captaincroc #martianbugsbunny overanalyzes

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

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Floating Through Space - Harry Styles

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

pairing: Harry x Famous!Reader

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

word count: 25.7k

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t wear men’s pants.”

“You’d look better in a dress.”

“Why do you look like a guy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oi, can I ask for one?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not even once,” you shake your head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They stay silent and you know you were right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you home already?”

“Yes, just arrived.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“See?” she smiles warmly.

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

“Harry Styles.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You and Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you too.”

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

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

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

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

“Well, thank you. Back at you.”

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

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

“What are your concerns exactly?” Jeff questions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, everything went fine.”

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

However, Harry can see right through you.

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys still talk?”

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

“You miss being with the band?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing pissed you off lately?”

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

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

“It’s… a long story.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re right,” you nod smiling.

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

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

“It’ll be fun to just stand on stage for three minutes and do absolutely nothing, because we couldn’t write anything,” you groan, sliding lower in your seat, rubbing your face with your hands.

“It’s literally our first session and we have plenty of time, Y/N. Don’t stress about it.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t know how not to stress?”

“I literally haven’t had a stressfree day since about 2007, so no, I don’t know.”

“You can’t chill even when you smoke?” he asks and you give him a puzzled look. “What, you smoke, don’t you?”

“Cigarettes? I put it down in 2015.”

“No, I’m not talking about cigarettes,” Harry chuckles softly. “You don’t smoke weed?” You shyly shake your head. “Really? I would have sworn you’re the type to relax with a good joint. Want to try it?”

“What? Now?” you ask with wide eyes.

“Why not?” he shrugs and walks over to the little side table in the corner of the room and reaching into it he simply pulls a little plastic bag out with three joints in them.

“Are you just casually keeping joints around your house?”

“I don’t really smoke them, they make me feel sleepy. But some of my friends like it so I keep a few around,” he explains as he takes one out and puts the rest back. “You want to try?”

“I-I’m not sure… I have to drive back home.”

“You can stay for the night, I have three guest bedrooms,” he shrugs before his eyes meet yours. “Again, not trying to pressure you, I’m just offering.”

“Are you gonna smoke?”

“We can share one if you want. I would recommend smoking one by yourself for the first time.”

“Okay,” you nod shortly as you watch him tip-tap the joint a little, rolling it between his fingers before he takes it between his lips and reaches for a lighter. “Wait, shouldn’t we do it somewhere outside? The smoke is gonna get stuck in here.”

Harry stops, thinking about what you said and he nods. Grabbing the guitar he asks you to follow him and the two of you move up and out to the terrace, sinking into his lounge chairs. You bring your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly as you watch Harry light the joint and take the first few puffs. As he exhales the smoke he holds the joint out for you and you take it, hesitantly putting it between your lips as you inhale for the first time. You can’t help but scowl at the taste, the whole act of smoking feeling strange after years of smoking your last cigarette. You keep it down a little before puffing the smoke out and passing the joint back to Harry.

You keep switching until you make it past half of it and you finally start to feel the effect of it. You feel light, like you’re floating in the pool that’s in front of you, you can almost feel the water touching your skin yet you’re still dry.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asks, blinking at you with hooded eyes.

“I’m feeling… fine,” you chuckle softly as you take the joint from him and drag from it again. “Do you do other drugs?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, not often though. I’m not trying to pick up an addiction,” he smiles softly, running a hand through his hair. “Have you done anything?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Didn’t have the money for it before and then didn’t have time later. But I never really felt the need either.”

“And you said you put down the cigarette as well?”

“Yeah. I knew I had to do that sooner or later, it was starting to change my voice and I couldn’t have that.”

“That’s what we always told Louis, that his voice will turn to shit if he keeps smoking,” Harry chuckles softly, dragging from the joint before he passes it over to you, not much left of it.

“Did he ever stop?”

“I think he put it down when his son was born, but I don’t know if he started again.”

You give the joint back for him to finish it and you watch him put it out in the ashtray before he sinks down in the lounge chair, closing his eye for a bit, breathing steadily. You find it amusing how you can still see the guy that handed you a check years ago at that bar, trying to make things right, but he also looks like a completely different person at the same time. He is more mature and open in his mindset and just the way he approaches things in general. The Harry you met seven years ago was still searching his way, but the version lying next to you now is a lot more confident in who he really is.

“Want to take a picture?” he hums keeping his eyes closed.

“What?”

His eyes peel open and turn to face you, a smug smirk on his lips.

“You’ve been staring at me. Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

“You are way too full of yourself,” you scoff and pushing yourself up from the lounge chair you walk over to the edge of the pool, mesmerized by the way the light is dancing on the surface.

You never really thought about what weed would feel like in your system, but it feels oddly tranquil and relaxing. In a way your body feels a little strange, like it’s not even yours, but you also sense everything very… loudly.

“You alright?” you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind, the tapping on his feet signaling that he is walking closer to you.

“Yeah,” you nod without taking your eyes off of the water.

“Do you want to go for a swim?”

“What?” you breathe out turning to face him.

“Do you want to go in?” he rephrases his question with a small smile.

“I don’t… have a bathing suit,” you answer and the moment the words leave your mouth they feel so ridiculous even when you were just stating the truth.

“Okay, but you are wearing underwear, aren’t you?” he smirks. “Or I’m completely fine if you want to go in naked,” he adds smugly.

“Shut up,” you chuckle. “Can you… maybe give me a pair of shorts? I’m fine without a bra when I come out but I would rather have my underwear on dry.”

“Sure,” he hums and turning around he jogs back into the house while you stay right there, staring at the water again.

With each passing moment you get calmer, the outside world and everything in life that’s not happening right in this moment eases into nothingness, your mind numbs in the best way possible.

When Harry returns he is wearing a pair of yellow swimming shorts, two towels are thrown over his shoulders and he has a pair of white shorts in his hands.

“This is the smallest thing I have, I think it’ll be fine,” he comments handing you the shorts.

“Thanks,” you nod before he shows you the way to the closest bathroom where you change out of your clothes leaving them in a neatly folded pile on the counter, you put on the shorts that are a little big on you, but once you’ve tied the strings it seems to be staying up steadily. Your simple black bra is not showing more than what a bikini top would, so you feel fine walking out in your attire.

Harry is sitting at the edge of the pool, his legs moving around in the water. His head lifts hearing your steps and he smiles at you, standing up when you arrive.

“Fits fine,” he nods, taking a look at the shorts.

“Yeah,” you chuckle.

Walking over to the steps you dip your feet in first, testing the temperature before you start going in further, Harry following you right behind. Just as you expected, the water feels smooth against your skin, warmly caressing and swallowing your body as you get in, the surface reaching your chest. You let your arms move around, feel how the water runs through your fingers, it’s amusing and you enjoy it probably more than you should. It’s just water, but right now it feels like a pile of clouds.

“I know I suggested to smoke and then swim, but please don’t drown into my pool, I won’t be able to talk myself out of that,” he chuckles, easing him into the water until it reaches his neck.

“My life is in your hands, Harry,” you smirk at him before you follow him and let the water swallow your whole body up to your neck. “This feels so nice.”

“Yeah? You like it?” he smirks.

“Mm, like I’m… floating through space.”

“In a sense, you are floating in the water,” he chuckles. “You don’t feel sick, right?”

“No, I’m fine,” you smile at him shortly.

You move over to the edge of the pool, laying your arms to the side, holding yourself up so your legs could float in the water. You watch Harry dive under and swim across the pool, reaching the far end before he pushes himself over to you.

“When I went to see you perform there was a song I really liked, but I never found it anywhere later.”

“Which one?”

“The chorus went like… Crashing and crumbling, I’m fighting for my breath, Today won’t be the day I’m meeting death…”

You suck on your breath, surprised how well he remembered the lines even after so many years. He recalled them perfectly, even singing the melody a little with them.

“I never recorded it in studio,” you admit quietly.

“Why not?”

“Because it felt too emotional and I didn’t want it to be just out there.”

“What was the name of the song?”

“It’s called Till I Die. I wrote it when…” You take a deep breath, feeling heavy just by talking about it, but something is urging you to share it with him. “I left from home right after I graduated high school, broke contact with my parents completely and I had a few very rough years, trying to just… keep myself alive, I guess.”

“Can I ask why you left your parents?”

“We had very different visions of what I should become. And I didn’t intend to live the life they imagined for me. My parents are very… traditional, my career in their eyes is just some kind of circus when I’m the clown on the stage. They don’t take any of it seriously and they made it very clear at the beginning that they don’t want me to become a musician. I was supposed to become a surgeon, my dad is one and my mom is in criminal law, they both worked very hard to get to where they are, but they don’t think that’s exactly what I’m doing as well.”

The last person you shared it with was Taylor and though it feels odd to open up about these old wounds again, but having Harry as the one listening to you just feels right.

“You haven’t talked to them since you left?”

“No,” you shake your head.

“And they didn’t even try to contact you?”

“Well, I made sure they couldn't. Changed my number first thing I set my feet outside the house and I never left them any of my addresses. I know it sounds cruel, but I didn’t want to do anything with them after the shaming they put me through when I told them I don’t want to become their perfect little daughter. They told me that I could consider myself disowned from the family if I dare to even write a song.”

“Woah, that sounds really tough.”

“It was,” you nod. “I wasn’t asking them to support me in any other way apart from just being there for me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the money the put aside for my tuition to buy guitars and tour the country, I just wanted them to… accept who I am, but apparently, I asked for too much.”

You feel tears forming in your eyes, but you wipe them quickly. It’s been long since the last time you let the thought of your parents, you’ve been good at keeping these feelings bottled up and in the deepest end of your mind. It’s not like you’re going around and just share your trauma with anyone you meet, but it felt comfortable to share it with Harry.

“I’m sorry about that. Everyone should have a support, especially in our job.”

“I had… myself,” you chuckle bitterly. “Became pretty good at relying only on myself.”

“I’m guessing it’s another reason why you prefer working alone, right?” he smiles at you softly.

“You could say that,” you nod into the water.

“I know it’ll sound cheesy, but… if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” he offers.

“Oh, are we becoming friends?” you ask chuckling.

“We’ve known each other for long enough to be friends, am I right?” he smirks, splashing some water in your way.

“We met a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we know each other. Everything I know about you is from articles and gossip sites and I think you can only say the same thing,” you point out.

“Okay, then let’s get to know each other.”

“What, do you want to play 21 questions now or something?” you huff.

“Damn right,” he smirks.

And that’s exactly what you do. Swimming around in the pool you ask each other questions, some are funny, some are more serious and you slowly start to get to know each other, seven years after meeting for the first time, but in a way it feels like it’s been just last week when you were talking in the alleyway.

The weed soon dies down in your system, leaving you incredibly tired and it’s only then you realize it’s already past one am. Pulling out of the pool, you both grab a towel drying yourselves up before making your way back into the house.

“The guest bedroom next to mine has a bathroom so I think that’s the best one. I can give you something to sleep in if you’d like,” Harry offers as you follow him down the hallway.

“I think I’m fine in my sweats, but thank you.” He shows you the room, tells you how to change the AC if you feel too cold or hot and then bidding goodbye he is about to go to his own room when you stop him.

“Thank you for… today. I know we didn’t get far with the song, but… I liked hanging out with you,” you admit with a shy smile, leaning against the doorframe.

“Don’t worry about the song, it’ll be fine. And I liked it too. We can make it a regular thing, if you want. You can come over, we’d chill and try to cook up something for the song.”

“I, uhh… Yeah, that sounds good,” you nod, he shoots you a smile before turning around and disappearing in his room.

The morning doesn’t turn out at all any awkward, especially because you don’t get to stay around too long. You have a meeting at eleven so you have to leave in time to go home and get changed before that. Harry makes you coffee, which is lifesaving, the two of you sit at the terrace as you drink it and you arrange to meet in two days to try and have another, hopefully more successful session for the song.

You genuinely enjoyed your time with Harry and to think that you didn’t only smoked weed for the first time with him, but also opened up about your parents, you feel a kind of connection forming and you can only hope you’re not gonna regret it later.

You move on with work after leaving from Harry’s that morning, you have some fittings for upcoming photoshoots and an interview scheduled, so there’s not much time for you to sit around. Tonight you’re supposed to meet Harry again at his place for another session and you feel buzzed about it. You meet Taylor for lunch, sitting on the terrace of your usual place she is talking you through everything that’s coming up the next week, just like you always do so then you can put work aside and have a real chat.

“So how did the writing session go?” she asks, digging into her salad that she always asks with extra chicken.

“The writing? Not so well. But we had a good time,” you truthfully admit.

“Good, good! You’re finally making friends!” Taylor grins, satisfied with the news. You just roll your eyes at her, turning back to your food right when you notice that your phone has been blowing up with notifications.

Huffing you grab it from the table with the pure intention of muting it down completely, but then you see that several people have texted you the same link and it bugs your curiosity so you open one of the messages and tap on the link.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you groan, feeling your rage already pushing up your spine, clouding your vision in red.

“What?” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone out of reflex.

“That fucking asshole dragged my name again!”

“Who? Jordan? That fucker never learns?” Taylor hisses, her thumbs vigorously typing on the screen immediately.

“Someone asked him about me on Twitter and he dared to call me a lying bitch! I can’t fucking believe this man!”

You and Jordan worked together on a project a while ago. You were supposed to write lyrics to a song he was composing and it was meant for an upcoming popular Netflix show, so the anticipation around the song was huge, especially when word got out that Ariana Grande might end up singing it. During your time working together he very blatantly tried to hit on you, which you politely shut down, because one, you didn’t intend to date someone you were working so close with and two, you just simply weren’t into him. However, he couldn’t take rejection the way a mature, almost thirty years old man should. It started off very subtly, but once you’ve had a chat with him to stop posting obnoxious and suggesting things about you on his social media, because it’s making it hard for you to be taken seriously as an artist and that people will just see you as another celeb which you don’t want to be, he just completely lost his shit. He called you different names on Twitter a few times, the worst were Feminist Nazi and a cock teasing slut, and he just somehow never fails to mention that you lied about your intentions with him, when you were clearer than daylight that you didn’t want a thing from him other than work.

When you realized he isn’t going to be stopping anytime soon, you took him to court, dragged his ass in front of the judge and won the case, which ended with him having to pay you thirty thousand dollars and he was ordered to clear all his platforms from your name for good. You really thought that taught him a lesson, especially because against your will, the case got some publicity and he ended up making headlines about the fault accusations he made about you, but it seems like he didn’t have enough.

You wouldn’t worry that much about his new tweet, knowing that he is the one lying, but the trials took a toll on you. It was at the beginning of the time when you were making yourself a name and even though you won, his accusations stung for some people and some even thought him to be the victim. You fell out of two brand deals and an important interview in the upcoming months which was a major setback and all for what? Because a man couldn’t accept rejection? The sad part is that if it would have happened the other way around, he wouldn’t have had to suffer any effect of it, people don’t tend to question a man’s words when he is showing this charming and nice persona to the public. If you accused him the same way you would have been dragged and titled as a sour crybaby and Jordan’s life would have carried on the same way.

The peaceful lunch soon falls through as Taylor turns on her beast mode to at least get the tweet down as soon as possible, already contacting the legal team you worked with before. It has to be against what you agreed on at the end of the trials, he can’t just go around and drag you again without any consequences.

In just about twenty minutes, the tweets disappear from Jordan’s feed, but you know it was already late the moment he posted it. If something gets out on the internet it never goes away, there are probably hundreds if not thousands of screenshots floating around that will preserve his words forever.

You part ways Taylor as he heads to an immediate meeting with the lawyers you worked together previously, she tells you to try not to worry about it, but you can’t just turn it off in you, that’s not how it works.

Making your way home you keep riling yourself up about it, thinking about what it’s gonna cause you this time, what opportunity is going to be taken because a man has called you a lying bitch, even after winning the previous trial against him that proves how big of an asshole he really is.

Changing into a casual attire you head to Harry’s place a little earlier, hoping it’s not a problem you get there an hour before you were supposed to. Arriving you’re a little taken aback seeing that there is another car parking on the driveway that’s not his and you immediately regret coming here, but before you could leave, the front door opens and Harry walks out. You couldn’t have left without noticing, the security system must have signaled your arrival when you punched the opening code in.

“Hey, everything alright?” he asks instead of questioning your early arrival.

“I uhh—I’m sorry for being early, I could go—“

“Don’t be silly, come on in!” he waves at you and you walk up the stairs. “Two friends are here but they were just about to leave soon,” he explains as you walk in.

“Sorry for crashing the party,” you let out a soft chuckle.

“The more the merrier,” he smiles. “You seem a little stressed, everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just… It’s nothing,” you shake your head.

“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” you hear a woman’s voice from behind and turning around you see a smiley brunette walking towards you, a shy looking guy following behind her.

“Sarah, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sarah, my drummer, and that wanker over there is Mitch, my guitarist.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with both of them you realize they look familiar from pictures you’ve seen from Harry’s tour.

“I saw that ugly tweet today, that guy needs to be kicked in the balls,” Sarah sighs with a sympathetic smile, Harry’s ears perking up.

“What tweet?” he asks, eyes switching between you and Sarah.

“Oh, just… Jordan Wells thinks it’s fine to drag people with absolutely no truth behind his words,” you answer with a tight-lipped smile.

“Jordan Wells? The name rings a bell,” Harry hums.

“He is a music producer,” Mitch chimes in.

“I think he was supposed to write for 1D one time, but the deal fell through. Guess we didn’t miss out on anything,” he jokes and it brings a genuine smile to your face.

“You surely didn’t,” you comment under your breath.

You chat with Sarah and Mitch for a bit before they decide to head out, but Sarah asks you to come around sometime they are hanging out and you gladly say yes, wanting to know her and Mitch better, they seem like great company and even greater musicians, it’s always good to meet people who are like you.

As Harry walks his friends out you make yourself comfortable on the couch, reading Taylor’s texts about the update on the recent actions, she has gotten in contact with Jordan’s team and legal steps will be taken if Jordan doesn’t show any sign of improvement in the very near future.

“Hey, want something to drink? Wine or beer maybe?” Harry walks in as you look up from your phone.

“Wine sounds fucking fantastic,” you breathe out earning a soft chuckle from him. You follow him into the kitchen and watch him get a bottle of white wine with two glasses. “I hope Sarah and Mitch didn’t leave early because of me.”

“Oh, not at all. They knew you’d be coming over and would have left around this time, so don’t worry about it.”

He joins you at the kitchen island with the two glasses handing you one and you take a sip from it with a satisfied hum.

“So, want to talk about this Jordan ordeal?”

“There’s not much to talk, really,” you shrug. “He is a jerk and I just can’t seem to get rid of him and I didn’t even date the guy…”

“What did he do this time?”

“Oh, he just casually called me a lying bitch on Twitter, so that’s fun,” you let out a fake laugh, raising your glass before taking a big swig from it.

“Not that creative, if you’re asking me,” he jokes making you laugh. “It’s a very plain choice of words.”

“Yeah, not as good as his best which was calling me a feminist nazi.”

Harry almost chokes on his wine as you say the words, coughing a little while you watch him with an entertained smirk.

“That’s… an interesting way to express his opinion about you,” he answers diplomatically.

“Right? I was thinking about getting a sign of it, like a Live, Love, Laugh one, in the middle of my living room.”

“Would be a wonderful touch of décor,” he smirks. “Alright, I have a proposal for today’s session.”

“Shoot it.”

“You seemed to enjoy your weed experience the last time, I thought we could give it a try again, but we would try to write this time as well.”

“You want to write while smoking?” you ask raising your eyebrows at him.

“Only if you want to. I just thought it would relax you a bit, might even come up with some interesting ideas for the song.”

“Are you trying to turn me into an addict?” you narrow your eyes at him and he just holds his hands up innocently.

“Told you, no pressure,” he smirks angelically.

“I feel like I’m not even coming here to work but to meet with my new dealer,” you chuckle making him laugh. “Okay, we can… give it a try.”

An hour and one joint per person later the two of you are lounging in his living room, he is sprawled out on the loveseat with a guitar on his arms while you are curled upon the sectional, fumbling with the strings of your hoodie.

“We should just… fucking steal a song,” you snort, finding your comment hilarious.

“Which one were you thinking about?” Harry smirks your way, his fingers gently strumming some random melody on the instrument.

“I really want to have a Madonna song to be mine,” you sigh dreamily.

“You’re a fan?”

“Oh, I grew up on her. I have an elaborate choreography for Hung Up,” you snort.

“You need to perform it for me.”

“No fucking way,” you laugh shaking your head. “Not even weed can make me dance for you.”

“Come on, I need to see that choreography, you can’t just hint it and then never show it to me!”

“Nah, not happening,” you laugh, sliding lower down in your seat, your head resting against the armrest of the couch.

You listen to him play the same melody over and over again with your eyes closed and though you really like what you are hearing, no words are forming in your mind that could serve as lyrics. Your phone buzzes on the cushion next to you and grabbing it you see a text from Taylor.

Taylor: Lawyers are on the case, we’ll have more tomorrow, don’t stress about it too much. Night! Xx

Sighing you drop the device back next to you, covering your eyes with your arms.

“You alright?” Harry softly asks.

“Nah, I just want to… disappear,” you sigh, tired of this fight you’ve been fighting for way too long.

“Is this about Jordan? He is a fucking ass, most people know it.”

“But not everyone!” you snap throwing your hands up. “And that fraction that still believes that he is saying the truth is enough to ruin my life. I’m fucking fed up with the injustice women have to face because of the patriarchy we are forced to live in!” Pushing yourself up you run a hand through your hair, hugging your knees to your chest. “It’s so fucking upsetting, like everything I do goes straight down the drain because of one little thing and I’m stuck with trying to rebuild my whole future plan.”

From a sudden urge, you move down to the floor, lying down on the fluffy rug that runs under the couches and the glass coffee table. It feels nice, kind of grounding to lie flat on the floor, especially because your senses are all messed up again because of the weed, but in a good kind of way.

“You worry way too much on longterm things. Try to stay in the moment a little more,” Harry tells you, putting the guitar to the side so he can move his feet to the floor, leaning onto his knees. “You can’t control this much what happens in the future, you should only care about today. And today, you’ve done good, you made it through another day, you did what you had to do and that’s it. Stressing about tomorrow or the next week or next year is just way too much to deal with all the time, twenty-four-seven, three-six-five, that’s just no way to live.”

Lying on the floor you stare up at the ceiling seemingly blankly, but your mind starts to swirl over what he just told you. The worlds are running around, mixing and mingling until something starts to form, making you gasp.

“Grab the guitar,” you tell him, sitting up abruptly. He pulls his eyebrows together, but does as you told him to, holding the instrument on his lap as he waits for you to instruct him more. “Play that… that melody you’ve been playing, but a little faster.”

He turns his attention at the guitar, trying the strings out a few times, feeling the melody under his fingers before he starts playing it just how you asked as you slowly start to sing the lines you have just thought about.

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“You made it through… another day, you made it through another day… You did it, let’s celebrate…”

The lines fit perfectly with the melody he has come up with and the more you sing, the wider his smile grows as you move along in the forming song.

“Some days you feel you’ll break, but you made it through another day, yeah, you did it, let’s celebrate…”

“Don’t fucking stop!” he chimes in, never stopping the riffs, trying out new things as you go, slowly perfecting it together with the lyrics.

“Twenty-four-seven and three-six-five, you made another day, you made it alive! Made another day made it alive!” You sing loud and clear, completely lost in the melody Harry is playing, the lines just flowing out of you, like a dam has been taken down and now everything washes over you at once.

When the chorus is about to come up however you run out of ideas, your eyes meet Harry’s and he sees that you’re stuck. His eyebrows knit together, tongue runs along his lips before he starts playing the melody of the chorus and takes over the singing as well.

“So today, baby, remember it’s okay! We’re all floating through space, today, baby, remember you’re okay! We’re all floating through space…”

He plays a little with the lines, repeats them, tries a few times before he stops singing, you are now standing up, watching him end the melody, neither of you saying a word as he room grows silent. A sudden urge drives you to go closer and you sit back down to the floor in front of him, your eyes casting over the now silent instrument on his lap. Looking up your eyes meet his and you feel like the air is kicked out of your lungs.

You’ve heard so much about moments when you feel yourself pulling towards someone, when it’s like a magnetic field but you never actually experienced it until now. Staring back at Harry you feel that pull everyone has talked about and you finally understand what they were trying to say. It’s like there’s a string coming from your chest that’s connected to him and he is tugging it without even doing anything.

Reaching forward he tugs a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers dancing down the side of your face as you catch his eyes wander down to your lips. Sucking on your breath you feel the moment, you know what he is thinking about because you think about the exact same thing. Kissing him. You are desperate to find out what his lips feel against yours, what he tastes like, what it’s like to have him so close to you.

“You want to kiss me,” you whisper and it’s not a question, more like an observation.

“I do,” he admits with a soft smile, but doesn’t move closer. “Can I?”

“I don’t think it’s an appropriate thing to do in our situation,” you breathe out, though you don’t agree with the statement fully.

“You think too much,” he chuckles softly, leaning closer just a tad bit, but there are still a few inches between the two of you. “Do you want to kiss me?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“Then we should just do what we want to,” he suggests with a small smirk and he looks ridiculously handsome with his dimples and shining green eyes that are glued to you.

“And then what? We’ll just go on like it never happened or there’s going to be more happening? How are we supposed to—“

You don’t get to finish, because Harry closes the distance between you and him and presses his lips against yours, swallowing the rest of your stammering speech. Whatever doubts and hesitation you felt just a moment ago, it all vanishes into nothing as you melt into his kiss, his lips caressing yours gently, softly capturing them, savoring and tasting you with caution, giving you the chance to pull back anytime, but nothing in your body can make you stop kissing him in this moment.

His palms cup your jaw as you push yourself up, slowly making your way to straddle his lap after he has blindly put the guitar to the side, hands coming to rest on his shoulder for leverage. His other hand grips your waist, pulling you close until your chest is pressed up against his, lips never disconnecting in the kiss.

Kissing him feels like second nature, like it’s not even the first but the hundredth time, but on the other hand, every touch and tiny sparkle is so new and unusual, you’ve never felt like this before.

Harry slowly pulls back, pecking your lips a few more times before he stops, nuzzling his nose against you in an adorable and innocent way that brings a smile to your lips.

“Doesn’t it feel good to just do whatever you feel like doing?” he asks with a soft smile, making you laugh.

“Kind of.”

“Nothing has to change. Or something can, it’s up to you.”

“You are so upsettingly cool and respectful,” you blurt out chuckling and it makes him laugh, his head falling back against the back of the couch.

“I’m sorry, I guess?” he smirks with a shrug.

“See? Respectful!” you grin, your hands moving up to cup his face. The pad of your thumbs gently tap against his dimples that are showing thanks to the wide smile on his lips right now. You can’t stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him again, even though your rational side is trying to make you stop. You just can’t, his lips are screaming to be kissed and who are you to deny that?

You’ve been running errands all day. Following an early meeting you ran to your favorite vintage store to get another armchair for your living room. Then you went grocery shopping because your fridge has been ridiculously empty the past two days and later you had a quick fitting for a few outfits you are supposed to wear in the near future. You’ve ran into a few fans too, having small chit-chats with them, taking photos, so it’s been a busy day.

It’s been a week since you and Harry have kissed and despite your fears, it hasn’t been awkward at all. He didn’t bring it up, but you don’t feel like he is pretending it never happened, which is kind of a great balance. He is giving you just enough time and space to figure out what it really meant to you, because quite frankly, you have no idea.

Obviously, you find him attractive. You’d have to be completely blind to say that he is not handsome and just simply good to look at. You’re attracted to him and not just to his looks, but to his whole persona.

It’s just you’re not sure it’s a smart idea to start anything with the man you’re working with and though you know Harry is nothing like Jordan, part of you is still scared the whole thing will happen all over again if you get involved with another man from the industry.

Workwise, everything is going well. You’ve successfully finished the song you started that ominous evening and have started recording it in Harry’s home studio, working some more on the melody, bringing a lot more into it than just a single guitar. What more, you’ve been coming up with new ideas for other songs, lyrics popping up in either your or Harry’s head and you just keep sharing them with each other, saving them for later once the song for the Grammy’s is done.

Heading back to your place you get a call from Harry, his smiley face appearing on the screen of your face as you accept the call and his accent fills the car through the speakers that are connected to your phone through Bluetooth.

“Hey, hope I’m not calling in the middle of a meeting,” he greets you and you can tell he is smiling.

“No, I’m just on my way home. What’s up?”

“I’m meeting with Sarah and Mitch for dinner tonight, thought you’d like to join us.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with your friends, I feel like you’ve been spending all your time with me.”

“But I like spending time with you,” he chuckles softly, a blush making its way to your cheeks at his words.

“Are you sure you want me there? What about Sarah and Mitch? I crashed your last meeting with them as well.”

“You didn’t crash anything, Y/N. And I’m positive I want you there, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. And just so you know, Sarah asked if you’d be joining us, so I assume they wouldn’t mind it either.”

“Oh, well, okay then. Send me the time and place.”

“Wonderful!” he beams, his enthusiasm making your chest warm.

By the time you arrive home he has already texted you the details and you have just one hour to spare before you have to head out. You opt for a quick shower and an outfit change, switching up your ripped mom jeans and simple t-shirt to one of your favorite jumpsuits. It’s a little baggy, but the waist is cinched in with an inbuilt corset, giving the whole fit a very interesting twist.

Arriving at the restaurant Harry has texted you the address of, the waiter escorts you to the terrace at the back that’s a lot more secluded and you feel yourself relaxing that you probably won’t get photographed. Harry is the only one who is already at the table, sitting with his eyes fixed on his phone, but he immediately puts it aside when he sees you approaching, a wide smile stretching across his face.

“Hey! You look amazing!” he greets you pulling you into a quick hug.

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. He is wearing a pair of brown slacks, a simple white shirt tucked into it, a knitted cardigan thrown on, a typical Harry outfit. “And thanks for the invite,” you add as you take the seat next to him, assuming Sarah and Mitch would like to sit next to each other.

“Don’t even mention it. We’re friends, it’s really nothing. I’m glad you could make it.”

The way he called you friends is giving you mixed feelings. Part of you is happily jumping up and down at the fact that he considers you as a friend, given how you don’t have many of those. It’s been hard opening up to anyone since you’ve made a name for yourself, you’ve ran into occasions a lot when people wanted more than just your friendship from you and it made you rather closed off when it comes to making friends.

On the other hand, you can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Is that all you are? Just friends? More importantly, is that all you want to be, or more?

Sarah and Mitch arrive soon after, joining you at the table and the waiter takes the orders before leaving the four of you alone. It seems like they genuinely like it that you’ve joined, so you can enjoy the evening a little more relieved.

Sipping on some amazing wine, you eat and talk and you feel like you’ve known these people your whole life. You especially like Sarah, she is so open-minded and funny and you think they make a great couple with Mitch who is obviously more closed off, but it’s obvious how much he worships his girlfriend.

Sometime in the evening, when you’ve already had two glasses of Chardonnay and you’re feeling a lot more relaxed and comfortable, you move closer to Harry without even noticing, leaning against him gently and his hand rests on your knee, giving it a soft squeeze under the table, making you want to move even closer to him to feel more of his touch, to get more of him.

Neither Sarah, nor Mitch questions the two of you being a little cozier and you’re thankful for the safe and stressfree environment they are providing, not making you overthink what you do, just letting you enjoy the moment.

At the end of the evening, you can’t shake the thought that you don’t want to say goodbye to Harry just yet. He pays for everyone’s dinner, leaving a generous tip for the waiter and you stay back at the table while Sarah runs out to the restroom and Mitch takes a quick call from his father, leaving you alone with Harry. His hand is still resting on your leg, a little farther up, but still in a very safe zone in the middle of your thigh.

Turning to face him your eyes meet his, his green irises glistening in the soft lighting and he looks so beautiful, you just want to kiss him again.

“Do you have plans after this?” you find yourself asking.

“Not that I know of.”

“Do you want to come over to my place?”

“That sounds like a nice plan,” he smiles at you warmly and you just know that if you weren’t out in the public, he would have leant in for a kiss and you wouldn’t have stopped him.

When Sarah and Mitch return all four of you head out and they don’t question when you follow Harry to his car. They say goodbye and Sarah makes you promise to join them some other time too and you happily say yes to the invitation.

Not much is being said on the way back to your place, he plays some music quietly as you navigate him through the streets.

“Welcome to mi casa,” you smile as you key the two of you into your apartment you’ve been living in for the past few years.

It’s nothing luxurious, just a tad bit bigger than what one person would need as a home. You would have been fine living in your previous home you lived in before you’ve gained fame, but you needed a much bigger closet so you were forced to move. It’s a two bedroom apartment with one big bathroom, an open concept kitchen and a spacious living room. And of course, a closet as big as your bedroom. It’s the perfect size and you haven’t even thought about buying a bigger place just because you can, it would be a waste of money and space. The interior is very much vintage with all your mismatched furniture and colorful walls, but you think it’s quite cozy and just the ideal space for you.

“Would you like something to drink?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to get yourself some water.

“Some water would be great, thank you.”

Filling up two glasses you hand him one as you lean against the counter, silently eyeing each other. It should be clear to him that you had intentions with asking him to come over, especially after being your cozy with each other during dinner, but you’re a little lost in what you should or even want to do. You just know you want him close.

He drinks up his water, his eyes meeting your gaze as a small smirk tugs on his cherry lips.

“You want to kiss me,” he states, using the exact same words you used the night when you kissed for the first time.

“I do,” you nod, feeling a little breathless.

“Then do it,” he simply answers, making you smile.

“Cool and respectful, as always,” you grin at him as he moves closer, stopping just a few inches away from you, your feet almost touching. Reaching up his fingers gently caress the side of your face and you feel yourself already melting under his touch.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, a shiver running down your spine at his words. You close your eyes for a moment, giving yourself the chance to pull out of it, but you realize you don’t want that, not even the tiniest bit. Opening your eyes they meet with his gaze before you move closer, closing the distance between you and him, lips meeting in a warm and chaste kiss.

Though it grows a little hungrier, you can tell he is still holding back a little, giving you the chance to stop whenever you want to, but you don’t intend to. Pushing yourself closer to him, your arms curl around his neck as his hands grip your waist, your tongue meeting his as you deepen the kiss and melt into his embrace.

Pulling back you grab his hand and head to the bedroom, going back to kissing him the moment you reach it. You easily slide his cardigan off his broad shoulders, pulling his t-shirt out of his pants before taking it completely off, throwing it somewhere to the side. You smirk against his lips, hands wandering down his naked chest and you can’t push down a moan as you feel the warmth of his chest muscles under your touch.

When you feel him try to blindly figure out how to get you out of your jumpsuit with not much luck and this clears your head for a moment to realize what is about to happen. Pulling back your gaze meets his and he stares back at you with caution, ready to stop whenever you tell him to, but that’s not what made you pull back.

“Harry, I…” “We don’t have to do anything,” he softly tells you, his fingers dancing down the side of your face until they reach your chin and he pulls you in for a delicate and slow kiss.

“I want to,” you whisper. “It’s just that… I want you to know that I’ve never… I’ve never been with a man before.”

Searching in his eyes you look for any sign of what’s going on in his head wishing you could just simply read his thoughts.

“You’ve never been with a man?” he asks, seemingly not as surprised as you expected him to be. You nod, licking your lips, waiting for any kind of reaction, a part of you expecting to be upset, though you know he has no right to be mad at you for any of it. “Do you want me to be the first man?” he then asks, with a loving and warm smile as his hand on your hip pulls you against him playfully.

“Yes.”

“Then help me get you out of this jumpsuit, because I can’t figure it out for my life,” he chuckles making you laugh too.

You show him where the corset opens and then get you out of it with joined forces, finally leaving you standing in just your underwear. Harry’s gaze runs down your body, a look of hunger and passion shining through his green irises as he pulls you close again, kissing you with a lot more vigor this time.

Soon enough, his slacks slip to the floor and you climb to your bed, Harry following closely, climbing on top of you before rejoining your lips. Your knees open up wide for him, allowing him to sink his hips between your thighs, his crotch meeting your heated center, a moan slipping out your lips when you feel his erection rubbing against you through the material of your underwear. He kisses his way down your jawline and neck, gently sucking on the soft skin, peppering kisses along your collarbones before he reaches your chest. He easily unclasps your bra and slips the straps down your arms before getting rid of the barrier that’s been keeping him away from your naked chest.

“Fuck, Y/N, you are so damn beautiful,” he breathes out shakily, before his lips wrap around your right nipple, his hand cupping your other breast. You keep whining and whimpering as you feel his tongue swirl around your nipple before his mouth moves over to the other breast, giving it just the same amount of attention.

He kisses down your stomach, glancing up at you as he hooks his fingers into the elastic of your panties silently asking for your permission to go further, still so respectfully looking out for you. As an answer, you lift your hips up so he can easily slide the material down your legs and throw it to the side.

“Oh fuck!” you moan when his tongue and lips press against your bud, playing with it oh so perfectly, making you shudder. If you didn’t think Harry was perfect, his tongue work is now surely making a statement on that.

With every lick, kiss and suck he pushes you closer to your release that’s nearing in a fast pace like never before. Reaching down you lace your fingers through his chocolate curls, tugging on the lightly, making him moan against your core. You’re not sure how long you’ll last, but you want to cum with him inside you, so you pull him up, lips meeting again as you still taste your own juice on him. It’s heavenly.

Without breaking the kiss you reach down and into his underwear, palming his fully hard cock, earning a satisfied growl when you wrap your hand around him. The feeling is quite unknown, you’ve only once had to face a penis before, it happened back in high school when you were still figuring out what sexuality meant to you. Gave a wobbly and quite short handjob to a guy from the grade above you, never even talked to him again. The experience left a major effect on you, never even got close to being intimate with a man, but being with Harry now is putting everything into a whole new light.

“Do you have a condom?” he mumbles against your lips, clearly just as excited to carry on as you are.

“Yeah,” you nod and let go of him, rolling to the edge of the bed so you can dig into the drawer of your nightstand, successfully finding the little silver packet. Tearing it open you hand it over to Harry and get back to your previous position as you watch him kneeling up, rolling the condom on carefully. Your lips part when your eyes fall on his cock, seeing now how big he really is. Harry catches your eyes and leaning down he kisses you softly.

“Tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, okay?” he kindly tells you, but you smile at him coyly.

“You might be the first man I’m with, but your dick won’t be the first thing to be inside me,” you answer with a smug smirk and it brings an amused look to his face.

“You are so fucking hot,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against yours in a hard kiss as he settles himself back between your legs.

Though you really tried to sound confident the other moment, you still feel a little nervous about it and Harry senses it right away. Holding himself up on one arm he cups your face in his other, kissing you slowly, taking his time with his lips, as if he is trying to make you forget about everything else but his lips.

“Are you still sure about this?” he softly asks, looking for any sign of hesitation in your eyes, but there’s none.

“Yeah, I want this. I want you,” you nod and reaching down between your bodies, you take him in your hands again, positioning him to your center.

Harry captures your lips in another passionate kiss as he pushes into you slowly, filling you up inch by inch. You gasp at the sensation, feeling a little tight around him, but not in an uncomfortable way.

“You alright?” he asks once he is almost fully in.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you breathe out with a small nod. He pecks your lips and slowly pushes all the way in before he starts to move out and then slide in again, picking up a not too fast but still firm pace with his movements.

You gradually get used to the feeling of him sliding in and out of you, it’s surely a whole different experience than using a dildo or any kind of toy you are used to. The thought that it belongs to him is bringing you a sense of intimacy you haven’t felt in a long time.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you dig your fingers into his hot skin that’s coated with a thin layer of sweat as he keeps moving, slowly picking up his pace as you both get closer to the endgame.

“Harry, faster, please!” you plead, legs coming to wrap around his waist so he can thrust in deeper, making you go completely nuts from the way your orgasm is already forming in the pit of your tummy.

He obeys without a second thought, slamming into you faster and harder, making you continuously moan his name, the room is filled with moans and panting, the slapping noise of his hips meeting yours.

Harry buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin, definitely leaving a mark, but you couldn’t care less. You just grab a handful of his hair, shutting your eyes closed as you feel yourself nearing the end.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum,” you pant, barely hanging on.

Instead of stretching it out and trying to play with you, Harry clearly wants you to combust. Reaching down between your bodies his index and middle fingers find your clit and he starts circling on it, adding that little extra you needed to fall over the edge.

Moaning and whimpering under his massive body, your orgasm washes over you in waves, bringing you such an intense satisfaction you’ve never felt before. He keeps up his thrusting and just a few moments later his movements fall out of his rhythm and mumbling your name over and over again, he gasps as he rides his high while you’re still trying to catch your breath following your own.

With a heaving chest Harry rolls off of you, gets rid of the condom and throws it to the small bin you keep next to your night stand and then lies flat beside you as you both just silently stare up at the ceiling, very much in the best kind of after sex haze.

“How are you feeling?” he then asks, rolling to his side, his hand coming to rest on your bare stomach. Turning your head to the side you crack a smile at him.

“I feel like I’ve just been properly fucked,” you bluntly answer, making him laugh wholeheartedly. Rolling to your side his arm falls to your waist as you scoot closer, your face only a few inches from his. He is so pretty up close, his features never fail to amuse you, hard to believe he is a real human, lying right next to you.

He closes his eyes a little, letting his head sink into the pillow as his fingers delicately dance up and down your side and back. You feel like you owe him to say something, dropping a major detail about yourself in a heated moment.

“I had two girlfriends,” you speak up, his eyes fluttering open to your words. “The first one was when I was eighteen, we dated for almost a year, then I briefly dated a guy, but it was barely just a month. And I had my second girlfriend when I was twenty. We were together for two years.”

“Are you still friends with them?”

“I still talk to the second one. Her name is Mila. We broke up because she moved to Spain for a job for a year and we didn’t want to do long-distance. Then we just… grew apart, but we still talk sometimes. She lives in Atlanta now, she has a girlfriend and she told me that she is planning to propose soon.”

A soft smile tugs on your lips as you talk about her. She was an important person in your life in a time that was truly challenging. Mila supported your dreams, she went to a lot of your concerts and she was the first one you called when you got your record deal even though you weren’t together anymore. She has seen you go from performing in dodgy bars to rocking the stage of arenas.

“Congrats to her,” Harry smiles through tired eyes. Reaching up he tucks your hair behind your ear before leaning closer he envelopes your lips in a soft kiss.

“We really shouldn’t have done this,” you hum, though you can’t wipe the satisfied smile off your lips.

“Why not?”

“Because we work together.”

“So what? We aren’t allowed to like each other?” he smirks cockily.

“You like me?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear,” he chuckles rubbing his eyes. “But yeah, I do like you, Y/N. A lot.”

“I… like you too,” you admit shyly. Leaning in he kisses you again before pulling you to his chest as he lies on his back.

“Can I stay the night or you want to throw me out?” he hums closing his eyes. Chuckling your snuggle to him, making yourself comfortable, enjoying the warmth of his body after so spending so many nights alone in this bed.

“You can stay, but you have to behave.”

“Oh I will behave my best, don’t worry.” A chuckle rumbles through his chest as you both fall silent and soon enough, drift off to sleep.

You wake up tangled in the sheets, but no one else is lying in bed with you. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes you look around and though there’s no sign of Harry in the room you spot his clothes on the floor. That’s when you hear the pots and pans clinking somewhere outside and you smile to yourself. You pull a t-shirt on with a pair of clean panties before heading out, finding Harry in your kitchen, wearing your pink fluffy robe and nothing else as he is making what seems to be pancakes.

“I don’t remember hiring a chef,” you joke walking closer, sliding a hand down his back as you lean against the counter next to the stove.

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I really wanted for you to wake up but I was afraid my growling stomach might wake you up,” he chuckles as he flips the pancakes in the pan with the spatula.

“Found everything you needed?” you ask, walking over the fridge to grab the orange juice.

“Yeah, you have a neatly organized kitchen,” he hums. “Sorry for snooping around though.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pouring the juice to two glasses you hand one to him which he thanks softly before placing the golden pancakes to the plate on the counter and pours another bunch into the pan.

Sipping on your juice you watch him move around, making breakfast in your robe and you can’t help but smile at the sight of this fine man in your kitchen. Harry catches you eyeing him and he cocks an eyebrow at you.

“What’s gotten you so smiley?” he asks, his voice still a little groggy and husky.

“I just… really want to kiss you,” you shrug placing the glass to the counter.

“I think we are over this whole asking for permission thing,” he smirks, stepping closer he leans down and kisses you gently, tasting like orange juice and something sweet, he has probably ate one of the pancakes. His hand that’s not holding the spatula finds your waist, the t-shirt bunches up on your side as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss before you hear sizzling coming from the stove.

“Whoops, not trying to burn the place down,” he chuckles as he turns to the pan and flips the pancakes. You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his jawline before stepping away from him to set the table for breakfast.

“Do you have any plans this weekend?” he asks over breakfast.

“I have a meeting with my label on Saturday, but nothing else.”

“I’m having a few friends over Saturday evening, kind of a late Grammy nomination celebration. Want to come over?”

“Yeah, that… sounds good,” you nod smiling.

“I was thinking that maybe you could spend the night and then we can finish recording on Sunday.”

“Alright, I’m in.”

Harry takes a quick shower after breakfast before heading out, promising to call you later and though it still feels a little odd that he says goodbye with a kiss, you very much like this new setup between the two of you.

Friday evening Taylor is over at your place, she loves helping you sort out promo stuff you get sent all the time, especially because you let her take whatever you don’t want, half her closet was meant to be worn by you.

Sitting on the floor with boxes surrounding the both of you, you’re digging through them with a bottle of wine, some 90’s music playing in the background, it’s a nice and relaxing evening.

Your phone lights up with a text on the coffee table and you already know it’s from Harry. You haven’t stopped texting since he left from your place just a few days ago.

Harry: Do you think it’s a look for the Grammy’s?

He attached a photo of himself in all denim, looking very much like 2001 Justin Timberlake at the AMA.

Y/N: Should I match and pull a Britney?

Harry: Is that even a question?!

“Okay, who’s the girl?” Taylor asks, making you tear your eyes away from the phone’s screen.

“Huh?”

“Last time I saw you smiling like this at your phone you were talking to that girl you met at that award show. So who is it this time?”

“It’s… not a girl,” you admit, placing your phone back to the coffee table.

“Oh, did a guy finally manage to sweep you off your feet?” Taylor gives you an amused look, genuinely surprised to hear that this time it’s a guy that has you wrapped around his finger. “What is his name?”

“Harry,” you shortly answer and see her eyes widen.

“Wait, is it… Harry as in Harry Styles?”

“Yeah,” you admit with a soft chuckle.

“Oh my God, I knew I could feel some sexual tension between you two at Jeff’s office!”

“There wasn’t any, what are you talking about?”

“You didn’t see it because you were too busy trying to blow off the duet, but it was radiating from him.” She gives you a look, putting the sweater she’s been examining to the side. “So, how are things? Are you guys an item, or…?”

“We didn’t label anything, he just said he likes me and I like him too. And he… spent the night the other day.”

“Wait, what? Spent the night as in—“

“Yes, we had sex,” you confirm blushing.

“That’s like huge! The first man you’ve been with!”

“I know,” you chuckle.

“How was it?”

“Fucking amazing,” you truthfully admit with a sigh. “I didn’t think it could be this good with a guy. Maybe it’s just because it was with him.”

“He surely looks like a guy that takes good care of his girl. So what’s gonna happen? Are you guys together?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem to care about names and labels, he just likes to do whatever he wants and if I’m being honest it’s kind of refreshing. We are just… enjoying whatever we have.”

“That sounds very liberal,” Taylor chuckles. “But I’m happy for you. You’ve been alone for way too long, I think he might do good to you.”

“I really hope,” you nod with a sigh.

“How is the song writing going?”

“We’re finishing up recording on Sunday. I’ll send it to you when it’s done and we can start all the paperwork and everything.”

“Amazing, you are doing great, Y/N, I’m proud of you,” she smiles and climbing over she wraps you in a tight hug.

“Thanks, Tay,” you smile at her. “Alright, now do you want these lace socks or should I burn them?” you ask holding up a whole pack of them, making her laugh.

Harry said it’s just a chill get together, nothing fancy so you decide to wear a khaki maxi skirt with a shirt tucked into it that was a gift from a fan, your first album’s name embroidered to the front. It’s one of your favorite pieces and you like wearing things your fans make you, gives the whole fit a plus.

Arriving to Harry’s place you spot that there are a few cars already parking on the driveway. You leave your overnight bag in the trunk, grab the bottle of wine you’ve brought and head inside. Unlike every time you’ve been here, the silence is now switched up with soft music and chatters, quite a few people lingering around the house already.

Just as you walk farther inside, Harry appears on the stairs and his face lights up at the sight of you.

“Hey! Did you just arrive?” He jogs down the rest of the stairs and walking up to you he pulls you close for a quick kiss without hesitation.

“Yeah. I know you said not to bring anything, but I hate coming to parties empty handed,” you chuckle softly, holding the wine bottle up.

“Thanks. Have you eaten? Jeff is grilling outside, but help yourself with anything.”

“I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Sarah and Mitch are already here, but come on, let me introduce you to a few people.”

Harry takes your hand, lacing your fingers together with his. He drops the wine off in the kitchen before joining all the other guests. It’s really not that many people, just about thirty of his close circle. Musicians, people he has worked with and stayed close with, people he has known for long. Everyone seems welcoming and open, many already know who you are and it’s always a good conversation start, so there are not many awkward silences, especially because Harry is always near you, making sure you feel comfortable around his friends and it means a lot to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Harry asks, when he finds you in the kitchen, refilling your glass. He walks up to you, placing a hand to your waist as he kisses into your hair.

“Yeah, your friends are nice,” you smile at him.

“I know, that’s why they are my friends,” he smirks, so full of himself. “Want to hear something interesting?”

“Always.”

“I was talking to Adam and our song came up and then out of nowhere I referred to you as my girlfriend.”

Seemingly he is testing the waters, trying to see how you react to the title, even a little afraid of what you might say, but it doesn’t scare you.

“Yeah? That’s interesting indeed.”

“Are you okay with it? I wasn’t really thinking about it, just slipped out.”

“It’s fine,” you smile at him softly.

“You don’t have to call me your boyfriend, call me whatever you want. It’s just a habit of mine, I guess,” he explains, popping some nuts into his mouth from the little jar on the counter.

“Alright,” you nod. Harry stares back at you for a moment before a smile stretches across his face and leaning down he kisses you shortly before taking your hand and walking back to the living room with you.

The last guests leave around midnight. After bringing your bag up to his bedroom you start cleaning up while Harry walks out the last couple leaving. You start loading the washer and put away things you’ve cleaned before.

“Oh, thank you for cleaning, but you don’t have to. I can take care of it later.”

“It’s nothing, I want to make myself useful,” you chuckle softly as you start the washer. Harry comes up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he kisses into your neck.

“I have other ideas for that,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the side of your face.

“Yeah? What kind of ideas?” you teasingly ask, closing your eyes when you feel his hand slide under the waist of your skirt, moving down your abdomen until it reaches your core.

“Fun kinds,” he chuckles lowly. His other hand turns your head so his lips could meet yours, you’re still pressed up against him, melting against his chest with your back just right, like you’re two puzzle pieces.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when his fingers wander into your underwear and they start doing their magic. “Harry!” you whine, reacting intensely to his actions.

“I fucking love hearing my name from your pretty mouth,” he growls, kissing you hard before his lips part from yours and he starts bunching up your skirt.

You don’t protest, in fact, you lean forward, grabbing onto the edge of the counter as he pulls down your panties and you hear the zipper of his pants. Glancing over your shoulders you see him pull out a condom from his pocket and you can’t push down a laughter.

“Did you keep that in your pocket all evening?”

“Wanted to be ready when I finally got you all for myself,” he smirks, pulling his cock out of his boxer briefs, rolling on the condom.

His hands come in contact with your hips and ass cheeks, giving them a light squeeze before you feel him lining himself up with you. His palm slides up your back as he pushes into you, both of you moaning at the fulfilling sensation.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he breathes out as he pushes all the way inside before starting to pull out.

“Go hard, Harry. Please!” you whimper as he starts thrusting into you. Harry lets out a growl and slams into you, making you gasp at the harshness of the movement, but that’s exactly what you wanted.

The kitchen is filled with the noises coming from the washer next to you and the slapping noise of Harry’s hips meeting your ass with every forceful thrust he makes. His ring clad fingers dig into your hips, probably already making them red, but you couldn’t care less. You hold onto the edge of the counter, but then you move one hand to cover his on you, needing to touch him in some kind of way.

Leaning forward Harry kisses your back between your shoulder blades through the thin material of your shirt and you moan his name when he hits the perfect spot inside you.

“Shit, Harry! I’m g-gonna cum!” you gasp, perking your ass up more so he can go as deep as possible.

“Let go for me, baby. Come on!”

“I want to cum with you.”

“Yeah? Then hold on for a little longer, I’m almost there.”

You try your best to keep everything inside you under control, your orgasm is really on the edge and you can only hope he is nearing his end too.

“Harry! Please!”

“Fuck, okay, okay, cum for me! Let me feel you!” he moans and his words bring you the release.

You clench around him, moaning and whimpering and it finally pushes you into his bliss too. His thrusts slow down but they are hard and go deep, helping you ride the last bits of your high.

He pulls out and gets rid of the condom before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you up from your position so he can kiss your lips.

“How about we take a shower while the washer finishes?” he suggests, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Mm, good idea.”

Once the song is fully finished you submit it to your label after an agreement that it should come out through yours, but it wouldn’t be tied to your or Harry’s upcoming album. Everyone seems to love it, Taylor is over the moon when you show her the final version and Jeff is just as happy about it. Having only three more weeks left until the Grammy’s, you send them your request to perform the duet instead of the medley they asked. Their answer comes the next day and they are more than happy to have you premiere your new duet at the show. Everything seems to be on track.

Following a rehearsal for the Grammy performance, you’re staying over at Harry’s, just eating takeout and having a lazy evening after a whole day of working. You’ve put on a new Netflix movie, but every time you look at Harry you feel like his mind is somewhere far away.

“Want to share what’s on your mind?” you ask softly, not wanting to be pushy, you’re just trying to be there for him.

“I’ve just been thinking.”

“About what?” He looks up at you, clearly hesitant whether he should share it with you or not.

“About what you said about your parents.”

“Oh,” is all you can say. Pausing the movie you turn all your attention to him. “What about it?”

“I was just talking to my mom the other day, she is coming here for the Grammy’s and I thought about how you… won’t have your parents there with you.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Yeah, but then I thought about how you said you haven’t even let them contact you since then and that maybe they’ve changed their mind about the whole situation. You’ve clearly proved them wrong with building yourself a career, maybe they can now see that what they did was wrong.”

You remain silent, chewing on his words. You’ve been great at not thinking about your parents these past years, it feels weird to have a conversation about them out of nowhere. Harry takes your silence as a warning sign, though that’s not the case.

“You know what? I’m sorry for bringing it up. It’s not really my business, I shouldn’t have brought it up, sorry,” he shakes his head.

“What… would you do if you were in my place?”

Harry looks at you, surprised you are willing to continue the conversation. His hand finds your thigh and he gives it a gentle squeeze.

“I think it might worth a shot to just… contact them. See if they want to maybe get in touch again.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then… you know you made the right decision leaving. I know it’s scary, but I think you should take a chance.”

“I’ll… think about it,” you nod shortly.

“Take your time, do whatever you feel comfortable with.” He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get comfortable in his embrace before starting the movie again.

Two weeks before the show you are headed to a fitting with Harry, your matching sets are nearly done, but they needed you to try them on and make sure they fit just perfectly. True to your and Harry’s extravagant fashion, this performance won’t lack any over the top fits either. It was clear from the beginning that you would be matching, but you made it clear that you want to bring it to the level where you’d be wearing the exact same outfit, so now there are two sets of suits in the making, the pattern of the whole two piece is recalling a kind of space vibe, blues, purples and black meeting in the colors with hundreds of embroidered stars and planets littering the fabric with additional crystal stars to make it even more extra. It’s truly one of a kind, especially paired with the sheer, tulle shirt you both will be wearing underneath.

“We look fucking great, babe,” Harry smirks as the two of you stand next to each other, examining yourself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the small podium.

“We really do,” you smirk, satisfied with how the performance is coming together. It’s gonna be the perfect way to celebrate both your first Grammy nominations, a huge milestone in your and Harry’s career as well.

Grabbing his phone he quickly takes a picture in the mirror of the two of you, pulling you to his side as you smile into the camera through the mirror. Then you leave him alone on the podium as they are pinning his pants to make it the perfect size. Stepping to your bag you fish your phone out and reading just the first few words of Taylor’s last message she sent about ten minutes ago, you feel all blood rushing out of your face. Tapping on the notification you start reading.

Taylor: Please don’t lose your head, but we are dealing with this.

She attached several articles and you start digging through them.

“Is Harry Styles dating his new duet partner?”

“Harry Styles cozied up with Y/N Y/L/N at dinner with friends.”

“Can we expect some hot make out sessions at the Grammy’s from Harry and his new beau?”

And then there’s the absolute worst.

“Is Y/N Y/L/N going to take Harry Styles to court too?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble under your breath, vigorously typing back to Taylor to take them down. Two pictures have been leaked from the time you had dinner with Sarah and Mitch, it’s so odd because it’s been weeks since then, where were these pictures all along? Not that it matters, all you want is for them to be gone.

Against your better judgment, you go online and check your social media even though you know you shouldn’t snoop around now that it’s out there. No surprise, you and Harry are trending, but the reactions are very much mixed.

The impact of your case with Jordan is still major. It doesn’t matter that you won, people are still questioning whether he said the truth or not and now they are afraid you might drag Harry down just like you did with Jordan. That you are just trying to use his fame to get more attention and then ruin his career, making a victim out of yourself again, because apparently that’s what you’ve been doing.

You’re not only being dragged, but all of a sudden, nothing is about the music and the art you are making, people just want to know if you’re fucking Harry Styles or not. A lot of the times you’re not even named, only referred to Harry’s new lover or what’s worse, his hookup. You’ve lost all the credit you worked so hard for and for what? Because you dared to have dinner with a man?

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Harry asks walking up to you. Your eyes snap up at him and he immediately sees the shock and anger in them, setting panic in him as well. “What is it?”

“The fucking… pictures,” you hiss handing him your phone so he can see the articles for himself. He scrolls through them with furrowed eyebrows, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before handing the phone back once he has gotten to the end of it.

“Let’s finish this up and head home, okay? We’ll figure it all out.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you nod, trying your best to keep your anger at bay while the designers finish up on the outfits.

An hour later you walk into your place, talking on the phone with Taylor, discussing the situation though there’s not much you can do at this point. It’s all out, the pictures can’t be taken down. She suggests to just keep quiet for now, she’ll call Jeff to see what could be done as damage control.

Throwing your phone to the bed you feel your whole body shaking from the anger, it’s agonizing to know there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll figure it out,” Harry speaks up, trying his best to calm you down, but it’s not really working this time.

“Stop saying it, you don’t know that for sure. I can’t believe this bullshit is happening all over again,” you breathe out shaking your head.

“Again?”

“Yes! I’m being fucking dragged for something I shouldn’t be.”

“People will always have controversial opinion on everything, you can’t get them all to like you.”

“It’s not about liking, Harry!” you snap. “I couldn’t give a damn about people liking me, but they discredit my work. Have you read those articles? I’m seen with a man and suddenly, I’m not even seen as an artist anymore. I’m not even my own person in some of them, just a girl who is linked to you. How is that fair?” “It’s not, but stressing yourself about it until you’re sick is not gonna help anything,” he retorts in a firm voice.

“So I should just sit around and so nothing while watching all my work go to shit?”

“Nothing is going to shit! This is how it goes, there’s always something people talk about but they will forget about it in a week. That doesn’t take anything away from what you’ve proved through your career.”

“Now that’s a lie. Because if they did forget about things in a week, they wouldn’t be bringing up the whole Jordan thing now. I dared to stand up for myself against a man and look where it took me to! I’m the drama queen, the lying bitch who likes to ruin men for apparently no reason and they see me as a threat when it comes to you too. People are talking about how I’ll take you to court as well, they think I’m just using you even though they know nothing about me! And the worst part is that it wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a woman. Whatever happens, however we react to the situation, it will never have the same effect on your career than it will have on mine.”

“So what, you’ll just live your life without ever doing anything that’s gonna upset people? There will always be someone who’ll judge whatever you do, you can’t do anything about that and if you let them get to you now, they’ll know they can mess with you easily.”

“So I’m just supposed to ignore everything? And not do a single thing about it? It’s easy for you, you’ll walk away from this without a scratch on your name, because you are a white man who can do no wrong in the eyes of the world.”

“Okay, now you are being mean for no reason.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” you retort. “And you know what else is part of the truth? That I’m not even having it the worse. There are women who are even more targeted because of their religion, their skin color, their nationality or sexuality and people don’t even realize how hard it is for any of us. I’m sick of the injustice we have to live with just because of our gender!”

“I do acknowledge the problem on hand, I’m aware of it and I’m all for doing against it, but we are not gonna solve it instantly, it’s a long process. Sometimes we just have to pull back a little, be smart about things.”

“They will never stop about this,” you shake your head, stubbornly clinging onto your opinion. “I won’t be seen as a serious artist anymore, just some girl who was linked to you. It’s fucking done, over.”

“Y/N, what are you trying to say?” Harry asks with caution.

“Exactly what you are thinking about,” you reply with a bitter laugh. “I can’t be a respected artist if I’m with you.”

“That’s not true. It will die down, they will see that you are more than just who you’re dating and everything will be fine.”

“What’s not fair is that I have to work for it to be fine while you are still the same artist you were before it all blew up. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” you call him out and part of you knows you’re being mean and unnecessarily rude to him, but you just can’t control it any longer. You need to let it out and unfortunately, he is the one who is here to take the blame.

“It is, but what are you expecting me to do about it? Release a statement asking people to only talk about my dating life to make it equal? What can be done is that we try to fight this together, show them that you’re more than just a woman who is linked to a man in any kind of way.”

“Yeah, like realization is just gonna hit them,” you snap. “I’m at a turning point in my career, Harry. Whether I win a Grammy or not, this time is going to have an impact on my future. If I’m seen as just a girl linked to you, I’ll never make it. I’ll be forgotten and dragged again and I can kiss my career goodbye.”

You know you were way too harsh, but it’s what you think to be the truth. You didn’t fight your way to this point in life just to be seen as a man’s girlfriend rather than the artist you truly are. And right now, you can’t see yourself get out of this situation without letting go of Harry.

“Y/N, please don’t let this ruin what we have. We can get through this, you can’t let them control your life this much. Who are they to tell you what to do? That’s not the Y/N I know, come on!”

He tries to step closer, reaching out for you, but you take a step back, wanting to keep the distance between the two of you.

“I would prefer to be alone now,” you sternly say, folding your arms on your chest, closing yourself off from him as you don’t even look at him, because if you did, you know you would break.

“Y/N, please don’t do this, we—“

“Alone!” you snap, cutting him off.

He stares at you, hoping you might change your mind, but you’re quite set on this. He knows you well enough to know you won’t budge anytime soon. He lets out a shaky breath and slowly turning around, he heads towards the door as you’re already fighting your tears back. He stops right before he is about to walk out.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he quietly says before walking out, the door shutting closed behind him.

The sobs start immediately and you fall to the ground, tears soaking your cheeks, already missing him more than anything in your life. You really thought it would be different this time, that things might get better, but you were naïve.

The next two days go by in a blur. The whole fucking internet is filled with those damn pictures of you and Harry, nothing has been about any of your Grammy nominations or even about your music, you’ve officially became the woman Harry Styles is dating.

Harry was titled as a Grammy nominee in every goddamn writing that surfaced, he was completely credited for his work while you could be happy if your name was written correctly. With every new article, your faith in having the career you worked so hard for lessened until you felt hopeless. You’ve officially became a dumb celebrity, just a woman who was known to be dating a man in the industry.

On the evening of the second day you have enough. You just read yet another degrading piece of you that was clearly written by a man, they once again talked about your case with Jordan, joking about history repeating itself and you swear you could scream and throw a tantrum like a baby at how useless and helpless you feel.

You put your laptop to the side and reach for your phone, dialing Taylor’s number.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks right away, knowing well how hard these past days have been. She came over the evening you sent Harry away and tried to comfort you, but nothing could help you that night.

“Hey, I want to ask you to do something and not try to talk me out of it.”

“Oh God…” she sighs, already knowing you’re about to do something stupid according to her.

“I don’t want to perform at the Grammy’s.”

“What? With all due respect, are you fucking stupid?”

“I’m not stupid. But I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, this has got to be the most ridiculous move you’ve ever tried to pull. Why do you want to throw such a huge thing away?”

“I can’t… sing that song with Harry. If I stand on the stage and sing with him… I just can’t do it, Tay.”

“Of course you can! Suck it up! I know you miss him and it fucking sucks what’s happening, but you have to do it!” she tries to convince you, but you’ve already made your mind up.

“No. I’m not doing it. Please let them know that it’s going to be just Harry performing.”

And with that, you end the call.

Taylor knows better than to try to fight you, she doesn’t call back though you know she wants to murder you right now probably, but she’ll come around, she always does. You make yourself a tea hoping to relax your nerves with it though you know nothing can help you now. You wish you had someone to rely on, someone you could talk to right now, but usually Taylor is that person to you and lately Harry has been your support, but you can’t call either of them. The rest of the people you consider friends… they are just not that close to you. You’re left alone, again.

As your gaze wanders over to your phone, a thought pops up in your mind that makes your hands sweat. You think back to the conversation you had with Harry about your parents and you can’t shake the urge off to finally make that call.

“Fuck it,” you breathe out and grab the device, opening up the contacts until you find what you’ve been looking for. Your thumb hovers above the call button for a while before you finally tap on it and start the call. It rings four times before a voice speaks up on the other end.

“Halo?”

“Hi mom,” you reply and hear a gasp from her at your voice.

There’s less than a week left until the Grammy’s. For your own sake, you haven’t been online outside of answering work emails, you just can’t deal with the shit show your life has become on the internet.

You haven’t left your home unless you really needed to go somewhere, did most of your meetings over the phone or videochat and postponed a fitting as well. You’ve officially caved yourself up in your apartment and you are not planning on leaving anytime soon.

Taylor keys herself in, she hasn’t even mentioned that she might drop by, but you’re not surprised. She is probably here to try to bring you out of this pity party you’ve been holding for days. When she sees you lying on the couch in sweats and messy, unwashed hair, she sighs, shaking her head.

“You really need to pull your shit together, Y/N.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, pulling your fuzzy blanket up to your chin.

“No, you’re not. This is not the bad bitch I know.”

“Bad bitches have bad days too.”

“This is not a bad day, you look like a fucking zombie. This is not what a Grammy nominee should look like days before the big show.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I’m performing or anything,” you shrug, but the look in Taylor’s eyes make yours go wide. “Taylor, I’m not performing, you informed them about it, right?”

“This is why I’m here,” she sighs walking closer, sitting on the other end of the couch. “I never cancelled on your performance.”

“I told you I’m not doing it!” “I know, but I was hoping you might come around. But you seem to be still acting like a stupid bitch, so that didn’t happen. However, I’ve gotten an interesting email today.”

She pulls out her phone and opens the email before handing it over to you. Shooting her an unhappy look you start reading.

Hi Taylor!

I got your email address from Jeff, wanted to write to you myself. I’ve officially pulled out of the Grammy performance so it’s going to be only Y/N in it. We are also working on a statement to release over the whole ordeal and my lawyers have been after the bigger gossip sites to get the articles down. I want Y/N to have the Grammy experience she deserves and I know it can’t happen with me in the performance. Tell her that I’m sorry for ruining it for her, she deserves so much more. I’m sorry she was brought into this.

I hope to see you soon, take care!

Harry

With parted lips, you look up at Taylor who is smiling softly at you.

“He… pulled out for me.”

“He did. Talked to Jeff on the phone, they have already let them know Harry wouldn’t be performing, they will make it official tomorrow.”

“But he deserves this just as much as I do. He is a nominee too.”

“Well, seems like he values you more than his own success.” Taylor lets out a long sigh and scooting closer she places a hand to your knee. “Look, I know you’re upset about how the media treats you just because you were seen out with Harry, and I know that you’re afraid of getting labeled as just the girl he dates and not get taken seriously as an artist, but you can’t let them stop you from living your life how you want to. There will always be judgment, there will always be men who are worse than trash and want to bring you down, but you are stronger than that. Pushing Harry away and being alone for the rest of your life is not a solution. What you can do to put them to their place is give them a big fuck you, date the hottest man in the industry and continue being the bad bitch that you are, fighting against the way you are being treated. Speak up, show them who they are dealing with, share your truth, like you always do! But you can do all of this with Harry by your side. You deserve to be happy and he makes you happy, don’t make yourself miserable because we live in a world where men are still placed above women. Fight for the change but don’t forget to think about yourself as well in the process.”

You feel the tears sting in your eyes. The weight of this past week is just way too heavy to carry, but Taylor is right and you are realizing that you’ve made it harder for yourself. The sobs come before you could stop yourself and Taylor pulls you into a hug.

“I know, I know. It fucking sucks, but you can’t let them win,” she soothes, running her hands up and down your back. “Show them how big of a bad bitch you are and get the man too.”

“You think Harry still wants to be with me?”

“I think that man would be on his knees for you in a heartbeat if you asked,” she chuckles pulling back. “Statement about the performance will be released tomorrow. That’s how long you have to figure it out,” she tells you with a knowing look before leaving you alone with your thoughts, however you don’t have to think long what you have to do.

You have not been the only one these past days took a toll on. The fight the two of you had left Harry completely drained, angry and helpless. He hated that he was the reason you weren’t credited as the talented artist that you are and he couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make it better. That’s when he came up with the idea of pulling out of the performance.

Now he is ready to spend the remaining days until the award show hidden from the world, not even leaving the house. Everyone close to him knows he is better not to be disturbed now, so he is quite surprised when the security system lets him know that someone has arrived.

As you drive up to his house you spot him immediately, stepping out the front door with a shocked look on his face, probably expecting you to be the last person to be there at the moment. You wipe your sweaty palms against your thighs as you walk up to him, feeling anxious to see him and talk to him, especially after the last conversation you had.

“Hey, I’m sorry for coming here without calling or anything…” you shyly start, stopping in front of you.

“Don’t be silly. Come… Come on in,” he clears his throat inviting you inside.

You’ve walked through this front door so many times in the past almost two months, but this is the first time you feel so odd, standing out, like you have no place in here and it’s all thanks to yourself.

“Do you want something to drink? Are you hungry?” Harry walks past you but then turns to face you, talking to you with such warmth and kindness, even after how you acted, putting blame on him for something he has no control over. It completely breaks you and can’t stop your eyes from watering as you look at him. You really hoped you’ve run out of tears in the past days, but it seems like that’s not the case at all.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” you breathe out shakily and you step closer to each other at the same time, he envelopes you in his strong arms and you fist his shirt at his chest. “I know it was none of your fault, I just got so desperate and afraid that it might ruin what I worked so hard for.”

“I know. And you were right about everything. Everything you said was true and I’m sorry you have to deal with it.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t right to be mad at you just because you have different privileges, it’s not like you can change who you are. So I’m really sorry about that, and also for pushing you away when you were just trying to be there for me. I was so stupid,” you breathe out, wiping the tears sliding your cheeks down away.

“You just panicked, it’s okay. Don’t apologize for wanting to protect yourself.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder you wait for your sobs to die down before you look back up at him. Reaching up he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, smiling down at you warmly and that smile alone ensures you that you are exactly where you are supposed to be, with the right person.

“Taylor showed me the email you sent her,” you bring it up, clearing your throat.

“You deserve it all to yourself so people can see how amazing of an artist you are.”

“I’m not doing it without you,” you shake your head stubbornly. “We wrote the song together and we’re gonna perform it together or else I’m not doing it either.”

“Y/N, you know if we step on that stage together they are gonna twist the whole thing and make it about something else. I want you to have this opportunity for your career without me ruining it with just my presence.”

“Fuck them, if they take it as something it’s not. They are not gonna take the chance away from us to perform our song. If they are such fucking dumbasses that they make it all about what’s between us, that’s their own personal problem. If I need to, I’ll go on a Twitter rant and tell them this myself. I want you on stage with me or else I’m not doing it either.”

Harry breathes out through his nose, pressing his lips together as he stares back at you, probably realizing you are dead serious about pulling out of the performance and he is right. He doesn’t even know you were the first one to cancel on it, you’d do it again without hesitation.

“I guess we are performing then,” he cracks a small smile and throwing your arms around his neck you pull him down, lips smashing against his, the kiss mingling with giggles and smiles.

Harry wraps his arms tight around your waist, pulling you up from the ground as he spins you around, making you squeal as you hold onto him.

“I have to call Jeff to call the Grammy’s not to post the statement,” he hums against your lips and he pecks them a few more times before letting go of you to quickly make a call to his manager.

You move over to the couch in his living room as he talks to Jeff, who is luckily very understanding about the sudden change. Hugging your knees to your chest you watch him pace the floor, exchanging a few more words with the man on the phone before ending the call, his gaze dropping to you again. Sitting beside you, he kisses your temple, dropping an arm around your shoulders as you lean against him, head resting on his chest.

“I called my mom,” you drop the bomb suddenly and you can feel him tense up for a moment, probably shocked by your words.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” Lifting your head your gaze meets his as you carry on. “She was… very shocked to hear my voice.”

“I bet,” he hums. “What did you talk about?”

“I just… asked how they are doing and told her that I’ve been thinking a lot about them. She sounded genuinely touched by it and said I’m always welcomed for dinner or lunch if I’d like to see them.”

“That’s amazing! See, I told you they would love to hear from you!”

“Yeah,” you smile at him softly. “I think I want to go over sometime after the Grammy’s.”

“I’m sure it’s going to go well.”

“Would you please come with me?”

Your question catches him off-guard he seems surprised that you would want him there, but then his expression softens as he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“I would love to, if you want me there.”

“I do,” you nod.

“Then it’s settled,” he smiles warmly as you lay your head back to his chest, his fingers gently dancing up and down your arm and for once in your life you finally feel settled, like everything is going to be fine.

Highlights of the 63rd Annual Grammy Awards: Y/N Y/L/N blows up stage with new hit duet

The killer duo surprised us all with a brand new duet titled Floating Through Space, performed it together on their big night. Wearing matching galaxy themed suits, Y/L/N and Styles have closed off the evening with probably the most success, the latter winning two out of his three nominations, receiving the award for Best Music Video and Best Pop Vocal Album with his latest album, Fine Line, while Y/L/N was titled best new artist, becoming a Grammy winner early in her career.

Tabloids blew up earlier this month when the two singers were photographed cozied up at dinner with friends, speculations started about their possible romance, but Y/L/N has made a clear statement on the question with her red carpet appearance before the award show. Wearing a head to toe black Gucci gown paired with a dramatic cape, the message “I’M AN ARTIST, ASK ME ABOUT MY ART” painted onto it in red, making a bold statement about her opinion on the way the media has been treating the star.

Both singers remained silent on their alleged romance, but proved to be the best of their time with their joined performance with their new emotional duet. Following the song’s debut on stage it was released to the public as a single right away, taking over all charts with its overwhelming success.

Listen to Floating Through Space now on Spotify and Apple Music!

Your knuckles are turning white from the tight grip on the steering wheel as you stare up at the home you grew up in. It looks almost the same, sometime through the years you haven’t been around your parents have painted it a light blue color from the paste yellow, but it’s still… the same.

“Hey.”

Turning to your right you look at Harry who is smiling at you warmly as his hand reaches over and squeezes your knee gently.

“It’s going to be fine. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you, you’re still their daughter.”

“That’s not what they told me the last time I was here,” you whisper, feeling your throat closing up.

“We all say things in the heat of the moment. Seeing how happy they were about this lunch proves that they regret what happened.”

Nodding you take a deep breath to get ready for whatever is going to happen. Leaning over the console you pull Harry in for a kiss and it calms your nerves a little. Getting out of the car he takes your hand and squeezes it to let you know he’ll be right by your side all along. As you walk up to the front porch a sense of strong nostalgia washes over you.

You didn’t have a bad childhood, your parents provided you so much growing up, it’s sad to think what it has become. In a way you feel more anxious than walking the red carpet a week ago for the Grammys even though you’re just meeting your parents, but this is a turning point in your life that needed to come sooner or later.

“I’m right here, baby. It’s going to be fine,” Harry murmurs, kissing your forehead before you ring the doorbell, feeling weird that you come here as a guest, not as someone who belongs here.

You hear footsteps approaching on the other side, two frames appear through the clouded glass of the front door and then it flies open, pushing all air out of your lungs, clinging tightly onto Harry’s hand. There’s a moment of silence and just staring at each other before the tiniest smile tugs on your lips.

“Hi mom, hi dad.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

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remcycl333 · 4 years ago

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you don’t need to be happy to be manifest!! but...

who doesn’t want to be happy?

(long post alert, sorry in advance lol. but please read it all the way through, i really think it’ll be worth it<3)

ok, to preface this, you don’t need to be happy to manifest. i’ve manifested great, positive things while i was in depressive episodes. i manifested wonderful things with tears streaming down my face. BUT, i think something a lot of people overlook is that it’s really beneficial to feel positively about your desires.

this is something i realized a few months ago, saw great results from, and then forgot all about and, well, stopped seeing the progress i wanted. but i’m back on track now, don’t you worry.

(i’m going to be using the example of my sp, bc that’s what i have the most experience with, but this applies to literally anything u r manifesting)

i’ve made a few other posts saying pretty much what i’m about to say in this next paragraph, so if you’ve already read those, i’m sorry for repeating myself. just bear with me lol.

so i came to a realization a few months ago--and i don’t exactly remember how i came to this realization--that i kind of...hated my sp? like i fucking resented him. and i was like, wait a minute, that’s not right. i love my sp. that’s why i’m trying to manifest him! so why do i feel like this?

i used to focus on manifesting in steps, so naturally the first step was contact. so i’d be affirming all day every day “my sp is texting me right fucking now😡“ (and other variations) and then when he didn’t text me, it’d just make me angry at him. but technically, he didn’t even do anything wrong?? sure he didn’t text me, but he had no clue he was supposed to? idk it was all complicated and weird. and then when i wasn’t mad that he didn’t text me, i was having arguments with him in my head, preparing for some weird fight that my brain just assumed was going to happen whenever we did get into contact. which is weird, bc my sp and i never fight. like, this is my ex. yet i literally cannot tell you a single fight that we have ever had. we literally get along perfectly. we have never fought (or even argued) once in all the time that we’ve known each other. yet my brain was always fighting him. and it was just, exhausting?

and so one day, when i was troubleshooting, i realized: rem, if you were in a relationship right now with your sp, would u hate him? would u be constantly fighting with him? god i fucking hope not!

now, what would i be thinking? i’d be laying in bed at night, hugging my pillow, thinking about how much i love him. reflecting on how happy he makes me, how perfect he is, how good he makes me feel. i’d be thinking about how he is the most perfect boyfriend i could ever have asked for. i’d be content after spending a long day with him, excited to spend the next day with him as well.

and during the day i wouldn’t be wondering why he wasn’t texting me. if anything, i’d be wondering why he was texting me considering we were literally hanging out, together, at that very moment!

i would trust him. i’d be walking on cloud nine. i’d be content. i’d be...happy.

now, in no way am i saying that you need to be happy 24/7, or dancing on air, or feeling intense butterflies in your stomach. you’re allowed to have other emotions. you’re allowed to feel anger, you’re allowed to break down and cry! you’re allowed to have bad days. but if you’re feeling these negative emotions about your desire, i want you to try your hardest to release them. i don’t think any of us want to have breakdowns over our manifestations and cry about them, but if it happens, it happens. just pick yourself up afterwards--or stop it before it even really begins, trust me, it gets easier to do this--and maybe do a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, and remind yourself why you’re on this journey in the first place. once again using the sp example, it’s because you love your sp. because they are perfect for you! they make you happy. you love their smile, their laugh, the witty conversations you have with each other. you love being in their arms. you love when they’re in your arms! they did something that made you fall in love with them, or want to be in a relationship with them. what was it? focus on that.

enough with the sammy ingram (i could go on a whole rant about her) style affirmations. with the “he’s going to fucking text me, he has no choice, he’s my fucking boyfriend and he does what i say.” like....ew?? i used to say shit like this, and it was really what started making me resent my sp. i was ordering him around in my head, creating this weird dynamic between us (which, he wasn’t even aware was there), and getting mad when he wasn’t doing what i was ordering him to do. looking back, it was borderline psychotic. it was just turning it into me against him, and that’s not what i wanted at all. i want to be in a relationship with him, with mutual love. i don’t want to be his boss, or his mom, or his fucking military sergeant!! (i don’t even know if that was the proper term bc fuck the military, but u guys know what i mean lmfaooo)

(disclaimer if u use these types of affirmations and they work for you, go for it. but i used them for a while and they just weren’t it for me. carry on)

i guess what i’m trying to say is, those affirmations weren’t making me feel good. they weren’t making me feel like a “boss ass bitch”. they were making me feel...like a bitch. and strangely, powerless. i’d say these affirmations, or just bland ones where i wasn’t necessarily demanding my sp to throw himself at my feet and kiss my shoes and tell me he is nothing without me, and ultimately, if i wasn’t feeling resentment, i was feeling...nothing.

once again, i want to make this so so so clear, you don’t need to be happy to manifest. but my belief? if your affirmations aren’t making you feel joy, or excitement, or contentment, then what’s the fucking point? if you think of your desire, and don’t feel positive feelings about it, then you might have lost your way a little.

don’t worry!! it’s an easy fix. easy, and even...fun? rewarding? comforting? i just want you to take some time--laying in bed at night is the perfect time to do this in my experience--to think about why you want your desire so badly. do you want money? think of how great life is going to be once you have it. of all the stuff you’re going to buy, for yourself, and maybe even for others. don’t focus on the problems you want to fix with it right now. think of that clothing item you’ve had your eye on, or that book you’ve been wanting to read but haven’t felt like “wasting” money on. think of how excited you are to buy those things, because you’re going to! think of the good. not the bad.

remember: you create more of what you focus on. focus on the good, get the good. focus more on the bad...get more of the bad.

your manifestation is done. it is created. it is on it’s way to you. it is here! all there’s left to do is feel excited. it’ll be here any moment now, how fucking exciting is that! it’s safe for you to be happy. it’s safe for you to focus on the feelings you would have if you had it, rather than focus on affirming specifically to bring it to you. it is safe to be happy.

i used to affirm solely for contact, all day every day, and sometimes i’d get it. but it’d be short lived, my sp would be distant, etc. but then once i started focusing on truly living in the end and basking in my love for my sp, thinking about how perfect and amazing he is, i not only got contact (without having to specifically affirm for it), but he was actively engaged in our conversations, making up new topics to keep the conversation going, asking me about and expressing interest in my hobbies and interests, bringing up and reminiscing on old memories of our previous relationship, complimenting me, flirting with me, asking me to hang out, etc. shit i was not getting when i was “he is so fucking in love with me and he’s texting me right fucking now”-ing all day long. i started focusing on how amazing and perfect and good to me he was, and that’s exactly what i got in my reality. who would’ve thunk?

and you know what? yeah, he fucking loves me. he misses me and he wants to be with me. but that’s a given. but that doesn’t fucking matter. i am the only person who matters in my reality!! sure he loves me, but do i love him??? that’s what the universe wants to know. that’s what truly fucking matters. the universe brings me my desires. so i’m gonna fucking desire it!

guys, please trust me on this. just try it out, with whatever you’re manifesting. this could be what you’re missing. this could bring your manifestation to you. i promise, if you’re like i was and feel resententment or anger or hatred towards your desire, this is going to make you feel so fucking good. just stick with this for a week or two. i promise, you’ll see movement.

and remember, there is no one to change but self. don’t change them (or it), change your perception of them (or it).

let’s make manifesting fun again!!! it’s the perfect tool to bring happiness into your life. so fucking let it!!!!

so no, you don’t need to be happy in order to manifest. but....maybe, just maybe, prioritizing your happiness isn’t such a bad thing. i mean, who doesn’t want to be happy?

#law of assumption #manifestation #manifesting

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n3onguts · 4 years ago

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5 times he said i love you. | kim taehyung

summary — different versions of ‘i love you’ told throughout the course of a relationship.

pairing — kim taehyung x f!reader

genre&tags — slice of life au, fluff, angst out of nowhere???, a terrifying lack of plot and direction (i cannot stress enough how unedited this story is. at some point, it got away from me and i just needed to be rid of it), taehyung making terrible choices while drunk, healthy-eating propaganda, pettiness and pride being the pitfall of every relationship, yk how it is

warning(s) — mentions of alcohol consumption and intercourse (but it's chill, they're both adults)

w.c. — bordering on 5k but pretty easy to digest

a/n — yes i have been working on my drafts (!!!), don't really wanna think abt them tho bc my laptop broke like two days ago, right when school's about to start so i'm not doing v good rn :/ anyways i've had this story in my head for a while ever since i read this one fic that used this same format (if i can find it i'll be sure to link the author as my inspo!) so i just wanted to get it out of my system. i'm not rlly a hardcore fan of bts (gotta admit tho... yoongi's passion for making music is so mmmmm), but when i started writing this i used taehyung's name as a filler for the guy character and it kinda just stuck. i hope u still enjoy, and as always, if u have any feedback, i'd love to hear it! :)

i. WHEN HE WHISPERED IT INTO THE NIGHT

Taehyung loves your apartment.

He loves it in the morning. Waking up to the sound of sizzling, of wood against metal, lightly clanging in your kitchen as you whipped up breakfast-for-two. Exiting the comfort of your bedroom to find early solace in the domesticity of the sight before him — you, with your sleep-ridden hair and bare legs peeking out from under an oversized tee. Messy and mussed but still looking oh-so-fucking-angelic, crooning along to your favorite Etta James record playing in the background as the rising sun bathes the scene with its glow. Solid hands wrap around your waist from behind as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Syrupy kisses come in place of a greeting and contented sighs seep out when you break apart: all he could ever want, and more.

He loves it in the afternoon. Both of you on your lumpy couch in the living room; your head in his lap, his hands in your hair. Everything in its place the way it should be. Happiness is home-grown and laughter permeates the air perpetually. You tap-tap-tap away at your laptop, which rests on your chest. He tries to pay attention to whatever’s on TV, but his eyes always end up on you.

He loves it in the nighttime. Dancing together in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, toothbrush still in mouth. Lights off, lamps on, the safe warmth of your thick comforter enveloping you two. Legs intertwined as your dainty fingers trace his features, like you’re trying to commit a map of him to memory. Minty lips follow to sleepily graze against the trail you’ve left — starting at the top of his forehead, along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, and, finally, after what feels like eons and then some, pressing onto his patient mouth. The evening does something to you both: honest words are exchanged with less resistance. Admissions of pleasure and confessions of pain spill out after dark, until you both succumb to the exhaustion, bodies interlaced like puzzle pieces.

Taehyung loves your apartment, he really does. He’s told you that numerous times. It’s a lot easier to say than what he actually wants to, but, well, those three goddamn words? They relentlessly attempt to claw out of his throat.

So he waits.

In the dim moonlight, the white noise of the city below acting as the soundtrack to your romance, he waits.

He waits, and when he’s certain you’re fast-asleep — chest gently rising and falling at a measured rate, cheek taking ownership of his chest — Taehyung surrenders to the feeling.

Glancing at you through drowsy eyes, he mouths it in the dark, rapid yet cautious, like a secret and a promise meant only for the night.

I love you.

ii. WHEN HE WAS DRUNK

Friday night — he found himself stuck at some bar, God knows where, struggling to stay upright.

Just one shot, Taehyung's sober self had stupidly claimed. One shot, and I’m done. But once his surroundings had started to go out of focus, and all he could make out were the cheers of his equally-idiotic friends, egging him on, well, how could he not succumb to the cloying pull of his own recklessness?

Alcohol was a shitty lover; it was bittersweet moments interspersed with short-term euphoria and long-term regrets. Side effects almost always included the following: (1) the ill-advised ballooning of his usually-muted ego, (2) a sudden and asinine surge of confidence, and, finally, (3), the mistaken belief that his present actions would have no future consequences, as though tomorrow would never come.

But tomorrow always did, and a half-dead, hungover version of him was always left to fix whatever mess he had made the night before.

Tonight, it seemed that drunk-dialing you was on top of his to-do list of mistakes to make. Clumsily, phone in hand, Taehyung summons your contact number, a familiar feeling of home washing over him once he spots your name at the top of his screen through heavy-lidded eyes.

It’s barely midnight, but half of him expects you’re already passed out, too glued to your bed from exhaustion to pick up. The other half — soft, daring, wishful — hopes that you aren’t.

It takes 3 rings before he hears your sleep-ridden voice hum through his line, “Hey. What’s up?”

For a moment, sobered by a split-second semblance of level-headedness, he hesitates.

“Hello? You there?” You patiently wait for a response, but worry laces your tone. Time to buck up and get this shit over with, he realizes.

Taehyung’s voice is timid, gentle, a juxtaposition to his booming surroundings, which are awash in a red glow and brimming with a sea of sweaty, intoxicated bodies. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really.” He hears you shift in bed, most likely sitting up to focus on the conversation. “Where are you?”

His response comes out slurred and ambiguous. “Um. Out?”

“Ah… you’re drunk.” He mentally curses himself for being so easy to read; you must be so annoyed, having your sleep disrupted by some boozed jackass. Instead, you laugh knowingly, and a wave of calm rolls over him. You don’t hate him, thank God.

Buzzing with a newfound self-assurance, the words start slipping out with much more ease. “Well, just a little.” You laugh again, and he’s grinning now, something wide and goofy and uninhibited.

“That sounds fun,” You murmur. “As long as you’re okay and you’re alive.”

“No—” He sighs dramatically. “I’m in agony. I wish you were here.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” He can practically envision you as you say this: eyebrow quirked and delicate lips pulling into a faint smirk.

“I miss you less when you’re next to me.”

“O-kay, stupid. You know, you’re cute—” Taehyung pumps his fist in the air in celebration. I’m cute! He rejoices. “But you’re drunk.”

“What?!” He exclaims, and he hears you giggle at his sudden outcry.

Eyelids fluttering at the melodic noise, he imagines you’re seated at the foot of your bed, hugging your knees. Your ear is warm from the phone pressed against it and your toes are curling along your mattress. There’s a glint in your eyes as you speak to him, probably relishing in his current state of ill-advised inebriation. He’s making a fool of himself, he understands that much, but he doesn’t care — he’d run through the streets naked, if you willed it.

“You are, though.”

“I am, yes.” He concedes, nodding ruefully.

Another giggle. God, he’d never get tired of that. “Wonderful. So, do you have any more nice things to say to me while you’re drunk?”

You weren’t taking him seriously — couldn’t, seemingly. You were teasing him, he was sure, but he didn’t want that.

“I’d still miss you if I was sober, you know. Probably more so. The alcohol helps tamp it down a bit.”

“Sure.”

“I kind of wish we were attached by the hip — or, like, I had a leash that I could use to drag you around with me.”

“Oooh… Kinky.” Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“No, hey—”

“Hey.” You interject, voice a bare whisper.

“I…” Taehyung massages his temples out of frustration. He wishes you would just listen. His restlessness has two fingers down his throat, pushing the words out before he’s even ready. “Look, it really doesn’t fucking matter whether I’m at some bar or at your place: I want you next to me always. You haunt me everywhere I go, and I’m tired of trying to escape it. Because, well, um, you know— Shit. I love you, okay? Sober or not. Dead or alive. Stupid or whatever the opposite of stupid is.” He pauses to take a breath. “Me. I’m the opposite of stupid.”

Silence consumes your end of the line, and it implores — no, demands him to fill it. The world around him seems to slow as he rambles on, “That’s why I called you. I wanted to tell you that I love you.” Hope overcomes him. “Fuck, man, do I love you! And I know you think it’s the alcohol talking or whatever — which, sure, yes, Jose Cuervo did help push the words out — but I’ll still wake up tomorrow morning and you will still be my first thought, just the way you are every single fucking day.”

A tense quiet lingers, terrorizing him. Finally, after what feels like a millennium in his drunken stupor: “Smart?”

Your voice is tender, lighthearted, yet simultaneously consoling — he could sense a masked apprehension that you were deliberately trying to keep hidden.

“What?” He eventually stutters out.

“The opposite of stupid is smart.”

Oh. “Yeah. Um. That’s me.”

“Uh…” You begin and he absolutely despises how patronizing you sound. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? I get it: you think you love me and that’s really sweet, but…”

As soothing as your voice attempts to be, it’s a stab in his gut as he realizes that you don’t believe him — or maybe don’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Um, so, I’m a bit tired, I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

A monotonous ‘sure’ leaves him reflexively. There’s a numbness that takes root inside of him as he stares straight ahead.

“Take care of yourself, please. Text me tomorrow morning so I know you’re okay, alright?” You hang on for a few more seconds, expecting a half-hearted acknowledgement from him, but you get nothing in return.

Taehyung hears a final, careful ‘bye’ muttered from your end before the line cuts. He lowers his phone down from his ear, resting it on the counter next to him. For some reason, it feels oddly heavy now. Stuck in a daze, he stares at the device like it’s an alien—

What the fuck had he just done?

iii. WHEN HE WAS SURE

“Tae, why would we ever need this much Jjajangmyeon?” You scold as he haphazardly scoops an entire row of instant noodles from the shelf into your shopping cart.

He shrugs, “It’s easy to make — you know I’m shit at cooking. Plus, it’s quick. And filling.”

You give him a withering look. “And full of sodium! Do you want a UTI? I swear to God, if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.

“You say that but last time I did, you took a 3-day leave from work and rubbed my supposedly-smelly feet until I fell asleep.”

Grunting in response, you huff and he hears you mumble something along the lines of, “But they are smelly.”

You turn away from him to gingerly return the packets back into their place, ignoring his cries of protest when you leave only two behind — one for him and one for you. “Shut up. Why would it matter if you’re shit at cooking? You have me.”

At this, Taehyung smirks, leaning against the shelves like a quintessential rom-com lead. “I do?” He asks, voice dripping with innocence but eyes sparkling with mirth.

Grumbling, you wave a hand to dismiss him and he stumbles back dramatically, as though he’s been shot. You roll your eyes, “Will you behave? I feel like your mother.”

“Are we roleplaying right now?”

“We won’t be tonight if you keep being so annoying.”

“Okay— Sorry, sorry. My bad. Got the message. Behaving now.” He gestures to show that he’s zipping his lips.

He pulls out his phone to check your grocery list for what you two need next, eyes squinting to read the screen. Without missing a beat, you fish in your bag for his glasses and hand it to him. Taehyung pauses to look at the specs in your hand then back at you, before nodding gratefully and accepting them.

“It says we need bread next.” He announces, and you walk ahead to find the aisle containing bread. He maneuvers the cart to follow the route you leave behind as you check the aisle markers, zig-zagging along the pathway like a little pinball machine.

“Here!” You call out. Up ahead, you disappear into one of the aisles, and moments later, he enters said aisle to spot you trying (and subsequently failing) to reach the bread you want on the top shelf. You stop tiptoeing when you see him rush over.

He grabs the nearest loaf, one that’s eye-level to you, and waves it in front of your face, “Why not this one?”

You send him another withering look. “That’s white bread, Tae.”

“And so?”

“It’s super processed.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m young.”

“And you’ll die young if you eat garbage. Will you just get the whole-grain bread I was reaching for?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about these things — I’m an active guy, I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry I care about your health.”

He wants to laugh at the scene before him — you, with your arms crossed and your eyebrows hardening like a petulant child — but he knows that would only irk you even more.

“No— Hey— C’mon.” Taehyung tries to pull you into a hug, but you swerve and swat away his attempts to close the gap between you two. “I’m glad you do. I’m very grateful, actually.”

Your pursed lips melt into a soft pout. “You just— You don’t know what a demon white bread is! I read an article about it the other day, and it’s made of refined grains, Tae! Refined grains.” You explain hysterically, hands buzzing around with the air of someone who's just divulged an incredibly juicy secret. “They’re chock-full of sugar and preservatives! And these preservatives have chemical names that no one ever questions because they can’t understand it, so they just accept it! You can eat a whole loaf in one sitting, Tae. I don’t want you to contract diabetes or something worse.”

When you finish your tirade, you go quiet, and when he looks into your eyes, dark pools he wouldn’t mind drowning in, he can’t tell whether he wants to laugh at your absurd worry over him or cry at your sincerity.

Instead, he smiles. It’s unrestrained, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That’s a bit of a far reach.”

In one swift movement, Taehyung grabs the loaf you were eyeing earlier and hands it over nonchalantly. “But I do love you. So I’ll try my best not to.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s just said he loves you for the first time — terrifyingly sober, under the harsh fluorescent lights of your local supermarket, after you’ve lectured him about his health and as he casually tries to give you bread — that you stare at him for longer than he’d like, eyes peering like he’s become transparent. But he stands his ground.

He shrugs, tossing the loaf into the metal cart behind you. He thought your inability to respond might bother him, but, surprisingly, it doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t think he minds much. Taehyung always assumed loving someone with certainty would be like an immediate thing, a singular, specific moment he’d have to seize with confidence or it would pass, leaving him wrecked with nerves and regret. But, as it turns out, certainty could wash over him during the most mundane of instances and love would slide out easily into his words, as though it always belonged. Maybe it had.

“You love me?” You say, and when you do, it almost sounds like a wish. One he’d go to Hell and back to grant.

He looks at you like you’ve just told him that the sky is blue or the Earth is round. “Yeah. Of course, weird-o. Was I not clear enough with my profession of love earlier?

You shake your head as you laugh. “No, you were.”

Taehyung nods, satisfied, moving past you to push the cart in search of the next item on your grocery list. But before he can, he feels a pair of small hands clutch his arm and a face nuzzle into the wide expanse of his back.

“I love you too.” You muffle, voice humming warm air against his sweater. “Which is why I’ll let you get a pack of Oreos.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“But just one.”

iv. WHEN HE WAS SORRY

Stumbling inside your apartment, you rush out of your boots and head straight for your bedroom, locking the door. A few footsteps behind you, Taehyung follows, disgruntled by your brisk pace.

“Y/N!” You can hear him from inside your room, where you’re sat on the bed, staring into space as you try to process what had just ensued during the car ride home from Jin's dinner party.

“Your ‘friend’, huh?” You're staring stonily ahead, eyes carefully fixated onto the cement floor of the car park.

He’s still settling into his seat, shuffling on his seatbelt, too busy to really comprehend the challenge you’ve just initiated. “What?”

“When Jisoo asked you to introduce us, you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, this is my friend, Y/N.’ You called me your friend.” Gone is the acidity that laced your tone mere moments ago, replaced by an almost mechanical voice, something carefully constructed to mask feeling.

Taehyung stops what he’s doing to look up, finally taking notice of your cold demeanor. He frowns, “But you are my friend.”

“So that’s all I am to you? Just your friend?” You whip your head to face him now, fully, arms crossed. You’re devoid of emotion as you await an answer from him. He, on the other hand, looks utterly confused.

“What— No, of course not—”

“No, you were right. We’re friends. We are.” You cut him off. “Just friends. You’re correct.”

“I didn’t mean anything by—”

“I know. Which is why it’s no biggie.” You shrug, switching from robotic to indifferent. He can’t decide which is worse. “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

You turn away, finished with the conversation, but he isn’t.

“I don’t understand— You were in such a good mood at dinner. What the fuck is happening?”

Looking at him again, you smile now, a sedative Taehyung won't fall for. “Nothing. Nothing’s happening. Can you start the car now? It’s freezing.”

Frustrated, he shuts up and does as he’s told, punching the keys into the ignition. You two sit in aggressive silence as he exits the car park.

The city roads are relatively bare, save for a few trucks driving along the highway. Passing street lamps illuminate your face in intervals, and every so often he looks over to check on you. When the car reaches a stop light at an intersection, he speaks up.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest. I didn’t.” His phrasing is wary, but heartfelt. So much so you almost want to put the matter to rest.

But pride is the only thing you’ve ever known — your child, a monster you’ve nursed back to health when wounded and fed when starved. You’ll be damned if you back down now.

“Right. It’s okay. We’re fine. I swear.” It’s terrifying how easily these lies breeze out of your mouth, without so much as a pause.

“I mean— We never had a discussion about our label— I just assumed—”

“I get it. No harm, no foul. We’re friends.”

“It was just automatic in my head, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

At this, you let out a cruel laugh. “Jesus, Tae, let’s not jump to conclusions here. Don’t assume I even care enough about you to get hurt by something as stupid as that.”

His face contorts as though he’s been bitten. “I understand that you’re mad, but you don’t have to be so unnecessarily mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I said I get it, right? You think our situation is too difficult to explain and blah, blah, blah. Now, can you focus on the road?”

When the traffic light turns to green, he steps on the gas pedal. Any and all discussion is once more extinguished, up until you reach the warm basement parking lot of your apartment building.

You’re gathering your things, about to head out of the car door, when you feel his hand pull at yours.

“I really had no ill intent when I said that. You’ve just always been my friend, so I had no other word for what we are now.”

You twist your head to see him, eyebags accentuated in the shadows, pleading with you to understand. You grip him tightly back, a sickeningly sweet smile etched onto your lips, “Like I said, we don’t have to discuss this anymore. We are friends, Tae, you were right.”

“But—”

“We’re friends— I’m your friend! The friend whose bed you spend more nights in than your own. The friend who knows that you brush your teeth in a specific order because that’s how your grandma taught you when you were nine— Or that your favourite compliment is when people tell you that you look like your dad because he’s your idol. I’m that friend! The friend who takes off from work the minute she hears you’re sick, who learns how to make Japchae exactly how your mom did. The friend who’s held you when you’ve cried, cleaned up your sick when you’ve gotten drunk, and swallowed your goddamned cum! The friend you fucking said ‘I love you’ to! Just fucking friends!”

Your furious shouts echo throughout the empty space, bouncing from wall to wall so that even when you've finished your rant, eyes frenzied and hands done flying, Taehyung can still hear your words create a cavern of guilt in his chest.

Fast-forward back to the present moment: there's a knot in your heart as you get ready for bed. Looking at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your teeth, you wonder, is loving someone supposed to be this hard?

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. Open up.”

You gargle the last of the water in your cup and spit, wiping your mouth and smoothing down your pajamas as you head for the door. Opening it up, you assume a pleasant facade.

“What’s up? Sorry for the wait, I was changing.”

If your nonchalance deters him, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry. I realized I never said that. I’m sorry I called you my friend— I wish I hadn’t.”

“Tae, I told you, it’s not a big deal, we’re goo—”

“No, we’re not.” He runs a tired hand through his hair. “If you had introduced me as your friend, I’d feel fucking terrible. I’d feel so put out.”

You stay quiet, and you don’t want to, but you can feel yourself cracking.

“Friends don’t say I love you like that. And I love you like that. I’m sorry.”

You let a sigh escape. Your mom once told you that you housed a terrible anger, one you’d hold onto no matter how exhaustive it could be. But when he looks at you like that — disarmingly earnest in his sorrow, like wounding you wounds him — you want to raise a white flag in surrender, want to promise him you’ll do everything in your power to douse your pride.

You rest your forehead onto his chest and you hear him exhale in relief. He envelopes his arms around you (a cocoon you think you never want to leave), burying his nose into your hair.

“I should’ve just called you what you are: my girlfriend.” Taehyung whispers, a final reparation. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

You pray no hesitance bleeds out into your words. “I’m your girlfriend.”

v. WHEN HE TRIED TO HOLD ON

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“So if you know, then why—” Taehyung exhales out of his nose. “You can’t treat people this way, Y/N.”

“I know.”

He’s standing across the room, arms crossed as he berates you. You really want him to leave, but if he did, you’re certain you’d run after him. You also want him to hold you, but if he did, you’re sure you’d only push him away. Feelings are stupid like that.

You poke craters into your lumpy mattress, chin resting in between your raised knees. Parts of you feel guilty, and perhaps that’s why you’re avoiding his gaze. But you’re also stubborn. I’m entitled to be selfish about my pain, you think.

“You’re supposed to— Why won’t you—” Lots of words swim in his chest. Taehyung wishes he could just reach inside and pull out the right ones, because all of the ones he uses only make you seem farther away. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

“Doing what?” You spit out, all poison. Why? You wonder. You’re clearly in the wrong here.

“This.” He gestures towards you like it’s obvious. “Holing up in your own little world, refusing to let anyone else in. And then when I come to you to try and understand, you make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

You open your mouth to say haughtily that he hasn’t, but you’re cut off.

“God, Y/N, you know— It’s actually fine that you’re like this. I don’t mind if you shut everyone out, don’t mind if you’re hard to reach, because I’ll put in that effort. You expect me to give and give and give, and you know what? That’s fine. It’s fine with me. I’ll say sorry first, I’ll concede, I’ll swallow my ego, I’ll let you win. I don’t mind.”

You fiddle with your bedsheets, eyes fixated on them so hard you think you might burn a hole through. You shouldn’t be, but for some reason, you’re irritated that he’s confronting you with all your wrongdoings and letting you get away with it.

“I don’t mind! Really, I don’t. I’ll let you do whatever. That’s how much I love you.” He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “All I ask for in return is that when I knock on the door of this little cage you’ve built for yourself, you let me squeeze in beside you.” His voice tapers off, “I’ll make myself small, won’t be a bother— Won’t even take up that much space, really. I just want to be in there with you. That’s all I want. That’s not much, is it?”

You want to tell him you’ve always lived like this — behind a smoke screen, inaccessible, like connection is a tap you can just turn on and off. Hurts less that way.

When you glance at him, guilt swells. Did you do this to him? Taehyung’s face looks worn; his eyes, desperate. A flicker of sadness pierces through your gut. You let him infiltrate your life, carve out a designated space for himself in your daily routine, and when he tells you he loves you, drunk, you refuse to believe it; he tells you again when he’s sober and you still can’t. You hate it when he introduces you as his friend, but get scared when he refers to you as his girlfriend.

You don’t know when it all turned to shit. Maybe it started during that week he was too busy to contact you, and you retaliated by ignoring him for the next two. Maybe it was because of that time he called you ‘difficult to be with’, and how no matter how many times he apologized, you couldn’t prevent that cancerous little seed of insecurity from burrowing itself in your mind. Or maybe it’s always been shit, and you’ve just been too spellbound to look at things with a clear head.

You try to absolve yourself of any blame, try to convince him as well as yourself: “I never asked you to do any of that. You did that to yourself.”

His hands implore you to see reason. “But that’s what a relationship is. You don’t ever have to ask— I’ll still be here anyway, still be waiting. That’s what loving someone is.”

There’s a phenomenon in psychology known as Stockholm Syndrome: it’s when a kidnapping victim forms an emotional bond with their captor. It seems irrational, unlikely. How could anyone fall for a person who’s hurt them? Defend them like none of that pain ever happened? But people do it everyday, you realize. People settle — they make compromises, they let themselves get stepped on, they excuse their chest aching as part of loving someone.

You let Taehyung’s words drift into the cold air of the room. The scene has slowed down. He’s sitting now, on the edge of the bed, and he looks like a husk of himself, as though getting all those words out has sucked him dry. You look outside of your window and notice that it’s drizzling.

“Did you bring a coat?”

“Huh?” He follows your line of sight. “No, I didn’t.”

“You can borrow my umbrella.”

From your position on the bed, you watch the rain fall, and from the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” When you inquire, it comes out casual, without the cadence of the argument you just had.

“Of?”

“Being here. Waiting.” A pause. “Loving, I guess.”

Taehyung shakes his head firmly, obediently, like he’s confident his love will be enough for the both of you. “No. Never.”

The next time you speak, you can hear two hearts break. “I do.”

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