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writingsfromhome · 1 year ago

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If you Love Something

A/N: this has been an idea sitting in my drafts for a while. You and Harry had a brief but intense relationship as teenagers, were forced to make a serious decision then, and it’s aftereffects have lingered for the rest of your lives. It deals with some heavier topics so read with caution (alcoholism, depression, unwanted pregnancy etc). I’d describe it as sad but hopeful.

Part 2

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Age 17.

It started in secret. We’d found each other on the roof of a house party. Truth be told, I saw him sneak out of the window where people were crowded around the TV watching some controversial music video I hadn’t heard about. And I’d followed.

I knew who Harry was. Had him in English, Maths, and Biology last year. He was well spoken, thoughtful, and silly. I never spoke to him once though. Only admired him from afar.

Tonight I had my first drink and then another. I was feeling buzzed and despite being painfully shy for most of the time I’d known everyone here, I was suddenly gripped by the realization that we were approaching the last year we would all be together. Why had I waited this long to pursue someone I thought was cute?

I snuck out after him, when my friends weren’t looking. I even tilted the window more closed than usual so no one would suspect anything; I had the attic room at home so I knew how to maneuver the angled roof to get comfortable.

“You need any help?” Harry’s voice is clear in the silence.

“I’m alright.” I stand up to peer at him. He’s climbed near the top.

“Sure? You don’t seem steady.”

“Oh I’m steady,” I prove it to him by climbing up to where he was. “See?”

“I’m mistaken. My bad.” He holds out a hand to help me sit beside him and the night sky flashes brighter for an instant when I grasp his hand. My stomach is in knots.

“Harry. Styles.” I don’t know why I say his full name but I was nervous.

He repeats my full name back to me. I don’t know why I’m surprised he knows it. It’s not like we went to a big school.

“What brings you out here?”

I try to be bold about it, “You?”

“Party was getting too much.” He says. I stare at him in confusion while he complains about something his friends had gotten up to.

I replay my answer and realized it sounded like I’d skipped answering his question and asked the question back. Bugger.

“You know my name.” I interrupt him, forgetting he was telling me a story. Awkward.

“Yeah? Of course I do.”

“We’ve never talked.”

“We talked. Once in Maths. We had to grade each other’s answers.”

Oh yeah. I burn when I remember the 4/10 he’d given me with a smiley face saying that maths was masochistic.

“Barely.”

“I know you though,” he says with a softness that makes my heart stutter.

“Do you?” I look to him, resting my chin on my shoulder. He gazes down at me and I swear I could taste the colours around us.

His eyes draw me deeper as he inches closer. Was he going to kiss me? Oh my god.

I look back out to the roof and he jerks away. Omg.

“I do.”

“Oh,” I don’t know what to do after that awkward moment.

“I know you’re really quiet and shy but your smile is so loud you can see it from across the room.” He says and my breath catches as he continues. “You’re yourself with your friends, you really like Harry Potter and field hockey. You would kill Mal Adams if you could get away with it and you hate Maths just as much as you love art. You’re dating Oli Graves but your smile is only ever shining half as bright when you’re around him. Can I go on?”

I stop breathing completely halfway through his declaration of knowing me. All this time I had my eye on him, I didn’t know he was watching me too.

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion on my relationship.”

“You didn’t. I didn’t give you one either.”

I glare at him. He was right. He smiles knowing he was. I’m mad that I’m not mad at him. That he was right.

“What are you doing with a guy like that?”

Oli and I had been dating for 7 months now. He was loud and fun in a way I wish I could be. That’s why I liked him so much. That’s why I was at a party like this to begin with.

“He’s a good guy.”

“That’s all?” He asks. I look over but he’s looking up at the sky. I follow his gaze and get lost in the great expanse of nighttime.

“I think you deserve someone who sees you. Don’t you?”

“Did Ally see you?” I ask with a hint of aggression I didn’t mean to have.

“Ally and I broke up during Easter. So there’s your answer.” He’s unbothered.

“Well what do you want?” I ask.

“Right now? Or in life?”

I shrug. “Both?”

“I want to explore the world and meet all kinds of people. I wanna make the world a better place by being in it. It’s cheesy as shit so if you ever said I said this I’ll deny it and you’ll look like-“

“My lips are sealed.” I turn his way to promise him that. It makes me laugh at how serious he looks saying it all and when I do his face relaxes.

“You laugh is nice too. I forgot to mention that.”

That quiets me very quickly.

“And right now,” he continues. “I’d really like to kiss you.”

My ears ring. Did I hear him right? Could you get so drunk you hallucinate? I swear the cold air had sobered me-

“Did you hear what I said?” Harry’s moved in closer to me. Did I? I don’t know.

“What d-“

“I��d like to kiss you.”

I nod, afraid to talk and realize I’d hallucinated him saying that.

The world melts away when he kisses me. It’s tender, nothing like Oli and his jagged pushy kissing. In the nighttime air it’s warm, and soft, and easy.

“I know you,” Harry says when we part. I’d nearly climbed into his lap and I try to edge away, embarrassed, but he keeps a hand firm on my thigh.

“I know you too Harry,” I breathe. He smiles and it crinkles his luscious eyes.

I think I was falling.

***

We keep it a secret after I break up with Oli. For months, until mid-August when I invite him over for dinner after my mom insists on meeting “the boy I was all doe-eyed over”. The night with my family goes so well—Harry is the picture of a courteous gentleman that even my sister is swayed by him despite saying boys were gross. I ask him to hang out, in public, the next day. He doesn’t hesitate to say yes.

That’s what I love about Harry—yes love. He’s not pushy, he lets me go at my own pace. He respects me and sees me for everything I am and loves me anyway. I wanted to spend my whole life with him.

It was so intense and relaxed at the same time. It felt like no relationship I’d been in before. I felt different being with him, even my friends noticed.

When final year started, Harry and I were official but we didn’t flaunt it. We didn’t need to. My friends knew about us and they were happy for us, they told me I was more me. Whatever that meant.

Life was phenomenal and I was living in a dusky haze. Nothing could touch us.

Until one day in February. I was out with my sister, mum didn’t want to take her out and since I recently got my driver’s license with plenty of lessons from Harry, I was driving her to the mall. She needed Valentine’s Day cards.

“I thought you said love is stupid.” I remind her on the way.

“It is.”

“So why the hell am I driving you to buy cards for a made up holiday?”

“Because!” She crosses her arms and stares out the window. I flick her arm at a red light.

“You have a crush.”

“I do not!”

“Do too. Who is it? James? Mattie? Hamid?”

“Ew! They’re freaks.” My sister continues staring out the window.

“Why do you want to buy cards so bad!?”

“I just want them! For my friends!”

“Okay then,” I didn’t believe her. But I couldn’t bring her home crying or mum would ground me.

A lot of places have slim pickings. Wandering the aisle of Waterstones I catch sight of a family friend. She was my dad’s uni friend’s daughter, a few years older than me but by the time I got to secondary she had dropped out after getting pregnant. I remember the buzz when everyone found out.

I avoid her and find an aisle to occupy myself.

Harry and I were always careful, mum had already given me the talk and he never pressured me to do anything I didn’t. I imagine Harry as a dad. He would make a good one I think.

As one thought leads to another I go cold as I realize something. My last period was during the holidays.

I feel like I’m walking in a swarm of locusts as I walk to the edge of the aisle, scanning for my sister. Maybe I can pop into a pharmacy before she’s done. Maybe…

This was crazy. It was probably just a missed period.

But if it isn’t, another voice asks. I felt it in my gut. I had to do this.

I don’t remember getting home. I don’t remember anything about the rest of that day except two faint lines, and then two faint lines again, and a third time. I fall asleep before dinner that night and shut the world out.

***

“I know something’s wrong.” Harry’s walking me home after school. It’s Valentine’s Day and he’d been nothing but sweet. He bought me chocolates, flowers, and we planned to cook dinner together after school. I had bought him chocolates too, and had written him a heartfelt note with a bunch of photos of us weeks ago. The box was in my room, waiting for tonight. “Do you not like the flowers? Or is it dinner? We can go out somewhere instead?”

“No everything’s lovely.” I’d never heard Harry this desperate before. It gets under my skin even though part of me knows that’s not really it. But having him hover over me all week trying to figure out what was wrong was too much.

I’d spent every night this week with a hand over my belly. Thinking about it. I hadn’t told anyone. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. All I can think of was Jenny and I didn’t want that life. I couldn’t. I couldn’t be a mother.

“Please. What’s the matter.” Harry asks again, tugging at my hands but I pull them away.

“I just need some space!” I shout and he flinches. “I’m sorry Harry. I just need space right now.”

“Right now like…” he scratches his head. “I don’t get you. It’s Valentine’s Day, we’ve been talking about this day for weeks what do you mean you want space?”

“I can’t do this right now. Please.”

“Are you-are we…”

“I’m not breaking up with you.” I look at Harry with tears in my eyes, I didn’t want to cry out here. But every time I look at him I remember the reality. What’s growing inside me. I can’t take it. “I just can’t do today.”

I go inside my house. Leave him without further explanation. I feel awful, I can’t hold the tears in long enough to get to my room.

***

“Hey love?” My mum and dad knock on my door at half past 5. I lay in the dark, having cried myself dry. “We’re worried about you. Can we talk.”

“I can’t.” I say, voice stuffy.

“I thought you and that boyfriend of yours had plans,” dad says. He liked Harry but he rarely called him by his name. “Did something happen?”

“No!” I wanted them to leave me alone. “I just. I had to cancel. I’m fine.”

“Don’t sound fine to me love,” I feel the mattress dip as mum sits down. Dad strokes my hair. They whisper something I can’t hear and a pair of footsteps pad out of my room.

“Mum just leave me alone.” I try again.

“I’m not.” She pushes me further into my bed and leans down, tugging my blanket down. When I finally look at her she smiles kindly and kisses my forehead. That fills me up enough to start wailing again. “Oh love, what’s wrong?”

“Everything!” I sob into my blanket. Mom lays down beside me and I let myself be cradled like a child. God, I had a child. This was so fucked.

“Talk to me. We can figure it out together.”

I don’t know how my parents would react. They were never particularly strict, especially after what happened with Jenny I remember them always being sympathetic. We even visited her in hospital with a gift.

Mum strokes my hair and whispers that it’ll be okay. Slowly my sobbing eases into light sniffles. I had to tell her. She would know what to do. And if she hated me for it, I would just have to deal with it.

“Mum don’t be mad-“

“I won’t honey I-“

“No. Mum.” I cut her off. She moves back on the pillow so she can see my whole face, moving a strand of hair so I couldn’t hide. “Something…messed up. Happened. And…I was careful. We were always careful I don’t know what happened but I-“

I watch her face changed. Like she knew. She knew what was coming but she waits patiently as I muster up the courage to say the words that felt too real once I said them.

“Mum I’m…I’m pregnant.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she bites her lip. What was she thinking? Was she crying for me or with me? Why wasn’t she saying anything!?

“Mum-“

“C’mere.” She wraps me in her embrace again and kisses the top of my head. My body feels drained and limp. I finally told somebody. It was real. This living thing inside of me was real.

“What happened?” She asks next. And I tell her what I think happened. When. How I found out. She listens, holding my hand in hers. When I’m done and it’s poured out of me she smiles supportively. “This isn’t a bad thing okay? It’s okay. Any decision you make is up to you. I’ll talk to your dad but just know you call the shots okay? I love you.”

This is what carries me. The love.

She asks me it I told Harry yet and I tell her the truth. She urges me to tell him. I tell her I wanted to so bad but I was scared.

She leaves shortly after that, I hear her talking softly outside my room. Nobody calls me for dinner until 7, a soft knock on my door. My sister would never be so soft, I assume it’s dad so I tell him to come in. I was scared to face him.

It’s Harry instead.

“Harry!” I cover my splotchy face with my blanket, why was he here? Did mum invite him? This was soo embarrassing.

My heart pounds and Harry is silent until he takes a seat where mum had previously been.

“I came over, your mum invited me. She explained.”

She did what? For a moment I feel betrayed.

“She said you weren’t doing so well. Stressed? I could make you some tea if you’d like. But I told you y/n, you’ll get into unis. You don’t have to worry so…”

I sigh. Mum had told him a half-truth. But he had come. Of course he had.

I couldn’t even think about uni right now because that lead me down a road of what if I couldn’t go because I had a baby. And that life felt so bleak it made me depressed.

“Harry.” I inch my blanket down a little and his eyes go round when he looks at me.

“You look…awful.”

“I know.” I cover my face with my hair but he brushes it away and kisses my forehead.

“No. I’m worried about you. I brought dinner-“

“Oh Harry.” I spot the bag he brought with him.

“I made it all for us. With my mum’s help but mostly me. I packed it to bring to you.”

I didn’t deserve him. And I had to tell him. And he was going to break up with me. What high school boy wanted a child?

“Harry it’s not uni.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I was carrying another living thing. It was the size of a seed but I was carrying it inside me. Like a living breathing pot. I was a potted plant.

“Then what is it?” His brows crinkle. “Is it us?”

“No!” I rush to tell him. “I…I don’t know how to say this. And I don’t know how you’re going to react but it’s okay either way.”

“What are you talking about?” His hands slide up my lap. “What is it?”

“Harry. I’m um, I’m pregnant.”

I watch him freeze and stay exactly how he is, his brows pinch ever so slightly. I knew this look. He looked still on the outside but his mind was racing. And I was scared what was racing through it.

“Pregnant?”

“Yeah. From…the holidays.”

“How did-I thought we-“

“I guess it’s not foolproof.” I whisper. Mum had told me to go on the pill, and I hadn’t listened because all my friends told me it made them gain weight. If only I had listened. Now I was gaining weight anyway.

“What are we going to do?” He asks next. And I never realized six little words could weigh the world. If I could cut those words out and surgically implant them into my heart I would. Just to remind me the equal parts relieved and comforted they made me.

I hold his face in my hands, new tears springing to my eyes. He was in this. With me.

He kisses me and pulls me into a hug. I cry into his shirt again and he holds me so tight I swear I could break.

“I don’t know if I can keep it Harry,” I finally whisper to him.

His hands fist in my shirt, he holds his breath and after a long minute he lets me go with it.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Was he really okay with all this?

“It’s…I can’t make you keep it.”

“You’d want to keep it?” I couldn’t believe it.

“It’s…” he swallows his sentence and keeps his gaze on my stomach. I tug his hand and lay it over it. When his eyes meet mine I see a hint of heartbreak. We were going to break our hearts either way I think.

Not once did I think he might want to keep it.

“It’s okay.” Harry finally says. “We’re so young right? How would we keep a baby and go to school, and do everything we always talk about?”

“Yeah I don’t…I don’t know.”

“I love you.” He says with such a sudden passion. I wrap my arms around his and return the sentiment.

Eventually we lay down and just talk about everything. Truthfully, my head was telling me not to keep the baby but everything else felt dead thinking about it.

Maybe that’s why it took me until April to finally make a decision. It was the size of a plum by then, and a tiny bump was starting to show but only when I stood naked in front of the mirror. With clothes on, nobody was the wiser. But the longer I kept it, I think the more Harry fell in love with it. The idea of it.

We have a long talk during our Easter holiday. We talked in my bedroom until the sun comes up. I tell him I was sure of my decision.

I’d gotten accepted to Cambridge by then. Harry was staying in London. We knew it wasn’t feasible. To live the life we always wanted, we had to get rid of this new life we never knew could happen.

I don’t know why but I don’t tell him the day I go to do it. I go with my mum. Mum drops my sister off at school—she didn’t know. Mum said she had a big mouth.

We drive in silence. When we park mum asks how I feel.

“Sad.” It was the truth. I knew this was right. But it felt like shite.

“Yeah.” She rubs my hands. “Want to go in?”

“I just want to sit here for a bit.” I tell her.

“Okay. I’ll go sign you in.”

She takes my purse and hers and leaves me there. I take the moment to ground myself. Say goodbye to the other future.

When mum knocks on my window I jump.

“Yn? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah yeah I’m coming in.” I open the door.

“You know you’ve been sitting here half hour?”

I pause, one leg out the door and one still in. “I…I must have got lost in my head. Sorry mum-“

“Look. Do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know…I have to.”

“There are other options love-“

“But how can I give it up and live my whole life like that?”

“We can help raise her. You can go on and live your life-“

“I’d be a horrible mother.” Mum and I had this row so many times before. It always ended in me storming away but I couldn’t here.

“You don’t need to make the decision today.”

“But I do.” I tell her. “Otherwise it’ll drive me insane.”

I tuck both feet back into the car and rest my hand on my belly. I’d allowed myself to do that only in my room, when I was alone. Doing it out here made it feel even more real. Suddenly I couldn’t imagine going through with the decision.

“I can’t do this.” I tell my mum.

She smooths my hair down and kisses my temple. My door closes and a few seconds later she climbs in beside me.

“Think about it.”

“I can’t. But I can’t keep it either.”

“Okay.” Mum pulls me into her and I think I should cry but I can’t. I’m calm, maybe I know I’d made the right decision. Or just a decision. I was going to stick to this.

“I can’t raise it. I’m just a child I…maybe someone out there wants a baby and can’t have one maybe-“

“I’ll look into it for you.” Mum promises. “You set the rules remember?”

And that’s how it goes. Mum looks into it, we decide to go for adoption. We go to the hospital on the first warm day of the year. By then I’d taken to wearing jumpers over flowy dresses and been thankful for the first time in my life that I wasn’t skinny like other girls. At most angles you couldn’t tell my belly was so perfectly round.

By then too, Harry had accepted the decision. He seemed relieved. Thinking aloud he’d said maybe he could raise it, but quickly turned around when I asked him what he’d do about uni.

“Someone out there can take care of it better than us. Someone will love the baby like we do.”

During the summer, I tell all my friends I was staying with family in midlands. And I do go up there, that’s where the couple who was adopting lived. Harry and I meet them with my mum and his. It’s awkward, we run out of conversation fast. But their house is big and they already have a 2 year old from an adoption last year. My baby was going to be loved here. And have a sibling.

“We did want to discuss one last thing,” they’d said before we left. We all listen intently. “We…find it best when it’s a no contact adoption. We’ve had a lot of friends who keep contact open and it gets messy-“

“What?” I hadn’t really thought about this until now. Hearing I’d have to give the baby up and go on like it didn’t exist felt wrong. Harry’s hand slips into mine.

“This is typical,” Harry’s mum says from his side. “Let’s hear it out.”

“Right. So just to prevent future complications, we do no contact. Of course when baby’s older and wants to seek out the real parents we can’t stop them. But until then…”

“Thank you.” My mum steps in when it goes silent. I could hardly wrap my head around what they were saying. When it gets older?

Pretty soon mum is ushering me out and Harry’s hand is still clutching mine. We don’t let go until we reach my Uncle’s where we were staying until August. The baby was due in September. I was going to miss the first week of class.

“I can’t do this.” I tell them later. “How can we just have no contact.”

“I thought you knew.” Mum says. “I explained that some parents want this when they adopt.”

She might have. Ever since I hit the third trimester like my doctor said, I’ve had a hard time listening and understanding what someone was saying after they spoke too long. I was glad school was done—for obvious reasons, but also for not having to sit in a class and learn.

“We have no other choice.” Harry says from beside me. He rubs my back and slowly, I zone back into the conversation. “We can find another family but they might want the same thing.”

“What if the baby never looks for us?” I turn to him, our heads press against the other’s. “What if we go our whole lives just wondering?”

“What’s the other option?” Harry whispers. He was right. I just didn’t want to get it.

Acceptance slowly creeps into me over the course of the summer. It was always hot carrying another person around, I was always hungry and thirsty, and very cranky. Harry came up to see me every other weekend when he could, mum stayed with me and that summer was one I could never forget.

It was September 1st, a particularly hot day. Rain fell in the afternoon and by the time the unforgiving sun set, the cool air was heavenly.

I sat by the bedroom window, moisturizing my belly like mum had shown me, talking to the baby. I wrote it a letter last week all about me, that I loved them and hoped the best for them. I told the baby about my family, how Harry and I met, and then I sealed it in an envelope with a picture of Harry and me. It was taken last Halloween when we’d both dressed up as each other. I tell mum to give it to the new parents. In case the day came the baby wondered about who we were.

As I spoke softly, I felt a gush of something wet down my leg.

“What?” I stand up, confused. “I…”

It takes me a second. I was going into labour.

“Mum!” I shout. “Mum! Come here!”

She rushes in and confirms it. It was happening.

“But it’s supposed to be next week!” I try not to panic but that’s all I can do as mum grabs our things and my aunt rushes to the car. “Does this mean something’s wrong? Is the baby o-“

I freeze as a contraction forces me to fold. I’d felt the kicking and the nausea and everything in between but these. These were a bitch.

Somehow we make it to hospital. Somehow I lay on a bed and push when the doctor tells me to. I nearly pass out. I just wanted Harry here with me. He didn’t know his kid was being born.

With a final push that felt like I was ascending my body and leaving it behind, I hear a wail and I cry. The baby was out, they cried and everything was okay.

“Okay congratulations mummy,” a nurse crouches down to me. “We’re going to clean you and baby up. She’s healthy and looks okay.”

“What?” I can barely see with my hair in my face and the nurses around me. It was a she? I had a baby girl?

We were never told the gender, so we wouldn’t get attached. But I had a baby girl. The nurse just called me mum.

I feel the tears on my cheeks, I was crying too. I try to look around me but a new nurse is talking in hushed voices to the doctor.

“…outside…call…adoption…shouldn’t or….contact-“

“What’s going on?” I can barely get the words out. “What?”

“Oh my love,” suddenly mum’s in the room and things are a bit better. A bit better.

“Mum what’s going on?”

“The baby’s born. The parents are outside they’re going to meet her soon.”

“What?” I look at mum’s face and it’s shining with tears. Why was she crying?

“Oh she’s beautiful love, she’s perfect. But your job’s done now. You should rest.”

“Mum,” I cry. “Where is she? Can’t I hold her?”

“No love,” mum moves my hair out of my face. I feel something break in half inside of me. I couldn’t even hold the baby? The baby girl? Mine and Harry’s baby girl?

“Why? Mum why? I just want to see her-“

“I’m sorry,” mum says through tears. “It’s just the way it is. She’s going to a loving home okay? She’s good. You’re okay.”

I can’t stop crying. I was going to lose her last April and I stopped that but I lost her anyway. My baby, I was never going to see her.

I remember when my sister was born. I was 5 and I was angry she’d taken the attention away. But when I saw her with her perfect toes and angel face I was obsessed with her. I even remember her first steps, she’d taken them at a park with mum and dad and me together. I was never going to know these things about my own baby. I was never going to know her.

I must pass out soon after. I remember waking up to the nurses instructing me about something. I’m half asleep and barely remember what I did when I get up. When I do wake it’s morning and there’s a figure on the chair beside me.

“You’re up.”

Harry. Relief washes over me knowing he’s here.

“Harry they took her,” I tell him.

“I know. I know yn.”

I move aside and he crawls into bed with me. I must look disgusting but he watches me with love brimming in his eyes. I can tell he’s been crying.

“I feel empty,” I whisper. Like someone had carved me out like a pumpkin. Something I’d had with me all year was gone. “How can I just move on? Start uni and all that when I…they just took her.”

“I keep thinking that.” Harry says. “Khalil invited me to a party to meet some blokes from uni and I just sat in my car the whole time. I couldn’t even go in. She…she was never going to be ours.”

“I feel awful.” I burrow into his neck as he strokes my hair. “A baby girl.”

“A baby girl,” Harry echoes.

***

I head to uni a week later. My body still feels like it fought a war and lost. It’s like it still thinks there’s a baby there. I produce milk for a few days, continue to have contractions, my belly is saggier than usual and I can’t stop crying about everything.

My dad drops me off to uni. He tells me he was proud of me, that I was always his baby girl. I cry then just like I cried at home when I said bye to mum, or when my sister hugged me which she never does. I can’t stop crying.

When I move into my dorm I feel like a completely different person than I thought I was going to be. My dormmate fills me in on everything she’s learned, complains about a boy and a party and it just feels so irrelevant to me. Did I used to care about those things? I had a baby. And now I didn’t.

By October, Harry and I are in different worlds. We hadn’t broken up but we talk weekly. Each week there’s less to talk about. When I visit home in October, being around him just makes me sad. He tries to cheer me up, make it like old times, but I know he’s hurting inside too.

I decide to do the breaking up. And at first he’s angry, insisting we could make it work. He actually refuses and walks away. We don’t talk for a whole day.

But at a house party in South where his uni mates were from, he accepts the end.

Through tears we kiss each other one final time, we whisper sweet nothings, we pour into each other all the hopes and wishes we had for each other.

When he hugs me for the last time I leave something behind. It’s similar to waking up the morning after my delivery and knowing something was gone. I really feel the shape of the loss. It sits in my sternum, a hole that grows smaller with time, but not just yet.

I fall into a depressed state for most of my first semester but my dormmate doesn’t give up on me and eventually I go to my first uni party. Eventually my brain fog clears and I actually go to all my classes. Eventually my life, on the outside, looks like it could be back to normal but inside I ache with the loss. So much that it becomes part of me. I don’t know where it ends, and I begin. It lives in me.

Age 23.

“The first of many hey?” Mal clinks his bottle to mine. I barely knew Mal but we were both friends with Khalil and therefore both at his stag.

“Before you know it we’re all going down,” one of Khalil’s friends joins in. “Stag after stag, suit after suit, it’s gonna be a blur man.”

“Let’s enjoy it while we can!” Someone cheers and everyone raises their beers. I toast with a smile; blokes loved to act like being in a relationship was the last thing they wanted when I knew most of them were mush in their girlfriend’s hands.

I also smile knowing I bought an engagement ring a few weeks back. I wanted to propose to Shannon, we met on her 22 when a friend invited me along. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the birthday girl. We’d been together since.

“Who do you think’s next?” The bets start going and nobody bets on me. Everyone always thought Shan was too good for me, they were counting on us breaking up. I was going to prove them all wrong.

The night gets sloppier until we all head back to the air bnb we’d rented for this. Tomorrow we were all supposed to go play golf like we were cosplaying old money bastards when we all knew we were just broke blokes from East. But I guaranteed they’d all be too hungover. We would get to the club and just drink the hangovers away.

And I’m right. I update Shan that I’m right when the boys stay in the dining area of the club. They decide on lunch and I step out to talk to my girlfriend.

“No birds allowed this weekend,” someone pipes in when I excuse myself.

“That’s just cuz you’re miserable Eli.” I brush past as the boys laugh. At me. And him.

I catch up with Shan. It was a bright day for September and I stay a little longer after the phone ends. Shan was in med school, she was always stressed or sleep deprived. I tried to support her the best I could—right now she needed moral support that she was going to get an internship she was applying for.

“Mummy doesn’t like when I have sweets,” a small voice says to my left. I look at a father with his daughter. He’s crouched down zipping her sweater up while she rambles on.

“Well it’s going to be our secret.” The dad says. “Sundays are for sweets aren’t they?”

“I love sweets.” She responds.

The father catches my eye and I shoot him a smile.

“Her mum’s going to hear every detail when we get home,” he says as he stands. “Can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

I laugh. The way she was rambling on, I didn’t think so. “How old’s she?”

“6.” He says, smiling down at her fondly. My heart aches.

“Almost 7.” She corrects her dad.

“Birthday’s in the spring.” He says more to me. “But almost 7 sure.”

I see them leave with one more shared smile, like we’re in on something. I imagine that’s how it would feel to be a parent. Always knowing something your kid doesn’t.

My daughter was 6. Wherever she was.

Thinking about the daughter I never had, the girl I lost always leaves me a little winded. Today’s no different.

Yn and I both made an agreement and it had been the hardest thing I’d done. Letting her go. It took me a proper year to even think about moving on.

I liked to think about yn, doing everything she wanted to do. But when I thought about the baby I spiralled into a dark pit. Sometimes when I drank too much, it pulled me in too deep to get out of. That’s what Shan liked to call my depressive drinking. She’s limited me to 3 drinks since.

Before I go in I take a minute to think about yn, where she might be. I hear from friends in high school random facts about her life. But I wonder how she’s doing. If she thinks about our baby like I do. How life would have been if I’d been here, calling her on the phone instead, asking if our baby girl was doing alright.

Age 29.

I stare at the nape of the man in front of me. It couldn’t be, but I’d memorized the back of his head—amongst other things, nearly 2 decades ago and I would bet £1000 I knew who this was. But I continue staring until the cashier rings him up.

In the same voice I remember, the one from my memories and my fantasies, I hear him say: “debit.”

I wait for him to pay before saying, “Harry?”

He turns so quickly he drops his card, wallet, and keys.

“Hi!” I laugh awkwardly and crouch down to help him pick his things up. There’s an awareness that the people in the queue behind me are witness to a moment that feels more intimate than a grocery store chat and it makes me shrink a little in my shell like a spooked turtle.

“Hi I-uh,” Harry short-circuits in front of me as the bored cashier holds his receipt out and stares at him with eyes that have worked one shift too many.

“I’ll just bag-“

“Yeah we can talk later.” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile but it feels watery. I couldn’t believe of all the places I’d run into him, it was a grocery queue. How intense in such a mundane place.

As I watch my total rise on screen I risk a glance at Harry. His hand hovers over a white reusable bag, I wonder if that was his. Or his wife’s. If they did their weekly shop in a mismatch of bags that looked like that or they were the type of couple to have a set.

His eyes are on me though, somehow here and not here. I feel the same way.

I look back to the cashier asking me how I was paying. She glances between Harry and I. I don’t look back at him. Or the growing queue a few feet away.

I take my groceries—just some items my mum asked me to pick up, and stuff them into the tote I’m wearing. Harry waits for me by the exit.

“Hi.” He says as his eyes scan my face. I do the same, taking in all the ways time had spent with him. It must have been good—he looked good. “I can’t believe-“

“A Whole Foods of all places.” I laugh. A grin splits his face but his eyes stay on me.

“That smile, that laugh. God I’ve missed you.”

“I…missed you too.” How I could miss someone I’d known for one year and then never again for nearly two decades…I didn’t realize it was possible until now.

“Are you busy?” He asks. “Maybe we can grab a drink or?”

“I don’t…drink.” I hated that I had to announce it to people. I was still at the stage where I was figuring out how to say it confidently, or find a way around saying it.

“Oh.” Harry glances down at my belly and I realize he’d misunderstood but it’s too unspoken to correct him. “Cafe?”

“Yeah. That sounds lovely.” Honestly going anywhere with him sounded lovely right now. I wanted to cancel all my plans for the day and just sit with him. Stare at him and catch up. I couldn’t believe he was here.

We walk in a comfortable but waiting silence, like taking a cold drink out to a park with the anticipation it’s going to be good , and no desperation to open it as soon as you get it.

“Usual? Tea?” Harry asks when we step into a nearby cafe. It’s big for a cafe but has enough students working on laptops to not feel empty. I nod, unsure how to feel that Harry still knows what I order at a cafe. Or that my order hasn’t changed since 17.

I find us a booth and pretty soon he’s sliding into the seat across from me. The two of us can’t stop smiling.

“Hi,” he says again.

“Hi…”

“You look good, the same but better.”

“I was going to say the same thing about you!” I exclaim. More smiling.

“How’s…I mean, how are you? How is everything? What-“

“There’s so much to ask-“

“I don’t even know how to ask what I want to know!” Harry laughs and I’m warmed from the inside out at the sound of it.

“This shouldn’t be hard!”

“No.” He scrubs his face. “I’m really buzzing that we’ve run into each other.”

“Me too. It’s a bit unbelievable.”

“I know.” He continues gripping his cup and not taking his eyes off of me. It’s the exact way he used to look at me when we were teenagers. It nearly takes my breath away. “You look good—but I already said that. Sorry.”

“No,” I laugh. “That’s all that’s running through my head.”

“Oh—I remember hearing you were engaged a few years ago-“

“Yeah.” I turn my hand so he can see the ring. “Married now. You?”

“Yeah,” he looks down at his own hand. He had so many rings on I couldn’t tell from a glance. “Coming up to 5 years now.”

“Wow. It’s only 1.5 for me but Tatum and I—my husband, we’d been since uni.”

“Took him a while.”

“Mhm,” it had been a sore subject way back then. Harry says it casually but he studies my face. I know he wants to ask more but he’ll politely maneuver around it.

“Are you happy?”

I let out a breath. “That’s more complicated than anything else you could ask!”

“Is it?”

“Yeah I-“ I shrug. “I don’t know if I am. But I also have no idea what I could do about it. So. There’s that.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” My stomach curdles with his words. I didn’t want pity, least of all from Harry. Harry. I can’t believe he was here. “I get it though. Everyone says your 30s are even more glorious than your 20s. We’ll see soon enough if they’re right.”

I meet his eye, they always intimidated me to look too long into. Even now, I glance back down at my drink. When I look up again he has a wry smile twisting his lips. He knew.

I was sorry to hear life hadn’t been as good for him. And then I understand, it wasn’t pity he was giving me. He truly was sorry like I.

I thought about Harry often. Of course I did. I liked to imagine him living out his dreams like he always talked about. I liked to imagine him happy and thriving.

“Do you ever think about us?” I have to ask. “If we did it all differently?”

“We would have had a 12 year old with us.”

Hearing him say it feels like someone had taken a screwdriver and opened me up. Raw and exposed. But looking at him I know he thought about her as much as I had. Both of us were apparently mourning a future neither of us had fought for.

“Yeah,” I breathe but I just sound winded.

“We were trying, at one point—Shan and I.” Harry fiddles with his ring. “Did all the tests and the trials and the shite. But no kids. It put a real strain on my relationship. I think we cracked instead of bending. And I don’t think either of us know how to make it right again.”

I grasp his hand and squeeze. “I know what that’s like. It’s hard. I…a couple years ago. I lost a baby. A baby boy. I felt like it was a punishment for-“

“Don’t.”

We hold onto each other, our drinks long forgotten. He holds my hand and it feels like being known again, like I wasn’t such an awful person. That someone could see everything I’ve done and still choose to have love for me.

“I’m sorry.” He tells me.

“Me too.” I bite my lip. With a sigh I let him go and lean back. Here we’d been so excited to bump into each other but we’d both been carrying sorrow and grief. It wasn’t very hopeful.

“So I guess you’re not drinking because you’re-“

“No.” I say, surprisingly without feeling awkward. “I’m just sober right now. Trying to figure out life without a drink.”

“Sounds like torture but I respect that. Sounds hard.”

“It was at first. I like the feeling now of thinking clearly. But I miss a glass of wine I do sometimes.”

We smile at each other.

“So do you live around here?” Harry broaches talking again after both of us had lapsed into silence for a while. I blink away the fog of the past.

“Yeah. You?”

“Nah. Shan’s out of town and I was feeling lonely. Came over to visit my sister. I’m just staying with her for the week.”

“Lucky me then.” I smile.

“Lucky me too.” He smiles back. It’s soft. We’re soft. It felt impossible to me after all this time the tenderness was still the strongest thing between us.

We chat a bit more, much about nothing. What we did for a job, anyone we still kept in touch with from school. Nothing that meant a lot.

“I need to head off now,” I say when my phone buzzes for a second time. “I was on my way to my mum’s. She keeps calling me.”

“Yeah. Don’t want to keep you.” Harry says but he stays seated. So do I.

We continue just studying the other until my phone rings again and I laugh. “It was…I really loved seeing you.”

I slide out and Harry mirrors me. I still come to his chest, he still smells the same and stands the same and looks just as handsome.

“How about uhm, how about dinner some time?” Harry asks. I knew it was coming, it’s still painful saying no.

“I…can’t. I…we can’t just do dinner, can we?”

“No,” Harry bows his head. We had too much history to just do dinner. From what he said—and I knew, both our lives were too complicated to add the allure of each other into the mix. I couldn’t do that to my life as tempted as I was. Especially not sober.

“Yeah.” He stands straight again and gives me space to head to the door. “Good seeing you. Give your mum my best if she doesn’t hate me.”

“She doesn’t.” I assure him. We stand awkwardly not sure if a kiss, a hug, or a wave was appropriate. We settle for a hug.

I remember the last time I was enveloped in his arms, tucked away into his tall frame. When we said goodbye forever, agreed to live our best lives separately. We’d both been too scarred to be anything together. Too much grief.

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again.” Harry smiles at me when we part.

“Maybe,” I say knowing full well I wouldn’t do groceries on the weekend anymore.

With a final wave we both part ways again, this time it doesn’t feel as much like closure.

Age 35.

“Graduation’s graduating, what a mouthful.” I say to Andie. We sit in the parking lot of a local pub back home. Both of us had avoided reunions after going to the first one 10 years ago and being reminded of how much people liked to remind you of who you used to be. But this year Andie found out an old flame was going and single. And this is the first year I saw that Harry had checked off going. So we’d decided to go together.

I could have easily reached out to him. Asked him about meeting up there. But I didn’t want to come across any way. I remember our run-in 6 years ago. We felt the same way—we would do anything for each other, and I didn’t want any affect over him coming. Last I heard he was still in a relationship. Just cuz I was didn’t mean I had to ruin another.

“Okay. We going in?” Andie passes me her flask.

I’d taken to drinking again. Originally I stopped after a particularly bad night when I was 28. It nearly cost me my wedding back then.

I stopped to get sober. To feel what it felt like not to rely on alcohol to keep from feeling my emotions. I had a lot of grief I never processed. And unfortunately being sober, and processing the grief and depression, had ultimately cost me my marriage. But I was better for it. I knew what unconditional love and support was. I didn’t want to settle for someone who only loved me at my best.

Now I felt in control when I drank. I knew when to stop.

“Let’s go!”

“Do you think he’ll remember me?” Andie asks as we walk up to the place.

“You comment on so many of his posts. I think he does.” I tease.

“Gah. It would have saved me so much heartbreak if I just told him back 18 years ago how I felt.”

“Maybe,” I think about my confessed love 18 years ago and the heartbreak that ensued.

“Well at least I would have gotten him outta my system. Oh god I see him-“

“Hi ladies,” we’re stopped near the front and given name tags, making small talk with the girls working the booth. I vaguely remember them from a club but I have to read their name tags to pretend I remembered them at all.

Andie ditches me pretty quickly but I don’t mind. I find some friends I saw a couple times a year. Guess this was the couple time this year.

The whole time my eyes scan the room. People had brought their partners and I wondered if Harry would do the same. Deep down, I prayed he didn’t. I just wanted to see him.

I spot him halfway through the night. He’s leaning against the bar talking to Khalil. I remembered they used to be friends, he was always nice to me while Harry and I dated.

I watch him talk and drink. I lose him for a bit and then catch him leaving. Shite.

I excuse myself and rush out but nearly trip over myself slowing down. He was just outside for a smoke break.

“When did that habit start?” I ask. He nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Fu-y/n you scared me.” He shakes his face dramatically, like he’s getting something off of it. I bite back a smile, he was pretty drunk. “When did you get here? I didn’t know you came to these things?”

“I don’t.” I correct him. I couldn’t tell him I came for him. “It was just the name of this reunion, Graduation’s graduating. How could I pass it up?”

This earns a laugh. Eases the air between us. “Did you see Oli in there? He’s gotten bald.”

“He looks like his dad actually,” I remember his dad was always coming to Oli’s football matches, screaming at his son to run faster.

“Glad you didn’t end up with him?” Harry smirks.

“Oh yeah. I heard last reunion he just kept going up for the karaoke sober. If I want my bloke to embarrass me, at least give him the excuse of being drunk.”

“Shit,” Harry laughs. “I remember that! I remember! Wish I could forget!”

I laugh with him. “Harry you’re getting pretty close to drunk yourself.”

“Ah yeah. More than 3 drinks that, I’m being naughty tonight.”

I scrunch my nose, no idea what he’s talking about.

“I can’t believe you’re here tonight,” Harry says again. “I thought I wasn’t going to see you again for another 12 years after our last time.”

“Thought I’d halve the time.” I watch Harry squash out the butt.

“Glad you did.” He looks at me and I’m 17 again. Why couldn’t we both be single? Why did I come here knowing I couldn’t have him.

Maybe I was as masochistic as the person who invented maths.

“Yn?” A voice calls out to me. “Oi! It is you I thought I was dreaming you up! What a sight!”

I’d been avoiding Oli all night. Not anymore.

I glance at Harry and he hides a smirk. Oli notices Harry then and his face hardens a little.

“Oli! Long time!” I go in for the hug he’s reaching for, unsure why he was so sweaty on an autumn night. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he grins at me. “You look good! Not a day over 25.”

“Don’t flatter me Oli,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not going to get you anything.”

“I’m not looking! I swear it!” He says earnestly. “I’m just paying you a compliment. It’s good to see you. Hey, I’m actually in a good relationship. Gonna propose to her.”

“Are you? What’s she like?”

I stand in the brisk evening as Oli tells me about his girlfriend. I’m happy for him, what we had in high school wasn’t really a relationship but I never wished him bad. He was a good guy, I was glad he found his person.

I change the subject when he asks about my love life, tell him I was getting cold. We head back in and I tell him I’d catch up to him later. I’d lost Harry and wanted to find him again. I had more I wanted to talk about.

“Khalil,” I interrupt him playing pool. He goes in for a hug and I engage in polite small talk until I tire of it. “I’m looking for Harry.”

“Of course you are,” he wags a finger at me. “I saw him leaving ten minutes ago?”

“Jeez really?” I couldn’t believe I missed him! After coming here just for him. Maybe he had to get home, maybe he had a kid by now. Had to tuck him in.

“He’s not doing so well since the divorce-“

“What?” I stare at Khalil like he’s spoken gibberish. Why hadn’t I heard about that?

“Ehm yeah. He’s pretty private about it.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. He’s been separated a few years now but he just signed the papers a couple weeks ago. I dunno. He gets kinda depressed around this time of year. Probably the weather.”

It was September. It wasn’t the weather.

I had to find him.

I brush past the people I went to school with. I followed Harry outside to a roof 17 years ago and today I follow him out to find him again. We needed to talk.

I look both ways, hoping for a miracle.

I spot a figure slumped on the far end of the road. I recognize the church, it was where we went every Easter and Christmas growing up.

I walk towards the figure until I can make out the hair. It was Harry. Thank god.

“Why’d you leave?” I ask him when he looks up to my approaching footsteps.

“I drank too much,” he hangs his head again. I sit beside him.

“I heard about the divorce. I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugs. “We separated a while ago. It was coming for a long time.”

“Yeah. Still.” I say.

We sit in silence, the only sound is our breathing and the faint noises from the pub down the road.

“She’s in her last year by now.” I say without further explanation. I know he’d know.

“Our baby’s 17.”

Our baby? I feel choked up. All these years we’d been apart, built our own lives, and there was still an our even when there hadn’t been.

“It’s always been us hasn’t it?” Harry says. “Nobody understands.”

“They couldn’t. We were so young, making such a big decision.”

“Oh y/n.” He leans into me and I wrap my arm around his shoulder. He’s cold, his jacket pooled on the steps around him. I gather it to spread over his shoulder but he stops me. “How much heartbreak can you have in one lifetime?”

I sit, aching for the pain Harry was going through. Knowing it was mirrored in me.

“I’ve had enough for a lifetime. I know that.”

“Me too.” Harry sighs. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.” I intertwine our hands. They still fit the exact same, all these years later. I examine them, but they looked the same too. I wonder if our baby girl ever looked at her hands, wondered who she inherited them from.

“D’you think she thinks about us?” Harry asks what I’m thinking.

“Maybe.” I say. “I like to think so. I just hope she doesn’t hate us for giving her up.”

“Yeah me too I think…” he hangs his head. I hear him sniffle. Seems like Harry hit the point of drinking where all you could feel is regret. I remember those days. I knew where he was.

When he doesn’t finish his sentence I fill the silence; “Me and Tatum split uh…four years ago now.” I update him. “You probably heard something about it. I remember my mum saying she ran into yours when it was happening. They probably talked all about it.”

I wait for Harry to give confirmation but he stays the way he is.

“I went sober a few years before then. Almost ruined our wedding cuz I was exactly where you were. Unprocessed grief and all I could do was drink about it. I’d given up a baby at 18, then lost a baby a decade later. It feels silly to say out loud, that something that never really came into this world—something the size of a fruit could act like the rock you push up the hill every morning. The grief you fight at your darkest times. How could we be haunted by something that didn’t even exist—not technically. But that’s just the way it was. And that’s the way it had to be when we were 18. I’m not always sure I made the right decision overall but I know it was a decision we had to make at the time. I’ve had to find my peace. So do you Harry.”

“Yeah. I-I have to. Y’know? Sometimes I wonder if I would have made her proud.” Harry sniffles. I had similar thoughts. My throat feels tight remembering. “I don’t think, right now, I would be.”

“She’s so loved. She is so loved Harry. Whatever…wherever she is.”

“I love you.” Harry turns to me. His face is raw with grief and emotion. “Never stopped loving you. But I don’t want to give you this version of me.”

“I’ll take any version of you Harry.” I reassure him. “I think we’ve seen too much of each other to be able to hide anything away.”

He tips forward slowly until his head rests on my chest. I hold him there, just like he’d done for me so many years ago. I tell him the type of thing that meant everything to me back then and I hope it helps him to hear it: “We’ll get through this Harry.”

***

“I don’t remember getting here.”

I look up from my book, Harry stands in my kitchen with a confused look on his face. It was weird seeing him here in my flat. But it was so right too.

“We walked home. I thought you sobered up.”

“Nuh-uh.” He takes a few steps towards me, hesitant.

“Coffee?”

“Maybe I’ll take a shower first?”

“First door on your right. Extra towels in the cupboard.”

“Thanks.”

We look at one another for a beat before he moves back. I make another pot of coffee and clean up from breakfast while he showers.

Next time he walks back in he looks a lot better. Smells nice too.

“Black please.” He says when I hold the coffee up.

I pour him a cup and watch him sip it.

“Thank you for last night.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” I tell him.

“I remember what you said to me. You’re right of course. I think I knew it, I just didn’t have anyone to talk to about it with. Nobody knew about us…”

“You didn’t have to keep it a secret ‘til this day Harry.” I was surprised he had. “You didn’t even tell any of your friends?”

“The only people who knew were my family, a-and Shan. But. Year after year it didn’t mean the same thing to her. I stopped talking to her about it pretty quickly. Think it made it worse because her and I couldn’t actually…”

“Yeah.” I understood.

“But I realized. I think it was losing both of you. I feel like you were taken away too. We just went from being around each other all the time to cold turkey. That was a loss too so…”

“Yeah.” Again, I understood.

“I’m 35. I’ve gotta…get my head on straight.”

I examine him. “Looks okay to me?”

He smiles and puts his cup down.

“I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.”

“Meh that was years ago. Hard then. Fine now. For the best.”

“I agree,” Harry moves around the table to stand where I am. My heart pulses just like it always does around him. He rests a hand on my hip, dragging it up to wrap around my waist. He must feel how hard my heart’s beating. “Did I tell you? That I love you?”

“Maybe?” I feel myself growing more present. The hole that always lived inside of me growing even smaller in this moment. It allows me to settle on the floor better; less air, more weight.

“Well I do. I love you. At 17, or at 35.” He says this with a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth.

“Well. I love you.” I return the kiss, relish in the way his hand grips my tank. “At 17, or 35.”

“Sometimes I wish I held on tighter at 17. But I look at you now and I’m excited to get to know you again.”

His words pour over me like honey. It was sweet we were still on the same page.

“I’m not letting you go this time.” Harry whispers in my ear. He pulls me in tight, swaying from side to side. “I want to spend 41 and 50 with you. I want all of you, every side.”

“Perfect,” I peer up at him. “That’s exactly what I want too.”

“And maybe one day,” he continues in a hush voice. “We’ll get a call from a young girl. She’ll tell us all about her life in a town up north. About a picture she has of her mother dressed like her father and her father dressed like her mother.”

“She’ll tell us she’s had a good life, and she’s thought about the people in the picture. She’d tell us she wants to meet them.”

“We would be able to show her the love we kept for her. Our love’s like a venn diagram, the bit in the middle is just for her. She’d know why she was born in the first place.”

“Closure,” I whisper to him. “We would know closure.”

I remember the day she was taken, how the loss of not even being able to see her felt bigger than the loss of her itself back then.

I think of a 17 year old girl, with green eyes and brown hair. With my smile and Harry’s dimples. My hands, and Harry’s height. She was loved by people, families, that she didn’t even know existed yet.

They say if you love something, let it go. If it’s meant to be it’ll come back.

As Harry and I stay intertwined in the kitchen of my flat, I send out a wish into the universe for her like I did most days. That she was healthy, happy, and one day curious enough to seek us out. That one day, she would come back.

Right now I focus on the man in my arms. The one I never thought I’d get to hold again. For now this was all I needed. I’d loved him, let him go, and after so many years apart, we were back.

#harry styles fic #writingsfromhome #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #fic #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry stylesxreader #read with caution #sad but hopeful #kinda nervous to post #this fic is qd

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greynatomy · 6 months ago

Text

reputation

ella toone x reader

first ella toone fic! was in the drafts for a while and got around to finally finishing it. honestly don’t know where i was going with this

———

You had a reputation.

Once you turned eighteen, you started to rebel, wanting to make your point across. At eighteen, you started getting tattoos and buzzed all your hair, looking completely different from the colorful person you used to be. You wanted to steer away from the child everyone sees you to be and be seen more of an adult. The thing is, your management thought that the only way to do that is to make you out to be a womanizer, getting girls left and right.

The smoking, though, that was on you. Becoming well known starting at the age of fifteen, you’ve been under the spotlight from a young age, being told how to dress, how to act, everything in your life was controlled. The smoking, getting tattoos, cutting your hair was a way for you to get some of the control back.

You are now twenty-five. Fired your old management, signed into a new label who let you be you. Its been two years and you’ve been writing and producing songs on low profile. Your fans still figure out which songs have been written/produced by you - even under pseudonyms. You were loving being out of the spotlight for once.

—

The sun shining through the curtains wakes you up from your sleep, eyes fluttering shut from the light. Your arm tightens its hold from the body it’s slung over, pulling them close.

“Mmm, five more minutes.”

You didn’t reply, just pulled her closer than she already is, drifting back to sleep. About an hour later, you wake up to footsteps running around. Sitting up, back resting against the headboard, you see your girlfriend running around, stuffing things into her training bag. You sat there quietly, admiring your her chaotic form rushing in and out the room.

“You’re staring.”

“Just admiring.” You mouth twitching up in amusement.

“Well, I need to leave now or I’ll be late.”

“Did you pack any going out clothes? Wanna take you out after training.”

“Yeah, but what about my car?”

“I’ll take a cab to the facility. Wait for you.”

“Alright, text me when you’re there.” She leans down, giving you a kiss. “I love you.”

You grab the back of her neck and pull her back when she moves away, pulling her back in for another kiss.

“I love you. Now, go before you’re late.”

“See you soon.”

To make time go by faster, you decided to busy yourself with some cleaning around the house. You quite liked being a little housewife for Ella, cooking, cleaning, waiting for her to get back home from training.

Few hours later, dressed casual, you’re in a cab on the way to St. George’s Park. paying the cab driver, you walk to the parking lot looking for Ella’s car.

Rockstar 🎸🖤

at the car. forgot the spare key. take your time

Looney Toones ❤️⚽️

give me a few minutes

You leaned against the car, answering some messages and emails from your phone. You were too focused to notice a couple of footsteps coming towards you.

“Uh, excuse you. Don’t lean on the car.”

You look up, taking the hood off your head, to see Ella’s best friend, Alessia, and one other.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hold on.” Mary, the goalkeeper that Ella’s told you about, spoke up. “Why do you look so familiar?”

Before you could answer, you’re cut off by a very loud voice.

“We’re matching!”

Your face instantly lights up at the voice of your girlfriend.

“What a coincidence!”

“Ha. Ha.” Ella realizes you, once again, matched with her on purpose. “What is it with you wanting to match with me?” She smiles at you with adoration.

You shrug. “You ready to go?”

The clearing of a throat breaks the two of you out of your bubble, forgetting about the other two Lionesses.

“Uh, Tooney?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s this?”

Ella’s face lights up. “Oh! This is me girlfriend, Y/N!”

“Nice to meet your two!” You hold your hand out, but it was just stared at. You let out a chuckle, awkwardly putting your hand back down. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Bye guys.”

Mary and Alessia watch as the car drives off with their friend inside.

“I remember now! She’s Y/N Y/LN. The one I’ve seen on the news always bringing a new one home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if Ella was just another one of her conquests.”

The next day at training, Mary and Alessia approach Ella during break.

“Hey, guys!” Ella greeted them cheerfully.

“Hey, Ella. Uh, just some questions.”

“What is it?”

“Your girlfriend. You know who she is right?”

Ella was now confused. “Uh, yeah. Of course I do.”

“Well, we’re just worried.”

“About?” Now Ella was getting a bit impatient.

“She’s a bit off a womanizer isn’t she?” Alessia blurts out, speaking up for the first time.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s always seen with a new girl hanging by her arm like every week.”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Look, Tooney. We’re just looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me? Nah, I’m done with this conversation.”

You were in the backyard when you heard the front door slam shut. Looking towards the door, you see your girlfriend stomping towards you and plopping down on your lap.

“What’s happened?”

“Ugh! Can you believe Mary and Less? They had the nerve! The nerve to accuse you of being with me only temporarily.”

“What else did they say?”

“They were talking ‘bout how you always have anew girl hanging off your arm and stuff, but those were from years ago before you fired everyone.”

You wrap your arms tighter around her, pulling her closer. “Well, I mean, look at it from their perspective. They’ve never met me, they don’t know me like you do. All they have is what they’ve seen online. And they’re your best mates, they’re looking out for you.”

After a few moments of silence, Ella now has a look of determination on her face. She grabs her phone and sends out a text.

“They’ll be here in a couple minutes.”

Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

“What do you mean in a couple minutes. I haven’t even cleaned the house yet.”

You run around the house picking up anything you could see to put away, wanting to make a good first- technically second- impression with Ella’s best friends.

“Babe.”

You go to grab the vacuum.

“Baby.”

You also grab a broom because what if the vacuum isn’t enough.

“Baby!” She grabs you by the shoulders to keep you in place. “Breathe.” You do as she says. “Okay. The house isn’t even messy and even if it was, they’d know it was from me.”

You nod your head. “True.”

Exactly as Ella stated, there was a knock on your front door a couple of minutes later. She greets them, letting them in and goes to stand next to you.

“This is Y/N. My girlfriend, as I stated yesterday.”

“Hi, nice to meet you both.” You give them a small wave.

Mary’s lips form a straight line while Alessia gives you a small smile in greeting.

“Let me get us something to drink.” Ella announces, leaving the three of you alone.

“What’s your game here?” Mary gets straight to the point.

“Sorry?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“C’mon! You’ve gotten with singers and supermodels, basically everyone. Is Ella another one of your conquests?”

“What? No!”

“I’m not stupid! I know your reputation, you go from one girl to another.”

“Well, then you don’t know me at all!” You were now getting frustrated. You hated when people judge you just because of what they see from the media. You can’t blame them though, that’s all people know you from.

“What’s going on here?” Ella walks back in, drinks in hand, confusion on her face.

“Nothing. Just getting to know—”

“—Actually.” Mary cuts Alessia off. “I just wanted to make sure she is good for you. Based on all the girls she’s been with, I don’t think she is.”

“Okay, that’s enough Mary!”

“I’m just being realistic!”

“No, you’re being an asshole judging my girlfriend from things you see on the internet. You should know not to believe everything you see online. The both of you.” Mary and Alessia looks down in shame. “Also, if you haven’t noticed, she’s been out of the media for two years so everything you’ve seen was from a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s been with half the population before you!”

“It does when you find out that that isn’t true at all.”

“What?” Alessia’s voice was soft but heard.

“My name is-was a brand by the label. I was legally blinded to do what they told me to do and the acting out, smoking, tattoos, those are the only ways I could take some control back, but I never took advantage of anyone. All those girls I’ve been pictured with, I’ve only slept with one until she left me because management wanted to keep the ‘bad girl’ image.”

You move to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from a refrigerator. Popping it open, you take a swig, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Two years ago, I decided to ‘run away’ to Manchester. Fired my whole team and just disappeared.”

“That’s when I met ‘er.” Ella cuts in, wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning into you. “Started dating two months after the countless dates she took me on and it’s been almost two years. She makes me really happy.” The last sentence was directed right at her friends.

“Okay. I’m sorry for judging you so quick.”

“Same with me. I’m sorry.”

“No hard feelings at all.” You give them both a smile. “Now since you’re both here, why don’t you stay for dinner.

The three perk up at the mention of food.

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #ella toone #ella toone x reader #engwnt x reader #woso community

361 notes · View notes

adhdduckie · 23 days ago

Text

cuz he's my best friend's brother!

my masterlist

pairing : choso kamo (my beloved) x reader.

on the radio : lunch by billie eilish.

word count : 11.1k

synopsis; he's your best friend's older brother- that's all he is to you. nothing more, nothing less. so why do you feel this way about him? and why are you so interested in the things that he does? he seems to have no interest in you at all. (no curses AU) turns out he's just as whipped as you. yuji being done with u n choso forever

or;

years of gradual buildup to a romantic relationship between your best friend's brother; choso kamo.

guys im so sorry this has been marinating in my drafts for months.

t.w; swearing, some angst? eventual fluff. reader is described as having a period and wears dresses. lmk if i forget anything else

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AGE 5 and AGE 7

You met Yuji at your day care. you'd been sitting on the grass field in the backyard of sunny smiles daycare, tears welling up in your eyes as you glared angrily at the ground. you didn't want to be here! you wanted to be at home with your mom and dad!

it was your first time being away from your parents for so long, and you'd stormed away from the sunny smiles worker as soon as your parents left.

so that brought you to where you were, sitting under a shady tree all alone, stabbing angrily at the ground with a stick. it's not that anyone was actively avoiding you, as a couple of other kids had approached you but you hissed at them like a feral cat, not particularly enjoying your emergence into society.

it all changed very quickly though, because just when you found a little stick bug, a little boy with bright pink hair and a bright smile came bounding up to you.

“Whatcha lookin at?” he asks, and you look up at him.

“Bug.” you respond shortly, and his smile brightens even further, if that was even possible. (you learn to know that his smile is blinding, and something he doesn’t reserve. He gives them to everyone as if it's as easy as breathing to him.)

That’s how you become best friends with Yuji, over some fascination over a stick bug, in the corner of a playing field.

You end up finding out that he lives on your street, a couple of houses down, with his big brother and his dad.

Throughout the years, you spend countless hours over at the itadori/kamo household, and it becomes a second home to you quite easily, their father being kind and outgoing helps you become seamlessly integrated into their family of 3.

The first time you went over, you were sooo excited the night before, you couldn’t sleep! You’d known yuji for an entire 2 weeks, and could not wait to meet his older brother, and his parents.

The day of, you were so hyperactive, bouncing around while you whined to your mother when she took an entire 10 minutes to get ready to walk you to his house, running ahead of her on the pavement on the way there.

You race up the stairs to his door, pounding your little fists on the door, somewhat rudely and rather impatiently, but you get a pass for being a literal child.

Your mother pulls you by the hand away from the door and scolds you for being impolite and so impatient, but you’re too excited to care.

You can hear the door being unlocked on the other side of the door, and then next thing you know, there’s an angel opening the door and staring down at you with the prettiest purple eyes.

…record scratch.

The boy standing in front of you is not an angel, but he might as well be. Longish black hair thrown up in to two twin ponytails, with deep set eyes and a thousand yard stare, he’s gorgeous. He smiles at you, greeting you formally as if he’s an adult, and not just a 7 year old boy.

Your mom coos, ‘such an adorable little boy,’ and already responsible enough to be answering the door.

“Look at him, y/n. He’s so well behaved. You can learn from him.” your mother says, looking down at you with an affectionate smile.

You can’t even reply, you’re so taken with this boy. This must be choso, Yuuji's older brother by two years.

You look him up and down, and he smiles at you. You decide immediately that you love this boy, and he will be yours. (you’re 5, and he’s 7. He’s not going to be yours anytime soon.)

So obviously you do what any 5 year old would when presented with a cute guy. You grab onto him, and refuse to let go even when your mom is pulling you off him.

“Sorry, I don't know what’s gotten into her.” your mom apologises to the boy, trying to hold in her laughter.

“It’s alright.” choso replies with a smile.

At that time, Yuji seems to hear the commotion at the door, and comes bounding over, yelling your name excitedly.

“Yuuji!” You yell in response, letting go of his brother momentarily to hug him.

“Why didn’t cha tell me bout your brother?” you ask him, before immediately reverting back to choso’s side.

Your mother sighs, before bids you goodbye and heads to work, thinking to herself that the years to come will be interesting indeed.

“Whaddya mean?” yuji asks you, as he pries you off from his brother and pulls you into the house to give you a tour.

“.um, duh….he’s going to be my husband. You will be my brother in law!” you tell yuuji confidently, sure that you will win the heart and the affections of his older brother.

Yuuji stares at you with a concerned and open mouthed look, before he breaks into a smile.

“Will we be related?” he asks cheerfully.

“Yes! You can be my brother in law!” you tell him, already planning out your future, just considering the names of your children.

You forget that choso is behind you, trailing, and he lets out a soft chuckle, before he rubs the top of your head. He’s pretty tall for a 7 year old, but then again, he’s always been the tallest kid in his class.

“I’ll wait.” he tells you and you brighten, smile radiating like a thousand suns.

choso thinks it’s funny, and considers it just another childhood promise that is made by kids that aren’t kept.

But you’re convinced that he’s the one for you, and the one you will love forever. You’re convinced that this is who you’re meant to spend the rest of your life loving, and that he was made for you.

You and Yuji spend the day in the garden, playing with the sandpit they installed, frisking around in the pool, and on the set of the swings, all under the watchful eye of choso.

choso seems to be built for the role of protective older brother, because yuji and you aren’t allowed to be out of his watchful eyes for more than a minute.

He plays with you guys with a level of maturity you’ve never seen in a kid before, but he still is patient as he plays with you in the sandbox. In later years, you’ll look upon moments like these to realise just how serious he’s been, even as a child.

When you and yuuji had an argument over who should get the neon green shovel, he sighs, before telling you that you should take turns, an hour with you and an hour with yuuji. By the time yuuji’s hour is up, you’ve already forgotten about wanting it.

That would never stop him from being sweet and considerate to you, though. Time at the itadori household passes by quickly, and soon, hours have passed and it’s lunch.

You follow behind choso and yuji as they walk into the kitchen, to be greeted by jin, itadori’s father.

You smile at him, introducing yourself a little to him, while he talks to you as he cooks.

Yuji and choso jump onto the seats surrounding the island with some difficulty, but they’re still able to reach. Being 5 years old, you can’t reach, and struggle to clamber on, so choso gets off his chair to help you up to sit on it.

He’s so caring, it’s almost ridiculous.

Hours later, when you leave the itadori’s house only after the promise of many more visits to come, you’re still giddy from the high of the day, kicking your feet as your mom walks you back to your home. You wave to yuuji and choso, who are both staring out the window to see you leave.

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AGE 7 and AGE 9

Two years after you meet yuji, you’re still spending so much time over at yuji and choso’s house.

it's safe to say that you enjoy their house more than your own, considering how you’re there almost every single waking moment. Your mother worries about intruding, but it’s not something that really crosses a 5 year old’s mind.

Jin laughs anytime your mother frets, and says there’s nothing to be worried about, and he doesn’t mind that you’re there a lot, as “both of the boys seem to love [you]”.

In later years, your mother will often comment on how you seemed to be so taken with choso, and yuuji, but both in different ways.

For yuji’s 8th birthday, he got a small house. Not literally, but one of those children houses that you would find in a walmart, for at most a hundred dollars. It was plasticy and shiny, with red (plastic) bricks, and a purple roof. It was just big enough to fit the three of you at one time, and suprisingly, at the age of 9, choso was still perfectly content to spend time with an 8 year old and a 7 year old.

You remember the day yuuji got that house. You were at sunny smiles daycare, playing on the seesaw set when he came bounding up to you with a big toothy smile.

“Guess wa i got for ma birthday!!'' Yuuji all but demands, looking somewhat smug despite having a massive gap in his teeth, where he’s missing his two front teeth. (all i want for christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth!)

“What?” you ask him, getting excited already. His energy is infectious, which makes you wonder why choso looks so tired all the time. The bags under his eyes are prominent, even though you know his schedule well enough to know that he sleeps about 10 hours, and somehow he still has them.

Genetics, you guess.

“No silly, you need to guess.” yuuji tells you, climbing up onto the opposite end of the seesaw, and you fly upwards.

You let out a giggle, and think for a second, before loudly exclaiming; “hmm, a parrot?”

“Nope! Try again.” yuuji responds.

“A new bike?” you try again, and he shakes his head. His face splits into a large grin, and he shakes his head.

“Wrong!” he exclaims, before sighing and yelling out loud; “a plastic house”

“Noo way! You’re so lucky, i’m so jealous.” you whine, your legs pumping the seesaw up and down as you move.

“You can come over after school, you know?” he tells you. Suddenly getting off the seesaw, which causes you to fall off and hit the floor.

That is what brings you to here, now. Playing in his kitchen when he decides he wants to take you outside to see the little house.

Choso follows behind the two of you quietly, making sure you both don’t injure yourself by tripping or some other funny way.

As yuuji opens the backyard door, you see it.

A plastic house, just big enough to fit three or four kids, with red plastic ‘bricks’ and a purple roof.

The purple is a shade you’ve seen before, and you realise almost immediately that it reminds you of choso’s eyes, so you voice that.

You turn behind just in time to see the pink on his face, and you let out a giggle, while yuuji pretends to be deaf.

That little house becomes a very important figure in the games you would play back in those days .

Like many 7 year olds, you wanted to play house, and as a somewhat bossy 7 year old, you decided that you were gonna be the wife and choso was gonna be the husband.

Yuuji, forever the afterthought, was gonna be your dog.

And that was a game that was played for many years, until choso and yuuji both decided that they were too old to be playing house but that didn’t mean that your friendship had changed in the slightest.

AGE 12 and AGE 14

Just before choso left middle school to go to high school, he was widely well known in your shared middle school as Yuuji's cute older brother, and you agreed, of course, but he was choso. You may have been in love with him the first time you met him, but he was your best friend’s brother!

A massive figure in your life, something you had grown up with. Choso was the one who would patch your knee up if you fell, and sat up with you if you ever had trouble with your homework while yuuji waited by playing video games. All of this meant that choso was someone you worshipped, for the way he treated you and for the person he was.

It was one of your typical mall visits with choso and yuuji on a weekend, where jin had dropped the three of you off at the mall to have some fun and catch a movie.

Yuuji and you had decided to go with some horror movie, and had taken choso to pretend to be over 16 so you could see a slightly age inappropriate movie, since at that age, choso was almost taller than jin, towering over just about everyone you knew, so he was your master plan in catching that movie.

Jin, believing that you just went to hang out at the mall, drove you there. Choso in the front seat, and yuuji and you in the back. You were leaning with your back against the door, with your legs thrown over yuuji’s lap as you scrolled through your phones, sending videos to each other.

Jin stops as he pulls up to the mall, turning back to look at you in the back of the car as he smiles and tells you to be safe and have fun on this trip to the mall, and that he expects a call and update on everything that you do, so he knows when to come pick you up.

As you step out of the car, there’s a large cramp in your stomach which causes you to double over. It’s nothing you’ve ever experienced before, in terms of pain, but it doesn’t last for long, so you play it off.

Yuuji gives you a strange look, but doesn’t say anything, as he knows that if it was serious enough you wouldn’t stop whining about it, so he turns to the front as he eagerly leads the way into the airconed mall.

It’s rather empty, seeing how it’s late afternoon on a Sunday when people would rather be at home spending time with their families.

The cramps are back, and they are slightly worse, making your eye twitch. It mostly goes unnoticed, but you do get a slightly concerned look from choso, who mouths the words; “are you alright?” at you, and you just nod, eyebrows furrowed, wondering what is making you so uncomfortable.

You pay for your popcorn and drinks at the cinema, opting to share two large popcorn buckets between you two, as yuuji always seems to finish the first one before you’ve even managed to get one.

The three of you sit in a row together, with yuuji on your left side, and choso on your right. You’re given the task of holding the popcorn, and the darkness of the theatre does well to mask the flush on your face from being so close to choso.

While the theatre is a bit cold, you feel nice and toasty, not just from the heat on your face, but from having choso’s warm body heat so close to you.

Human earthworm 2 begins to play, and yuuji eagerly dives into the popcorn, watching intently. The cramps suddenly come back again, and something feels really wrong. You try to play it off, but after a while, you completely give up, whispering a hush “i’ll be back.” as you climb over yuuji’s legs while you try to get to the bathroom.

As you walk out of the theatre, you’re stuck with an even larger feeling of dread, the pit of your stomach seems to burn, and you’re afraid of what you’re going to find in the bathroom.

In the privacy of the stall, you realise what’s wrong. Your period. You’ve gotten it for the first time. The timing could not be worse.

You sigh, thinking about how there might be some pads in the bathroom for any emergencies, and when you check, there isn't.You panic, a bit (not a bit, a lot), and check the clothes you’re wearing. There’s a bit of a blood stain on the bottoms, and you’re about to cry.

Not when you’re out! This is so mortifying, literally the worst thing that could happen to you.

You realise you won’t be able to cover up the stains, as you left your jacket in the cinema hall.

‘Fuck.’ you whisper out and slump down in defeat, not exactly knowing what you should do here.

Time passes really slowly, and a quick glance at the time tells you you’ve been here for over 20 minutes already. At that thought, your cheeks heat up, as you’re afraid what the boys will think you’re doing in here.

You sigh, before realising you have no choice but to ask them to help you, but the idea of texting and mentioning your…predicament is enough to make you tear up a little in embarrassment.

At that moment, you hear a ping from your phone, so you pick it up to check, and what you see makes you stop crying immediately.

Choso; are u ok?? We’re a little worried abt u

y/n; …

Choso; ???

y/n: i need ur help pls

Choso : ofc what do u need?

Ten minutes later, you hear a call of your name from the entrance of the bathroom, and you unlock the door, walking to the entrance of the bathroom to come face to face with choso, who has a new pair of shorts slung over his arm, and a bag of period products for you.

He gives you a worried smile, before he asks if you’re okay.

You nod in response, too embarrassed to actually look at him in the eyes, and you whisper out a rushed thank you before you grab the stuff and use them.

He returns back to the movie, sitting next to a confused yuuji, who asks where he went.

“The bathroom.” he whispers in response, before turning back to the movie. Yuuji looks at him funny but doesn’t say anything, and just turns back to it too.

Later on, when you sit down next to them again, you whisper out another hushed thanks to choso, before wrapping the hoodie around your waist, just in case, and paying attention to the movie.

This incident isn’t ever spoken about again, but you always remember how he was eager to help you, while you know yuuji would have been so freaked out.

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AGE 16 AND AGE 18.

School’s let out, and it’s summer time. You know what that means, right? Pool days at the itadori household!

Last summer, jin itadori arranged a surprise for the boys- a pool, and for the last three weeks, you’ve been there almost every day, with yuuji.

You’d play in the water together, or sit by the side of the pool with a cold drink in your hand, reading, playing games (in yuuji’s case) or by napping.

But most of all, you’d talk.

Yuuji and your friendship was centred around there being no secrets, and how you’d trust each other with your life.

So, he basically knew everything about your life, except for one tiny…miniscule and unimportant detail.

The crush you had on his brother.

Somehow you had managed to be less obvious with it than the ones you had had in school for some ungodly reason, but your luck with boys had never been that great, considering that none of those other crushes could even hold a flame to the one you had on choso.

But you couldn’t, because of this.

“Oh, how’s choso doing at uni?” you asked yuuji at the beginning of summer break, with a fake air of uninterest to seem suave (you’re just fooling yourself and yuuji, everyone else knows)

He blinked at you, wondering why you seemed so uninterested. shouldn’t you care? Choso is your friend after all.

“Don’t you talk to him?” he asked, and you shrugged

“A bit, but not a lot.” you responded, pushing up your shades and reclining in the chair. you usually just get messages from him asking how it’s going and if you’re doing alright, but nothing really deep, since he’s so busy with school.

“Oh. Well, he said he’s got a new girlfriend, and his studies are going well.” yuuji responds, splaying out on the pool chair, turning his face up to the blinding sun.

Your heart drops down to your stomach, and it stings much more than it actually should.

“Oh. really?” you ask, trying to keep a steady voice.

“Mhm.” He hums, completely oblivious to the internal strife you are so very obviously facing. “You know, I actually spoke to her over the phone. She’s really sweet. Her name’s yuki.” he continues, eating chips out of the bowl so casually as if he hasn’t just torn out your heart.

You know yuuji means it when he says that choso’s new girlfriend is sweet. Yuuji is an exceptional judge of character, and was always, even from a young age. He may have been oblivious sometimes, but he really did know how to make excellent friends.

An example is the friends you made in freshman year, nobara kugisaki and megumi fushiguro. You were close with both of them, but you hadn’t known them as long as you had known yuuji, so you would always be closer to him than them, but that didn’t mean you didn’t love them.

And because you trust yuuji’s sense of her, you decide that maybe it isn’t worth getting upset over, since he sounds happy with a girl that is sweet. And all in all, you have no right to be getting upset, he’s not yours and he never will be. (haha. Haha. hahahhahahaha.)

You realise you’ve been quiet for too long, and social formalities deem that you respond now, or yuuji will actually start to get suspicious, which is not what you want.

“Oh, that’s great! Do you have any pictures of her?” you ask, before realising you really really shouldn’t have asked, because you don’t want to know.

Luckily, yuuji shakes his head. “Nah. but she will visit in a couple weeks to meet dad.”

Your finger twitches slightly, and you groan internally. Oh well.

So that brings you to the predicament you are currently in. three weeks later after you find out that choso actually has a girlfriend.

It’s about 3 in the afternoon, and as usual, you’re parked next to the pool with Yuuji and megumi, but not with nobara, since she’s away shopping in france (she’s living the life, is she not?)

But the thing that’s actually bothering you, is right in front of you. In its hot, muscly glory.

Choso.

He’s been back from university for over a week now. When he came back, he had greeted you with a big hug, and a ruffle of your hair, telling you that you had grown up a lot since he had last seen you.

Oh, how the turn tables.

He’s changed, too.

Because, when he was in highschool, he had been a tall and skinny guy, but now, he’s not so skinny anymore.

He seems to have put on loads of muscle in the months he’s been away, and it almost changes the way you completely perceive him.

But god, does he look good.

Especially with the way he’s pulling himself out of the water, muscles tensing in his back, straining in his arms.

Thank you for this view. You pray to whatever kind god has presented this view to you.

And then you remember. He’s got a girl.

You practically growl in annoyance, and megumi sends you the weirdest look you’ve ever seen.

He knows too much to live.

You practically drag your eyes away from him, feeling wrong and unfair to be ogling someone else’s boyfriend, even if you have known him for much longer.

As choso walks past you to walk back into their kitchen to grab a drink, he flicks some water at you, which makes you flinch and drop the book you’ve been pretending to read.

Yuuji’s preoccupied with his phone and megumi snickers, which causes you to drag your eyes away from his back (when did you even start looking at it, my god?)

“You know, you’ve been on that page for the last twenty minutes” megumi oh so helpfully supplies, whispering just low enough that yuuji can’t hear. He leans forward towards you with a leer on his face that makes you want to slap it off his face

“I dunno what you’re talking about” you respond, picking up your book again, bringing it up to hide the flush that’s taking over your face from megumi.

You can hear him laughing.

When choso comes back from the kitchen, he’s got two glasses of iced tea in his hands. He walks back past you and you fight to keep your eyes trained on his face. Which allows you to catch the easy going smile he gives you as he passes you a glass, before settling into his pool chair which is right next to yours.

“Where’s mine?” Yuuji whines, forgetting about his game for a moment to complain.

“Yeah, what about us?” megumi chimes in with a snort.

“If you wanna drink some, get it yourself.” choso replies

This becomes a game for you and megumi. You, who tries to look at choso and admire him without anyone noticing, and megumi catching you and teasing you about it like you’re both 11.

When you do meet yuki, a couple weeks later, you realise that you can’t even hate her. She’s sweet, although she is a bit strange.

You’re all gathered around the dinner table, in the yuuji household.

Yuuji to your side, as always. Jin at the head of the table, and choso and yuki sitting opposite.

You’re directly opposite yuki, and you immediately grow to like her. She’s sweet and funny, and has a strange sense of humour.

“So, how did you guys meet?” you ask them, watching the way they seem to lean into each other. Your heart squeezes, but you hold your love for choso above your romantic interest, and if he’s truly happy, that’s all that matters to you.

She smiles, and turns to her side to look at him. There’s so much love in her eyes for a relationship that is relatively new.

“I actually met yuki in the cafe that I work in.” choso responds, smiling at you as he picks up the plate of chicken.

You smile while taking a sip of your drink, swallowing hard before you speak; “that’s cute. You write your number on her cup?” you tease, which is a lot easier than you think, because even if you love choso, his happiness means more.

“Yes, actually. She seemed so sweet and she was gorgeous and I knew I had to know her, and the next thing I know, I'm in love.” He responds with a happy smile.

Suddenly, you’re 5 again, walking down the itadori household for the first time, with your arm wrapped around choso’s as you refuse to leave him. He smiles at you and promises to wait for you.

You’re 11 and he’s sitting out of spending time with his friends to help you with your homework.

You’re 12 and he’s helping you conceal your period. You’re 12 and a half and you’re sitting on their couch, playing games with him.

You’re 16 and he’s bringing out cups of a drink for you and only you. You’re 16, and when you’ve gotten wasted from a party he asked you not to go to, he sits up with you in the bathroom, holding your hair back as you throw up, because he promised that he’ll always wait for you, and that means that he’ll always take care of you.

You’re 16, and you’re helping him get ready for his senior prom, with a girl that doesn’t deserve him, but it’s not like you think you deserve him either. You’re standing in his room, watching him throw on his black jacket, and you look at the sorry excuse of a tie he has on, and you slap his hands away as you try to fix it. He sits down for you, without you having to say something, and you walk closer to him. With his legs pressed together, it’s hard for you to reach his tie, and he realises, so he lets you step in between them. You’re focusing as hard as you can on his tie, just so your heart doesn’t speed up too much and he can hear it. He watches you intently with a smile on his face, and you feel your cheek heat up. When you finish straightening the tie up, you pat him on the shoulder, and he lets you go. You don’t want to see him walk out with the girl on his arm, so you go home early, but not before you wish him to have fun.

And you realise that as you think this, none of this will actually matter to him, because he loves her.

And that kills you, but there’s nothing you can do.

You spend the rest of dinner rather quiet, not really talking much, but also subtle enough that nobody asks you what’s wrong.

choso’s 7 and he’s opening the door to see you, in your little pigtails and your yellow dress. He’s seven and he’s promising to wait for you.

He’s 9 and he’s playing house with you even though he hates that little house that his father bought him. He’s 9 and he’s your husband in that little plastic kitchen, watching you cook with a smile on his face.

He’s 13, and while he’d rather be playing football with his friends, but he’s sitting at their dinner table helping you understand your homework, since you’re scared of getting it wrong at school.

He’s 14 and he’s worried when you spend too much time in the bathroom, texting you to ask if you’re alright. He’s 14 and he’s buying pads and new clothes for you to change into to make sure you’re comfortable.

. He’s 18 and he’s letting you fix his tie for him, even though he knows how to tie his tie, but he lets you fix it anyway. He’s got a smile on his face and he’s aware that he probably looks like an idiot, but he likes how concentrated you are on this meagre task. Once you’re done, you pat him on the shoulder and he’s confused. He wants you to see how dapper he looks with the corsage pinned to his chest, him with his tie, the way his hair is done and his suit, but when he asks yuuji where you are, yuuji tells him with a confused look on his face that you’ve already gone home. He’s 18 and he’s unable to stop watching you with a smile on his face as you yell at his brother for eating your dessert, even though he’s got a girlfriend, and that you’ve always just been his little brother’s best friend

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AGE 20 and 22

You’re finally at uni, somewhere you’ve always waited for. You haven’t deliberately chosen the same place that choso is going to, but you’ve been joined by nobara and megumi and yuuji together, so that you are always together.

( a year or so ago) When you found out that you had gotten in, you had raced out of your house, to yuuji’s during the summer holidays, rushing through their door with the envelope.

You run past the kitchen where choso’s standing as he sips a cup of coffee, and you yell a good morning to him. All he does is laugh, a twinkle in his eye as he sips again.

You don’t pay too much attention to him because right now, something else is much more important. You stampede your way into yuuji’s room, where yuuji is on his bed, still sleeping.

You jump onto the bed, slapping yuuji awake.

“Yuuji, yuuji, yuuji yuuji” you yell loudly from excitement.

“WHAT” he groans, throwing his pillow at you, which you duck, due to your epic skills.

“I got in!” you scream happily, throwing the big fat envelope in his face.

It smacks him in the face with a loud thump and he groans in pain, looking at the envelope, before he says “congrats” and promptly turns back onto his side and goes back to sleep.

You kick him on the side, lightly, not enough to hurt, and huff angrily as you jump up from his bed, and pick up your big envelope again, tucking it into the waistband of your sweats, having not bothered to change out of your pyjamas, and walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

As you walk into the kitchen, choso looks up from his cup of coffee, and he gives you a bright smile.

“I heard from a little birdy that you got in?” he asks you, and you grin.

“Yes! I did, i’m so excited.” you tell him. “And hopefully yuuji, megumi, and nobara did too.” you continue, happy that you might be with them.

Just then, you get a message on your phone, and you pull it out.

You let out a squeal of excitement as you shove your phone under choso’s nose, showing him megumi’s text that he too, got accepted into this university.

“I take it you’re excited?” he asks you, feeling a slight pang of uneasiness when he sees how excited you are that megumi had also gotten in, but he doesn’t really know why.

“Yeah! Hopefully yuuji and nobara can also join so we won’t be without them, and then We’d also be able to see you more, as well!” you say, trying to play it off as you’re not the one who’d probably be the most excited that you could see him more.

Despite yuuji and choso being siblings, and choso caring a lot for him, they are pretty nonchalant when they haven’t seen each other for a while, but you guess that’s just sibling dynamics.

Choso feels his heart speed up in his chest, and he smiles.

“That’d be nice, for sure.” he responds, humming as he sips his coffee again.

Just then you really look at him. This is his second cup of coffee and it’s barely 9 am.

“How long have you been awake? And are you even sleeping?” you ask him, because you’re worried. Your brows furrow, and he leans in to show you, and you notice that the dark purple circles under his eyes that have always been there, are a bit darker than normal.

He sighs, and rubs his forehead before he explains; “i’ve got a paper due soon, so i’ve been working pretty hard on that.”

You frown, worried about his lack of sleep, and you push him towards getting more, because he looks tired.

Just like he promised to always look after you, you promise the same.

Just then, yuuji comes bouncing down the stairs, and he runs out to the mailbox. You realise what he’s going for so you follow, excited to see the results.

He rips open the mailbox, and sees a big envelope and he grins. You’re bouncing on your feet beside him, eager for him to open it.

But yuuji wants to open it with his big brother, so you go back in. When inside, he tears up the envelope cover and pulls out his acceptance letter, and you all celebrate.

That was over a year ago now, and you’re in your second year of college.

2 months after you joined choso’s university with megumi, nobara and yuuji, you met Ander.

He was sweet at first, and he provided a good distraction from a love you had for choso that seemed to fade the more you spent time with ander. It was really useful, because choso and yuki were everywhere you looked.

But after awhile, you were desensitised to it, so whenever you would see choso, your heart wouldn’t fill up with so much excitement anymore, but more of a, i used to like this guy.

Present tense became past tense when you thought you just didn’t love him like that anymore (lol as if), so you started treating choso a little differently, you started treating him more like you should have from the beginning, your best friend’s brother.

I mean, he noticed, but like he never ended up saying anything to you, in case of hurting your feelings or disrupting the peace he sometimes was able to make with yuki.

They were still together, but it was getting difficult. They were constantly arguing over the littlest things, and he just grew to realise he didn’t love her as much as he thought he did. But you didn’t know this for a while.

But that’s not important just now.

Ander, who you had met in your psych 101 class, had sat down next to you during the first lesson on your 3rd day at college.

You didn’t talk much for the first couple of lessons, but after a while, he was easy and simple, just what you needed at that time.

Someone that was attainable, and totally not your best friend’s brother.

Slowly, you began to get to know each other better, and in the last class of your first week, he came into class with a cup of coffee that he gave to you with his name and his number, asking for a date.

Your relationship was simple, at first. Dates were enjoyable, and you got along well enough. He was an alright kisser compared to your previous experiences.

obviously, that stuff didn’t last.

or else, this wouldn’t be about you and choso.

conflict started occuring during your fourth month together.

not physical, thankfully, you wouldn’t have stayed with him, but arguments were very common.

he wanted to go a party, but you had an exam the next day, or you weren’t feeling like it.

he never forced you to do things you didn’t want to, but he did get annoyed, and also got petty.

you don’t want to go to a party with him? he’ll talk about it none stop, and about the amount of people that came up to him asking where you were.

you can’t go out cuz you have to study? he’ll tell you about the number of girls that hit on him, before he’d say, ��obviously, i told them i was taken’. and you’d stare at him, like, do you want a reward for remaining loyal?

but you thought you loved him, and that was what was important to you.

nobara hated him, and she told you multiple times that he was a pig.

and megumi got into arguments with him all the time, about the dumbest thing. for example, ander would want you to wear flashier, nicer and more revealing, but megumi would cut in, telling him that you could dress how you pleased, and there was nothing. he could do about it.

and yuuji? yuuji couldn’t even bear to stay in the same room as him, which was why you didn’t end up spending a lot of time with yuuji. it was some of the worst time of your life.

choso, who had met him, thought he seemed alright, but he had heard about what yuuji said about him, so he was wary.

the first time they met, you noticed how opposite they were. choso was taller, more attractive to you, and he just made ander pale in comparison.

you worried about the way it may have seemed like you were using ander, but you really didn’t have any feelings for choso, and ander was who you liked. When they first met, choso shook his hand hard, smacking his hand down on ander’s shoulder like a father would do to his daughter’s boyfriend, and he stared him right in the eye.

ander, slightly intimated, leaned backwards as choso whispered, just loud enough for all of you to hear; “you better take care of her.”

you roll your eyes, having seen this protective older brother routine before, and you step in, pushing choso’s hand off his shoulder and breaking his grip on ander’s hand, pushing him away from ander.

“that’s enough.” you’d said, pushing ander into the next room before you turned back to choso, who shakes his head at you.

“i don’t like him.” he tells you, and you get annoyed at him, for the first time.

“you don’t have to like him.” you snap back, “it doesn’t matter.”

choso and you never talk about his distate for ander again.

You’ve ended up at some frat party that nobara’s dragged all of you to.

you were originally supposed to go with ander, but considering how he had a last minute study group meeting, you told him that you didn’t mind, and he could go ahead to his study group while you would stay home.

nobara somehow caught wind of this, burst into your room while you were sititng at your desk with a frown on her face.

“thought you had date night with ander?” she asks, throwing herself onto your bed.

“something wtih his study group came up”. You respond, pushing away from your desk to turn and look at her on your bed.

“…at 9 pm on a friday?” she asks, her frown etching deeper into her face.

“i guess so.” you respond, knowing how weird that might sound to her, but you don’t want to bring it up.

“well,” she slaps her knees like an old grandma, pushing herself up to her feet. “I’ll be right back. we’re going to that party anyway.”

you sigh, knowing better than try to convince nobara to change her mind once she’s gotten her mind hooked onto something.

you watched, bemused as nobara sprints out the room, laughing to yourself when you hear her footsteps sprint down the hall of the dorms.

soon enough, nobara’s back. Dressed in a short red dress, she throws a gold fabric at your face, which, because you don’t expect it, smacks you right in the face with it. you pull it away from your face to have a proper look at it.

standing up, you push past to go change into it, giving her an annoyed look.

it’s a gold dress with spaghetti straps that stops right below the middle of your thigh. it’s a pretty little dress, and you sigh when you see yourself in the mirror. because this will forever be your favourite look.

nobara is dragging you through the crowds of a party in a frat house, towards the center, where you can easily spot megumi’s glowery face and yuuji’s beam from the opposite side of the room. the contrast between the two really stands out, with people avoiding megumi, keeping a circle of space around him, while they crowd around yuuji.

nobara goes to yuuji, while you stand next to megumi.

“he drag you here?” you ask megumi, taking the drink he passes you. you take a sniff. no alcohol, just how you wanted it.

“yea. Is that nobara’s dress?” megs asks you, gesturing vaguely to the gold fabric on your skin.

you nod in response as you scan the room, to see who’s there. you see friends from classes that you take, and previous classmates from old lessons.

and then you notice him.

there’s the sound of a plastic cup crunching, and it’s only when you feel a cold substance running down your hand, you realise it’s yours.

ander has his hand on a girl’s waist, and they’re walking up the stairs to someone’s bedroom. They’re close enough to not look innocent, and your suspicions are confirmed when he leans in to kiss her with a familiarity that tells you that this is not the first time.

you don’t even say anything, and you just stare.

megumi trails off in the middle of something he was saying and he turns to look at you, his eyes following your line of sight.

it takes him a second, but he gets there. “..what the fuck.” he growls, throwing his drink to the side as he marches forward.

your arm shoots out to stop him, and he pauses, looking at you with confusion.

you shake your head, just turning around to sit down.

megumi follows you, and yuuji and nobara finally seem to notice something is wrong.

they crowd around you, nobara taking the drink out of your hand as she follows your line of sight, just in time to see the back of ander’s head and a girl as they walk into the bedroom.

“oh that bitch.” nobara all but grumbles, miming pushing up her sleeves before she sets off on his direction.

“no.” you say, rather quietly, before you seem to crumble, tears coming to your eyes as you rest your head in your hands, curled up on the sofa.

there’s a dip in the couch as yuji sits next to you, bringing you close to him, and resting your head on his shoulder.

they all crowd around you, telling you how much of an asshole he is , and nobara tells you she can fuck up his car if you wanted.

that gets a laugh out of you, and you manage to smile at them, while still shaking your head. he’s not worth it, you think, and it makes you feel better already.

the rest of the night is a big blur, as you struggle to make sense of things. Ander, cheating?

it makes sense, in some way, but at the same time it doesn’t. what had gone wrong? (Arguments, disagreements)

you don’t even want to think about him anymore, so with a quick text of “don’t ever talk to me again, we’re done”, and you were a free lady.

you wake up the next day with a pounding headache, not from alcohol but from tears and a stressful evening, to a knock on your door.

you groan, throwing your blankets off of your body as you stumble to the door with a grimace on your face.

forgetting that you’re still wearing last night’s clothes, save for your makeup, you open the door to see choso.

it’s been a while since you last saw him, the two year school difference has made him so busy in preparation for his graduation, he’s been working so hard with his part time job and his studying.

he looks..different, in some way. Tired but happy. You’ve seen him around on campus, and you have texted him a lot, just messaging about school and work and life.

“yuuji told me.” he says in form of a greeting, shaking his head while you step back to let him in. he looks you up and down in your tight gold dress and he averts his eyes, which is what makes you realise that you’re still wearing the same thing from yesterday night.

“he moves fast.” you say in response, as a way to stop yourself from worrying too much about how you look. there’s not much that you can do now.

“I should have known.” he says. you look up at him, confused, before he sighs and continues; “about ander, i mean. I didn’t like him when I first met him.”

“well, you weren’t the only one.” you say, pulling out an oversized shirt out from your drawer, putting it over the gold dress.

he steps over to your desk, setting something down you haven’t noticed before, a pack of food. the scent wafts over to your nose, and you let out a happy squeal when you realise it’s your favourite food.

he smiles, glad to see that you’re not too upset, but it quickly drops off his face as soon as he remembers why you should be upset in the first place.

“thanks.” you mumble out through a mouthful of food. he waves you off, telling you not to worry about it.

“are you sure you’re alright? I can have a word with him if you need.” He raises his eyebrows when he mentions having ‘a word’ with ander, and you get what he means.

“no, it’s alright. he’s not worth it.” you say, swallowing the food.

“thanks for being here.” you say.

“anytime. I’m always here if you need me.” he says, ruffling the hair on your head in endearment.

sitting down at your desk, he takes a bite from a bowl he’s bought for himself.

“is there anything that you need from me?” choso asks, still looking really worried for you.

“i promise, I’ll be alright.” you respond.

there’s a silence, but it’s not uncomfortable, but rather it’s quite enjoyable, and feels right.

Leaning back in your chair when you're done, you turn to look at CHOSO, surprised to notice that he'd already been staring at you before hand

He gives you a tentative smile that looks like he's relieved that you're alright.

"Thanks for checking up on me." You say again, standing up to throw away the trash of the food he'd brought for you, and when you're about to reach for his plate, your arm reaching past him, he grabs ahold of you softly, standing up as he does so while he hugs you.

Your arms immediately wrap around his waist, and his chin rests upon your head. He's got a firm hold of you, but you feel content to be there.

You let out a sigh, and you can feel the tears beginning to prick at the corner of your eyes. You needed this. Not from choso specifically, but you just needed this.

after awhile, he lets go, his hands gripping your forearms as he stares at you, realising that you've almost cried again. One hand cupping your jaw, and the other hand reaches up, and he uses a thumb wipes away a stray tear that you didn't realise had escaped.

"Don't cry" he tells you, brushing back some of your hair. "He's not good enough for you." He tells you again, echoing the words that he had told you the first time he met ander.

You let out a wet chuckle, glad to have his support.

you step back from his embrace, and the hand that was cupping your jaw falls limply to his side.

you end up just staring at each other, his deep set, purple eyes meeting your eyes.

unable to stop yourself, you frown at the familiar twinge in your chest.

‘no, no no no’ you think, this isn’t good at all. you can’t do this again, and not so quickly, either.

but the heart wants what the heart wants. at least it’s building up slowly and not all at once.

Suddenly, you’re 5 again, walking down the itadori household for the first time, with your arm wrapped around choso’s as you refuse to leave him. He smiles at you and promises to wait for you.

You’re 11 and he’s sitting out of spending time with his friends to help you with your homework.

You’re 12 and he’s helping you conceal your period. You’re 12 and a half and you’re sitting on their couch, playing games with him.

you’re 20, crying over a stupid ex boyfriend that cheated on you, when choso is the one there to support you. at the word of a friend, he’s ready to be there for you, and knows how to make sure you’re feeling better and understanding your worth. he’s there for physical comfort, and for anything that you may possibly need. it’s the most calm you’ve felt in months, in his arms. He makes sure that you’re as alright as you can possibly be.

choso’s at a party he doesn’t want to be at.

some of his friends had dragged him out of his room, after he had apparently spent too much time studying for his finals soon.

in the middle of a conversation with a girl that’s come up to him to try to hit on him. he’s pretty absentmindly talking to her, as he doesn’t want to be mean, because he knows her well enough that she’s super sweet, he’s just not interested in her.

for some reason, he looks away from the girl for a moment, to the door. the sight that greets him makes him freeze in the middle of his sentence.

it’s you.

he feels like there’s no more breath in his lungs, because you look absolutely gorgeous. he hasn’t felt like this looking at any girl since he broke up with yuki.

you’re wearing a gold dress that compliments you so well, he might just cry. it’s not like he hasn’t seen you for awhile, but something’s just more obviously different now.

he’s standing there with his mouth gaped wide open, long enough for the girl he’s talking to to notice what’s going on.

she lets out a little laugh, a little disappointed, pats him on the shoulder, and walks away.

he only jolts out of his reverie when he feels her pat his shoulder, and he manages to straighten up.

he’s just about to come and talk to you when he sees you crumble, and he’s filled with confusion. he sees your friends support you and take you away. he stands in the middle of the party for ages, torn between wanting to go support you and wanting to give you space.

he understands soon though, why you’re so upset.

ander’s just come out of a bedroom upstairs by himself, with his hair messed up, and a dopey look on his face.

choso knows immediately what he’s been doing, so he marches through the throng of the party to go confront him.

ander’s up against the wall before he can even realise what’s happening.

“what-what-” ander splutters pathetically.

choso’s mad. he’s mad, mad.

“what the fuck have you done?” choso snarls, all up in ander’s personal space. the party quiets down as all eyes are on choso and ander.

“wha are you talking about??” ander tears up, scared for his own safety.

“you know what.”

“she- she doesn’t give me what i want” ander answers. choso slams his hand above ander’s head, which causes ander to flinch.

“you don’t deserve her. you never did. If i ever hear you go near her again, you’re going to regret it.” choso says, before he pushes away from the wall, not even waiting to hear ander’s response.

that is what brings him be standing outside your room the next morning, before he knocks carefully.

he’s got your favourite food in a way to make you feel better, and he’s ready to give you as much support as you may need.

he hears a groan, and the rustling of bed covers, and then the sound of steps on carpet, before he hears the door unlocking, and he’s greeted with you.

you look gorgeous, having just woken up. he notices that you’re still in your golden dress from last night.

“yuuji told me” he says in a form of greeting, in a way to pretend that he didn’t see everything that happened last night.

he sees your initial confusion, but then he sees how you seem to shrink in on yourself.

he walks in and you both talk, and he asks multiple times if you’re sure that you’re okay.

after you finish eating, you reach over him to get his bowl to throw away, but before he even knows it, he’s standing and he’s got you in his arms, and everything feels so unbelievably right.

there’s nowhere else he wants to be now, because he has you in his arms, with his chin on your head, he can smell the perfume you were wearing from last night.

and it makes him think back;

choso’s 7 and he’s opening the door to see you, in your little pigtails and your yellow dress. you shine so bright, he’s reminded of the sun. He’s seven and he’s promising to wait for you.

but now, choso’s 22. and you’re 20. and he is finally starting to realise that he’s always seen you differently than to how he’s seen, say nobara. as yuuji’s best friend, and younger than him by two years, he understands that there will be more of a difficulty to be having the two of you together, as a couple. Not because of the age gap, which isn’t too much, but because of yuuji’s reaction, and the history that you’ve had between the two of you already. but he’s willing to try.

months later, you’re finally over the betrayal of ander.

with the support of your friends, and choso, you’ve managed to be better than you ever were.

choso has been great, recently.

he’s been spending loads of time with you, whether just hanging out and watching some of your favourite childhood movies again together, or studying together.

and you’ve finally realised, that you love choso again. well, to be more accurate, you never stopped, and it was more of a hiatus, but you are getting better in accepting it.

sometimes, when you’re a little bored, you dream of the idea of choso loving you too. you read too much into actions, and you blush when he does something sweet. and suddenly, the idea of him loving you back, doesn’t seem so farfetched. (THATS BECAUSE IT ISNT????)

it’s during a holiday of your second year of university, when it happens.

(starts and ends at the door. he opens when she knocks, and he stares at her in the yellow dress, that reminds him of the one so long ago, and he pulls her in to his arms in the hall of their house, and he just can’t let go.) “do you love me”

you’d woken up that morning with a strong desire to go lie by the pool, and by deciding to do so, you decide to go over to the itadori/kamo household to go enjoy the sun with yuuji.

you’re dressed up in your swimwear, and you’ve decided to put on a yellow dress, before you’re ready to go over to yuuji’s.

for once, the door’s locked for some reason, so you result to knocking and ringing the door bell. you stand there, waiting for someone to come open the door, when you hear choso yell out “hold on!” as there is a sound of someone sliding over to the door.

the door unlocks with a click, and he opens it to see you, and you can see the immediate change in his face.

at first he had an easygoing smile, the one he usually looks at you with, but for some reason, this time it dropped away to a dumbfounded look, where he seemed to be a little out of breath.

after a minute of him just staring at you, and looking you up and down, you ask him; “…choso…are you okay?” you ask him, a little worried. do you look weird? does whatever you’re wearing not suit you?

he seems to be having some sort of internal struggle, you just stand there awkwardly, a little worried, when he reaches for you and pulls you into his embrace, closing the door behind you. you stand in his arms, hands resting on his chest as he just stares at you.

“you’re beautiful, you know?” he tells you, pushing back a strand of your hair behind your ear.

the words make you freeze, and your heart is thumping in your chest like the rhythm of the tango.

"what?" you say, which is super suave and sooo slick and it makes him laugh a little, which makes you feel like you're glowing, just because you managed to make him laugh. it's always been like this. making him laugh or smile was a little victory in itself, and you could feel good for an entire day alone just from making him laugh.

his hand moves to rest on your waist, and he lets out a little sigh.

"this yellow dress." he sighs, with happiness , you think. he is toying with the fabric, rolling it over and over in between his fingers.

you look at him in confusion, trying to ignore the hammering in your chest. something similar is going on in ch

"it's the same one you wore on the first day we met." he finishes, letting out a small smile as he reminisces.

you try to think back to when you were 5, but you're unable to remember much, just remembering that you just basically pounced on choso. you can trace your admiration for him all the way back to then, and it makes you cringe. you should have been more nonchalant, but maybe being nonchalant really isn't your strong suit.

"oh. you remember?" you breathe out, rather raggedly as he stares into your eyes.

"i remember everything." he says, and you notice his eyes flicker to your lips, and then back up to your eyes. almost subconsciously, you lick your lips, wetting them, and his eyes flicker back down again. "i remember everything that you do." he continues, his voice low.

The house is quiet all around you, but if a bomb went off nearby, you probably wouldn't even notice, because all that matters right now, is choso. he is what is surrounding you, and he is what matters.

you feel some sort of dopamine rush that only ever appears when you're with choso, because he always just knows what you need, and that means right now, that he knows that you really, really need him to kiss you.

and so he does, because he's always ready to give you anything you need. the kiss is hot and heavy, and breathing isn't even on your mind right now, because choso completely occupies all your thoughts. he crushes you to his chest, his hand resting on the dip of your back, and your hands are clutching onto his shirt, scrunching it tightly.

his fingers grip on your jaw, not painfully, but enough to keep you firmly in place where he wants you. You're feeling like everything that has happened in all the years that you've known him has lead to this moment, because god, this is more than anything you've imagined before, because it's so much better.

his lips are soft, but they are still firm on your own, and you're kissing back with so much vigour, and your hands are in his hair and he's supporting you while you melt.

somewhere in the distance, you hear a door open and close, and some part of your brain is telling you that maybe you should break apart so you can breathe, but he's just pushed you up against the wall, and it feels way too good.

which is a bad decision, because the next thing you know you're hearing a loud "WHAT THE FUCK." from yuuji.

oh well. what better way to tell him?

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a/n: guys wtf this took so long im so sorry. i said i would have it out ages ago. help me. anyway here it is sorry it took so long! likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!! hope you enjoyed.

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sugume · 9 months ago

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STOLEN TOUCHES — NANAMI KENTO

✧･ﾟ You were just trying to get a better angle.

( TW ) f!reader, stepdad!Nanami, highly suggestive, teasing, touched starved Nanami, age gap (reader is 26, Nanami is in his 40's).

note. this was just sitting in my drafts omg I forgot to post 😭 this is for the anon that requested!! sorry you had to wait so long i swear I thought it was queued!

Nanami steps into the dark foyer of his home, taking off his work shoes. He winces from the pain; he’s been running around like a headless chicken in the office. He was supposed to get off hours ago. Nanami shrugs his suit jacket off and hangs it on the small rack before turning the corner. A small part of him had wished you would’ve been up, watching TV in the living room, but as he walked further into the house you were nowhere to be seen. He sighs in disappointment before making his way upstairs.

Your mother isn’t waiting for him, obviously. She’s probably out with another one of her many men. God, he shouldn't have folded under pressure when she had asked him to open the 'monogamous’ relationship they had. His shoulders slump at the neatly made king-sized bed that sits in the corner of his room. He walks to his closet to grab a pair of satin pajamas you had bought him before making his way to the bathroom. He sets his clothes on the counter before stripping down to his boxers and walking over to the tub. He leans down to turn the water to the perfect temperature.

“Kenny!” You squeal wrapping your arms around his naked waist from behind. He jumps in surprise before grunting in pain.

“Kenny? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?” You ask, pulling away. Kento turns quickly despite the pain and grabs your arms.

“Sweetheart! Nono, you didn’t hurt me. Why are you up?” He questions and you smile sweetly at him.

“Kenny don’t lie! And I'm up because I’m currently an unemployed twenty-six-year-old who had to move back home. Now,” You clap, stepping in-between his legs. “Tell me why you winced like I stabbed you and don’t lie.”

Nanami stuck in a breath and your close proximity.

“Jus’ had a long day at work that’s all. Stupid cramped muscles don't worry about it, sweetheart.” He answers in one long breath before inhaling your sweet smell. Was that too obvious?

“Well, I can give you a massage if you want, ‘cus my mom isn’t to give you one.” You spit on the last part before staring back up at your Stepdad.

“You don’t have—”

“Shush, I want to! C’mon, let's go to bed when you can get comfortable. We gotta hurry ‘fore your bath overfills.” You pull Kento's arm, dragging his heavy body up and out of the master bathroom.

"Sit—scoot a little further—no your back to the pillow silly!” You laugh.

“Aren’t you giving me a massage sweetheart?” Kento frowns, confused but complies anyways.

“Yep!” You lift a leg to the bed and blink your thick lashes at him before lifting the other and crawling onto his lap.

“Sweetheart—” Kento blushes, hands going to your hips to push you off but also to hold you there.

“Calm down Kenny! This is just a massage; I've read you can get the shoulders better this way,” You lie, putting your hand onto your stepdad's neck and squeezing. “Just shut your eyes and relax.” You whisper dragging your hands down Kento's’ arms. You squeeze your way back up before gliding your palms to his peaks and resting them on his hard nipples. He grunts when you dig your thumbs and knuckles into his chest, throwing his head back onto his headboard. His grip on your hips tightens and he swears he feels you sit on his lap.

“Feels good?” You mummer watching your stepdad's Adam apple move. You can’t help but bring your hands up and caresses it. Nanami groans.

“Mhm.”

“Sit up so I can get your back, Kenny.” You push on the back of his neck. You smile when his face falls into your chest. Before he has a chance to move you hold the back of his neck with one hand, the other squeezing at his shoulder blade.

Nanami can feel his cheeks heat in arousal. He hasn’t been touched like this in so long maybe he’s just imagining the tension between you two. He doesn’t have the balls to act on this anyway, he doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Sorry, gotta get comfortable.” You whisper in his ear as you grind down. You bite the inside of your cheeks when you feel his hard cock graze your pussy. Nanami holds in a groan. Fuck if you keep doing that, he's going to cum in his underwear.

“Sweetheart,”

“Hm?” You dig your knuckle onto tense knots in his back.

“Oh, fuck sweetheart, just like that.”

“Doin’ good Kenny?”

“Yes, b-but,” He breathes heavily on your breast. “But my bath waters gonna overfill.” He looks up at you. You move your hand to cup his neck.

“Oh, well how about we continue this in the tub?” You smile down at Kento. His eyes widen, mouth agape.

“What!?”

“Kidding! Gosh, look at your face! I’m gonna go watch some TV, goodnight. Have fun in your bath.” You crawl off his lap, giving him a good view of your ass in the short shorts you were wearing. You look back and smile innocently.

What you really meant to say was you were going to masturbate about what just happened. Don’t worry, Kento was going to too.

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heartshapedbubble · 10 months ago

Text

omg i was answering this req and when i saved it to my drafts I COULDN'T EDIT IT??? so i deleted it in hopes to remake it BUT THE ASK WAS GONE fuck you tumblr :(( im so sorry anon you know who you are

aesop carl, qi shiyi and frederick kreiburg w/ a singer s/o hcs⚰️🪈🎼

aesop carl⚰️

...you'd have to do most of the initiation with him. aesop carl is not impolite, not at all, but the crippling anxiety overcoming him makes it hard to go beyond a "hello" or any other introduction. he has a lot of nice things to say to you, romantic even, but during the first couple of months you'll have to basically yank them out of him

aesop is horrible with words, and would rather just hide away and hope you notice how he feels about you. in his eyes, the simple things he does with you - small talk, exchanges of handkerchiefs and drinks by the table, midnight walks when everyone's asleep - are acts of confessing his love. to him, trust equals love, and love equals assistance and communication.

something that he's even more afraid, though, is singing. talking can be quiet, unnoticeable, blending in with everyday noises, but singing is always noticeable. the change of pitch can be caught even by an untrained ear, and the ensuing confrontation, to him, is terrifying.

you fascinate him, a lot. unlike him, you're not afraid to set your voice free, letting it echo through the room and spin around you like a ribbon. kind of like an aura, it attracts passerbys and always leaves them standing in awe, even if it's just for a minute. that kind of confidence is impressive, and he himself finds it rather enchanting.

as you train your voice on the podium, enjoying yourself and twirling around in your flowy robes as if there's nobody around, the last thing that's on your mind right now is a potential secret admirer somewhere nearby. the secret admirer being aesop, of course. he's crouching in one of the loges, partly sick to the stomach because someone might walk in on - or even worse, you may notice - him, partly enjoying your outstanding performance.

qi shiyi🪈

she thinks you two make for a pretty nice duet ;)

you two clash at moments, as she enjoys and is used to the more "formal" arts such as opera and your field of interest is musicals, but overall she's enarmored by your talent and your charisma. jazz, rock, ballad or aria, a strong voice does not go unnoticed.

once she softens up to you, you'll notice just how much she enjoys your voice. as you comb her hair, she asks you to sing something for her. when you two are fast asleep, her head is on your chest, listening to your soft hums as she's lulled to sleep. calls you her songbird as she wraps her arm around your waist and spins you around in your brand new costume.

here and there she'll dust off her old flute and play a nostalgic melody or two. it's even better when enrichened with your singing, and it motivates her to jump back on her feet and do a little three-step as she plays

frederick kreiburg🎼

he's not a wunderkind, but being surrounded by music from a young age he has quite the trained ear. he can quickly differentiate between a powerful mezzosoprano and a rich, dark alto. a lot of insinuations and jokes have been made behind your back about how you two are perfect for each other, but he just rolls his eyes, not bothering with empty gossip.

thanks to the unisolated manor walls, at one point he'll hear some vocal exercises coming from your room

am i losing my mind again? he thinks to himself, looking around in wonder. he stays in the hallway for a little longer, trying to find the source of this haunting voice - and it will take time, oh, indeed, but eventually he'll knock on your door and unintentionally kick off your relationship

as expected, he enjoys playing alongside you. motivating him to crack his knuckles and sit in front of the piano again is hard, but the both of you know your irresistible smile will not leave him any other choice....

mostly picks out german lieder from his collection of sheet music, but of course, adapts to your wishes - something more energetic works great as a warm up

he's the happiest when he performs alongside you on the podium. nothing makes his face light up like when he watches you sing from behind the piano, gesturing towards the audience and slowly dancing to the composition unraveled by his fingers, basking under the golden spotlight.

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thoseboysinblue · 1 year ago

Text

Trustfall

Part 2

Christian Pulisic x reader

You are one of Christian's closest friends in London, but maybe both of you want a bit more.

Word count: 4300+

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, smut

Song Inspo: Trustfall by Pink

Requested: No

Author's note: This one has been sitting in my drafts for well over a year, so let's pretend for a minute they are all still playing for Chelsea :)

Once you arrive at your apartment, you start making a cup of tea, turning on some music to help you forget that you are alone when you really don't want to be. You hear someone knock on the door of your apartment. It is strange to have someone at your door this time of night, but thinking maybe it is a neighbor needing something you go to the door, checking to see who it is. And there he is, Christian shifting nervously from one foot to the other in the hallway outside of your door.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you ask as you open the door inviting him inside.

"Y/N, I need to talk to you" he says fiddling with his sleeves nervously as he kicks his trainers off and follows you into your kitchen.

"Sure, I'm making some tea, or I've got beer, I think I'm out of your favorite, but there's whatever Mason and Ben usually drink in the fridge" you offer.

"Tea is fine" he says, sitting down on one of the stools at your kitchen counter throwing you a slight smile.

You pull out another mug and set about making his tea. Both of you remain silent until you finish making tea for the two of you. You don't even have to ask how he likes his tea, you've known that for ages.

You move around the counter, sitting the mug down in front of him and sitting on the stool next to him, turning to face him, your knees slotting between his.

"So what's up, why do you seem nervous?" you ask with a chuckle.

"I am nervous," he says as he takes a sip of the tea you'd made him.

"How do you do that?," he asks.

"Do what?" you answer back, knitting your eyebrows together in confusion as to what he is asking you.

"Know what I need without me asking? Know how I like my tea? Know my favorite beer, pre-game meal, and post game meal?" he rattles off several questions before stopping himself.

"Well, part of it is my job," you laugh quietly, "pretty sure I know how everyone likes their tea, so don't start thinking you are special," you grin as you sit your cup down on the counter to wrap your hands around the back of his neck.

"I'm not special, huh?" he says also placing his cup down next to yours so that he can settle his hands on your waist.

"I didn't see you making sure anyone else was ok last night, did I?" You shake your head.

"And who's bed were you in last night?" he asks, gaining a bit of confidence.

"Yours" you answer, your voice barely above a whisper, looking into those dark brown eyes you've grown to love as Christian inches closer and closer to you.

"And who's hoodie is this?" he whispers along your jaw, the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck sending a tingle down your spine.

"Yours, Christian" you say as you close your eyes, savoring the moment.

"Still not special?" he asks bumping his nose against yours, but the way your breath hitches at his closeness tells him all he needs to know.

"Look at me, please," he begs you to open your eyes. You do as he asks, your eyes opening to focus on his face just a few inches from yours.

"I should've told you this a long time ago", he says while continuing to hold eye contact with you. "I haven't because I've been scared. I'm not good at this kind of stuff. I'm worried I won't be enough and that I won't be able to give you what you need," he drops his gaze to the floor, his cheeks flushing pink at his semi-confession.

"Christian", you smile, your hands cupping the sides of his face, your thumbs lightly stroking the stubble of his beard. "It's just me, there's nothing to be scared about. Please tell me what you are thinking," you plead with him.

He looks back up at you, "I can't keep pretending like I don't have feelings for you" he says quietly, like he is confessing his innermost secret.

"I think about you all of the time. I crave your presence. I slept better last night than I have in months, because I had you with me. The only thing I could think about on my so-called date earlier was how I wished it was you. I know we are friends and I don't want to lose that, but I think you feel the same way. If you don't, we can pretend this conversation never happened."

"Christian, please don't…" you slightly stutter feeling him drop his hands from your sides as he presumes you are about to turn him down.

You slide your hands back around the back of his neck, "Please don't say you aren't enough, you are more than enough."

You lean in closer, ghosting your lips along his jaw as you whisper, "I feel the same way about you," pressing a gentle kiss to his neck, watching his Adam's apple move as he swallows dryly.

You tilt your head back slightly, your face still only inches from his.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks quietly.

You give him a slight nod and pull him closer to you finally pressing your lips against his.

The kiss is slow, gentle, and perfect; just like you'd always imagined as his lips slot perfectly against yours. Your heart feels like it might explode, beating away in your chest while you tangle your fingers in the back of his hair.

You change positions slightly so that you are standing between his legs wanting to pull him as close to you as possible. One of his hands settles on your lower back gripping onto the hoodie of his you are still wearing, while the other moves to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

You pull away from one another naturally, you lean your head slightly into his hand while continuing to scratch lightly at the back of his neck.

You continue holding eye contact with him as you both start to slightly grin at one another, that quickly turn into broad smiles and a bit of a laugh from the two of you.

"I've wanted to do that for so long" he tells you. "Me too" you answer him honestly.

He takes one of your hands, placing it against his chest so that you can feel his heart beating wildly, "This is what you do to me, y/n" he says pecking you on the lips again.

"Is that all I do to you?" you bite your lower lip slightly, gripping onto his shirt to pull him back to you.

"No, that's definitely not all you do to me" he says with a chuckle before crashing his lips to yours in a kiss that is feverish and hungry and full of pent up longing for one another.

His tongue runs along the seam of your lips before he dips it into your mouth, swirling around your own. His kisses lower along your jaw and neck as you tilt your head back slightly to give him better access, a breathy moan escaping your parted lips.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you moan" he says nipping his teeth slightly at your neck.

"I want you to make me moan" you answer, pulling him back so that you can kiss him again.

You hear him groan as you bite playfully at his bottom lip. "Y/N" he says barely pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. "Yes, Chris?"

"Do you trust me?" he breathes out as you nod. "Will you fall with me?" he leans back, searching your expression for an answer he hopes he already knows.

"Yes," you breathe out, eyes glistening, "yes, I'll fall with you, I think I'd follow you anywhere, Christian."

"I need to know you're mine, please tell me you're mine" he says bumping his nose against yours before peppering kisses along your jaw.

"Of course I'm yours, I've always been yours" you say with a giggle as his beard tickles along your neck.

"But I'm not sure why you'd want me, you could have literally anyone," you sigh causing him to snap his attention back to your face.

"You don't understand why I'd want you?" he questions, as you shake your head slightly.

"I want you because you are smart. And funny. And kind. And caring. And my best friend. And beautiful," he says while placing gentle kisses to your cheeks, eyes, nose, and neck between each statement, slipping his hands underneath the top you are wearing and lightly running his hands along your waist.

He feels you shiver as goosebumps erupt where he has touched your bare skin. "Do you like feeling me touch you, baby" he says biting slightly at your ear.

"Yes" you breathe, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Take this off" he urges, pulling at the bottom of his hoodie that you are wearing. You comply, pulling it up an over your head and dropping it on the floor.

"Add incredibly sexy to the list of reasons I want you" he says as his eyes dance over you before he dips his head to kiss along your chest and the tops of your breasts.

Christian stands up from the barstool he has been sitting on, lifting you up as you wrap your legs around his torso and he grips onto the backs of your thighs. You kiss along his neck as he carries you towards your room.

Once inside your room, he steadies you on your feet as you turn on the lights, but leave them dimmed. Christian presses a loving kiss to your lips, sliding his hands along the small of your back. "I want to take my time tonight, I want to learn what you enjoy, but we don't have to do this if you don't want to," he smiles, reassuring you that he is fine with taking as much time as you need.

"I've never wanted anything as much as I want you right now, Christian" you smile, pulling him towards your bed as you lift his T-shirt for him to pull over his head. He throws his shirt across the room, attaching his lips back to yours in a passion filled kiss.

His kisses lower along your neck and chest before he lowers himself onto his knees in front of you, continuing to place sloppy kisses along your stomach, enjoying the sounds he is already pulling from you.

He slides his hands under the waistband of the pants you are wearing, looking up at you to silently ask your permission before he pushes them down your legs. He taps your calf so that you can step out of them before standing back up in front of you and placing another kiss on your lips. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of kissing you" he mumbles against your lips as you giggle and shake your head, bumping your nose against his.

You quickly untie the strings his joggers and lower yourself down to place a few kisses along his torso and thighs as you slowly pull them down to the floor before he steps out of them. You admire his toned physique, the sight of his hardened bulge causing you to bite your lip.

He clears his throat, causing you to look up at him from your current position. He cocks one eyebrow and chuckles lightly as he pulls you back to your feet, causing you to blush slightly.

"There will be plenty of time for that later, tonight is about you" he says pulling you onto your bed with him, both of you kissing playfully as you work your way towards your pillows.

Christian snakes his body between your legs, holding the weight of his upper body on his hands, hovering his face just above yours, "Baby, I'm going to need you to let me know what you like. If you want it faster, slower, harder, softer, you have to let me know. Can you do that for me?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod silently, knowing that talking dirty and vocalizing your wants during sex aren't exactly something you are used to, but for him, you will do anything.

"I'm going to learn exactly what you need, but I'm going to need some help from you."

You nod again. Now even more nervous that you might somehow disappoint him.

Leaning down, he presses another kiss to your lips before moving to kiss along your jaw and neck. Lowering himself slowly and gently kissing and caressing your body. "You're mine now, right?" He asks, kissing along the tops of your breasts. "Yes, Christian, I'm yours, only yours," you answer breathily.

You arch your back off the bed pressing your breasts further into his face as you feel his hands slide around to unclasp your bra. As the material around you loosens, you quickly remove your arms from the straps and fling it across the room. Christian lifts himself up a bit higher so that he can admire your now freed breasts. Your nipples harden while his eyes, darker and full of lust, wander over your body.

He brings one hand up to cup your left breast, rolling your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. You gasp and let out a quiet moan.

"So beautiful, baby, you are so fucking beautiful, you know that right?"

You shake your head, not really considering yourself in the same category of beauty as the girls you know footballers typically hang around.

Not satisfied with your answer, he gives your right nipple a flick with his tongue, eliciting another gasp from you, "you are beautiful, y/n, and I'm going to make sure you know how beautiful I think you are, every single day."

While sucking and flicking over your right nipple with his tongue he continues rolling your left nipple between fingers before palming your left breast. Kissing along your breasts and switching to use his mouth on your left nipple while rolling and pinching the right between his fingers, uttering "mine" as he explores your exposed upper body with his mouth and hands while continuing to pull quiet moans from you.

As he reaches the top of your lace underwear, he hooks his thumbs under the delicate material and looks up towards your face silently asking permission to remove them. When you lift your hips a bit, he slides the material down your legs tossing them onto the floor.

Christian takes his time slowly kissing up each of your legs leaving you in a whimpering mess beneath him. When he reaches the tops of your thighs, he slows down even more, taking the time to mark the inner aspect of both of your thighs with purple bruises. Tilting his head back slightly, he smirks at the marks he's left knowing they are in a place only he will see.

You lift your head up enough to make eye contact with him, silently pleading for him to touch you where you need him the most.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" he asks you teasingly.

"You, I want you, I need you, Christian," you beg thrusting your hips up inching your way closer to him. "Me, huh? You want, sorry, you need me?" he grins back at you sliding two fingers along your entrance and up your already soaked folds returning them to your entrance again before slipping them inside of you.

You drop your head back down on the pillows and arch your back, letting out a quiet moan as he curls your fingers inside of you.

"Yes, yes, I need you," you breathe out as he lowers his face to flick his tongue over your clit.

Your hand instinctively grips into his hair as you press yourself closer to his face earning a little chuckle from him as he takes in exactly how you like for him to touch you.

He moans at the taste of you, savoring the moment he's been waiting for for what feels like forever, the vibrations from his moans cause you to gasp. He continues flicking and sucking at your clit while working his fingers inside of you hitting you perfectly against your g-spot while he slowly devours you.

"Let me hear you baby, I want to know how good I'm making you feel," he says barely above a whisper as you continue to pant and moan his name writhing beneath his touch.

You feel your orgasm brewing and you silently wish you could hold it off so that you could enjoy everything Christian is giving you for as long as possible, but you know you can't.

"Chris, I'm gonna" you breathe out a long and strangled moan as your orgasm washes over you, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as your back arches off of the bed. He slows his movements only slightly to help you through your orgasm and when he feels you relax around him his slowly withdraws his fingers licking them clean and placing a few delicate kisses along your thighs as he moves his way back up your body.

He slowly kisses you, pressing his tongue past your lips so that you can taste yourself, drawing another moan from you as he laces his fingers with yours. You take your free hand and slide it down his body, reaching the waistband of his boxers, dipping your fingers just below it and pushing them down a bit. He helps you lower his boxers enough to free his hardened cock before sitting up to push them the rest of the way down his thighs and kick them loose from his legs.

You reach to wrap your fingers around his length hearing him groan in response as you begin to work your hand up and down him circling your thumb around his tip and spreading his already leaking pre-cum.

He leans back down pressing his forehead to yours as he kisses you passionately slipping his hand over yours and takes over stroking himself. You move your hand to slip it into the back of his hair as he runs the head of his cock up and down your folds bumping at over your overly sensitive clit before moving it back to your entrance. You hitch your leg up over his hip pulling him into you, silently encouraging him to give you what you want.

He pushes himself into you as he moans "fuck, y/n" and drops his head into the crook of your neck before starting to slowly thrust. "You have no idea how fucking amazing you feel" he grunts before kissing you again picking up the pace slightly as you lift your leg just a little higher deepening the angle he's thrusting into you at, causing your head to fall back further into your pillows and your eyes to roll backwards.

He takes advantage of your exposed neck and places a few sloppy kisses along your neck and jaw dropping his head further to flick his tongue over your left nipple causing you to gasp and clench tighter around him. He smirks at your reaction before kissing you again, switching to roll your nipple between his finger and thumb.

"Shit, Christian", you pant as you grip onto his bicep feeling another orgasm brewing embarrassingly fast. You place your fingers against his lips and he opens his mouth, swirling his tongue around them and sucking on them slightly coating them in his saliva. You snake your hand between your bodies, circling over your clit slowly.

Christian also lowers his hand down your body, pressing slightly on your lower abdomen. The added pressure from him intensifies everything and you feel him even deeper, dragging himself perfectly against your walls hitting that sweet spot inside of your with each thrust.

"Chris, keep going, just like that, please don't stop," you breathe out, through a few strangled moans, continuing to moan and pant his name knowing you were dangerously close to another orgasm.

"Open your eyes for me, y/n," he whispers like a prayer. You force your eyes open to be met with his dark brown eyes, pupils blown out as he stares down at you. "Are you gonna cum for me again?" he manages to get out through a few moans and grunts of his own. "Yes" you moan as you begin to clench around him.

He crashes his lips to yours, both of you swallowing each other's moans as you reach your highs together, him spilling into you and stilling himself deep inside you as he feels your walls flutter and clench around him. He thrusts lazily a couple of times before collapsing onto your chest with a whimper of your name.

Your hand instinctively moves to gently scratch the back of his head as he intertwines one hand with yours placing delicate kisses to your exposed skin as you both work to calm your breathing while laying in silence.

You wince as he pulls out of you, rolling onto his side and pulling you close, neither of you quite ready to let go of one another. Your quiet, gentle kisses soon turn into giggles as he begins to pepper kisses along your jaw and neck.

He brushes your hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear as he places a kiss on your forehead. "I can't believe that just happened" he says grinning at you while you shake your head sharing his disbelief. "Took us long enough," you answer, placing a kiss to his collar bone as he skims his fingers along your naked back.

"You didn't do a very good job of telling me what you wanted though" he leans back, cocking one eyebrow as he makes eye contact with you.

"You didn't seem to need many directions" you relply, your cheeks flushing pink.

"True" he smirks back at you cockily, "and we're only going to get better. I'll work out your kinks eventually, whether you want to tell them to me or not," he says before placing another gentle kiss to your lips.

You sit up and stretch, letting out a content sigh before scooting out of bed to make your way to your bathroom to clean yourself up a bit.

You admire the marks Christian had left on your thighs for a few minutes before brushing the tangles out of your hair and returning to your bedroom.

As you enter the room, Christian has turned off the lights and is snuggled under your duvet. He watches attentively as you slip back into the bed, reaching his arm out to invite you to cuddle into his side.

You press yourself against him resting your head on his chest as he begins to softly trace shapes along your side. Your fingers dance along the lines of the tattoos on his arm, "I've always thought these were beautiful," you say quietly before pulling his hand to your mouth, lightly kissing his fingertips. He hums lowly, enjoying the lightness of your touch.

"You don't have any do you?" he asks softly as you shake your head silently.

"I've never really had a reason to get one" you answer.

"Maybe I can give you a reason to get one someday" he says barely above a whisper and you nod your head in agreement as your stomach somersaults at his insinuation of a future together.

"Christian," you whisper, placing a kiss to his chest as he hums, "when did you know you had feelings for me?"

"I think they've always been there, but the last international break I knew. You know how much I always love being at home, but suddenly I couldn't stand the thought of being away that long, of not seeing you everyday..." he trails off.

"Explains all the FaceTime calls," you giggle against his chest, warmth spreading in his belly at the sound.

"I think that's when I knew too," you breathe out, "caught myself looking up flights to the States, thought about surprising you."

"I would've loved that you know," he says placing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I know, but I wasn't sure if it would be weird if I just showed up like that, and I was burried under a mountain of work at the time trying to figure out all of travel for the Champions League games," you shrug.

"You know, we don't tell you enough how much all of us appreciate what you do for the club," he smiles shifting so that he can lay beside you and look you in the eyes as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Just part of the job," you grin at him, closing the gap and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Can we keep this between us for now," he asks quietly, "well at least between us and Mase and Chilly?"

"Yeah, of course" you smile softly.

"It's not that I don't want people to know, it's just that we have to think about how we handle things with the club," he says as he drags his fingertips along your arm, wanting to reassure you that he's not regretting anything or backing out on you.

"I know, it's fine, but there aren't really any rules that say we can't be together, especially since I'm not part of the coaching staff," you smile shyly.

"So you've looked into it," he grins at you.

"Maybe," you crinkle your nose at him.

"But at least it won't be unusual for us to be seen together or anything, we just have to keep it friendly for now, until we're ready to let everyone know."

"That might be harder than we think," he chuckles.

"It might be," you smile against his lips as he kisses you.

"Let's get some sleep, we can get up in the morning and run by my house to grab my training gear before we head in."

"That sounds like a good plan," you nuzzle your face into his neck leaving a kiss there before you drift off to sleep, the two of you tangled up together.

Tag List:

@chilwellspulisic @neverinadream @masonspulisic @pulisicsgirl @swimmingismywholelife @lovelynikol16 @nyctophilic0vitnir @lunamelona @tall-tanned-tattoo @lizzypotter14 @bracedes

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic imagine #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic smut #christian pulisic fic

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tamayakii · 1 year ago

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Tourney of Blood

warnings: canon-typical violence, OOC-ish Otto but i mean, they're all OOC cause they're yanderes, yanderes but it's not super explicit as u can read this as a stand-alone piece. pairings: all platonic, though i wrote this heavily biased towards Otto x reader and because of that, has been tagged as such. notes: this has been in drafts for awhile, please i beg of ALL my readers i want to hear feedback, i want to actually hear that you enjoyed it(if you did), whether in comments or inbox. Notes are no longer what they were before. Series: This is officially a part of my "Their Angel" series which is a yandere hotd AU series which can be categorized as a y/nbowl (where all characters go after one), but don't worry i can write individual x readers for this au upon request <3

The day of the first Tourney was here, Queen Aemma has started her labours, and King Viserys happily watched the jousting match for his soon-to-be son.

You sat beside Otto, and beside him is Viserys. You’re white clothing stuck out like a thumb, almost reflecting the neighbouring colours around you. Your crown sits upon your head, Targaryen gems decorating it, your veil tucked back for better viewing.

Anxiously you spin the ring upon your left thumb, Aemma’s labour left you worried but you held it in, for Viserys and Rhaenrya, they relied upon you with their personal worries. Sliding your own fingers across your lip as you chew, flinching when the knight flies off of his horse, jousting stick sent through his shield.

“Stop it.” Otto demands, quietly as he leans towards you, taking your hand from your mouth. Before he could pull it away, you grip it, rubbing your thumb across his aged fingers.

“I do not see the point of beating each other senseless, Ser Otto.” Turning your body closer to the man, sneering as two knights begin to fight. “We could be doing better things. I could be doing better things.” Huffing as you look at Otto, he gives a weak smile.

“It’s all for your soon-to-be brother, my princess.” He answers, he brings your hand to his lips and kisses it, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the king. The Targaryens, Hightowers and Velaryons have fought over you since your first step into the red keep.

“blood shed for a babe? odd.” you shoot back, “i could be with the queen now. Helping her.” It is no secret in the castle of Queen Aemmas decade-long past with pregnancies, only having one living child. Princess Rhaenrya.

“That is something you shouldn’t worry yourself over.” Otto grips your hand tighter, making you look at him. Worry. Something that has driven you to near madness, has made you starve and harm yourself. Maesters have told you many things, some losing their tongues for such words that the king did not like being used when addressing you.

“How can I not.” you lean closer to him, “it is my own mother who lay in bed, in pain, she might as well have pushed me out of her own womb. I feel her pain as if it is my own.” You quickly turn back to the jousting, still holding Otto's hand. Who has now signed leaning back in his chair, looking over and giving Viserys a tense look.

Daemon is up, he scans the knights one by one, before landing on Otto's eldest son. Otto instinctively straightens his bad, puffing his chest out, knowing Daemon did this to offend him. You place your other hand on top of your intertwined ones, as extra comfort.

Daemon, your crass and violent uncle, would do anything to piss Ser Otto Hightower off, This- just about everyone knew. You could only pray for the eldest Hightower son, for now, his life is within the prince's hand.

Horses run at each other, green and black, they point their jousting sticks. Suddenly, Daemon dips his own down, tripping Ser Gwayne’s horse. You quickly turn your head away whilst Gwaynes body was in the air, and Otto's hand tightens around yours.

You are deafened by the roar of the crowd, your only anchor being the old man’s hand. Seconds pass by, and Gwaynes unconscious body is dragged away.

“At least he lives.” You whisper, patting Otto's hand, optimistic that Gwayne shall pull through such a brutal defeat and bruised ego. The sound of hurried steps catches your attention, looking back you’re met with one of the maesters leaning over to your father's ear.

Viserys nods, gets up quickly and walks off, but not without soothing your worries as you watch him. Caressing your chin with a finger as he lets out a soothing “do not fret, dragonling” before he’s gone.

You turn back to the jousting matches, the surrounding sound drowned out by a hum. A low dragon's song, fish swim in your head, at some point, Otto’s hand left yours and he was gone. You do not know if what you saw before you was a painting in motion or from your own vision. Bile rises in your throat as worries stir in your head, the maesters face seemed ashen. With no hand to hold, you begin to chew on your fingernails.

The hum stops as the crowd erupts once more, like the tide washing away blood, it is like your vision came back. You see your uncle on dirt, the opponent stepping on his chest and holding a weapon, your eyes widen as you almost leap out of your seat.

Daemon yields and lives, you feel your heart palpate, gripping your seat arm. Perhaps you should have stayed with Mother, you think, unaware of Otto's return. You see the council around you begin to leave, Rhaenys leans forward and whispers in her children's ears.

Otto approaches you, with a melancholy expression, your chest tightens as you realize what is happening. You can only mouth the words no, shaking your head. He refuses to meet your eye, before his hand meets your shoulder you stand up from your seat. Picking up your skirt and running out of the balcony, tears blurring your vision as you run through the keep.

The day has changed for all within the red-keep.

#Yandere House of The Dragon #yandere hotd #yandere x reader #yandere house of the dragon fic #yandere hotd fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #Otto Hightower x reader #otto hightower #rhaenrya targaryen #rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen #viserys the peaceful #yandere #yandere fic #yandere imagines

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hiimawarish · 1 year ago

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laws of attraction

s. alhaitham has solved many enigmas, except you. cw. mutual pining? kind of? fluff. a lil romantic tension. implied academic rivals. tw. none. not proofread. wc. 0.69k a/n. i was getting ready for bed, the first sentence popped up in my mind, and here we are. i have no excuse. credits. dividers by @/cafekitsune.

There were not many things Alhaitham struggled to understand.

From his focus on linguistics and ancient languages to his almost obsessive pursuit of knowledge in other areas such as physics, he had discovered from a young age that his mind was gifted. No book was too advanced for him. No lecture too complicated or dense. Alhaitham’s life had been overcome with a thirst for knowledge that he had never quite quenched, or perhaps he had never been truly interested in satiating it.

Whatever the reason, the truth remained that Alhaitham had found fewer challenges the more he studied. Be it Kaveh’s emotional outbursts or the inefficiency of his classmates, Alhaitham was unfazed. Keeping to himself was more a second nature than a habit by now—as natural as breathing, as reading.

It allowed him fewer failures. Not that they were ever abundant.

Unless it came to you, that is.

“Struggling?” His voice left him in his usual stoic manner, and yet the flash of anger in your eyes did not go unnoticed. Although subtle, if one were to pay close attention to his face, they’d notice the slight curve on his lips—a smile. “Which book?”

“Shut up.”

An amused chuckle left him at your words whispered in anger. The heat gathered in your cheeks at the sound, shame spreading to your ears and down into your neck and cleavage, hidden from his eyes under the Akademiya’s uniform. His laughter, though short, seemed to anger you even more—Alhaitham had discovered, quite quickly, that any sound coming from him seemed to have that effect. Even when he was merely offering his help to reach the book that you not-so-gracefully had been trying to get for the past ten minutes.

In spite of your mumbled, aggressive words, Alhaitham stretched his arm. His fingers traced the spine of a few books—linguistics in context, a comparison in-depth of language evolution around Teyvat, a compilation of ancient runes—until he finally got to the one he was sure you needed. He plucked it out from the shelf, admiring the familiar cover for a few seconds, before handing it to you.

“I never said I needed this.” You replied stubbornly.

You were always too fast to refuse his help. That was his fault, according to Kaveh, but Alhaitham disagreed. Giving you fake praise on that draft you presented him on your first day of class would have been a disservice to you, and yet you had been far too prideful. Now you avoided his help—him—like the plague.

Alhaitham glanced once toward the table you had been sitting at, an arrangement of old textbooks, reports, and scribbled notes surrounding your space. He turned his eyes to you, a questioning look that told you the answer was obvious. You did need it. You did need the comparative essay on how language had shaped Sumeru’s two faces.

You were, still, too prideful, it seemed.

“You do, actually.” He placed the book on your table, dismissively. “It’s a primary source, shouldn’t you know that?”

A stubborn silence on your part is all he received.

Alhaitham sighed. “It seems I overestimated your common sense. Or lack-there-of.”

He should leave. He knew that—his rationality screamed at him to stop bothering, to take your words at face value, and just leave you alone. But he couldn’t. Whether he relished in provoking you or simply saw you as an enigma that he needed to understand, he couldn’t tell.

“See? You’re an idiot.” You nudged him angrily, ineffectual fists hitting his chest. Some other students had stopped, looking curiously at your exchange—usually, the attention would bother him, but he was too focused on you. On your scrunched-up nose, your furrowed brows, your lips pressed together in a thin, tempting line. “If you’re here just to make fun of me, leave. I’m sure you have far better and more important things to do.”

He sighed, though his lips curved in a subtle smile—he was familiar with facts, concrete information, but you seemed to be too abstract for him to grasp. The only thing Alhaitham knew for sure was that you were a magnet.

And he understood the laws of attraction too well to fight.

more works.

#genshin impact #alhaitham #alhaitham x you #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin alhaitham #natsu writes #i dont even like this guy #i just like how he's perfect for enemies to lovers #its like when my friend told me i disliked him because we're too similar academically speaking #i just know i could spend hours fighting him on linguistics #and literature

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heartsofminds · 2 years ago

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‘cause no one breaks my heart like you

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see).

A/N: Okay so EXTREMELY long time, no see! I’ve been working on this little project since the end of September and have been driving myself crazy in trying to sculpt the words the way that I wanted and how to make this seem as realistic as possible. I appreciate every single person who has been so patient with me and my inconsistent posting and hope you enjoy 19k words of our favorite guy in the sky.

(Year 3)

He loves me. He loves me not.

He loves me.

The strange thing about crying is never knowing when the tears will fall. There’s this burning sensation that comes with it; clearly juxtaposed to the watery mess your eyes want to produce. Your nose burns, your face is hot, and the all-consuming, mind-numbing squeeze of rubberband-like pressure around your temples makes you dizzy.

Whether the dizziness is because of the crossed wires in your psyche (the hurt feelings and the busted-up ego that comes along with it) or the metaphysical spiral that sent you into a breakdown in the first place is up to your discretion.

The thought pattern sometimes breaks you out of feeling so non-descriptively shitty.

Because the thing about being a twenty-something that you’ve come to uncover is that life is shitty. Paying rent is shitty. Paying an arm and leg for a pilates workout is shitty. Office jobs are shitty. Office jobs that house cruel know-it-all men are even shittier.

Shit, shit, and shit.

You used to pride yourself on having a more extensive vocabulary than one filled to the brim with the swear word, but as of late, you can’t be damned to care. It’s not like anything you said at the office held any value to anyone anyway.

You’re just a “kid” - “You and my sister are the same age!” And you’re also a woman; one of the fifteen employed by the grounds and building company you’re a consult for, and one of three on the fifth floor working on engineering consults and software materials for digital blueprinting.

And the preparation for working in an environment like this - one where mumbled insults at the findings of a mistake on your colleague's draft or small comments about your body being made in passing (never enough to be called harassment, but certainly enough to make you question why it was even being brought up) - wasn’t new.

The patent leather diploma propped up on the desk in your home office gave proof of it. Years spent with dreaded calculus exams and awkward office hours spent with even more awkward professors and snooty boys with poor attitudes served as the price you paid for the merit.

So who can even be put to blame for thinking that you could handle it?

The answer is definitely “you”, but accepting blame for these kinds of things - accepting the fact that in a way, you’re only reaping the consequences of your own actions - is never an easy thing to do.

And your lips are chewed raw from all the intrusive thoughts plaguing your brain and sometimes you wish that you didn’t have this overarching tendency to view things from “outside of your body.” Sometimes being so critical inwardly kicked your conscience into a God’s eye perspective.

The worry of if your work pants actually did make you look frumpy or if the makeup around your nose was caking like how it usually does if you blend it in before you let it get tacky. You worry if your hair sits the right way or if the secretary downstairs thinks you have a Dunkin’ Donuts addiction. And then that makes you worry if she notices the breakout forming on the left side of your face.

The worry then transpires from material to emotional and manifests in the form of the two things you’re most deathly terrified of; being a failure and being a failure who finds herself alone.

Because what if you fucked around and lost the information to the three billion dollar hospital that you’ve spent the better part of fifteen weeks working on? What if you got fired because your bosses realized how inaccurate your math was sometimes? What if everyone was constantly laughing at you and that’s why you struggle to find a commonality with your coworkers?

And what if, through this whole slue of hypotheticals that hadn’t happened yet but had the potential to happen, you found yourself in a position to be alone? What if your boyfriend - your darling, kind, and sweet boyfriend - finally saw you how you saw yourself? And what if what he sees makes him want to walk away?

Bradley would never, you try and rationalize, but the more your brain tries to force the pieces of the jumbled insecurities to fit, you aren’t too sure.

The fact that the same work colleagues who spark the flame of your self-doubt are the same age as he; thirty-somethings with wives and maybe a toddler or two. Your bosses who scare the shit out of you are in the same age range as the men Bradley knows and loves; his Uncle Maverick and Uncle Ice, and the commonalities are far-fetched but multiply the more you think.

The more you torture yourself, really.

And the excruciating rug-burn-like feeling slides its way from the depths of your stomach up your throat. When you were little, you used to imagine that it was slimy and plasmodia-esque. The Mucinex guy, you used to call it, and the feeling is so sickening and ugly and horrific, that the ugly little cartoon ploy almost seemed cute in comparison.

You’re not really sure how your emotions caught up with you today. From how you run from them and shove them down and turn them off, you forget that you have feelings sometimes.

But then you wake up freezing because Bradley took all the covers in the middle of the night and Dunkin fucked up your coffee and you spilled said fucked up coffee on your new work shirt that you know the stain is gonna be a bitch to get out.

On top of that, your hair seems frizzier than what you remembered when you left the house and your lips are chapped with not a damned chapstick in sight in the abomination that happens to be your purse.

David across the hall from your office says something about how you’re late and it’s probably because “You changed your outfit about six times. Know how you women are. My wife is the same way.” And that’s not the reason why you’re running behind at all, but you’re sure indulging in the fact that your boyfriend hopped in the shower with you uninvited and then proceeded to invite himself to bruise your cervix this morning isn’t exactly “safe for work” content.

And your vagina hurts like a bitch because Bradley went too rough and the report you had filed was sitting on your desk with an intimidating note about how the numbers were inaccurate (“Fuck you, Michael and Rick from downstairs,” you think).

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so tired and that the cogwheels in your brain are doing that fucked up thing again where it sends you into overdrive and your entire body feels numb. Maybe it’s the fact that you know you can’t cry; that you can’t actually process what you’re feeling until after five when you leave the office today.

But the burning sensation doesn’t go away no matter how much ice water you drink or how many times you excuse yourself to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water.

It’s all one big, nasty, slimy feeling that clouds your conscience until you’re met with the front door of your safe haven; Bradley Bradshaw’s home. The sniffles scratch at your chest like a stray dog begging to be let in. The whimper you let out is pathetic and you would’ve laughed at yourself if you hadn’t been so concerned with getting inside.

Fuck. Was unlocking Bradley’s front door always this difficult?

Bradley can sense you before he has any indication that you’re home. He joked how he could feel you oceans away when he was on deployment and while you thought that he wasn’t serious (Bradley was a sap and had a tendency to be so tooth-achingly sweet) you know that there’s some truth to it.

It was odd how he was always so attuned to your needs; how he could always tell how you were feeling before you were even aware that you were feeling it. It was something that you had raved to your friends about in the earlier stages of your relationship. It was also certainly something that they had witnessed on nights out at the club when visiting you in San Diego.

Something inside Bradley loves you so deeply, but he also can’t deny the fact that he loves the praise; the reassurance that he’s a good guy who is always doing the right thing. He’s not doing it for brownie points, “per say”, but the praise does feel nice, and after having to fight tooth and nail to stand out - to be someone and mean something to someone other than his family - the good deeds and the compliments that arose because of them were satiating enough.

But if he’s being honest with himself, he had always been that way. Despite his innate desire to recreate his parents’ epic love story, being empathetic and filled with space to make homes of other people’s sorrow was just something he was born with.

Nothing new, and nothing special.

You force the door open and try and breathe; the cold air of Bradley’s living room hitting your face and the dry heat of Southern California constricting your lungs even more than they had been. You just need a moment, you think. You just need to breathe and you’ll be okay.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

Suddenly you’re too aware of your heart beating inside your chest; the anger and sadness and frustration demanding to be let out. You can feel your trachea eroding away with your sobs. Your eyes feel like salt had been poured into them. Your body is heavy with the weariness of your soul, and something about today’s events and your life, really, has made your legs feel like they weigh a billion pounds. Moving them would only land you flat on your face.

And then you’re made aware of your breathing and your heartbeat is out of sync. The feeling claws your insides and makes every fiber of your being sting.

Fuck.

In. In. In. In. In!

Bradley rounds the corner where your hallway extends into your living room. He has a basket of laundry in his arms. His chest is admonished with a shirt with a comically stretched “UVA” logo. Under different circumstances (one where you could breathe, for starters) you would have laughed at him and his expression reads that he’s prepared for it; the slight smile line near his mouth is quirked up on one side being his tell.

“Hey, baby!” he says before coming into full view of you.

You can see the light in his eyes leave and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he drinks in your appearance.

Your own eyes widen as you damn near suffocate in the doorway of Bradley’s home. Your sweet, sweet Bradley who you’re sure you’ve traumatized in the span of three seconds.

You’ve had episodes like this before, but never in the presence of another person.

They don’t happen frequently, and from various self-help Refinery29 articles and Google searches, you were certain that what you were experiencing - the sudden shortness of breath and the tunnel vision and the pent-up, white-hot frustration making your head woozy - was not normal in the slightest.

And if it was anyone else you would tell them to get help. You would tell them that what they were experiencing didn’t make them any less of who they were before and that it would be absurd to define someone by such a small fragment of their experiences. But what you say to others is different than what you feel about yourself, because admitting there is an issue that you can’t solve by yourself is equivalent to weakness in your mind.

Weakness isn’t something you’re allowed to show very often; not with Mikes and Bills breathing down your neck looking for something to boot your sorry ass out of the front doors of their company.

Bradley recognizes the look you have on your face. It resembles that of new recruits during hypoxia training and even those unfortunate ones that experience g-lock while up in the sky. He’s had his fair share of freakouts and anxieties and he knows that the feeling is awful. Something inside the shelf of him breaks when he sees the same glimmer of fear in your eyes and a call for help on your face.

He drops the laundry basket to the ground and rushes toward you. His feet move faster than his mind and if people on the base could see him now, it would be the last time they called him slow to react.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, softly grabbing your forearms and rubbing his thumbs over your wrists, “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe.”

His grip on your forearms drops to your waist as he subtly moves you into the entryway of his home. You can feel the vacuum of air behind you as he reaches around your back to shut the door and lock it.

Bradley’s pupils search your face for answers your mouth can’t give him. He sees the slight bloodshot hue in the whites of your eyes. He sees the slight flush to your cheeks and knows that the dewiness of the shade isn’t because of the heat outside or the blush he had watched you apply this morning. He sees the forced movement of your chest; your lungs overworking themselves to keep you standing.

Your eyes are staring right back at him but your brain can’t seem to register that you’re safe. You’re home. You’re with Bradley.

The longer he rubs his thumbs in the crease where your elbow meets your bicep, the more feeling you regain. Your heart rate has slowed a good deal and the air you’ve so desperately been engulfing has allowed itself to make itself useful to you.

He shushes you and steps closer, engulfing you in a wrap that could envy that of a boa constrictor with its prey. He peppers the top of your head with small kisses and he makes sure your ear is pushed up to his chest so you can hear the thump of his heart.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he moves your conjoined bodies so that his back is facing the door and you’re being held close to his front. Bradley slides down the navy blue painted oak so swiftly and carefully with you in his arms that you can’t even be sure when your view changed from his face to being at eye level with his coffee table.

His hold is comforting and the dam that you’ve worked so hard to maintain all day has finally hit its peak of pressure and broken completely.

“You’re safe, baby. I’m here.”

The sob that leaves your mouth is one that you don’t even recognize as yours. The last time you can remember hearing something remotely similar resonates in the memory of your niece throwing the biggest hissy fit ever known to man at her second birthday party last summer.

Man, if only she knew that her competition was you instead of her new baby brother.

“My sweet girl,” Bradley whispers into your hair, holding you as your body shakes so violently it jostles his large frame behind you. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Get it all out.”

And you don’t know when the crying stops and turns into shallow sniffles or when the sky changed from its yellowed hue to the dark navy that usually blankets your late-night talks with the man behind you, but all you know is that Bradley Bradshaw is a saint.

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who would stop the world from turning if that’s what you asked of him.

Because it’s what you would do if he had been the one to ask instead. That’s how love works.

He loves me. He loves me not.

He loves me.

(Year 4)

He loves me not. He loves me.

He loves me not.

Looking for blame was never your strong suit.

But as you look outside the passenger window of an inherited Bronco on a chilly November night, the fingers you always seem hesitant to point uncurl themselves from your fist without resistance. You have half the mind to not actually point at the culprit of your anger who manifests in the form of the six-foot-one man seething beside you.

The radio is clicked off and the joyous laughter and cacophony of faux karaoke is absent in the midnight blue starlight. The windows are down despite the air surrounding the coast bringing the atmosphere to a standing fifty-five outside, and the wind from how fast your lover is driving taking the temperature down to at least fifty degrees even.

Your eyes refuse to drink in his appearance for more than five seconds at a time because you know that you’re an angry crier who gets set off very easily. Exchanging looks with the fuel that set fire to the burning in your belly would not do you any good at this moment.

When you had pulled on the pretty little cocktail dress and left Bradley to his own devices in the living room of your apartment, the thought of the anger brewing between you like a hurricane didn’t cross your mind at all.

And how could it?

In the four years of being together, there were a fair share of disagreements but nothing that wasn’t just a product of stress or small tidbits of jealousy and hurt feelings that brewed into something bigger than it was ever intended to be. They were usually resolved with a mature conversation on the floor of whoever’s living room followed by cuddles and on a few occasions, fervent makeup sex on the floor.

It always gave you rug burn but you never complained. Having Bradley was something you craved so deeply that no consequence could ever outweigh the desire; even damn near purple knees and a sore ass from how domineering he could be.

Love has a way of making the world stop turning. Nothing truly matters besides the feel of a warm body holding you in bed and the promise of sweet nothings weighing you down lovingly. That always is (at least in your case) until too much pressure is applied and you begin to freak out - the ugly truth of how much love can hurt with each pained exhale that mimics simultaneous cries of pleasure and calls for help.

“Does he really love me?” “Am I too much?” “Am I not enough?”

Insecurities upon insecurities and you really have no true basis for why you think this way or why you feel like you will never amount to what Bradley deserves. If you’re being honest, it’s all a jumble of things and it reminds you of the ABC spaghetti-o’s you used to beg your mom to buy.

Superficial and never really making sense, much like the word scramble of letters in your soup.

But despite you trying to tell yourself that you were being ridiculous - that the pit in your stomach that refused to move was nothing more than an overreaction - the ABC spaghetti-o mixture started to make sense of your anger and what may have caused it.

And the insecurity you had felt that you tried to push down inside of you; tried to deny the existence that it was there and was, in fact, so excruciatingly real made way at Rueben’s wedding shower.

It’s not like you hate being around Bradley’s friends - not like they’re strangers that you try and force small talk with so that the three-hour minimum interactions required for a get-together go by faster. Most of these gatherings have an imaginary itinerary that you’ve come up with and if you play the game right, you never come home with too bad of a hangover.

The first thirty minutes will be spent giving side hugs and enthusiastic “Hey! How are you?”’s being tossed around. You’re always grateful that the years of sorority recruitment have prepared you for holding “safe” conversations; ones that don’t deter any deeper than being happy to see each other and the San Diego weather that never seems to change.

Every now and again, one of the guys will hold up your left hand and inspect for an engagement ring before pushing Bradley’s shoulder slightly. A “You better lock her down before I do, Bradshaw,” nipping the air and making your cheeks turn slightly pink.

Hour one will entail being tucked beneath Bradley’s arm as he sips a Budweiser and joins the circle of regulars that you often go to the bar with or host for dinner parties at his place. Mickey and Rueben will give you friendly exchanges and ask about your work and siblings. Javy and Jake will give you a curt nod and then start to babble away with your boyfriend about whatever hazing-like endeavor they’ll pull on the new pupils in their class. And sweet ole Bob will stand to the side with his hands in his pockets before offering to show you the newest picture of his two-year-old niece, which you graciously partake in viewing because she’s a cutie.

You’ll slosh around the heavily poured margarita you’ve had in your hand for the past hour before Mickey will laugh and ask if you plan on drinking it at all, and you’ll give a faux introspective hum before shaking your head “no” and offering your drink to Bradley. And Bradley will ask what’s wrong with it and you’ll say it’s too strong and he’ll graciously take the glass and drop a sweet kiss on your temple.

And when he downs the drink with no grimace at the shit ton of tequila and triple sec poured into it, you’ll make note of how the margaritas you make at home are probably more of a mocktail than anything to him. You’ll then marvel at his ability to handle his alcohol, and recall asking him one time at the start of your relationship if a high alcohol tolerance was required to join the armed forces.

Hour one and a half would be spent with Natasha kidnapping you from the group of aviators Bradley has concerned himself with. “Sorry not sorry, Bradshaw. We got stuff to talk about,” she’ll say and then drag you across the room to another corner of aviators (thank God they’re all women this time). And then you get another round of “Hi! You look so good!”’s thrown at you and a mojito to replace the margarita on account of Cali. The funny stories of hookups and boyfriends paired with all the constant belly laughing are reminiscent of college roommates after a night out at the bars.

Hour two will include drunken karaoke (even if there isn’t a karaoke machine in sight) and some kind of serenade from Bradley. He always goes to the piano willingly (though it’s always anticipated that dear old Rooster is bound to end up there if the instrument is available) and he’ll pretend like he doesn’t enjoy it, but you know that his ego is inflated by everyone singing along and the praises sung to his playing.

Hour two and a half will bleed into hour three and usually ends with people starting to head out and “See you tomorrow!” being tossed around. Nat always gives you a tight squeeze and holds your shoulders before making you promise her to get lunch sometime soon. You’ll agree even though you know that your schedules will never align and it more than likely won’t happen, but the drunken stupor you’re both in creates a bubble of extroversion that neither of you can seem to put a cap on.

Bradley then takes you back to the car and turns on the radio. He’ll look over at you lovingly before kissing your forehead and rolling all the windows down. He knows that the sea breeze has made the air chillier than the number displayed on the weather app in your phone. You’ll groan as he gives you a, “C’mon, baby. You know I run hot!” with that cute laugh and head-shaking smile, and then you’re off down the interstate back to Bradley’s home, where you’ll stay the night and leave out back to yours around the same time he gets up for training.

That’s how the itinerary usually goes, and the comfortability of it all keeps you sane and acts as a warm blanket that keeps you distracted from the sheer differences between your boyfriend and his world.

But tonight was different, and the minute you step into the lavishly decorated venue, you know that your unofficial itinerary has no room to unravel despite the massive square footage of the party taking place around you.

You recognized Natasha alongside the other female aviators that you were friendly with but certainly not close to. Because of the occasion at hand, a few girlfriends and spouses were also huddled around them including Rueben’s fiance, Izzy.

And somewhere between the three glasses of champagne you had and Izzy’s stories about how she and Rueben were secretly “trying” but didn’t want anyone to know (you’re not sure how it’s a secret anymore because she blurted it out to her soon-to-be husband’s coworkers, but truly to each their own) planted a cherry pit of insecurity in your stomach. When you finished your glass of champagne and took note of how dizzy you were, the insecurity started to grow into the slimy monster that you were familiar with.

Then came the picking yourself apart.

Your eyes found the glimmer of engagement rings, baby bumps, and phones with family pictures as the home screen. Wearing your undergraduate alma mater’s class ring on your finger seemed infantile, and you made the conscience effort to slip it into the clutch you had been carrying with you the entire night.

Phoenix noticed the sudden stiffness in your spine and how your eyes had a glimmer of sadness in them; how they held sparkles of wishing that you could relate. It’s a look she remembered having during her time in flight school. And because she had taken it upon herself to act as your big sister turned good friend since you’ve been dating Bradley, she knew that you wouldn’t speak up or excuse yourself from the conversation.

Because you, much like her and so very much like Bradley, would rather suffer in silence and let the thoughts of not feeling good enough eat you alive until the joys of who you are become eroded to make room for the sorrows of who you aren’t.

It came as a surprise to feel her hand guide you away from the giggling women to the front table housing cupcakes and plastic water bottles with the cheesy Canva-designed “Hitched to Fitch” labels replacing the ones they had come with.

“Thank you,” you said, and she only nodded before handing you a bottle and grabbing one for herself off the table.

“M’gonna head to the bathroom and then go outside for a bit. Meet you there?” she asked and you agreed, your hands busied trying to twist the cap off of your water bottle.

Phoenix disappeared and your eyes started to search the room for Bradley. You’d even be satisfied to see some of the familiar faces that you’ve come to know via pool at Hard Deck or biweekly group dinners at your boyfriend’s house.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the room and realized that you didn’t see anyone you recognized for that matter. Instead of doing the smart thing and texting him about his whereabouts or trying to get some kind of idea about where he may have disappeared to, you did the opposite and headed outside to the back area where the sky swallowed any light in its darkness and the greenery around you smelled earthy.

The November breeze chilled your bones and it took everything within you to keep your teeth from chattering audibly. You internally scolded yourself for being insistent that you didn’t need to bring a jacket to wear with your cocktail dress. When the wind chill had been brought up when you were putting on your earrings, Bradley had only shaken his head and laughed before making sure to put on the baby blue suit coat of his that you loved. You both knew that you’d have it across your shoulders come nightfall when the sun had set and the late fall wind chill kicked in.

The back of your heels dug into the blisters that had formed sometime during the evening and your champagne-induced mind can’t force you to walk any farther. And your intention was never to wander off and not let anyone know. It was to find Bradley and get some air, and you fell short in finding your boyfriend, so the latter had to do for the time being.

Thoughts of the Law and Order episodes you watched leisurely slammed themselves into the forefront of your mind as the thought of a dangerous predator sent shivers up your spine. You chewed on your lips and crossed your arms over your chest; half thinking and half trying to preserve your body heat. You took a small step forward before your action was interrupted by the loud cacophonous laughter of the men that made up your boyfriend’s friend group.

You smiled fondly and decided to wait a moment longer before making your presence known. Not very often do they get to joke around like that.

“She’s letting you hit raw and you still haven’t knocked her up yet?” you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Jesus, Fitch, are you broken?”

You can hear Bradley chuckle along with the other males making up the group as you remained standing hidden behind the archway of the garden. If you had common sense, you would hit the gopher of your curiosity on the head like some dumb carnival game and would reveal yourself; softly joining in on the conversation and maybe even getting to put a face to the voice you had just heard.

But instead, you stayed put and tried to flip through the catalog of voices that you had come to know.

Reuben was ruled out because the statement was about him. Mickey’s voice was naturally quieter and softer in nature. “Hit raw” would never come out of Bob’s mouth ever. Hangman is an actual menace to society, but would “Never use the Lord’s name in vain, sweetheart. Was raised better than that.” And Javy was on leave visiting his family in Ohio for the next three weeks, you remembered Bradley mentioning earlier.

So who could it be?

An instinct - that old know-it-all voice that was cemented into your subconscious from years of mistakes and warnings from your mother - told you that the curiosity would actually kill you this time. Part of you thought it would be best if you found the bathrooms and waited for Natasha there. Your frozen toes and embarrassingly hard nipples would certainly thank you, but yet you do the opposite of what your panicked brain is telling you (one thing that the ABC spaghetti-o’s made clear to prevent you from getting your feelings hurt).

You had decided to snoop some more and God, did you wish you could beat yourself upside the head to forget what you had heard. Maybe a concussion wouldn’t be that awful.

And by the time Natasha caught up to you, you had thanked God that the night sky concealed the sadness written on your face and that the cool air could be used as an excuse for your sniffles.

Bradley, your sweet Bradley, had betrayed you, and he wasn’t even aware of how deeply that had cut you yet.

As you and Natasha made your way to the group of men huddled outside, you could feel the energy from Bradley shift, and from one look at you, he can tell that something in you has changed. His eyes are softened from both the scotch in his system and the tenderness he held in his heart for your being. Something in you just won’t allow his hazel irises to bleed into you. You already have enough blood surrounding the metaphorical stab wound that he unknowingly caused you tonight to last you through the goddamn week.

He had reached out to bring you into him and tuck you into his front and wrap his arm around your torso. He knew that you were freezing and his suit jacket had been abandoned inside so blocking the wind with his body was the next best thing to warm you up, he had thought. His hand had grazed the goosebumps on your arms, but you pushed him away forcefully. He didn’t raise the question out loud, but when he turned to face you and saw the red tint on your cheeks and the straight line your lips were in, it confirmed what he had thought.

You were pissed off.

The thing about Bradley, though, is that he’ll never bring up someone else’s issue with him. He’s confrontational at heart but only about things that cut him deep; about things that stain his fingertips red with anguish and disappointment. And he knows that he has a lot of problems. He knows that what you had heard had to be beyond upsetting, and as you stood shivering with your arms folded over your chest and a good three feet put between you and him, he noted that the look on your face was something that he had caused.

But because he’s him and because you’re you, he decided to let you come forward and let you confront him with your problem because the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was upset you, and he certainly fell short in avoiding that scenario tonight.

You stayed quiet and distant for the rest of the night. Your smiles and hugs and sarcastic quips were kept to a minimum and everyone noticed that something was off with you. When you had given Reuben and Izzy their parting hugs, he had whispered in your ear to “feel better soon.” Izzy had even made an effort (despite how “off her ass” drunk she was) to comfort you, and it was then that you realized that everyone had noticed you but Bradley.

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who always happily obliged to love you and make you feel known and seen no matter the cost, but clearly, that was short of a few oceans away and the contempt of what he had done took precedence of the space you held for him in your heart now.

All the realization did was piss you off more.

Bradley had tried to give you his suit coat but you had just brushed it off your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Normally, you would profusely apologize and declare that the action was an accident, but you simply watched it fall, raised your eyebrows in a gesture of being unamused, and started making your way to his car.

He had opened the passenger side door for you, but you stared at him; a look of utter silent disbelief and frustration rampant in your eyes. He couldn’t even process all that he was seeing reflected in your face before you reached your hand out to slam the very door he opened. You slung it open again before damn near hauling your body into the leather interior of the seat.

He had half the mind to subconsciously reach out and shut the door for you until you started angrily buckling your seatbelt, to which he ultimately decided to back away and round about his vehicle with half caution and half emasculating retreat to the driver’s side.

The wheels of how you were acting and how he could even begin to tread the water of what exactly had made you so painstakingly angry. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t speak to him. You didn’t even acknowledge him, and through the years of being an only child with a mother who doted on him like no other, Bradley had to admit that he was selfish; that he always wanted attention and always had to have it. The older he had gotten, the better he had become at concealing this, of course (Well, that’s debatable, you would have said if you were speaking to him) but he doesn’t like to share. Never likes to be pushed aside to have to make room for something else if he can help it.

And his thinking is selfish…and absurd…and a “doorway for toxicity” (all things that his therapist had said before Bradley had stopped seeing him because he hates being called out), but he can’t help it, and despite keeping it at bay in his friendships, he certainly has a more than difficult time keeping it concealed in his relationships.

Bradley blames the scotch he downed before he said his goodbyes on why he felt so wounded; on why the guilt and embarrassment were eating him alive. Everyone had known something was wrong with you and it hurt his confidence that he couldn’t be the one to pinpoint what exactly had caused your sour mood. He certainly had an idea, but he’d come to learn throughout the years that assuming things would never do him any good.

The wound you had given his ego was further agitated by your show of slamming the door as soon as he turned on his heel to go to his side. Knowing eyes in the parking lot of the venue had made their presence known with hushed whispers and heeled footsteps walking faster to avoid running into him.

Your anger angered him, and instead of being open to the idea of criticism and accepting his party in making you miserable tonight, his need to deflect kicked in instead. Old habits die hard, and he just couldn’t resist.

He knew you would always forgive him; would always say sorry and mean it because you love him. He has a right to be mad too, he had thought. You let his suit coat fall to the ground on purpose. You refused his touch. You slammed the door to his Bronco not once, but twice. If anyone had a right to be angry, he knew it was you but who was to say that he wasn’t a second runner-up?

Bradley knows that he was so incredibly wrong for trying to play you; trying to play chess when you weren’t even aware that there was a game being played, but so help him God if he got into a massive blowout fight with you in the goddamn parking lot before the night was over.

And he’s pissed off but he isn’t an asshole (at least he doesn’t think he is intentionally). He settled for keeping his mouth shut because he knew it would keep your anger at a minimum with less material to be upset at.

He backed out of his parking space and put his hand behind your headrest, his fingers lightly grabbed the ends of curled pieces of hair that wrapped themselves on the wrong side of the seat. You can feel the wispy touches and you tried your best to shrug him off.

The ghost of his fingertips on your body drove you up the wall. Instead of harshly pulling your head away from him, you bend down to unbuckle the strap of your heel. You were sure you almost saw the tail end of a frown when you had come back up, but he was absolutely the last thing you wanted to look at for the time being.

You could feel his stare on your face. His eyes traced your collarbone and followed the labyrinth of shadows up to your jawline. The temptation to give him some grace, to entertain his worries for just a second rang the bell inside your heart, but you were stronger than that. You deserved better than that.

He didn’t care about you in front of his coworkers, so why should he get the privilege of caring about you now?

Bradley, obviously attuned to your every move and gesture, sensed your subtle attempt at fleeing from him. He never knew how far away someone could feel from another despite being stuck in the confined space of a front seat.

He could tell that you were digging your heels in; doing your best to avoid him and remove your brain from the peanut butter-thick tension that plagued the scene. It didn’t stop him from searching the side of your face for answers - for any indication that the metaphorical distance you’ve created between you two actually exists and isn’t just a figment of his chronic overthinking.

The radio was tuned to some 80s throwback station, a Bob Seger song that you knew the melody of but certainly not the words to, which filled the uncomfortable silence. The age gap between you and your boyfriend was further cemented as he sang the song quietly as if he had written it himself.

You’re sure you would have spiraled all the way down to the abyss located in the treacherous unknown of the Pacific Ocean if you were given the chance to. Anywhere would be better than here, you had thought.

Bradley’s hand slipped to the heat to turn it on amidst the chilly fifty-degree fall air that had you shaking in the passenger seat. Your anger was so rampant and rage-induced that your body felt like it was on fire. Your annoyance has no place to go, as he didn’t even bother to lower the windows in the car this time. He had known that the routine of you two going out was thrown off, and trying to keep a small sliver of expectancy would do you both no good.

Bradley could be so observant yet so self-absorbed at the same time, and it drove you absolutely nuts.

And you started to spiral and the heat that was being blasted in your face crafted a tornado of grievances that you weren’t even aware you were holding against him.

Bradley is a blanket stealer. He always gets the wrong kind of grapes for you at the grocery store. He can never tell the difference between Alexandra Cabot and Casey Novak no matter how many times you force him to watch Law and Order: SVU. He always gets an absurd amount of water on the bathroom floor when he showers. He never fills up the Brita filter after he uses it. He always places his shoes sideways on the rack near his front door; not quite crooked enough for you to say something about it but always slightly slanted enough for you to notice it.

Most of all, he hurt your feelings tonight and he had yet to acknowledge that he was the cause of it. Yet here he is, trying to get in your good graces because the guilt of knowing that he had done something was chewing him up and spitting him out currently.

So attuned to your needs but never to your feelings. Same old Bradley.

His hand traveled to the bare skin of your knee; his large palm cupping the bone before moving it upward so his fingertips could trace the shallow gaps where your joints were relaxed. Your breath hitched in your throat and if it would have been acceptable to scream - ie; your boyfriend not currently driving you both across a narrow two-lanes-of-traffic bridge over the ocean - you would have.

His touch burned you. Made your heart volcanic. Sent fiery tears streaming down your face. His touch had betrayed you. Made you small. Made you insignificant. Made you feel like he never cared.

If you could’ve caught a glimpse at yourself you would know that you were beet red. You could feel yourself visibly shaking with anger and you knew Bradley could feel it too. You smacked his hand away as if you were smacking a blood-sucking mosquito off your body in the suffocating heat of June.

Except this wasn’t a mosquito. This wasn’t the soft glow of a summer sunset with a pesky little bug slurping down your blood. This wasn’t a fond moment that you would laugh at later.

You’d been bruised; so deeply hurt. Made to feel so goddamn stupid for ever thinking that he loved you. That he respected you. Fuck him for making you feel the same way you do at your 9 to 5 every weekday.

Bradley reached and turned the radio off. The deep exhale and the pink flush that crawled up his neck was his tell of truly being pissed off. You had only seen it happen a handful of times. Most of the time Maverick or Hangman served as memorable faces to cause the reaction.

But this time, the time that extended your handful into two handfuls, was because of you. Part of you is prideful of that fact. Now he can feel what you’ve felt the entire night.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?” he griped at you. He shifted in his seat and his left hand gripped the steering wheel significantly harder. “Been acting like a pissed-off toddler all night.”

The desire to roll your eyes bated you with knowing it would satiate you in getting your point across. But the desire to do him one better, to see if you could irritate him more, took over. You know that nothing gets under Bradley’s skin more than someone taking the high road; someone one-upping him in his “noble and kind” act.

“I’m not starting a screaming match with you in the car,” you deadpanned. You heard him huff beside you, still avoiding his presence with your eyes.

“Would rather you fight with me than take an oath of silence.” He cracked his neck and stiffened his back against his seat. “More grown-up ways to go about telling me you’re mad, you know.”

The anger ran up your spine and reared its head in your ears. “Hmm,” you sneered pensively, “More grown up than my pussy then, huh?”

Bradley slammed on the breaks of the Bronco. His sudden change in speed caused you both to jerk forward. He thanked God that the road was dark and no one was directly behind him. His abrupt decision could have resulted in disaster. But even if someone would have rear-ended his prized possession, his biggest fear at the moment would have to be the fact that his suspicion was confirmed.

You had heard them and that’s why you were so royally pissed off.

He simply swallowed and pushed his foot on the gas pedal, the car slowly starting to move forward. He turned the radio off completely and his raised brows to signify that he was deep in thought.

How the hell was he going to get himself out of this now?

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

The scoff you let out rumbled in his ears; eardrums rubbed raw from how accusatory the pitch of your laughter sounded. “Does it fucking matter that I did?” Your voice sounded thick and the puff of air you blew out of your mouth told him that you were seconds away from angry tears.

“You’re laughing, Bradshaw but what about that youngin’ you brought tonight? She even old enough to drink yet?” his friend and old squadron partner, Yankee, had laughed.

Bradley had forgotten how loud-mouthed Yankee could be. Completely unafraid of asking the questions everyone was dying to know the answers to and unapologetically crass (even more so than Hangman, believe it or not). Call sign given to him by how goddamn opinionated he was about the MLB and how much of a ride-or-die fan of the New York Yankees he was.

Yankee was one of those people who you didn’t tell your personal business to because he was bound to have some opinion about it; whether it was if he could tell that your flight suit was slightly stained or if you were making the right choice about proposing to your long-term partner.

Come to think of it, Yankee was one of the friends Bradley had that he was sure he would never be caught dead hanging out with one-on-one. Something about the two never aligned. Bradley never found Yankee’s jokes to be funny and more often than not found his demeanor to be beyond annoying. But he can't help who his friends liked, and Yankee had never brought anything up against Bradley that made him want to beat him to a pulp, so he was found in the same hand-shaking and bar-hopping circle of friends with Yankee until the other pilot was moved to Corpus Christi.

“Hey, Rooster’s girl is at least twenty-three. Old enough for a master’s, but can’t hold her liquor for shit,” Hangman declared, sipping the Budweiser he had been holding by its neck.

You stuffed Bradley’s suit coat that was sitting over your lap on the middle console; desperate to have any part of him away from you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt your tears fall into the dip of your collarbone.

The anger and sadness that bubbled inside you warmed your insides; turned your volcanic heart into lava. The heat from the vents of your boyfriend’s car blasted in your face and made you feel even sicker than you had previously. Your thighs stuck to the worn leather and itched due to your increased adrenaline.

You fidgeted about in the seat. Bradley adjusted his posture, leaning his head on his fist that rested on the window sill on his left side. He wanted to drop the whole thing. He wanted to return back to your good tequila-shot-induced moods before the night turned to shit.

He flipped the heat to a lower setting when he noticed your discomfort next to him. He haphazardly leaned over to close the vent on your side before he saw them; the tears streaming down your face and the pitiful pout adorning your lips. You looked so hurt. So broken. So done with him. Like maybe, just possibly, the love you had for him had finally given out.

He figured no one was to blame but him.

He tried his best to make you comfortable but the silence looming like a shadow from your side of the car sparked a wick of anxiety inside of him. His hands kept adjusting the temperature and checking your face as he turned the knob back and forth, the temperature going up and down. The air vents opened and closed as if they were playing some infantile game of peek-a-boo with you.

“Jesus - fuck -, Bradley,” you hissed, “Can you quit it?” The tears had turned from anger to sadness to annoyance and you wondered if it was possible for the primary purpose of tears to switch that quickly.

Bradley let out a soft sigh before flicking the heat off completely and rolling down both windows. “Sorry.” The meekness on his face wrote regret for all that had taken place.

“You don’t say,” Yankee joked, “Ole Rooster’s been scoping out the playground still, I see.”

The group of men laugh, none of them in the know of the impending doom of the night about to take place. It always started like this with Yankee. One second, everyone would be laughing and having a good time. The next, he would say some “balls-to-the-wall” asshole-ish comment that even made Hangman grind his teeth in their offending nature.

“I would say more ‘Babysitters Club’ and less ‘Sesame Street.’ Have to at least be in middle school now for Bradshaw,” Hangman fires back, and although the jokes being made about his taste in women and dating habits were being made fun of, nothing truly offensive had been said yet, so Bradley continued to laugh and nod his head with subtle “Fuck you”’s thrown in every now and again.

Bradley had been in the Navy since he was twenty-one years old. He knows the way that Navy men talk. He knows the way that most Navy men think. “Swear like a sailor” is the common saying and the various time he’s spent on deployments or on carrier ships provided that it was true. He certainly isn’t blind to the nature of how these men viewed women from how they talked about them when there weren’t female ears around or when they didn’t have a warm body to go home to at night.

And he’s not proud of it - knew that his mother and father would bury him alive for some of the things he’s said - but the guilt of his parents’ imminent disapproval had since been disbarred from his conscience. When it came down to it, no one gave a fuck who he had fucked the night before or what he had said about the women he was sleeping with. Not when he was miles away from home in an undisclosed location on a suicide mission with no one to go home to if he happened to make it back.

So many other people whom he had befriended felt the same way and Bradley had figured that this is why locker-room talk still exists in the military. Some of the things he heard he was sure could have been said at a random run-of-the-mill suburban high school in any part of the continental United States. All that was changed was the bass in the voices and the number of hairs on their chests.

It’s hard to be polite when preserving your life is the action item at hand.

“You know Bradshaw, I always knew you were smart,” the other pilot swishes around his scotch on the rocks in his hand, “They’re always so horny when they’re that young.”

Laughter rang around the room and he joyously partook in it. “Well, I do get laid pretty frequently if you may ask,” he added before taking a sip of the beer he had in his hand.

His gaze caught Bob’s eyes. Sweet, innocent Bob who thought the world of everyone. Sweet, innocent Bob who knew that Bradley was digging his own grave, but continued sipping his glass of red wine. The gawky metal frames that rimmed his friend’s eyes bore into his soul, almost magnifying the wrongfulness of what he was saying.

Bradley had broken their eye contact, his arm coming up to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat and a shaky hand bringing the neck of his bottle up to his lips. He had known that Bob would never say anything, that he wasn’t one for confrontation or calling people out even when they deserved it. But that was the good thing about Bob. He always let people make their own mistakes and never really offered much to say about it afterward.

“I knew it! You seemed looser than the last time I talked to you.” Bradley catches Bob’s eyes again, his friend’s eyebrows slightly raising in a scolding manner. “Now tell, she the tightest pussy you’ve ever had?”

The atmosphere thickened as the side conversations had come to a screeching halt. He would be lying if he told himself that the lump in his throat was from the lack of water he had drank that night rather than the uneasiness of knowing he was in the wrong.

And he knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he should keep his mouth shut; that he owed you the small price of privacy, that you wouldn’t like the mechanics of your sex life being discussed with men who were probably making paper mache volcanoes for their middle school science fairs when you were born. He knew that Bob wasn’t giving him a warning look for no reason and that Mickey didn’t wander back into the venue for no reason at all.

But despite his better judgment (or lack of coherent judgment at all), he opened his big, fat mouth. He had sped up the ends to his means without hesitation; without regard for your feelings.

“Tightest thing I’ve ever put my dick in.”

His friends nod their heads and laugh. Some of them chuckled to avoid the awkwardness and others in agreeance with what was being said.

Bob scooted himself closer to Bradley and shook his head with a deep sigh. “C’mon, Rooster.” A clammy hand had come to lay gently on Bradley’s shoulder.

He had pretended not to hear him. He knew the minute that he let Bob’s words register that he would drop to his knees and beg you for forgiveness. He hated peer pressure. He hated the way he was acting. He hated the way he was treating you behind your back. He hated the way his friends were laughing.

He hated himself more for doing it because you deserved so much better. But clearly, he didn’t feel bad enough to stop.

The sobs that wracked your chest shook you like an earthquake. The more you pondered on why he would say the things that he had said - why he would laugh and demean you behind your back - sent you into a frenzy.

Had he always thought of you this way? Were you always talked about so grossly? So demeaningly? Were you really anything to him other than a warm vagina to pummel his dick in when he was horny?

The questions remained unanswered as you tried to stifle your cries. You hated crying in front of people anyway, but crying in front of Bradley always made you feel awful. Tears always made him uncomfortable and your tears made him upset. Whenever the waterworks started from you, he drove himself mad trying to remedy your issue. You had used to think it was because he cared, but now you started to wonder if it was because he didn’t know how to tell you that he didn’t want to deal with it; that you were being a bother.

Your hand is bitten raw from trying to hold in your pathetic cries. The alligator tears that ran down your face at a rapid speed and the shaking of your shoulders did little to mask the fact that you were sobbing. Years of being told that your emotions would hinder your credibility at work, months of pent-up frustration, hours of disrespect, minutes of unkindness, and seconds of insecurity create an atomic bomb on the merits of the lesson you had been told throughout your entire lifetime; there will never be enough room for your emotions.

And you believed it. You took people for their word. You made narratives and internalized them from how people acted. You read between the lines and the margins of what you interpret carve doubt into your heart; carve the failure that you’re so deathly terrified of so close to your lifeline of needing to please everyone all the time.

The trait is toxic - an unfavorable condition - your therapist would say but it had become such a compulsion, you’re sure you would die without it. Something about approval is so intimately invasive and the shower thoughts you conjured up while thinking about this never seemed to uncover the answer as to why.

Why it matters. Why it doesn’t matter. Who the fuck would even care. (You, of course, but the world is so much larger than you are and your selfishness would be disappointing, you think.)

You wish your boyfriend could read your mind and see the twenty-five cent bouncy ball-like thoughts hitting every crevice of your brain right now. You wish that your hurt feelings could be seen by him with x-ray vision or some fictional superhero-like ability. Most of all, you wished that he had known that the events that had taken place throughout the entire night were tearing you up right beside him.

If he felt that way about you, felt like you were around just for your body and not for you, what did everyone else think? Was Natasha only friendly because she thought you were too immature to be left alone at gatherings? Did Rueben and Mickey actually give a shit about what you had to say when they asked about your work? Did Jake and Javy even know your name?

Did your boyfriend even like you?

The questions imploding like fireworks in your head made you cry harder, and you couldn’t help but let the sobs out now. Bradley looked over at you. His hand brushed your knee, his palm cupped it and his fingers spread out to rub soothing circles on the lower part of your thigh.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he begged, his voice quiet. Small. Unsure. All the things he had made you. “Please don’t cry.”

The rubber band inside of you finally breached the capacity of tension it was able to withstand. The fact that you needed comfort more than anything and the person who usually supplies it for you with no bounds is the one who is violating that comfort made your head spin.

“She’s got that young pussy,” Yankee continued. “Gotta fuck ‘em before they turn into moms. Not as tight anymore.”

Bradley’s ears turned red upon hearing Yankee’s declaration. Knowing that you fucked up and realizing that you fucked up are two vastly different things and the realization hit when he heard Jake Seresin (of all fucking people) tsk and shake his head.

“That’s fucked up, man. Have some respect.” Ever the Southern fucking gentleman.

The sandy-haired pilot’s mouth gaped open before closing; the words loose in his psyche but ceasing to exist in real-time. He finally thought that he had a handle on what he wanted to say. Something noble. Something dignity preserving. Something along the lines of “What the hell?” and “Shut the fuck up.”, but either or never making its way out between his lips.

Waiting for the perfect moment that never comes, he thought, and upon further internalized reflection, he realized that it posed itself as true. Jake wasn’t entirely wrong for saying that about him all that time ago.

The clicking of heels on the ground announced Phoenix and his dashing girlfriend’s presence with the group of men and snapped Bradley out of his thoughts. Something in the way she was carrying herself, something about the way that her crossed arms over her chest blocked her usually sunny aura, told Bradley that something was wrong.

He brought his lips down to her ear when he hugged her from behind and almost built up the courage to ask what was wrong. But he fell short when he was called away to do another round of shots with Rueben and Natasha. He had settled for a kiss to your temple instead before he bolted off.

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. The curse word sends him into immediate fight or flight. “What did you just say to me?”

You know that you’re teetering the line of too much. Toeing the line of immaturity. Testing if your boyfriend liked you enough to put up with your explosion of emotions. “I said fuck you.” The definitive tone in your voice that you attempt scares you with how much it resembles your mother’s.

Bradley scoffs and squirms in his seat some more. His inability to sit still is his tell of guilt. “I told you it wasn’t like that.”

“What the fuck else was it supposed to be then, Bradley?” Your head snaps to look at his side profile.

The cream-colored polo shirt that you had bought him months ago was worn tonight with a different ending in a mind; one where he sped home and kissed your lips swollen and then had you withering beneath him as he fucked up into you on the wall of his foyer. Certainly not the narrative that was currently unfolding in front of him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh cruelly. “Well, what I didn’t want you to say was that I was the tightest thing you’ve ever stuck your dick in? That I’m insatiably horny? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?” You turn your body to face him completely, heart beating in your ears and chest starting to heave with the upset of Bradley’s attitude toward you. “How the hell is Jake Seresin defending me before you even thought to?”

“Leave him out of this.” His face turns red and anger starts to bubble over inside him. Rooster always sweats whenever he gets flustered; so pissed off and angry that the heat inside of him has nowhere to go. The muggy threshold of the heat being flicked on minutes before pairs vexatiously with the aggravation that sits between the both of you.

He rolls the windows in the car all the way down but remembers to roll yours down enough for the smallest gusts of wind to be let in. Even though you had made him angry and he knows that you’re completely justified in the case that’s been built against him, he still cares about you.

He knows that you never like your window being all the way down unless the heat of the summer is unbearable and you were going on a beloved sunset drive with him; your shared playlist playing through his speakers and the top of the Bronco being taken off.

The way that your hair dances in the wind remind him of when you’re carefree enough to lean your head backward outside of the car while driving down a backroad, the words of a Paramore song exiting your lungs with such clarity that he could question if Hayley Williams had written the song or you.

But it’s not the heat of mid-June’s sunburn heating up his cheeks and your screams aren’t accompanied by the laughter of him poking your sides. Summer-salted air is replaced with a frigid fall breeze and your happy moods are burdened by your own frustrations.

“Wish I could tell you the same about our sex life, but obviously too little too late.”

His hand comes up to wipe at his nose. His eyebrows are furrowed. “What the fuck do you think we talk about then? Huh?” Bradley’s pointed tone sends a slight sliver of fear down your spine at his annoyance. “Do you think we sit on those fucking carrier ships in the middle of the fucking ocean for eight months at a time and talk about what? Girl power and Title IX? How much we love AOC?”

The tears dripping down your face continue to fall.

“I’m not saying that you have to sacrifice your conversations with the “bros” about jet fuel and g-forces and whatever the fuck else you always seem to insist is so goddamn important, but my vagina is not a conversation topic to have over a fucking draft beer with your buddies.”

Bradley rolls his eyes at your mention of the word “buddies.” If only you knew how he really felt about Yankee.

“And I’m so fucking sorry that my lack of not wanting to be disrespected disrupted what you think is a party conversation starter. Would you like my apology half-assed like yours or sincere with a complimentary blowjob because that seems to be all you think I’m good for?”

“I said I was sorry and I meant it!”

“You said you were sorry because you want me to accept your apology, but what next, Bradley? Are you actually gonna fix it?”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep exhale. “Don’t act like I won’t do anything you fucking ask of me,” his hand comes up to rub at his temples.“ I love you more than life itself and you know that.”

“So why are you acting like you don’t then?”

He starts driving down the stretch of road that leads to his home. The yellow glow of the street lights makes you want to ask him to take you back to your place. You can’t stand to be sitting next to him in his car's front seat, let alone sleeping in the same bed with him tonight.

“Take it back,” he says dismissively.

“Show me different and maybe I’ll consider.” He pulls the car into his garage and you throw the door open before he can come to a complete stop.

“Hard to when every little thing that slightly offends you sends you into a goddamn spiral.”

Your weakness. He’s got you there.

“Fuck you, Rooster,” you say weakly, stomping away inside to his bedroom as fast as you can with the heels you have on.

“Grow up,” you hear him say behind you, hot on your tail before turning around to head to the kitchen.

You spend the next two hours separate from each other, toeing around the house petrified of seeing the other’s face. No fight you had gotten into with one another had ever been this bad in the four years you had been dating, and part of you wonders if this is how relationships begin to fade; how people start to realize that maybe their person wasn’t their person.

But you think Bradley is it for you. You’ve always felt that way since coming to know him. Be with him. Have him in the same way he has you. You don’t think you can function without him no matter how much of an ass he’s being to you right now. And sure, you’re independent to a fault and yeah, you don’t always know what’s good for you, but you know one thing definitively, and that thing is that Bradley Bradshaw checks all your boxes despite driving you slightly insane at times.

You look up at yourself in his bathroom mirror as you finally scooped yourself off of the floor of his bedroom and made the decision to scrub your makeup off (or what was left of it after your meltdown, really). The patch of stress acne near the side of your forehead from the new project you had been put on at work and the ball of anxiety over what to wear to the wedding shower tonight made itself known. You realized that you had run out of makeup remover and face wash at Bradley’s house a couple of days ago, and the regret of not bringing some or asking him to drop you off at your own apartment started to settle with the burden of your hurt feelings and the freakout your skin was bound to have come tomorrow morning.

A sigh had left your mouth and Bradley’s bathroom cabinet opened as you decided to skip washing your face in favor of only brushing your teeth. But when you go to grab the lilac-handled toothbrush from its holder, you notice the two brand-new bottles of makeup remover and face wash that you certainly didn’t bring, and then you’re reminded of how sweet your boyfriend can be. How caring he is.

The soft spot in your heart that he owns starts to warm again.

After you manage to wash your face and brush your teeth, you run into the problem of only bringing a sleep shirt. Bradley keeps his house on sixty-five no matter the weather outside. He always claims that he runs hot despite some of the wind chill San Diego experiences at night during the fall and winter months. And while you have clothes at Bradley’s, most of them fall into the business casual garb you wear to work or are borrowed (more like stolen, he likes to joke) and no matter how cold you may be, your pride has so much more precedence than it would allow you to give in.

Bradley’s Chicago Bears hoodie sits folded in your designated drawer, but you bypass putting it on. The embarrassingly large t-shirt (albeit free t-shirt) that repped a random student organization from your undergrad institution would have to do tonight.

You waltz out of Bradley’s bedroom quietly. Not only to go undetected, but to be polite in case he had already fallen asleep on his declared refuge of the couch. The soft sound of Breaking Bad playing told you that he was still awake. He can never fall asleep with the TV on; no matter how tired he is.

“Baby?” Bradley calls out from the couch.

Shit. Were you really that loud?

Your feet move faster than your brain; something about Bradley is so magnetizing. You’ll follow him to the end of the Earth if you knew that he needed you. Your puffy-eyed, pantless form moves to stand in front of him. His form still wears the clothes he had worn tonight. The only thing different was the UVA throw blanket you had gotten him last month “just because” over his lap and his printed airplane-socked feet sticking out from underneath it.

Your gaze looks towards the shoe rack near the front door and you chuckle to yourself as you see them exactly how you imagined them. Tucked away where he wouldn’t trip on them, but slightly askew.

His hand comes up to grab yours that lies limply at your side. “C’mere,” he whispers, testing the waters to see how much damage he had done.

You give his hand a small squeeze, the coldness of yours allowing you to feel every callous on his palms. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

He opens the blanket on his lap and guides you to straddle him. He closes the blanket and immediate warmth covers you. Bradley’s hands sit on your lower back above your tailbone, soothing circles being rubbed on the bone there, and his head coming to rest on top of yours. You breathe in his scent, your face snuggled into his neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he speaks and you exhale. You bite your lip, the tears welling up again and wetting his neck.

“It’s okay,” you weep brokenly. “I’m sorry, too.”

He presses gentle kisses on the top of your hair. The sadness that fills the room; the culmination of utter sorrow and confirmation of your insecurities makes the room heavy and eats away at you. Bradley does his best to comfort you until your sobs quiet to hiccups.

And as much as you love Bradley, as much as you want to be satisfied with his apology (or lack of a sincere one, thereof), you realize that sincerity was perhaps not one of his defining characteristics. But instead of calling him out, you so stupidly and cowardly accepted it and apologized right back.

He’s apologizing for the sake of saying sorry. For the sake of diminishing your anger. For the sake of being able to be truthful about never going to bed angry if someone asks. For the sake of doing so because if you accept, he’s still allowed to stay the same and he never has to change.

But you’re saying sorry for being a nuisance. For embarrassing him. For bruising his ego and for being accusatory that he never gave a damn about you.

And what you don’t realize is that you should really be saying sorry to yourself, because while you’re boxing yourself up to make space for him, he’s not sorry about forcing you to do it.

Boxes are heavier when they’re filled with resentment, you learn, and the weight becomes unbearable when sorrows are thrown out to sea with no lifesaver near in sight.

Love is all about sacrifice and banged-up feelings; even if that means that the love of the man you would do anything for suffocates you as you lay curled into his side with a heat made by his chest and his soft snores in your ear.

“Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind.”

And for the first time in the four years you had spent together, you truly start to wonder if Bradley really does love you. The hot coffee on the nightstand when you wake up and the discovery of his thermostat being turned up to seventy degrees confuses you when you get up to head back to your apartment in the morning when you compare his treatment of you now to he had treated you the night before.

He loves me not. He loves me.

He loves me not.

(Year 5)

He loves me. He loves me not.

His mother used to tell him that women always knew.

And she would say it over the sound of a cheaply made General Hospital episode that she had taped so they could watch it together during their evening “wind down time.” His pencil would be scratching away at a Calculus problem from the AP Calc booklet his teacher had passed out at school that day and the soft clink of his mother’s knitting needles would grace his ears.

He would nod his head as he sat by his mother’s feet on the floor of their living room and wouldn’t say a word. The cocoon that the soft yellow glow of the lamp gave off wrapped him in a moment of security; a moment of comfort that he was never allowed very often.

And he had never really thought anything of it at the time. He had figured it was just some chock-full wisdom that would blossom into a useful tool for his adult life; one where his mom wasn’t dying and he was married with maybe a few kids and a beautiful house with a backyard and a bay window.

“Women always know,” his mom said as the female lead had discovered her husband cheating on her long before she had traveled home to catch him in the act.

“Women always know,” his mom said as she would catch him trying to sneak a girl into his teenage bedroom at half past three in the morning.

“Women always know,” his mom said as she comforted him when she had declared to an eighteen-year-old Bradley that she no longer wanted to continue with chemotherapy. She died not even two days later.

“Women always know,” he can hear his mom’s voice in the back of his head as he watches you tiptoe around him when you come home from work.

The door closes with a soft click and your keys are grasped tightly in your hand to prevent them from jingling. The bags underneath your eyes beg the question of when the last time you had gotten a full eight hours of sleep was, but you both would rather not inquire out loud.

The answer would shock both of your consciences.

The tossing and turning you had done the night before was cruel. The anxieties of your day had breached unknown territory; the pit of your stomach hollow and your chest tight. Your mind was so frazzled with fear you couldn’t bear to stay still because the lack of movement gave way for your thoughts to be caught; for your fear and anxiousness to swallow you whole.

Bradley would normally stir in his sleep the minute your eyes had popped open in the middle of the night, but instead, he had elected to turn over and cuddle his face more into his own pillow. The action tacked itself onto the mile-long list of things you were upset about - things that you found unfathomable that your brain scrambled together.

And when you had finally gotten to sleep, your alarm clock blared beside you. Your heart had started to race and the monster of nerves you had successfully defeated for an hour and a half resurrected itself.

When you had turned to face Bradley, you found him still fast asleep and that’s when you knew.

You’re not stupid. You’re not oblivious. In fact, you’re always so painfully aware that it kills you sometimes. You notice how he’s been pulling away. You notice how he’s seemed more reserved and despondent than usual. You notice how he doesn’t kiss your forehead anymore or ask to join you in the shower when you’re both spending your mornings at home together on the weekends.

Conversations at the dinner table are neither here nor there as most nights he can’t be damned to make it home to eat with you. For the first time in five years, you had run out of face wash and had to write a note to yourself on your phone to pick some more up from the store the next time you went shopping. Bradley had watched you type it out and his sagging shoulders wore disappointment on them.

You knew.

You knew he was both feet out of the door with your relationship; his hand still on the doorknob to close it but not having the guts to lock the door while he’s at it.

You know.

You know that you’re going to break up. You know that Bradley is the one who will be taking the initiative and doing it. You know that he’s been thinking about it for a while. The absent gasps whenever you do happen to catch dinner with him say so, and all you can think about is his mouth opening and closing like a goddamn goldfish as he searches for the words to bring it up. The thought makes the actions of the inevitable seem more bearable.

But yet you cling to what little time you know you have left with him.

How you know that you’ll never get to sleep beside him again. How you know that you’ll never get to snuggle into his UVA blanket. How you know that you’ll never visit the Hard Deck or the base or any spaces where Rooster Bradshaw exists freely.

How you know that things will never be the same and that your sweet, sweet Bradley will soon become a sweet, sweet stranger.

So you try to prolong it.

You never linger in the same space as him for too long for fear of the dreadful topic being brought up. You bite your tongue a lot more than you usually do. You keep your stuff neat and tidy; praying for some miracle that he didn’t see your hairbrush on his bathroom counter and that it would buy you another day with him.

You know it can’t last forever but the stupid, naive part of you thinks you can stretch the time to infinity and it’ll be some Groundhog Day-type plot.

You had started planning your arrival home around his schedule months prior. You aimed for leaving the office when you knew he had already left base about an hour earlier. If Bradley was anything, it was predictable, and he would either be in the shower when you had made your way home or cooped up in the home office he had made of the spare bedroom.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you see him standing in front of you; hands drying the ceramic plates Penny and Mav had bought you as a housewarming gift whenever he bit the bullet and moved you both into his parents’ old house last summer. Gray running shorts are low on his hips and a New York Yankees long-sleeve looks damn near painted on his biceps. You swallow the lump in your throat that travels down to your stomach.

Your brain can’t even begin to think of what to do or say but Bradley beats you to it.

“Hi,” he speaks, breaking the ice of your anxiety that freezes you both over. He knows that you can feel that something is off. He knows that you’ve felt it for a long time. He also knows that he’s about to shatter you completely and he’s not sure if he can watch as he does it.

“Hi,” your voice quietly sounds. Your hands start to shake and Bradley’s eyebrows upturn with sympathy as he drinks in your appearance.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He places the plate down and steps towards you. “C’mere.”

His arms stretch to accommodate you. His heart beats wildly as he approaches. He thinks you can sense it because you slam your ear against his chest. There’s no way you can’t feel the rise and fall and frenzied thumping coming from his pectoral.

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her,” his heart begs, but his brain knows that either way, hurting you is inevitable.

He wishes there was another way but he knows wishful thinking will only put you both in a landmine of resentment; a world of a loveless marriage and three kids who will eventually have to pack their bags for their respective weekends with you and him on opposite sides of town. He doesn’t want that for you. He doesn’t want that for him. He sure as hell doesn’t want that for them. So he pushes aside his selfish desire to keep you close and does what he always does.

He decides to walk away.

“Just get it over with,” you say weakly from his chest. He plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of both shoulders. Your stomach is cold and the rest of your body is left scorching.

“What are you talking about?” his chin comes to rest on top of your head. His hold on you unintentionally shoves your face deeper into his chest.

“Don’t make me say it. Please don’t.”

“I can’t talk about it unless you tell me what you’re gettin’ at, babydoll.”

“Don’t play stupid, Bradley,” you release yourself from his grip, “You’re going to break up with me. We both know it so please, just do it already.”

The words that you say steer clear of the convoluted plan he had in mind. Breaking up is no easy task and the guilt of the thought even crossing his mind had been weighing on him for ages. It wasn’t like he sat down with himself and crunched the numbers of the housing market to see when the best time would be for you to move out or that he had a set itinerary of how the conversation was going to play out. He wasn’t even sure he was going to do it today until you had left for work, and it seems to him that you had figured it out without having to mention it to you.

Women always know.

“Don’t say it like I’m just trying to throw you away.” You flinch at his words. He realizes that his tone had come off more aggressive than he intended it to be when he notices the slight watering in your eyes.

“Isn’t that what a break up is?” you want to ask, but you’re so stunned you can’t get your vocal cords to carve out the shape of the letters, let alone thrust any sound out.

He takes your hand and leads you to your shared bedroom. The white duvet and navy blue bordered throw pillows remind you of when he used to take the time to hold you before you fell asleep at night. The hardwood of the floors tell the secrets shared between the two of you as hushed and giggled whispers; pointless gossip and serious confessions alike. The framed pictures on the dresser show you and him in various moments of your five years together.

Easter spent at your parents’ with your siblings and nieces and nephews this past spring. Thanksgiving with Mav, Penny, and Amelia three years prior. A selfie you forced him to take with you at Phoenix’s wedding last year. A candid shot taken by one of your friends of you two curled up on the beach; blissfully in love and lost in each other’s eyes at the start of your relationship.

The photos and the room had seen so much of you two. Various deployments and promotions. A canvas of emotions and intimate moments. Laughter and tears. Petty fights and teenaged makeout sessions. So many things that had written the story of you and Bradley long before you had moved in and long after. The thoughts of the memories fill you with excitement.

But the thought of him not feeling the same way - the fact that he’s bringing you to a room with the story of you both written exclusively in every crevice to end things - brings a waterfall of tears down your face.

The story of creation and its impending graveyard.

Another pang of anguish surges through you and the coldness in your stomach spreads to your feet.

He sits down on the foot of the bed first. He looks up at you with worry written in his irises. Bradley can sense your discomfort; the sadness and panic bouncing off of your aura in waves of deep indigo blue - the color that he’s assigned depression. He doesn’t know why (and he thinks that if he were you, he would slap himself across the face) but he offers his hand to you.

There’s no hesitation and his hand guides you to sit on his lap like how he always does when you’re upset and need comfort.

You sit down and push your face into the side of his neck. The stinging sensation from the hot salt water tears leaking into a cut he had given himself from shaving that morning makes the nature of the situation all the more realistic. This is the last time he will hold you like this. This is the last time he will know you as well as he does. This is the last time he will ever have the chance to make you miserable.

Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.

But the feeling of disappointment is just so intense this time. He’s sure it doesn’t even fall within the scope of what could be considered “hurt feelings.” He would classify this as torture, and he can’t help his own quiet sobs racking his chest as he holds your crying and shrunken-in form in his arms.

“I don’t want to break up, Bradley,” you weep, “I just don’t want to.”

He shakes his head and wipes his own eyes. “We need to.”

There’s something so personal about failure. It’s not a stranger to you. It’s not a monster or fear or the Mucinex man that you try to boil it down to be. It’s something that you can’t obsessively try to avoid anymore because it’s right here in your face.

Except this time, it takes the shape of Bradley’s red-rimmed eyes and gray hairs on the border of his hairline that you hadn’t noticed before.

Bradley isn’t one for bragging. He can’t stand bragging, actually, and he wonders if that’s why he has such a hard time trusting his judgment. He considers that to be the reason why he’s always teetering on the edge of uncertainty, but he knows deep down that this time, he’s right. He’s so spot on and as much as it kills him, it would be more of a crime to deny it than to just admit that he’s right.

He knows it. You know it. He’s sure God does, too.

“No, you want to,” you stubbornly sniffle.

Ever the most hard-headed person to exist, but a sweetheart when it comes down to it. He almost cracks a smile at your attitude, but then he runs into it like a wall of bricks. You’re breaking up. This is the last time he’ll ever get to see your bull-headedness in full effect. The thought makes him whimper and he prays that you didn’t hear the infliction of it in his voice.

“That’s not true, sweet girl,” he sighs, fingers tracing the seam of your work pants, “I can’t make you miserable anymore. We need to.”

“Who said I was miserable?”

He pauses. He knows that the statement he’s about to make will send an uncomfortable chill down his spine. He knows that it’ll make him feel that way because he’s being called out.

“I don’t want to get married and you do. That’s miserable.”

Your ears burn more than they already had because he’s right. You’ve been waiting around for a stupid diamond on a stupid gold band; for reassurance that he wants you to be his as much as you love the idea of being his forever.

Five years and you know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Five years and you compromise regularly about what to keep the thermostat on. Five years and nine weddings you had attended with him. Five years of loving each other and knowing one another in ways that only fiction writers can dream of having someone know them. Five years of feeling like you would die without him.

Five years and he’s ready to throw it all away because he doesn’t think you both want the same things. Five years down the drain.

You think being kicked in the face would hurt a hell of a lot less than this does.

“Uh-uh. No,” you say. You paw at your eyes with your hand ferociously. “No! You don’t get to do that. You know that’s not fair!” You spring up from his lap like he was a fire that had just licked your skin with white-hot heat.

He grabs at your wrist, his eyes pleading with you to not leave him. His touch burns you but you give in. “It’s not fair to keep doing this to you.” His arms envelop you once again and you feel like you can’t breathe.

You push at his chest. “This isn’t fair.” Your arms try and pry Bradley’s arms off of you. “You can’t - I can’t just let you throw us away like this. It’s not fair!”

Bradley swallows down the lump in his throat. His eyes produce more tears the more he watches you struggle against him. He’s scared that if he lets you go that you’ll lose it completely. Part of him knows keeping you near is helping him hold it together too, but he tries to rationalize the overall shittiness of the entire situation by telling himself that he’s appealing to your needs - that you need him, but he also knows that he needs you.

“I love you so much,” he whispers into your hair.

“Then why are you hurting me?” The question explodes in the air, It’s something that he thought he was prepared to hear from the pep talk he had given himself on the ride to work this morning, but it still stuns him.

“I’m hurting you by keeping you with me.”

You scoff and cry harder. The fight inside of you hasn’t ceased yet. Such a stubborn girl, he thinks. It’s one of the things he loves the most about you.

“You’re hurting me now.”

Bradley swallows his comment. His mind ping pongs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on how to tell you why he knows this is for the best. The truth is, he doesn’t know it. He just thinks it, and the worry of having to follow his instincts, to have to be guided by something so material and un-cemented, scares him to death. But he knows that you deserve the word and the world is something he knows that he’ll never be capable of giving anyone.

“You deserve someone that will marry you.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. “Someone who will make you so happy that you won’t even think of us anymore. Someone who can give you that house in La Jolla and a huge wedding and babies and a dog.”

“Someone who won’t blow up in flames while they’re in the sky,” he almost adds, but he closes his mouth instead. The conversation was already heavy. There’s no need to tack on his death that is always in the cards.

“I deserve you,” you say, tone dripping with determination and assurance.

He’s full-on sobbing now. “You deserve so much better, baby. Why can’t you see it?”

You chew on your lips so hard that they start to split. The salt of the blood in your mouth is vile but you would rather taste that than the tears that have been roaming down your face.

“Why can’t you just be better then?”

He feels like you stabbed him in the heart. He guesses that he deserves that. “I can’t be better if you deserve the world. I know I can’t give you that.”

The room fills itself with hiccuped breaths. His heart cracks and yours disintegrates. Bradley moves himself to the headboard to support his back. If you weren’t so concerned with your world crashing down, you would have made a joke about how his age was catching up with him. But trying to force yourself to smile feels like a crime.

Bradley has experienced loss. He’s experienced disappointment. He’s experienced heartbreak. He thought he was prepared for what he was choosing to do, but he never had thought of how he would feel when he was experiencing all of these things at once.

His abs hurt from how hard he’s crying. The hair on the crown of your head is soaked from his tears but you don’t mind nor do you notice. The chest of his long sleeve is stained black from your own tears. You both cling to each other even though being close is what causes you to ache.

The bright white of the linen duvet reflects cornflower blue in the moonlight. Your throat is dry from your heaving. His head hurts from his racing thoughts. Both of your eyes sting uncomfortably; you seeing the world as if you were underwater. Not only because of your uncontrollable sobbing but because the focus of your life - the love you so willingly gave that has illuminated your world for the past five years - has finally dimmed.

The hours spent holding each other felt like seconds and you finally muster up the courage to say something; to put on a brave face and revel in one of your lasts with him.

“Bradley?” you croak. He clears his throat and presses a timid kiss to the top of your head as if he’s scared that his lips are more of a weapon than a tool of comfort.

“Yes, baby?”

“Will we still be friends in a few weeks?”

He sucks on his lips. He wants to say that you’ll always be friends. That no one that comes after you will ever hold a candle to you and what you both had. That you’re his beginning and end, but he can’t keep dragging you along with a false promise of giving you what you actually want. He can’t make himself want to be a husband even though he knows that it’s what he needs to be to keep you. Wanting you just isn’t enough anymore.

The risk is contemplated, but he never wants to prey on you and your vulnerability. He settles for the safe option.

“Depends on if you still wanna be, sweet girl.”

You plant a soft kiss on the wet spot on his chest your tears have created. The answer is sweet but not what you want. You wish it would’ve broken his resolve; would’ve reversed your relationship ending. You know that he knows better than to do that.

The silence sets in again before you speak up.

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Will you still call me every night before I go to sleep so I can hear your voice?”

“I can for a little while, baby.”

His answer is the right thing to say, you know, but you can’t help the fact that the statement breaks your heart even more. “Why only a little bit?”

He sighs. You’re not making this easy for him. “Babe, you know why.”

“Right,” you whisper, shifting in his lap to wrap your arms around his neck. You peer into his eyes. The hazel in them is dimmed. There’s no sparkle left. “M’sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, “Just think that maybe that won't be healthy if we do it for too long.”

It kills him to say that, but he knows that he’s doing the right thing. It certainly doesn’t feel as such, and he would think that nearly twenty years of service in the Navy would help him separate the bad feelings from the nobility.

Breaks up just don’t work like that, he figures. No amount of experience or preparation can concoct an easy way out where no one gets hurt.

He gets lost in his thoughts before he hears your voice again.

“Bradley?”

Broken. Timid. Inquisitive. A test to see if he still cares enough about you to answer. He knows how you are and that you’re reverting back to old patterns that you had lost during your time with him. He has to push aside his feelings of being slightly offended that you’ve put the wall back up so quickly, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s done enough damage to last a lifetime. He just wishes that you didn’t think he could fall out of love with you this easily.

“Hmm, baby?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“My best friend too,” he exhales, the pang in his chest valiant in letting him know that this is the end, “Always will be.”

You pause and tailor your next statement carefully. Part of you takes it slow to prevent yourself from breaking down again but part of you takes your time to keep him near; to keep him from walking away from you. And you don’t want to do this to him. You don’t want to anger him or upset him and that’s the fucked up thing about it.

He’s hurting you and you don’t want to hurt him back.

“Yeah, but what happens when you date another girl and she’s your best friend instead of me?” The thought makes your skin crawl and you dig half moons into the skin of your hand with your thumb to prevent yourself from letting out a chest-wracking sob. “What am I supposed to do then?”

Bradley sighs. The thought of you moving on is selfish but he knows that it’s inevitable. He wishes that no one will ever get to know you the same ways that he’s gotten to, but shakes the thought as soon as he realizes how selfish it is - a declaration of love or the right answer.

He does the latter.

“You’ll find someone who’s an even better best friend than I am,” he sniffles. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started crying again. “Someone who doesn’t make you cry.”

Your breath hitches and it triggers more tears to stream down your face. He’s hurting, too. You never want to see him hurt like this, but then you realize that after today, you will never have to ever again. The thought makes your body ache; withdrawal symptoms before any withdrawal had actually begun.

“You promise we’ll still talk?” you speak in a watery voice.

“Yes, babydoll,” he wipes his eyes and sniffles some more, “ We’ll still talk.”

You start to play with his hands. Your finger runs across a faint scar on his index, the freckle on his pinky, the empty space where you wish a gold wedding band would be on his ring finger. The tips of your own fingers start to burn when you realize that his disinterest in ever wanting to wear one is why you’re breaking up.

You push the thought to the side and continue on in the conversation.

“About life stuff?”

He gives a soft chuckle, the one he usually gives you when he’s playing into your amusements. Part of him is never serious when he does it, but there’s a new wave of promise that he has to keep.

“About anything you want.”

The crying dies down again. The energy in the room is constantly going up and down like the waves on the beach near the back of the house.

“Bradley?” you interrupt the quietness again. The lack of sound makes you even more anxious than you already are.

“Yes?” He curses himself as the statement leaves his mouth. He knows you’re picking apart his lack of use of a pet name; that you’re convincing yourself that you’re an inconvenience to him and that he never cared for you the way you wanted him to.

Bradley almost tacks one on, but the pause between adding it and answering would have been too broad and you would have noticed and called him out on it. He decides against it. He also starts to wonder when he became so decisive all of a sudden.

Turmoil does that to someone, he guesses.

“My heart hurts so bad and I don’t know how I’ll fix it.”

The energy in the room spikes again. The tension you can feel radiating off of him like an unbearable heat makes your eyes water. Crying was something you did often but not something you enjoyed. You’re in for some long, painstakingly miserable months, you think.

“Mine does too but we’ll do what we always do, right?” You shift in his lap and curl into him more. You know he’s right, but it doesn’t mean that what he’s saying is what you wanted to hear. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I - I don’t think I kn-know how to d-do that anymore.”

He moves his chin from the top of your head to actually look at you. He had been avoiding it for the fear that he would be too cowardly and would retreat back to keeping you in this miserable, hopeless search for a marriage that he was never planning on partaking in. He can’t go back. He can’t undo what he had just done. Even if he were to announce that he wanted you to stay, it being brought up in the first place will forever have torn an irreparable hole in the fabric of your relationship.

Bradley’s hands cup your face and he smacks his lips on your forehead. He thumbs away the tears that had been endlessly streaming all night. He rubs soft circles back and forth on your cheekbones. The pressure you get in your cheeks from crying always gives you a massive headache, he knows.

The fact that someone else will know that about you sends him into a spiral of guilt. A spiral of weakness. A spiral of wanting to undo what he had just done.

But he doesn’t.

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing.

And so he does.

“Bullshit, baby. You’re the smartest woman I know. You’ll figure it out.” Truthful words, but not truthful feelings. He’s never been good at deciphering those.

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?”

The words get stuck in your throat. You never want to make him feel bad because you know how hard he is on himself. You’re not sure if saying what you want to say is even worth it but - from the way he’s holding your face, from the way you’ve gotten to know and love him, from the way that he will always be your sweet, sweet Bradley - you determine that he needs to hear it.

“You’re the kindest man that I know even though you stomped on my heart.”

He sends you a soft smile and delivers a soft kiss to your lips; the first one of the night despite being so close to him all evening.

“I learned how to be because of you.”

You don’t know how long you both stay like that - wrapped up in each other with waves of tears coming and going as they please. The soft whimpers leave your mouth and the sniffled breaths that leave his paint each corner of the bedroom with an ending.

One where you don’t get the ring and the house and the babies. One where he doesn’t get the girl and the family and the happily ever after. One where you both don’t have a soulmate anymore.

He knows that he shouldn’t say it. He knows that it’s probably the last thing you want to hear. He knows that he’s not ready for you to leave and he says it hoping that maybe, he can take back what had happened; that maybe you can steer the conversation in talks of staying together and compromising and “working it out.”

“I love you. I’ll always love you.”

You look up at him brokenly. His heart stops beating when you open your mouth to speak.

“But you’ll never love me enough to try.”

Bradley closes his mouth and exhales deeply through his nose. The point you made is compelling and it stings to know that it’s completely truthful. He sits with you on his lap, subtly rocking you back and forth until the sky turns from the midnight blue of nightfall to the yellow-tinted wisteria of sunrise.

Women always know. And he would be foolish to pretend like your gut feeling was wrong.

He loves me. He loves me not.

None of it matters if he doesn’t love you enough to be what you need.

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