#like that right there is the real bittersweet part

[shiftymimilily]

what do you think happens to realities after we leave? say i want to leave my current reality because i’m sick okay so i shift, is this “version” of me not real anymore or am i just not conscious of their pain? i’m having a philosophical crisis because i love myself and i don’t deserve to suffer at all yk so i kinda want to stay in “bad” situations to help myself out and i don’t know if this line of thinking even makes sense but i would appreciate your perspective on it

I know, it's not really directly about permashifting, but I think my experiences here are relevant to it. So I hope you sit down and listen for a bit.

A thought about permashifting from both sides of the coin.

Well, firstly, thank you. Somehow, you got me to unlock some of my past memories from my permashift going here. I intentionally locked them behind certain checkpoints I believe so I can access and relearn them again in due time, and I think this was one of them. Funny on how it goes full-circle here. So, instead of an answer, I give you, hopefully, a peace of mind.

I went through a similar crisis back then: What would happen to myself in the reality I was in right now old if I had left permanently? I’ve seen and experienced both sides in a sense. I was in your place, as my "other-self" as I will call them, and I am perhaps where someone wants to be when they go to a new place. In the "new place". Wouldn't it be so selfish to leave people behind? To leave A PART of myself behind?

Then I realized, this was me. Both are me. We’re not separated, ever. This is what WE want. In a sense, I can live in peace with their suffering because they suffer in my name and I gave them meaning to suffer because I was what gave them, or that self, the will to go through suffering. They’ll forever be my other-self, and that’s what they wished to willingly to be. What I wished to be. They'll forever have existed somewhere, as part of you. That is unchangeable.

You're such a beautiful soul to be so considerate. I assure you however that they'll be okay because I know I'm okay. Have faith. You're okay. Truly. Just breathe. You don't have to stay somewhere you don't have to, and we don't have to go anywhere if we don't want to. Whether we stay or go or return, life goes on, and that's not something to be scared of, but to embrace. It’s not wrong to want to be in another space. Your guilt and shame, is natural. However, on the grand scale of things? It's okay. My current existence here as a self is help enough to help the other-self I was.

I won't be able to answer what absolutely happens when we go to another relait. I don't think beings like myself are supposed to anyway. Maybe the world ceases to exist, maybe it doesn't and it's its own thing. I have my theories of course, but acknowledge I don't know how this sector of the multiverse works, nor do I need to. You say it's okay for yourself now and it will be, and that's more than enough for it to not be selfish. If you're willing to let yourself go somewhere, then let go. Approval had been given a long time ago when you decided to go another place.

But if it does, I can safely say they'll move on without you. They'll do whatever they'll do. Go through grief. The suffering. You also miss out on the healing. The smiles. The moments in the future of whatever timeline that is. It's bittersweet. You won’t know what happens or what's happening to them, but you have to trust yourself as you right. This is the wish: that's what you can respect. That this other you might not make it the way you wish them to, but they will have lived and that’s more than what the universe can ever ask for with a shifter. As a shifter. To exist. To manifest. To shift. To be.

[marblenarwhal]

there is a sadness that permeates ofmd s2. it feels post apocalyptic in an uncomfortably real way. there are a lot of beautiful, painful moments. it reminds me of my early 20s and the friends i had, who eventually moved or drifted away.

like, there was a golden time when things are simple and you were there but you missed it. you didnt stop and appreciate it. or maybe it was never that simple, and it's just the nostalgia making you feel that way. but youre different now or maybe youre the same but everyone else is different, and youve all been through so much, youve lost people and youve hurt each other in ways that were casual and careless but caused ripples that shifted things in a frustratingly, achingly imperceptible way you dont even know how to fix. and now you have new people, and maybe some of the same people, and you keep trying but you cant recapture those golden moments of the past because it was lightening in a bottle. so you just have to keep going and in five years you'll look back at this moment right now and think, man. those were the good times. and everything is different now.

[mypeggableromance]

.

[dahkis]

the vibe of each of the flora's themes

adele, adele's oath: a sacred, but mythical feeling befitting the virtuous knights from the old stories that used to be told to children. the choir is singing the knights' praise, perhaps symbolizing their initial glory days, serving the god-king during his heyday before ultimately betraying him and breaking their oath to protect him. however, it continues to have a non dominating presence in the background, symbolizing the present. although the knights of the einherjar was replaced with the militaristic high flora army, the flickering flame of a noble knight has not died yet. it was alive in adele, who remained loyal to her oath to the god-king to the very end.

khali, oblivion: the drums and choir ramping up throughout the song symbolizes her bubbling feeling of deep anger boiling over. she has a strong yearning for vengeance against ypsilon for the undeserved death of her family.

illium, death of asylum: the choir is singing to the metaphorical revival of the god of the verdent flora; illium's fusion with the elder crystal symbolizes him inheriting their will and carrying on the burning passion of the verdent flora race through the pride of their invention of mechanical wings. there's a sense of determination, but a quiet anger festering among them as well.

ark, recollecting memories: i miss my wife tails, i miss her a lot

[ailendolin]

I just made myself sad with the thought that the flea in Robin's ear was probably his only friend for a very long time - certainly the only one apart from Moonah who never left.

[bunnyb34r]

Finally saw the barbie movie and why did no one ever tell me ab sugar daddy Ken ahsgsgsgsbsbs omg

[eolande]

i need to think more maahes' time on bitterblack.... he would've known fauna and barroch too which is crazy and fun. also big brain moment.... but maybe the fact that he was made in the image of rothias who is Big Will Andy is why he underwent some bestowal of spirit faster and also didn't get corrupted from hanging out on bitterblack.... cause anye only took eolande there a couple times before she abandoned her in cassardis. and i have never known who fauna's pawn is LOL i still have to think abt that. maybe they got corrupted. anyways my point is pawns don't seem to have as much lasting power on the isle. but maahes is a big strong boy he's got this. he also probably got his eye injury there come to think of it....

[powerfulkicks]

*in a half fugue state* a discord server as an ever changing house

[merakiui]

no because skully is actually so sad when you think of him in every context (platonic, romantic, a fleeting crush, etc) because imagine meeting this guy who is in a very similar situation to you (trapped somewhere in a new world with no friends, all alone, and everyone thinks he's strange because they just don't understand him) and so he can sympathize with you and your situation. he completely gets it, and maybe you just,,, get him. maybe in a way no one has before.

over the course of this predicament, you form a fast friendship that's very meaningful to both sides. for skully, it's finally a friend who can understand him and isn't a complete idiot like his dull classmates. he finally has someone. and you finally have someone who actually pays genuine attention to you, doesn't call to the front the obvious power imbalance between you (magicless human) and a school full of talented mages. for once, you're just (name) to someone. not the magicless human or the beast tamer or the person dropped in twisted wonderland from a far, far place. you're just (name). skully sees you for you, and you see him for him. maybe that's why he comments on how similar the two of you are so often because he wants to cling to this connection. maybe he sees parts of himself in you and you see parts of yourself in him.

it's a connection that seems so real and raw and heartwarming. right place, right person, you'll both think.

but all of that is rendered meaningless when you're destined to come out of the book, having forgotten all inklings of halloween town and its residents and, most importantly, skully. the one friend who could understand you in a world where no one is able to. and now whenever you look at the portrait of the halloween king you're filled with so much sadness and longing. but why? you've never met this person before.

you never will again. even skully recognized that when it was time for everyone to leave because when he leaves the book he'll be dead, but you're still alive. the both of you are from vastly different times.

right person? definitely. but you met him at the wrong time. a little too late.

or maybe in a bittersweet way it was the right time. even if you can't remember your experiences, the both of you imprinted something special on the other. when you think of halloween, you'll think fondly of that unique portrait and a grin that seems eerily familiar. and maybe if he was still alive today he'd feel comforted every time he thinks he's alone only to feel as though someone, if only for a moment, was able to really, truly know and understand him in the ways he hoped to be known and understood.

[goldfades]

PROTECTIVE P──BUECKERS⁵

request!

─ summary | paige finds you in tears after watching stepmom and, misunderstanding the reason for your distress, instinctively comforts your with her protective nature.

─ pairing | paige bueckers x fem!reader

─ warnings | omg nothing, so short and sweet. paige is being slightly overdramatic, but reader is crying sooo... yeah. literally nothing at all it's so sweet.

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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Tears blur your vision, the dim light of the room making the screen in front of you seem like a watery painting. You quickly swipe at your cheeks, though the attempt is pretty useless considering how soaked the tissue in your hand already is. The closing credits of Stepmom roll in a soft melody, tugging at your chest like a string you can't sever. You take a shaky breath, hugging your knees tighter to your chest, the weight of the movie's ending pressing down on you in waves.

The room feels oddly still, like even the air is holding its breath alongside you. The last few scenes play in an endless loop in your mind: the bittersweet embrace, the tearful goodbyes. It all claws at you, pulling at emotions you hadn’t prepared for. Your heart aches in that way only a well-crafted story can make it—like you're mourning something personal, something real. And as much as you want to pull yourself together, the lump in your throat only grows, tightening with every labored breath.

You stare blankly at the dark screen now, the credits long gone, but the emotional storm inside you rages on. The empty room echoes with the quiet sniffles you fail to hold back. A part of you feels silly for crying over a movie you've seen a million times, but to be completely fair, you were about to get your period.

Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Before you can react, the door creaks open, and in walks Paige. The look on her face shifts instantly as she takes you in, sitting curled up on the couch, your tear-streaked face lit only by the soft glow of the television.

"Baby?" Her voice is low, gentle, but you can hear the edge to it, like she's holding something back. Her eyes—those sharp, intense blue eyes—narrow as they sweep over you. She's scanning, assessing, the same way she does when she’s reading a defense on the court. "What happened?" she asks, her tone both concerned and commanding, demanding an answer even as her voice stays soft.

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, unable to explain through the wave of emotion still crashing over you. You know you don’t look great right now—puffy eyes, blotchy skin, a crumpled tissue that’s no match for the tears—but Paige doesn’t care about that. No, she’s laser-focused on the fact that you’re upset, and that’s all she needs to see.

In a heartbeat, she’s crossing the room, long strides eating up the distance between you. She drops down beside you on the couch, her arm sliding around your shoulders in one smooth motion, pulling you in against her chest. Her grip is firm, possessive, like she needs to protect you from whatever caused this. Even if she doesn’t know what “this” is yet.

"You don’t have to talk," she murmurs, pressing her cheek against the top of your head. Her voice is like velvet, low and soothing, but underneath it, there's a quiet storm brewing. Her protective instincts are flaring up, you can feel it. She’s always been like this—fierce when it comes to you, like you're something precious she’d fight the world to keep safe.

Her hand gently cups your cheek, turning your face up toward hers. Paige’s eyes are intense, practically burning with emotion, the warmth of her palm grounding you despite the whirlwind inside. "Whatever it is, I got you," she whispers, and you believe her. You always believe her.

But the softness in her touch contrasts with the edge in her voice. There's a possessiveness there that makes your heart race, a deep need to fix whatever has you so broken right now. She tightens her hold on you, like if she hugs you hard enough, she can shield you from whatever hurt is eating at you.

"Baby-"

"No, it's okay. Shh..." She interrupts before you can finish, and you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment. She looks ready to go to war, to tear apart anyone or anything that could have possibly made you cry.

You try to pull away slightly, to create some distance, but Paige isn’t having it. Her grip tightens, drawing you back against her chest as if she’s physically unwilling to let you go. "Don’t do that," she says, her voice low but firm. "Don’t hide from me." Her fingers trail down your arm, her warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and you feel the goosebumps rise in response.

You open your mouth, ready to explain, to tell her it’s nothing serious, just a movie, but the way she’s looking at you stops the words before they can even form. There’s something fierce in her eyes, a protective edge that goes beyond simple concern. It’s possessive, almost primal, like she’s ready to tear down anyone or anything that might hurt you—even if that thing is your own emotions.

"Paige, really, it’s not—"

"I said shh..." She cuts you off again, her voice dropping lower, more insistent. Her other hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, gently pressing your face into the curve of her neck. She smells like fresh sweat and a hint of soap—probably from the quick shower after practice—and the familiar scent makes you relax a little more, even if your heart is still racing.

"Just let me take care of you," she murmurs, her lips brushing your hair. "You don’t have to explain anything. I’m here, okay? I’m here." There’s a soothing rhythm to her words, each one a steady beat that matches the rise and fall of her chest.

You can feel her heartbeat under your cheek, strong and steady, grounding you even as you’re still battling the emotional aftershocks of the movie. It’s almost overwhelming—the way she’s holding you so close, her arms wrapped around you like she can shield you from everything, including yourself. And maybe that’s exactly what she’s trying to do.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, massaging your scalp with slow, deliberate strokes, and despite the embarrassment still gnawing at the edges of your mind, you can’t help but relax into her touch. Paige always has this way of making the world disappear when she’s near you, like nothing else matters as long as you’re in her arms.

"Who hurt you, baby?" she whispers, her voice darker now, and you feel the intensity of her question deep in your chest. It’s not just a question—it’s a promise. A dangerous one. You know she’d go to extremes to protect you, to make sure nothing or no one ever makes you feel like this again.

"It’s just... a movie..." you manage to mumble into her neck, but even as you say the words, you can feel Paige tense beneath you.

"A movie?" she repeats, and though there’s a hint of relief in her voice, there’s still a trace of suspicion, like she’s not quite ready to believe it. "You’re crying like this over a movie?"

You nod against her, the heat in your cheeks returning in full force. "Yeah. Stepmom."

Paige lets out a long breath, and you can feel her relax slightly, her grip on you loosening just a little. But even then, she doesn’t let go entirely, keeping you close like she’s not ready to fully release you from her protective embrace.

"Baby, you scared me," she finally says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. Her gaze softens, and a small, almost sheepish smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "You know I can’t stand seeing you like that."

"I’m okay," you whisper, though the way her eyes linger on yours tells you she’s not entirely convinced.

"Next time, just tell me," Paige says, her thumb brushing your lip in a feather-light touch. "I’m here for all of it—the good, the bad, and the sappy movie tears. You don’t ever have to hide from me. Got it?"

"That's what I was trying to tell you," you let out a teary laugh as you look at her. She rolled her eyes, her lips quirking up in that sweet smile you love so much. Paige presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual, her lips warm and gentle against your skin.

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[tremendouscreationperson]

Part 2 of this

Next part here

Stan hadn't been able to help it. He had asked for your address to keep in touch.

He was able to now.

Able to send and receive letters. There had been a few instances when he was on the road that he dialed your number and your ma or pa answered, he had pretended to be a wrong number for them.

He was too chicken to talk to Ford why did he think he could talk to you?

But letters were different.

He could do letters.

You'd explained how you moved to California for college and loved the area so much you decided to stay. He had known you wanted to go to college but the three of you had always said you'd stay near New Jersey.

He wished so much that he kept in touch but his life was shit. He made things shit. He was shit.

His dad had been right.

He wasn't even worth turning up to a funeral for.

Stan paused mid sentence. Maybe he shouldn't be exchanging letters with you, maybe he should just stay away.

But a letter couldn't hurt.

He wouldn't have to change his voice or wear gloves or pretend he had smarts.

He could relax.

If something seemed off in the letter he could restart it.

And so the correspondence continued.

~~

It took a year and a half before you suggested coming down to see Mr Mystery himself.

Ford explained that his Uni grant had stopped so he was relying on good ol' fashioned tours of his labs to make money, only the real science didn't interest the resistance so he had to be creative.

You were sure he bored his patrons to death by explaining the rays and dials and tubing he had before coming up with the idea to sell to his clientele.

If only Stan was here. He'd be able to come up with good monsters and ghouls, just like in school.

You were able to find some sketches he gifted you (from a comic he was determined to publish) to send in your letter. Hopefully Ford could use them for ideas. It was a little bittersweet to part with them but ultimately it was for the greater good and you could always ask for them back.

So, now, here you were merely proposing a meet up but it felt... Well it felt wrong? Yeah, Ford and yourself were mates but Stanley was always the glue that kept you together.

Despite the mixed emotions you pushed on and signed your name before shoving it into an envelope and sending it off.

~~

The journey to 'Gravity Falls' - brilliant name - was not awful.

It took a solid 6 hours of driving but you knew it would be worth it. Knew it had to be done.

You would keep your friendship with Ford alive for Stan. You'd be the honorary sibling.

Once you were in Oregon you pulled up the map he had sent and followed the instructions he scratched onto it. 'Don't turn by the Horse Scarecrow go further to the Pig', 'There's a big boulder by the town sign be careful, I swear it moves', 'left by the tree that looks like Dolly'.

They were odd instructions but they were perfect. The town was definitely unique.

It was 9 when you finally made it to the 'Mystery Shack' and you had to admit it was cute. There were homemade arrows pointing in all directions and a copious amount of question marks dotted about.

The sign on the door read "closed" but you could see at the back there were lights on.

Climbing out of your car you twaddled over to the back door, rucksack slung on your shoulder, the soft sounds of a TV wafted through the door as you knocked.

The TV stopped and you could hear wood creaking as Ford approached. The door opened and revealed him wearing a suit with a large question mark tie.

He smiled down at you, gesturing for you to enter. "Hi."

"Hey." Your eyes scanned the room, mostly homemade wooden furniture with the odd trinkets or pop of colour. There were a few sciency looking gadgets but otherwise this was a humble home. "It's really cute in here."

Ford scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks."

The silence was slightly weird but you anticipated that it may be a bit weird at first. Just have to push through it.

"Have you eaten?" He asked.

"No but to be honest I'm zonked." You chuckled. "Long journey."

Ford clasped his hands. "Of course, well, you can have my room. I'll take the couch."

"Uhm, I can't kick you out of your room." You didn't realise that he would have to vacate his bed for you to visit. "I'll stay on the couch."

"You take the bed, I won't hear anything else about it." He added the last part as your mouth opened to argue.

~~

Staying with Ford was odd.

He was more casual than you remembered.

Gave fewer lectures.

But otherwise your stay was pleasant.

You helped him in the Shack; printing t-shirts, manning the register, flicking the lights on and off, making spooky noises when needed. It was fun.

You enjoyed your time here because it was silly. You were able to let loose whilst watching some suckers gape at a wax figure or a crudely put together unicorn.

After leaving it really didn't take long to decide on coming back.

Spending every other weekend up in Oregon became your routine. Yeah, the drive was shitty but it was worth it.

Ford loved it. Or well.. if he didn't he didn't say anything.

Eventually you were gifted a cot upstairs and you considered staying for longer.. perhaps even for an indefinite amount of time. It was quite conflicting wanting to stay with Ford.

You still loved Stan. You'd always love him but you saw so much of Stan in Ford it was ludicrous.

The way he'd swindle and trick, his Mr Mystery persona, and whenever a patron was a little handsy, the way he'd threaten them.

Ford never did that. He outwitted people. He was the brains.

But maybe that changed in the time you spent apart. His father had made the two of them box and from Ford's ears he'd kept up the sport.

~~

Through all your time at the shack there was only one thing that truly bothered you. It was a teeny tiny detail but it drove you insane.

Ford never removed his gloves.

He was always wearing them.

Everyday, every night, every meal, everywhere.

You'd seen his hands before.

Everyone back home had.

They were just hands!

Maybe he didn't want the town to think they were real, wanted them to think he was a fraud because being a freak was worse?

It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things but it was agitating you.

~~

"Put teeth on it." You suggest, sitting on the floor with your back leaning against the wall.

Ford made a face but nodded, prying the crows beak apart. He wandered around the shop, opening cupboards and drawers. "I'm sure I had som-"

"The blue cabinet." You pointed.

Ford opened it and voilà he produced a jar of teeth. You didn't bother to ask if they were real, either of the answers would be weird. Yes = weird. No, where did he get such realistic teeth? = Weird.

You observed Ford positioning the teeth, he waited for your approval which you gave and began gluing them.

It was late in the evening and he had promised the town and its tourists something big. So crow with teeth and a skunks tail it was.

He was precise with the glue gun but still stopped to talk with you, ever the gentleman. How had their father made them?

You hated their dad with a passion.

He was an absolute asshole.

You'd tell him that, too.

He didn't even come to the funeral. You'd assumed he had passed but Ford told you he didn't want to come. His parents were starting afresh with Shermie.

No, you wouldn't include Caryn on that. She was lovely but Filbrick...

Filbrick was something else entirely. In fact, you remember first meeting him, he glanced up at you over his newspaper before returning to the words. Stan had reassured you that that type of behaviour meant he liked you but you knew differently. You knew, even at age 10, Stan was covering for his father.

Ford hadn't experienced that. He never knew what it was to disappoint his father and you felt for Stanley. You were even present once when Ford tried to explain that Stan seemed to take short cuts and maybe that was why Filbrick was disappointed. It was later in the week when Stan confessed that he had to take short cuts, of course he did, because how else could he possibly keep up?

"Ah shit!"

Your eyes shot back to Ford who was shaking his left hand. Quickly standing to assist. "What happened?"

"Just a burn, it'll be fine." Ford brushed you off, resuming the task at hand.

You scoffed. "Ford, take the glove off, you idiot."

"It's fine." He insisted.

"You're sticking to things!"

Ford grumbled but didn't reply.

"I've seen your hands before. There's no one else around. Why are you being weird?"

"I'm not weird." He huffed turning away from you. "Don't look."

You rolled your eyes before turning away. "Fucking hell, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were Stan pretending to be Fo-"

It hit you.

All the stupid chats, all the late night beers, all the jokes, the lame costumes, the zero science talk, the scams, the lies, everything.

Your body had turned without your brain catching up and you were face to face with a Stan. Not 100% sure which one.

Stan's eyes were wide, gloved hand clutching his ungloved one. You took three steps to him, invading his personal space, to place your own hand on top of his. Slowly you tugged on it and revealed the five digits.

Wh-what did this mean?

This was Stan?

Stanley?!

Where was Ford?

Why?

Why did Stan need- what was he doi- where wa-

His palm gripped yours. "I can explain."

.

.

.

Part 3

@breadandbiscuits @aratheegreat @sp00kyfr0gs @doggosnoodles12 @50shadesofwinchesters @living-in-a-veil

[lo1k-diamonds]

A woman's best friend 💜

PAIRING: Taehyung x (f)reader

SUMMARY: When you met, you and Taehyung hit it off instantly, becoming the closest of friends. You thought he was off limits, meanwhile, he’s been begging for a chance to put an end to your friendship.

WORD COUNT: 6,992 

GENRE: friends to ?, smut

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: mutual pining, dirty talk, body worship, nipple play, oral (both), rough, sweet, bittersweet, mentions of alchool, talks about Tae's sexuality

A.N. I heard Fri(end)s and had the idea for this fic... I love this song sooooo much 💜 Thanks to @downbad4yoongi for the beta! I don't know if I should do a part 2... we'll see 😁

Masterlist | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs | AO3

“Fuck, what I wouldn't give for cock right now.”

Your voice came out in a low groan right before you brought your cold beer bottle to your lips to take a few swigs. The TV was blaring a new episode of Physical:100, and you understood everyone’s obsession with Amotti’s body. For you, it was the lack of sex mixed with alcohol, hormones, and being exposed to hot guys on the TV on a Saturday night. Well, and in real life.

You looked at Taehyung out of the corner of your eye. He had taken off his black leather jacket, but his tight black shirt accentuated his chest and wide shoulders. His dark eyes had jumped to yours at your words, but he was drinking his beer and didn’t stop. He was very handsome, something you had noticed the moment you met during photography class when he asked you for help in a project. Your heart had fluttered hard, but had since calmed down — he didn’t look at you that way. He was there to admire Amotti’s abs with you. 

At least you had a friend to share these debaucheries with.

“I mean,” he voiced as soon as his lips were free. “I have one right here.”

You threw your head back laughing, “I know.” You made sure to tap his chest playfully before reaching for another cherry in a bowl on the coffee table, pulling it from the stem between your teeth. “But you know…”

He was looking at you with his usual nonchalance, with legs spread, beer in his hand, and completely relaxed into your couch, but his eyebrow twitched.

So you nodded, “Alright, let me put it better.” You suddenly realized you could be offending him somehow: it was not because a person with a cock was present that they would want to have anything to do with you. So you corrected yourself, “What I’d give for a good fucking.”

He nodded, seemingly understanding, and you smiled, turning to the TV again. You were happy your friendship was like this; you used to talk about who you were attracted to and help each other out, and now you could openly comment on your thirst. It was perfect.

“Still applies.”

You turned to look at him so quick you almost got whiplash. Your eyes were wide, and your mouth blabbered before you could think, “What? But I helped you get it on with what’s his name a few months back.”

Your head was spinning, you were so confused. That night out had been the proverbial nail in the coffin of your secretly harbored hope. 

“Yeah, so?” His voice was monotone at best. “I’m pansexual.”

Your eyes widened comically as your cheeks flushed red. “Oh… I… I…”

“Assumed?” He raised an eyebrow again, and you were flustered, but still noticed him fidgeting, with his knee jumping repeatedly.

“Well… Yeah, kind of,” you admitted, with shame forcing your eyes down. Amotti showed on the TV again and you glanced. “You only ever talk about guys in front of me.”

You knew it before it was out of your mouth that it was a lame excuse, and he did too because he scoffed, “Yeah, well. What else do you want to talk about?”

“That’s not fair,” you complained, frowning with embarrassment burning your chest.

“Didn’t think you’d be interested in hearing my thoughts on women.”

He was looking away now, and you could hear a tinge of bitterness, and it pricked your heart. 

“Tae, that’s not true,” you insisted, reaching to put a hand on his arm so he’d look at you. Was that resentment? It hurt you deeply. “I want to hear your thoughts about everything,” you admitted with a shy smile, and his eyes softened. “And I’d wish we could talk about anything. I mean, look at what I just said.”

His lips twitched before he reached to catch your hand in his. He couldn’t see you sad, especially not about something like this. It could be that you had the wrong impression because he never bothered clarifying, and that was on him too. The reason he was deeper in his feelings for you, than he had ever been with anyone else, was you saying things like those, treating him like that. It was the reason he had canceled his weekend plans to be with you last minute, it was why he wanted to hold your hand, and at long last, why he was done being just friends with you.

“Fair. You’re right,” he relented, turning on the couch to you more comfortably. “Sorry, that’s not why.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you braved through it, “Why, then? Why haven’t we ever discussed this before?”

It would have been so easy to deflect, or act offended about his sexuality even being a topic of conversation, but he wasn’t doing that. He was putting the cards on the table tonight.

“I thought… You were so open-minded and welcomed me to join your friends and… I thought that if you knew, you’d treat me differently. Like just any other guy, and then we wouldn’t have become friends.”

“Tae…” You shook your head lightly, disappointment pulling the corners of your lips. He thought that of you?

“I also needed your help with that midterm project, so it was a life-or-death situation.”

He said it sheepishly, caressing your hand in his, and you chuckled, “That was so long ago.”

He nodded, lowering his eyes to your hands, and you kept a sigh from coming out. Maybe you were wrong to presume, but it was easily done when he blended in so easily with your group of girlfriends. Not because he wasn’t manly, but because he acted with grace and care, and had no qualms holding your hand or showing affection when most guys wouldn’t be caught dead doing that to a friend.

You nodded, “I thought we became friends…”

“We did,” he agreed, though his voice was an octave lower.

“So can, or can I not, say I’m craving a good fucking?” You squeezed his hand with a grin on your face before bringing your beer to your lips again. You didn’t care about his sexuality, and you’d been friends for so long you couldn’t read more into his actions, even if you wanted to delude yourself. 

You had hoped to lighten the mood and get back on topic, and you did. Sort of.

“You can always say it,” he mused, eying you with a darker look in his eyes once they locked with yours. “The question is: do you want to do something about it?”

“What can I do about it?” you asked with amusement before taking another swig.

“Fuck me.”

You would have choked if you hadn’t already swallowed. Instead, you gaped at him with eyes like a deer caught in headlights, “What?”

“I’m down if that’s what you want.”

You blinked for a second, taking in his casual demeanor as he sat on your couch, totally chill. Then you grabbed a pillow and swatted him right across the face.

He jumped in place, checking if he hadn’t spilled anything over the couch or himself. “What?!”

“What what?” You asked, pulling the pillow and throwing it away on the floor so he’d check on himself comfortably.

“What was that for?”

“I’m being serious, and you’re messing around!”

You couldn’t help your blushing cheeks, but you could keep things casual by taking a bit of inspiration from him.

You just didn’t expect him to shuffle in his spot with a pout, “I’m not messing around, I’m serious.”

You grimaced, shaking your head in disbelief, not even able to contemplate such an outlandish thought.

But he stayed put looking at you, as laid-back as always, and you felt the consciousness sober you up a little. That was him being serious.

“You… You’d—” You swallowed, annoyed by your own hesitation. “You’d fuck me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

His reply was instantaneous, and he bit the inside of his bottom lip. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Or better yet, said it like that. It wasn’t like that was all he wanted to do. It wasn’t like he was proposing a one-night stand, for you to become fuck buddies, or— What was he even suggesting?

“Well,” you spoke up before he could chastise himself internally. He could only look at you with bated breath. “Even if you’re into women, I never thought you’d… be into me.”

It could have made his head spin, but instead he sat more upright and frowned, “Why not?”

“I’m not all fit and pretty and shit.”

You were mumbling with your eyes on the floor, and he had to keep himself from scoffing, “Are you serious? There is nothing wrong with how you look.”

“No, just—” You glanced at him and instantly knew you wouldn’t be able to explain it properly. Or, better yet, that he’d never let you have your way. So instead, you huffed and rubbed your face, “Ugh, but… you always see me bare-faced and—”

“Fuck if that matters,” he shook his head, more irritated than you thought he’d be. “You know damn well none of that matters. You look good without makeup, your curves are crazy, and you have other attributes that top it all off.”

You couldn’t help laughing and pulling your legs under you as you got more comfy. The action got you closer to him, but you didn’t mind that. You were pretty convinced he was just messing around. “Like what? My wonderful personality?”

He smiled; he liked seeing you laughing and even more that you were leaning into him, with your arms pressed to each other. “I was going to say a significant chest size, but your personality is wonderful.” You burst out laughing, hiding in his shoulder, and although he liked you being relaxed and touchy with him, he wanted you to truly hear it. “I mean that.”

“Yeah, right!” You managed to say, still laughing. “Did we drink too much?”

You were grinning and shook your nearly empty bottle before putting it on the coffee table. You sat back, still leaning into him, and saw worry on his face for the first time. “Have you? If you have, then this conversation stops here.”

“I only had one bottle…”

“Me too.”

He raised it as if to imply it was that one and took it to his lips to finish it in one go. The gesture gave you a time-off from his gaze and allowed you to try to process what you two were talking about. You knew him well enough to gather he wasn’t pranking you, but you were unsure where that landed the two of you. You couldn’t possibly reevaluate your interactions, talks, and bond over this new light. That wouldn’t be justified, and regardless, you wanted his friendship. You wanted him in your life, by your side, being a part of everything, while you made sure to be a part of his everything.

He leaned to put his empty bottle next to yours before sitting back, “Would you fuck me?”

His tone was neutral, and suddenly your stomach lurched. Fucking wasn’t the word on the top of your head, but that wasn’t what you two were talking about.

You scoffed, “I’m not fucking blind.”

“What does that matter? I’m asking you seriously.”

His gaze had all the certainty someone as handsome and amazing as he could have. Your instinct was to cover your face before your feelings could be easily read and groan, “Ughhh.”

“What?” He sat closer, facing you, though your legs were already touching.

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Ughhhh!”

“Yes or no, come on!”

“Ughhhh!”

You couldn’t see how frustrated he was becoming. Why were you groaning into your palms instead of answering his very important question?

He called your name, you groaned, and he almost tried ripping your hands away. Instead, he brushed your arms, “Words! Come on, use words! Why don’t you just say it? Yes or no? Must be a no if you’re—”

“Shut up!!” You exploded, revealing your wide, glistening eyes and pink cheeks. He was surprised. “Why?? Because it could ruin our friendship!”

“Saying if you’d fuck me or not will not ruin our friendship, even if it’s a no.”

Your face scrunched up in a mix between a plea and worry, but your lips remained sealed. He let his head fall back with a sigh, then faced you again.

“You know what might?” He paused, waiting for you to raise your eyes to him. That was all he needed to spill it out, “Saying that I want to give you the fucking you’re craving.”

You clenched around nothing right as your heart somersaulted, spreading a burn down your chest. You couldn’t even blink away from his stare, locked as you were. Instead, you swallowed, and he continued, as if spurred by your silence.

“Fuck you into a slobbering mess, and right now, I can think of like five different ways of doing it.”

You blinked, and that was the extent of your capabilities. He raked his fingers through his dark hair, and your only thought was how easy that would have been — you, a drooling mess in whatever one of those five ways. You only needed one, and it didn’t even need to be that complicated. He could start with his fingers in your mouth and—

“Starting by taking that stupid bra off and licking your n—”

You squealed and reached to cover his mouth with your hand. Your cheeks burned; thinking it and saying were two very different things!

He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away, uncovering his mouth but choosing silence. And you realized that saying something could only make it worse. You had gotten on your knees and were almost straddling him at this point. He had stayed put and, funnily enough, your deep breaths were raising and lowering your chest closer to him than before. He seemed to notice this too because his eyes roamed over your legs, your shorts, your white top, your chest, your neck, and finally made it to your eyes. You didn’t just watch him attentively observing you, you felt it in the tingles tracing you under his gaze, as though you needed to feel him somehow.

The tension was climbing up your spine, reminding you to move your neck just a little to release it, making your long hair fall over your chest instead. The simple motion was enough to draw his eyes and tighten your nipples, and your underwear clung further to you inadvertently. 

His eyes on yours had you shuddering, and his thumb rubbing your skin only amplified it. “Just say the word. If that’s what you want, just say the word.”

The last drop was his velvety voice. That wonderful trust inducing, hypnotizing, delicious voice that you’d follow to the end of the world.

You were already nodding, and you still managed to hoarsely voice, “Yes.”

His eyes read your lips, but he didn’t move, and you faltered. You were unaware of how you were leaning into him, eyes fixed on his lips, absolutely bewitched. At that moment, all your hesitation melted away as you licked your lips. You were not beyond asking for a taste when he shortened the distance between you in the blink of an eye, making you gasp.

His big, warm hand instantly reached your jaw, supporting your head gently. His lips grazing yours with the utmost softness were what convinced you to close your eyes. Screw the shock trying to freeze you and steal this opportunity from you. You pressed his lips harder, removing any hesitancy from what you were doing — you wanted this.

You wanted to feel Taehyung’s kiss. You wanted to feed your curiosity, give sense to the fantasies sprouting in your head when you were lonely and heated, and learn what that forbidden fruit tasted like. 

Truthfully, you thought your lips were the only way to feel and taste him because at any moment it would all end. But as he kissed you back, matching your eager curiosity, you sighed. You succumbed to grabbing his dark hair in your fists, breathing in shakily when his hands framed your waist without an ounce of reluctance. You kept fearing you were acting crazy, that he would push you back and laugh this off as being drunk. It was why you couldn’t stop pressing him closer, sighing into his mouth every time his hands moved on your curves, licking against his tongue when it dared teasing you, and nibbling his bottom lip whenever he dared to stray.

You hardly noticed when he moved over the couch because his lips never left yours. And whether he’d pull you to his lap or lay you under him, it mattered little as long as he didn’t stop. All he did was kneel on the couch in front of you, kissing you harder. His fingertips touched the skin just beneath the hem of your top, and you jumped, bringing them further up your sides under the fabric. You were breathing heavily just at the feel of his wide hands exploring the expanse of your stomach, but when he reached your bra, your breath hitched. His words were still burning inside you, making you clench at the thought he evoked.

You opened your eyes and found him looking at you, puffy lips bruising yours as he sneaked his fingertips under the bra, digging gently at the supple skin. His tongue peeked, licking your lips slowly in a tease as his thumbs brushed your hard nipples over the fabric, and you groaned.

You didn’t care anymore, you were irrational. Yes, you had covered his mouth out of embarrassment before — the embarrassment of how much you wanted him to do what he was saying, and now he would. You were a train about to derail and nothing could stop you.

His dark eyes were still locked with yours as you squirmed to unclasp your bra at your back, trying to get rid of it. As soon as you did and the fabric no longer protected you, he leaned down and licked through your white top, finding a nipple all too easily. You squirmed but pressed his head to your chest harder, ignoring the bra almost around your neck, looking to feel exactly what he wanted to do to you.

He, on the other hand, found the bra obstructing the view of your face contorting in pleasure annoying, and got rid of it quickly by passing one of the strips down your arm. You were so immersed in gripping his hair and feeling him lick and pinch your nipples that you didn’t even notice. Only when he caught your lips again, grabbing and squeezing both breasts hungrily, did you notice there was no bra anymore, only your moan inside his mouth. He was devouring your whimpers, drinking every sigh as you enjoyed his hands on you, unable to hide it.

His lips trailed down your jaw and neck, and you squirmed, disliking what you thought was growing distance between you two. Instead, it made you realize that he had kneeled on the floor in front of you, and that his hands were squeezing your sides before dragging your top up. His open mouth kisses between your breasts gave you goosebumps, making you eager to roll your hips against him, but it was when his hands cupped your breasts and squeezed them to his face that you moaned, melting between your legs.

“Tae,” you breathed a moan, half in wonder, half in a plea. You wanted him to have you like you never wanted anything else before.

His name on your lips wantonly like that made his dark eyes flick to yours in what you believed was a line being crossed. He pulled the top above your head, parting from your chest only the time needed for this, before finally licking and biting your nipples, squeezing and groping whatever his mouth couldn’t catch. Your moans were shooting pure desire through his veins, especially as you let your head fall back to enjoy. Your nails were holding onto his shirt by his shoulders, not trying to stop him as he traced your hips and played with the hem of your shorts, but quite simply letting his mouth work you up.

You squirmed beneath him to let him drag your clothes off, and barely contained a squeal at his mouth trailing lower. You were feverish, wet, hot, absolutely derailed not just with the view, but with the anticipation. This was why you almost keened when, feeling him kiss your legs down to your knees, you looked down. Your panties were still on, and he was pecking your skin, feeling the smoothness of your legs with his hands before stopping. His eyes fixed on yours, glistening with just as much desire, but then his eyebrows twitched.

You were already exposed, winded, flushed, dazed, and there was only one thing you wanted. “Are you going to eat me?”

“If you let me.”

“Please,” you breathed, raising your knees to your chest in an offering.

The corners of his mouth twitched as though you had promised him candy, and he didn’t hesitate to lean down. His nose rubbed at your clothed center, and just him breathing deeply before nuzzling the skin around your panties made you hold in a shaky sigh. You would fall apart so easily if he kept teasing you like that. Your legs were trembling, you could barely take in enough oxygen, and then he pressed his lips to you. A low groan stayed inside your chest, as though the very sound could distract you from his kiss. It was both breathtaking and short of a tease to feel him pressing, grazing his lips across your covered slit, nuzzling your core to maddening effects. You couldn’t help your squirm or your hand shooting to his head with your request, and he obliged.

As though he was done with waiting, the same as you, he pulled the fabric aside and dove in. His groan was subtle, covering you with goosebumps right before you lost all sense and fell back. You didn’t know if it was the anticipation, the fantasy becoming reality, or the sheer hunger, but it floored you. His hands pressed your legs harder, almost as if he couldn’t let you get away, and he groaned. You felt it deep inside you, right as his tongue collected your slick on his way to your clit. He licked over it, driving you to squeeze your eyes shut, and in waves, barely kept you afloat. You bucked your hips to increase the friction, and he pressed his face harder, letting you feel the tip of his nose, tongue, and lips in open-mouthed kisses, but whenever you thought you would peak, he drew back. You didn’t realize your own push and pull, lulling yourself to his rhythm, until a louder whimper drew him to cup your ass and raise you to his mouth. He latched on, keeping a steel rhythm on your clit that was impossible to deny, regardless of how much you tried to writhe and keen. Your core burned with how tense you were, a sensation so consuming, you stopped breathing. You wanted the moment it sparked and covered you ablaze, and it did.

You melted from that point on, trembling and moaning so hard that you lost touch. Taehyung’s mouth was latched to your core, lavishly mouthing you as you wiggled and squirmed, grabbing onto his hair so crudely, it probably hurt him. Yet he groaned, sucked and breathed you in, and you wanted it even harder. Your peak dissolved despite your wishes, and although you had to pull him away so he wouldn’t hurt you, the vision that met you was shattering.

The sight of him covered in your come was like nothing you had imagined, quite simply because it was real. He was really kneeled between your legs, kissing your inner thighs, with his hair tucked in your grasp. Your legs were still trembling, and you wanted only to relax into the pillows with your much sought release, yet in an instant, you realized that was not what you wanted at all.

You pulled him to you as you lowered your legs to give him space, wrapping them around his waist. He let you, almost caught off balance, but you left no margin for errors. You grabbed onto his shirt for good measure and crashed his mouth to yours, kissing him with as much hunger as you could muster in your dazed, satisfied haze. You didn’t want to leave it there, and if licking your come out of his mouth didn’t convey this, then you didn’t know what did.

Taehyung kissed you back, smiling almost tenderly before scrunching up his nose at your tongue tickling him. Yet, despite your glued cores, he wasn’t trying anything else. He wasn’t pushing, or exploring you anymore, and you would have cowered, if it wasn’t for the bulge pressed to you.

You rolled over him, getting him to sit on the couch before pulling away to kneel between his legs. No way he could eat you like that if he didn’t like it or was turned on, and you weren’t over your curiosity. You wouldn’t stop until you hit all stops.

“I always wondered,” you started, reaching your hands inside his shirt so you could scratch down his chest. “What it would be like for you to touch me,” you licked your lips as he smiled. “To touch you,” you mused, reaching his flat stomach. “For you to want me,” your hands cupped the bulge in his pants, and you shuddered at the harness twitching back. “Like I want you.”

You were brimming with desire, and knew he was too when he reached to grab your hair and crash your mouths together. To your surprise, he didn’t pull or push you in one direction or the other; it was as though he simply wanted to kiss you. If anything, he only hardened under your hand.

You couldn’t think about what that meant, only that you wanted to continue and fulfill all your dreams tonight. You unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, and he helped you get them and boxers off. Your chin almost fell in awe at the cock imposing before you, so hard and stiff it was pointing at you. So close to your face, it could only have been an invitation.

You touched it tentatively, feeling the soft, warm skin covering lengthy veins from base to top. Its puffy pink tip was the perfect size for you to lick, and you did. There was usually an order to these things, but not tonight. He looked pretty and hungry, and you wanted to eat him too.

Your tongue only took a taste before you sank your mouth on him. There was no way you could take him whole, as he was already poking the back of your throat, but it didn’t matter. You were there for the experience, for his taste, for that fucked out look on his face as he closed his eyes and let his jaw slack. Taehyung was fucking gorgeous, like the peak of human perfection, and it turned out it was even better when his cock was stuffing your mouth.

You couldn’t stop yourself. Your plans escaped your mind; all that mattered was bobbing your head, lapping your tongue, sucking him and doing all that with your eyes fixed on his expression. It was the sweetest part of all — he liked it. He was breathing heavily, biting his bottom lip, blushing, and finally fluttering his eyes open. They were like candy; all his strength and power surrendered to your mouth, and you drooled. You finally closed your eyes and let your head fall as deep as you could take him, just to keep him there while you braced yourself for what you wanted.

You pulled away, letting him breathe a groan before facing him, “Said you’d fuck me.”

He blinked, almost stupefied, and you got up from your knees. You moved swiftly to the entryway to search in his jacket for what you were looking for, and when you turned around, you almost stumbled. Physical: 100 was still on the TV with the contestants showing off their physique, and yet they didn’t even come close to that view. Taehyung was tall, towering over your entire living room as he stood there, naked, hard, with dark, glistening eyes set on you. Not even his disheveled hair or the pants at the bottom of his feet made him look any less heavenly. That view was perfect, and you didn’t allow yourself to think too much about it.

Instead, you waved the condom you had just found, and he nodded, getting rid of the clothes by his ankles in the time it took you to reach him. The moment your hands were cupping his cheeks, he was already pulling you by the waist, eager to hold you and kiss you. He didn't hesitate to feel your curves, reaching your ass to pull you to him, and you molded yourself to him, arching your back into him.

You were dizzy with his attention, with his big hand squeezing your ass while the other gripped your hair, but when he meant to sit down, you pulled him to stay put. You grinned, giving him the condom, then got on the couch on all fours.

You didn't see his surprise, only felt a soothing hand on your ass down your leg, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, please,” you sighed.

It wasn't much of a logical thought, but the idea was to have him in as many positions as you had fantasized. You doubted you'd get far — as soon as he was inside you, all ideas would evaporate — but doggy was good to start. You wanted him raw and deep, reaching places inside you no one could. Of course, you couldn’t have him raw, but if he fucked you without holding back, you'd already consider that a win.

Taehyung got on one knee on the couch behind you after covering himself and eyed you. You were vulnerable like that, with your unblemished back arching and long hair falling over your shoulders. He’d like you in any position, but he couldn’t help pursing his lips. He touched your soft skin again, and you wiggled your ass for him, and although he bit it playfully just to make you jump and sigh, he still second-guessed it.

It felt impersonal. In all of his dreams of you, he rarely pictured being with you like this without at least a mirror so he could see you, so you two could communicate. He wanted to be with you, to feel and watch you writhe in pleasure, in the ways he could make you feel; not to turn your face away so he could use you. If anything, your face was what made it special.

You wiggled your ass again with an impatient sigh, and this time you pleaded, “Please, Tae.”

You looked over your shoulder and saw his expression softening before he got behind you. The feel of his cock brushing your folds had you shaking, but it was his nails scratching down your spine that did it. You fell back on him, unwilling to wait for him, and he let you, groaning. He helped your hips as you wiggled and searched to get him deeper, and as you did, you both sighed.

You could feel him stretching you despite your previous orgasm, and you smiled. In another circumstance, you’d just enjoy the show without thinking much of it, but just the fact that it was Taehyung turned you on again. And when he started moving, he delivered.

It wasn’t just his hips smacking yours, the crown of his cock teasing your cervix and making you groan and curl your nails around the couch armrest. It was the way he held your waist, leaned over you to peck over your spine, and responded to every reaction of yours. You mewled and tried fucking into him? He fucked you harder, adjusting the angle so you’d keen mindlessly. You moaned and hid into the pillows, feeling so tense you didn’t know your name? He reeled back, slowing down his thrusts to let you breathe. You whimpered and called his name? He was instantly all over you, kissing your neck near your ear, asking if you were okay without ever stopping giving you what you wanted.

You looked over your shoulder, meeting his eyes as he kissed your skin there, and you thought that was impossible. You knew Taehyung was attentive, but that bordered on perfection, and you didn't know how to deal with that.

“Harder,” you whispered, glistening eyes boring into his.

“Are you sure?”

You grinned, “Said you’d leave me a slobbering mess.”

“You sure look like it,” he teased, and you laughed. You knew you were drooling onto the couch, but you also knew he was holding back.

“Give everything to me,” you sighed, and your lightness earned you a nod.

The second he pulled away, you wondered if you knew what you asked for, and the second he showed you, you knew you did. He grabbed your hair in a fist to keep your back arched, and your mind melted. The way he rutted into you, holding your waist so you’d stay in position to take every thrust, only made you keen and moan louder. He felt so good it was unbearable; how did he reach deeper and harder when you thought you were at your limit? His groans, his scent, his nails piercing your skin to hold you in place; you could barely function in the frenzy.

You knew you were tightening because his focus was faltering, but when he stopped, you were worried. “Tae?” You asked, trying to swallow the dizziness and figure out why that stairway to heaven had suddenly halted.

“I can’t—” His voice was a whisper as he tried regaining his breath. “I’ll come.”

Your eyebrows jumped, and you almost smiled, but you bit your lip to keep it in, “How’s that?”

He was still squishing your flesh in his hands, but he took one hand to brush his sweaty hair out of his eyes, “You’re so tight and warm and—” You clenched involuntarily, and he grabbed your ass again, “You fucking tease.”

You stifled a laugh and could swear he’d spank you, but instead he covered you and bit your shoulder. You finally laughed, “Let me ride you.”

He hummed, and instead of answering, he let you take the brunt of his weight as he held your hips. You groaned with the effort, still shuddering at his lips tracing your cheeks to your neck, but then you moaned lavishly. He was pressing himself slowly to you, reaching inside you and twitching, and you thought you’d be too desensitized, but it was the opposite. Your core hugged him, sucking him in with the subtle rolls of your hips, and he groaned into your ear, making you flutter even harder. It was as though he couldn’t help himself, ensuing that small push and pull enough to get you both crazy.

But you insisted, “Tae.”

And he was off of you in a second. He sat down and helped you turn around and straddle him. You were flushed, covered in sweat, but he didn’t seem to mind. You were so wet you were sliding, but he guided your hips as you grabbed his cock. Just looking at him beneath you, you knew it would feel amazing, but something about staring into his eyes as you sank onto him rewired your priorities. Instead of looking to give a show or tease him, you let your chin drop the same as his and reached to hold his head in place. Your nails grazed his skin as you gripped his hair by the back of the nape and rolled your lips to feel him inside you as deeply as possible. His eyebrows knitted as he looked down, and you burned under his gaze, wanting for nothing more than for him to feel as good as you did. And by the way his fingers were digging into your hips and his droopy eyes came back to yours, you knew he did. You knew that every jerk of your hips stole his breath too, squeezed his tip to your smooth walls, and ground on him in a way that made you hover even though you were sinking.

Your fingers curled around his hair, “I can’t hold— I’ll come—”

If he was surprised at how easily you fell apart, he didn’t let on. You searched for his kiss right before your orgasm swept you away, and he held you, kissing you and receiving your deep moans onto his skin as though it was praise.

You were dizzy when you came down and held onto his shoulders, and it was almost funny when he grabbed you to lay over you on the couch. A euphoric giggle almost burst out as he pecked and nuzzled every inch of your face — you could swear you were with Taehyung, but that wasn’t—

“Can I finish?” He whispered against your mouth and you opened your eyes.

Taehyung was really holding you in his arms, balls deep inside you, smiling with a hint of amusement.

You nodded, and he hummed, “Sure you had your fill?”

You shuddered, aware of the state of things. No.

As it was, you’d never have a proper fill because you didn’t want it to end. But as reality would have it, Taehyung was just fucking you. Just like you asked.

So you nodded and kissed him, refusing to let those feelings surface right now. You started, you’d finish. The final destination was just ahead; you had to know what he felt like when he came.

He kissed you back and restarted the sweet movement of his hips, and you sighed. He held your legs high so you could wrap them around him, and grabbed onto your hair to keep your chin up. You could barely breathe without a moan, and looking into his eyes while he fucked you made it all the harder. His lips were parted for soft sighs, and you squirmed under him, adjusting your hips. It was enough for him to falter and let you hide in his chest. You breathed him in, biting down on the soft flesh out of sheer frustration. He felt so good you could lose yourself again, but that wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t yours.

Still, his love felt like heaven. So when he pulled your head up again to face him, you did. You moaned your pleasure so he’d know how amazing he felt, scratched him closer, and looked into his eyes just like he wanted. In an instant, he groaned, and his hips faltered. He crashed into you, kissing you between stifled moans, before he nuzzled your neck and stilled.

You hugged him to you with your eyes closed, taking deep breaths. He was breathing down your neck, recovering, and you matched him, feeling deeply every time your nose picked up a mix of his cologne with the sex scent still in the air. For as long as that lasted, you were free of thoughts and worries.

But then he got up, pulling out of you to get rid of the condom. And although he laid back down next to you, pulling you into his arms with a sweet smile, the spell had been broken. 

You started trembling and he noticed. He took your fingertips to his lips to kiss them, ready to ask you cheekily if he had given you more than you bargained for when you sniffled.

His heart fell through; he looked at you, and you tried to hide in his chest.

He brushed your hair behind your ear, “Hey.”

You couldn’t face him; your eyes stayed shut so you wouldn’t cry.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was low and laced in worry, and your heart hurt even more. You didn’t want him to worry, he was just doing what he said he would. He just had no idea how you felt.

You shouldn’t have done this. You were terrified to lose him. Nothing was worth that.

“I don’t want this to ruin our friendship,” you managed to say before a sob shook you. “You’re my best friend.”

Taehyung almost smiled; if he had only heard those words, he would have promised you that nothing was lost. That you two together never spelled just friends in his mind, and that he wanted so much more than that. 

But he could feel you, and see you: the lines on your face that spelled the unshed tears, the way you were trembling in his arms, and your refusal to face him.

His heart sank. A storm of questions raged inside his mind — was it him, was it the sex, did he hurt you, was it not what you expected, did you never want this to happen, did you regret it — but he asked none of it. The more you tried to stay put and not cry, the more sad and certain he became that you were distressed. That you wanted him just as a friend, and that nothing he had done had convinced you otherwise.

You opened your tearful eyes, “I don’t want things to change.”

He opened his mouth then closed it, a lopsided smile showing instead. He couldn’t help eying your lips and regret with his whole heart not having stolen one last kiss to remember you by, to settle his heart, but there was nothing to do about it. Instead, he looked up at your teary gaze and brushed your cheek, “Don’t worry about it.”

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems

so...this is super long, the longest fic i've written in a hot minute. like 18.k words long. i wasn't going to post it until part two was underway, but i'm kind of excited to share it. here is the aftermath of champagne problems...

Part Two

*.*

"Don Perignon, you bought it, no crowd of friends applauded, your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems."

Your fingers moved across the keys of the grand piano as you mumbled softly to yourself, only loud enough that the voice recorder on your phone would pick up on it. This wasn't your typical method of songwriting, you weren't even sure there was a song to actually write; but the melody had been haunting you for days, pressing against your mind until you finally sat down and played it.

It wasn't often you thought of the events that occurred a year and a half ago. You usually did everything in your power not to think about that night, knowing that nothing ever good came out of dwelling on that particular wrinkle of your past. You only looked forward, sometimes hoping that if you didn't think about what happened, your memories of the worst night of your life would eventually disappear from your mind altogether.

But there was something about this melody that brought that night to the forefront of your memory. You'd played it over and over on the piano for a few minutes, waiting for the words to come. Your mind kept circling back to the past, and after trying to avoid it, you finally let emotion win out. No one was in the studio with you anyway, it would be safe to unlock that particular box. Just for a few minutes.

"She would've made such a lovely bride, what a shame she's fucked up in the head," you said to yourself, the last part coming out as an afterthought. You laughed a little to yourself, remembering the disapproving stares and the whispers behind your back that people always thought went unnoticed by you. "But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shed."

Despite knowing that leaving your would-be fiance was the right choice for you, breaking up with him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It still hurt to remember that night, to recall the look of absolute devastation on his face when you stopped him from reaching into his pocket for the little velvet box you knew was in there. He didn't deserve to be wrecked so thoroughly, especially by someone like you. He had been sweet and kind and gentlemanly. He treated you like a princess and defended you to his family when they didn't approve. He was everything a man should've been to you and more.

And all you could do in return was prove his family right.

You stopped murmuring lyrics for a moment, letting that last thought float through the empty room on somber notes. You thought about your ex now, wondering where he was now and hoping he was well. You hoped he was in love and happy, that he'd forgotten all about you. He deserved all the best things that love could grant a person. You wanted that for him. You wanted someone who had the capacity for the kind of love he wanted to give.

Repeating the last few lines again, the next few thoughts came pouring out of you, the words carrying a bittersweet taste to them.

"Your mom's ring in your pocket, her picture in your wallet, you won't remember all my Champagne problems."

The song tapered off soon after that, and you realized there was nothing left in you to say. You felt lighter afterwards, as if pushing some of those long-forgotten memories out of you and onto the grand piano eased the weight you'd been carrying around on your shoulders for the last eighteen months. Quickly stopping the recording, you set a reminder on your phone to listen to it tomorrow and write down everything you'd said. The recording itself was lengthy, long pauses stretching between lyrics as you worked through your memories and attempted to vocalize them. Hopefully something was there to actually mold into verses and a chorus, if not, it was a rather odd but surprisingly satisfying therapy session.

Gathering your things into the bag at your feet, you stood up from the piano, stretching your arms above your head. It was easy to get lost in a good melody, but your poor body always paid the price if you spent too much time bent over a guitar or piano.

It was as you stretched that you realized someone was at the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching as you shouldered your bag and slipped your shoes back on your socked feet. He didn't say anything as you walked over to him, just stepped out of the way so you could walk out of the studio. Harry normally wasn't this quiet, in fact, he could be quite the chatterbox if the mood struck him. But his silence told you he'd probably heard more of your session than you would've liked. Because one thing Harry liked to do in all his chattering was pepper you with questions about yourself, which was annoying since you were constantly trying to have him not get to know you.

"Coffee?" was all he said as you walked toward the elevator at the end of the hall. The sleeve of his patterned sweater brushed against your arm, and you resisted the urge to lean into him. He always wore the coziest clothes when in the studio, and it made you want to walk just a little bit closer to his side, for no other reason than the feel of soft material on your arm and not the person wearing them.

Nodding, you said, "Sure."

Harry qucikly pressed the button when you reached the elevator, and you couldn't help but laugh a little. In the time you'd spent not getting to know him, you discovered that he was the kind of person that just had to press the elevator buttons. It didn't matter how many people he was with, it was like he took joy in something as simple as getting to press a button and watch it light up beneath his finger. He'd actually speed-walked to get ahead of you a couple times just so he could press the down button. It was kind of annoying, and perhaps a little childish, but you'd surprisingly grown to find it endearing. A quirk of Harry's that just made him who he was.

The ride down the elevator was quiet, and it wasn't until you were out on the street that he finally spoke. "I'm thinking about getting a pet."

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable questions about the song you'd been recording, and when they didn't come, your shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, though you were sure Harry noticed. "Really?"

"Yeah. All my friends are disgustingly in love," Harry said with a playful shudder. "I'm feeling like a third wheel most days, so I thought I would seek companionship of the furry variety. Wait, that came out wrong. I didn't mean—"

You chuckled at his stuttering, at the flush creeping up his neck and warming his cheeks. "I know what you mean," you said, sparing him any more embarrassment. "So what are you thinking then? Dog? Cat? Hamster?"

"Well, you see, that's the thing," he said, quickly recovering from his chagrin. "I'm not sure I have the time necessary to devote to training a puppy, but I'm also worried about getting a cat and it absolutely hating me, and..."

You listened as Harry explained in great detail the pros and cons of each kind of domestic animal one could have. He spoke animatedly with his hands, looking at you with those big green eyes of his, as if to make sure you were following his train of thought.

You never planned on befriending Harry, and even now you weren't sure that whatever was going on between you was considered a friendship. You'd always been the type to keep to yourself, especially after what happened with your ex. You'd not only lost him after the break up, but friends too, friends who thought that what you did to your ex was despicable and reprehensible and not worth keeping a friendship over, picking sides when you hadn't realized there were any. It hurt to lose so many people in one fell swoop, and you decided soon after that you were better off alone. Except for your brothers of course, but all of you kept so busy that it was hard to keep track of one another on a good day.

Outside of them, you realized it was hard to hurt someone when there was no one around you to hurt.

But Harry was different. You'd seen him around the building where you worked on your songs—in the hallways, waiting for the elevator (after pushing the button, of course), at the vending machine, on your way out of the studio or while he was entering it to start his session. The first thing you noticed was that he was never alone. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The first thing you really noticed was his smile, how it lit up his entire face and showcased the most adorable dimples you'd ever seen. But since you refused to admit that, the first thing you noticed was that he was never alone.

Harry was always coming and going with one or two or sometimes three people around him. He was always engaged in some kind of conversation, his head always turned as he listened aptly to what his friend was saying. It seemed so odd to you that he was hardly ever by himself. It was like a foreign language to you, and you imagined your constant solitude felt the same to him.

"Anytime you want to weigh in here would be great."

"If you want a pet, get one," you said simply.

Harry rolled his eyes as he held open the door to the coffee shop a couple blocks down the street from the building where you both worked, as if he was expecting anything other than your usual direct way of speaking. "If you don't keep this conversation going, then I'm going to have to ask about that incredibly depressing song you were working on, so please, indulge me in the great pet debate of twenty-eighteen."

For the most part, Harry was a pretty easy going guy. He had no problem carrying a conversation, and knew when not to pry. As the months went by, though, he knew how to get you to talk, how to find trap doors in the fortified walls you kept around yourself before you even knew they were there. It would be frustrating if his questions didn't always come with an endearing smile.

So you shrugged, eager to steer clear of any topics regarding your past. "I don't know, I'm a little biased. I've always been a dog person. Buddy's my best friend."

"First of all, I'm offended by the fact that I am not your best friend, and second, since when do you have a dog?"

The conversation paused while you and Harry went up to the counter to order you coffees. Both of you went there enough that the staff knew what you liked—dirty chai for you and an americano for him. It also meant you didn't have to deal with the barista having a mini-freak out at the realization that Harry Styles was in their coffee house. People tended to interrupt your conversations with Harry regularly—on the street, in line for coffee, at the table—but he never seemed bothered by it. He always smiled and indulged in a couple minutes of conversation and the occasional picture before waving goodbye. He always apologized to you afterward, but after the first couple times it happened, you waved him off. None of it was actually his fault, and seeing him interact with his fans became something you actually enjoyed watching. And it was perhaps a very small reminder as to why you preferred to just write songs for other artists, not perform them. You didn't need that kind of attention. For Harry, he seemed to come alive like a flower in bloom.

You? You would probably just wilt.

When you and Harry sat down with your drinks, he raised his brows for you to continue. Wrapping your hands around your cup, you shrugged again. "I've had Buddy for about a year now."

"What kind of dog?"

"Mostly pitbull, I think. I found him in an alley behind a restaurant once, and I know what shelters do to pitbulls, so I adopted him."

You'd come to think of the whole thing as Buddy finding you.

"And you named him Buddy?"

"Yeah, I don't know, after Buddy Holly I guess." You'd grown up listening to classic rock because your brothers did, and the name just kind of made sense to you. And he was just so cute, he was your little buddy. Big buddy now, you supposed. You thought he deserved the cutest name for the cutest boy in your life.

The rest of your time in the coffee house was filled with chatter, mostly from Harry. He talked a little more about the Great Pet Debate, then about the project he and his team was working on. An album, though they were only just getting started seeing as Harry just came back from tour. He tried peppering you with the occasional question, knowing if he asked too many you'd clam up and shut down. It was almost like Harry knew that you were fighting getting to know him, but that it wasn't just him, it was everyone. He was patient with you for some reason, though, seemingly content to chip away at the brick walls around you. Even if all he had was a spoon.

"So...What were you working on at the studio?" Harry finally asked.

You knew it was coming, so answering didn't seem so daunting. "I'm not really sure. The melody had been in my head for days, and I finally decided to play around with it."

"A perfect non-answer from Y/n L/n, everyone," Harry said, though you knew he was joking. His eyes were crinkled with mirth as he hid behind his cup, his brows raising to give you a knowing look.

Nothing about your past was easy to talk about, so you just didn't. After your breakup, you didn't even tell your brothers the finer details, not wanting to relive it or face all their questions. It all brought you an overwhelming sense of shame and despair. But maybe there had been something cathartic about your session today and it left you feeling lighter and open because you found yourself sharing more with Harry.

"It...reminded of me and my ex, so I kind of just let it all out. I'm not even sure what I was doing constituted as songwriting, but," you looked down at your mug. "The melody dredged up some old memories, I guess."

"It sounded painful," Harry said, his voice taking on a soft, sincere tone.

You knew he meant well, but the sympathy made you skittish. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

"Right, of course," Harry said, catching on to your mood change. "Well, um, my friends and I are having a little get-together of sorts this Saturday. You should come."

"A party?"

"No. A get-together. Very different," Harry corrected.

It made sense, the last time Harry tried to invite you to a party his friend was throwing, you politely declined, claiming they weren't really your thing. They weren't, but it was more that having friends wasn't really your thing.

You wanted to say no again, but when you met Harry's eyes, something in you hesitated. His expression was open, earnest, like he would genuinely be upset if you said you wouldn't come. You didn't quite understand why he wanted to spend time with you so much. Maybe you felt a little bad for always pushing him away, or maybe you were actually warming up to him.

"I, um...that might be fun," you said, not sure if it was nerves or excitement swimming in your belly.

The way Harry's face lit up made saying you would come worth it.

After a few more minutes at the coffee house, you and Harry went your separate ways, but not before he made you promise to join you on one of your morning walks with Buddy Holly. Something must've been in the air today, because you found yourself nodding before heading down the street away from him.

On your way home, you got a phone call from your oldest brother Evan. "Hey, Evan. How's life treating you in the Big Apple?"

"Just fine. It'd be a lot better if I got to see my kid sister more often. Are you still coming for Thanksgiving?"

Of your three brothers, Evan was the one who checked up on you the most. Perhaps that was the nature of being the oldest of four, but he had always been the most responsible, the one to keep you and your other brothers in line. Well, mostly your other brothers. But Evan had always looked out for you. He was the only one you told at length about your breakup. You'd confided in him all your life, and he was coincidentally the only one of your brothers you could count on not to go and beat up on your ex or his family.

"Flight's booked and everything," you told him. "Not sure if I can swing a trip to the lake house, though."

Despite your less than ideal upbringing, you and your brothers had all done pretty well for yourselves. No thanks to your parents, seeing as you all shared a dad who never liked to be with the same woman twice. But you and your brothers all stuck together through thick and thin, supporting and celebrating and sticking together despite the differing parentage between the four of you. And now you were all scattered, your brothers Andrew and Hayden were professional athletes and Evan was a bigshot lawyer. Once you moved out of your hometown, you really only saw your brothers for holidays. And the occasional surprise visit from Andrew, though that hadn't happened in a while.

"That's okay," Evan said. "Next time."

"Next time," you agreed. Then, "How's the family?"

"Good. Sammy's gotten so big. And Laura's already showing."

You grinned as you imagined Evan's family. He deserved a happy ending with a loving family after raising you and the idiots you called brothers. "Another team member for the family football game."

"Speaking of the family football game," Evan said, and you mentally cursed yourself. "Laura's been dying to know if she should set an extra spot at the table."

Immediately, your mind went to Harry, but you quickly whisked that thought away. "Nope. Unless Hayden's got a new girlfriend."

"Really? No one?"

You narrowed your eyes even though Evan couldn't see your expression. "Why are you fishing? Gossip is Andy's thing."

"What? I'm not fishing!" Evan spluttered, but you just scoffed and waited. Evan might've been a shark in the courtroom, but he'd always been terrible at lying to you. "Fine. Laura was reading one of her gossip magazines, and you know I don't pay attention to those, but you know, I might have seen someone who looks an awful lot like you pictured alongside a former boy band member."

Well, shit. You knew that was a reality of being Harry's acquaintance, but you'd always done your best to not pay any attention to it. So far it had done a good job, but now it was coming to bite you in the ass.

"It's nothing, Evan. He's an artist. I'm a songwriter. We work in the same building," you said.

"Fine! Fine," Evan said, and you could just picture him holding his hands up in surrender the way he'd done since you were a teenager. "I just thought I'd ask now and try to soften the blow. I'll just leave you to the wolves."

"Damn you, Evan," you muttered. Evan was the easy brother. It was Andrew and Hayden you had to look out for. They would interrogate you relentlessly, or worse, squeeze the life out of you until you caved. Sighing deeply through your nose, you said, "I will ask if Harry has plans for that weekend. And that is it."

"See? That wasn't so hard!"

You rolled your eyes. "I'll talk to you later."

"You love me!" Evan called just before hanging up.

The call ended just as you pulled up to your apartment. You sat back with a huff, marveling at the strings your brother managed to pull from thousands of miles away. But deep down, you knew Evan was just looking out for you. After everything that happened eighteen months ago, he'd been keeping a close eye. As close an eye as he could all the way from New York. But that was how things worked between you and your brothers. You all looked out for each other, and your older brothers acted as personal security guards to any and everyone who so much as looked at you the wrong way. It was both endearing and very annoying.

Very annoying. Now you had to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. Evan was so going to get it.

*.*

On Saturday, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror longer than you normally would've. Harry had used the term "get-together" as a means to ease your nerves, but now that the dreaded day had come, you realized you weren't sure what that meant in terms of dress code. Was this thing laid-back? What if casual still meant dressy to Harry and his friends? Harry usually walked around the studio in jeans and faded t-shirts, but he was still a celebrity. He could see this as an opportunity to dress up.

You looked at all the clothes spread out in your room. You'd changed an embarrassing amount of times now, but nothing seemed fitting for the occasion. I could always text him, you thought, biting your nail as you surveyed the tornado of clothes around you. Harry had given you your number earlier this week so he could text you his address. You hadn't wanted to, as it would open the flood gates for conversation outside the studio, but you eventually gave it up when he stared blankly at you after offering your email as an alternative.

Before you could think too long about it, you picked up your phone and sent a quick text. Before you even had a chance to set it down, Harry sent a reply.

Harry S: We're just chilling at my house. Dress as comfortably as you'd like :))

Well, that wasn't helpful at all, you thought, but didn't say to Harry. You went back to rummaging through your pile of clothes, creating a spot for Buddy when he ambled into your bedroom from the kitchen. In the end, you settled on something simple: jeans, platform shoes, and a colorful fleece jacket over a plain shirt. It felt silly to have wasted so much time on your wardrobe when all you were doing was going to see Harry. And his friends. And that was...intimidating.

The anxiety of meeting Harry's friends, of meeting anyone new, crept through you. You didn't want to go and face the inevitability of disappointing them. Your track record with friends was pretty abysmal. But you found yourself kissing Buddy's head and promising you wouldn't be gone long, and then you were getting in your car and plugging in the address Harry had given you.

The music playing in your car calmed you some. Etta James' voice was both familiar and comfortable, welcome feelings as you pulled up to Harry's house. House was a bit of an understatement, though. Maybe a villa, or an estate. The LA version of those sprawling castles that were all over Europe. Your shoulders were tense as you cruised up the long driveway, though your anxiety eased a bit when you saw that had seen about as much life and mileage parked up front as yours did.

Music was playing inside the house, you could hear the trill of soft guitar and the low hum of a male voice from outside, and you worried if anyone would be able to hear you as you knocked on the door. Thankfully, you only stood on Harry's doorstep for a minute or two, then Harry's familiar grin greeted you.

"You made it!" Harry said, pulling you over the threshold and in for a quick side hug. He looked down at you for a moment, his cheeks flushed and green eyes bright, perhaps from drinking. He shook his head a little before pulling you further into the house. "Come in, come in, everyone is just through here."

Harry led you further into his home, giving you a chance to look around. Despite the grandeur of the outside, Harry's house was actually quite cozy and inviting. Everything was in warm tones, and potted plants and bookshelves piled high with a mix of books and records with titles you couldn't read from this distance. His house looked actually lived in, which couldn't be said for some of the other celebrity homes you'd been in. It didn't happen often as you preferred to work alone, but you occasionally dabbled in writing sessions with other artists. Their homes looked much more modern, and much more cold, than Harry's did.

"My home in London is much smaller," Harry said, noticing your craned neck. Then he shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "But I liked the look of this place. It reminded me of a house I go to in Italy most summers."

"It's beautiful," you said. "I've always wanted to go to Italy."

"You've never been?"

You shook your head, admiring the arch leading into an open kitchen. "I was supposed to go for—"

For my birthday, you couldn't bring yourself to say. Gavin had planned a summer trip to Italy for your birthday, but that never happened. You surprised yourself by revealing that much, and by the way Harry's eyes lit up, you'd taken him by surprise too.

But he didn't press you to finish your thought. He just smiled and led you further into the kitchen. "Come on. You need a drink."

Harry talked while he fixed up your drink. He'd tried to persuade you to take a shot of tequila with him, his eyebrows wiggling up and down, a look on his face that you'd seen one too many times on your brothers when they were trying to stir up trouble. You declined with a laugh, opting for a glass of wine instead. Maybe a boring choice, Harry definitely thought so as he teased by saying, "Booooring!" but you needed to be sharp, and tequila tended to have the opposite effect, so red wine it was.

"Everyone's through here. I hope you like games because Kid brought a new one over and everyone has become quite invested."

Games? Is that what Harry Styles did on his evenings off? Play board games with his friends? Before you could ask, Harry led you into his living room, where everyone was in fact sitting around a rather spacious coffee table, a board game and playing cards spread out around it. It was a small group of about five or six. For some reason you expected more people, even though Harry said otherwise. They were all talking amongst themselves, talking strategy, you presumed, as you recognized the game as one of those territory-winning ones.

All the talking stopped, however, when Harry introduced you to the group.

You felt their eyes on you, judging, picking you apart where you stood. You began to curl in on yourself, wilting at the attention. Involuntarily, you took a step back, but Harry's hand was on your lower back, warm and comforting against you. You should've pulled away, but you didn't, thankful for at least some kind of familiarity among all the new.

It had been so long since you'd had to meet new people in a non-professional setting. You'd met with producers and artists and other industry people all the time, but there was always a wall of professionalism between you and them. You knew how to navigate that space with ease, but here, where people were sitting on pillows and holding playing cards, where you stood as the outlier among what was clearly a tight-knit group, you felt very much like a fish out of water. A fish in space.

"H—Hello," you managed to say, giving everyone a small wave.

One person got up. A young woman with short brown hair, winged eyeliner marking the corners of her eyes. Her smile was surprisingly warm, but what had your eyes widening even more was when she pulled you in for a hug, squeezing tight.

"I'm Sylvia," she said. "It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Finally?"

You probably shouldn't have said that, but you weren't expecting such a warm welcome.

"Harry talks about you constantly. I swear sometimes he purposely keeps you from us."

"That is not—That is not true," Harry said, speaking to you for a moment. He sounded serious, but his eyes were filled with amusement as if he was used to Sylvia's teasing.

Everyone else introduced themselves, and you tried to keep a smile on your face as you committed their names to memory. They were all part of Harry's "team" except for Sylvia—writers, producers, musicians. "And you?" you asked her as she pulled you down to sit next to her. Sylvia had insisted you be on her team while you learned how to play. She seemed nice, eager to get to know you, but you didn't trust it. Not yet.

"I'm a full-time mom most days, and a part-time life coach to this one," Sylvia joked. She seemed too young to be a mother, but you supposed they came in all shapes and sizes. "But I'm Harry's nutritionist. And friend when he's not being a pain in the ass."

There was a wry grin on the young woman's face that told you she was fond of Harry, and fond of teasing him, if said grin grew when Harry said, "Hey," was anything to go by. It eased your mind a bit, her kindness and obvious fondness for Harry. She spoke animatedly as she caught you up on the rules of the game and gossip from her yoga class. "They're all in love with that one, of course. Can't take him anywhere," she said with a nod in Harry's direction.

When you agreed to join Harry tonight, you figured you would spend your time with him. But Sylvia kept you occupied most of the evening, and he and his friends were rather invested in the game. You were content to watch, enjoying the playful bickering and shouts of surprise and celebration. It was interesting to see how they all interacted with each other. Harry and his friends sat and drank around his coffee table while you nursed your drink, observing with the sweet feeling of nostalgia swimming through your veins.

"Y/n?"

You jumped in your spot on the floor, your wine sloshing around in your glass a little. Thankfully, nothing poured out. You would've been mortified if you'd spilled red wine all over Harry's most likely exorbitantly expensive carpet.

Eyes flicking to a man with short blond hair, you said, "Sorry?"

Kid, you were pretty sure his name was, asked his question again. "Did you first start writing here in LA?"

"Uh...no. Nashville, actually," you said. "I lived in Nashville for a while before moving out here. But I...grew up in a small town just outside."

"You never told me that," Harry said, sounding both intrigued and a little hurt that you'd never shared that with him before.

Emboldened by your near-empty glass, you said, "You never asked."

That earned a few chuckles and a raised brow from Harry as if he'd just accepted a challenge you hadn't meant to create. But you read that look in his eyes with ease. Any look was quite easy to read from Harry. He was expressive, an open book. He was going to take this as an opportunity to ask you all the questions he'd been witholding.

Throwing back the rest of your wine, you avoided his eye and ignored the excited flip in your belly.

*.*

If it wasn't for your dog, you were pretty sure you wouldn't be able to keep up with Harry Styles and his impossibly long gait.

He'd kept to his word, insisting that he join you on one of your walks with Buddy Holly. It wasn't until a few days after you went to his house for the first time, but one morning before you usually headed into the studio, he texted and asked if he could join you for your morning walk with your dog. It took some convincing, which really only meant a series of uninterrupted texts until you finally relented.

Buddy took to Harry immediately, of course, though that wasn't a surprise, seeing as your dog was friendly with everyone. But it meant a lot to you that he seemed to like Harry so much. Buddy was a rescue, and you couldn't imagine the awful things he'd been through before you'd given him a proper home.

Now he walked on the sidewalk excitedly, pulling you on his leash as his stubby tail waved around wildly. Harry walked beside you, his curly hair pulled back with a little black claw clip, some of it sticking up in a cute tuft. As he walked beside you, you took the opportunity to study him. There was a little scruff on his cheeks and jaw, creeping down the nape of his neck. His jaw was strong and angular, his cheekbones sharp. Harry really was beautiful. You understood why so many people went so crazy for him.

"See anything you like?"

Warmth flushed your cheeks as you quickly looked ahead, even if the damage was already done. Harry rarely, if ever, caught you staring at him, mostly because it didn't happen often. But in the last few weeks, you'd found yourself admiring him more and more. The movements he made with his hand as he told a story, the mischievous glint in his eye when he made you laugh, the way his arms moved beneath his shirt, how his lips curled around a smile. You cataloged each mannerism, each vocal inflection, and after just a few weeks following that night at his house with his friends, you felt like you knew him quite well.

Shrugging, you feigned nonchalance as your eyes darted back to Buddy, who had stopped to sniff a tree.

You could feel Harry's gaze on you, but you tried not to squirm. His gaze pricked your skin, making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't have been feeling. It was uncomfortable and exhilarating, and you didn't like how much you were warming up to him.

Used to your wordless answers, Harry moved on. "You're making me rethink my decision to get a cat."

"You decided, then?"

"I think I'm more of cat person," Harry said. "Well that, and I think I've found the one, but I'm worried about all the traveling."

"It can stay with me," you said, eyes widening when you did. But it was true, you realized. You were close enough to Harry to promise that kind of thing.

"Well, in that case," Harry said, and you finally looked over to him.

His grin was wide as he looked down at you, and though you couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, you knew they were more than likely squinted with mirth. You liked that smile, you realized. It was uninhibited, full of warmth and good intentions. You wanted to trust it, to give in to the friendship Harry was offering.

But you couldn't. Harry didn't deserve the abysmal companionship you offered in return, and you felt bad for leading him along when you knew you'd eventually fuck things up. You always did.

Your phone buzzing thankfully pulled you away from your thoughts. Looking at it, you saw a text from your brother, Hayden. You think Laura will be cool with a few football players in her house for Thanksgiving? it said, and you shook your head as you typed a quick reply, a small grin spreading across your face.

Hayden was only going to be in town the day of Thanksgiving, as he had a game the day after. You didn't think he would make it at all, seeing how full his schedule usually was, but he managed to squeeze it in. Apparently his game wasn't too far from Evan's house. As long as he, and his teammates now, didn't drink too much, they would be just fine.

You: I don't think so. Laura might put y'all to work around the house though.

Hayden: Seems fair.

Hayden: Are YOU bringing anyone home?

Hayden: Because I can sit you next to one of my teammates.

Hayden: I take that back. Forget I said that. No teammate of mine is going near my sister.

Rolling your eyes, you stuffed your phone in your back pocket. Harry was looking at you with a curious gaze, and you scrambled to explain yourself. "My brother," you said. "Apparently he's inviting some of his football buddies to Thanksgiving this year."

"Does he play at university?" Harry asked. You could almost hear the eagerness in his voice at the opportunity to learn more about you, and while sharing in general made you squirm, your brothers were fairly easy to talk about.

"He did. He's in the NFL now."

"Oh nice You must be—Wait what's his name?"

"Hayden?"

Harry stopped walking for a moment. When you tried to stop too, Buddy protested, tugging the leash, and the wrist you had wrapped around it pulled uncomfortably. Murmuring a quick apology, Harry kept walking, keeping pace with your energetic puppy.

"Your brother is Hayden L/n?"

You nodded. "I'm guessing you've heard of him then?"

A bark of laughter slipped from Harry's lips. You'd never seen him so caught off guard before. It was strange, but also a relief to know that someone as steady as Harry wasn't so unflappable all the time.

Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he said, "I think everyone has heard of him. Any other famous brothers I should know about?"

"I don't know how you quantify fame, but my other brother is in the NHL. He plays for a team on the east coast."

Andrew was the youngest of your family. Despite that, he still considered himself your older brother, which had always been annoying growing up, especially when you were taller than him for a few years. He was rather sweet for someone so aggressive on the ice. He spent a lot of time with his mom, but was still close to you, Evan, and Hayden. It was hard not to be when you all shared the same deadbeat dad.

Outside of Evan, you probably talked to Andrew the most. You were the closest in age and grew up going to school together, and while his main focus was hockey, whenever he was in town, he'd go with you to concerts to see whatever indie band you were into or treat you to tickets to a show at the arena he played for.

"You have a third, right?" Harry asked, and you weren't even surprised that he remembered even though you were sure you'd only mentioned it once or twice.

"Evan. He's a lawyer in New York, but he lives in Connecticut with his wife and daughter," you said.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to invite Harry to Thanksgiving. You were looping back around on the trail, heading back to the park entrance where you'd met Harry this morning. Evan would pester you about it until you did, or worse, get Hayden and Andrew involved. You just had to throw it out there, be as casual as possible. Easy. You were all about being casual.

"So, um, he—Evan—he, um, said if I wanted I could invite a friend to Thanksgiving. If I wanted to."

"Oh yeah?" You weren't looking at him, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

Swallowing thickly as you willed your cheeks not to flush, you continued to look at Buddy as you spoke. "You probably already have plans, but I just thought I would ask if you wanted to come. Laura, Evan's wife, is a great cook, and it's usually pretty low-key until football gets turned on. But no offensive aunts or uncles or anything like that. Just us."

That was definitely too many words, but the amused look in Harry's eyes didn't feel antagonizing. "I would love to, but um, I already promised my mum I would go home that week."

"Oh." You didn't mean to sound disappointed. It was a good thing that Harry was going home to see his mother. And him meeting your brothers for the first time all at once probably would've scared him out of talking to you in the studio, so really it was for the best. It was for the best. "That's okay. You must be excited to go home. How long has it been?"

"London? Not too long, but I'm headed back to Manchester, and my mum has not been shy in letting me know that it's been too long since..."

You listened to Harry the rest of the walk back, trying to fight off the disappointment gnawing inside you that he'd said no. You didn't want that feeling in you. You wanted to be indifferent. It's for the best. You repeated it over and over until you convinced yourself it was true.

*.*

"You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches. And I couldn't give a reason, Champagne problems."

You scribbled in your notebook, crossing out words from the original recording and replacing them with better ones. You hadn't planned to go back to this song. After recording it on your phone, you figured it wouldn't see the light of day again. But something kept bringing you back to it. So you worked on it between other projects, playing around with the lyrics and melody in small doses so that the past wouldn't overwhelm you.

Guilt seeped into your bones as you recalled what happened eighteen, almost nineteen, months ago. Sometimes you wished you could forget everything you'd done, but other times you decided being forced to remember was part of your penance for causing so much pain. Gavin was a good man. He was so kind and so smart, he didn't have a cruel bone in his body. And you'd taken his goodness, you'd welcomed all his kindness, and crushed it in your hands.

Wiping away a tear, you shut your notebook definitively. Your session in the studio was far from over, but you were done for the day.

On your way out, you kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your watery eyes. You could feel the tears building, and you hoped you could at least make it to your car before you turned into a mess. It was so hard sometimes. Some days you felt great. You would write good songs, take Buddy for a walk and teach him a new trick, you would get coffee with Harry and laugh, and everything would be fine. But then there were days where the mere thought of the past sent you careening off course, leaving you with nothing but the intrusive thoughts you thought you'd learned how to keep at bay.

Today happened to be one of those days, and you hoped you could escape and wallow in self-pity unnoticed. But before you could even make it to the elevator, you bumped into something solid and warm. Arms wrapped around you to hold you steady before you could spring back, and against your better judgment, you looked up, an apology poised on your lips.

"Y/n, are you okay? What's wrong?"

You should've known that you would be unlucky enough to run into Harry on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head and stepped out of his grasp, though that didn't make you feel any better. "I'm fine."

"You can talk to me," Harry insisted. His brows furrowed with concern, but he didn't come any closer. There was a bag slung over his shoulder and a hat covering up his hair, with only a few stray curls sticking out beneath it. He looked like he was just going into the studio for a session.

"I'm fine, I promise," you lied, not wanting to be the reason he was late for studio time. "I'm just leaving for the day."

You tried to step around Harry, but his hands fell down on your shoulders. His gaze burned, but you couldn't make yourself look him in the eye. You knew the moment you saw the sympathy swimming in them you'd burst into tears.

"Please let me go," you said, but it came out as more of a squeak, your voice breaking on the last word.

To your surprise, Harry did, and even though that was what you'd asked for, what you wanted, you somehow felt worse. Shuffling around him, you mumbled a quick goodbye and bypassed the elevator, not wanting to wait awkwardly for it to come up while he was still in the hall. It wasn't until you finally got in your car that you let everything out, all the guilt and loneliness and self-loathing that you kept bottled up regularly.

So often you were able to pretend the past didn't exist. But then there were days where you were almost slapped in the face by the consequences of your actions. Negative thoughts followed you all the way home and into your bed. Not even hiding under the covers kept you from feeling everything all at once. Your mind spun as you thought of Gavin, of his elated grin crumpling into a look of betrayal as you told him you were ending it.

You remembered every detail from that night. The brand of Champagne Gavin bought for the would-be occasion, the woodsy cologne he wore, the looks on his friends' and family's faces as you hurried down the stairs to leave the party, unable to bear their shame and disapproval, or the heart you'd broken on the landing in his family's mansion.

You didn't know he was going to propose until mere moments before it happened. You had only been seeing Gavin for a few months, and things were good. He made you happy, and you liked having someone to go through life with. He liked to shower you with expensive gifts, for no other reason than to show you he cared and because he could. You didn't have the same kind of wealth he or his family did, not even with the substantial amount of money you made as a successful songwriter. But you'd write him poems and leave them places you knew he'd find them and looped your arm through his at company parties. Things were good.

Every year, Gavin's family hosted a Christmas party, and last year was the first time you'd been invited. You hadn't wanted to go, mostly because in the two weeks leading up to the party, you realized you weren't in the same place Gavin was emotionally, and you weren't sure you ever would be. But Gavin insisted, promising it would be fun and he wouldn't abandon you to his family, who had been nothing but cold since the moment he'd introduced them to you. So you went, sipping on Champagne in a glass made of crystal and wondering if the guilty pit at the bottom of your stomach would ever stop growing.

It was a couple hours into the party when you'd stumbled on a conversation between Gavin's mother and sister, one that made your blood run cold with dread.

"Did Gav really ask you for your ring?" his sister asked.

His mother nodded gravely. "He wants to do it tonight."

"What? That's ridiculous! They've barely been together a year!"

"I'm sure she would make a lovely bride, she's beautiful, I'll give her that," his mother conceded, but you could hear the disdain in her voice loud and clear. "It's just a shame that she's—"

"Fucked in the head?"

"Larissa! Language!"

"What? She is! She's a total basket case, and everyone can see it but him. She'll never make him happy. How could she? Putting a ring on it doesn't change a thing. Gavin would have a psych patient, not a wife. He deserves better."

The rest of the night was a blur, but you knew you couldn't wait. You didn't want to break up with Gavin on the night of his family's Christmas party, but if he was going to propose, you couldn't let him. The hurt would be so much worse if you had to slide the ring off your finger a week or two after the proposal.

Gavin called you for weeks afterward, begging you to help him understand. His family did too, and his friends, people you considered friends as well, but it was clear once there was a line drawn in the sand where everyone stood, and they didn't have any trouble letting you know how horrible you were for doing what you did. Sometimes when you let yourself get angry, you wondered why Gavin's mother and sister, or any of them really, were so aggressive about your break up. They'd never wanted you to be with him in the first place, and even though they'd gotten their wish, they still called you a heartless monster.

But above all that, Gavin's messages made the deepest cut. He sounded so devastated in each voicemail. And at first, all he wanted was to talk, to somehow work it all out as if it was one big misunderstanding. I know my family can be a lot, but I love you so much, he'd said in a text. We can go to Italy like we'd planned. Elope. Buy a little cottage and just start a new life somewhere else. Please, Y/n. Talk to me. I love you.

Messages like those were the toughest pills to swallow. You knew Gavin loved you, you never doubted that for a moment. The problem was you didn't feel the same. You didn't know why. You cared for Gavin a lot, and in the beginning, you had all those giddy, initial relationship feelings, but they never developed beyond that. And when you noticed Gavin's feelings growing more and more each day while yours didn't, you started to panic.

But it was when those messages turned angry, hateful even, that hurt the most. It was what you deserved after what you'd done, but to know that you'd turned one of the gentlest souls you knew into a spiteful one killed you almost as much as stopping him from getting down on one knee had.

In the midst of all your crying and hyperventilating, your phone buzzed. Wiping your eyes and nose, you lifted your phone to your face, squinting at the bright light.

Harry S: I know you probably want space, but I'm here for you xx

You shouldn't be, was your first thought, but all you texted back was, Just a bad day that's all.

Harry's response was almost immediate, as if he was waiting around for your reply.

Harry S: Well, if you ever need a friend, you know where to find me :))

You sighed, feeling another wave of tears overwhelm you. The pressure of friendship weighed heavily on your chest. All you could offer was disappointment, and you couldn't stomach the thought of letting someone like Harry down. He was too good a person to be your friend. All you could offer him was disappointment and pain. You were toxic, and better off left alone.

You: We're not friends. I don't want to be your friend so just leave me alone.

*.*

Weeks went by and you were positively miserable. Thanksgiving came and went, and even your brothers could sense not to pry about your sour mood. Evan tried to get you alone, but you didn't want to talk. You didn't want to explain how you'd fucked things up so royally. Again. You didn't want his sympathy, or Hayden's promise to fight anyone who hurt you, or Andrew's cheesy jokes to lift your spirits. What you wanted had been all the way in England and had been giving you the cold shoulder. Just like you'd asked.

Harry stopped saying hi to you at the studio, which hurt more than you thought it would. In the grand scheme of things, you hadn't known him very long, but seeing him in the hallway and watching him purposely avoid you felt awful. You only had yourself to blame, but you thought it was better to let him down early on than further down the line. You couldn't have another Gavin situation on your hands.

But this felt entirely different. Even though you'd only spoken to Harry for a month, his absence from your life was more poignant than you expected it to be. When you ended things with Gavin, you felt guilty for hurting him, but ultimately, there was a sense of relief that you weren't leading him on, that crushing weight of his family's disapproval on your chest lifted. Breaking up with Gavin was hard, but it was the right thing to do for you, there was no doubt in your mind about that.

But this thing with Harry...you'd pushed him away when you were feeling vulnerable. A preemptive measure for the both of you, but there was no relief, no justifiable sense of rightness in your gut in the days following.

Part of you wanted to reach out to him and apologize, but you worried he hated you now and didn't know how to bridge the gap you created between the two of you.

Opportunity struck when you overheard a conversation between Harry and...Mitch. you were pretty sure that was Mitch from that night at Harry's house. It was about a week after you came back from your brother's house, and all three of them were constantly calling or texting despite their busy schedules. You wouldn't have put it past any of them to have set up times to routinely check in on you. It warmed your heart some, but nothing would feel right until you fixed things with Harry. Pushing him away had been a mistake, you saw that now. You'd done it in a moment when you were at your lowest, and that wasn't fair to either of you.

"I'm sorry, mate," Harry said to Mitch. "I didn't even think to ask if you were allergic before adopting a cat. I feel like an idiot now."

So he went ahead with his plan to get a pet, then. The thought made you smile, but you held it in. You were pressed into the corner of the elevator up to the studio. Harry was definitely aware of your presence, but he hadn't acknowledged you. Mitch gave you an awkward wave, but that was somehow worse.

"No worries, man," Mitch said now, stepping out of the elevator with Harry. He was in a white t-shirt and a light brown cardigan today, his curly brown hair looking beautifully windswept. You refused to think about the current state of your hair, which was hiding beneath a blue baseball cap. "I'll just have to—"

You never found out what Mitch would have to do because they rounded a corner of the hallway, leaving you alone outside the elevator. Quickly scurrying into your usual studio, you sat down at the grand piano, letting the smooth keys cool your sweaty palms. You felt breathless, but it wasn't the usual anxiety-ridden breathlessness you were used to. This felt different, your heart speeding up at the thought of Harry's broad shoulders beneath his sweater.

"Pull yourself together, Y/n," you told yourself.

The damage was done—once again, at your hands, but you couldn't help that right this second. Right now you had work to do.

The next day, you did something you didn't normally do—venture outside of your studio. Since working in the building, you'd never thought to explore the other rooms, to introduce yourself or make friends the way Harry had with you. As you walked down the long hallway of closed and half-open doors, you wondered who was behind them, what kind of projects were being worked on right now.

Most importantly, you wanted to know which door Harry sat behind.

After a day of writing, of trying to lean into more positive feelings, the small hope you had for a brighter future. You left the studio feeling lighter after another introspective session. There'll be happiness after you, but there was happiness because of you, both of these things can be true, you'd written, forming your thoughts around a melody that was both somber and hopeful. That moment when you'd pushed Harry away was the lowest you'd felt in a while, but you didn't want to feel that way anymore. All Harry had been asking for was friendship. You could do friendship, in fact, you craved it.

So now you were trying to make things right with Harry, or at least apologize for your rude text. He'd only ever been incredibly kind to you, and you'd treated him like garbage.

You came across a door that was partially open, laughter filtering out and reaching you in the hallway. Harry's voice was mixed among them, and hearing him laugh filled you with butterflies. Going to his studio suddenly felt like a mistake. You didn't want to bring down his mood, especially if it would affect his writing for the day.

But you finally worked up the courage to knock on the open door. You'd already made it this far. The knock immediately sobered up everyone inside the studio, and you waited outside with your gift bag clutched in your hands. One of Harry's friends appeared, eyes widening when he saw you there.

"Y/n," he said. "It's good to see you."

You couldn't tell if he was pleased to see you or not, and nerves slowly began to creep in.

"I—I won't take up too much of your time, I know y'all are probably busy," you said. "I just, um, could you give this to Harry, please?"

You shoved the bag in the man's direction, forcing him to take it. "You can come in. He's just inside—"

"No, it's okay. I should probably get back to it. So, uh, see you."

You turned and fled, heat flooding your cheeks. Honestly, you were surprised you made it that far. You figured your courage would fizzle out before knocking on the studio door.

Settling back in your studio, you pulled out your journal and phone out of your bag, and opened up to a fresh page to work on a new song. On the way into work this morning, your agent pitched you an opportunity to write for an up-and-coming artist. "Something light, Y/n," she'd said, knowing you'd been writing mostly sad, break-up songs recently. "If it doesn't work out, then it doesn't work out, but at least try. You've always liked to challenge yourself."

So you were putting away the Champagne problems for now and channeling your happiest thoughts. You even brought your computer to stream romantic comedies while you worked for some additional inspiration.

You were halfway through When Harry met Sally when that inspiration finally struck. Lighter, happier words finally filled your journal, a rare, but not completely uncommon occurrence. You'd written love songs in the past, both before and while you were with Gavin. But surprisingly, Gavin wasn't who came to mind, nor was it the characters in the movie on your computer.

You thought of Harry's smile, his flushed cheeks after he'd had a couple drinks, his green eyes that seemed to sparkle when he laughed. Did you have a crush on him? You weren't entirely sure, maybe you just admired his goodness. And, okay fine, his unfair amount of good looks too. But you tried not to focus too long on who exactly inspired you, just on making sure the words kept flowing onto the page.

Perhaps you should've expected Harry to stop by, but you hadn't. His voice startled you, your eyes having been glued to the screen of your computer as the final scene of Roman Holiday played out in front of you. It had always been one of your favorites, and you decided that a brain break was needed as the final third of the film rolled around.

"What's this?"

No matter how many times you'd seen it, the ending never failed to bring tears to your eyes. Seeing the glisten of tears in Gregory Peck's eyes as he stared longingly at Audrey Hepburn's, knowing they loved each other but could never be together was heartbreaking. It had been the most tragic thing you'd ever experienced when you first watched it as a girl, and it hadn't even happened to you.

It was those tears now that you wiped away, a warmth creeping up your cheeks because this was the second time Harry had caught you crying. How embarrassing.

Looking up, you saw the gift bag in one hand, the other in his pocket as he stared at you blankly. No warmth or his usual smile, but he wasn't glaring at you, either. He just looked indifferent, and that didn't sit well with you at all.

"I...I overheard you and Mitch talking about your cat and his allergies, and I'd heard of this stuff that you can use on your pets to help people who are allergic to animals."

You'd gone out and bought it after leaving the studio the day you'd overheard the conversation between Mitch and Harry. It was your version of an olive branch, a way to express your guilt after taking Harry's friendship and throwing it in his face. You were his friend, and you wanted him to know it.

It probably seemed silly to hide behind a gift instead of saying something, considering your profession. But confrontation was almost as terrifying as love was, it was part of the reason why you only wrote songs and didn't perform them.

Harry scoffed, and it looked like he couldn't decide between laughing or rolling his eyes. "No, I know what this is, I'm asking why you gave it to me. Or not me, to my friend and then scurried back over here."

"I'm sorry about that, about everything," you said, shutting your laptop and shifting in your chair. "I was...I haven't been in the best place for some time now. It's not an excuse for how I treated you that day. You caught me in a bad moment and I lashed out."

"Thank you for apologizing," he said, his voice cool and even. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. What he saw when he looked at you. "Do you want to grab coffee? Maybe we can talk?"

The thought of being open and honest in the way that he was suggesting was daunting, but Harry deserved your honesty. "Sure. Let me just pack up my things."

Harry waited for you by the door as you packed your bag, jotting a couple notes down in your journal before putting it away. Your hands shook a little as you approached him, excitement swelling in your belly despite the anxiety you felt at the prospect of having to talk about things you preferred to leave in the recesses of your mind. But it felt good to see Harry again, to walk beside him and head to your favorite coffee house.

Neither of you said anything on the short walk over, and even after you placed your orders, you remained quiet. When your name was called out alongside Harry's to grab your drinks, you knew it was time to find a table, but you stayed rooted to your spot in front of the counter.

It was Larissa. Gavin's sister. She was standing next to the other end of the counter where baristas called out and dropped off orders. There was a moment when she didn't see you, and you thought you could make a break for it, even if that meant leaving Harry high and dry. But even if you wanted to, you were frozen in place, and when Larissa's gaze finally landed on you, you felt her glare even from a short distance.

"Y/n?" Harry asked, both drinks in his hands. "What's—"

"Y/n! How good to see you!"

Larissa's kind smile was anything but. You'd never trusted Gavin's sister. From the moment you met her, you knew to be wary of her, and after everything that happened, you were sure nothing good was going to come out of this interaction.

"H—Hi, Larissa. How are you?" you said, trying your best not to look at Harry, who had a quizzical look on his face.

"Oh, I'm just fabulous. I've just spent the last year healing my brother's broken heart, which you broke like it was nothing," Larissa said. "He's great, by the way. Finally came to his senses and realized what a God-awful mess you were. He realized all of us were better off without you."

Then, before you could even make sense of what was happening, a rush of cold washed over you. At first, you thought it was merely a visceral reaction to the confrontation, but Harry's, "What the fuck?" made you think twice.

Looking down, you realized Larissa had poured her drink on your sweater. Shock left you blinking at Gavin's sister, tears welling in your eyes. With shaking hands, you held the ruined sweater in your hands, then back to Larissa. "Wh—Why—"

"That's for my brother, slut."

"That's enough," Harry said, voice harder and colder than you'd ever heard him before. Even when he was upset with you at the studio, he never sounded this angry. Gently gripping your elbow, he turned you around. You hardly noticed the flashing of cameras aimed in your direction. All you could really process was Larissa's smirk and the iced coffee dripping off you onto the coffee house's floor.

When you were finally outside and a block down the road, Harry pulled you down an alley where you could have a moment of privacy. He pulled his sweater over his head and offered it to you in a bundle. You quietly murmured your thanks and took it from him, slipping it over your head. The plain black sweater was warm and smelled like him—like laundry detergent and expensive cologne. It would've been the kind of thing to flood your senses if shame hadn't currently encompassed every fiber of your being.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," you said when you felt like you could speak without your voice trembling.

"You don't have to apologize for what happened, Y/n," Harry said. He gently rested his hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I think so."

You couldn't look him in the eye, not while your iced coffee-ridden sweater was now ruining his, not while he kept looking at you with such pity. You could feel it down to your toes, and it made you want to curl up in a ball and never get out of bed. But Harry deserved an explanation. At the very least, he deserved to know who he associated himself with.

"I should explain—"

"You don't have to," Harry insisted.

"I want to," you said, believing the words as you said them. You weren't sure what you would've done if Harry hadn't been with you a few minutes ago. His brows were still furrowed with concern, his thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder. His sweater layered over yours created a pretty thick barrier, but you could feel his touch as if he was caressing your skin. "We can, um, we can go back to my place."

Thankfully, Harry didn't protest, just nodded quietly. The walk back to the studio was completely silent, leaving you alone with your thoughts until it was time to part ways. He got in his car and followed you home, silently following you up the steps to your apartment, a comfortable little one-bedroom twenty minutes from the studio.

Buddy was at the door when you unlocked it, tail wagging and tongue lolling to the side of his mouth happily. He greeted you first, then Harry, who he tried with all his might to knock over by getting up on his hind legs and resting on your guest. "Buddy! Down!" you hissed, frantically holding onto your dog's collar. Harry laughed and waived you off, surprising you by lifting Buddy up into his arms. Both boys were perfectly content, and the image of your friend holding your dog in your apartment was enough to lift your spirits the tiniest bit. A small smile crept onto your face, and Harry's grin widened when he saw it.

"Nice place," Harry commented, spinning around in a slow circle as he looked around.

"Thanks." Your apartment was small, but it was in a nice neighborhood and close to the beach. You made just enough in royalties to be comfortable in a little one bedroom. "Definitely different from my place in Nashville."

Harry nodded mildly before setting Buddy back down on the floor, admiring the colorful furniture that took up the space in your living room. Shivering a little, you looked down at yourself, reminded of your coffee-soaked clothes.

"There are treats in the pantry," you said, setting your things down on the kitchen counter and nodding to the pantry in question. "I'm just going to get changed so I can wash your sweater."

Harry nodded, but he seemed content to play with Buddy and look around your apartment, and your dog seemed perfectly happy to never walk on four legs ever again.

You tried to make quick work of changing, not wanting to keep Harry waiting too long. But you gave yourself a minute or two to calm down and process everything that had happened in the last hour. Even though it was horribly embarrassing, you were glad Harry had been there. He'd been a calming presence throughout, and you could only hope that would continue as you explained why you'd pushed him away.

*.*

"I...I didn't want to hurt you," you said, looking down at where your hands were knotted in your lap. "I just...I don't have a very good track record with relationships. Of any kind. I didn't want you to be one of the people I ruined."

Harry had been surprisingly quiet while you explained everything. And by everything, you meant everything. From Gavin to the Christmas party and what you'd heard to the would-be proposal. You told him about that song you'd written a couple weeks ago and how it brought all that emotion to the forefront of your memory and that it led you to push Harry away. He hadn't said much, asking you a few questions here and there; but for the most part, he let you speak uninterrupted, and you were surprised at how you continued to fill the silence, not once feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps a little ashamed after explaining how badly you'd hurt Gavin, but you never felt discomfort telling Harry any of it.

"Y/n, I—" Harry began to say before pausing. Looking up at him, you saw his brows furrowed, a look of consternation on his face. You waited for the blow, the one that eventually led him to leave you friendless once and for all. "I don't think you're a bad person for breaking up with him. I can't imagine that kind of hurt, sure, but if you didn't love him, you did the right thing. Do you—Do you seriously believe you're fucked in the head? Or that you ruin people?"

He was referencing the song you'd written, and you flushed bright red at the idea of him hearing more of the song than you would've liked. Shrugging, you gave him the truth. It didn't seem fit to lie when you'd bared your soul to him. "I don't know."

You could tell that answer didn't sit right with Harry. His frown deepened, and you desperately wanted to see him smile again. "Y/n, everyone makes mistakes in relationships, and even then I don't think you did anything wrong in that moment. Was it unfortunate timing? Maybe, but I don't think you should punish yourself for it anymore. In fact, I think what you did was brave."

"What?"

Smiling, Harry took your hand in his. It was warm, and his long fingers curled around your hand with ease. On any other day, you would've pulled back, but after sharing so much with him, this felt good. It felt right.

"I said what you did was brave," he said again. "You didn't love him, but you could've accepted the proposal and stayed with him. And then what? Leave him at the altar? Stay in a loveless marriage? It was hard, but you did the right thing for you and Gavin. I'm sure even he would come to understand that one day. Have you tried talking to him?"

You shook your head. "He hates me now."

"I don't think anyone could really hate you, Y/n," Harry said quietly, a blush crawling up his cheeks as if he hadn't meant to say that out loud. "I know you might disagree, but I think you might feel a lot better about all of this if you talked to him."

"His family—"

"Fuck his family. Gavin is a grown man who can think for himself," Harry said. "If he can't separate their wrong opinions from his own thoughts, then he's an idiot who never deserved you anyway."

You laughed a little at the first half of what he said. It felt nice to know that someone was on your side. Squeezing Harry's hand, you said, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For listening, for being a good friend when I maybe didn't deserve it. Evan's the only person I talked to about this, and even then I didn't explain everything," you said. Evan had been on your side, but it didn't really count to you. He was your brother. He had to be on your side. "I just don't have the best track record when it comes to hurting people, you know?"

Your eyes had fallen to your hand, which was still curled around his, but to your surprise, Harry's other one lifted your chin to meet his gaze. With wide eyes, you looked at him, heart beating a little wilder in your chest when you saw the look on his face. His expression was wide open, earnest and endearing, and filled with...something you weren't ready to see yet. But it filled you with warmth, and for the first time in a long time, you really believed that you didn't have to be alone.

"I don't think you'll hurt me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hand pushed a strand of your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. The movement made your breath hitch, lips parting as you tried to decide what Harry was going to do next, what you wanted him to do next. He seemed like he was waiting for something too, and his gaze was finally too much, like he could see your soul and was currently shuffling through every little thing you longed for and were afraid of. It was heavy with emotion, and you weren't ready for it.

"You should probably get going soon," you said, rising, with great difficulty, to your feet and putting some distance between yourself and Harry. A frown on Harry's face appeared, and you quickly explained yourself. "Your cat. You probably should head home and feed her."

Before you and Harry sat down to talk about...everything, he briefly mentioned his new kitten, Sweet Pea. "It was the name she already had when I adopted her, and it didn't feel right to change it, though sometimes she's not so sweet." She was a fluffy Ragdoll cat that was apparently quite the diva, and Harry proudly showed off picture after picture, claiming he was already in love with his new furry companion.

Now though, Harry's eyes widened as if he hadn't even thought about his new kitten since being here. "Right. Good call. I'll see you tomorrow?"

You nodded as you watched him gather his things. "I'll return the sweater tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You walked Harry to the door to see him out. He crossed the threshold but paused before heading down to his car. You couldn't read the look that crossed his face, but his lingering gave you one last opportunity to take him all in. The muscles in his arms bulged beneath the white t-shirt he wore, and his hair had grown a tad longer since you'd spoken to him last, now curling around the nape of his neck and touching the collar of his shirt. Harry was taller than you, but not by much, though standing this close, it felt like he was a whole foot taller as you craned your neck to look at him.

Then, before you could ask if he'd forgotten something, he leaned forward. It took you a moment to realize what he'd done, but the lingering traces of heat on your forehead helped. He'd kissed you. On the forehead.

"See you tomorrow!"

Harry was gone in a flash, leaving you standing at the front door of your apartment with an open mouth as you tried to decide what his forehead kiss meant. To you, it felt sisterly, and you couldn't help the disappointment that swirled in your gut. You quickly pushed that feeling away, closing the door on whatever happened just then.

*.*

For the next few weeks, everything felt like it was back to normal. Better than normal, even. Despite the awkwardness you felt at having to see Harry after the odd forehead kiss, Harry acted like it never happened, which you were thankful for. You wouldn't have known what to say if he'd brought it up. Or tried to do it again.

But it became clear, despite the teeny tiny budding feelings you might have had for him, that he merely saw you as a friend. After your long talk with him at your apartment, Harry began showing you some of the work he'd been doing in his own studio down the hall from yours. It appeared he was getting over a break up too, though you never would've guessed by how cheerful he was most days. He still was, even as he explained a little about his most recent relationship, and you realized that while you hid your true emotions behind a wall, he might've been hiding behind his happy disposition. It made you want to dig deeper, to see what lay beneath all that "fineness."

As you spent more time with Harry, you also began hanging out with his friends. The first time you returned to his house for another game night, everyone seemed genuinely happy to see you, namely Sylvia. "I'm so glad you're spending more time with H," she'd said that night. "I love him to death but he's a clingy motherfucker when he's lonely."

That thought made you laugh. You recalled a conversation you'd had with Harry a while back when he'd said his friends were "disgustingly in love." He seemed like the kind of guy who loved love, but you also didn't want Sylvia, or any of his friends, to get the wrong idea.

"Oh I don't—I mean we're not—I don't think he sees me that way."

That wasn't how you wanted to explain yourself, seeing as you weren't even sure if you saw him that way. But Sylvia must have seen your flushed cheeks and understood your floundering because she smiled at you warmly.

"I think this calls for a girl's day. What do you think?"

"Oh. Um..." You didn't expect any of Harry's friends to want to hang out with you one on one, but you'd been leaning into trying new things lately. And girl's day? You grew up with three brothers, the last time you had anything resembling that was a tea party Hayden and Evan threw for you when you were six. "Sure. I could meet you for lunch this week if you'd like."

"Lunch sounds perfect."

A couple days passed until you had Buddy on his leash, walking down to the cafe you and Sylvia agreed on. You were a little nervous, but mostly excited. It had been a while since you'd hung out casually with a friend—you weren't counting Harry—and while you'd grown accustomed to the loneliness, you couldn't help but acknowledge that it felt nice to talk to someone other than your dog.

"Okay," Sylvia said once the waiter walked away with your orders. She'd held off asking about Harry, but now the time had come. "Hit me. What did Harold do?"

"Nothing," you said, perhaps a little too quickly. When Sylvia pinned you with a stare, you looked down at your glass of water. "He just...He gave me a kiss? On the forehead? And I don't know, it just read very...brotherly."

Sylvia sighed, which at the very least vindicated your feelings. It wasn't like you wanted anything more, but the whole thing left you feeling confused. A cheek kiss would've been easier to navigate, but the forehead? It left Y/n thinking about Harry more than she should've.

"Okay, I can see where you might be confused by that, but as someone with a brother, I can confidently say they don't do shit like that."

You weren't sure what you expected her to say, or what you even wanted her to say, but it wasn't that. Sylvia knew Harry fairly well, so it was safe to say that she was telling the truth, you just weren't ready to accept what she was implying.

"I do too, and I know the last thing I would expect from any of my brothers is a kiss on the forehead, but I don't know," you said, trying to remain as neutral as possible knowing Sylvia could report back to Harry. This whole thing was starting to feel very grade school-esque.

"Just know that Harry's a pretty open guy, but he's been burned in the past so he might be a little closed off or not be as inclined to make the first move," Sylvia said, though in some ways it sounded like a warning. "He's the greatest guy you'll ever meet, and whatever you decide, just be gentle, okay?"

It was hard to imagine someone as positive and happy as Harry having a dark past, but it sounded like there was a lot more than what met the eye as far as he was concerned. It was honestly a little comforting to know that he wasn't perfect. You were such a mess sometimes it seemed unfair that people wandered through life seemingly unscathed. You knew that was rarely ever the case, but sometimes it was hard to remember when guys like Harry walked around embracing life and had smiles for every occasion.

"I will," you promised, and you meant it. You were pretty sure nothing was going to happen between you and Harry, but you could appreciate Sylvia looking out for her friend. As nice as she had been to you so far, she was Harry's friend first. Her words made you wonder if you would ever have friends so fiercely loyal to you.

After that lunch with Sylvia, the weeks began to pass by in a blur. There were days when you saw Harry frequently, and then you wouldn't see him at all. He would show up at your studio to get coffee—at a new coffee shop, of course—you stopped by his to bring him and his friends baked goods, and sometimes you would end the night at one another's houses, a bottle of wine and takeout split between the two of you. You weren't dating, at least you wouldn't categorize whatever it was that you were doing as dating, but it felt nice to have someone in your life consistently again, and you liked that Harry was that person even more.

That didn't mean you couldn't read the signs. Sometimes Harry's gaze would linger when he thought you didn't notice, or he would sit a lot closer than was maybe necessary when you hung out with his friends. Sometimes his hand would brush yours as you watched a movie as if he wanted to hold it, and yours would brush back encourgingly, and then suddenly you were holding hands. To anyone else, it might have appeared confusing—in fact, Sylvia had vocalized her confusion over the non-relationship you and Harry were engaging in—but for you, not acknowledging what was happening and not putting any labels or definitions on this thing happening between the two of you was somehow easier to swallow. And since Harry seemed to be following your lead, he didn't say anything to object.

It was around Christmastime that things began to change. You'd spent your morning writing a song for an artist's Christmas album, a feat you'd managed to avoid in the past. But since you'd worked with the artist before and liked the vision she had for this album, you decided to at least try to write a holiday song. It wasn't necessarily that you disliked Christmas or the holidays, you were just indifferent to the season in question, and after everything that transpired two years ago now, you just never felt like celebrating much.

Harry Styles, however, was a huge fan of Christmas. his studio was decked out with lights and garlands, he got him and Sweet Pea matching sweaters, which you weren't entirely sure if he knitted or not, and he'd been bugging you since Thanksgiving to come over to decorate cookies. He'd finally worn you down and you were going over later tonight, but not before putting in a couple hours at the studio, which turned into sitting in on one of Harry's sessions.

It didn't happen often, but you did like seeing the team approach to writing songs as opposed to your usual solitary method. For the most part, you watched as Harry bounced ideas off his friends, observing as they focused on one chord progression or verse until something else stole their attention away. It was a bit chaotic, but everyone in the room seemed to be having fun.

It was in the middle of a heated debate between another fun, upbeat song or beginning to work on a ballad when the melody came to you. It was just piano chords, and had you been in your own studio, you would've immediately sat down to play it and see where it went. But this wasn't your studio, and it wasn't your session, and while you knew no one would've minded hearing your input, you felt nervous all of a sudden, self-conscious.

So instead, you pulled some blank sheet music out and began to scribble, writing as quickly as possible before the melody escaped you. The melody had taken up so much space in your head that everything else faded away. You envisioned arrangements, themes, a line or two sprouting as you wrote down the next note. Something sad and somber, the exact opposite of what Harry had been pushing for since he entered the studio.

"What am I now?" you wrote on the back of the sheet music. You didn't know how it would fit, but it would. You could tinker with the words later, so long as all your thoughts were written down somewhere, you would find a way to make it happen.

"What are you working on over there?"

Harry was suddenly at your side, and when he peeked over your shoulder, you didn't try to hide your frenzied notes. You handed them over, unsure if he even read sheet music. "It was just a thought I had. I can play it for you if you'd like?"

"Please," Harry said, gesturing to the piano in the corner of the room. It was then that you realized that everyone else had left the room at some point or another. At your questioning glance, Harry explained. "Ten minute break, but it felt like you were onto something...And I figured you'd be more willing to share if it wasn't in front of a group."

"Thank you," you said, those pesky butterflies swirling around in your stomach. They seemed to appear any time Harry so much as smiled at you. "It's just a melody, really, but maybe you can use it for something.

You sat down at the piano, eyes widening when Harry sat down beside you. Shaking it off, you focused on the piano, the keys cool and smooth to the touch, a familiar feeling that felt nice among such a different work setting. You explained your thought process to Harry a little bit, telling him the direction you hoped the song would go in and possible arrangements for it and whatnot. Harry, who apparently knew you better than you thought he did, nudged you with his elbow and encouraged you to play, knowing that you were stalling.

It wasn't that you were unsure of yourself or your talent. You knew you were good at what you did. You'd collaborated on multiple albums and worked with many well-known artists and bands, or artists who were just breaking out onto the scene and did so with the help of your songwriting. The difference here was that you normally didn't play an idea for anyone until it was fully realized. You typically sent over demos and typed up lyrics, and Harry would be one of the first to hear something that you'd only just come up with. Besides Buddy, but he didn't really count.

Taking a deep breath, you began to play, letting the chords you'd only just come up with pull your focus. After having played through it a couple times, you looked over at Harry, who had a faraway look in his eyes, an idea of his own forming in his head, perhaps.

"It's fairly simple, but I think that's what's rather beautiful about it," you said while still playing. "Sometimes you don't need much to get a response from someone, and I think a melody like this really allows an artist to shine, you know? Whether that's through their lyrics, or their vocal range, or both. And obviously it can be changed to a different key, this is just the one I wrote down, but...yeah, that's what I've got."

You finally stopped playing to hear Harry's opinion, though you wished you hadn't. Now your hands didn't really know what to do, and it took a lot of effort to keep them knotted together in your lap. Harry still looked pensive, as if he hadn't even heard your rambling, though now you were even more curious to know what he thought.

"Harry?"

Blinking, Harry turned toward you, his knee bumping against yours on the piano bench. His eyes cleared up as he remembered he wasn't alone in the studio. "Hm? Sorry, just thinking."

Offering him your pen and a fresh page in your journal, you said, "Did you maybe want to write it down?"

After that, you and Harry wrote hundreds of songs together. At least it felt like a hundred songs. Whether it was in the studio, or at each other's homes—mainly his because he had a home studio and a guest room for when sessions went too long—the two of you were almost always writing together. It wasn't always for his album, either. Sometimes Harry would help you with projects you were working on for other artists, or you would just write songs for the sake of writing them.

And it just worked. It felt like you and Harry just clicked. He was able to vocalize what you were trying to say to his producer, and you knew what he was thinking before he said it or the sound he was going for based off a couple descriptors. You'd never known someone so intimately before, or understood them so completely, Not even Gavin.

Harry was witty and smart and kind and genuine. He felt things deeply, and kept a lot of his darkest secrets and deepest insecurities incredibly close to his chest. You realized at some point that he was even more guarded than you in some ways. As you wrote together more and more, you obviously realized that there was more than met the eye when it came to your friend, but outside of songwriting, he wouldn't divulge much. He'd been through a breakup recently, that much you could tell, and while you wanted to know more, you respected his privacy and the desire to leave the past exactly where it was. Unless it came to the music, of course.

"So...you're what? Friends without all the benefits?" Sylvia asked you.

You met with her pretty regularly now for lunch during the week. Harry wasn't typically the topic of conversation, but on this occasion, Sylvia was giving you the third degree.

"We're co-workers. And friends," you added as an afterthought. Saying you were merely co-workers didn't seem right to you anymore, and you knew Harry would be upset if you thought otherwise. "I don't know what other benefits I would need outside of his companionship."

"Bull. Shit." Sylvia pinned you with a stare that made you blush. "Last weekend he had you practically sitting in his lap, and you're trying to tell me nothing's going on?"

"Not really. I don't think either of us are in a place to be in a relationship right now." It was the same line you fed to Andrew last week when you went to see one of his games. He thankfully bought it, or maybe he was just used to you keeping your love life to yourself, but Sylvia wasn't having it.

"What makes you say that?"

You shrugged. "I mean I'm definitely not, and I can just tell he's not there yet either. I mean, obviously, I've learned about his most recent relationship by working with him, but outside of that, he doesn't tell me anything. I don't even know her name."

You weren't offended that Harry didn't want to share about his ex. You wouldn't have told him about Gavin if you hadn't been put in that particular situation. But you understood better than most about that kind of pain. Maybe he wasn't ready. Maybe his feelings were getting all jumbled up between the past and the present. Or maybe he just didn't like you that way. The last theory hurt more than you cared to admit, but you were more scared of another potential relationship going up in flames than finding out the truth, so you decided ignorance really was bliss.

Sylvia nodded, understanding. You realized she must've known his ex, though you didn't ask for details. That was Harry's story to tell, not hers, and you were pretty sure Sylvia would say the same if you did ask. "I guess that's fair. But so, you're just...friends who kiss occasionally?"

You nearly choked on your sip of water. "What? No! Of course not. We don't—We—"

"Let me save you the struggle of coming up with an unconvincing lie," Sylvia said. "I've seen you."

"When?"

"Christmas party," she said, raising one finger as if she was about to list a few occurences.

"That was mistletoe. It was innocent," you said with a dismissive wave of your hand, even though said hand was suddenly clammy.

"New Year's."

"Everyone kisses at the end of the countdown!"

"At game night when he kissed your neck?"

"Why are you paying that close attention to my neck?"

"And," Slyvia said, pointedly ignoring your last remark. "I have it on good authority that Harry kissed you at the studio last week. Don't try to hide it, Y/n."

Sighing, you said, "So what's your point, exactly?"

"My point is that y'all are just pretending you're not in a relationship when you are!" she said, looking at you as if you had two heads. "Look, it's clear you've been through some shit and Harry has too, I won't deny that. But are you really going to put your happiness on the back burner because of it?"

Your cheeks burned at having been caught. It wasn't like you'd planned to kiss Harry any of those times. Each kiss came as a surprise, leaving you more and more breathless than the last and hopeful for another. What Sylvia didn't know was that you and Harry had kissed a lot more than the handful that she'd rattled off. Sometimes when it was late and you were over at his house working, he'd get this look in his eyes that would turn your whole body molten. He'd lean in close, nudge your nose with his, and then his lips were on yours and time suddenly didn't exist.

You liked kissing Harry. A lot. You liked the way his fingers gingerly held your jaw, you liked that kissing him gave you free rein to touch him wherever you wanted—his hair, his arms, beneath his shirt. Sometimes it felt like you couldn't get enough, but it always ended with one of you pulling away under the guise that it was getting late. Your lips would tingle long after, and you'd text Harry late at night when you should've been asleep, or he would call to talk about whatever he was thinking.

To anyone else, it wouldn't make sense, but it made sense to you and Harry. There was no pressure to be more, no urgency to define what you were doing, and that seemed to work for both of you.

"I'm perfectly happy right now," you said, and you were.

It had been a long time since you'd felt this content. Your breakup with Gavin left you feeling guilty and ashamed. And deep down, you knew you already felt more for Harry than you did for your ex, and that made you feel horrible too. Part of you still felt you were being greedy by trying to be this happy, that you should just take what you were given and try not to press your luck.

Sylvia took you by surprise by taking your hand. Her fingers were warm and reassuring, just as her eyes were when you finally met her gaze. It was safe to say now that she was your friend. She'd come over to your house multiple times for wine and movie nights, you went out to bars together, you'd met her partner, who was the absolute sweetest person on the planet. You valued Sylvia's friendship, and you valued her as a person. You didn't want to lose her if things with Harry progressed and fizzled out.

"It's okay to want more, Y/n," she said gently.

It was like she saw through all the bullshit and realized what you were really scared of. Harry was the only person who knew everything regarding your past relationship, but you told Sylvia bits and pieces. When you'd told her that you broke up with Gavin the night he wanted to propose, she didn't judge you, or ask why you'd throw away a perfectly good relationship. She was empathetic, and said she was sorry you had to go through that. It felt good to confide in someone who was willing to hear your side of the story, to have them realize if you could've loved Gavin the way he loved you, you would've.

"Maybe," you said. "But like I said, I'm not the only one who has shit to work through."

Sylvia nodded, letting the subject drop. But the words she'd said, It's okay to want more, needled at your brain the rest of the day.

*.*

"You should come with me."

You had been watching Sweet Pea doze contentedly on top of Buddy, who was curled in a ball on his dog bed. The two of them were an unlikely pair, but they'd gotten along great the first time they were introduced, and now you found it adorable any time they napped together.

Harry's voice was low and scratchy in your ear, as if he wasn't too far off from sleep himself. You were huddled together under a blanket on your couch, watching the credits roll on the second movie of the night, but you hadn't paid much attention to anything since the moment Harry pulled you to his chest and tucked his chin in the crook of your neck, peppering your skin with kisses as his thumbs rubbed circles beneath your shirt.

"What?" you asked, not having really heard him. It seemed impossible, but every day his touch became more and more dizzying.

"To Japan. You should come with me," he said. "It would be like a writing retreat."

Harry had mentioned his impromptu trip to Japan over dinner. He seemed excited about it, of getting out of town for a little while and just being alone with his thoughts. Those were his words, though now he was inviting you along.

"I don't even have a passport," you said, a non-answer, as Harry would call it.

"We'll get you one," he said. "Don't you think it would be fun to explore a new city together? Just the two of us?"

"W—What about Buddy?"

"Buddy can come to," Harry said, like it was all just so easy.

You thought back to your conversation with Sylvia a week ago. It's okay to want more, she'd said. At the time, you were content with this thing you and Harry were doing. It was simple and easy and pressure-free. A couple weeks later her words still nagged you. You hadn't mentioned wanting more to Harry, but this was different. This was...big. Appearing nonchalant didn't make it so.

"What are we?" you found yourself asking, hating how cliche the question was, even if you did need the answer all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, but you knew he was too smart to not understand.

Still, you sat up and faced him, forcing him to sit on the other side of the couch to have a proper conversation. "I meant exactly what I said, H. What—What are we doing here exactly?"

Harry's face flushed, the muscles in his arm flexing as he rubbed his neck. "I...I don't know. I thought we were okay with not really defining it."

Not defining it, or not talking about it? you thought, even though that wasn't really fair. You were just as content not to ask as he was until now. Or a few weeks ago, you couldn't exactly tell when you began to want more, or when wanting more stopped scaring you.

"I know, but now you're asking me to drop everything and fly to Japan for...for how long exactly?"

Harry shrugged, and your jaw ticked. "A couple months?"

"A couple months," you repeated, trying to align your thoughts. All you could hear though was, It's okay to want more. Taking a deep breath, you said, "I think...I think if I'm going to follow someone across the world for a couple months, I would like a definition about what it is we're doing."

"It's a writing retreat, Y/n. We would be working on songs. Just like we've always done."

You weren't sure when you became the brave one. Perhaps it was your conversation with Sylvia bolstering your confidence, or maybe it was Harry's reluctance to acknowledge the situation at hand, you weren't sure, but his reply wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

"I'd have to find my own hotel," you said. "Or an apartment to rent I guess."

"You'd stay with me obviously," Harry said, and you had to resist the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he started seeing your perspective.

"Co-workers don't live together, H."

"But we're not just co-workers, Y/n. We're—"

Your brows raised, encouraging him to finish, but he ended up shaking his head. Running a tired hand over his face, he said, "I understand what you mean, but I can't...I can't give that to you right now."

You nodded, then stood up. "And I can't go to Japan without it."

It hurt, but at least he was being upfront about how he felt. It wasn't really fair of you to ask for more when both of you had been content to keep things simple. But somewhere down the line, you realized you liked Harry. A lot. You were okay with leaving your history with Gavin in the past, and you wanted to look to the future now. You'd thought that the future might include a relationship with Harry, but he wasn't ready, and you weren't sure if you wanted to wait. So much of the last two years had been waiting, hiding. Now you needed more. You craved it.

You felt like you were in some kind of alternate universe. One where Harry was scared and unsure of himself and unable to admit to what he wanted. You wanted more, and you weren't going to settle for anything less. You wanted to be more than his friend whom he kissed sometimes, you wanted to hear his scratchy voice as he woke up beside you, and you knew he did too, but something was holding him back. You'd spent too much time hiding from life and love to hide with him some more. Part of you wanted to, just because it was Harry, and you cared about him a lot, but a bigger part of you knew what you deserved, and it was okay to acknowledge that.

"I understand," he said, standing up with you.

Both of you were quiet as he gathered his things. You watched his broad shoulders shrug into his coat, the lean frame of his body bend down to put Sweet Pea in her little carrier. You felt the loss of him already, and he hadn't even gone yet, but you could feel the wall going up between the two of you. Both of you were guarded in your own ways, and both of you had been as vulnerable as you could be, but it wasn't enough.

"When are you planning on leaving?" you asked as you walked him to the door.

"Couple weeks," he said. "Just have to get the logistics figured out."

Nodding, you stepped into his offered embrace, letting yourself inhale the scent of his cologne and feel his arms around you for the last time for a while. His nose bumped yours in a move that was so familiar it made your heart squeeze. You weren't sure how long you stood like that, kissing until you couldn't breathe, it was only until Buddy's wet nose nudged the two of you apart that you finally stepped away from him. Harry bent down to scratch your dog's head and let him lick his cheek a few times before straightening back up. He was about to turn and leave when you called his name.

"I don't know what happened," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "If you did something or if she did something to make you so...closed off, and from one heavily guarded person to another, I'm sorry that it happened and that it made you this way. I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for in Japan."

Harry grinned, but it wasn't wide enough to show his dimples. Without saying a word, he left, head bent as he walked down the hall, taking a piece of you with him.

Buddy nudged your leg, pulling away from the hall Harry already disappeared down. Your dog's eyes were big and curious and completely unaware of what was wrong, which brought a watery smile to your face. "Come on, bubba. Let's get ready for bed."

[nouearth]

baby-sitting for miguel o'hara. (part ii)

miguel o'hara x m!reader headcanons.

part i.

warnings: smut, perverted!miguel, top!miguel, soft!miguel at times!!, bottom!male reader, small!male reader, thoughts of sex, fantasy!sex, masturbation, humping, kinda domestic idk.

notes: it's been a long time coming. 💀 i honestly was struggling to find like a plot for the second part, or just how to move forward. lmao. but i hope this turned out okay???

—never again, miguel promised himself that night. 

—it had been a few weeks since he last jerked off to your briefs. the blue undergarment that he came into were thrown somewhere under his bed, far from his reach.

—and as tempting as it was to smell you again, he mustered up the courage to leave the stained fabric alone. 

—for good.

—miguel despised what he had become.

—settling his sex life on a lone piece of fabric, it was pathetic. 

—from dusk til dawn, you participated in a triathlon of his delirious state of mind and competed for several awards that would then be mediated by miguel. 

—had it been a real competition, he would’ve been fired for exhibiting extreme favoritism because you’d win all the trophies and medals.

—a ‘helping hand’ award he would award you a few mornings ago, where he jerked off to the thought of you giving him a handjob during his lunch break.

—multiple ‘most improved’ awards for when you were able to throat his cock a little more than before.

—and another for when your ass was able to take miguel in without needing to pause or adjust for his size, even if the strain of your facial expressions told a different story.

—gagging in between moans, coughing out thick globs of spit, wincing in bittersweet pain when he pushed in, arching in complete pleasure when he pushed out.

—he loved the idea of watching and hearing you struggle because of his cock.

—though, it was only until recently when he began feeling a strong sense of guilt for portraying you in such a manner.

—it was a promotion at work that allowed his hours to be more flexible than before, and miguel utilized that to the fullest by spending every waking second with his daughter.

—and you.

—even when he came home early, he never sent you home.

—maybe it was the perfect opportunity to get one step closer into your pants.

—or maybe he wanted to get to know the babysitter that gabriella had taken an extreme liking to.

—get to know the babysitter that had somehow made miguel feel something more than simply lust.

—you hungry? you haven’t taken your eyes off of your thesis paper since i got here.

—hm...?

—that night, you’d look up at him with those bright eyes, that bright smile that latched onto miguel’s adam apple and made it hard for him to swallow. 

—it was as radiant as the first time he saw you. one wouldn’t be able to tell that you’ve been pulling all-nighters for the past few weeks.

—oh! i guess i’m a little hungry. i haven’t eaten since breakfast—

—breakfast? i told you that you could rummage through the pantries, right? you practically live here at this point.

—i know, i know! once i get in the zone, i kind of forget about everything… except for gabriella! it’s funny. as loud as her cries are, they’re kind of my savior right now.

—hm...

—it’s getting late, so i’ll just whip up something at home—

—no, stay. i’ll cook something.

—sir, you don’t have to—

—miguel’s chest swelled. that word again.

—i’m cooking. stay, or i’m firing you for wasting my ingredients.

—hey, unfair! pretty sure that’s a violation of our contract or something!

—it didn’t take long for it to become a regular occurrence.

—miguel would cook a late dinner for two, and he’d join you on the couch with a plate of what the limit of his culinary skills could whip up. 

—it wasn’t like this every day, but it was often, which was more than what miguel could ask for.

—he would use the little time he had with you to learn about you more. your interests, your background, your passions, your personality, and you’d do the same. 

—on some nights, he’d proof-read your thesis paper and provide some feedback that you would immediately take in consideration and make the changes to your paper.

—on many nights, he’d simply close your laptop and force you to take a break because as alluring as those recent eye bags were, your health was a priority.

—stay for the night. it’s late.

—i’m almost done for the night! i just have a few more—

—nope, you’ve used up all your excuses. i’m confiscating this.

—where am i even supposed to sleep?!

—and on those many nights, you’d end up sleeping on miguel’s couch despite the persistent offers of his comfier bed.

—there would be times where you two would chat into the night while the tv played in the background. 

—you’d ask each other about your day, tell stories about gabriella, bond over shared interests, fueled debates over a quality of a certain movie, until fatigue hit either you or miguel.

—usually you were the first one to fall asleep, and he would watch you silently.

—the flickering lights from the tv would accentuate your features in the night, and he never knew he could find you even more handsome.

—your complete vulnerability was enticing. 

—you would curl into the blanket he’d given you, and miguel would take the time to count the seconds it would take for you to exhale your dreams.

—the longer it was, the deeper you were into your sleep.

—it wouldn’t be until thirty exhales more that miguel would send himself to bed.

—five seconds, miguel would find himself mimicking the pattern of your breath before he drifted off into the night.

—then there would be nights where the subject matter would be more personal, more than miguel would have liked.

—does it get lonely sometimes?

—i’d be lying if i said no. not all the time, though. i have gabriella.

—huh…

—is that why you’re a complete grump all the time?

—watch it.

—i’m kidding! good thing you have me too, right?

—yeah.

—good thing i have you too… miguel sighed heavily at the empty side of his bed, staring into the darkness until the shadows from the night had forged a shape of your body.

—he closed his eyes when he felt a whisper of your lips near his, barely ghosting over his pair, and stroke himself to the possible reality of you becoming his. 

—fuck... he then lied on his stomach and began humping into the bed, against the bed sheets, and held the imagination of your body close to his own, protecting you like his life depended on it.

—i need you… miguel pressed his face into the pillow, inhaling the memory of your shampoo as he polished his hips further into the bed. 

—his cock rubbed in between his body and the soft sheets as he’d imagine unsheathing himself in and out of you at a slow yet steady pace.

—because he needed to savor you.

—he would imagine how you’d respond with every thrust. 

—your words would glue to your throat because you’d be too overwhelmed by his size, by the pleasure that miguel would finally be delivering to you, by the doting hold around you, and with the aid of his hips, your words would like crystallized honey.

—miguel would push his cock into you deeper, taking in the sound of your voice into his with a warm kiss. — i— 

—you would draw out sounds from your throat until they were practically begs when miguel would pull out excruciatingly slow to tease, then a demand as he would doubt your confession by cautiously following the outline of your pucker with the tip of his cock.

— need—

—his hips would lift, then come down onto you like hail. hard and sudden as his cock would ram into your tight fill, knock your breath back into the tight of your throat.

— you— 

—you need him. 

—miguel could tell from the way you completed allowed him to invade your reserve until he was balls-deep inside of you. 

—from the way he’d pull out once more and your hole would memorize the shape of his cock, down to his thick girth. puckering to the recollection of his throbbing veins.

—and he’d be the one to bridge the puzzle pieces together as he would press himself forward and bend your legs back before slamming his cock back into you  with the delirious evocation of lust.

—you would stifle your moans into your forearm as the bed rocked to the strong rhythm of miguel’s thrusts, but he’d pull your arms away and hold your wrists above your head.

—he needed to hear you.

—hear how much you wanted him, how much you needed him.

— i’m going to come—

—you’d grunt in between the heavy and sticky sounds of your skin colliding against one another, into the thick air that you and miguel had mutually forged together. 

—his other hand had been wrapped around your cock, jerking the throbbing muscle to every count of his balls bouncing off your bottom. 

—he would squeeze and stroke, your pre-cum coming down in thick drips, and he would thumb at the slippery wet slip until the pad of his thumb was layered in your thick substance.

—until his fist was covered in a glorious amount of your warm cum, inking him deep with your devotion before feeding you of your own need. 

—he would bring his hand up to you and slip two fingers inside of your mouth. your tongue would slowly roll over his cum-covered digits, sucking the bittersweetness off of him.

—it wouldn’t be long until it would be miguel’s turn. 

—miguel would continue bringing the remaining fingers up to your mouth for you to cleanse him off, and it would be enough for him to have him in shambles.

—imagining you devour your own sweet lust until all five of his fingers were polished clean awakened him to another level of pure ecstasy, and miguel groaned, rocking desperately into his bed.

—your warm hands would all over his toned body, fueling the tension in his stomach as you would prioritize the center of his abdomen.

—fuck, come in me—

—miguel would his weight onto you, his large body practically devouring you in sheer size as the heat and sweat confined you to the parameters, and he’d hold you close once more by slipping his arms around you.

—a cycle of thrusts quickened every round and you held onto him. kissing at the side of his neck. suckling at the round of his shoulder. 

—i’m coming… he muttered to himself, to no one but the wrinkled sheets beneath him, and fucked his cock harder into his bed.

—and when you heard a shudder coming from the depths of miguel’s strained throat, you licked a stripe at the center of his throat to pacify him, making your way to the plush of his lips, and kissed him at the pivot of his climax.

—miguel would exhale hard against your mouth before kissing you and spilling delirious moans into the captivity when he would begin flooding your insides with his thick and warm cum. 

—heavy ropes would ricochet off your violated inside, but miguel would press into you closer, harder, and intimately so, until your foreheads were bruised into one another.

—in occurring reality, miguel painted his bed sheets in thick layers of warmth and musk. layers of cum wetting his bed as he desperately held onto his fantasies with sensitive rolls of his hips.

—his tongue would tangle into yours, practicing a slow, sensitive waltz as his softening cock would sink deep into your hole. 

—and you would moan and suckle around him as you felt every drop of cum warm you from the inside and out, shielding you from the goosebumps that would frost your skin.

—the kiss would remain its passionate dance as you both relaxed into each other. your legs unwrapped to tangle into miguel’s, expertly lifting the blanket over your feet in the process. 

—he would hold you tighter once he broke the kiss, turning you on your side as he lied flat on his back. 

—your head would rest on his chest after pulling the remaining blanket up to your bodies and you would sigh, suddenly feeling drowsier with miguel’s warm caress aiding sleep against your back.

—for the remaining moment, he would gaze at the sheen of sweat that highlighted the flush of your skin. 

—he would listen to the beat your heart, slowly coming to its resting pace as you succumb to sleep under the spell of his doting touch.

—and he would strangely feel a need to hold you, shelter you inside of his arms because he feared something would happen to you.

—fuck.

—miguel quickly rolled back onto his back in the midst of catching his breath, the shadows that had formed the image of you unfurling into obscurity. 

—he felt his heart race, bullets rebounding off the beating surface like a drum, and he placed a hand over his chest to pacify at the sudden swell of his chest. —i think i love you.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[spellbinding10]

Okay… so Umbrella Academy season 4…SPOILERS!!!!

I know that maaaannnyyy people were not happy with Lila and Five, but I’m not gonna lie, in a way they were meant to be.

Now there’s the supposed “age gap” but we have to remember that, although he’s physically 19/20, Five is older than Lila. Yes she “watched him grow” from a mid teen but Five was so many years his own senior. And he was a legal age He was mentally 68 and has lived 2 maybe 3 lifetimes already. And for the most part he lived them alone.

I think that we all need to remember that five was alone for so long. He went back to his family, wounded, isolated and with foreknowledge that no one could comprehend. Lila is the only one that truly understands what it feels like to feel out of place in Time. They were raised by the same morals and merits. They understood what no one else could. They both have been through unimaginable pain and suffering. And I think they had the ability to heal one another, in fact they did. Five saw Lila for who she truly was, he cherished her and appreciated all of her. Her chaos, her madness, compassion, courage and mind.

Now I had the start of Lila and Five returning to her family scene paused for sooo long. I couldn’t bear watching it. Did I? Yeah, love me a bit of angst. I really didn’t like how hurt Diego was, truly, but Five knew what Lila and he had was real and I can understand his anger. Do I condone cheating, absolutely not. I’ve been cheated on. But I’m also one for “the right person”, so in a FICTIONAL world I understand. I can also understand why Lila needed to end it ,for the sake of her children, because that’s what true love is, the love of your children. But he was there when she had to let her family go. He stood by her side and comforted her even though she had broke his heart. And thank BrOKe me!

There also seems to be a lot of posts about the REAL Five Hargreeves. Guys that is character development. Is it positive. Eh, ish. But not all people grow in the same way. Yes Five would do anything for his family. But I don’t think he “gave up”. Five has always been logical, from the very start. His sole purpose in life was to get back to his family and save the world. Save the people of that world, their lives, the very essence of life. And he did that. He didn’t give up. Five found out that his family was the cause of it all. He didn’t sacrifice them to be selfish. He couldn’t stand to watch his family die over and over. They would never rest, never know peace and they would spend the rest of their lives knowing that each apocalypse was their fault. It took courage to tell them. They could have kept going on. Klaus, would have kept using. Luther would still be in anguish over Solan (also where the fuck was she in all this? - anyway, no, another time) Allison would have kept loosing Claire. And every one of them would have kept loosing something in that particular time line that they cared about. I dunno man. I think Five is the same as he always was. He lived alone in the apocalypse surrounded by the destruction of life. He ensured it wouldn’t happen ever again. He did his job. He saved his family. The world.

So yeah, you’re all entitled to your opinion and you have your reasons for it. This is mine. I liked Five and Lila. The ending was, peace and love to the writers, bullshit - though bittersweet I suppose, but bullshit.

[pitchsidestories]

Just a little crush II Kim Little x Beattie!Reader

masterlist I word count: 3192

a/n: sorry, It's a lengthy one, but we hope you still enjoy it. ❤️

“Lee, who’s that girl talking to Jen?”, Kim Little asked Arsenal’s vice-captain while licking her lips nervously. They and some other family and friends gathered for a party to send Jen Beattie off who was going to California to join Bay FC.

There was something about that young woman standing next to her friend which was making her feel and think things the midfielder never did before, but she didn’t want to dwell on them any further as it would lead to much more questions and less clear answers.

Amused Leah Williamson raised her eyebrows:” Oh Kimmy, you don’t recognize her? It’s Jennis baby sister, she’s fresh out of Edinburgh University!”

“That’s not Jen’s sister! She looked so much younger last time.”, the Scottish woman shook her head in disbelief.

Still smiling the England captain replied: “Yes, it’s, she’s 25 now.”

“Oh wow.”, Kim muttered.

Noisily Beth Mead took part in their conversation:” Who are you two gossiping about? I want to know.”

“Jens little sis.”, Leah answered with a smug smile on her face.

“She turned into a real beauty, right?”, the blonde forward winked watching Kim turning red.

Much to her dismay the defender noticed it:” think our captain would agree with you.”

“Stop it.. I’m not.”, Kim explained slightly embarrassed.

“Having a little crush?”, Beth teased her teammate grinning.

Tuning in Steph Catley chirmed:” Oh Kim, that’s so cute.”

“I don’t have a crush.”, their captain disagreed. She felt relived when Jen came along distracting from the gossiping football players.

“Hi guys, remember my little sister?”, the tall Scottish defender asked.

Cheerful you greeted them:” Hi, everyone.”

“Hello great to see you again. Even though the reason is kind of sad.”, Beth responded with a sad smile.

Empathetically you nodded:” No, I agree but shamefully can’t wait to visit her soon in Cali.”

“You all act like I’m disappearing forever.”, your big sister laughed. Even though you knew the farewell felt equally as bittersweet to her.

Quickly Lia Wälti hugged her: “We can’t help how we’re feeling, Jen. It’s a big loss for us and a big win for Bay FC.”

“You girls are the sweetest.”, Jen whispered, she was so grateful for the friendships she made during her time at Arsenal.

Big eyed Steph Catley responded:” I’ll miss my favourite neighbour.”

“I’ll miss living next to you too, Steph.”, the defender answered truthfully.

This was the moment you found the time to talk to Kim directly to express your gratitude towards her:” Thanks for letting me stay at your place for a few weeks, Kim.”

“You’re welcome. Now that your sister can’t let you stay anymore.”, the older woman waved it off.

“I really appreciate it.”

With a small smile the midfielder told you in a reassuring tone:” You can stay as long as you want. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time together.”, Jen intervened confidently.

You gave your sister a nod: “I’m sure we’ll.“

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere became more and more relaxed. You felt right at home with your sisters teammates who happily shared stories about Jen with and made sure your glass was never empty.

It was only after midnight that Kim appeared right in front of you, reaching out a hand towards you: “Come, I’ll get you home.“

“Now?“, you asked, surprised by how drunk you sounded already.

Kim just raised an eyebrow but did not comment on it: “Yes, it’s late.“

“Bye, Jen!“, you shouted across the room to your sister while Kim helped you into your coat.

With one swift motion, Jen came over and pulled you into a tight hug: “Bye, you two.“

Luckily, the way home in Kims car was short. You were by sleep and found it difficult to keep your eyes open. Once Kim led you into the guest room of her apartment, you let yourself fall onto the bed with a relieved sigh. Kims dog curled into a ball at your feet.

“This is really cozy.“, you mumbled, burying your face into the soft pillows.

Kim watched you from the doorway: “Glad you feel at home here.“

“Good night, Kim.“

The corners of her mouth quirked up as she closed the door behind her and you fell into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up early the next morning and decided to make coffee for yourself and Kim. The coffee was just done brewing as Kim came back from walking her dog. Beaming, you handed her a mug: “Morning, this one is for you.“

She gave you a surprised look first but then took the coffee from you: “Oh. Thank you.“

“You’re welcome. Also I hope I didn’t say anything weird when we went home last night.“, you said as you sat down at the kitchen table together. You took a sip of coffee to hide your reddening cheeks behind the cup.

“No. Like what?“, Kim asked inquiringly.

You decidedly ignored her question and only reacted to the first part: “Oh good.“

“You almost immediately fell asleep.“, she explained plainly.

Changing the topic, you suggested: “Do you like Pizza? When I’m done with my interview, I could get some on the way back.“

Finally, a small smile appeared on the football players face: “Sure, why not?“

“Okay, great.“

With a glance toward the kitchen clock, Kim announced: “I have to leave for training now. So, see you later?“

“Yes, see you.“, you smiled at her.

Just before Kim walked out, she paused for a moment: “Oh, wait.“

“Uhm, yes?“, you patiently looked at her as she walked back into the kitchen.

“I forgot to give you the keys.“, she said, carefully tossing them in you direction.

You caught them with a grin: “Right. Thank you, Kim.“

“See you later. Good luck with your interview.”, Kim replied.

You were almost at the door when you turned around to face her beaming with hopefulness: “Thanks. Have fun in training!”

During training Kim warmed up with Cloé Lacasse. The Canadian striker asked her curiously:” So you got yourself a roommate, Kim?”

“I was more or less assigned a roommate, Cloé. She was supposed to stay with Jen, but she decided to leave us.”, the Arsenal captain explained with a deep sigh.

With a mischievous smile on her lips Leah came to a stop right next to the older women: “The most important part is though that Kim has a Girl crush on said roommate.”

Annoyed by her comment Kim rolled her eyes at the defender:” I don’t have a girl crush, Leah.”

“Kim is straight too.”, the Canadian forward added.

“Right.”, the Scottish midfielder nodded. Although deep inside of her something didn’t sit right with it although it has been true for so many years at this point. Why did your presence make her question things she thought she knew about herself.

This didn’t impress Leah in the least: “You should have been there Cloé when they met at Jens Farewell Party.”

“Well, I can’t wait to hopefully meet her soon.”, Cloé answered politely.

Frustrated Kim intervened:” You guys are making a way too big deal out of it.”

“If you need to chat though we’re here for you, Kim.”, Beth offered warmly.

Stubbornly the Scottish woman shook her head: “I don’t need to chat. She’s just staring at my place.”

“Alright, just saying.”, the England forward mumbled.

“It’s not a big deal.”, her captain repeated in a serious tone which made obvious that she was done with talking for now.

Reading the signs Leah decided:” Let’s get back to training.”

Finally, Kim thought relieved as they started to move again, distracting from the whirlwind, which was currently inside of her, giving her a peace of mind for the moment.

In the early evening you returned to Kim’s place announcing cheerfully:” Hi, I got the pizza.”

“Thanks. How did your interview go?”, she wanted to know from you.

As you were setting up the table for dinner, you told her about it:” Not too bad, actually. They said my writing is promising but they asked me if I really want to stay focused on women’s football.”

Interested the Scottish woman looked up to you:” What did you say to them?”

“That I don’t want to change my focus, I love writing about women’s football and the culture surrounding it.”, you responded.

Proudly Kim remarked:” Your sister would have done the same in your position.”

“She would’ve, right?”, you asked her cautiously.

Kim nodded once with conviction: “Absolutely.“

“There’s still such a long way to go… although the recent success helped a bit.“, you thought out loud, a sad smile tugging on your lips.

“You don’t have to tell me.“, Kim replied with her gaze trained on the kitchen table.

You could sense that the football player felt a similar way about the topic. Your curiosity was piqued so you continued: “For you and Jen it must have been an amazing progress to live through.“

“Yes. We’re lucky to be part of this generation. Selling out stadiums is something that a few years ago we thought was impossible.“, she explained calmly.

You were reminded of your sisters first football games. She was not getting paid to play yet and the number of fans was ridiculously low compared to this season. You bit your lip: “Yes, I remember that too.“

“I appreciate that you want to keep focusing on womens football.“

Hearing her say that made your heart flutter for a brief moment. But you were also reminded how quickly the atmosphere had changed. You sighed and with all the enthusiasm you could muster, said: “We should eat the pizzas now before they get too cold.“

“You’re right.“

As you both sat down, taking the first slices of the pizza, you admitted: “But I do love talking about football with you.“

“We can continue at another time if you want.“, Kim suggested a little more relaxed.

“Yes, I’d like that very much.“

“Me too.“

“Great.“

Kim put her slice of pizza down and looked at you thoughtfully: “We’re playing at home on the weekend. You should come watch.“

“Yes, I’ll be there.“, you politely smiled back at her.

Kims focus had already shifted back to her pizza: “Great.“

 The stadium was starting to fill on the following Sunday while players walked out to warm up. You were engrossed in a conversation with your friend Emily who after a long time of convincing had finally agreed to come to the game with you. You completely missed that Cloe Lacasse walked out on the pitch with Kim and curiously nodded in your direction: “So that’s her?“

“Yes, that’s her.“, Kim replied, a frown on her face as she spotted you close to the field.

“Is that her girlfriend? The one who’s standing next to her?“, the Canadian wanted to know.

Kim shrugged and shook her head: “She didn’t say anything about a girlfriend.“

Still, her gaze lingered on the two of you for a little longer.

The game ended with an easy win for Arsenal. Apart from the goals of Cloe and Alessia Russo, Kim also converted a penalty. The atmosphere in the stadium after the game was great and you immediately felt at home. However, the mood between the players on the pitch was less elated.

Leah Williamson bumped her captain with her shoulder: “Kim? You’re even quieter than usual.“

“What? I’m just focused.“, the midfielder replied, pulling away from her teammate.

The younger player couldn’t ask any further as you hugged the Scottish woman and sung:” Kim, you had a fantastic game, Kim!” Seeing the England captain you added blushing:”Hi Lee.”

Smiling Leah couldn’t help but to notice the height difference between you two, you were almost as tall as Jen while your roommate was fairly small: “Our skipper was great, right?”

“Yes, she definitely was.”, with that said you let Kim down.

Much to your surprise she didn’t look happy despite the comfortable win:”Thanks.”

The midfielder didn’t say anything further instead she left the room and left you clueless. Puzzled you turned around to look at her teammate: “Well, that was a bit strange do you know what’s going on, Leah?”

“I think she’s a bit jealous.”, the blonde replied seriously.

Baffled by that you let out a shaky laugh:” Jealous? Kim?”

Leah grinned: “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because you brought your girlfriend.”, the defender replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

“My girlfriend? Emily is just a friend!”, you corrected her, shaking your head in disbelief.

Sceptical Leah rose an eyebrow at you:” Oh, is she?”

“Yes, wait, did Kim think that Em was my girlfriend?”, you questioned her.

Thoughtfully Leah responded:” Maybe.”

“I need to talk to her.”, you decided.

With an empathetic smile on her lips the blonde held you back: “Maybe not now.”

You listened to her advice, so you went back to Emily and brought her home before making your way slowly to Kim’s home. In your mind it already was yours too.

On her car ride home Jen phone called the Arsenal captain:” Hi mate, great game!”

“Thanks, Jen. How’s California?”, Kim asked her.

“It’s been really great so far., the defender sounded happily before turning more serious, but you texted that you needed to talk?”

Earnestly Kim told her: “Yes. About your sister. Did you know that she’s dating someone?”

“What? No, she’s single.”, she mumbled convinced.

“What do you mean? She brought someone to our game today?”, the midfielder frowned.

Quickly Jen explained: “Yes Emily, she’s just a friend of her, Kimmy.”

“Are you sure? They seemed close?”, Kim almost felt something like relief by her former teammates reply. Although she didn’t dare to trust the news yet.

“Kim, I’m sure of that besides Emily has a boyfriend.”, Jen chuckled.

“If you say so.”

“But you can ask my sister again. Kim are you jealous?”, the defender wanted to know from her friend.

Offended Kim scoffed at her:” Why would I be jealous? I was just wondering why she’d stay with me when she’s got a girlfriend here.”

“Now you know. I need to go to training, hope to hear from you soon, mate?” After a few goodbyes they ended the phone call and the Arsenal captain tried to focus on the drive instead of the turmoil which was inside her.

When the door closed behind Kim, you looked up from the food you were cooking. While the Arsenal players showered and debriefed at the stadium, you had hurried to get home and surprise your housemate with a freshly cooked dinner. “Kim? Hi, I started cooking…“, you greeted her.

The football player raised her eyebrows in surprise: “You’re already here?“

You nodded: “Yes, Emily had to go back to her boyfriend who has a bit of a cold. Otherwise we might have gone to a pub. Do you want a drink to celebrate the win?“

“No, thanks. I usually don’t drink after games.“, Kim answered plainly, putting her bag down next to the kitchen table.

You grimaced: “Oh, right. Sorry. So water?“

“Sure. What are you cooking?“, Kim asked, looking over your shoulder at the food while you poured two glasses of water.

You smiled while handing her one of the glasses: “Some pasta dish. It’s one of the few things I can cook.“

The football player nodded impressed and smirked slightly: “That’s more than your sister can cook.“

“That’s true.“

You both sat down to enjoy your home-cooked meal, talking about the game again even though Kim kept her answers short. You took the empty plates and set them down at the sink: “I guess I’ll let you sleep now.“

“You don’t have to. I can’t sleep yet anyway.“, Kim replied to your surprise.

You slowly turned back to her, biting down a nervous smile: “Okay but you know you can just ask me on a date instead of running away and sulking after the match, right?“

Her eyes widened in shock: “Wait, what are you talking about?“

“Leah said you were jealous because of Emily and you really don’t need to be.“, you shrugged, trying to keep the nonchalance in your voice.

“I wasn’t jealous.“, she protested.

You looked back at the dishes in the sink, waiting: “Good.“

“That’s ridiculous.“

“Kim…“, you started but when you looked back to her, she had already bridged the gap between you two and pressed her lips to yours. You gasped into the kiss: “What?“

“That was a mistake. I’m sorry.“, she sighed, shaking her head in a mix of confusion and guilt.

She wanted to turn away from you but you grabbed her wrist: “No, please, do it again.“

There was an urgency in your voice that made Kim search for your eyes: “Are you sure?“

“Yes.“

“But… okay.“

She kissed you again, more patiently now. This time you could savour the taste of her lips on yours and only then you realized that she had to stand on her tiptoes to reach you. You were so charmed by this that you could not stop yourself from smiling.

As you both pulled away, you could see an uncertainty in Kims eyes. It was definitely not the kiss, you could feel that you both enjoyed it. Another thougth raced through your head: “Am I your first woman? Don’t worry, we have time. When is your next free day? Maybe we could go to a restaurant.“

“I have tomorrow off.”, she told you straight away.

A relieved sigh escaped your mouth:” Perfect, with a smirk you continued, also, you’re not a bad kisser, captain.”

“I never said I was.”, Kim laughed, you could tell some weight fell off her shoulders.

“No just saying.”, you shrugged.

The midfielder put a loose string of hair behind her ear:” Thanks.”

A month later Kim and you had a video call with your sister. The first thing you told her was that you two became a couple. “You two are dating?! You better take good care of her little sis!”, Jen warned you in a jokingly tone.

“What?! Me?!”, you huffed.

Grinning the defender nodded: “Yes, you heard me.”

“Wow.”, you ran a free hand through your hair.

Meanwhile your girlfriend seemed to have ignored that part of the conversation as she reassured Jen:” Don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your sister.”

“I can already see that.”, your big sister observed amused.

“Jen, you’re a terrible big sister.”, you teased her.

“I’m the best big sister.”, she countered quickly.

“Sure.”, you rolled your eyes at her.

“Stop it you two.”, Kim demanded in her captain voice.

Smiling Jen answered:” No, get used to it, Kimmy. You’re part of the Beattie family now.”  

“Oh yes.”, you added, while giving the midfielder a kiss on her blushing cheek.

Coming to London to move in with one of your sister’s oldest friends was one of the best things that could had happen to you.

As for Kim she never knew she could fall for a woman until you came into her life, but the midfielder was very happy to have let her change her mind about that. Turned out you were more than just a little crush.