#we’re still in the flop era

[cogpulse]

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

It’s You

Where Y/N’s chaotic energy clashes with her grumpy, tattooed neighbor, her mission to get on his good side turns into stolen glances, quiet moments, and a connection she never expected.

Au Harry

Word count: 13,395

Content warning: Cursing, smut, alcohol.

The warm glow of string lights illuminated Y/N’s cozy Los Angeles apartment as the sound of laughter filled the air. The small space was a mix of bohemian chic and personal touches—a gallery wall of polaroids, a cluttered coffee table covered with open bags of snacks, and a few empty wine bottles standing like trophies from their earlier indulgence.

Y/N flopped back onto the couch, a glass of red wine in hand, her cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and nonstop giggling. Her two best friends, Harper and Lila, sat cross-legged on the floor, snacking on popcorn and chips, fully embracing the childlike joy of their adult sleepover.

“This feels so right,” Y/N said, her voice slightly tipsy. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“Because we’re responsible adults now, remember?” Harper teased, adjusting her oversized hoodie. “Nine-to-five, bills, and pretending we know what we’re doing.”

“Speak for yourself,” Lila quipped, popping a gummy bear into her mouth. “I’m thriving in my chaos era.”

Y/N snorted, and Harper rolled her eyes with an affectionate grin. Lila was the wild card of the group, always coming up with unpredictable ideas. And she didn’t disappoint tonight.

“You know what we should do?” Lila suddenly said, sitting up straighter. “Karaoke.”

“Yes!” Harper exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Oh my God, yes. Do you still have that mic we bought for New Year’s Eve?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, but her smile betrayed her fake reluctance. “You mean the mic that nearly got us evicted? Of course, I still have it.”

Lila grinned wickedly. “Perfect. Let’s wake up the entire building with our stunning renditions of 2000s throwbacks.”

Without waiting for further approval, Lila dashed to the hall closet and pulled out the karaoke mic, triumphantly waving it in the air. Harper grabbed her phone, already scrolling through a playlist.

“You’re starting,” Harper declared, pointing the mic at Y/N.

“What? No!” Y/N laughed, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m not ready!”

“Too bad,” Lila said, shoving the mic into Y/N’s hands. “You can’t escape destiny. Pick your song.”

Y/N sighed theatrically before smirking. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when your ears bleed.”

As Y/N queued up Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkson, the room erupted in cheers. The first few notes played, and soon enough, Y/N was belting out the lyrics with unrestrained enthusiasm, her friends joining in for the chorus. It didn’t matter that they were slightly off-key; in that moment, they were superstars in their own private concert.

Wine glasses were forgotten, snacks spilled, and every lyric was sung at full volume. It was the kind of night they’d remember for years—a reminder that no matter how grown-up they pretended to be, some things never lost their magic.

The girls were in full swing, harmonizing (poorly) to “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. Lila stood on the couch holding the mic as if she were performing at Madison Square Garden, while Harper played air guitar with a half-empty wine bottle. Y/N was doubled over in laughter, her cheeks aching from smiling so much.

Just as they hit the iconic, “Tell me why—” part, a loud knock echoed through the apartment, cutting through their drunken fun like a record scratch. The girls froze, their voices trailing off mid-note. Y/N straightened up, exchanging wide-eyed looks with Harper and Lila.

“Uh… did someone order pizza?” Lila whispered, her voice unsure.

“Nope,” Y/N said, setting her wine glass on the coffee table. “Stay here. I’ll get it.”

With a mix of nerves and annoyance, Y/N padded to the door. She peered through the peephole and groaned. It was her new neighbor, Harry. She’d only exchanged a polite “hello” with him in passing, but he’d already struck her as the brooding, grumpy type.

Bracing herself, she opened the door.

There he stood: tall, disheveled hair pushed back in a lazy attempt at taming it, wearing a faded gray hoodie and black joggers. His sharp green eyes narrowed as he took in her flushed face and the muffled chaos behind her.

“Good evening,” he started, his British accent dripping with sarcasm. “I just wanted to say how much I’ve been enjoying your concert tonight. It’s like living next door to a live music venue. Only… worse.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned by his dry humor. “Oh. Uh, sorry about that. We didn’t realize how loud we were being.”

Harry crossed his arms, leaning casually against the doorframe. “I figured. Thought I’d come over before I lost the ability to hear entirely.”

From behind her, Lila’s voice chimed in drunkenly. “Is it a noise complaint? Tell him to sing with us!”

Y/N turned and shot Lila a glare. Harper muffled a laugh.

Y/N sighed and looked back at Harry. “We’ll keep it down. Promise.”

He tilted his head, lips twitching into the faintest smirk, though his tone remained gruff. “Appreciated. Just… try not to turn it into a full-on festival.”

With that, he turned to leave, but Y/N couldn’t help herself. “You know, you could’ve just sent a passive-aggressive text or something.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder, one brow arched. “I thought this had more impact.”

And then he was gone.

Y/N closed the door, leaning her forehead against it for a moment. When she turned around, Lila and Harper were staring at her like she’d just walked off the set of a rom-com.

“Um, who was that?” Lila asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Harry. My new neighbor,” Y/N replied, walking back to the couch.

“And Mr. Grumpy Pants is cute,” Harper added, grinning.

Y/N rolled her eyes, picking up her wine glass. “Yeah, yeah. He’s cute and cranky. Now can we please move on before you two start planning a love story?”

But the mischievous glint in her friends��� eyes told her they weren’t letting this go anytime soon.

The karaoke mic had been put away, and the girls now lounged in the cozy living room, passing a bottle of wine between them. The earlier buzz of excitement had mellowed, but the energy was still warm and lively. Lila was sprawled on the couch with her legs dangling over Harper’s lap, while Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from her glass.

“I mean, let’s just talk about him for a second,” Lila began, her voice dramatic. “The mopey neighbor with the accent? And did you see those tattoos? They were peeking out, Y/N. He’s giving mysterious bad boy energy.”

Y/N groaned, her cheeks warming instantly. “Oh my God, Lila. He was literally just here to tell us to shut up.”

“Doesn’t mean he’s not hot,” Harper chimed in, grinning. “He has that whole ‘I’m grumpy but secretly charming’ vibe. Like, did you see the way he smirked when he made that little joke?”

Y/N tried to hide her flustered reaction by taking another sip of wine, but she couldn’t stop the blush creeping up her neck. She’d noticed too—his smirk, his sharp jawline, the tattoos curling up his forearm, just barely visible under his hoodie sleeves. She’d noticed everything.

“I mean, he’s okay, I guess,” Y/N mumbled, keeping her tone nonchalant.

“Okay?” Lila shot up, nearly spilling her wine. “You’re lying. You’re the worst liar ever.”

“Shut up,” Y/N said, laughing as she buried her face in her hands. “Fine, he’s cute. So what? He’s also my neighbor, and he’s probably annoyed with me forever now.”

“He’s not annoyed,” Harper said, nudging her with her foot. “If he were, he wouldn’t have made the effort to come over himself. He would’ve sent an email to management or something. He wanted an excuse to see you.”

“Right,” Y/N said, rolling her eyes. “Because nothing’s more attractive than a drunk girl singing Backstreet Boys at full volume.”

“Exactly!” Lila exclaimed, throwing her arms in the air. “You’re memorable. He’ll never forget you now.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “But I bet he thinks you’re cute too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed deeper, and she quickly changed the subject. But as the night went on, she couldn’t shake the image of Harry standing in her doorway, his messy hair, his smirk, and those tattoos. Maybe her friends weren’t entirely wrong.

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of Y/N’s apartment, illuminating the chaos left behind from the night before. Wine glasses, half-eaten snacks, and the abandoned karaoke mic were scattered around the living room. The girls were tangled up in blankets, sprawled across the couch and the floor like a scene from a sitcom.

Y/N was the first to stir, groaning as she rubbed her eyes and sat up. Harper was curled up on the couch with a throw pillow over her head, while Lila lay on the floor in a makeshift nest of cushions, one arm dramatically draped over her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Y/N teased, nudging Lila with her foot.

Lila groaned. “Why are you awake? It’s illegal to be this alive right now.”

Harper peeked out from under her pillow, her voice muffled. “What time is it? Do we even have the energy to exist today?”

“Barely,” Y/N replied, standing and stretching. “But I’m starving, so I’m making breakfast. Come help me.”

Harper and Lila grumbled but eventually dragged themselves up and into the kitchen, where Y/N was already cracking eggs into a bowl. Together, they whipped up a chaotic but delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and a mountain of coffee.

The girls sat around the small dining table, eating in comfortable silence at first. Then Lila broke the quiet with a wicked grin.

“So… Harry.”

“Oh my God,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “Not again.”

“Listen, I was just thinking,” Lila said, smirking. “Next time we do this, we should make it even louder. Really make him come back over.”

Harper snorted into her coffee. “Yes! Like, full-blown karaoke night but with amps and disco lights.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. “You two are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Harper said, nudging her with an elbow.

After breakfast, the girls cleaned up and packed their things before heading out. Harper hugged Y/N tightly. “We definitely need to do this again.”

Lila nodded enthusiastically. “Louder next time. You know, for research purposes.”

Y/N shook her head, laughing as she walked them to the door. “You’re both insane, but I love you. Drive safe.”

Once they were gone, Y/N flopped onto the couch and opened their group chat. Almost immediately, messages started flooding in.

Lila: Next sleepover, let’s bring a fog machine. If Harry shows up, we’ll just act like it’s a concert.

Harper: Or we could rent a spotlight. Make it an event

Y/N: You guys are unbelievable. No more wine for you next time.

Lila: Admit it, you want him to show up again.

Y/N: …maybe.

Harper: KNEW IT.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at her phone, her cheeks warming yet again. As ridiculous as her friends were, they weren’t entirely wrong.

The day passed in a blur of cleaning and tidying as Y/N tried to get her apartment back to its usual organized state. By the time the sun started to dip low in the sky, the chaos from the night before had been erased, leaving her apartment looking like a picture of calm domesticity. Feeling accomplished, Y/N decided to check her mailbox before settling in for a quiet evening.

She padded down to the mailroom in her building, dressed in a casual but presentable outfit—high-waisted jeans and a simple white top. As she rifled through the usual junk mail and a couple of bills, the sound of someone entering the room caught her attention.

Glancing to the side, she saw Harry walking in, his hoodie replaced by a fitted black t-shirt and dark jeans. His tattoos were on full display now—intricate designs that wound up his forearm and disappeared under the sleeve of his shirt. He barely glanced at her as he moved to his mailbox, unlocking it with practiced ease.

Y/N swallowed her nerves and decided to seize the moment. It was better to make a proper introduction now than to let the awkwardness from last night linger. Turning slightly toward him, she cleared her throat.

“Hey, neighbor,” she began, keeping her tone light. “Figured I should introduce myself officially now that I’m not, you know, half-drunk and screaming karaoke at midnight. I’m Y/N.”

Harry turned his head, his green eyes locking onto hers. His expression was neutral, almost unreadable, as he gave her a quick once-over. “Harry,” he said simply, his voice low and clipped.

Y/N bit back a grin, determined not to let his gruff demeanor throw her off. “Nice to meet you, Harry. Sorry again about last night. I promise we don’t usually host impromptu concerts. Unless, of course, you’re a fan of boy band throwbacks.”

Harry let out a soft exhale that could’ve been a laugh—or just a sigh. “I’ll survive.”

Encouraged by the hint of amusement, Y/N decided to keep the conversation going. “You know, if you’re ever feeling nostalgic, you’re welcome to join us. We could use a fourth member for our extremely off-key girl group.”

Harry’s lips twitched slightly, but his expression remained mostly stoic. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Y/N tilted her head, giving him a mock-serious look. “You’re really hard to read, you know that? Most people at least chuckle at my jokes.”

Harry glanced at her, his gaze steady and calm. “Maybe I’m just not most people.”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t know how to respond. There was something almost challenging in his tone, but it wasn’t harsh. If anything, it piqued her curiosity even more.

“Well, Harry,” she said finally, flashing him a bright smile. “Challenge accepted. I’ll make you laugh one of these days.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead closing his mailbox and tucking the letters under his arm. As he moved to leave, he paused, looking over his shoulder.

“We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her stack of mail and a strange mix of frustration and intrigue swirling in her chest. One thing was for sure—Harry might be grumpy, but he was far from boring.

As soon as Y/N got back to her apartment, she tossed her mail onto the counter and grabbed her phone, already smirking to herself. She opened the group chat with Harper and Lila, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N:

Guess who I just ran into in the mailroom?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with replies.

Lila:

Was it… oh, I don’t know… Mr. Grumpy Hot Neighbor?

Harper:

Harry! Tell us everything right now.

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly, typing out her reply.

Y/N:

Yes, it was Harry. I introduced myself properly. You know, as a fully functional adult and not a drunken mess.

Lila:

And? Did he swoon? Did he drop all his mail and propose on the spot?

Harper:

Or at least crack a smile?

Y/N sighed and leaned back against the counter, smirking to herself as she typed.

Y/N:

Absolutely not. He was… well, Harry. Polite but distant. He might’ve almost smiled, but I can’t be sure.

Lila:

Ugh, he’s really sticking to the mysterious moody thing. It’s so hot. What did you say to him?

Y/N:

I told him he was hard to read and said I’d make him laugh one day.

Harper:

Bold move, I love it. What did he say?

Y/N:

He said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

Lila:

STOP. That’s basically flirting.

Harper:

Right? That’s flirty! Subtle, broody flirting.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. It wasn’t flirting. He’s just… like that.

Lila:

Y/N, this is your rom-com moment, and you’re living in denial. Grumpy guy + sunshine girl is literally a trope for a reason.

Harper:

Exactly. Next step: get him to join us for karaoke.

Y/N:

Oh, sure, because he definitely seems like the kind of guy who wants to sing ‘Toxic’ with us.

Lila:

You never know. Maybe he has a secret karaoke voice that’ll blow us all away.

Y/N laughed to herself, shaking her head. Her friends were relentless, but she couldn’t deny that their enthusiasm made her smile. As much as she tried to brush off the encounter, she couldn’t stop replaying it in her head—the way Harry’s green eyes lingered just a second too long, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. 

It had been a couple of weeks since Y/N’s encounter with Harry in the mailroom, and she’d managed to push him to the back of her mind. Between work, friends, and her usual routine, she hadn’t bumped into him in the halls or around the building. Life went on, and the memory of his grumpy smirk became just another amusing anecdote to share with Harper and Lila.

Until one night.

Y/N was jolted awake by the blaring sound of the fire alarm. Disoriented and groggy, she stumbled out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt, pulling it over her pajama tank top. She shoved her feet into sneakers, grabbed her phone, and headed for the door. The hallway was chaotic, filled with neighbors in various states of sleepiness and confusion, all heading for the exits.

Once outside, Y/N joined the crowd of residents gathering on the sidewalk. The chilly night air bit at her skin, and she crossed her arms to keep warm. She craned her neck, scanning the crowd to see if there was anyone she knew—until her eyes landed on a familiar figure leaning against a lamppost.

It was Harry. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, and he wore a hoodie over loose sweatpants. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which, to be fair, he probably had. His expression was pure exhaustion, and he rubbed the back of his neck as he yawned.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made her way over, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Hey, neighbor,” she said, coming to a stop next to him.

Harry turned his head, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he registered her. “Y/N,” he said, his voice rough from sleep. “This is… unexpected.” He waved his hand around. 

She grinned, shifting her weight to one foot. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. But hey, at least it’s the fire alarms being obnoxiously loud this time and not me.”

Harry’s lips twitched, and for a second, she thought she’d finally gotten him to crack a smile. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?” he asked dryly.

“Never,” Y/N replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “It’s too good of a story.”

Harry exhaled softly, almost like a laugh, and shook his head. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as a fire truck pulled up and a couple of firefighters headed inside to investigate. The air was crisp and carried a faint chill, but Y/N barely noticed. She glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye.

“Do you think it’s an actual fire?” she asked.

“Doubt it,” he said, crossing his arms. “Probably just someone burning their midnight snack.”

“Sounds like a riveting Saturday night,” Y/N joked, earning another small exhale from him.

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, glancing down at her. His gaze lingered for a moment, and Y/N could feel her cheeks warm, though she tried to play it cool.

“Well,” she said, rocking back on her heels. “If it turns out to be a drill, I’m demanding a formal apology from management for ruining my beauty sleep.”

Harry’s lips quirked, just enough for her to notice. “I’m sure they’ll get right on that.”

For the first time, standing outside in the middle of the night with Harry didn’t feel awkward or forced. It was easy, natural even, despite his perpetually tired and broody demeanor. Maybe it was the ridiculousness of the situation, or maybe her persistence was finally wearing him down.

Before either of them could say more, a firefighter emerged from the building, shouting to the crowd that it was a false alarm. People groaned, some laughing as they shuffled back toward the entrance.

Harry pushed off the lamppost and looked at Y/N. “Guess that’s our cue.”

“Looks like it,” she said. “Catch you later, Harry.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Night, Y/N.”

As she headed back to her apartment, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a small spark of satisfaction. Sure, he was still grumpy, but she was getting closer to breaking through. And honestly, she didn’t mind the challenge.

By the time Y/N woke up the next morning, she had already drafted the text she knew Harper and Lila would demand. Still half-asleep, she grabbed her phone and opened their group chat, typing out the full story in detail.

Y/N:

So… guess who I bumped into at 3 a.m. when the fire alarm went off?

It didn’t take long for her phone to buzz with rapid-fire responses.

Harper:

Oh my God. HARRY?

Lila:

Please tell me you were both standing there in your PJs like the meet-cute of the century.

Y/N:

 No, it wasn’t a meet-cute. We just talked. Very normal. Nothing groundbreaking.

Harper:

What did you talk about?

Y/N:

I made a joke about how this time it wasn’t me being loud, it was the fire alarm.

Lila:

YES. Classic Y/N. What did he say?

Y/N:

He just… smirked. Or sighed. I’m honestly not sure anymore. He’s so hard to read.

Harper:

Smirking counts as flirting. I’m logging it.

Lila:

Definitely flirting. He wouldn’t have smirked if he wasn’t secretly interested. Men don’t waste smirks on people they don’t like.

Y/N:

Or he was just tired and didn’t care enough to argue.

Harper:

Nope. Not buying it. He’s interested. He’s just grumpy interested.

Lila:

Exactly! Brooding types like him don’t wear their feelings on their sleeves, but trust me, he’s intrigued. You just need to keep working on him.

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile.

Y/N:

You two are absolutely ridiculous. We talked for five minutes, tops. Nothing more, nothing less.

Harper:

Sure, keep telling yourself that.

Lila:

Face it, Y/N. This is your slow-burn romance, and we are here for it. We’re already planning the playlist for your wedding.

Y/N:

Oh my God. I can’t with you two.

Despite her protests, Y/N couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in her mind—the way his eyes lingered on her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Harper and Lila were reading too much into it… weren’t they?

Shaking her head, Y/N tossed her phone onto the couch. She had no intention of indulging their wild theories. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of her couldn’t help but wonder. 

Y/N lay in bed, staring at the faint shadows cast by her bedside lamp on the ceiling. The city sounds outside her window were faint but constant—cars in the distance, the occasional murmur of voices. She’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, her brain refusing to shut off.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, all she could think about was Harry.

It wasn’t intentional, or at least that’s what she told herself. She’d been trying to push him out of her mind all day, but now, in the stillness of the night, his image seemed to surface unbidden. The way his messy hair stuck out when she’d seen him by the mailboxes. The tattoos peeking out from under his shirt sleeves, the intricate designs winding across his arms like a story she desperately wanted to read.

And then there was his face—sharp jawline, green eyes that seemed to pierce through her defenses, and that faint smirk he’d given her last night when she’d cracked her fire alarm joke. It wasn’t a full smile, but it had been enough to spark something in her. Something she couldn’t quite shake.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. “Get a grip,” she muttered to herself.

But it was no use. She kept thinking about the way his voice sounded—low, calm, almost soothing in its quiet confidence. The way he seemed perpetually unimpressed but not unkind, like he was holding back a part of himself from the world. And the way, despite all that grumpiness, she felt drawn to him.

The worst part was that she barely even knew him. A few brief encounters, a handful of words exchanged—it wasn’t enough to warrant this level of overthinking. And yet, here she was, wide awake at 2 a.m., her thoughts spinning in circles around a guy who probably wasn’t thinking about her at all.

She sighed, flipping onto her back again and staring at the ceiling. “You’re losing it, Y/N,” she whispered into the dark.

But no matter how hard she tried to distract herself—counting sheep, replaying her favorite movie in her head, anything—her mind kept drifting back to Harry. How frustratingly attractive he was. How much she wanted to figure him out. And how, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she kind of liked the challenge.

The next afternoon, Y/N tied her apron around her waist and stepped onto the floor of the bustling Italian restaurant where she worked. The warm scent of garlic, fresh basil, and baking bread filled the air as the sounds of clinking silverware and cheerful conversations hummed around her. It was her favorite kind of shift—steady but not overwhelming, just busy enough to keep her energized.

She loved being a server. There was something satisfying about knowing the menu by heart, from the way the chef perfectly folded the handmade ravioli to the rich, velvety tiramisu that always left customers raving. She enjoyed the rhythm of it all: taking orders, making guests laugh, weaving between tables like she was part of a well-rehearsed dance.

By the time her shift ended, the sun was low in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over the city streets. Y/N slipped her bag over her shoulder, said goodbye to her coworkers, and began her short walk home.

The evening was warm, the kind of weather that made her glad she’d chosen this neighborhood to live in. She liked the convenience of being close to work, the charm of the old brick buildings, and the occasional vendor selling flowers or roasted nuts on the sidewalk.

But as she rounded the last corner toward her apartment building, the sky darkened suddenly. Heavy clouds rolled in overhead, and before she could process what was happening, the first fat drops of rain began to fall.

“Seriously?” Y/N muttered, looking up at the sky as if it might offer her an explanation. Within seconds, the light drizzle turned into a full-on downpour. She didn’t have an umbrella, of course—it had been sunny when she left for work—and now she was too far from the restaurant to go back.

She quickened her pace, pulling her bag closer to her body to shield it from the rain. Her hair was already plastered to her forehead, and her clothes clung to her as the rain soaked through. She groaned in frustration but couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

By the time her apartment building came into view, she was drenched. She jogged the last stretch, her sneakers splashing in puddles, and darted toward the lobby entrance. As she reached for the door, it opened from the inside—and there, standing in the doorway, was Harry.

Of course, it was Harry.

He was holding a takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. His green eyes widened slightly when he saw her, taking in her rain-soaked appearance.

“Rough night?” he asked, his voice dry but laced with faint amusement.

Y/N brushed a wet strand of hair out of her face, shaking water from her arms. “You could say that. Apparently, the weather decided I needed a shower.”

Harry stepped back, holding the door open for her. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

“Thanks for the observation,” Y/N said with a wry smile as she stepped inside, water pooling around her feet. “I hadn’t noticed.”

He smirked, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he nodded toward the elevators. “You should probably get upstairs before you flood the lobby.”

“Wow, you’re so thoughtful,” she teased, her sarcasm barely masking the warmth in her voice.

Harry didn’t reply, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a comment. He stepped aside, letting her pass, and as Y/N headed toward the elevator, she couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder. He was still standing by the door, his attention now on the rain outside, but she could’ve sworn she caught him sneaking a glance at her as she walked away.

Y/N stepped into her apartment, water dripping onto the floor as she kicked off her soaked sneakers. She stripped off her rain-soaked clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket before heading straight to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was bliss, washing away the chill of the rain and the lingering frustration of getting caught in it. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her skin was warm and her mind was clearer.

Slipping into her favorite pair of soft pajamas—shorts and an oversized t-shirt—she towel-dried her hair and grabbed her phone from the counter. She hadn’t checked it since leaving work, and the screen lit up with a few notifications. Most were unimportant, but one text made her freeze.

Unknown Number:

Hey, it’s Harry. Got your number from the resident book. Hope that’s okay. I, uh, ordered way too much food. If you’re not busy and don’t mind eating with someone who’s terrible at small talk, you’re welcome to join me.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry had texted her? She stared at the message, rereading it a couple of times, unsure what to make of it. The grumpy, brooding neighbor had gone out of his way to invite her over for dinner?

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about what to say. She could easily come up with an excuse, blame the rain, or even politely decline. But something about his message—how he’d gone through the trouble of looking up her number and even made a self-deprecating joke—made her hesitate.

Finally, she started typing.

Y/N:

Hey! I’m surprised you didn’t mention how loud I was running through the lobby earlier. I’d love to join, but fair warning: I’m in my pajamas. I’ll bring wine to make up for it.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself and immediately got up to rummage through her small wine rack. She picked out a bottle of red, grabbed her favorite corkscrew, and texted him again.

Y/N:

Give me five minutes to make myself look less like a wet dog.

His response came almost instantly.

Harry:

I wouldn’t have said anything about the lobby, but now that you’ve brought it up… five minutes works. Apartment 4D.

Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. She quickly towel-dried her hair a little more, tossed it into a loose bun, and grabbed the wine. As she stood by her door, nerves fluttered in her stomach, but she pushed them aside.

Whatever this was—neighborly dinner, an olive branch, or something else—she was curious enough to find out.

Y/N stepped out of her apartment, the bottle of wine in hand, and made her way to the elevator. As she descended a floor, her nerves started to tingle, though she shook them off. It wasn’t a big deal. It was just dinner with her neighbor. Her very attractive, grumpy neighbor with tattoos and a British accent. Nothing to overthink at all.

When she reached Harry’s door, she raised her hand to knock—but before she could, the door swung open. Harry stood there, leaning casually against the frame, one eyebrow raised.

“I could hear you coming down the hall,” he said, his tone dry but his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

Y/N let out a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’ll take that as your way of saying you’re happy to see me.”

“Something like that,” he replied, stepping aside to let her in.

Y/N walked in, glancing around as she entered. Harry’s apartment was similar in layout to hers but had an entirely different vibe. The walls were painted a deep, moody gray, with shelves lined with books, records, and a few small plants that looked suspiciously well cared for. A guitar rested in the corner by the window, and the faint smell of takeout wafted from the small kitchen.

“Nice place,” she said, setting the wine on the counter. “Very… broody chic. Fits you.”

Harry arched a brow as he closed the door. “Broody chic? Is that a compliment?”

“Depends how you take it,” Y/N shot back with a grin.

He shook his head, muttering something under his breath as he moved toward the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry. I may have overestimated how much I can eat on my own.”

She followed him, glancing at the spread on the counter. There were containers of what looked like Thai food—pad thai, green curry, fried rice, and spring rolls. Definitely enough for two, if not three.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said, grabbing a spring roll. “Planning on feeding the whole building?”

“Only the loudest resident,” he said, smirking again.

She gave him a playful glare before grabbing plates from the counter and handing him one. “Lucky for you, I came prepared,” she said, holding up the wine. “This should balance things out.”

As they settled at the small table, Y/N couldn’t help but notice how relaxed Harry seemed. He wasn’t smiling, not really, but there was something softer about him tonight. Less guarded. And as they started eating, trading sarcastic comments and occasional small talk, she realized she didn’t mind the challenge of cracking through his tough exterior one bit.

Harry handed Y/N two wine glasses, their fingers brushing briefly as she took them. He didn’t say anything, but his lips moved slightly as if he was trying not to smirk. Y/N poured the wine, filling each glass just enough before sliding one over to him.

Meanwhile, he plated the food, carefully dividing the dishes between two plates. His movements were deliberate, almost methodical, and Y/N found herself watching him for a moment before realizing what she was doing. Shaking herself out of it, she grabbed her glass and followed him to the bar counter.

They sat side by side, the warm glow of the pendant light above them casting a cozy atmosphere. Y/N took a sip of her wine, her gaze flicking to Harry as he started eating in silence.

For a while, she stayed quiet, enjoying the food and the unspoken rhythm of their shared meal. But her curiosity got the better of her. Setting her glass down, she turned toward him slightly, resting her elbow on the counter.

“So,” she began, her tone light but probing, “why are you always so grumpy?”

Harry paused mid-bite, his fork hovering over his plate as he looked at her. His green eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger but as if he were trying to decide how serious she was.

“Grumpy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, grumpy,” she said, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “You know, the whole emo, barely-smiling, ‘I don’t have time for your nonsense’ vibe you’ve got going on. Is it like… your thing?”

Harry leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his wine as he considered her question. “Maybe I’m not grumpy,” he said finally, his voice calm. “Maybe you’re just too… cheerful.”

“Cheerful?” she echoed, laughing softly. “That’s your explanation? I’m cheerful, so that automatically makes you grumpy?”

“Something like that,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. “You’re deflecting.”

He raised his glass, meeting her gaze over the rim as he took another sip. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” she pressed, leaning in slightly. “There’s got to be a reason. I mean, you’re not actuallymiserable all the time, are you?”

Harry sighed, setting his glass down and leaning his forearms on the counter. For a moment, he seemed to be debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged.

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, his voice quieter. “I just… don’t see the point in pretending all the time. People put on this front like everything’s great, but most of the time, it’s not. I’m just… honest about it.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying him. There was something in his tone—something unspoken but heavy, like he was revealing more than he intended.

“Well,” she said softly, “for what it’s worth, I don’t think being happy is the same as pretending. And I’m not pretending.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “I noticed,” he said simply.

Her cheeks warmed, and for a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of the conversation settling between them. Then Y/N picked up her glass and raised it toward him.

“To being honest,” she said with a small smile.

Harry’s eyes flicked to her glass before he picked up his own, clinking it against hers. “To being honest,” he echoed.

And for the first time that evening, his smirk softened into something closer to a smile.

Harry swirled the wine in his glass, staring at the deep red liquid for a moment before setting it down and looking at Y/N. His expression was more open now, his usual guarded demeanor softened.

“You seem nice enough,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I could use a friend around here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Then a warm smile spread across her face.

“Well, that’s unexpected,” she said, her voice light with humor. “I thought for sure you hated me after the whole karaoke fiasco.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. “Hated you? No. Annoyed, maybe. But hate’s a strong word.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “Because I was convinced you’d written me off as the world’s loudest neighbor.”

“I’ll admit,” Harry said, smirking now, “the karaoke was… a lot. But it’s hard to hate someone who sings ‘I Want It That Way’ with that much enthusiasm.”

Y/N covered her face with her hands, laughing harder. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember the song. That’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s unforgettable,” he said with mock seriousness, taking another sip of wine.

When her laughter died down, Y/N looked at him, her expression softening. “For what it’s worth, I’d be happy to be your friend. You don’t seem as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Scary?” Harry echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” she teased. “You’ve got the whole ‘grumpy lone wolf’ thing going on. It’s a little intimidating.”

Harry shook his head, but there was a faint smile on his face. “I’m not scary.”

“No,” Y/N said, grinning. “You’re not. You’re just… Harry.”

He didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded, his tone soft but certain. “Yeah. Just Harry.”

As they continued eating, the conversation grew lighter, the initial tension between them fading into something comfortable. By the time they finished their meal, Y/N realized that beneath Harry’s gruff exterior was someone she genuinely wanted to know better. And judging by the way his smirk had softened into something warmer, she suspected he felt the same.

After finishing their plates, Harry leaned back in his chair, resting his forearm on the bar counter as he glanced at Y/N. There was a comfortable silence between them, one she hadn’t expected when she first showed up at his door.

“Thanks for coming over,” he said finally, his tone quieter but sincere. “I don’t usually… do this.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, swirling her wine in her glass. “What? Order too much food or invite people over?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “The second one. I’m not exactly the ‘neighborly dinner’ type.”

“Well, I feel special then,” she teased, tilting her head at him. “Although, if you’re not usually this social, why’d you invite me? I mean, not that I’m complaining.”

Harry shrugged, glancing down at his glass. “You seemed… different. I don’t know. Most people I meet just seem fake, like they’re putting on a show. But you’re…” He paused, searching for the right word. “Real.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty of his words. “Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “Well, thanks. I think.”

“I mean it,” Harry added, looking at her directly now. “You’re… not what I expected when I moved here. In a good way.”

Her cheeks warmed at his words, and she tried to play it off with humor. “Careful, Harry. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” he said with a smirk, though his eyes were softer than usual.

They fell into another comfortable silence, sipping their wine and letting the moment stretch out. Y/N felt herself relax more with each passing second, realizing how easy it was to be around him now that some of his walls had come down.

After a moment, she broke the quiet. “You know, for someone who claims not to be social, you’re pretty good company.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she said, her grin widening. “You should let yourself be social more often. You might surprise yourself.”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “One step at a time.”

They shared a small laugh, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel like this was a turning point. Whatever Harry had been holding back before, he was letting her in now, even if only a little. It felt… nice.

Eventually, she glanced at her phone and realized how late it had gotten. “I should probably head back,” she said, setting her empty wine glass down. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

Harry stood as she got up, shaking his head. “You haven’t. But… thanks for coming. I mean it.”

She smiled, grabbing the bottle of wine. “Anytime, Harry.”

As she walked to the door, he followed her, leaning casually against the frame as she turned back to face him. There was something unspoken in the way he looked at her, a softness she wasn’t used to seeing from him.

“Goodnight,” she said, her voice lighter now.

“Night, Y/N,” he replied, his smirk returning.

She headed back to her apartment, her heart unexpectedly lighter. Maybe Harry wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed—or maybe she was just getting used to it. Either way, she found herself smiling as she closed her door behind her. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t overthinking anything.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sunlight filtering through her blinds and a faint smile lingering on her lips. The night before with Harry had been… unexpected, but not in a bad way. She stretched, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and immediately opened her group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

So, guess what? Harry invited me over for dinner last night.

It didn’t take long for her phone to explode with notifications.

Lila:

WHAT. DETAILS NOW.

Harper:

DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM?!

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming despite being alone.

Y/N:

No, I didn’t sleep with him. Calm down.

Lila:

Boring. But continue.

Harper:

Okay, but like, did it feel like it was going there?

Y/N:

No! It wasn’t like that. He said he had too much food and could use a friend, so I brought wine, and we had dinner. That’s it.

Lila:

You brought wine. That’s a date move.

Harper:

Right? Totally a date.

Y/N:

It wasn’t a date. We ate at his bar counter, talked a little, and that’s all. But…

Lila:

BUT WHAT?!

Harper:

Spill, Y/N. Don’t make us beg.

Y/N sighed, biting her lip as she typed out her next message.

Y/N:

Okay, fine. I wouldn’t mind if something happened, but it’s not like I know much about him. I don’t even know what he does for work.

Lila:

Oh my God. You want to bang the mysterious, tattooed neighbor. I KNEW IT.

Harper:

This is your grumpy/sunshine romance, and we are living for it.

Y/N:

You two are ridiculous. I’m just saying he’s attractive, okay? That doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen.

Lila:

It’ll happen. The sexual tension alone is probably unbearable.

Harper:

Agreed. You just need to ask him questions about himself. What he does for work, what his favorite food is, if he’s single—

Lila:

Definitely ask the last one. For research purposes.

Y/N groaned, shaking her head but smiling despite herself.

Y/N:

You two are impossible. But fine, if the opportunity comes up, I’ll try to find out more about him. Happy?

Harper:

Ecstatic.

Lila:

Can’t wait to hear how this unfolds. We’re already planning the wedding playlist.

Y/N laughed, tossing her phone onto the bed. Her friends were relentless, but they weren’t wrong about one thing—she was curious about Harry. And as much as she tried to deny it, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him better… or seeing where this strange connection between them might lead.

Later that month Y/N walked into her apartment after a long day, expecting the usual cozy warmth to greet her. Instead, an icy chill hit her the moment she stepped inside. She frowned, rubbing her arms and heading straight for the thermostat. She fiddled with it for a minute, but no matter what she did, the heater refused to turn on.

“Great,” she muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. It wasn’t unbearably cold outside, but inside her apartment, it felt like a freezer.

With no other options, she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know many people in the building—just Harry, really. And as much as she hesitated, her fingers hovered over his name before she finally sent a text.

Y/N:

Hey, random question. Do you happen to have a small heater or something I can borrow? My heater’s broken, and it’s freezing in here.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

Harry:

Why don’t you just stay here tonight? I’ve got heat, and I don’t own a portable heater.

Y/N stared at the message, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected that. Borrowing something was one thing, but staying at his place? She hesitated, her fingers tapping lightly against the screen. Before she could overthink it, she typed out a response.

Y/N:

Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

His reply was quick.

Harry:

You’re not intruding. Besides, it’s better than you freezing to death in your apartment. Bring whatever you need.

She bit her lip, a mix of nerves and curiosity swirling in her chest. Finally, she grabbed a bag and threw in some essentials—pajamas, a toothbrush, and a few other things—before bundling up and heading out.

When she reached his door, she knocked softly. It opened almost immediately, and there was Harry, leaning against the frame with his usual calm demeanor.

“Figured you’d take me up on the offer,” he said, stepping aside to let her in.

“Yeah, well, hypothermia didn’t sound appealing,” Y/N replied with a small smile, brushing past him into the warmth of his apartment.

As she set her bag down by the couch, she glanced at him. “Thanks for this, by the way. I really appreciate it.”

He shrugged, closing the door. “No problem. It’s just one night.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Wow, Harry. That almost sounded like you’re happy to have me here.”

He gave her a dry look but didn’t respond, instead gesturing toward the couch. “You can take the couch if you want, or I can grab some extra blankets for the guest room.”

She looked at the couch, then back at him. “Guest room? You have a guest room?”

“Barely,” he said with a shrug. “It’s more of a storage room, but there’s a bed in there.”

“Well, as long as it’s warmer than my apartment, I’ll take it.”

Harry nodded, heading toward the hallway. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

As Harry disappeared down the hallway to grab blankets, Y/N called after him, her voice light and teasing. “By the way, I brought some wine as a thank-you! You know, for saving me from my frozen wasteland of an apartment.”

She heard him chuckle faintly, his voice drifting back from the other room. “Thoughtful of you. What kind?”

“Red. A classic, nothing too fancy,” she replied, smirking as she started to take the bottle out of her bag. “Figured you’d prefer something a little understated, given your whole ‘mysterious and broody’ vibe.”

Harry reappeared in the doorway, carrying a thick blanket over one shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at her. “I think you enjoy calling me broody a little too much.”

“Well, it fits,” she shot back, grinning. “Speaking of which, I realized something earlier—I don’t even know what you do for work. So, enlighten me, oh mysterious one. What is it that you do?”

Harry paused for a moment, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I own an art gallery,” he said simply, setting the blanket on the couch.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “You own an art gallery?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “Small place over in Silver Lake. Nothing flashy, just local artists and smaller exhibitions.”

She stared at him, her curiosity piqued. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“What did you see coming?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, laughing softly. “Something more… I don’t know, corporate? Like sitting at a desk all day and brooding at spreadsheets.”

Harry actually laughed at that, a low, warm sound that surprised her. “Sorry to disappoint. No spreadsheets involved.”

“No, it’s not disappointing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just… unexpected. I mean, you own an art gallery. That’s cool. Artistic and grumpy? You’re full of surprises, Harry.”

He shook his head, but there was a faint warmth in his expression, like her enthusiasm had caught him off guard. “It’s just a business.”

“Just a business?” she repeated, tilting her head. “Don’t undersell yourself. That’s impressive.”

He looked at her for a moment, his gaze steady. “Thanks.”

They fell into a brief silence, and Y/N felt the air shift slightly. It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt… comfortable. She gestured to the wine. “So, should we open this or what?”

Harry nodded, stepping into the kitchen to grab two glasses. “Why not? You’re my guest, after all.”

As he poured the wine, Y/N couldn’t help but think that for someone who seemed so guarded at first, Harry was slowly becoming an open book—one she was eager to keep reading.

Y/N leaned against the counter, swirling her glass of wine as she watched Harry pour his own. “So, how did you end up owning an art gallery?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “I mean, that’s not exactly the most common career path.”

Harry took a sip of his wine, his gaze thoughtful as he set the glass down. “I’ve always loved art. Painting, sketching… that sort of thing. But it’s not exactly the easiest way to make a living.”

Y/N nodded, understanding the struggle. “So, the gallery was a way to stay involved in the art world?”

“Something like that,” he said, leaning his hip against the counter. “I came into some money after my mom passed a few years ago. It wasn’t a fortune, but it was enough to make me think about what I really wanted to do. I didn’t want to sit in an office or work for someone else. I wanted something that felt… personal. The gallery felt like the right choice.”

“That’s incredible,” Y/N said, her voice soft. “I mean, turning something you love into a business? Not many people can say they’ve done that.”

Harry shrugged, a faint smile on his lips. “It has its challenges, but I don’t regret it.”

Y/N smiled at him, feeling a new layer of respect for her neighbor. After a moment, he tilted his head, his eyes flicking to her. “What about you? What do you do?”

She hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Oh, nothing nearly as impressive as you,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a server. I work at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, frowning.

“Like it’s nothing. You said you’re ‘just’ a server,” he said, taking another sip of his wine. “You’re in food service, right? That’s an art in itself. Just… a different kind.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his perspective. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

He nodded, gesturing with his glass. “Think about it. You’re part of creating an experience for people. The way the food’s presented, the way you interact with customers—it’s all part of the artistry. Doesn’t matter if it’s a painting on a wall or a plate of pasta. It’s still something people connect with.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of surprise and gratitude washing over her. “That’s… actually really nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” Harry said simply, his green eyes meeting hers. “Stop selling yourself short.”

She smiled, feeling unexpectedly lighter. “Thanks, Harry. I guess I’ll try to keep that in mind the next time someone complains about their breadsticks not being warm enough.”

He chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Breadsticks or not, it sounds like you’re good at what you do.”

Y/N sipped her wine, the corners of her lips curving up. 

Y/N swirled the wine in her glass, glancing at Harry over the rim. She hesitated for a moment, then decided to push the conversation a little further. “You know,” she began, her voice softer now, “you have a really nice way of thinking about things. The way you look at art, even food… it’s kind of impressive.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter with an amused expression. “Is that your way of saying I’m not just a grumpy neighbor?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small grin, her tone almost teasing. “But seriously, you’ve got a smart mind, Harry. You see things in a way most people don’t.”

He tilted his head slightly, his green eyes studying her as if trying to figure out her angle. “Are you flirting with me, Y/N?”

She laughed, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “And if I was?”

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “Then I’d say it’s about time you stopped pretending you find me intimidating.”

“I never said you intimidate me,” she shot back, her grin widening. “I said you have a grumpy vibe. Totally different.”

“Right,” he said, his tone dry but his smirk giving him away. “Good to know I’m not scaring you off.”

“Not even close,” Y/N replied, her voice confident now. She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her hand as she looked at him. “You’re not as scary as you think, Harry. In fact, I think you’re kind of… interesting.”

Harry chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Right back at you,” she said, her gaze warm.

For a moment, the air between them shifted. The playful banter was still there, but beneath it was something quieter, something unspoken. Y/N didn’t know what exactly was happening, but she wasn’t in a hurry to break the moment.

Harry finally set his glass down, his expression softening just slightly. “Careful, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but with a hint of amusement. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

“Maybe I do,” she said simply, holding his gaze.

The corners of his mouth twitched, and for the first time, he didn’t deflect her comment. Instead, he just looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his green eyes. Y/N felt her heartbeat quicken, but she didn’t look away.

The mood in the room shifted as Harry leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. 

He tilted his head slightly, his voice low and teasing as he said, "You wouldn't be able to handle me."

Her breath caught, but she wasn't about to let him have the last word.

 "Try me," she challenged, her voice steady but laced with anticipation.

Harry's eyes darkened, the playful smirk on his lips giving way to something deeper, something more raw. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on her throat-not gripping, just resting, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. The warmth of his touch made her heart race, and she felt her breath hitch as he leaned in closer.

For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, the only sound her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, without another word, Harry closed the gap between them, capturing her lips in a deep, searing kiss.

It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rushed either-it was deliberate, like he'd been holding himself back and was finally letting go. His lips moved against hers with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, and Y/N melted into the kiss, her hand instinctively reaching out to grip the edge of the counter for balance.

She kissed him back just as fervently, tilting her head to deepen the connection. His fingers slid from her throat to the back of her neck, pulling her closer as though he couldn't get enough of her. The heat between them was undeniable, and in that moment, nothing else mattered-not the chill of her broken heater, not the wine, not the playful banter that had led them here.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathing heavily, their foreheads nearly touching. Harry's green eyes searched hers, and for once, his usual guarded expression was nowhere to be found.

"Still think I can't handle you?" Y/N whispered, her voice a little breathless but tinged with humor.

Harry smirked, his hand still lingering at the nape of her neck. 

"Guess I underestimated you," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But l'm not done yet.”

Harry's hand slid down from Y/N's neck to her wrist, his grip firm but careful as he led her through his apartment toward his bedroom.

Her heart pounded in anticipation, her breath catching when he opened the door and gently but deliberately pushed her onto the bed.

Y/N gasped softly, propping herself up on her elbows as she looked up at him. The intensity in his green eyes made her pulse race, and the energy between them was electric, the room feeling heavier with every passing second.

Harry stepped closer, his movements slow and controlled, like he was savoring the moment.

He placed a hand on her throat again, this time with a gentle but deliberate squeeze that sent a shiver down her spine. His thumb brushed along her jawline as he leaned in, his voice low and commanding.

"Are you going to be a good girl for me?" he asked, his tone dripping with authority and heat.

Y/N's breath hitched as she nodded slowly, unable to look away from his piercing gaze.

Her voice was caught somewhere in her throat, so she let her actions speak for her, tilting her head slightly into his touch.

Harry smirked, leaning down until his lips were just a breath away from her ear. His voice dropped even lower, a whisper that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

"I knew you would be," he murmured, his tone both teasing and possessive.

The words sent a jolt through her, and she felt her body react instinctively, her cheeks flushing as she surrendered to the moment.

Harry's lips brushed against the corner of her jaw, trailing down her neck as his hand stayed firmly but gently in place. Every movement felt deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every second of his attention.

Whatever control Y/N thought she had going into this was slipping fast, and the way Harry's touch consumed her made it clear—he knew it, too.

Harry paused, his intense green eyes meeting Y/N’s as he leaned over her. His hand lingered on her throat, his grip light but enough to hold her attention completely. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, didn’t move any closer. He just looked at her, his gaze softening slightly, as if he were silently asking her a question.

It wasn’t just a look—it was a pause, a chance for her to stop him if she wanted to. His eyes, usually so guarded, were now open and searching, silently asking for her consent.

Y/N’s heart raced as she looked back at him, feeling the weight of his unspoken question. She swallowed, her breath shallow as she gave him the answer he was waiting for. Slowly, purposely, she nodded.

Harry’s lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with an edge of tenderness.

He leaned down again, his lips brushing hers as his hand on her throat tightened just slightly, enough to make her feel both safe and completely at his mercy. And as the space between them disappeared, Y/N felt herself giving in fully, her trust in him unwavering.

Harry's piercing gaze never left Y/N's face, his touch as light as a butterfly's wings. He slowly pulled her to the edge, his hands on her hips. The soft rustle of sheets filled the room as she sank into the bedding, eyes darting up to meet his.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him undoing his pants, revealing his hardness beneath. She gulped audibly as he climbed onto the bed with her, their bodies pressed together from chest to knees. His hand trailed down her side, stopping just above her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. His touch sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered against her earlobe, his hot breath causing goosebumps to form on her skin.

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a moment before whispering back, "I want you to take control."

Harry's smirk was both predatory and reassuring as he nodded once in understanding. His hand slid underneath her shirt, tracing patterns across her stomach before moving higher till it reached its destination: her lacy black bra. He palmed one of her breasts through the fabric, eliciting a moan from deep within her throat that echoed around them. His thumb circled her nipple roughly, making it harden into a tight bud underneath his touch.

His lips followed suit, kissing along her jawline and trailing down towards that erect nipple. He flicked it with his tongue teasingly while simultaneously tug

His smile was wicked as he leaned back, a glint in his eye. "Is that so?" He trailed kisses down her neck, his stubble grazing against her sensitive skin, making her shudder with pleasure. His hand slid between their bodies and brushed against her center, indulging in the wetness there. She gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch.

"You're so ready for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He pushed her shorts aside and slid one finger inside her slowly, feeling the tightness surrounding him. Y/N moaned softly, her hips grinding against his hand in encouragement.

Harry removed his finger, teasing her as he lowered his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He growled softly against her skin, sucking gently as he began to thrust two fingers inside her in short, quick motions that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She cried out softly, gripping the sheets beneath her as he continued his ministrations. He quickly undressed her and stared at her body. Y/N felt hot under his eyes. 

They quickly lost themselves in each other's touches. The squeak of the bedframe echoed in the room as Harry positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside her slowly. She gasped at the fullness but welcomed it, urging him on with a nod of encouragement.

He slowed down, taking deep breaths to regain control as he braced himself above her. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked hoarsely, gaze locked onto hers.

Y/N nodded fiercely, signaling him to continue. With a low growl of approval, he began moving inside her slowly but steadily, their 

bodies meeting in a dance of desire. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through them both, their skin slick with sweat under the dim light of the bedside lamp. The air was thick with an almost palpable tension as they moved together, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room.

Harry's grip on her hips tightened, his rhythm becoming faster and harder, mirroring the desire that flared in his eyes. Y/N met him stroke for stroke, their eyes locked on each other as if they were the only two people in the room. The sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the silence beneath the duvet, broken only by their heavy breathing and soft moans.

Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she neared her climax, his name falling from her lips in a whispered plea. Without missing a beat, he quickened his pace, his cock driving into her with urgency. Their connection was intense, overwhelming, everything she could have asked for and more.

As she cried out in ecstasy beneath him, feeling her orgasm wash over her like a wave, Harry followed close behind. His body tensed as he groaned loudly, filling her with his warmth and love. Their hearts raced in unison as they finally collapsed onto each other, panting heavily but content.

He rolled off her slowly, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead before rolling onto his back beside her. 

Harry lay on his side, propped up on one elbow as he looked down at Y/N. His green eyes were softer now, a flicker of mischief dancing in them as he smirked. 

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "are you going to text your little girl chat and tell them we fucked?" Y/N let out a surprised laugh, turning her head to look at him. 

"What? No! They'd never let me live it down."

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. 

"You should. Tell them the hot, mysterious guy was really grumpy the whole time."Y/N laughed even harder, covering her face with her hand. 

"Oh, right. That'll really sell it. 'Hey, girls, just an FYl, my grumpy neighbor is not only hot but also excellent in bed. Highly recommend.'"

Harry chuckled, his grin widening. "Not bad. Make sure you add in the part about how I stayed in character the whole time-grumpy and all."

She rolled her eyes, still smiling as she nudged him playfully. "Fine. I'll throw in that your scowl is even sexier up close. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he said dryly, though the amused glint in his eyes gave him away. YN shook her head, the laughter subsiding into a warm smile.

 "You know," she said, her tone softening, "you might be mysterious and grumpy, but you're also a little cocky. Just saying."

Harry leaned down, his face inches from hers.

"Maybe," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "But I think you like it."

Her cheeks flushed as she looked up at him, biting back a grin. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he said simply, before capturing her lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that made her forget about everything else-including her friends waiting for updates in the group chat.

The week passed in a blur of near-misses and brief encounters between Y/N and Harry. She saw him in the mailroom once, where he gave her a small nod and the faintest hint of a smirk before disappearing upstairs. Another time, they crossed paths in the hallway, exchanging quick hellos but nothing more.

Neither of them brought up the night they spent together, and while Y/N tried to brush it off as a casual hookup, part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was deliberately avoiding the topic. She didn’t want to push, figuring Harry would open up if and when he was ready.

Then, one evening, as she was curled up on her couch with a glass of wine and her laptop, her phone buzzed with a text.

Harry:

Hey. Sorry I’ve been so distant this week. The gallery is getting ready for a new showing, and it’s been… a lot.

Y/N stared at the message for a moment, her stomach fluttering. She hadn’t expected him to reach out, let alone apologize.

Y/N:

Hey, no worries. I figured you were busy. New showing sounds exciting though!

A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

Harry:

It is. Stressful, but worth it. You should come by. It’s this Saturday night. Bring your friends if you want.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Harry inviting her to his gallery? That felt… significant.

Y/N:

I’d love to. Are you sure you want me to bring my friends? They’re a little… loud.

Harry:

If they’re anything like you, I’m already prepared for chaos.

She laughed softly, shaking her head.

Y/N:

Fair warning: chaos is guaranteed. But I’ll be there.

Harry:

Good. I’ll send you the details tomorrow.

Y/N set her phone down, a small smile tugging at her lips. For all of Harry’s grumpiness and guarded demeanor, this felt like his way of extending an olive branch—a step toward something more. And she couldn’t deny that the idea of seeing him in his element, at the gallery, intrigued her.

She grabbed her phone again and opened the group chat with Harper and Lila.

Y/N:

Ladies, clear your schedules for Saturday night. We’re going to an art gallery.

Predictably, her phone exploded with responses almost immediately.

Lila:

Wait, is this Harry’s gallery?

Harper:

The grumpy tattooed neighbor has an art gallery?

Y/N:

Yes. He invited me. And before you ask—no, we’re not talking about the other night.

Lila:

Boring. But fine, we’re in. Is there wine?

Harper:

And snacks?

Y/N:

I’ll ask. But behave yourselves. He already thinks I’m loud.

Lila:

Oh, honey, we’re just getting started.

Y/N laughed, already imagining the chaos her friends would inevitably bring. But deep down, she was looking forward to Saturday more than she cared to admit. 

The week crawled by as Saturday approached, each day slower than the last. Y/N found herself obsessing over small details—whether Harry would be too busy to notice her, what kind of people attended art gallery showings, and most importantly, what to wear. She wanted to look effortlessly put-together, like someone who appreciated art but wasn’t trying too hard.

By Saturday afternoon, her room was a battlefield of discarded outfits. Finally, she settled on a sleek black jumpsuit paired with a cropped denim jacket and ankle boots—stylish but not over the top. She added a few gold accessories and a swipe of lipstick before grabbing her bag and heading out the door.

On the way to Silver Lake, she picked up Harper and Lila, who were already buzzing with excitement when they climbed into the car.

“You look hot,” Lila said, eyeing her outfit. “Very ‘I like art but I’m too cool to talk about it.’”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, laughing as she started the car. “I’m going for low-key, not intimidating.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Harper chimed in, adjusting her blazer. 

Y/N glanced at them in the rearview mirror, grinning. Harper wore a bold red jumpsuit, while Lila had opted for a metallic skirt and leather jacket. 

By the time they pulled into Silver Lake, the sun had set, and the neighborhood was alive with energy. The gallery came into view, its windows glowing warmly against the evening sky. People were milling about on the sidewalk, chatting in small groups with glasses of wine in hand, while others filtered in and out of the bustling space.

“This is it,” Y/N said, parking the car and taking a deep breath.

“It’s so fancy,” Lila said, practically bouncing in her seat. “Look at all these people!”

Harper leaned forward, peering out the window. “I’m already picturing Harry brooding in a corner, glaring at anyone who talks too loud.”

“Probably,” Y/N muttered, her heart fluttering as she got out of the car. She grabbed her bag and adjusted her jacket before turning to her friends. “Okay, let’s not embarrass me too much, yeah?”

“No promises,” Harper said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s as they headed toward the gallery entrance.

Inside, the space was even more vibrant. The walls were adorned with bold, eclectic pieces of art—paintings, sculptures, and mixed-media pieces that immediately drew attention. Soft music played in the background, and servers wove through the crowd with trays of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The hum of conversation filled the air, blending with the occasional burst of laughter.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room, searching for Harry. She didn’t spot him right away, but she noticed how carefully curated the space felt—each piece arranged with intention. It was a reflection of him, she realized, meticulous and thoughtful.

“This is amazing,” Harper said, grabbing a glass of wine from a passing server. “He really knows what he’s doing.”

Lila nudged Y/N. “Speaking of, where is Mr. Grumpy Art Dealer? I want to see him in his element.”

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, glancing around again. “He’s probably—”

Before she could finish, her gaze landed on him. Harry stood near the back of the room, dressed in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showcasing his tattoos. He was talking to a small group of people, but his eyes flicked toward her as if he could feel her presence.

Their gazes locked for a moment, and he gave her a subtle nod before turning back to his conversation. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she felt Lila squeeze her arm.

“Oh, he definitely saw you,” Lila said, grinning. “And I’m not imagining the way he looked at you.”

“Stop,” Y/N hissed, her cheeks flushing. But she couldn’t deny it—there was something in his gaze that felt personal, even in the middle of the crowd.

“Go say hi,” Harper urged, giving her a nudge.

“Not yet,” Y/N said, grabbing a glass of wine for herself. “I’ll wait until he’s free. Let’s just look around first.”

As they wandered through the gallery, admiring the artwork, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that Harry’s eyes were on her—even when she wasn’t looking his way.

Y/N wandered through the gallery, sipping her wine as she admired the artwork. Each piece was so different—some abstract, others intricate and detailed—but all of them carried a sense of purpose. It was easy to see that Harry had a good eye for curating.

She glanced across the room and saw Harper and Lila chatting animatedly with a group of women, likely bonding over their outfits or the wine. Typical, she thought with a smile, shaking her head.

As she moved to the next painting—a striking piece of layered colors and textures—she felt someone step up beside her. There was a shift in the air, a quiet presence that made her turn her head.

It was Harry.

He stood with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the painting. His black shirt, with the sleeves still rolled up, contrasted sharply against the warm tones of the art, and his tattoos seemed to blend seamlessly into the aesthetic of the space.

“It’s acrylic and resin,” he said, his voice low but steady. “The artist used palette knives for the texture and then poured resin over it to give it that shine. Took weeks to cure properly.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for a moment before she found her words. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, turning her attention back to the piece. “I love the depth in it. It feels like you could reach in and get lost.”

Harry glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the idea. The artist wanted it to feel immersive, like stepping into an emotional landscape.”

She looked at him, her curiosity piqued. “Do you know all the details of every piece in here?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, his smirk growing. “Part of the job. I like to understand the process—it helps me connect with the artists and explain it to people who come through.”

Y/N smiled, sipping her wine. “It’s impressive. You’ve created something really special here.”

Harry looked at her again, his green eyes studying her for a moment. “Thanks,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, coming from you.”

She tilted her head, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “Why me?”

He shrugged slightly, his gaze flicking back to the painting. “Because you actually look at the art. Most people just see it, but you’re trying to understand it.”

Her cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, and she turned back to the painting to hide her flustered expression. “Well, you make it hard not to appreciate it. The way you talk about it… it’s obvious how much you care.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence between them felt comfortable, almost intimate. Finally, he leaned in just slightly, his voice softer now.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

Y/N turned to look at him again, her heart skipping a beat at the closeness between them. “Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the bustling crowd around them faded into the background, leaving just the two of them standing there, the art surrounding them as if it were part of their story.

Harry slipped his hand into Y/N’s, his fingers warm and steady as he gently tugged her through the gallery. She followed without question, her curiosity mounting as they weaved between groups of people. He didn’t say a word, just led her down a quieter section of the space where fewer people were lingering.

When they stopped, Y/N noticed the piece in front of them was a painting—bold yet delicate, with strokes that somehow conveyed both strength and softness. She tilted her head, studying it, drawn to the way the light and shadows played across the figure in the painting. There was something familiar about it, something that tugged at her memory.

She took a step closer, her heart beating faster as the realization slowly dawned on her. The painting wasn’t just beautiful—it was her.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned to Harry, her eyes wide. “Is this…?”

He nodded, his gaze steady but unreadable. “It’s you.”

Y/N stared at the painting again, her mind racing. The details were unmistakable—the way her hair fell, the soft curve of her face, the hint of a thoughtful expression she’d never realized she wore. But it wasn’t just her likeness; it was the way the he had captured something deeper, something vulnerable and raw.

“How?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “I started it a few weeks after I moved in. I didn’t even know your name then. I just… saw you.”

Her chest tightened as she turned to him again. “You saw me?”

He nodded, his green eyes softer now. “In the mailroom. In the hallway. On your balcony once, drinking coffee. I didn’t know why, but there was something about you that I couldn’t get out of my head. So, I painted.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm, a mix of emotions swirling inside her—flattery, disbelief, and something she couldn’t quite name. “Harry, this is… incredible. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I just thought you should see it. This is the first time I’ve shown it to anyone.”

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she took a step closer to him, her voice soft. “Why me?”

Harry’s gaze locked on hers, his expression open and sincere. “Because it’s you, Y/N. I couldn’t have painted this if it wasn’t.”

The noise of the gallery faded around them as she stood there, her hand still in his, staring up at the painting of herself. For the first time, she saw herself through someone else’s eyes—not as the loud, chaotic neighbor, but as something worthy of being captured in art.

And Harry, the grumpy, mysterious neighbor, was the one who had done it.

[rubytuby]

surprise

patrick zweig x fem!reader 

word count: 3.3k (LOL)

warnings: established relationship with patrick because i'm lazy, art is your best friend, mentions of getting drunk but it's college so like to be expected… also allusions to sex haha but um i just love to write a cutesy plot.

note: i am normal about patrick zweig, i feel so normal about him #needthat. jokes, but i am in love with him its so bad, i wish he was real. also please don't be offended by my tashi erasure, still love her, but she didn't exactly fit in here. obv this is not canon bc you're dating patrick in stanford era instead of tashi, anyways, hope you enjoy <3.

FEBRUARY 23 2007, STANFORD

The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the tennis courts as you and Art wrapped up your practice session. Both of you were drenched in sweat, Art slung his tennis bag over his shoulder and jogged over, his face lighting up with a mischievous grin.

“So uh, want to walk back to the dorms together?” he asked, sounding overly eager.

You squinted at him, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “Sure, but I need to shower first. You know, make it seem like I haven’t been pushed to my physical limits,” you said, gesturing to your sweaty attire.

Art laughed. “You have a single, why don't you just wait until you get back to your dorm?”

You groaned, shoving your racket into your bag. “That's the problem. The maintenance guy showed up at 7:30 this morning to tell us they’re shutting off the water from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. only on my floor for some urgent plumbing issue.”

“Damn, that sucks. Are they even allowed to do that without giving anyone notice?”

“That's what I asked, but apparently, giving us 30 minutes notice is considered adequate. So, technically, they can,” you replied, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “I’ll be quick, though. Just need to rinse off. If you don’t wanna wait for me to chill, you can walk back to the dorms. I won’t be offended.”

Art shook his head. “I’ve got time, I’ll wait. I’ve gotta call someone anyways,” he said plopping down the bench and pulling out his phone.

“Alright weirdo, if you’re sure,” you said, dropping your tote bag next to him. “I’ll be super quick.” With that, you darted off to the girls' locker room.

As soon as you disappeared, Art pulled out his phone and dialed Patrick’s number. The phone barely rang before Patrick answered, his voice tense with impatience.

“Are you guys on the fucking way yet or am I going to have to wait longer?”

“Hello, sunshine!” Art greeted cheerily. “Your beloved is taking a quick shower. We’ll be there in about 25 to 30 minutes.”

Patrick groaned loudly. “Why didn’t you just tell her to shower in her dorm? I’ll lick the sweat off her if it means not waiting any longer.”

Art grimaced at his best friend’s comment. “The water’s out on her floor. She said she’s literally only rinsing off and changing. Just be patient. I’ll text you when to leave so we can time it perfectly.” A sigh rang out on the other line.

“If this plan doesn’t work and I’ve been hiding from my girlfriend for a couple hours for no reason, I’m going to seriously hurt you,” Patrick grumbled, staring out Art’s dorm window.

“Well she definitely thinks you're in New York visiting your parents,” Art paused, “I just had to talk her down from buying a plane ticket, so I think we’re good.”

“I told her I just got into the city a couple hours ago when I actually got to SFO. She was so upset yesterday when I said it’d be five days until we saw each other. She called me a fucking asshole, so I dont know what to do anymore.” Patrick said as he flopped onto Arts bed.

Art scribbled on his worksheet, humming in response. “Well, at least you know that she definitely misses you.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure if she misses me or just wants to slap me in the face,” Patrick replied, exasperated.

Just then, Art saw you coming out of the locker room, chatting with one of your friends on the team. “Hopefully not the latter. Anyway she’s out. See you at 15. Don’t be late,” Art said flatly before hanging up, knowing Patrick and his unfortunate untimeliness. 

Art smiled up at you as you approached. “Who was that?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“Our shared lover,” Art replied with a laugh, haphazardly shoving his worksheet and phone into his bag as he stood up.

“Aww, any exciting updates from Pat? He still stuck with his parents for another five days?” you teased, sticking your tongue out playfully.

“He just got to the city. He mentioned playing on the East River courts and paying someone to hold a spot for him,” Art lied smoothly.

“Sounds about right,” you said, sighing. “Anyway, I was talking to Nathalie over there…” you squinted, linking arms with Art as the two of you started the walk back to your dorm. “She mentioned a frat party happening tonight. Since Patrick’s trapped in New York, I figured why not go?”

“There’s going to be a keg stand, a ton of alcohol, and some shitty DJ or something,” you added, glancing at a group of students touring the campus before turning back to Art.

Art nodded, slightly wincing at the mention of the keg stand. “Wow, sounds like a lot of fun,” he replied sarcastically, earning a nod of agreement from you.

“I was planning on skipping it, but Nathalie really wants me to go. I thought if you came with me, it might actually be fun. Better than wallowing in my room wishing Patrick was here,” you admitted, biting your lip.

"Well, we had fun at that party last Friday, you remember right?" Art asked, smirking.

"Remember is a strong word," you replied, shaking your head with a laugh. "I think I have bits and pieces from that night. I do remember waking up still drunk at noon with my t-shirt on backwards and you snoring next to me in bed. Also like 5 missed calls from Patrick."

Art flashed you a lopsided grin. "Well, your bed's comfy, but I thought I was going to roll off in the middle of the night."

"Well, I stayed in my corner, I was flush against the wall as you were all sprawled out making yourself at home on my bed," you teased, nudging him playfully.

As you approached your dorm building, you noticed Art’s phone buzz. He glanced at it quickly, fumbling to put it away as a smile grew on his face. “What’s with the grin, weirdo?” you asked, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing. Just a funny text,” Art replied too quickly, stuffing his phone back into his pocket.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re terrible at lying, you know that?”

“Who, me? Who said I’m lying, I’m the picture of innocence,” Art said defensively.

You shook your head. “Sure you are. Anyway, I think I’m gonna drop my stuff on the floor, crawl into bed, and maybe take a nap. Maybe we can think about that party, I can call you at 11 so we can pregame.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Art said with a nod. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

You smiled gratefully as the two of you ascended the stairs to your floor. Art talked animatedly about his plans for the weekend while you half-listened, preoccupied with thoughts of collapsing onto your bed and taking a deserved long nap.

"Yeah anyways, I'm thinking of catching up on some studying, this english class is kicking my ass," Art continued, unaware of your drifting attention. "Maybe I’ll go on a run later though. You could join me if you wanted, if you’re up."

"Maybe," you replied absentmindedly, reaching a hand into your tote bag sifting for your keys.

As you reached your door, frustrated with your bag, you dropped your tennis bag and lifted your whole tote up, practically sticking your face in it to find your keys. "I hate these fucking tote bags, I can’t find shit," you grumbled to Art, feeling a tap on your shoulder.

Startled, you turned around with a scowl— until you saw Patrick standing there, a mischievous grin on his face. "Patrick! What the fuck? What are you doing here-” you exclaimed, letting your tote bag fall to the floor and throwing your arms around him in a tight hug.

Patrick laughed, hugging you back just as tightly. "Surprise" he exclaimed, holding you close, smiling at Art over your shoulder.

You pulled back slightly, giving him an incredulous look. "You asshole! Trapped in New York with my parents, my ass!" you shook your head, playfully hitting him on the chest.

Patrick held his chest dramatically and leaned in, kissing your cheek lightly. "All part of the plan," he murmured. “Plus, I had a little help," he added, nodding towards Art, who was standing nearby with a smug expression.

You turned in Patrick's arms to face Art, scoffing in shock. "Art, you were in on this? You’re such a liar," you exclaimed.

Art shrugged. "Hey, I was just hosting him at my dorm while we were at practice. Technically, I didn’t lie—I just omitted a few details," he explained, grinning.

"How could you do this to me? Traitor!" you said dramatically, though a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

Patrick wrapped his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer against him and resting his head on your shoulder. "Come on. You know it was worth it," he said, his tone teasing.

You sighed playfully, shaking your head at the pair of them. "I guess I can forgive you both this time," you conceded.

Patrick’s hand gently brushed through your hair as he settled his head into the curve of your neck. “You know I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me,” he said softly.

As you lingered in Patrick's embrace, you paused. "Wait, where's all your stuff?" you asked, pulling back slightly and turning to look up at him.

Patrick grinned, nodding towards your door. "In your dorm," he replied casually.

“Wow, Breaking and entering," you quipped, crossing your arms squinting at Art.

Art interjected with a laugh, "Actually, perfectly legal entering. You're the one who gave me a spare key."

You shook your head, "That's for emergencies, Art," you retorted, shooting him a mock glare.

Patrick turned you around to face him, his hands resting gently on your shoulders. "Come on, admit it, you're impressed," he teased.

You sighed, "I'm shocked you guys were able to pull this off, honestly," you admitted, shaking your head with amusement. Patrick laughed softly, rubbing your back soothingly.

Reluctantly pulling away from Patrick's arms, you grabbed your tote bag from the floor, turning to face Art and Patrick. "As much as this hallway talk is very exciting, I seriously need to find my keys. I'm exhausted," you declared half-joking.

After a brief search through your bag, you finally located your keys nestled among your belongings. Patrick picked up your tennis bag with a playful grin, indicating his readiness to follow you inside.

"Alright, Art, thank you," Patrick called out over his shoulder as you unlocked the door.

Art waved casually. "Have fun, be safe you two. I'll see you later," he replied as he walked down the hallway.

As the two of you entered your dorm room, you barely had enough time to place your bags on the floor before Patrick closed the gap between you and him and crashed his lips onto yours. His hands pulled you against him as he pressed your back against the door, placing his hands on either side of you almost boxing you in. His kisses were sloppy, teeth colliding as his lips moved against yours, hands desperately roaming your body, as if he couldn't get close enough to you.

You responded eagerly, melting into his embrace, your own hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him closer. His lips moved hungrily against yours, his tongue tracing your lower lip, hands roaming over your back, then up to cradle your face, pushing strands of hair away as he deepened the kiss.

"Patrick," you managed to gasp between kisses, your chest rising and falling with each breath. "I... I need to put my stuff away," you painted, reluctantly pulling back

Patrick leaned back, a mischievous smirk on his face, moving over to lean against your desk. "Sure," he murmured, his gaze lingering on you as you took out some things from your bag. "So, how was practice?" he asked, his voice low, as he looked you up and down.

You scoffed, a hint of satisfaction playing on your lips as you organized. "Heinous. I keep getting paired with this girl on the team who can't return any of my serves," you replied exasperatedly, glancing over at him.

Patrick raised an eyebrow, "maybe you should just go easy on her."

You shook your head, clicking your tongue in frustration. "I've tried to go easy on her, but she can't even play me when I do that. She acts like it's my fault she can't play for shit," you paused to sigh.

Patrick grinned, tracing a hand up and down your arm. "We both know you're too good for stanford women's tennis," he murmured, moving from the desk to stand behind you, his hands coming to rest on your hips and giving them a quick squeeze.

You whipped your head around, rolling your eyes and scoffing at his comment. "Careful," you say firmly.

Patrick put his hands up in mock surrender, his cocky grin never faltering. "Alright, alright. Sorry, my bad," he said. "You're right."

As an unspoken apology, Patrick moved closer, his hands gently moving up to your waist as he leaned in to kiss your neck softly. His lips left a warm trail on your skin, "I missed you," he murmured between kisses, his breath hot against your ear. “So much.”

You tilted your head slightly, allowing him better access, closing your eyes briefly to savor the sensation. "I missed you too," you hummed, your voice softening as you turned to face him fully. Your hands came to rest on his chest. "You know, I wish you would’ve just told me you were coming," you teased, carding your fingers through his hair.

Patrick's playful demeanor softened as he gazed into your eyes, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Sorry again," he murmured sincerely, his breath mingling with yours. "Do you still love me?" he asked, clearly teasing and testing you.

You couldn't help but smile, your fingers threading through the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. "I still love you, even with your elaborate lies," you replied, planting a sweet kiss on his lips. "But I have to say I knew something was up. Art was being weirder than normal."

Patrick hummed, his hands gently caressing your sides as he leaned in for another kiss.

"Hey? Are you even listening to me?" you asked, blinking up at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

Patrick paused, his forehead resting against yours as he looked into your eyes. "Sorry, what did you say? I was a little distracted," he said, smiling.

You laughed softly, giving him a light shove. “I said Art was acting weirder than normal. I could tell he was hiding something.”

He shook his head and grinned, suddenly, he scooped you up over his shoulder, eliciting a surprised laugh from you as he carried you to the bed. Playfully flopping you down, his hands on either side of your head as he leaned in to kiss you again, his lips warm and insistent.

"So, what's our plan for tonight?" he asked between kisses, his fingers tracing light patterns on your sides.

You sighed softly, your words catching in your throat as his kisses became more fervent. "Well, there's this party my friend invited me to," you managed to say, struggling to speak coherently. "But last time I went out with Art, it was a shit show," you paused, trying to focus as his lips trailed down your collarbone, "but you're here, so we can do… whatever you want," you finally managed to say, your voice breathless with desire.

"Can we?" Patrick teased, his tone dripping with innuendo, his kisses becoming more urgent and needy.

You sighed deeply, rolling your eyes. "You know, you're impossible," you muttered, shaking your head. "But yes, we can."

Patrick grinned triumphantly, his hands roaming over your body as he leaned in to kiss you again, his hunger for you evident in every touch and movement. "Good," he murmured against your lips. "I think I just want you to be myself tonight."

"Freaky," you quipped, biting your tongue to hide a laugh.

With a self-assured grin, Patrick swiftly removed his T-shirt, revealing his lean and tan body. His gaze never left yours as he leaned back in, his lips finding yours with intensity. Your fingers traced lightly over his chest as you meshed together, and through kisses, you opened your eyes for a moment, gaze fixed on the freckles dotting his nose and cheeks.

"You've got more freckles," you observed with a playful smile, pulling back slightly, teasingly tracing each tiny mark with your fingertip.

Patrick grinned warmly, his eyes crinkling as he removed his lips from yours pulling you into a tight hug. "You're so cute," he murmured, squeezing you against him. His hands gently moved up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he pulled you closer, lips looking for another kiss with a soft sigh of contentment slipping out. His gaze, filled with adoration and longing, locked onto yours, silently expressing his deep affection.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," he whispered, his voice low and filled with awe. You locked eyes with him, your own expression softening as you smiled, your fingers tracing the curve of his jaw.

Without breaking eye contact, Patrick's hands moved to the hem of your T-shirt, his touch almost insistent. He lifted the fabric, exposing your skin to the cool air and his heated gaze, with the T-shirt slipped over your head and thrown to the floor, forgotten. His gaze traveled downward, taking in the sight of you, bare-chested in front of him, a cheeky grin began to spread across his face. 

You rolled your eyes, whacking his arm. "Are you 13?" you teased.

Patrick laughed, unfazed as his hands and mouth roamed your newly exposed skin, his lips moving back to your collarbone, placing soft kisses along its length. Your remaining clothes were shed in a flurry, falling to the floor as you both moved with urgency desperately reconnecting.

Finally, as your kisses slowed and the two of you were breathing somewhat heavily, you rolled onto him, resting your head on his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you close, with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

"I love you," Patrick murmured softly, placing a lovingly sweet kiss onto your forehead.

You met his gaze with a soft smile. "Is that just because we had incredible reunion sex?" you teased lightly, a playful challenge in your voice. "Or do you love me all the time?"

Patrick laughed, his fingers moving up and down on your back. "Only for the sex, it's usually worth the plane ticket," he teased back, with a smile. "Just kidding. I love you all the time," he replied earnestly, as a grin started forming on his face.

Leaning up from his chest, you pressed a sloppy kiss against his mouth, your hands tangling into his hair as you felt the corners of his lips curve into a smile against yours. "I knew it," you murmured against his lips, a hint of amusement in your voice.

"Say it back," Patrick urged with a playful grin, attempting to deepen the kiss, but you playfully pulled away before he could capture your lips again.

Rolling your eyes theatrically, you feigned annoyance, though your smile betrayed your true feelings. "Fine," you replied, leaning in to kiss him once more. "I love you too, freak."

[earthtoharlow]

HIT THE LIGHTS

Sequel to Flashing Lights series, must read Flashing Lights & Don’t Like The Lights first to understand

Series Masterlist

1. I Didn’t Mean to Fall in Love

Maryse stirred awake, stretching her arms above her head before turning over to face Jack, who had gotten home late the night before from a business trip in New York.

She blinked sleepily at him, ready to say good morning, but before she could, he pulled her closer, a sly grin on his face.

He gently placed a finger to her lips and whispered, “Do you hear that?”

Maryse frowned slightly, her ears straining to catch whatever sound he was talking about. “Hear what?” she whispered back.

He leaned in, his voice low. “Exactly. The babies are still asleep for once.”

Her eyes widened as realization dawned, and she let out a soft laugh. “Wait… no crying? No babbling? No toys getting thrown?”

“Not a peep,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “It’s like a miracle. A small, peaceful miracle.”

Maryse giggled, burying her face in his chest. “Don’t jinx it. They’ll probably be up any minute now.”

Jack laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’re probably right. But for now, let’s enjoy the silence. It’s rare these days.”

She hummed in agreement, nuzzling closer to him. Jack grinned, pulling her even closer as he rested his chin on top of her head. “You know, you could just skip that meeting and that interview today and stay in bed with me all day. Like we used to. No meetings, no emails—just us.”

Maryse laughed softly, tilting her head back to look at him. “Oh, yeah? And what about the twins? You think they’re just gonna let us lounge around like we’re on vacation?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “They’re still asleep. We’ve got at least… fifteen more minutes of peace. Maybe twenty if we’re lucky.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And when they wake up screaming for breakfast, then what?”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. “Then I’ll handle it. Diapers, bottles, the works. You just stay here and relax.”

Maryse laughed again, shaking her head. “You really think we can just pretend we’re not parents for a day?”

“Why not?” he said with mock seriousness. “I’m pretty sure they owe us for all those sleepless nights.”

She playfully swatted his chest. “You’re impossible. I can’t skip the meeting or that interview, and you know it.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping onto his back like a kid who didn’t get his way. “Fine. Go be responsible and productive. But I’m telling you, one of these days, you’re skipping everything, and we’re staying in bed all day. No excuses.”

Maryse leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Deal. But until then, welcome to parenthood baby daddy.”

She started to stretch again, she paused and turned to him, resting her head on her hand. “How was your meeting yesterday? You didn’t say much about it last night.”

Jack shrugged, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on her arm. “It was good. We talked about the next era, ideas, plans. I’m excited… but I don’t know. I feel like I’ve made some great music, but I still don’t think I’ve dropped anything incredible yet. You know, something that no one can argue about.”

She frowned slightly, shifting closer to him. “What are you talking about? People love your music. You’ve had plenty of hits. Why are you so hard on yourself?”

He sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m proud of everything I’ve done. I really am. But there’s always that little voice in the back of my head saying, ‘You can do better.’ I want the next era to be undeniable. Like, no debate—it’s legendary.”

Maryse reached out, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward her. “You’re already legendary to me. And I know whatever you do next will be incredible because you don’t settle for anything less.”

He smiled softly, leaning into her touch. “Thanks, babe. That means a lot.”

She smirked, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “Now, since I’ve boosted your ego, you can get up and make me tea before I have to get ready.”

He chuckled, pulling her into a quick kiss. “Anything for my number one fan.”

****

After getting showered and dressed, Maryse heard the unmistakable sounds of childish screams and giggles echoing from the kitchen. She smiled to herself, knowing the twins were up and in full swing, and Jack was likely handling their breakfast routine.

When she walked downstairs, her heart melted at the scene before her. London was bouncing happily in her baby bouncer, squealing every time she swung forward. Across the room, Jack was seated at the kitchen table with Noah on his lap. Noah was holding a slice of apple in his tiny hands, gnawing at it while Jack rapped quietly to himself, his phone in one hand as he quickly typed lyrics with his free fingers.

Maryse leaned against the doorway, soaking it all in. The sound of Noah’s laughter and London’s squeals, coupled with the soft cadence of Jack’s voice, filled the kitchen with a warmth she adored. Mornings like this were loud and chaotic, but they were everything to her. She almost didn’t want to leave for her meeting.

Jack glanced up from his phone and caught her watching. He gave her a lopsided grin, his voice softening. “You just gonna stand there and stare, or you gonna come say good morning?”

She walked over, pressing a kiss to Noah’s chubby cheek before running a hand through Jack’s hair. “Good morning, my favorite boys. What’s on the breakfast menu today?”

Jack laughed, nodding toward the half-empty plate of apple slices as Maryse walked over to London to give her kisses. “Apples and vibes. We’re keeping it simple.”

Maryse shook her head with a laugh. “I almost don’t want to leave.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his grin turning mischievous. “Then don’t. I told you, skip the meeting.”

She giggled, kissing his forehead before slipping on her blazer. “Tempting. But duty calls.”

Maryse gave herself one last look in the mirror when she noticed London in the background, who was still bouncing around when something caught her eye—the tiny shoes on her feet.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the shoes: they’re miniature versions of the New Balance sneakers Jack recently designed. She crouches down and gently lifts London’s tiny foot to get a better look, her heart melting at the sight.

“Jack, when did you get these?” she asked him, her voice tinged with surprise.

He looks up from his phone, grinning. “I had them made a couple weeks ago. Wanted the twins to be rocking the best, you know?”

Maryse shakes her head with a laugh, her eyes still glued to the tiny sneakers. “They’re so adorable. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he says with a shrug, leaning back against the kitchen chair. “Look at them, though. Don’t they look fly?”

“They do,” she agrees, her voice softening as she gazes at her children. “Too cute for their own good.”

She leans in and kisses London on the cheek, then ruffles Noah’s hair before standing up. “Alright, I really have to go now, or I’m going to be late.”

Jack watches her grab her bag, a playful grin on his face. “Last chance to stay here with us today

Maryse rolls her eyes with a smile as she heads toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

***

Maryse was in the bathroom stall, changing her outfit after she spilled tea on the shirt right before her video interview with The Breakfast Club. The door swung open, and two women walked in, their voices bouncing off the tiled walls.

“I just don’t get it,” one of them said, her tone dripping with judgment. “Have you noticed he never posts the kids’ faces? That’s probably because he’s embarrassed.”

Maryse’s heart dropped, and her grip on her bag tightened.

“Exactly,” the other woman chimed in. “I mean, he’s this huge rapper, and now he’s stuck with twins? He’s probably second-guessing everything. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. She’s the one who trapped him.”

She shook her head in disbelief, her jaw clenching as their cruel words filled the small space. She knew exactly why she and Jack didn’t post the twins’ faces—it was to protect them from people like this. People who were so judgmental, invasive, and downright rude.

“And the thing is,” the first woman continued, lowering her voice, “it’s not like she’s some stay-at-home mom. She’s always off doing something. Does she even spend time with them?”

“I don’t know,” the second replied with a sarcastic laugh. “Maybe that’s why he doesn’t seem in any rush to marry her. Can you imagine all the baggage she’s bringing?”

Maryse bit her lip, willing herself not to react. She refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten under her skin.

When the women finally left, their laughter echoing behind them, Maryse stepped out of the stall and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was full of frustration and hurt, but mostly anger. She freshened up her makeup, trying to shake off their cruel words.

She reminded herself of why they made the choices they did—to protect their babies from this exact type of negativity. And while she knew it in her heart, it still stung to hear strangers twist their lives into such ugly narratives.

As she stepped out of the bathroom, her manager, CoCo was waiting just outside, scrolling through her phone. When she glanced up and saw Maryse’s face, her expression shifted immediately.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” her manager said, concern etched into her tone.

Maryse forced a small smile, hoping it would be convincing. “I’m fine. Just… a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Her manager gave her a skeptical look but didn’t push. “Alright. Well, the room’s ready for your interview. You sure you’re good to go?”

Maryse nodded quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

As they walked toward the empty office room, she focused on steadying her breathing and keeping her emotions in check. She didn’t want CoCo—or anyone else—to sense how rattled she was by what she’d overheard.

She watched as CoCo set up her laptop on the desk, glancing at the clock. The interview with The Breakfast Club was about to start. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the camera angle, brushed her hair back, and tried to focus.

The hosts greeted her warmly as the video feed connected. “We’ve got Maryse Monet in the building—or, well, virtually, but you get the idea,” Charlamagne said with a grin.

Maryse smiled, offering her own warm greeting, though the hurt from earlier still simmered under the surface. They started with lighthearted topics—her music, her kids, and balancing work with motherhood.

But then Charlamagne shifted gears. “So, there’s been a lot of chatter online lately about you and Jack Harlow,” he began, his tone slightly more serious. “Specifically, people talking about the fact that y’all have two kids but no ring yet. What’s your take on that?”

Her heart sank. It was almost as if he’d been in the bathroom earlier. For a split second, she considered brushing it off, but she knew she couldn’t let the narrative continue without addressing it.

Sitting up straighter, she kept her voice calm but firm. “You know, I think people are way too invested in things that have absolutely nothing to do with them,” she said evenly. “My business with Jack is just that—our business. We’re both happy, we’re both blessed, and we’re raising two amazing kids together. That’s all that matters.”

DJ Envy nodded in agreement. “That’s a great perspective. Social media really does have a way of making people feel entitled to your personal life.”

“Exactly,” Maryse replied. “We’ve got a beautiful life, and we’re doing things on our own terms. People should focus on their own happiness instead of worrying about ours.”

As the interview progressed, Jess Hilarious leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Alright, so you said it’s your business, and I respect that. But I gotta ask—have you and Jack talked about marriage? You guys have been together for three years now..”

Maryse paused, her heart skipping a beat. Of course, Jess had to be messy—it was her signature style. She took a slow, calming breath, refusing to let the question rattle her.

“Jess, you’re really good at asking the questions no one should be asking,” she said with a playful but pointed smile. “But honestly, we talk about a lot of things. What we decide to do about marriage—or anything else—is between us. We’ve built a beautiful life together, and that’s what’s important.”

DJ Envy chimed in, trying to diffuse the moment. “I mean, two kids and two amazing careers. That’s as solid as it gets.”

“Exactly,” Maryse said, nodding. “We’re building something real, and we don’t feel the need to rush into anything just because people think we should. What matters is that we’re happy, and our kids are loved.”

Jess raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fair enough, fair enough. Just had to ask!”

Maryse laughed softly, her calm demeanor unwavering. “Well, there’s your answer. You and fans can stop speculating now.”

The conversation shifts back to lighter topics, but as the interview ends and she logs off, Maryse takes a moment to exhale deeply. It wasn’t easy keeping her emotions in check, but she feels proud of how she handled it.

CoCo stepped over, shaking her head in frustration.

“I swear, I hate The Breakfast Club sometimes,” she said, crossing her arms. “They’re so invasive, always fishing for drama. But you—you handled it perfectly. Seriously, you answered those questions like a pro.”

Maryse gave a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Learned from the best,” she murmured, standing up and gathering her things.

CoCo’s expression softened as she looked at her. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been a little off today.”

She hesitated, her hand tightening around the strap of her bag. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a forced lightness. “Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

CoCo didn’t seem entirely convinced but decided not to press. “Alright. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Maryse nodded, offering a quick smile before heading out. As she walked to her car, the weight of the day finally started to settle on her shoulders.

***

While Maryse was gone, Jack was at home with the twins when his phone buzzed. Seeing his mom’s name on the screen, he smiled and answered.

“Hey, Ma,” he greeted, balancing London on his hip as Noah sat nearby, playing with a stack of blocks.

“Hey, baby,” she replied warmly. “Just calling to check on you and my grandbabies. How are they?”

“They’re good. London’s all clingy today, and Noah’s tearing through these blocks like a little bulldozer,” he said, chuckling as London babbled in his ear.

“Sounds about right,” she laughed before her tone shifted. “So… when are you going to marry that girl, Jack?”

Jack nearly dropped the phone. “Whoa, Mom, where’d that come from?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she said, her voice light but firm. “I know you two are happy, but you’ve got two babies together now. What are you waiting for? She’s been more than patient, and you know she deserves it.”

He sighed, setting London down gently next to her brother. “It’s not that simple, Mom. I’m trying to make sure everything’s right—our lives, our careers, everything. I want to give her the world when that time comes, not just a ring.”

His mom wasn’t letting up. “Jack, that girl loves you, and she doesn’t care about all the flashy stuff. She just wants you. You’re not waiting for things to be perfect, are you? Because life is never going to be perfect.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, leaning against the counter. “I hear you, Ma. I really do. And trust me, I think about it all the time. I just…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“You’re scared,” his mom said knowingly.

Jack didn’t reply right away, but her words hit home.

“Listen,” she continued. “You’re already living like you’re married. You’ve got your little family, and she’s out here holding you down. Don’t let fear stop you from doing what you know in your heart is right.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “I get it, Ma. I’ll figure it out.”

“Okay son, I’m not telling you what to do. Just want to give you something to think about.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she replied. “Now go kiss those babies and think about what I said.”

“I will, Ma. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

As he hung up, Jack glanced at the twins, who were now playing together. His mom’s words echoed in his mind, stirring emotions he wasn’t quite ready to unpack. But one thing was clear—he needed to start seriously thinking about the next step.

Do I really need to rush into this? he thought, running a hand through his hair. He kind of liked the way things were now—comfortable, happy, and stable. They had a rhythm, even if it wasn’t always perfect. He and Maryse were building something solid, raising two amazing kids, and balancing their careers. Did they really need to add the pressure of a wedding to all of that?

Of course, he wanted to marry her—one day. He gave her a promise ring for Christ’s sake. But was now the right time? Between juggling music, parenting, and their lives being constantly under public scrutiny, he wondered if Maryse even wanted to get married right now. Maybe she was just as happy with how things were.

She’d never pressured him or dropped hints, and they’d never had a serious conversation about it since having Noah and London.

As he sank deeper into his thoughts, he felt a block hit his lower leg. Turning around, he saw both Noah and London giggling mischievously, clearly proud of themselves, and he couldn’t help but smile despite the sting.

“Alright, alright, I get it. No overthinking,” he said, getting down on the floor with them, both of them crawled towards him immediately. Noah reached him first, reaching up to grab his face this time, and he held him close, thinking about how lucky he was to have this life. Maybe his mom was right—life didn’t have to be perfect to take the next step. But for now, he decided to let the idea sit, focusing instead on the moment in front of him.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. By the time Maryse came home, the twins were fed, bathed, and put to bed with a little teamwork. Jack felt a sense of peace settling over the house, but as the quiet evening stretched on, he realized Maryse had disappeared.

Curious, he wandered through their home, checking room by room until he heard the soft, melodic sound of the piano drifting from the music room. He stopped in his tracks, drawn in by the familiar voice singing a song he hadn’t heard before.

I didn't mean to fall in love

Now that I need you, baby

Tell me we'll never be apart

Leaning against the doorframe, Jack watched her. She was seated at the piano, her fingers moving gracefully over the keys as she poured her heart into the lyrics. Her voice was raw, full of emotion, and he felt every word as though she were speaking directly to him.

He didn’t say anything, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Instead, he crossed his arms and stayed quiet, letting the song wash over him. It was rare for him to see her this vulnerable—just her and the music, unfiltered and honest.

Jack’s gaze dropped to her hands on the keys. That’s when he noticed it—the promise ring, back on her finger. She’d worn it as a necklace during her pregnancy when her fingers were too swollen, but now it was back where it belonged. The sight stirred something in him, the faintest twinge of guilt for the thoughts that had been weighing on him all day.

When she finished, her hands lingered on the keys, the final note fading into the room. She looked up and noticed him standing there, his face unreadable.

“Didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said softly, pushing off the doorframe. “What was that?”

Maryse shrugged, her lips curving into a small, almost shy smile. “Just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, stepping closer. “You okay?”

Her eyes flicked to the piano keys for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah. Just had some things on my mind.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

She hesitated, then leaned into him. “Maybe. Later.”

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Take your time. I’m here.”

Jack’s arm stayed draped over her shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns on her sleeve. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I missed you today,” he murmured, his voice low and warm.

Maryse tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I missed you too.”

He nuzzled closer, his lips brushing her ear as he added, “How about we go to bed, my Kentucky bad girl?”

She froze for a second before bursting into laughter, wrinkling her nose in playful disgust. She pushed his shoulder lightly. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

He grinned, amused by her reaction. “What? You don’t like it?”

She shook her head, still giggling. “Absolutely not. I’m a New Yorker at heart, remember? No ‘Kentucky bad girl’ nonsense for me.”

Jack threw his head back with a chuckle, clearly enjoying himself. “Alright, alright. I won’t say it again. But you can’t deny you’ve got a little Kentucky in you now.”

She rolled her eyes, standing up from the piano bench and stretching. “Unfortunately.”

Jack immediately pinched her sides making her giggle pulling her back down for a quick kiss.

“Let’s call it a night.”

She smiled, letting him lead her toward their room.

Hours later Maryse laid awake in bed, the soft sound of Jack’s breathing steady beside her as he slept peacefully. She scrolled through her phone, reading the flood of comments from her interview earlier.

While some were supportive, praising her for standing her ground and protecting her privacy, others weren’t as kind.

“She’s just gonna be his baby mama forever.”

“That promise ring? Just a way to keep her quiet.”

“He doesn’t actually want to marry her—if he did, he would’ve done it by now.”

Her chest tightened as she read comment after comment, the words cutting deeper than she wanted to admit. She turned off her phone and set it on the nightstand, staring up at the ceiling.

The weight of the comments clung to her, making her question things she hadn’t doubted before. Did people really see her like that? Did they think her relationship wasn’t enough just because they weren’t married yet?

She glanced at Jack, his face relaxed in sleep, and thought about how much love he showed her and the kids every day. She knew their relationship was strong, but the doubts stirred by strangers still lingered in her mind.

She sighed softly, shifting onto her side and pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Fuck it,” she thought.

“Why should I care what strangers think?” she whispered to herself, though the question felt hollow.

Maryse picked her phone back up and scrolled her camera roll finding the photos Urban took of them after she got home from the hospital.

Her finger hovered over the “post” button for a moment, and then she whispered, “Yeah, Fuck it.”

LIFEOFMONET

liked by urbanwyatt, chloebailey, druski, latto, torikelly, saweetie, and 856,789 others

LifeOfMonet: my whole entire world

liked by 10,577 comments

user: ahhhhhhh

Latto: BIG MAMA FR 😍

user: they’re so little 🥹

user: who cares where’s the music

user: Maryse were you even in the room they look just like Jack

saweetie: AUNTIES BABIES!!!! 😍

user: finally showing their face lol

user: we gotta get you a ring next girl

dojacat: hot mom era

As soon as the post went up, she immediately felt guilty she knew she should’ve discussed it with Jack first—they’d agreed to keep the kids off social media for the most part—but something in her needed to push back against the negativity.

Sliding her phone onto the nightstand, she settled back into bed, telling herself she’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

The next morning, Jack woke up early, lying in bed with his arm draped across Maryse’s waist as she slept. He reached for his phone, and called Urban who picked up almost immediately.

“Yo, what’s up?” Urban said.

“I was thinking,” Jack began, his voice low so he didn’t wake Maryse. “I wanna take a trip to New York to shoot a video for this freestyle I’ve been working on…”

“You already know I’m in,” Urban replied. “When you thinking of heading out?”

“Soon, maybe next week. I just—”

“Aw, Maryse finally posted that photoshoot I did of her and the twins, huh?” Urban interrupted, chuckling.

Jack furrowed his brow, sitting up straighter. “What’re you talking about?”

“The one we did after the twins were born,” Urban clarified. “You didn’t see? It’s all over my feed. She posted it last night.”

Jack’s jaw tightened slightly as he quickly opened Instagram. Sure enough, Maryse’s post was there, front and center: the photo of her holding the twins.

He stared at the post for a moment, his emotions conflicted. On one hand, the picture was beautiful, he had that exact photo as his screensaver since Urban sent it to him. On the other, they had agreed to be cautious about sharing too much of their kids online.

“Yeah, I see it,” he finally said.

“That shot of her and the twins is adorable,” Urban added.

“Yeah… it is,” Jack admitted, his voice softer.

He hung up a few minutes later and laid there, phone still in hand, staring at the photo. He knew Maryse must’ve been feeling some type of way to go against their usual decision. With a sigh, he leaned over and gently kissed her temple, whispering, “You’re gonna make me work hard to stay mad at you, aren’t you?”

Maryse stirred awake, feeling Jack’s gaze on her. She opened one eye and saw him looking down at her, his face relaxed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“What a beautiful sight to wake up to in the morning,” she joked, her voice groggy as she stretched.

Jack chuckled. “You don’t sound so sure.”

She laughed softly and leaned up to give him a kiss, her hand resting on his chest. ���Good morning to you too.”

He smiled against her lips, pulling her closer for another quick peck before leaning back slightly. “So… how’d the meeting go yesterday? We didn’t get to talk about it.”

Her stomach tightened at the question, but she forced a small smile and nodded. “It was fine. Nothing crazy, just the usual.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine, huh?”

“Yep, totally fine,” she said, her voice a little too cheerful.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, his tone skeptical. He let it hang for a beat before adding casually, “Oh yeah? So why’d you post the twins last night?”

Maryse froze for a moment, her lips parting in surprise before she let out an exaggerated yawn and turned over. “Hmm? I’m sorry, I think I’m still asleep. Can’t hear you.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, so now you’re asleep, huh?”

She didn’t respond, burying her face into the pillow dramatically.

He leaned over and pinched her sides, making her yelp and squirm away. “Answer me!”

“Okay, okay!” she squealed, swatting at his hands. “I just… felt like posting it, that’s all.”

He gave her a look, clearly not buying it. “At two in the morning?”

She sighed, sitting up and running a hand through her messy hair. “I don’t know. I was in my feelings or something. Can we just leave it at that?”

Jack studied her face for a moment, his expression softening. “You sure that’s all it was?”

She nodded, her smile small but genuine. “Yeah, I promise.”

“Alright,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “But next time, just talk to me before you post something like that, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Good, ’cause now the whole world knows how cute our kids are,” he said with a grin, making her laugh softly as the tension eased between them.

“And I know you’re not telling me the whole truth,” he said gently.

Maryse’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he continued, his tone reassuring.

A small smile tugged at her lips despite the knot in her chest. “Okay,” she murmured.

Maryse couldn’t ignore the guilt tugging at her heart. This man loved her so deeply, so unconditionally, and yet here she was, lying to him—keeping something that clearly affected her bottled up.

She thought back to the incident in the bathroom and the interview right after. She knew she should probably tell him, let him in on what had her feeling so unsettled. But every time she thought about it, the words of those women replayed in her head, stoking her insecurities.

What if he thought she was pressuring him to marry her? What if he thought she cared too much about what people said? She didn’t want to seem weak or like the comments had shaken her. And the last thing she wanted was for him to think she didn’t trust his love.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the promise ring on her hand as she wrestled with her thoughts.

She looked up at him and managed a small smile. “I love you.”

He smiled back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Thank God. ‘Cause I love you more than anything.”

She nodded, holding onto his words, even as her inner turmoil continued to churn. She wasn’t ready to tell him yet, but she knew deep down that she couldn’t keep it from him forever.

***

AN: Flashing Lights is officially a trilogy crazyyyyy!! Tell me what you think and thank you for reading 

Tag List

(message me if you'd like to be added or removed)

@harlowsbby @heavyhitterheaux @harlowcomehome @https-harlow @hoodharlow @gazebotori @jackmans-poison @itsyagirljaz @cosypinky2 @theyoganarrative @ann2sno @bugheadfanatic @umicornlove @venice-bxtch @muli-wam @jackharlow502 @aga21 @iknowdatsrightbih @theboujeestofboujee @babygirl-htx @chantelaustingunn @wabi-sabi1090 @dstark-0706 @kkrenae @hufflewhore128 @jackiehollanderr @katiaw2 @firepuma @easternparkway

[hearthouses]

happy wincest wednesday! simple ask. tell your thoughts me about pregnant dean! how does he feel when he finds out? does he keep it? if he does, what makes him? or if he doesn't, what makes him? how does he deal with the whole process? how does sam deal? thank you❤️

Amused by you thinking this is a simple ask for me. I have so many thoughts and feelings about this topic and the various fic ideas to prove it. The answers to these questions vary based on what era we’re dealing with, what is the situation with Sam in that era, are there any pressing issues that need to be dealt with, and so on. SO MANY VARIABLES. 

Answering broadly, I think if they are in a good place emotionally and physically—bunker era mostly, but S11 and S12 especially—it would be hard to think up reasons for not keeping the baby. I think they are both a little unhinged and both would want to have a kid, even if it is an incest baby with possible genetic issues, or even weird magical baby because of their bloodline, and also possibly something their enemies could target. They have a stable home, albeit a weird one, which has created stability in their own lives, and they’re very much in their “we’re married brothers and committed to each other monogamously” era, so the arguments against keeping the baby become fewer and fewer, so it’s very easy for Dean to allow himself to have hope and go through with it. Sam would be very on board and very excited and attentive, but I think he would try and keep his enthusiasm under wraps a bit to cautiously suss out how Dean is feeling. Dean would be caught between a feeling of elation and absolutely terrified of what he is deciding to do, and constantly flip-flop between those emotions throughout the pregnancy. 

But on the opposite end of the spectrum, I think Dean getting pregnant in fraught time periods where their relationship is shaky also has the effect of fixing them. I am especially fond of it happening S4 and it derailing Ruby’s manipulations of Sam because he’s suddenly laser focused on Dean and both of them being hard to manipulate because they’re in their own little bubble (but I do think they end up killing Lilith and starting the apocalypse anyway, but more of a team effort because 1) Lilith is a threat and 2) they don’t know she’s the key to opening the cage). A pregnancy there has the added benefit of fixing some of their emotional issues because dean is constantly afraid that Sam just doesn’t want him around anymore and finds him useless and thinks he is damaged goods, while on the other hand it returns Sam’s focus back to the Dean who is in front of him, not the Dean he failed to save. During this era, I think Dean knows this is nuts and not a smart move at all, but he can’t let go of the smug satisfaction that at least he can do this still. 

Or on the flipside, a S9 pregnancy would be fascinating to deal with because of the messy emotions circulating that season, especially if it happens after Dean takes on the mark. They would both be in the middle of their cold emotional war, but this thing they’ve both secretly been wanting to happen for years—happens. I don’t think it’s an easy bandaid for their relationship and there would be a lot of snide comments and threats of abortion, but I think it would soften Sam faster to Dean than it takes in canon, and he wouldn’t help wanting to take care of him i.e. all the times he’s protective of him and saves him in S9 despite saying if the situations were reversed, he wouldn’t save Dean. I think Dean keeping the baby is interesting because I think it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense due to the situation, but oh, emotionally it makes sense. He wants to hold onto this thing that keeps making Sam pay attention to him and be kinder to him, but also he desperately wants to fix what was broken and while a baby is a terrible solution, it’s the only card he has to play at that moment. 

Dean choosing abortion would be a solo decision for the most part, which would happen during very dire circumstances and often a thing he would keep from Sam because telling Sam makes it very real and makes him reconsider everything. If he found out he was pregnant during S5, he would probably quietly take care of it (if it was post-S5, he would keep it as a “something to remember you by” trope) and never tell Sam what happened. I think miscarriages are more likely because they live a rough life and also they have a disdain for condoms and I doubt Dean is consistent with suppressants and/or birth control. I am also particularly enamoured with the idea of them having to make the hard decision to abort together because of timing not being right and Sam supporting Dean through the process. 

I have many other answers! If Dean got pregnant pre-Stanford and found out after Sam left, he is keeping that kid and pretending it happened from a one night stand, just so he can keep a little piece of Sam around. Sam would find out in S1 when Dean brings along a toddler with him to the pilot, which then becomes a season long push-pull dynamic to get Dean to admit the kid is Sam’s. If he got pregnant in a post-S15 AU, he would be very concerned with the viability of the pregnancy coming to term and very worried he just isn’t capable anymore because of his string of miscarriages and hard living, plus his age. I really love the idea of a fucked up pre-series pregnancy where Dean decides to be obstinate and keep it, and now Sam is a teen dad. But I could be here all day, so I’ll stop here… for now.

[mattszombie]

FAKING IT? || M.STURNIOLO

chapter 6

enemy!matt x fem!reader. YOU ARE TESS!

Tess gritted her teeth, fingers hovering over her phone screen as she debated her response. Every part of her wanted to send back something scathing, something that would wipe that smug grin off Matt’s face—because she knew he was smirking at his phone right now, probably loving every second of this.

Instead, she locked her phone and threw it onto the bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

Jordyn, of course, was watching with far too much amusement. “You know ignoring him is only going to make him try harder, right?”

Tess flopped onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. “Why is my life like this?”

Sophie chuckled sleepily. “Because the universe loves drama. And honestly? So do I.”

Jordyn nodded. “Same.” Then she smirked. “You should wear the hoodie to practice.”

Tess sat up so fast she almost got whiplash. “Are you insane?”

Jordyn shrugged, like she wasn’t trying to start a war. “I mean, at this point, people already think there’s something going on. Might as well commit to the bit.”

Sophie grinned. “Ooooh, yeah. Fake dating era?”

Tess gaped at them. “No. Absolutely not.”

Jordyn just gave her a knowing look. “Alright, alright. But if I see that hoodie on you again, just know I’m gonna start placing bets on when you two finally snap and make out.”

Tess grabbed a pillow and whacked her with it.

Tess arrived at the field earlier than usual, needing time to get her head on straight before dealing with Matt. She was still mentally screaming over that stupid video and the way people were now looking at her like she and Matt were some kind of thing.

She was tying her cleats when a familiar voice drawled behind her.

“Well, well. Look who decided to show up early. Dedicated captain behavior.”

Tess clenched her jaw before glancing up. And there he was—Matt Sturniolo, lacrosse stick over his shoulder, smirking down at her like he was enjoying her misery.

“Go away, Sturniolo.”

“Not possible,” he shot back. “Seeing as we’re co-captains and all.” He took a seat beside her on the bench, stretching his legs out. “So, you gonna thank me for keeping you warm last night, or…?”

Tess turned to glare at him. “I hate you.”

Matt just smirked wider. “You keep saying that, but your actions?” He gestured lazily. “Kinda telling a different story.”

Tess narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to argue—except, at that moment, one of the guys from the boys’ team jogged past and winked at her.

Her stomach dropped.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, realization hitting like a truck. “They all saw the video, didn’t they?”

Matt stretched his arms behind his head, looking way too pleased. “Yup.”

Tess let out a frustrated groan. “I am going to kill Jordyn.”

Matt chuckled. “Hey, don’t be mad at her. She’s just giving the people what they want.”

She whipped her head toward him. “And what exactly do they want?”

Matt tilted his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Probably to see us make out.”

Tess actually choked. “Excuse me?”

Matt just grinned. “I’m just saying, if we did fake date, we could totally milk this for all it’s worth.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m so serious,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Think about it, Tess. We play into it for a little bit—ride the hype, make people lose their minds. Then we ‘break up’ and go back to hating each other. Win-win.”

Tess wanted to shut it down immediately. To tell him he was an idiot and that there was no way in hell she’d fake date him of all people.

But then she glanced toward the field, where their teams were gathering—where people were still giving her looks.

Rumors were already spreading.

The damage was done.

Her fingers curled around her lacrosse stick as she looked back at Matt, who was watching her expectantly. Smugly.

And God help her…

She was actually considering it.

After practice Tess sighed dramatically as she slid into the passenger seat, scrunching her nose as she took in the dimly lit parking lot. “Eugh, why did we have to talk in your hookup spot?”

Matt laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back in the driver’s seat. “This isn’t my hookup spot. But good guess.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Really? Because this screams ‘Sturniolo Makeout Headquarters.’”

He smirked. “Nah, if I was bringing you to my hookup spot, you’d know.”

Tess made a disgusted face. “Jesus Christ, you’re actually insufferable.”

Matt only grinned. “And yet, you’re still here.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “Let’s just get this over with. What’s your big plan, genius?”

Matt turned to face her, his usual cocky expression settling in. “Alright, here’s the deal. We fake date. We make people believe it. We shut down the rumors and own the narrative.”

Tess eyed him suspiciously. “And why, exactly, do you want to do this? You love when people talk about you.”

Matt shrugged. “Yeah, but I love messing with people even more. And watching everyone lose their minds over us? That sounds fun as hell.”

Tess exhaled through her nose. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Matt blinked. “Wait—really?”

“But,” she continued, pointing a finger at him, “we make it a competition.”

His brows lifted in intrigue. “I’m listening.”

“Whoever convinces the most people that we’re actually together wins,” Tess explained, tilting her head. “And the winner gets the MVP title. No backing out.”

Matt’s lips curled into a grin. “Damn, I love the way you think.”

She smirked. “I know.”

He held out his pinky. “Deal?”

Tess narrowed her eyes. “A pinky promise? Seriously?”

“Pinky promises are legally binding,” Matt said, completely serious.

Rolling her eyes, she hooked her pinky around his. “Fine. Deal.”

Matt’s grin widened. “This is gonna be fun.”

She shook her head. “One more thing.”

He raised a brow. “Oh boy.”

“We can’t tell anyone it’s fake,” she said firmly. “Not your brothers. Not Jordyn. Not Sophie. No one.”

Matt tilted his head. “Even Chris?”

“Especially Chris,” Tess said. “He would never let me live this down.”

Matt snorted. “Yeah, okay. Good call.”

She smirked. “I know.”

Matt rolled his eyes but looked way too entertained. “Alright, Coleman. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

Tess leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “Oh, you have no idea what you just signed up for, Sturniolo.”

A/N: chapter 7 probably won’t be put up until way later tonight cause i have lil date.

[phoenixisobsessed]

For 79! I see the (2) which i'm guessing means two characters? (If i'm misunderstanding my apologies)

If its one: Starscream from BWII

Or if its twooo: Starscream and BB from BWII

“BB!!” (Original post: PINNED)

YEEEES

FUCK YEEES I LOVE THESE GUYS SO MUCH OH MY GOD YEEEEEEAHHHH. I’m so happy I finally got to draw them. Starscream is so like…I don’t know what word to use other than sexy, in this show. Like a sophisticated whore. Like his Japanese VA oh my GOD I was on my knees the entire time. I don’t know how the way he sounded so calm even if he was clearly stressed out af was so APPEALING?? I am still obsessed with Beast Wars II Starscream and BB duo they live in my mind rent free (together with Starscream’s party invite for the insectrons ARARGHSADDGa).

Also I might or might not have noticed that there are technically 2 people in the photo and not just 1 person…but we ignore that and move on because I LOVE THEEEEEM.

My Catformers ngl in their flop era rn BUT IDC I FUCKING LOVE THEM SO MUCH AARGH (keep the asks coming guys we’re so close to being done.)

[dragontamerproductions]

JJK x OC Lore (reposted from my Twitter)

(A/N: I had written this early this morning on my Twitter and it flopped (as most of my stuff does) but I figured some people on here might enjoy it...

-Adsila)

Dropping some general JJK x OC lore because I’ve had a really stressful day and I can’t sleep…

Okay so, for this to work, we’re gonna be focusing on the main trifecta presented in the picture: Sukuna Gojo Vivica (my OC)

In total, there are three timelines I usually work with:

The Heian Era

The Canonverse (meaning the series canon)

&

The Modern AU (basically present day w/o the curses)

(Don’t worry, I’ll explain all the arrows and symbols, but I’m sure some of you can pick up on things…)

Okay so let's focus on the Heian Era first...

Vivica and Sukuna are a thing (married or not? Status unknown)

Sukuna and Gojo, or rather his ancestor, are enemies.

Same with Vivica and the Gojo ancestor but he's... kinda wierd about it.

Next is the Canonverse.

Reincarnation time!

Sukuna and Gojo still hate each other.

BUT Viv and Gojo are a thing.

Sukuna’s feelings towards Viv are now twisted (and one sided); she hates him.

Viv has no recollection of her past life (of course…).

Last is the Modern AU

This is where things get funny.

Gojo and Viv are still together. BUT things are kinda weird between Sukuna and Vivica.

She doesn’t hate him but finds him irritating (think Utahime’s relationship with Gojo)

For some reason he makes her very angry…

On Sukuna’s end, he enjoys messing with her.

Doesn’t seem to bother anyone else for some reason…

He hates Gojo… still (dude just stays being a hater…)

Gojo, on the other hand… doesn’t really… care…

He barely acknowledges Sukuna’s existence to be honest…

That’s all I have for now… Now I’m actually tired…

[dearestkong]

reflections // starting the summer term 🌷💌

(feel free to skip … just a lot of rambling about changes of mindset, i’ll sum it up later in my new pinned.)

it’s been more than a month since I’ve started this blog, and I’m really really glad that I did. not because my productivity has spiked or my anxiety has diminished or whatever (though there have been positive effects), but because just attempting to start something like this meant that I was no longer willing to suffer and rot in private. i talked about the “hole of dysfunction and self-hatred” in my old introduction: for so long, that hole was my best-kept secret and my greatest shame. being competent and ambitious was an aspect of my personality, and I couldn’t handle the idea that it wasn’t true.

but then��. dearestkong emerged!! and I started being completely transparent. telling strangers about every day of self-destructiveness. it was a good form of accountability, sure, but it was also a means of telling the truth. this blog has been a way for me to say: i’ve been struggling, and it’s not a fluke or a “flop era” or something entirely disconnected from the high achiever i used to be. the girl fighting off inertia and the girl seemingly doing everything with ease are the same person.

🌷☆彡

my posts have been getting more optimistic recently, and that isn’t a fluke, either. lots of things have happened: i’ve realised how many people support and believe in me, i started taking medication for a problem i’ve had for a while (it’s crazy how the world seems so much brighter now?!!?!), i started writing in my diary again. i’m now 27 days clean from a self-destructive behaviour (this blog isn’t about my relationship with that, but in the early days i used to make a note of relapses and just the fact of acknowledging it felt so freeing to me. it wasn’t something to hide anymore, but a fight i was making progress with.)

this seems like a rapid evolution for such a new blog, right?! but in the next six months, i’m going to be applying to university. i’m about to undergo some of the most rapid evolutions of my life.

🌷☆彡

for so long, i’ve had this vague and unspecified dream: “doing the best” “working my hardest” “impressing my teachers”. now my dream has a name and a face and admissions results attached to it and it’s making me so scared that i want to throw up. when i was in the depths of the hole i couldn’t stop seeing my life as a binary. either i get in, or i don’t. and if i don’t, what the hell is the point of living?

38 days later and i feel a little differently. i am someone who has climbed out the hole of inertia and lived. i have done many things and they’ve all turned out fine— great, actually. i have reason to believe that things will go well.

i still have a pretty nasty relationship with myself, lol. it makes me really happy when people on this blog interact and talk, but they’re all so nice and it makes me feel a little fake. in reality i’m standoffish, awkward, and often mean. i coast by on intellectual abilities while slacking off. i’m a judgemental egoist who is sometimes self-destructive. all of that is true—>

but at the same time, i still have this crazy belief that i deserve the best. it’s literally an overflow of egoism ;;;; there’s nobody i’m more in love with than myself. i think of the girl i’ll be in the future with such affection, and i don’t want her to feel ashamed or resentful of me. she deserves to have her hopes fulfilled!! she deserves the brightest, the best that i can give her.

in conclusion: even if i don’t like the person i am at the present, i have to do it anyway. 1 because there’s no other option and 2 because i love the person i’ll be in the future too much to stop.

🌷☆彡

so from now on, the purpose of this blog is changing slightly. it’s no longer “get out of the hole and survive” like it used to be. we’re past that, we’re already surviving.

now, the aim is to “do my best so my future self can live with no regrets”. that’s not very concise but I’ll work on it.

let’s do this! 加油！

[daffodil-mania]

The Itch, pt. 2

Stanford era!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader. Swearing, sexually suggestive/explicit language, brief mention of serial murder and Ted Bundy. Still no smut but we’re getting closer (mwheheh >:3). Takes place around 2002-ish

Author’s notes: Hey y’all!! I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to post this. I could give you a whole spiel about why it took so long, but all I’m gonna say is bitches be crazy and life be crazier. Enjoy part two of The Itch!!

—

Sam’s looking at you, bangs falling in his eyes, pink lips slightly parted. His cheeks are flushed, and you spot a cute little mole on the side of his nose that you hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting of the house. Meanwhile, the itch is back in full force, and it refuses to be silenced. Your mind presents you with images of that mole peeking up at you from between your thighs, and you feel like you’re gonna explode, so you cast your eyes downward. Your eyes land on where both of your hands rest your dropped, soiled shirts, your fingertips barely touching. You slowly look back up at Sam through your lashes, and notice that his expression looks… hungry. His eyes are dark and unreadable, and you’re busy trying to work out if he feels what you do when he clears his throat and hurriedly picks up the shirts and shoves them at you before scrambling to his feet.

You rise as well, holding your shirts to your chest, feeling more than a little disappointed and very, very awkward. You’re unsure of what to say or do to break the tension when Sam speaks. “Um, if you want I can take you to my place and wash those for you. It’s not far; just five minutes.” He’s looking down at his feet, but the sliver of his face that you can see through his bangs is beet red. Your heart is beating wildly against your ribcage, and your eyes are glued to his frame. Your mind is spinning out of control and your thoughts keep flip-flopping from holy shit maybe he does like me to stop projecting your horniness onto this poor stranger, you psycho. You realize Sam is looking at you now, his face expectant, and everything inside you seems to freeze. Your heart stops beating and your breath hitches. He cocks his head to the side and you finally exhale with a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be really nice, thank you.”

Sam nods gently, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Of course. We can leave whenever you want; parties aren’t really my thing, so I’m ready to go whenever.” You look back at the house. “Honestly, I’m good to go now. I just need to get my jacket from the hall closet before we leave,” you say, looking back at him. He’s nodding slowly, his eyes unfocused but trained in the direction of the house. “It’ll only take a minute, so you can wait out here if you want,” you continue. Sam looks at you and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good. I’ll go ahead and get the car started.” You smile at him, and you can’t be sure, but it looks like he gulps. “Alright then. Go team,” you quip, pointing two finger guns at Sam. Chuckling, he points his own finger guns back at you, and before you start to walk back he takes the shirts from you and says something about holding them so you don’t have to carry them the whole time. Walking back to the house, you can feel the itch like a burning in your chest, a swirling mix of excitement and tense energy. Just be cool, you think to yourself. He’s just a guy. A really hot, really tall, really sweet guy, but a guy nonetheless. Just be cool and everything will be fine.

With a deep breath, you plunge back into the house and muscle your way through the crowd to the hall closet under the staircase in the living room. Thankfully, there’s no one in front of the door, so you manage to squeeze inside and retrieve your jacket. You pull your phone out of one of the pockets and flip it open. You hastily text your friends that you’re leaving as well as a brief description of Sam — just in case. You don’t really see him as the serial murdering type, but you know damn well that you can never be too careful. No one thought Bundy was a killer either, after all.

You wait a couple of minutes for a response from one of your friends, but it never comes. You roll your eyes. Oh well. If you do get murdered, at least the cops have a place to start. You close your phone and shove it in the pocket of your jacket after you pull it on. You’re starting to feel quite cozy in all of your layers, so you push out of the closet and back into the living room. Before you know it, you’re crossing the lawn to Sam’s car. He’s already sitting in the driver’s seat but he steps out when he sees you coming. He opens the passenger door for you like a gentleman and a new generation of butterflies take flight in your stomach, fluttering in rosy bliss. The smile you bestow upon him as thanks is just the right mix of genuine appreciation and alluring shyness. “Thank you,” you purr, your voice laced with a level of confidence you didn’t think you possessed. Sam’s face flushes with color, and if you weren’t sure before, you are now; Sam’s into you. On some level, Sam Winchester is into you. Holy shit.

You’re about to say fuck it and plant a kiss right on his mouth when Sam does something you’re not expecting. He moves in a little bit closer to you, crowding you just enough, and ducks his head down a bit. Your heart is beating in your throat and your brain is short-circuiting when he breathes a hushed “you’re welcome” into your ear.

Holy. Shit.

And then he pulls away, a smirk plastered proudly on his face. His eyes twinkle as he leaves you gaping on your side of the car. He slides into the driver’s seat and you shakily climb into the car, trying desperately to regain your composure. He notches the car into “drive” while you buckle your seatbelt, and you can see his pleased expression in your peripheral vision.

You don’t think you’ve ever been more wet in your entire life.

Silence has just settled over the car when Sam turns his head slightly towards you, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulls away from the curb. “Wanna hear some music? There are some CDs in the glove compartment.” You hum your assent, grateful for something to break the silence, and for something to focus on besides the dampness in your panties. You open the glove compartment and find that there’s a small metallic blue CD binder in the otherwise empty compartment. You reach in and pull it out, setting it on your lap before you unzip it. You see that Sam has quite the motley collection; Red Hot Chili Peppers, Elvis, Deftones, and Celine Dion, to name a few. You take out Californication, the most recent Chili Peppers album, and pop it into the CD player. As the first song on the track list starts to play, you twist in your seat to face Sam.

“You’re not a serial killer, are you? Because it would be kind of a downer if this was just some elaborate ruse to murder me in your basement or something.” Sam snorts at that. “No, I’m not a serial killer. But even if I was, do you think I would freely admit to it?” You shrug. “Maybe. You could be trying to lull me into a false sense of security.” Sam’s bobbing his head thoughtfully, and you continue. “Or you could just be a very honest serial killer.” Sam makes a small humming noise, and the car goes silent for a while, which leaves you cringing at your stunted attempt at a conversation. Sam takes a deep breath, and in a rush he says, “But even if I were a serial killer, I could never kill anyone as pretty as you.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire, and you’re blushing so hard you feel like Pepé Le Pew. You search the recesses of your mind desperately for some sort of witty and equally flirtatious comeback, but the only thing you can come up with is, “Well. Guess I’m safe then.”

You mentally beat the shit out of yourself.

It’s not long after that exchange when Sam pulls up in front of an apartment building. He pulls into an empty space in the crowded lot that sprawls out in front of the building, and gently eases the car into “park”. The two of you unbuckle, but before you can exit the car Sam reaches behind his seat and grapples around for something. You can see a sliver of his stomach from this angle; toned and tanned, with a nice happy trail that leads into the jeans that are slung tantalizingly low on his hips. His boxers peek teasingly over the waistband of his jeans, and your mouth suddenly feels very empty.

You snap your eyes to the front windshield as Sam twists back around, your cheeks burning. He holds a plastic bag out to you, the kind that you’d get at a dollar store, and you can see that he’s used it to store your shirts in it. You take it, and when you meet his gaze you can see that he’s barely concealing a smirk. Your stomach drops and you realize that he knows you were ogling him, so you stutter out your thanks as fast as you can while you frantically exit the vehicle. Sam smoothly follows you, closing his door and locking the car with the fob. You stand awkwardly in the shadows, clutching your little bundle. Sam lopes over to you, taking his sweet time, and you get the sense that he’s fucking with you on purpose. Your itch is back, and it seems that the game is very much on.

You follow Sam to the complex, and he stops outside the main entrance to pull his keys out of his pocket. He opens the glass door and holds it, allowing you to go in first. “Thank you, sir,” you curtsy before walking in, grinning. Sam grins as well, and gives you a little bow. “M’lady.” The grin on your face widens, and you let out a giggle. You’re in a small entryway, and you’re currently facing the glass door that lets you into the lobby. There are two long and narrow glass panes on either side of the door, and through them you can see the interior of the lobby. It’s completely deserted; even the front desk has been abandoned. You see a few love seats facing the elevators, and then a small “exit” sign on a far wall above a door. Next to the exit door is another door that reads “stairs”.

Sam opens the door to the lobby, but this time he goes in first, which you don’t mind. You’re just happy to be here. You still can’t quite wrap your mind around the fact that you’re here, with your coffee shop Adonis, on the way to his apartment. Jesus Roosevelt Christ, you think you could squeal. Even if nothing happens, even if all you get out of this impromptu trip is freshly laundered clothes, you’ll be satisfied.

Well. Your itch won’t, but that’s a problem for your right hand to solve.

You follow Sam through the lobby, taking in the rest of your surroundings. Some wilting plants in big ceramic pots have been pushed into the corners of the lobby, and a few muted watercolors have been hung from the walls in an attempt to add more color to the otherwise drab space. You’re snapped out of your trance-like state of observation by the sound of the elevator button being pressed. Sam moves away from the button, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and you get the impression that he’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Maybe it’s nerves; you aren’t sure. You decide to break the silence.

“D’you go to any of the universities in the area?” You inquire, clearing your throat, even though you’re fairly certain you already know the answer. Sam nods. “Yeah, I’m a first-year undergrad at Stanford. You?” You nod, folding your arms over your chest. “It’s my first year at Stanford, too. But I think I might transfer to Palo Alto next semester.” Sam cocks a brow and smiles lopsidedly. “So you’re studying psychology, then,” he says, and you smile, too, and throw your hands up in mock surrender. “You caught me,” you chuckle. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I’m pre-law,” he says, and he appears almost shy when he says it. He drags a hand through his hair, mussing it a bit, and it falls back in a way that looks effortlessly perfect. Damn him.

“Pre-law; that’s cool. What kind of law are you interested in practicing?”

“Well, the goal is to become a defense attorney. But I’m also really interested in environmental law,” He adds, his passion for his studies evident in his eyes, sparkling hazel star shows that you get the privilege of experiencing firsthand. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. He clearly wants to divulge more about his degree, but he restrains himself. As you step in the elevator, you ask, “Can you tell me more?”

Sam’s sheepish smile turns into a full-scale grin, and he wastes no time on diving in. He tells you about why he chose pre-law, details his coursework, shares some funny stories from classes, and the two of you get so engrossed in your conversation that you actually miss your stop on his floor. It’s only when the elevator is called back down to the lobby and a new person steps in that you realize. Sam turns scarlet and apologizes profusely. You tell him that it’s alright, and you give his forearm a reassuring squeeze that seems to abate some of his nervousness, but not the tent that you pretend not to notice forming in his pants.

After an awkwardly silent elevator ride, the other passenger exits onto the seventh floor, and you continue your ascent. The elevator dings again on the twelfth floor, and Sam steps out first. “It’s the second door on the left; room 1203.” He explains in a murmur. There is an unbroken quietness on the twelfth floor, probably due to the late hour. You check the time on your phone; it’s nearly one in the morning. You stifle a yawn, suddenly very sleepy despite the throbbing you still feel in your core. You blink to try and combat how heavy your eyes suddenly feel, but the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps in the carpeted hallway makes it even harder to concentrate.

Sam slots his key into the lock and opens the door with ease. He holds it open for you, the chivalry routine but not unwelcome at this point. You trudge into his apartment and he flips the switch on, basking everything in a soft yellow light.

Sam’s apartment is a studio. To your right, there’s a small kitchenette and dining table complete with two chairs. Directly in front of you, a bed has been pushed against the far left wall, and it’s been neatly and almost militarily made, with a few blankets and fluffy pillows resting on top of the gray comforter. Across from the bed there’s an extremely comfortable-looking and well-loved sofa that faces a wall-mounted TV and a slightly scuffed-up coffee table. You notice that the walls are devoid of any type of art or posters, unlike the lobby. There are also no plants or rugs to be seen. The decorations and attempts at making the space feel more homey are kept to a minimum, which confirms your earlier suspicions about Sam’s anti-consumerist tendencies.

You hear Sam closing and locking the door behind you, so you move deeper into the apartment to make space for him. Your heart begins to thump. You turn to watch him lock the door, and you notice that he has some kind of decorative macrame hanging from his ceiling eight beside his front door. It’s made of some kind of woven rope-like material, and in the middle of it you recognize a pattern that you’re faintly aware protects against the evil eye. This highly decorative and spiritual display doesn’t seem to match the rest of the decor in Sam's apartment, nor does it seem to match Sam as a person. But, again, you just met the guy, and far be it for you to judge anyone’s practices or beliefs.

Sam turns and notices you looking at his display, and he flushes. You’re starting to notice that whenever you discover something personal about or of personal value to him, Sam becomes embarrassed and almost defensive. You wonder what kind of life he must have had that has made him so secretive and protective.

You gesture vaguely to the macrame. “I really like your display. That’s a protective symbol against the evil eye, right?” Sam nods, glancing at it, his head ducked. “Uh, yeah. It’s found in a lot of Mediterranean and some Central and Western Asian cultures. Actually, there are even mentions of similar symbols or wardings used in Abrahamic religions.” He explains, his words coming out slowly and carefully. He worries a hand over the nape of his neck and jawline, and you nod, processing the information. His eyes snap up to look at you, and he looks not unlike a deer in headlights. You gesture to the macrame again. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know all of that stuff? It’s really impressive.”

Sam swallows thickly. He looks like he’s about to vomit and you’re about to apologize for being such a massive bonehead when he exhales, seemingly pulling himself together for a response. “I was really into folklore and mythology growing up, and I’ve taken a few classes on it here. A-at Stanford, I mean.” He braces himself as if you won’t believe him, but you just nod in a way that you hope seems nonchalant and accepting. Your itch has slowly started making its presence known once more, whining at you, begging for satisfaction. You decide to let your itch win this round. “Smart and cute. Nice.” You blink at him, slowly, allowing a gentle smile to sweetly spread across your face. You hold your breath, hoping that he doesn’t respond adversely to your flirtation. Sam flushes pink again, and his eyes take on that hungry look again.

Time seems to slow to a crawl, and the air is so electric that it makes your hairs stand on end. You can feel your heartbeat in your core and your body seems to be radiating some sort of electromagnetic current that’s pulling Sam towards you. Your heartbeat grows louder and louder with every step he takes until eventually it’s all that you can hear. Sam’s towering over you now, and you swear your heart is beating out of your chest like you’re a goddamn Looney Tunes character. He bends down slowly, and…

… And he takes the plastic bag of shirts from you. He straightens up, a devilish smirk plastered on his face, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I’m gonna run these down to the laundry room. Make yourself at home.”

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

—

Author’s notes: That’s it for part two!! I really wanted to make this part longer, bUT I also really wanted to post something because I know it’s taken me a dick year to get this out. I hope you enjoyed and let me know if you want to read more of this fic!

Tag list: @startterfly

[waywardangel-wilds]

BFF Katniss and Finnick shenanigans - Go

(A lot of ppl voted that I should just post all my drafts, so let’s start!)

You don’t understand how pissed I was when Finnick died, obviously it’s just plain SAD, he was such a great character. The friendship between him and Katniss would have been a delight to read. It would have included Peeta and Johanna and Annie and it would turn them into the ultimate victor friend group and just AHHHH

in this fic I’m writing I’ve detoured just to have a Finnick and Katniss friendship era because I love them so much.

If we’re talking post mockingjay (HES ALIVE!!) Finnick… life is literally just an endless bbq idk why. Just Finnick in flip flops really settling into fatherhood and treating Katniss and Peeta’s house like it’s his house, spending the whole day there when he visits. He treats Katniss like his little sister anytime he sees her.

I think that they’d eventually reach a level of friendship where he just shows up unannounced. I also think he keeps fishing hours, so he’s arriving super early in the morning but still not early enough to catch Peeta on his workdays.

Because Katniss and Finnick were willing to play a joke on Peeta in the middle of the hunger games I think their relationship would be kind of jokester-y (is this even grammatically legible?? 😭). There’s no way they aren’t terrorizing Haymitch together.

I also know that Katniss legitimately loves and values Finnick so she’d appreciate spending time with him. I wonder if they’d ever all go swimming in twelve together, just to soothe Finnick curiosity of how in the world Katniss learned to swim in district twelve. That might be nice! Imagine Finnick pushing Katniss in only to get pushed in by Peeta a moment later. In this scenario Peeta and Annie are hanging out on the shore while Finnick criticizes Katniss’s lake for not being as awesome as the ocean.

[therecordconnection]

Ranting and Raving: "Video!" by Jeff Lynne

There is no such thing as the “Cult Classic” anymore. Today, if a movie fails or a television series flops, it’s just removed and completely forgotten without a second thought. With physical releases no longer having the same cultural weight as before, it makes media preservation even harder. I hear if you complain long enough about this and get caught, Netlfix or Hulu or Pooblo or Tuubah or whatever else comes to your house and hits you with the Neuralyzer from Men in Black so you’ll shut up.

In the eighties, this wasn’t the case. Movies could brick at the box office, but they might get lucky and find their audiences later on through cable or video rentals or just really good word of mouth. Xanadu still exists today and has love because HBO kept showing it during its infancy and LGBTQ audiences eventually latched onto it (though that’s probably more due to the everlasting power of Olivia Newton-John’s gay fanbase). Phantom of the Paradise owes its continued love and existence to Guillermo Del Toro, the Daft Punk robots, and all of Winnipeg, Canada really loving that movie. I’m with them in that boat (Phantom is one of my favorite movies). Electric Dreams, a 1984 science fiction-tinged romantic comedy, exists today purely through video rentals and good word of mouth.

Electric Dreams is a wonderfully weird cult classic in every sense of the word. It has a very lovably goofy eighties rom-com setup and delivery: Miles Harding (Lenny Von Dohlen), a loser tech nerd geologist who gets no bitches, falls in love with his new apartment neighbor Madeline Robistat (Virginia Madsen), a quirky and beautiful cellist. They're an unlikely pair in every conceivable way, but they fall for each other. The only problem is that Miles' fancy new supercomputer (who becomes sentient and later identifies himself as “Edgar”) would like to see Miles destroyed so that he can be with her instead. Edgar then does everything in his power to ruin Miles’ life and his chances to be with Madeline. Eventually, Edgar comes to accept the love between Miles and Madeline and they get their happily-ever-after. 

On paper, the whole thing probably sounded silly to a 1984 audience, which might be why nobody bothered to see it at the time, but Electric Dreams fucking rules. Von Dohlen and Madsen are great and have such an odd yet instantly lovable chemistry with each other that you can’t help but root for them (it helps that they were good friends instantly and remained that way until Van Dohlen passed away in 2022). Steve Barron, one of the great music video directors of the early MTV era (he’s responsible for Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean,” Toto’s “Africa” and “Rosanna,” and many more), brings that same music video storytelling style to this movie’s visuals. If this movie had done better upon release, it would’ve gotten everything Miami Vice’s directing style often gets credited for. The soundtrack is also really great! Giorgio Moroder did the movie’s theme with Human League frontman Phil Oakey as well as a killer score for it (only Moroder could find a way to expertly turn Bach’s “Minuet” into a duel between a cello and a computer. He couldn't get more eighties than that if he tried). There’s also a really neat Heaven 17 cut that sounds like a Crash Bandicoot level theme (“Chase Runner”), Culture Club right at the end of their relevance (“Love is Love” and “The Dream”), and Jeff Lynne from Electric Light Orchestra with arguably the two best songs in the movie. One of them, “Let It Run,” is awesome as hell, but “Video!” is the one we’re gonna talk about.

“Video!” appears at a pretty pivotal point in the movie. It soundtracks the montage of one of Miles and Madeline’s first proper dates, which involves sneaking away from a tour group to run around and play in Alcatraz (I’m serious). They’re also seen together at a carnival. Before this date, Miles tasks Edgar with finding a way to write music for Madeline. He intends to pass off whatever Edgar comes up with as his own work, hoping to impress her and make her fall in love with him. This is one of the main reasons Edgar wants Miles out of the picture. He knows he can make music with Madeline (he did it previously in “The Duel” scene, though Madeline thinks Miles is providing the music, not the computer) and fell in love with her by doing that. He is fully aware that Miles is trying to win her love with a lie. Once Edgar figures out how rhythm works, he figures out how melody is made by reviewing and absorbing the music playing in television commercials. “Video!” then starts playing proper once he’s got the basics down. For a computer with no previous songwriting experience, writing a Jeff Lynne composition is a pretty impressive feat!

Electric Dreams is not the first movie Lynne has contributed music to. There are two others. The first one was 1976’s All This and World War II, which is a movie which pairs all-star covers of Beatles songs and World War II footage. I’ve never seen it and I don’t think I need to. But you can hear Lynne, the most famous Beatles fanboy to ever live, do a fully symphonic version of “With a Little Help From My Friends” and “Nowhere Man.” It’s pretty cool. The other one was Xanadu, which is much more well known. Lynne provided five songs: “I’m Alive,” “The Fall,” “Don’t Walk Away,” “All Over the World,” and the title track with Olivia Newton-John. I think they’re all great. Xanadu totally works on its own as a great ELO EP if you want to forget there’s a movie attached.

This is all to say that Lynne was no stranger to giving songs to strange movies, even if he harbored regrets later on about doing that. He regretted Xanadu for a while, but made peace with it decades later (he re-recorded “Xanadu” in 2000 for the ELO compilation Flashback and he’s revived “All Over the World” for every ELO tour since 2017). I don’t know how he feels about Electric Dreams and at this point, he’s done so much in his career that I doubt he even remembers it. I think he should! I think “Video!” is a great song and I think he was a perfect fit for Electric Dreams. The entire soundtrack is dated as hell, but in a fun time-capsule kind of way. It represents the sound of what people in 1984 thought the future was going to sound like. Lynne had already spent time imagining the sounds of the future.

At the dawn of the eighties, Jeff Lynne had gotten tired of dealing with the big orchestras you hear on that great ELO run from 1976-1980. Orchestras started becoming a pain in the ass for him around the time when synthesizers and keyboards were getting some big technological boosts. New wave artists like Gary Numan, Kraftwerk, and the Human League were pushing synths and keyboard sounds into the mainstream and proving that the new technology could be used to make some wildly futuristic sounds. Lynne quickly learned that with a few fancy keyboards, you could start simulating strings and classical sounds, but in a new and exciting way. Suddenly, Lynne and ELO keyboardist Richard Tandy could keep the symphonic pop sounds the band had been making, but update the sound and take it into the future. Suddenly, the “Orchestra” part of the ELO name suddenly found itself obsolete and out of a job.

Dick Clark asked him about this choice on an American Bandstand appearance in 1986. Lynne responded, “Well, you know, I got fed up with using a big orchestra because they used to always be in a union and stuff like that and they used to put their equipment away while we were still recording. So I thought what we'll do is we'll use just ourselves and then we can work as long as we'd like and nobody would complain.”

So Lynne took advantage of all this new technology that was floating around and used it to craft the 1981 masterpiece, Time. That album is the best example of retrofuturism in music I can give. In Time, Lynne imagines a loose concept album about a guy who gets yoinked out of 1981 and flung into the year 2095. The entire album is full of songs where Lynne imagines a future that he would never live to see (I won’t either, unless I somehow make it to a full century of life). Hover cars, rides to the moon, robotic girlfriends (built by IBM) who can also serve as telephones, prison satellites, ivory towers, plastic flowers, and meteor showers as a common weather condition are all present in Lynne’s visions of the distant future. Most of his predictions feel like they’re coming out of science fiction magazines from when he was a child, but the album is more concerned with just letting his imagination run wild and wonder about how one would feel if they were flung far into the future where everyone they’ve ever loved is gone. The future presented in Time feels like daydreaming rather than any kind of cautionary tale or warning. I’ve never gotten the sense that Lynne thinks any of what’s in the album will actually come true. 

If Lynne got anything right, he somehow nailed the still-lingering nostalgic yearning to return to the eighties. Lynne’s narrator constantly laments that he’s stuck in 2095 and 1981 is name dropped in “Ticket to the Moon” and “The Way Life’s Meant to Be.” “Ticket to the Moon” even begins with what is now a variation of the only kind of Youtube comment you’ll find on any old song from the decade: “Remember the good old 1980s / When things were so uncomplicated / I wish I could go back there again / And everything could be the same.” He might as well have called himself “Nostradamus” when writing that one, because that line is going to keep feeling accurate to people until every child of the eighties and every vintage style eighties cosplayer on instagram is dead and in the ground. Lynne using the current year the album was made in had a real danger of seriously dating it, but Time has never sounded dated to me. It doesn’t sound like anything else from 1981 and it still doesn’t. Lynne blended all the old sounds and genres he loved and infused them with the new sounds of the day on that one and imagined a future that still sounds just as magical then as it does now. It took pop music a few years to catch up with what Lynne was doing on that one. Time is still a retro futuristic dream and he carried all the tech and sound effects that he was using on that album with him when he made “Video!” for Electric Dreams. ELO’s future was up in the air by 1984 (Lynne would dissolve the original band for good two years later) so he tackled “Video!” as a solo artist (literally, as no other ELO members are on this) and released it under his own name.  

I don’t know if Lynne’s predictions for 2095 will come true. The verdict is still out on that. But what I do know is that everything Lynne is describing in “Video!” is a reality that I’ve lived to see, though perhaps differently from anything Lynne could’ve imagined in 1984. We’ll get there.

In the context of Electric Dreams, “Video!”’s lyrics are all about the many things Edgar the computer can find out about the world in pre-internet cyberspace. He can watch it all, from rock n’ roll to old time movie scenes, and learn. He has no other choice: he can’t move from Miles’ desk and see it himself. Nothing in Lynne’s lyrics are dated except for one thing. He mentions that satellites “send their love from up above / Down to [his] VTR.” VTRs, which I believe is meant to be a reference to “Video Tape Recorder,” is an obsolete machine in 2024. It’s long been replaced by digital video, such as DVDs, Blu-Rays, and 4K. That’s the only specific reference he makes besides working in both the movie’s title and  the title of the Phil Oakey/Giorgio Moroder collab. “They beam across the sky / Together in Electric Dreams.” I imagine Lynne was probably told he had to work in the title somewhere. To his credit, it’s a pretty smooth title drop. Clumsier movie songs have done it much worse. 

Lynne sneaks in a few lyrics in the song that become ominous and foreshadowing if you’ve seen the movie more than once. The first two verses end ominously with the lines “The world is at my fingers / Under control” and “I’ll just stay here on my end / I’ll have it all.” Those lines foreshadow Edgar eventually using his supercomputer intellect to control other computer systems and mess with Miles’ life, from cutting off access to his credit cards and funds, to manipulating phone lines so Madeline can’t call Miles later in the movie for comfort when her cello has been broken in an accident (it gets caught in an elevator door and gets crushed). His whole motivation in the movie is that he “wants it all,” especially Madeline. Lynne later captures that ominousness with the absolute beast of a song “Let It Run,” but “Video!” is reserved for Lynne soundtracking the moment where Edgar stays inside and excitedly discovers the world at large and how to write pop music, while Miles simultaneously goes out and discovers the world at large with his lovely lady. 

Musically, “Video!” strikes a balance and finds a perfect blend of the mechanical and the human elements of music making. Lynne seemed to understand that more than some of the art-school new wavers that were ruling the US and the UK in the early eighties. The entire song is mechanical, but that makes sense given the in-universe explanation that a literal computer is making it. The rhythm is provided by a drum machine and everything else is synthesized and sequenced to hell and back. Even the fun sound effects throughout the song and during the middle instrumental bit are canned and not original to the song. There’s something that kinda sounds like a twangy guitar at the end of the verses and on the chorus, but that could just as easily be a keyboard making that sound. Lynne has made records where he’s played all instruments organically, but keyboards, sequencers, and machines not only suit the assignment, they’re necessary for the assignment.

The human elements are Jeff Lynne’s vocals and his always sharp sense of melody. Lynne’s never been the most mind blowing singer, but his vocals and melodies capture a magic and a warmth here that few of the survivors from his generation still making music in 1984 were capable of. He sings the song with that same sense of wonder that he has on Time. I love the melody of the verses and that chorus is so upbeat and happy and infectious. I love the way he slides into the chorus by holding out the word “on” before saying “video.” Oooooooon! It’s pop music at its most delightfully fun.

I’ve been surrounded by video my entire life, but Lynne makes it feel like it’s a brand new concept to me when I hear this song. I said that everything Lynne is describing in “Video!” is a reality that I’ve lived to see. That reality is Youtube. “The world is at my fingers” because I can more-or-less search for whatever I want (whether I actually find it is another story). The entire second verse can be used to describe someone discovering Youtube for the first time:

I see that rock and roll And all those old-time movies scenes They beam across the sky Together in electric dreams I'll just sit here on my end I'll have it all

Youtube, for all its numerous (numerous) flaws, allows me to be my own MTV VJ and watch scenes from my favorite movies with only a few mouse clicks. I can sit at my computer and watch videos in comfort (and while eating my dinner). Like Edgar, I have it all. Lynne sings that verse with completely sincere jubilance. The song is entirely mechanized, but the feelings presented in the song are not and they help provide a warmth and joy to the whole song that makes it sound like a dream. Lynne makes the concept of watching video sound like it’s the most exciting technical marvel you’ll ever see. He sells it like he’s Grover Cleveland lighting up the 1893 World Fair. It’s fantastic. Lynne isn’t even just fascinated by video, he’s fascinated by the entire process that helps bring it to life. That first verse takes the song from the hugeness of outer space and leads it to the small and insular space of a computer in an apartment without ever losing a step.

The satellites that search the night They twinkle like a star They send their love from up above Down to my VTR

Lynne sounds absolutely amazed by the technological wonders of 1984. He sings it with a child-like fascination that’s so lovably dorky. He sounds like Miles Harding does in the movie when he gets to talk to Madeline about architecture and his dream project during dinner. I was only ten years old when Youtube first arrived in December of 2005, so I essentially grew up with the rise of the internet and internet video creation. I imagine it must have been mind blowing to older people who were there to witness that boom. Maybe some of them were as excited as Lynne sounds on this song.

Nowadays, we take a lot of the modern technology around us for granted, but for Lynne in 1984, this was all exciting and new. That might be where the excitement and exuberance in the song stems from. Betamax and VHS had only existed for about a decade when Electric Dreams first came out, so people were only just getting started in terms of building up home video libraries and having video readily available to them. Camcorders were only starting to become a common commodity when Electric Dreams arrived, so I imagine people were going nuts and losing their minds that they could make home movies and shoot video of their own. Nowadays, technology has reached the point where the little bricks in our pockets (which are Edgar-level supercomputers of their own) can do almost anything, even film video anytime, anywhere. Now more than ever, the world really is at our fingers due to the way technology and social media keeps us interconnected.

“Video!” sees a continuation of Jeff Lynne’s interests in technology and the future that he was exploring on the Time album. Once again, his music is featured in a movie that’s weird, strange, and ridiculous, but also incredibly fun. “Video!” and Electric Dreams as a whole, is a beautiful little time capsule. It arrived during a time when the wonders of the future and technology was full of optimism and we were once again evaluating our relationship to tech as the world was continuing to undergo constant change. After Electric Dreams, Lynne would examine his own relationship with technology with the 1986 song “Calling America,” one of the last ELO singles before he went off to enjoy a second life as an in-demand producer for a while. He doesn’t sound as excited when he sings “Yeah, we’re living in a modern world” on that one. He doesn’t sound as excited about satellites on that one either, though that might have more to do with him being fully sick of ELO by that point and having to wrap up one last album before he can move on to other things.

Electric Dreams, both the movie and the soundtrack, aren’t as well remembered as Xanadu and I think that’s a shame. Electric Dreams is such a strange, beautiful, and moving love story. It’s the thinking man’s version of Spike Jonze’s Her (it’s also better than Her). The movie only played in theaters for a few short weeks before resigning to its fate as a strange movie you take a chance on when you’re wandering around the video store on a Friday night and you and your partner are looking for something interesting to watch. In hindsight, maybe a movie like Electric Dreams was just too strange to ever capture mainstream attention. 

But don’t feel bad for it! It’s lived and has found its share of people who love it, despite its initial failure. I’m one of them. Lenny Von Dohlen and Virginia Madsen are also in that boat. They loved working on it and had nothing but positive things to say about it. Madsen still considers it one of the best things she’s ever made and I agree with her. Cult classics like Electric Dreams find their audience. Sometimes it just takes a while.

I can tell you that Tumblr absolutely fucking LOVES this movie. If you do a search for “#electric dreams” you will find SO. MUCH. FANART for this movie in that tag. It’s not even funny. Tumblrinas L O V E making art of Edgar the computer. They love making art of him so much, you’d think he’s the protagonist of the movie, not Miles and Madeline. You’d also think Miles, Madeline, and Edgar are in a polycule with each other (hot take: polyamory would not have saved them). The fanart in that tag isn’t even that old either. People love this movie and they love him. (A shocking number of fanart posts depict Edgar hanging out with GLaDOs from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey, and AM from the Harlan Ellison short story I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream. I have come to the conclusion that Tumblr really loves antagonistic machines).

Electric Dreams celebrates its fortieth anniversary this year (it came out on July 20th, 1984, so this post missed its birthday by eleven days). An unloved film in its time, but a lovably strange and beautifully sincere science fiction romance that remains a beloved cult classic to those who know about it. If you want to see the film for yourself, it’s on Youtube for free. I highly recommend it.

Jeff Lynne is also celebrating this year. At the time of this writing, he’s preparing to take his modern day version of Electric Light Orchestra on the road one more time before retiring for good (he’s calling it the Over and Out Tour, which I think is just a fantastic name). He’s definitely not going to play “Video!” but he’ll be playing every ELO banger in existence, of which there are many. If you’ve never seen the maestro present his music live, I highly recommend you catch him before it’s too late. I plan on going to one of the Philadelphia nights. It’s gonna be a lot of fun. 

“Video!” and Electric Dreams are snapshots of a simpler time that dared to get a little silly and dream about a possible future. Some of its ideas about where technology was headed and our relationship to that technology were hauntingly accurate, some of it is hilariously outdated. Lynne’s visions of video and where video technology ended up being incredibly accurate in all the best ways. Video madness came upon us like a trance in the dark and because of that madness and the internet that houses all that madness, a movie that went completely unnoticed forty years ago can still exist and float out there today, waiting to be found. It wants to share with you what the world looked like during an interesting crossroads in time and it wants to show you what people thought the future might look like. Electric Dreams wants you to know that the future is strange, but it’s also bright and love can be found in the strangest of places if you know where to look. Don’t worry. It’s all under control and it’s all on video.

Electric Dreams sends its love to you. Send some of yours back to it.

[bi-disaster-kit-herondale]

The Mortal Instruments as Speak Now TV pt. 1/2

this is gonna flop since nobody really talks about tmi anymore, but I love them so much <3

Enchanted: Alec & Magnus (them. the entire song.)

“this is me praying that this was the very first page, not where the storyline ends. my thoughts will echo your name until I see you again. these are the words I held back as I was leaving too soon. I was enchanted to meet you.”

Mine: Jace & Clary

“you said, “I remember how we felt sitting by the water. and every time I look at you it’s like the first time. I fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter. she is the best thing that’s every been mine. hold on, make it last.”

Ours: Simon & Izzy

“the jury’s out, but my choice is you. so don’t you worry your pretty, little mind. people throw rocks at things that shine. and life makes love look hard. the stakes are high, the water’s rough, but this love is ours.”

Back To December: Magnus & Alec (breakup)

“I watched you laughing from the passenger side and realized I loved you in the fall. and then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind. you gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye.”

Dear John: Jocelyn & Valentine

“well, maybe it’s me and my blind optimism to blame. or maybe it’s you and your sick need to give love then take it away. and you’ll add my name to your long list of traitors who don’t understand. and I’ll look back and regret how I ignored when they said ‘run as fast as you can’.”

The Story Of Us: Clary & Jace (sibling era 🤪)

“I’d tell you I miss you, but I don’t know how. I never heard silence quite this loud. now I’m standing alone in a crowded room and we’re not speaking. and I’m dying to know is it killing you like it’s killing me? I don’t know what to say since a twist of fate, when it all broke down.”

I Can See You: Izzy & Simon

“what would you do if we never made a sound? cause I can see you waiting down the hall from me. and I could see you up against the wall with me. and what would you do baby, if you only knew.”

Haunted: Maia & Jordan (tbh every verse is like a POV change and a different part of their story)

“something’s made your eyes go cold. come on, come on, don’t leave me like this. I thought I had you figured out. something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all I wanted.”

When Emma Falls In Love: Izzy

“when emma falls apart it’s when she’s alone, she takes on the pain and bears it on her own. cause when emma falls in love she’s in it for keeps, she won’t walk away unless she knows she absolutely has to leave. and she’s the kind of book that you can’t put down.”

Innocent: Clary (this song is so james & matthew coded but i’ll give it to the other fairchild cuz she’s also been through a lot)

“wasn’t it beautiful runnin’ wild ‘til you fell asleep. before the monsters caught up to you? it’s alright, just wait and see. your string of lights is still bright to me. oh, who you are is not where you’ve been. you’re still an innocent.”

Long Live: Alec & Magnus

“I was screaming long live all the magic we made, and bring on all the pretenders, I’m not afraid. long live all the mountains we moved, I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you. and I was screaming long live that look on your face.”

part two!

[melancholytimes]

We won at Everton and I was stressed but happy. Also we're somehow second in the league.

After the events of the fa cup i was stressed going in to this. Also Daphne got concussed during that game so we knew Manu was playing and while I’m confident in her skills i worry about her confidence after losing her spot and all the shit people talk about her. It was streamed on YouTube and the stream was so glitchy the whole game but for the first goal it went blank just in time for it so we didn’t see it until half time but it was a cross put in by Kim that Alessia fairly acrobatically tapped in. Second goal came when Everton caught them on a counter and the forward was able to muscle past Steph and clatter the ball in past Manu too. Felt terrible for her cos that was difficult the defence let her down there. No one really shut down Payne and everton scored off it. I almost astralprojected. Then in the 60th min Renee made FOUR subs. Literally a minute later Emily sends in a low cross to Caitlin who’d just come on and she forced Mjelde to an own goal. Honestly we really struggle without Caitlin in attack. Near the end Emily gets hurt and has to come off and Lina comes on. I’m glad to see she’s back fit hopefully she can stay that way until the end of the season. What i didn’t expect was Lina went in FOR Emily, she literally played right back. I just had to laugh. Last week Amanda as striker this week Lina as defence. The Swedes can do anything clearly. They’re both probably trying to show how useful they are to the swewnt to get in that euros squad. Then right on the 90 Beth sets up a run for Alessia to close off the game with a third goal.

I wish i could watch these games in peace however nope I’m worried even about Everton because our record against them hasn’t been strong recently. I really like stina as a player. I really think she’s a great attacker and she impacts games and i honestly don’t even blame her for all the offsides because her teammates need to send the ball in sooner but I'm gonna need stina to take a "weekend" on her free time and rep shooting the ball in the net. It’s getting a little unserious how much she just misses open shots. Like she would have had a hat trick if she didn’t shoot directly at the keeper or if she hit the target. It hurts me to talk about lia and Kim. They’re both in a bit of a flop era. people are acting like their horses that need to be taken out back and shot which I don’t think is the case but I don’t think they should be starting right now. I do think kyra should be starting. Beth is such a complex issue. Do I think there are wingers who are better and I’d rather have, sure. There are qualities that she brings onto the team and I feel like some people hate her for off field reasons but strictly for the pitch I don’t think she deserves the hate she gets. I hope now that Chloe has no more issues she can push on and be helpful. I think Katie needs to rest. I would like to see Jenna as well I think she can bring something good to the team. I hope Rosa is alright. I know people are comparing her to Gio but I think it’s more like krya where she’s literally 21 and has to bide her time and work her way into the squad. I am a Frida defender she’s getting so much shit recently but she was saving Arsenal and the beginning of the season.

I love this silky girls and I’m glad for the win and still gagged we’re second in the table. Hope they can maintain that

[tapenessa]

mini rant that may or may not get me killed but fuck it we ball

people need to calm the fuck down about sotm. and the mimic. and the steelwool era in general.

criticism against media is totally valid and fair. i’m not saying you’re a “fake fnaf fan” for saying you don’t like the mimic or the new trailer or anything like that. but it gets to a point where like…. you might as well just move on? fnaf is not going back to the way it used to be gang. like i’m sorry but fnaf has been entirely different since help wanted dropped. the hate steelwool gets is kinda ridiculous and MORE ON STEELWOOL—- SCOTT IS STILL WORKING ON THESE GAMES. the same guy who created and wrote the og fnaf games you guys love so much IS MAKING THESE GAMES! one of the major reasons why security breach flopped was because of scott making poor communication choices WITH THE STEELWOOL TEAM. so stop opening tumblr and going “grrrrr stupid steelwool ruining MY fnaf 🤬” scott is doing all that chat!!!! scott agreed to the mimic!!!

and people shitting themselves over sotm saying it’s just a “knockoff mascot horror game” when i sit you guys down and tell you fnaf was the og mascot horror. i hate to break it to you but fnaf is a mascot horror game franchise.

and people acting like the writing was peek in the og fnaf games is just ??? we still have arguments TO THIS DAY about who died first or when sister location took place, and we’re acting like the writing in the og fnaf games was good?? was henry’s speech fire (no pun intended)? yes, but that doesn’t make everything else awesome. fnaf has never been known for its good writing, and i’d argue that games like ruin have better writing because, i dunno, WE ACTUALLY HAVE A PROTAGONIST??? AN ACTUAL CHARACTER??? THAT WE GET TO KNOW???

atp if you hate the mimic so much and all that good shit just don’t play sotm bro. no one’s forcing you. scott cawthon is not holding you at gunpoint to make mimic glaze posts. if you hate this era so much, just ignore it and move on. stop getting angry that people are excited. let people enjoy shit. get a life. if you hate a piece of media so much, just stick to the stuff you like. you’ll honestly make yourself a lot happier.

[batsplat]

feel free to completely ignore this ask but i’ve been reading through your tennis posts and. god!! thank you!! so many great takes. i love this sport and will probably die watching it but the atp is really so dire at the moment and the wta is… well, it’s a lot better (mainly bc it actually has a competitive top ten with fun personalities), but i still think the rivalries could be more compelling

but if we’re talking about narrative atrocities then the atp is clearly mostly at fault. i find it crazy how so many people on tennisblr love sincaraz? just. nothing there to grab onto. way worse than fedal. i don’t really enjoy their match up stylistically (peaked with uso 2022 but these days it feels like all there is to say is “wow these guys really can hit the ball hard”. the most compelling angle i can find on them plotwise is that brief period of time around the china swing where it seemed like sinner was finally leaning into the bromance with alcaraz but only as a pr tactic to distract from the doping thing. bc at least that’s kinda messy

and i also like meddy but that’s been. um. a bit excruciating lately. truthfully my real fav is dan evans so this is possibly my own fault for not picking someone who looked even vaguely like a slam contender to back

i do have to say i find alcaraz’s flopping kinda compelling though. there’s clearly a mental struggle/adhd lack of focus there that a lot of people attribute to him being 21 but idk if he’ll ever iron out. i think there’s a realistic world in which he keeps peaking for a couple of tournaments a year but otherwise falls off & is dramatically overtaken by sinner/maybe fonseca/some other people & is kind of a precursor to their era… on the other hand maybe he’ll pull it together and i’ll just sit here with dan evans

oh please, my average ask response time is about 4-6 months but for tennis hater asks that dives down to under 24 hours. (pretend like I actually answered this in 24 hours. I would have if it hadn't been NYE.) I too obviously do not get why sinner/alcaraz are so popular, I mean I didn't get why federer/nadal are so popular so this is just a continuation of a theme for me. it's all been downhill since sampras/agassi, I keep saying. I don't even WANT to be annoying about this, I try not to be that picky, it's just that I thought we were getting a chaos era post big 3 for at least like,, a couple years. this is my issue right, I'm not even saying sinner/alcaraz and federer/nadal are ontologically evil (maybe), I'm just saying that if you win THAT much, you'd better have some insane narrative juice to keep it interesting. and quite frankly, the number of athletes in the history of sports who could make me enjoy that level of domination is probably in like,, the low double digits at best. but these guys aren't even trying!! for shame

as for popularity, idk, I guess people will just like any blokes who are good at sport. I don't really know what goes on in tennis tumblr, I never sought out that community (though I think some of my posts kinda accidentally breached containment, which is!! fine!! you guys are welcome! but also don't take any of my mouthing off seriously pretty please) BUT my general sense is that it's a lot of love for two tennis rivalries that I personally find... well. eh! well. now look, I do have to admit that I prefer my sports rivalries with a bit more antagonism and bitterness and resentment, I love a good feud. but it's not a non-negotiable requirement! I think the most important thing for me is having... well, stakes. I kind of need to feel like some of these losses are making a part of the loser's soul die with it. like they want and need it so badly and it'll also hurt if they lose. the most infamous encounters aren't just great because they're great in sporting terms, but they're great because they meant something to the athletes involved. you don't get a do-over, it's not just one of many encounters, it's something a bit sadder and uglier and broken... that's where the narrative juice comes from, the stakes. if you don't care then why should I, right

and this is broadly my issue with sinner/alcaraz. like,, if they lose, they'll be fine, right. obviously they really want to win, but it's also recoverable. they don't get sick at the thought of losing to each other. it's not a low point for them, it's not something they struggle to put behind them, it's not something that eats away at them. idk, sue me, I want the angst! I also think the rivalry peaked at uso 2022 - and it's not just because the tennis was so excellent, it's because it genuinely felt like sinner might have lost an opportunity and wouldn't be able to make up for it and it looked like it hurt. (I mean, I knew he'd make up for it because I have always had faith sinner would eventually be a multiple slam winner, but y'know for the non-enlightened people.) that was actually the most compelling stretch of the rivalry for me! where sinner was still kinda frail (bodily weakness as a substitute for a personality but we move) and was an okay player who only peaked when he played alcaraz. so there it was kind of... alcaraz really invested in a rivalry with this guy who isn't quite good enough to keep up until he's playing alcaraz. fine, it's not 'symbols of unity in a divided nation until one accused the other of cheating and the other said they'd never been friends at all' levels of narrative juice, but you can work with that. whatever. except obviously even that has been ruined because sinner doesn't even have the graciousness to still suck. I'm sick of these people!! sick to my stomach

and yeah I mean the drug thing is what counts as narrative tension these days... I did enjoy how sinner/alcaraz stonks briefly plummeted with alcaraz's extremely lukewarm response to sinner's little clostebol situation. similar to my schadenfreude when federer didn't show up to nadal's retirement, it's the little things in life. I honestly sort of stopped paying attention to men's tennis after uso so I didn't really know about the *gestures* asian swing sinner/alcaraz situation, though I suppose that would be theoretically interesting. it's not even that I think cold-blooded guys like sinner are inherently boring, it's just him specifically that's boring because he never DOES anything. henin was cold-blooded!! she would do anything to win, including some pretty blatant cheating! we used to be a proper sport! and while I broadly agree that I think the wta isn't like,,, at its PEAK potential - beyond the protagonists just being way more interesting as people than the atp lot, I do also think there's a couple very key differences between something like the sinner/alcaraz rivalry and, say, the swiatek/sabalenka rivalry

first off, I've stress tested this and know for a fact that iga does become less palpable for me if she isn't fallible - we tried this out in 2022, I got bored of her, I didn't hate her like I would an atp player but it did feel pretty tedious to me. NOW I am extremely hooked and cannot WAIT to see what year she'll have. I'm rooting for her!! I know I've said this before but igatha and sublanko really do benefit from how much they're visibly fighting demons. angst is good, struggle is good, they both look desperate to beat each other. I don't support broadcasters showing backstage video of them after their defeats as a matter of principle, but we've had one us open where we've seen aryna demolish a racquet after a defeat followed by another us open where we've seen iga cry and... it's humanising. I care because they're fallible and quite frankly a lot of the time they seem like they're barely holding it together. introverted vs extroverted, both intense but in completely different ways, massive contrast in everything about them including how they express their emotions - but they both frequently look like they might die if they don't win the next point. if I were on either of their teams, I would be working very hard on their ability to regulate their emotions (and tbf sublanko has gotten better at this). objectively, you do want to be a sinner-type on the court. but I am not being employed by any professional tennis player (open to requests though) and As A Fan, on-court disasters is what I want

secondly. I saw this going around a few days ago --

-- and my immediate response was 'aww'. which, idk, I obviously wouldn't have that reaction with sinner/alcaraz, or indeed any current men's rivalry. I did some self-examination to check whether this was just the misandry talking, but I think the crucial difference to me is that... well, they did dislike each other for a while! it wasn't a FEUD but it was definite tension. and now they've played a bunch and now they're getting warmer towards each other, and it feels more meaningful since there's actually an arc. and they're two interesting characters with an interesting relationship and I want to see where it'll go. it's not noughties wta but crucially the tennis is fun AND and and I don't go into every single tournament thinking one of two players will win it. now, if that were the case on the wta tour, then I probably would need iga and aryna to step up their narrative juice game. but as it currently stands, we're good

and on the alcaraz point.... I mean, maybe. ideologically, I am a big believer that people pay too much attention to slams. but idk, men's tennis kinda kills me on this because I've watched djokovic faff about at various tour-level events for years before locking in the second it gets to slams. if we're being honest in men's tennis it kinda is all about the slams because that's the tier that has been so completely and violently gatekept for so long. so I know that alcaraz fans do have to deal with some ups and downs but also like... I can't lie! at this point I would quite literally sacrifice at least a toe, possibly even two, for someone I like to have a bad year where they win two slams! my sympathy is limited! and then if anything it's even MORE annoying for me because I don't LIKE following the sport week in week out if I don't feel like I'm being emotionally rewarded for that commitment because none of that shit matters anyway. I think ideally you have a bunch of storylines on tour level that culminate in the slams. but in men's tennis, it feels like there's always only one show in town. you can fool yourself for a while that there isn't, but reality always inevitably comes calling

to actually engage with the substance of the alcaraz point and take my own emotion out of this, I do think it's true that alcaraz is 'underperforming' to some extent and a lot of it's psychological. my nuclear hot take about the jcf relationship is that I'm happy for everyone who thinks the dynamic has lovely vibes, but it's a lot of credit being given to someone who came in when the most important work had already essentially been done and still hasn't exactly fixed alcaraz's shot selection. alcaraz's floor is still too low, when he plays badly he plays really bad - and maybe it is partly a concentration thing, but I really don't think it's an unfixable problem. if it were completely a concentration/motivation thing, an ability to peak for big finals that falls away elsewhere, then maybe yes, but it's way more concrete and basic things where I feel like he rarely gets the balance quite right. a lot of the times it doesn't matter because he's so obscenely talented he really doesn't have to be playing the percentages, and I do agree on principle with the idea you don't want to overly regulate him to avoid taking his love for the game. but... you do need some patterns, you do need to make your plan a and plan b not so violently different, you need to come up with some ways of modulating your levels of offence that aren't 100% attacking absolutely everything or just using your athleticism to chase after balls. there's room in between! galaxies of space in between! and look, I'm old-fashioned, I also don't like how much ferrero coaches alcaraz because I don't think that's how tennis should work. but I'm not one of those people who thinks alcaraz is some hack fraud who would be 'exposed' without ferrero - I do however think it's a crutch and one that alcaraz should probably rethink for his own sake. because fundamentally, coaching can only do so much in the moment. talent and instinct are great, and maybe alcaraz just doesn't need more than that to make his choices for him. but if I were working on that team, I would be taking a long hard look at his decision making within points, and I wouldn't wait until he's in the middle of the point to do it

(but also I think he'll be fine because he's just that good lol, like if he's physically okay I really struggle to see all these other players overtaking him. maybe this is big three brain talking but idk just feels deeply unlikely)

as for the actual alcaraz/sinner match-up, I do think it's Fine but also we have to be honest with ourselves here and say that they've played one great match and played a lot of great... moments. that miami (?) 2023 point everyone remembers, it's great, but also the match it was in wasn't exactly a classic - and that's been one of the better ones. the roland garros match last year was actively terrible and nobody will convince me otherwise. it is vaguely interesting in that it's two very offence-inclined players who express that inclination in very different ways, and alcaraz is constantly dancing on the line of attempting to overhit against sinner. but also... idk, linear bashing isn't exactly my favourite style anyway in men's tennis and it's... you're not really allowed to say this as a tennis fan, but I don't really emotionally connect with alcaraz's tennis. my brain knows how brilliant it is, my heart doesn't feel it. I've tried, I really have. idk... maybe it's because he's just too talented, something in me almost feels like it devalues it, like it's making the impossible mundane. I just need more tension, even though he's been a loose cannon this past year I never really believe he's going to lose until he's lost. I get why his tennis makes everyone go crazy, but idk. I think I need to feel the possibility of failure to enjoy success. I can appreciate alcaraz's shots, I do very often, there's a backhand slice on the run passing shot he hit on some clay court a couple years ago I still regularly think about. but alas, my heart remains cold. what can you do

anyway. that's my first tennis hater post of the new year. people seem to keep coming back for more. extremely unenthused about men's ao (djokovic playing monfils later on in the year of our lord 2k25, they need to take this sport out back and shoot it), extremely hype for the girlies. I'm actually FINE with not being a MASSIVE fan of any of the top players, passionately rooting for scrubs and just enjoying the drama at the top as a mostly neutral bystander - which is ideally what you'd get from a dan evans stan-type gig, but unfortunately that doesn't really work if you actively despise most of the top players. I have no real opinions on fonseca as yet, I'm not really a huge wunderkind person in general unless they're so juiced up on the narrative they're on the verge of overdosing, but also where I'm at with sinner it might end up being some type of enemy of my enemy arrangement. or maybe I'll find him even more annoying!! lord knows I was rooting for sinner in that uso 2022 match. I had this moment in like 2017 where federer was making his comeback and I realised I'd had enough - and then eventually I got lured back in with the promise of the nextgen. the less said about how that's going the better. this situation isn't getting better I reckon... the time has come once again. it is what it is