#whew its been a minute

[butchniqabi]

working with kids is awesome and great but the amount of emotional labor involved...sheesh

[unproduciblesmackdown]

truly 2 trans 2 furious is also extremely like [billionsposting as people never meant to be here yet having the symposium while not necessarily having a good time but we can also analyze &/or simply play around with it in other ways with an easy ability to deconstruct things enough for that & perhaps have a good time, perhaps have something way more complicated than that but which could also be called having a good time] like including in its having the "there's a nonbinary f&f character" entry in there at all through kompensoing & monitoring billions since & drawing funny little guys about it (winston, e.g., and taylor) and then also that like, Any & Every Entry in 2 trans 2 furious is of that genre of crucial tour de force visionary symposium understander posts that get 2 notes. and then compiling that is like yes of course this wins an award, a surprise but also not really at all.

[verytendou]

Looks up wikihow for what to do when you realize your office has 5x the amount of budget of every other executive office combined

[sortarapunzel]

absolutely incorrigible behavior in this house tonight <- watching the voltron german dub and enjoying it

[phagodyke]

telling my roommate abt my friend whose best friends slash roommates ended up dating each other n another person & asked her to move out so they could live w their third partner instead of her and my roommate going wow I would never do that to [our 2 old roommates]. haha and me right. u would also never do that to me...... ur current roommate. and friend I hope. 🥹

[loveyhoneydovey]

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon riley

notes & warnings: the used pictures are only for aesthetic purposes, reader is not physically described in this. AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS DNI this is an 18+ only blog. a significant age gap between simon & reader is implied but the actual number is never mentioned. if i missed anything please lmk:)

this is a completely unedited little something i wrote at 4am

reader who never fell out of love mechanic ex-boyfriend simon

you still recommend your ex-boyfriend’s garage to your friends (especially any vulnerable women) because despite your failed relationship, you’ve never met someone as trustworthy and reliable as simon 

you and mechanic simon who met when you’d found a used car you wanted to purchase and wanted to have it independently inspected 

reader who found this older, ruggedly handsome, stoic and yet professional mechanic who seemed to know his shit. despite the terrifying skull design resting next to his shop’s name, you trusted him immediately

not only did he inspect the car for you, but he also helped bring down its price and performed any necessary repairs at a huge discount (he never told you about this, you eventually figured it out on your own)

despite the obvious crush, he was very reluctant to pursue anything with you. not only were you his client and trusted him not to make things weird, but you were also so much younger and he felt like an old dog who was beyond learning any new tricks

you should’ve taken his warning from the beginning as he had predicted the downfall of your relationship before it’d even began

reader whose car has been acting weird for the past couple of months so you begrudgingly take it to simon’s shop

you’d actually tried taking it to some new garage in town, but had a feeling you were being lied to and overcharged when the sleazy mechanic barely spent an hour on it and said it was back like new

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who doesn’t even need 5 minutes to tell you it’s on its last leg. despite his stoic demeanor, he’s actually concerned by how you’ve been driving such a vehicle in such an unsafe state

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who starts asking till he finds a car within your budget. one he inspects himself to make sure his baby not anymore doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere because of faulty brakes

the fucker was ready to buy it himself, but knew you’d never accept his money (especially not after the harsh parting words you’d left each other with during your last fight)

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who’ll never love anyone more than you, but still isn’t willing to repair the broken bond between you two

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who still uses o’keeffe’s working hands cream every day cause you used to always rub it on his hands, swearing his calloused skin would soon feel like a baby’s butt (and of course you were right). he tries to mimic the way you’d gently work it into his damaged skin as the only thing he had left from you now were memories

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who never really tries to move on from you despite his apprentice’s attempts to set him up with multiple people (what’s the point of you for something he’s already found) 

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who went through the army and came out even more damaged after a stint in prison. he believes nothing good will come out of such a sweet thing so full of life being chained to a grumpy old man like him

mechanic ex-boyfriend simon who despite thinking all of that can’t accept the thought of you being with someone other than him

WHEW the is the first time i've written in YEARS (and i probably won't write anything for another good 5 years fjkdsw). hope you enjoyed this as much as i did!! this au idea has been rotting my brain for the past few days and i just had to let it out. feel free to dm me, leave a comment or send an ask about this au. dividers made by @anitalenia ✨

[avatar-anna]

Champagne Problems, Part Two

IT"S FINISHED! whew, that only took forever. part of the reason this took so long to write is that i was obsessing over if it would be as good as part 1, so hopefully y'all like it (but please be nice if you don't). final word count is about 22-23k words...so buckle in, grab a snack, and enjoy!

Part One

*.*

Japan

Harry walked alone through the busy streets of Tokyo, his chin tucked close to his chest and his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his long overcoat. There was a cadence to his steps as he kept time with the song that played on a loop in his head. It wasn't one that anyone here but him would know. Well, him and one other person, but she was a world away.

Rounding the corner, Harry turned into the cafe he'd been frequenting since he'd arrived. He nodded to the shopkeeper before heading over to the counter, pulling an old, weathered vinyl from his bag.

"This is the one I was talking to you about," he said by way of greeting. "It truly is a phenomenal record."

Harry handed over the record, hesitating a little before letting go of it. He'd been listening to it nonstop since he'd left Los Angeles, and parting with it was more difficult than he originally thought it would be. When he first came to the cafe, he'd looked for it within the crammed shelves huddled in the corner. The shopkeeper had never even heard of it, and Harry could only imagine what Y/n would say if she knew. She'd been the one to introduce him to it, the memory of that conversation in her apartment seared into his brain.

"Wings?" Harry had asked, not quite suspiciously, but the glare Y/n sent over his shoulder made it seem like he'd already written it off. Her glare is so cute, he remembered thinking, admiring the adorable furrow of her brow as she rooted through a collection of vinyls that was bigger than anything Harry had ever seen.

"It'll change your life," she'd promised, before sliding the record out of its sleeve and putting it on the turntable. Her record player was littered with stickers, some too faded or covered by others to see them properly.

She'd grinned as the opening chords to the first track played, settling next to Harry as she picked up her wine glass, her lips puckering around it to take a sip. She hadn't noticed him staring until about a minute later, when her eyes met his. Her brows had furrowed once more, but this time it was more confused. She'd nudged Harry's leg with her foot, which was covered in a purple patterned fuzzy sock.

"It's your turn, isn't it?" she'd asked, eyes darting to the Scrabble board on the coffee table.

Harry remembered taking the wine glass from Y/n's hands and setting it on the table next to the board. He remembered taking her face in his hands and kissing her. He remembered her squeak of surprise but that she didn't pull away.

Their very first kiss.

The memory of her delicate hands sliding into his hair, of her crawling into his lap, the little noise she made as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip—it was all-consuming as Harry sat down at his usual table at the cafe a million miles from Y/n and Los Angeles.

"It'll changed your life," she'd promised him. Little did he know, she already had.

*.*

A week after Harry left, you received a text from your ex, a total surprise seeing as you hadn't spoken to him since you'd broken up.

Gavin: I heard about what happened with you and my sister. Can we meet somewhere and talk?

That message sat in your inbox without a response for hours as you tried to work up the courage to say yes. You knew you needed to, you knew you would feel better after the fact, that both of you deserved closure after the colossal end to your relationship, but every time your thumb hovered over the keyboard, you chickened out.

Until finally, you wrote, Okay.

Seeing Gavin again was a trip. He looked the same, yet so different at the same time. He had facial hair for one thing, and his hair was a couple inches longer than it had been when you were together. Deep down, you assumed a public shaming on his part, you feared he would just berate you for all the ways you'd hurt him and that he hated you for breaking his heart and humiliating him.

But that had never been who Gavin was. Your ex was kind and honorable, he tipped generously on dinner dates and warmed up socks for you in the dryer because he knew how cold you got after a long day at work. He was the definition of a sweetheart, and assuming the worst about him was just the fear and insecurity talking.

"I'm—I'm so sorry, Gavin," you said, trying to hold all the excess of emotion brimming to the surface as you walked beside him. You'd agreed on a walk through the park as opposed to sitting down somewhere, both of you perhaps too nervous to sit still.

Gavin merely nodded, which was more than you could've asked for given the circumstances. "Thank you. So much time has passed, but...it feels nice to hear."

It was a while before either of you said anything. Los Angeles wasn't a frozen tundra by any means, but it was quite brisk by the ocean, and you crossed your arms across your chest to retain a bit of heat.

Then, Gavin said, "I...I just need to know why. Did I do something? I thought things were good between us. I mean I wanted to—"

Maybe it was the cold, but his cheeks were rosy as his voice tapered off. "You didn't do anything wrong, Gav," you said, wanting to take his hand but refraining. It didn't feel like something you could do anymore. Even if two years had come and gone, you couldn't make yourself cross that line. It didn't feel right.

You didn't know how to sugarcoat your words, but you hoped time would soften the blow. "I just...I realized that you were in love with me and I—I just wasn't. I wanted to be, I wanted to be in love with you, but—And then I panicked. I overheard your mom and sister talking about you wanting to propose, and I just couldn't lead you on. I couldn't let you do that knowing you deserved better than what I could give you.

"But it killed me, Gavin," you said, tearing up just thinking about it. "Hurting you is the worst thing I've ever done, and I've—I've hated myself for putting you through that, and I couldn't face you after, which was unfair of me."

"I just wanted an explanation," Gavin said quietly, his head bent so you couldn't see his face. "All I ever wanted was to understand. I think that hurt more than you breaking up with me, that you couldn't offer me that decency."

You nodded with a sniffle, keeping your eye on the slate blue of the ocean and the clouds covering your favorite shade of sky blue. "It was selfish of me to ignore you, I know that. I just...couldn't. I was scared that you would convince me to come back when that wasn't really what I wanted, and with your family and friends constantly messaging me, I just thought staying away was for the best."

"Y/n, what—what messages? What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Perhaps you shouldn't have been surprised, Gavin's family would never do or say anything to him that would make them look bad in his eyes. But so much time had passed that you thought it would've slipped. He'd heard about the coffee house incident, after all.

With shaking hands, you reached for your phone in the back pocket of your jeans. After scrolling through your messages, you passed it to Gavin, letting him look for himself. He was quiet as he looked over the messages from his sister. There were others, but Larissa's were the most vicious. A more mentally sound person would've deleted them ages ago, but you liked to punish yourself when you were feeling particularly low.

"I don't hold any of this against you," you said. "I know you're not your family, but I just...I don't know."

"I wish I'd known about all this before," Gavin mumbled with a shake of his head. "I'm sorry for them."

"Thank you."

You didn't know what to say after that, you weren't even sure you wanted to dwell on the past anymore. It had gone by so quickly in your eyes, but two years suddenly felt like ten. You felt older, more jaded as you walked next to the man you were almost engaged to.

"Are you happy?" you asked suddenly, stopping at a bench and sitting down.

Gavin sat down next to you. He handed your phone back before sighing. "I am. I wasn't for a while, but I am. You?"

You nodded. "Learning to be. I think I was...in a rough place before I started seeing you, and now I think I'm finally on the other side of it."

Gavin's grin was familiar. It felt good to see it, but it didn't give you the butterflies that it used to. Maybe just a little relief. You smiled back, nudging him with your shoulder. "You seeing anyone?"

The blush on Gavin's cheeks told you everything you needed to know, and knowing he moved on settled something in you. "Yeah. We've been together about a year now."

Sometimes you daydreamed about who Gavin would be with when he eventually moved on. Someone perky, but not in an obnoxious way. Maybe she liked to paint and drew pictures of his profile while they had picnics together, because picnics were the kind of dates they would go on. They would hold hands in the popcorn bowl at the movies and wear matching sweaters on Christmas. The girl who would truly steal Gavin's heart would be just as sweet and generous as he was and would make his lunches for work and wipe his mouth at dinner with a smile and love him with her entire being because he deserved it.

"That's wonderful, Gav," you said earnestly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed, hoping he knew you were telling the truth. The only thing you hoped was that he kept her far, far away from his family.

"Are you? Seeing anyone?"

A simple question, and yet you didn't know how to offer a simple answer. Eventually, you shook your head. "Uh...no."

"Brothers scaring the line of willing suitors?" he joked, knowing full well how your brothers could be.

Laughing, you shook your head. "No, nothing like that, I just—It's complicated, I guess."

You couldn't quite believe that you were having this conversation today, especially with Gavin. But talking to him had always come easy, it was one of the things you liked best about being with him.

"If you can believe it," you added, a little humor in your voice. "I was the one who was ready to take things further."

For a moment, you worried you'd taken things too far, but his brows just raised amusingly. "No shit. Really?"

"He wasn't ready. Just my luck. I finally get my shit together and he takes off to another continent."

You didn't resent Harry for leaving. He'd done what was best for him, but that didn't mean the timing didn't suck. You finally felt comfortable and confident enough to be open with someone, and they fled the country.

Okay, so Harry didn't flee the country, but you felt the blow to your ego no matter how rational you were about the situation.

"He'll come around," Gavin promised, which took you by surprise. "You're probably not aware, but you're very easy to fall in love with, Y/n."

Your cheeks flushed, feeling Gavin's words right down to your toes. It didn't feel romantic in any sort of way, but there was some reassurance. Gavin knew you well, and he had been a good friend.

And yet, the only thing you could think as you continued to catch up with your ex was, Then why is it so hard for me to fall in love?

*.*

Harry hadn't realized it, but he'd started to keep a list in his head, a mental tally of all the little things he learned about Y/n and that made her who she was.

The list had started with small trivial things like her coffee order and that she seemed to be particularly fond of wearing bandanas in her hair or that she always carried the same canvas tote on her shoulder, one that read, "You're Doing Great," in squiggly blue writing. From there, the list grew, and he suddenly began to collect bits of information from Y/n like valuable trading cards—what it was like growing up with three older brothers, how long she stayed in Nashville before moving out to Los Angeles, and what the perfect record was for when she was feeling sad. Harry wanted to know everything, every little piece she was willing to give him until he understood even the smallest gesture.

"Why don't you perform your songs?"

It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind for weeks now. Harry had heard Y/n sing on multiple occasions as they wrote together, and he couldn't help but think that she was the whole package. She could sing, had the kind of voice that was soft and low, a little raspy but easy to harmonize with. She wrote incredible songs that held so much depth and emotion and she could play multiple instruments. Harry could see her selling out stadiums and connecting to people through music that she wrote and performed. Yet she didn't.

"I never really had the desire to," Y/n said with a shrug. They were in his backyard, sitting around a bonfire with a bottle of wine between them. It was her turn to pick, and Chris Stapelton was crooning through her phone's speaker.

"Is it like a stage fright thing?"

"No, not at all," Y/n said. "I just don't think that life was made for me, you know? I don't know if I could handle being famous."

Harry supposed he understood what she meant. He loved his life, but it wasn't always a walk in the park. But it did make him wonder if she would ever be with someone like him, someone who did lead a life that she thought she couldn't handle. For the first time since he'd met her, Harry decided he didn't want to know.

"What about...singing backup or joining your favorite musician on tour once he releases the greatest album since...So?"

"I didn't peg you for a Peter Gabriel fan," she murmured, immediately recognizing the title, and Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the fact that she knew exactly what album he was referring to. "But, I guess so. If it was for a friend."

Harry tucked that little nugget of information away. Tour was worlds away at the moment, but it was always good to think ahead, especially when he knew he needed a keyboardist replacement.

Looking up, he admired Y/n in the glow of the bonfire, his heart beating rapidly even though she wasn't even doing anything. Ever since their first kiss a week ago, he just wanted more. His brain could hardly keep up with his heart and how badly it longed for her. And she didn't even realize the effect she had on him. She drove him crazy.

And that scared him. Harry had only recently broken up with his ex, and he didn't think it was possible to feel so strongly for someone after coming out of a pretty serious relationship with someone else. He knew he should untangle the strings, that if he let things get too far, they'd get messy, and he and Y/n would both end up hurt.

But that voice in his head that told him to be careful became a low buzz as Y/n stood up and shuffled over to him before placing herself in his lap. Her fingers came up to play with the hair that curled at the nape of Harry's neck, and he couldn't help but close his eyes at the feeling, at her closeness, at the smell of her perfume that lingered on her clothes.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," she whispered, almost like she was talking to herself and not to Harry. "And I don't have any expectations, but I'm okay with it if you are."

Yet. Y/n didn't have any expectations yet. He knew the familiar thudding of his heart, the excited flutter in his stomach as he leaned into her touch. Of course there would be expectations, but Harry found himself nodding anyway, unable to deny either of them the pleasure of her lips sliding lightly against his. Y/n had never initiated anything between them before, and her tentative kiss told Harry she was unsure of herself. At first glance, she came off as unsure when it came to most things, but Harry learned that she held within herself a quiet confidence that he admired.

Harry stood up with her in his arms as he led them back inside. He didn't know where this would lead, tonight or any night to follow. He didn't know if Y/n was ready to sleep with him, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was either. But he wanted her close and to feel those gentle hands a little firmer in his hair. That was all he knew, and he let himself not think about anything else.

The tangles of his feelings were positively knotted, and despite his long list of things he knew about Y/n, he still didn't know where her heart truly lay. But if she was willing to walk through the fire blind, then so was he.

*.*

Two weeks into Harry being gone, and you were starting to wonder when you'd become so pathetic.

In the time since Harry left for Japan, you hadn't written a single song, not even a lyric. It was ludicrous. You'd written by yourself your entire career, but after a couple months spent with a writing partner, you were rendered insipirationless.

Not to mention semi-friendless.

It wasn't that Harry's friends didn't want to hang out, you just weren't sure you could. Outside of Sylvia, you didn't hang out with Harry's team without him, and it just felt weird to start doing so now. You didn't shy away from them when you saw them in the hallways of the building you all worked in, but you never knew what to say past a casual greeting.

Funnily enough, though, you'd said everything you needed to say to Gavin. Meeting up with him eased a heaviness in your chest you'd been carrying around with you for the last two years. You both were able to get the closure that you'd been denying yourselves, and it felt good to get everything out in the open, to receive Gavin's forgiveness after punishing yourself for such a long time.

Seeing Gavin and talking to him left you feeling lighter, but it also left you a little hollow to. With no rain cloud hanging over your head anymore, you didn't know what to do with yourself. The concept of happiness was something you'd never thought you would get, and now that it was within reach you were hesitant.

"Maybe we need a sabbatical, pookie," you said to your dog, kissing his nose. "What do you think?"

Buddy Holly didn't have a response for you, he just tilted his head at the sound of your voice. Sighing, you scratched his head and pressed play on the movie you'd previously been watching before your dog unceremoniously climbed into your lap.

Now that Harry was gone on his journey of self-discovery, you'd gone back to spending your nights alone. In theory, it should've been easy. Before Harry, being alone was second nature, but your first night alone you were at a loss. You kept wanting to reach for your phone and call him, send him a text about the record you were listening to or the ridiculous thing Buddy had done that day. You didn't realize of much Harry had engrained himself into your life, and now he was half a world away.

Reaching out wasn't an option, either, no matter how much you wanted to. He didn't tell you much for his reasons for leaving, a "writing retreat," he claimed, but you knew it was more than that. There was shit he needed to figure out, shit regarding his past relationship, so you felt the ball was in his court.

The next day, you were on the elevator going up to work, arguing with your brother on the phone.

"Nothing's wrong, Hayden," you insisted, rubbing a tired hand over your face.

"No, there definitely is. Evan, Andrew, and I all agree," Hayden said. "Something's definitely wrong with you. And when something's wrong with you, it's usually one of three things. Menstruation, a guy, or one of us, and seeing as we haven't done anything, and your period doesn't—"

"Oh my God, Hayden!" you groaned as the elevator doors opened. "I'm not...menstruating. Jesus! The fuck is wrong with you?"

Hayden kept jabbering in your ear, but you weren't listening anymore because the elevator doors had opened to reveal someone on the other side. Mitch, Harry's friend was standing there, eyes wide as he looked at you, clearly having heard your side of the conversation with your brother.

God, could this day get any worse? you thought. Shutting your eyes, you wondered if you stood there long enough with your eyes closed, the elevator doors would close and take you straight to hell or you would maybe just disappear on the spot. Either would be appreciated.

"Hayden, I have to call you back."

"You're still coming to my game this weekend right?" he asked.

"Wearing the other team's jersey," you muttered, hanging up as your brother began to protest.

Since the elevator doors stayed open and you didn't spontaneously combust, you opened your eyes. "Hey."

Mitch nodded. "Hey, Y/n."

The air was so incredibly awkward, and you wondered why you weren't sprinting toward your studio and locking yourself in permanently. But neither of you moved, and now you felt the need to explain yourself. "I...I wish I had an explanation other than my brothers still seem to ruin my life from hundreds of miles away, but I don't."

You finally stepped out of the elevator and moved around Mitch, who stepped inside. He still had that tense smile on his face, and you wondered if the two of you would ever be able to make eye contact again. Not that you ever did all that much before this God-awful incident. Just another reason to avoid Harry's friends.

"Right. H mentioned you had brothers," he said. "See you around, Y/n."

For my own sanity, I hope not, you prayed to whoever was listening.

*.*

"Do you ever think about what you would be doing if you weren't doing...this?" Y/n asked, gesturing vaguely around her.

Harry looked down to where she was spread out on the floor, her head rested in his lap while he leaned against his sofa. He wasn't quite sure how they ended up on the floor, but he didn't dare move, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her hair. It was shiny, and smelled faintly of apples. He wondered if it was as soft as he imagined.

Blinking, he stumbled around in his brain for an answer, clearing his head of thoughts of silky hair passing through his fingers. "Honestly? No, not really."

"You don't?"

Harry shrugged even though Y/n's eyes were closed. She did that often if there was music playing, as if she was trying to absorb every note into her body while maintaining a conversation. Right now they were listening to one of Harry's current favorites: a Joni Mitchell album he'd grown up listening to with his mum. He remembered when he used to scramble for answers in interviews when he was asked about his favorite artist or album, trying to come up with an answer that the media would want to hear without appearing fake. He'd list classic rock bands like Fleetwood Mac and wear old band t-shirts from the seventies. He didn't not like those artists, he loved them. But when Y/n asked about his favorite record in his collection, he didn't hesitate to reach for Joni Mitchell, knowing she wouldn't judge him for his answer.

"No. I was so young when I auditioned for the X-Factor," Harry explained. "I don't even think I knew what I wanted to study in school then, so it's hard to know what I would be doing now if it weren't for all...this."

And I wouldn't have met you, he thought but kept that to himself. Neither of them was ready for those kinds of words if he was being honest. Y/n was skittish about feelings at the best of times, and he didn't know where his feelings for her started, and getting over his ex ended. It gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he didn't.

Y/n sat up, and Harry resisted the urge to pull her back to him. As they hung out more and more, he had this overwhelming desire to be near her as much as possible. A hollowness would form in his chest if he didn't seek her out at the studio, leaving him blushing like an idiot every time he left his friends behind as he walked down the familiar hallway to her door. None of them ever said anything outright, but he could practically hear their teasing thoughts, but he couldn't help it. Y/n had drawn him in from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

"Maybe you'd be a florist," she said with a small grin.

"A florist?"

"Yeah." Y/n's grin grew, and Harry swore his heart grew with it. When he initially started spending time with her, or bugging her, more like, she hardly smiled. He thought it was such a shame. Not only because Y/n had a beautiful smile, but because she felt like she couldn't. Harry never wanted her to feel like she couldn't be happy, least of all around him. "You could have this big truck and deliver flowers to baby showers and weddings and other big occasions."

"Oh yeah? And where are you in this scenario?" he asked, somewhat nervous to hear the answer.

A blush crept up Y/n's cheeks as she looked at him. "In the passenger seat."

*.*

The third week Harry was gone, a stranger popped into your studio. A sense of deja vu had run through you as you looked up to find someone occupying the space in your doorframe, only Harry never knocked to make his presence known. You'd always just been aware of him when he entered the room.

"Can I help you?" you asked. You were working on a song that you actually quite liked. A new angle, a different approach to songs that you wanted to see through, and interruptions weren't going to help.

"Mitch said to come find you," he said. He looked a little nervous at having disrupted your work, so you eased up on your stare. "He said you could help us?"

Us? you thought. You supposed that it wasn't too far fetched that Harry's team would make themselves busy while he was off on sabbatical, or whatever it was he'd been doing in Japan. You hadn't heard from him much, and you tried not to let that hurt your feelings too much.

Brows furrowed, you said, "I'm sorry, I don't know how I would help—"

"He said you've written for country artists before?" the guy said. "We're sort of stuck and he said to come find you, so..."

Sighing, you stood up, but not before jotting a couple notes down in your journal. Perhaps it was kismet that the song you'd been playing around with today had been country in your mind. The prospect of writing with anyone other than Harry felt odd, uncomfortable. But Harry wasn't here, and you didn't know when he would be back and you couldn't just hide in your studio because he'd left.

You didn't know what to expect as you followed the man, Daniel, he'd finally introduced, led you to a studio a couple rooms away from yours. You'd met Harry's writing and production team a number of times, but Harry wasn't a country artist, so Mitch was clearly helping out with a different project, which meant introducing yourself to a whole new group.

Mitch was waiting with one other person, a young woman who was about your age or younger. She had blond curly hair and light blue eyes, a smile on her face at something Mitch said. When you entered the room, you couldn't help but think back to last week when you'd completely embarrassed yourself in front of Mitch. You hadn't seen him since, and even though it was probably unlikely, you'd hoped you'd never have to again.

Introductions were made quickly before a chair was pulled out for you. The young woman's name was Cam, and she was working on putting out her first ever single. "And album eventually, but we're starting out small," she said with a bashful grin. "I'm such a huge fan of your work, and when Mitch said you were just down the hall, I told him he had to introduce me. I swear I love every song you've ever written."

Nodding, you gripped the soft leather binding of your journal, wondering what Mitch was angling at here. From the short amount of time you'd spent with him, he seemed rather quiet. A chill person who mostly kept to himself. You weren't sure why you were being dragged into one of his projects.

"Yeah. That's where I started my career," you said. "I'm sorry—Did you want my help with a song?"

"The whole album too, hopefully," Cam said, and you could see it in her eyes how bad she wanted this. She was ambitious, but not in a way that made you want to run back to your room and have nothing to do with this project. You eyed her scuffed boots and the worn friendship bracelets on her wrists and the hope that lined her body as she waited for you to say something.

"I usually work alone," you said. "But, I—I did happen to be writing something a little country today if you wanted to take a look."

You handed your journal over to the young woman, trying to decide if you wanted to be part of this little team. On the one hand, you thought Harry would be the only person you'd feel comfortable writing with, but...if he had a team, why couldn't you? Perhaps Harry had opened you up to the possibility of branching out and trying things you'd closed yourself off to in the past.

At the very least, you decided, you would hear her out, see how you gelled with this small group. If not for any other reason than as a small favor to an acquaintance. You didn't know Mitch all that well, but you considered him someone you knew.

And to be honest, maybe you were getting tired of staying holed up in a studio by yourself all the time.

So now you were meeting with Cam, Mitch, and Daniel regularly. That first day, you stayed at the studio late at night workshopping ideas and getting a feel for the sound and vision Cam was going for. And it was easy. Bouncing ideas off each other, picking up the guitar and playing a potential riff and letting Mitch carry it somewhere else, working out harmonies and melodies with Cam. You'd left the studio later than you ever had that night, but energy coursed through your veins as you left the building.

You'd never been a part of something at the start with the means to see it through. You usually wrote songs and sold them to whoever wanted them, and with Harry, you'd joined in songwriting when he and his team were well underway, but this...this was new, and you didn't hate it. In fact, you were looking forward to meeting the next day, and the next, and the next...

Weeks flew by as you worked on this album, and you suddenly lived off takeout boxes and snacks as you spent many a late night as you worked on song after song, eager to see this project come to life. There wasn't necessarily a deadline, but you were all just eager to keep working on what you all knew was something special. And today Mitch was going to teach you how to play the drums while Cam met with her record label for an hour. It felt like there was finally light at the end of a very long, dark tunnel, one that you'd been winding through the last two years. It felt good to feel this light again, even your brothers got off your back a little, though you knew that wouldn't last very long.

"I'm on my way right now, and I'm bringing Buddy because he's being extra clingy today," you said into the phone. "He's also my reason for going home at a reasonable hour—"

Time stopped as you opened the door to your apartment. Your heart was in your throat, partly because you were startled to find someone on the other side, and then because your eyes finally registered who was on the other side.

"Y/n?"

Blinking, you quickly told Cam you had to go before hanging up the phone, slipping it in your coat pocket before letting it drop to the floor. You ran a hand over your face, wondering if you'd magically conjured him to your door, or if you were so tired you were suddenly delirious, but when you uncovered your eyes, he was still there, hands tucked in his pockets and a suitcase resting by his feet, a cat carrier on top of it.

"Harry? What—What are you doing here? When did you—"

There was no time to think or speak or breathe as Harry surged forward, his hands suddenly out of his pockets and settling deep in your hair, and kissed you.

The kiss was bruising, making it hard to think straight, making it hard to think about anything but him. His cologne flooded your senses as if you'd never smelled it before, making you sigh against his mouth and giving him ample opportunity to slide his tongue against yours as he backed you against the doorframe with a soft thud.

Your hands flew of their own accord, reaching beneath Harry's coat and gripping the shirt he wore beneath it. You needed to feel him, to know he was really here in front of you, that he wasn't going to evaporate in your hands leaving you with only the memory of his kiss. You'd had that particular dream one too many times.

Harry's hands smoothed down your sides, rucking up your shirt and setting your skin on fire when his thumbs brushed your ribcage. Your breaths stuttered until you finally had to pull back to catch it Instinctively, Harry followed, his mouth searching for yours, then your neck, but you held him in place for a moment.

"Wait," you said, breaths shallow. Harry stopped immediately, eyes roving your face in a similar way to how you were doing so. When he finally met your gaze, a small, shy smile, spread across your lips. "H—Hi."

Harry's responding grin was radiant. "Hi."

*.*

"I don't understand, when—when did you get back?"

It was safe to say you weren't going into the studio. There were about ten seconds of protesting before you finally caved, and it had nothing to do with Harry's lips on your neck or his hands sneaking beneath your shirt. "Stay," Harry had mumbled. "Please? There's so much I want to say."

So you stayed, though you hadn't really spoken much. You and Harry had ended up on your couch huddled up together under a blanket, Buddy Holly dozing at your feet. You kept waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say, but he kept quiet. It was nice for a while, but you began to itch with the need for answers. You didn't want to immediately fall back into old habits the second he came back, even if laying flush against his chest was the most peaceful you felt in weeks. You were nervous to talk to him, to hear him say that after staying away for two months, he still didn't want a relationship. But even so, it would be better to know the truth and start getting over it now than to hold out hope.

"Today," Harry said. "I came straight here from the airport."

"Why? Wouldn't you want to go home? Get settled. Sweet Pea probably misses home."

Harry raised his head from where he'd been resting it in the crook of your neck. His brows raised suspiciously to where his cat was dozing on top of Buddy, as if she'd never left. "I think she's rather comfortable."

"You're awfully comfortable too," you said under your breath. Then, even though you felt so warm in his embrace, you sat up, putting some distance between yourself and Harry.

You could tell he wanted to protest, his sleepy eyes and mussed brown curls covering his forehead in a messy tangle told you that all he wanted was to fall asleep next to you. You wanted that too, but your mind kept drifting back to that last conversation, to that last exchange of words, and you let them keep that small bubble of distance between you and him.

"I need to know why you're here, H," you said, raising your knees up to your chest.

Harry could hear the seriousness in your voice, his expression sobering a little. He sat up too, facing you as he took up his place at the corner of the couch. There were only a couple inches between you, but it felt like Harry was still in Japan with how distant you felt from him now. He was home, but was he really? You didn't know how your friendship was going to evolve from here. You supposed you could be okay with just being his friend. It would sting, but you would get over it.

Eventually.

You hoped.

"I...just knew that this was where I needed to be," he said, not meeting your eye. "I came home and the only person I wanted to see was you."

His words meant more than you cared to admit. They filled you with warmth, bringing a flush to your cheeks that you prayed Harry didn't see.

"I missed you too," was all you could think of to say.

"And I—I want more," Harry said. "I was halfway across the world, and I was writing and walking around the city, and all I wanted was to share those moments with you and write with you and wake up next to you. I just...I want you in my life, Y/n."

"As your friend?" you asked, your voice stuck somewhere in your throat.

"However you'll have me."

Your heart leaped in your chest, but you stopped yourself from launching across the couch into his arms. It was all too good to be true. Harry wasn't ready for a relationship before he left, and you'd been gracious and understood where he was coming from. And now that a few weeks had passed, he suddenly wanted to be whatever you wanted him to be. In the back of your mind, the fact that he hadn't said "boyfriend" pricked a sensitive part of your brain. It was silly and minuscule, and it shouldn't have mattered, so you tried not to let it.

Still, you were unsure. You knew Harry would never be so cruel as to feed you words for the sake of placating you, but something left you hesitating. Maybe it was that the last time you saw Harry, he told you he couldn't give you what you wanted and now he was saying he could, or maybe your heart was still protecting you from potential pain, you weren't sure. But you couldn't give in.

Almost as if he could read the jumbled thoughts running around in your head, Harry inched toward you, his expression soft and open. "I can tell you're unsure, and I don't blame you," he said, taking a chance and reaching a hand across the couch to hold yours. "Let me prove it to you."

Brows furrowed, you tilted your head to the side. "Prove it?"

"We'll go slow," Harry said as he nodded and moved closer. Close enough to tip your chin up with his knuckle. "We can do that, can't we? We don't have to rush things. We can just...go on a date and see what happens, right?"

Despite the hesitation, a smile twitched at the corner of your lips. "Harry Styles...are you asking me on a date?"

Harry's responding grin was wide and sweet as honey. "Only if you're saying yes."

Eight weeks ago, you'd stepped out of your comfort zone by asking Harry for more, and watching him walk away hurt more than you ever thought it would. Your instinct was to hide, to crawl back into your shell before you could get hurt again. But you knew Harry had been hurt before too, and now he was trying. Even though they'd both had their hearts broken for different reasons and had every reason not to give into their feelings and hide, preferring to be alone.

It took you two years to..."forgive yourself" didn't seem like the right words. To be ready to put yourself into the world again, to allow yourself the possibility of hurting and being hurt in that way again. Your scars had healed over into faint white lines after two whole years. Nearly imperceptible, but still there, a subtle but constant reminder of what you stood to lose if you ruined things again. But also a reminder that you could love and lose and still heal, and maybe even love again. Harry hadn't been there when he left, and at the time you hoped he would be. And maybe part of you knew he would be, because you'd gotten there too in your own way.

The hope that kindled in your chest made you nervous, but it made you excited too.

"I—I don't want you to feel like you have to do this because—"

Harry's index finger was on your lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes nearly crossed as you looked down your nose at it, and you heard his chuckle at what was most likely a silly look on your face. "I know I don't have to do anything, Y/n. I needed some time to clear my thoughts and untangle all of my feelings. I want this. I want you."

Over your time spent with Harry, you'd come to realize he had expressive eyes. While he kept a lot to himself and didn't share much unless it was through songwriting, his eyes said everything. This close to his face, you could see the honesty, the earnestness. You decided to believe him, to believe in whatever had been forming between you since the first time you'd met.

Not holding back, you did lunge for him this time, but gently, seeing as he was so close. Harry seemed surprised by your sudden movements but didn't stop you as you took his face in your hands and kissed him for all he was worth. You felt his face slowly split into a grin as his hands roved up and down your back, as if he was finally reacquainting himself with your body. Or maybe it was that this kiss was different from all the others, with different expectations and intentions and promises for more.

"What happened to slow?" he asked, teasing as you nipped at his ear.

"Tell me to stop," you said, feeling out of breath.

He didn't, you knew he wouldn't, but that only made him grin even more. "I still want to do things properly," he told you, leaning back against the couch and taking you with so that you were on top of him, your body flush against his. "I want to take you out, I want to hold your hand and pull your chair out for you at dinner."

Resting on your elbows, you lightly traced the delicate planes of his face with your finger. Harry's eyes tracked your movements while he waited for you to answer, kissing the pad of your index finger when it passed over his lips. You smiled a little, unsure of where all this giddiness was coming from but hoping it wouldn't go away.

"I want that too," you murmured before kissing the tip of his nose. "But maybe that can start tomorrow."

Harry's hand came up to cradle the side of your face, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch. Everything already felt different. New and fragile and breakable. So, so breakable.

"Your heart was glass, I dropped it," you'd written way back. You had the potential to break Harry's heart. But the notion that you wouldn't was so intrinsic in that moment, you felt like the only way you would crack the glass this time was by squeezing too hard, by liking him too much.

You didn't know what you would do if Harry would drop yours.

It was a terrifying thought, one that was too dreadful for the peaceful bliss taking over your apartment. Harry was looking at you like your hair was made of stars or pure sunlight, and it warmed every inch of you down to your bones as he rubbed his thumb back and forth across your cheekbone.

"I can get behind that," he said quietly.

After that, you finally relaxed. Your head found purchase on his chest, comfortable against the soft material of his sweatshirt despite the firmness of his body beneath you. You breathed in deep, holding it in for a few seconds before letting it all out in one soft exhale. With that breath, you felt the last of your doubts flutter away—for now, at least—allowing you to believe in the promise Harry offered you.

*.*

"Come on. If you're not going to let me go to work, you're gonna help me here."

You managed to untangle yourself from Harry, who pouted at you as he remained sprawled out on your bed. Leaving him there, you went to the front door to where you'd left your guitar case when you found him on your doorstep yesterday. Slipping your well-loved guitar from the case, you walked back over to Harry, who was now sitting up on the couch. His eyes tracked your every move as you made your way back over to him. His stare felt heated, causing a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it as you settled on one end of the couch, resting the guitar in your lap.

"Looks like you already have something in mind," Harry said. He still sounded playful, but you knew he wasn't going to try and dissuade you from this. He was just as eager to write as a team as you were.

Writing without Harry while he was gone was strange. At first you thought you'd be fine, seeing as you'd preferred working in solitude most of your professional career. Yet when he left, you were unable to write. You found yourself looking for him, raising your head to ask what he thought of a melody when he wasn't there, thinking out loud as if he was still in the room to bounce ideas off of.

You'd missed him in more ways than one, that was certain. This new dynamic with Mitch had been good, fun even. You attributed your openness to teamwork to Harry, and now you were nearly finished with an album, a project you'd been part of from start to finish, something you'd never really been able to say before. You'd enjoyed going into the studio to work with Mitch, to share song ideas with Cam and see where she took them. If given the option, you would do it again in a heartbeat.

But something in you settled as you began to idly pluck at the strings of your guitar, Harry sifting through his duffle bag until he produced his leatherbound journal from it. You felt comfortable, complete, not an atom out of place as you began to sing the lyrics of a partial song you were going to work on with your team today.

"There is a town, somewhere down a country road," you sang softly. "I see it now, take it everywhere I go. The river sways, I can almost here it now. As if to say, 'You're not the only one who wants a way out.'"

"That's nice," Harry said, his thumb tapping against his knee in time with the music coming from your guitar. "Something new?"

"I've had the idea for a song about a small town for a while," you said, fingers still plucking at the guitar strings, though not with much intent while you spoke to Harry. "My hometown."

Nodding, Harry said, "You don't talk about your home much."

"Not much to say," you shrugged. "At least I thought so. Now I just keep thinking how so much has changed since I moved away. How much I've changed,"

"Good changes, I hope," he said.

You shrugged again, trying not to let the topic make you squirm. You normally didn't around Harry, but perhaps being away from him for so long had you shying away just a little. "Good and...neutral, I guess. Sometimes I feel like I've changed so much I can't even reconcile who I was then and the person I am now. Not really sure if that's a good or bad thing yet. To be determined, I suppose."

Harry processed the information quietly, letting the conversation end there. You fell into a comfortable silence as both of you played around with lyrics and melodies in your own heads. You eventually grabbed your own journal to jot notes down in, and at one point Harry took your guitar into his own lap to play around, humming quietly to himself.

His plucking of the strings slowly became something less abstract and more concrete, and it eventually became the backdrop to your thinking process. You liked the tune he played better than what you'd originally come up with, and you let it guide your pen as you jotted down words and phrases until you eventually had something that might've been a pre-chorus or a bridge. Shifting closer to Harry on the couch, you showed him what you had so far, hoping he'd be able to fill in the gaps like he normally could.

You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he took your journal and pen from your offering hands. For a minute, the only sound was the tapping of the pen in his hand in time with the melody he'd been playing moments ago. You watched with slow blinking eyes as he eventually began to scribble his own little notes beside yours, sometimes writing lyrics of his own and occasionally circling a word you'd written and putting a suggestion above it.

The scratching of pen on paper was an unusual lullaby, but sure enough, the warmth emanating from Harry's body and the familiarity of this moment, yet something precious and new blooming between you, was enough for your breaths to deepen, your blinks to become fewer and far between. Even after being on a plane all the way from Japan, the scent of Harry's cologne and whatever laundry detergent he used lingered on his clothes. It was so familiar, as much of a welcome home as him actually being here beside you.

Breathing in deep, you huddled closer to Harry. Feeling your movements at his side, Harry shifted so that you were leaning against him more comfortably, his body solid yet soft beneath your cheek. "I missed this," you murmured, the words clinging together as you inched closer and closer toward sleep. "I missed you."

There was no stiffening of his posture at the words, no hesitation or uncertainty as he said, "I missed you too."

*.*

"Don't leave again," Y/n said.

Harry was pretty sure she was already half asleep, was sure she wouldn't even remember this conversation when she woke up in a couple of hours. But even so, the words made him pause, the pen in his hand jerking almost imperceptibly.

Y/n hadn't brought up his departure since he'd come back yesterday. Even now, she didn't sound resentful, though that could've been the fact that she was seconds away from falling asleep, but Harry didn't think so. Yet in her current limbo between states of consciousness, she revealed something that she probably wouldn't have if she'd been fully awake.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you by going," he said, and he knew he was a bastard for saying it when she was seconds from falling asleep.

A deep breath, then another, then another.

"Don't leave me again," was all she said in reply, perhaps all she could muster just before unconsciousness finally settled over her like a blanket.

Harry's heart clenched. Don't leave me again, she told him. He'd learned rather quickly that despite all that she'd been through, Y/n hid a gentle heart behind all those walls she put up. A heart that had been battered and bruised and hidden away after so much unhappiness. Harry realized early on in their semi-friendship that he never wanted to be the reason for another wall between Y/n and the rest of the world; he wanted to be someone she could entrust to protect her gentle soul, to be someone who helped her realize she was much more fierce than she knew.

Knowing he'd caused her pain by leaving dug at him, even if leaving was in some ways very necessary. Harry needed that distance, that time away to clean up the mess his ex had left in him. Nothing about his previous relationship's demise was simple, and the things he'd begun to feel for Y/n while still trying to untangle himself from his ex only complicated things. Harry knew it would be a disservice to both himself and Y/n if he jumped into something he wasn't ready for. He felt horrible that night she'd laid all her cards on the table before him. He knew that it had taken a lot to state what she wanted from him so plainly, to realize that she was still deserving of more after what she'd been through. And Harry had to offer the same honesty, even if it was something even he didn't want to hear.

But it had been the right thing. For both of them. Of that he was sure. Harry had done a lot of introspecting, had allowed himself to simply be alone in a way he hadn't been for a long time. His last relationship was perhaps the most significant, but it was one in a rather long list of failed attempts to find love. His friends often teased him for not knowing how to not be in a relationship, and after this last breakup, he realized how right they were.

Harry liked Y/n. He was fascinated by her talent as a songwriter and enamoured by the person she was outside the studio. He liked her chunky patterned sweaters and the array of rings on her fingers that changed from day to day. He liked that she wasn't perfect, that she was shy to an almost stubborn degree, that he had to work hard to piece together who she was bit by bit until a beautiful mosaic was laid out in front of him.

But he needed to know that he knew how to be alone before giving himself over to her entirely. Who was he outside of a romantic relationship? Harry honestly had no idea, and while that had never even so much as itched his brain before, it terrified him after things ended with his ex. He owed it to himself to try to stand on his own two feet, to live on his own and know that he could be content to do so. He didn't need a relationship to be happy, that was what he set out to discover.

And once he did. Once he lived and wrote songs and got coffee and ate by himself, and didn't feel like an utter disaster, he knew he'd be okay.

Harry enjoyed himself in Japan. He'd committed himself to this soul-searching endeavor and actually came out on the other side of it pleased with himself. And at the end of it all, when he knew a relationship with Y/n wasn't something he needed but something he wanted, he knew he was ready to go home. He wanted her a lot, to be fair, so much so that he often wrote about her, and talked about her to the few friends he made in Japan. But being alone didn't kill him, and he was able to see that for himself the two months he was gone.

He left his feelings for his ex in Japan, letting every last bit of baggage he'd been quietly carrying around with him slide off his shoulders, holding onto those precious little blossoms of feeling for Y/n and bringing them home, right to her doorstep.

The plan hadn't been to go straight to her apartment, but that was where he told his driver to go when he slid into the backseat of the sleek black car his manager had sent to pick him up. Harry was actually supposed to go home and rest so he could meet with his label and discuss the progress of his album, but he stayed at Y/n's place anyway. He knew these next few months as the album went into recording and production mode wouldn't leave much time to spend alone with Y/n, and he needed these fleeting moments. He needed to hear all about the new album she was helping to write and what she and Buddy Holly had gotten up to while he was gone. He needed to kiss her, to touch her, to let her fall asleep against him while they wrote a song about a small town.

"I won't, I promise," Harry murmured, even though he knew Y/n was already asleep.

It was perhaps a promise to himself. He knew Y/n would never be that vulnerable, wouldn't reveal just how much she cared for him if she'd been entirely conscious. She'd been forgiving, if not a little hesitant when he showed up on her doorstep, but she'd never resented him for leaving. At least he thought she didn't. She'd been understanding when he left, but in her sleepy state, he saw a little bit of the hurt he'd inflicted by leaving, by rejecting her desire for something more with him.

Harry knew he'd done it for the right reasons, but guilt curled in his chest at the thought of hurting Y/n. He would commit himself to not doing it again, to be someone worthy of her vulnerability. Harry was aware of how precious it was for Y/n to open herself up to him like this. He wouldn't take that gift for granted.

Shifting around a bit, Harry took Y/n into his arms and stood up. He padded down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom, where a large, four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and one stuffed animal lay on. He set her down on white sheets with little red polka dots, pulling up the covers over both of them. Y/n curled into Harry immediately, and he didn't even bother trying to shove away the warmth that spread through him.

With Y/n's cheek squished adorably against his chest, Harry rested his arm behind his head as his eyes flitted about her bedroom.

He'd been inside it a handful of times, but it never failed to amaze him, because for someone so convinced they were undeserving of love, they sure loved heart decorations. Retro Valentine hearts were mounted on one wall, twinkly lights dangling between them; pink and red heart-shaped candles remained unlit on her vanity, a heart-shaped guitar on a stand next to it. Everything centered around something pink or red—the sheets, the pillows, the jewelry dishes and mirrors, even the stuffed bunny under her pillow that Harry knew Y/n slept with, even if she wouldn't admit it.

It was a mystery he'd yet to solve, but he imagined that would come in time.

Soon enough, Harry's own eyes began to droop. He nestled deeper into the bed, trying not to completely drape himself over Y/n. They'd never actually spent the night in the same bed before last night. Sometimes they'd fall asleep together on the couch, but this was different. Last night, they'd collapsed into bed after staying up late talking, nearly well into the morning. There had been no tangled limbs or breaths keeping time because they slept so close together, just two people in dire need of sleep.

In some ways, Harry wondered if it was too much as they were only just beginning to explore this thing between them, but he couldn't make himself leave. He turned over so his back was to her, trying to provide a modicum of space should Y/n want it, but not even a minute later, an arm snaked around his waist, a cheek pressed against his back as one of her legs slotted between his.

It was safe to say Harry fell asleep with a small grin and a full heart.

*.*

The following weeks flew by, and you saw Harry every single moment that you could.

Now that his album was in the later stages of production, he was constantly in meetings for promotion—release dates, interviews, live performances, and concept art for the album. You stayed out of those conversations, as you had your own projects to complete and deadlines to meet. But you'd be lying if you said you weren't curious. You'd never been part of those conversations before, as you merely wrote your songs and sold the demos to artists or bands. Seeing an album from start to finish was intriguing, though perhaps part of the reason was the hand you played in it and how important Harry was to you.

But even with all of that going on, Harry stayed true to his word.

He made every moment count. Suddenly there were flowers on top of the grand piano when you entered your studio, and he stopped by whenever he could. Each petal, each little note attached to the bouquets, filled your stomach with butterflies. And after you were both done for the day, Harry invited you over to cook dinner and listen to records. The atmosphere was different than before Harry left, a more romantic feel in the air as you sat across from each other, the warm glow of candles the only lighting in the room.

With the public attention Harry tended to get, you both agreed to keep things quiet for now. You'd always preferred anonymity, and although you knew your relationship would eventually become public, you wanted it to stay between you and Harry and your friends and family. Hopefully in the future, when this precious thing between the two of you wasn't so new, you would feel more comfortable. Until then, it would be secret dates and romantic dinners from home, but that didn't make it feel any less special or real.

It didn't take long for your friends to notice, though.

You and Harry didn't have much to hide in front of Sylvia and the rest of the people who made up your little group, but neither you nor Harry really went out of your way to tell anyone about the slight change since he had come back from Japan.

One night, Sylvia decided to switch up the usual gatherings from game night to a night at a karaoke bar. You didn't mind. In fact, you loved watching everyone drink and take up a mic in the private room that had been rented out. Harry stayed by your side most of the night, an arm wrapped around your waist, his thumb subtly sneaking beneath the hem of your patchwork top to graze your skin and leave goosebumps in its wake, and a neat tequila in his other hand, your leather jacket draped over his arm after he insisted on carrying it for you. You opted for a margarita, sipping on it idly while you went between talking to Harry and watching the chaos unfold in front of you.

"What do you say, are we up next?"

"We?" you asked incredulously. "You go. I've actually been wanting to see you perform."

Harry chuckled, his nose brushing against your temple. "Come on, love. For me?"

You both knew you had a soft spot when Harry pleaded with you. Just one more hour at his place, just one more kiss, getting his favorite takeout, all of it just required a slight widening of his eyes and him saying, "Pleeeease," or, "For me?" as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose, and he had you. It was mostly harmless, but just like all the other times, it was working now.

"I don't know..." you said anyway, a small grin creeping its way onto your face. Harry only doubled down, which was exactly your goal.

"Please? I'll make it worth your while."

So that was how you ended up in front of the rest of your group of friends, a mic in your hand as you waited for Harry to pick the song. When the opening chords sounded through the speakers, you beamed, looking over at him with raised brows. Harry just sauntered over to you with a small grin, dancing over to you in that silly way of his that you learned was a unique trait he possessed.

"Islands in the Stream" was one of the songs the two of you had bonded over the last few months. You'd played it for him on the drive to Buddy Holly's favorite dog park, and the two of you sang it most car rides ever since.

Harry started the song, and you joined in, keeping your eyes on him for most of it. He definitely had more stage presence than you did, which you were fine with, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy yourself. Harry's eyes were on you the whole time too, his hip bumping against yours and spinning you around occasionally.

By the time it was over, there were cheers all around, and not just because Harry kissed you at the end. You'd made it all of two steps off the makeshift stage in the private room before you were tugged into a corner away from everyone else.

"What the hell was that?"

Sylvia was looking at you with wide, surprised eyes, though a grin stretched her cheeks. You couldn't hide your blush, opting to take the drink that Harry handed you once he found you again. "What?"

"You—You two are unbelievable," she laughed. "So this is real now? You two aren't acting like children anymore and pretending you aren't in love with each other?"

Trust Sylvia to make things between you and Harry awkward. Both of you laughed, though yours was more nervous because she'd revealed a truth you weren't quite ready to accept. Harry merely draped a hand over your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

*.*

"You look nervous," you said, taking Harry's hand that rested on the gear shift.

"Me? Never," Harry insisted, though he gripped your hand a little too tightly for you to believe it.

"It's just one brother," you said, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders.

You wouldn't lie to him and say meeting all three of your brothers at once would've been a walk in the park. But this was just Andrew, who was only in town for a night. You were pretty sure Hayden and Evan sent Andrew to investigate your relationship with Harry. For that exact reason, you hadn't divulged much to any of your brothers. After the whole, "Are you sure you're not menstruating" incident, you'd been giving Hayden the cold shoulder, so you knew for a fact that he'd enlisted Andrew's help to, at the very least, get back in your good graces, and hopefully get a little intel on your budding relationship.

"Andrew's harmless, I promise," you said. "He's about as threatening as a puppy."

Harry chuckled as he pulled into the trendy bar you had agreed to meet your brother at. "See, I want to believe you, but I've seen your brother play hockey, so...I don't."

Leaning across the center console, you kissed his cheek, quickly wiping away the lip gloss you'd left behind. Even in the dim lighting of the car, you saw Harry blush, which made you nudge him with your nose playfully. "I'll keep him in line, I promise."

You led Harry inside the bar, entering through a side door to remain relatively unnoticed, neck craning for your brother. Andrew wasn't hard to spot, his long arms waving back and forth from a tall table tucked in the corner of the bar. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you walked over to where your brother stood by waiting with open arms.

"How's my little sister?" Andrew asked as he squeezed the living daylights out of you.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to remind him you were older. Instead, you stepped back and introduced him to Harry. For all his nerves, Harry didn't show it as he shook Andrew's hand and asked how he was doing. Even when you knew your brother squeezed his hand too hard, Harry just smiled and sat down on the barstool.

Things went surprisingly well. Despite your earlier reassurances, you'd been a little nervous about the questions Andrew might ask, ones not necessarily thought up by him, but by the brothers who were absent tonight.

"So, Harry, where do you see this relationship with my sister going? I noticed she didn't introduce you as her boyfriend."

Perhaps you'd spoken too soon.

"Andrew, seriously?" you said, kicking him under the table. "Tell Evan to butt out."

"Evan's not—"

"Oh please," you said. That question had your oldest brother written all over it. "Andrew, you leave our brothers out of this or I'll tell Harry what they used to call you in high school."

Blushing, Andrew backed down immediately, a flush crawling up his neck. You didn't like stooping to your brothers' level, usually the silent treatment got your brothers to grovel after pissing you off, but they really couldn't be surprised when you did from time to time. You learned from the best after all.

Clearing his throat, Harry broke up the stare down you and Andrew had been locked in. "Um, to answer your question, I think we both—not to speak for you, Y/n—but I think we both see this evolving into something more, we just haven't had that conversation yet."

His words filled you with warmth. You'd been thinking the same—you wanted more from Harry when he came back, and things had progressed from there. You didn't think boyfriend and girlfriend titles were far off, but now that you knew where you and Harry both stood, you were okay with taking things slow.

Not that Andrew, or your other brothers, for that matter, needed to know that.

The rest of the night went much better. Andrew eased up and was finally able to ask questions that had nothing to do with the intimate details of your relationship with Harry, and when Harry began asking Andrew about playoffs, it was all your brother could do to not talk about hockey.

Your brother left you and Harry in the parking lot with a final farewell of, "You're alright, Harry Styles, and you," he said facing you with a pointed stare. "Stop ignoring Hayden, please. You know how he gets when you don't give him attention."

Huffing, you said, "I'll think about it."

Andrew grinned. Your brothers were a lot of things, but from the moment you became a part of the family, you were a little princess to all of them. Evan, Hayden, and Andrew had their moments, but they never liked to make you too mad. Most of the time. Still, you knew Andrew, and you knew he liked to be the unspoken, "favorite brother."

Harry took you home, his hand in yours the whole way back. Neither of you said anything, unwinding from the interesting night. It honestly could've gone a lot worse, in your opinion. Andrew really was the least of your worries.

Like a gentleman, Harry walked you to the door when you got home. You held back from unlocking your apartment and stepping inside despite the cold, taking his hand in yours. "I'm sorry if things were a little tense tonight."

Harry shook his head. "You really have them wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

"They have good intentions. They just...they were all I had for a long time. They're protective. Especially Evan."

Growing up, your brothers were pretty much your whole family. You were all bonded by the same shitty father, growing up raising and protecting each other. You knew the questions and the protective attitudes came from a good place, especially after the way things broke down with Gavin and his family. Evan saw how much it affected you, and probably just didn't want to see you get hurt again.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if they do slightly terrify me."

"They're big pushovers," you said with a laugh. "And like you said, they're wrapped around my finger. You'll be fine, I promise."

Harry smiled, tipping your chin up. "Yeah? You promise?"

"Mhmm," was all you could manage as he began to kiss your neck, a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk weather licking down your spine. The excitement that surged through you almost had you leaping into his arms. You settled for wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know we've been taking things slow, but I—I wouldn't mind it."

"You wouldn't mind what?" Harry teased, pulling away slightly when you tried to kiss him. "Might need to do a little better than that if you want me to be your boyfriend."

Everything was so easy with Harry. The playful teasing, the serious conversations, getting drinks with your overprotective brother, all of it. You hadn't wanted someone this much since—well, since forever. Harry just made you so happy, and you wanted to chase that feeling, not hide from it. You spent way too much time hiding from life, from love.

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your fingers curling around the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Harry backed you against the door to your apartment, the hum coming from his chest once your tongues brushed together reverberating through you. His cheeks were cold as you held them in your hands, and you wanted nothing more than to haul him inside and never let him leave. But he had to be up early tomorrow and had to go back to his cat. You would make sure he'd regret leaving, though.

Eventually, you let go of him, your hands smoothing down the knit sweater he wore. You'd spent ages on the phone with him as he freaked out over what to wear. One coat was too flashy, but that t-shirt said he wasn't putting in any effort and didn't care about meeting a member of your family. On and on until you eventually made him turn the camera around to face his closet and pick something out for him. Black jeans and a black sweater with colorful depictions of the solar system eventually convinced him to finally leave the house. It was a little silly, but you appreciated how much effort he wanted to put into meeting Andrew, who absolutely would have reported back to Hayden and Evan what Harry wore, but Harry didn't need to know that.

"I don't want to be scared of feeling good anymore," you whispered. "I don't want to feel guilty for chasing something that feels right. Please tell me you feel the same."

"I do," Harry murmured. His forehead rested against yours as his hands found the perfect place on your waist, finding the sliver of skin revealed between your halter top and your jeans, and the look in his eyes was something so comforting, a safe assurance you hadn't felt in a long time.

Harry made you feel safe. He made you smile and knew things about you no one else did, not even your brothers, and he didn't seem put off by it. He understood your creative process, gave you space when you needed it, and was there for you when needed someone but didn't know how to ask.

You were still perhaps too scared to even think about the word love, but looking up at Harry then, you thought there might be a day where you felt brave enough to tell him how you really felt.

*.*

The club was packed tonight, bodies surrounding you on all sides. As someone bumped into you from behind, you gripped Mitch's arm on instinct, determined not to fall over or get swept up in the sea of people waiting for the band to start their set.

"Remind me why we're here again?" you asked, shouting over the crowd and thumping bass.

For a moment, you worried Mitch hadn't heard you, but then he shouted back, leaning in close so you could hear him. "Because they asked us to be here. We heard their demos, and you said they had potential. And—"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I just didn't think there'd be this many people."

"Kind of a good thing though, isn't it?" a voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you couldn't help the wide grin that took over your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mitch give you a pointed look, but you ignored it, throwing your arms around Harry. "You found us!"

"Course. I could spot my two best friends from a mile away."

Being regarded as Harry's friend made your stomach tighten despite knowing he didn't mean it that way, especially since you were around so many people. And yet, it had you overthinking.

Don't be stupid, you thought, blinking those thoughts away. Squeezing Harry's hand once, you let go. "Did you get into the venue okay?"

You, Harry, and Mitch talked to—talked at, more like—each other before the show, huddled together and trying not to draw attention to yourselves. Because of the packed venue, you and Harry were able to stand relatively close to one another, your hands brushing occasionally. With Harry so close to you like this and unable to kiss his cheek at the very least, and you could tell he was having the same struggle. He was pressed up against your back, at one point, then his arm was draped over your shoulders, and when the lights finally dimmed as the set began, he was as close as he could be, his arm wrapped around your waist as you watched the band perform.

The band played music that was loud, full of heavy base lines and guitar riffs and drum solos that had the crowd jumping and jostling around. Harry was a steady force at your back until you eventually joined in with the audience, dancing along to the music beside Mitch.

In the few weeks you and Mitch worked on writing Cam's album together, you'd ended up spending more time outside of the studio as well. It was almost always music related, the two of you going out to see live performances in some form or another—local bands, shows at the Troubador and the Whiskey, performers just starting out in dive bars. It was something you typically did on your own, a good way to discover new artists and experience different sounds, and Mitch was more than happy to join you, showing you a couple of his favorite haunts, ones that he played in from time to time.

It was nice to get out of your apartment, to hang out with someone who appreciated discovering new music as much as you did. Mitch had helped you expand your horizons and had even taught you a thing or two about playing drums after you were particularly enthralled by a grunge band. It had become part of your routine as much as writing in the studio had—going out once or twice a week to find new talent and sometimes meeting up with the artist or band afterward to see if they were interested in collaborating. That wasn't always the goal, but there were moments when you couldn't help yourself.

"You were right. They do have potential," Mitch said. Both of you were buzzing after the performance, talking animatedly about the band and their set.

"I know! And I really liked their sound. There was something so nostalgic about it, but not in a gimmicky way, you know?"

Harry walked a couple paces behind you and Mitch as you ambled down the sidewalk toward where you'd parked. He'd been quiet coming out of the show, but you didn't think anything of it.

You kept talking to Mitch, promising to stop by the studio for another drum lesson when you had the chance, or when he had the chance, more like. Now that Harry's album was less an idea and more a fully realized project with a release date, Harry and Co. had been pretty busy lately. And once the album finally came out...well, you'd cross that bridge eventually.

When Mitch was gone, headed home in his car, you walked a little further to your side-by-side with Harry. You leaned in close, not really caring if anyone saw. Even through the layers of his heavy coat, you could feel the warmth that he emanated naturally. You loved being tucked into his side or curled around him, or just being as close to him as possible, an alarming amount. The word "love" fluttered through your mind every now and again, but you swatted it away every time. It was much too soon, and while you'd made many strides, there were still parts of you that remained afraid.

Afraid of what would happen if you got too attached and things ended, afraid of the distance rapidly approaching once Harry's album came out, afraid of your inner saboteur. It was all there, lingering, waiting to strike at any moment.

"Good show, right?" you said to Harry, eager to shake off the dark turn your thoughts had taken. "Mitch and I have been wanting to see them for ages."

"Yeah," he said, his eyes remaining on the street ahead. Then, "I...I didn't realize you spent so much time with him while I was gone."

"I honestly didn't expect to, but he was still working in the studio. We made quite the team."

Because you were so close, you felt Harry's whole body stiffen. A split second too late, you realized your poor choice of words.

"I—I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Y/n," Harry said, and he didn't sound mad at all. Maybe just a little hurt, but you had a feeling he was trying his best not to make you feel bad. "I can't be upset that you kept working when I left. That's silly of me."

"It's not," you assured. "I—You're kind of the reason I pushed myself to work with him, and others," you admitted.

"Really?"

Nodding, you said, "I've always worked on my own. Always. But then we started writing together and things just clicked, and when you left, I—I didn't want to deny myself the opportunity to make great music. I mean, you and your team were doing incredible stuff even before I came along. I guess I just wanted to be a part of something great in that way too. Mitch helped introduce me to a new artist and we collaborated on a project of our own. I didn't...I didn't want to go back to being alone again.

"But it isn't the same," you said, stopping Harry in his tracks. Looking up at him, you smiled, for no other reason than he was there and he was yours. "We...We work differently together. You have to know that."

Harry's responding grin was small. "It is quite magical, isn't it?"

Reaching up on your toes, you kissed him, your hand cupping his cheek gently. The kiss was slow, gentle, a reassurance for the both of you. When you leaned back, yours and Harry's cheeks were flushed as you grinned brightly at each other.

As you slid into the passenger seat of Harry's car, you said, "I can't believe you'd be jealous of Mitch."

Harry ducked his head bashfully. "Oh hush. I was not."

"He's your best friend, H," you giggled. "Not to mention very, very taken."

"I believe I mentioned it was silly, didn't I?"

Taking his hand, you kissed the top of it. "You did."

Harry peeled out of his parking space, promising to make it up to you as he handed his phone over to choose the playlist for the ride home.

When you unlocked his phone, the home screen wasn't what popped up. Instead, the messages app was open, a string of messages that hadn't been replied to yet, going back a few weeks.

Can we talk?

I miss you. I miss us.

The silent treatment is childish, H.

Please call me.

Your hands suddenly felt cold and clammy, and Harry's phone nearly slipped out of them and onto the floor.

"Everything okay?"

Harry's voice dragged you out of whatever headspace you'd been launched into. Looking up, you mustered a smile, hoping the car's darkness would mask how flimsy it truly was.

"Yeah. Fine," you said, your voice not sounding like your own.

Quickly exiting out of the app, you pulled up his music, choosing a playlist at random before setting his phone down in the cup holder.

You felt like you were on one of those theme park rides, the ones that reach the heights of tall buildings just to fall straight down. You felt weightless, but not in a good way. It was as if you were falling and there was nowhere safe to land. That feeling in your stomach only grew until you were sure you were going to be sick.

Harry continued on none the wiser, chatting about this and that. You weren't exactly sure what he said, his voice was suddenly white noise. But you must've given him coherent responses because he didn't question your behavior. The only time he did was when you didn't invite him up to your apartment.

"I'm just really tired," you managed to say. "One too many margaritas, I guess."

Not putting up too much of a fight, Harry grinned and gave you a kiss. Despite the dread you felt, it still filled you with butterflies. You cared for him so much you didn't know what to do with yourself sometimes. And now there was...this.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, a sweet smile on his face.

He acted as if nothing was wrong, and it was convincing too. Almost to the point that you wanted to believe it too. Those messages were days old, save the most recent one, and Harry hadn't replied to any of them. That had to mean something.

Right?

*.*

After mentioning what you found to Sylvia, she demanded that what you needed was retail therapy. Shopping wasn't your favorite pastime, but you desperately needed a friend.

You met with her at an outdoor shopping mall, bundled up in your softest sweatshirt and puffy coat for comfort more than because of the weather. You hadn't wanted to go out at all today, or the last couple days since you saw Harry's messages. There had been an attempt to have Sylvia just come over so you could day drink together, but she wasn't having it.

So now you were wading through store after store, internally freaking out about where your relationship was headed. It was just getting off the ground, and now it was crumbling before your eyes. Harry was none the wiser, of course, but that was only because he was busy this week and you pretended to be busy because you weren't sure if you could keep it together in front of him. You needed a third-party perspective, a voice of reason before you sat down and talked to him about all this.

"You wanna tell me what happened?" Sylvia asked gently.

One thing you liked about Sylvia was that she was bold and brash and didn't try to mince her words, but you appreciated her tone now. Friend of Harry's first or not, she was here for you, and seeing as there weren't many people you could turn to, you needed her now more than ever. You could talk to your brothers, but you didn't want them to come out and hurt him. You would go to them if there was something serious going on.

"I...I thought we were finally on the same page," you said, and then it all came spilling out of you. You replayed that night in Harry's car as you combed through a rack of dresses. Sylvia was quiet through all of it, not saying anything until you were finished. "I don't know what to do. Is he—I never asked because it wasn't really my business, but he was clearly torn up over their break up. Do you think it's possible that he's not over her?"

Because that was what kept you up at night. Before he left, Harry hadn't been ready for a relationship. You knew there wasn't an exact timeline for healing a broken heart, but the seed of doubt had been planted, and now all you could think about was him leaving you for his ex. The thought terrified you. It made you want to run before you learned the truth, spare yourself the trouble of looking like an idiot.

But you called Sylvia instead, knowing running was not the best option, even if it was the most familiar.

"Oh, babe," she sighed. "I'm not going to lie, Harry was in love with her. They were...there's no other way to put it. They loved each other."

The whimper that escaped your lips was an accident, and when Sylvia heard it, she pulled you in for a hug. "He was in love with her," she repeated as she ran a soothing hand up and down your back. "I truly believe he's moved on Y/n. Harry wouldn't do that to you."

"But what about her?" you said. "She wants him back, and he—he didn't tell me that she's been reaching out, and I just can't help but feel like their history will win out."

"I don't think you realize how happy you make him," Sylvia said. "Yes, Harry loved her, but they broke up for a reason. I don't see him giving things a second go, especially now that he's with you. He's happy, Y/n. He's happy because you make him happy. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all this. You just have to sit down and hear him out."

"You really think so?"

"He lights up at the mere mention of your name. You—You're like the sun to him," Sylvia promised. "So don't run from this, okay? Talk to him. Hear him out. Make him sweat a little for keeping this from you, but you owe it to yourself to hear his side of things."

You nodded, feeling a little reassured by what she'd said. You wouldn't feel a hundred percent until you talked things out with Harry, but this is a good start. At the very least, it kept you from wanting to run and hide from all this.

Laughing a little, you wiped a stray tear from your eye. "You know, when you said you were Harry's life coach, I didn't imagine you'd end up being mine too."

"It's what I'm good for," she said. "Now, let's see about doing a little shopping, hm? Ooh! And maybe we get our nails done."

Looping her arm through yours, she dragged you into the next aisle, feeling lighter with every step you took.

*.*

"Where is he? I'll kill him!"

This was the third time you'd heard that in the last couple of hours.

"Stand down, Hayden," you said from beneath your mountain of blankets. "He's not here."

Your brother's eyes widened as he looked in your direction, as if he didn't expect the pile of blankets to speak. He stalked over to where Andrew and Evan were standing in front of you, taking on a perplexed disposition. None of your brothers had ever really seen you this way. All the pranks, all the times they royally pissed you off when you were younger, you never really let it get to you. You could tell that although they wanted to be here for you, they weren't entirely sure how.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Just let me know where he is, Y/n."

They were doing their best to help, and you knew you owed them answers. You did call them after all. Well, that wasn't entirely true. You called Evan, who proceeded to call Andrew because your younger brother was closest in proximity to you. And Andrew called Hayden because of course he did. It was sweet that they all dropped everything to come see you, but now you felt put on the spot.

And you knew Hayden would make good on his word, and your other two brothers would have no trouble helping him, and that wasn't exactly what you wanted.

"I ended things with Harry," you said quietly.

"You said as much in your text, Y/n," Evan said. "But what happened? It seemed like you guys were really happy."

The thought of last night's events replayed in your mind, bringing a fresh wave of tears to the surface. Taking a shuddering breath, you said, "I thought we were too."

It all started last night at this party Harry invited you too. Something about fundraising and live music and dancing, and he said it was the perfect opportunity to get dressed up and go out and not worry about being photographed. You agreed, wanting to put the text messages from his ex that had yet to be discussed far from your mind. You knew you should've said something, but you wanted to give Harry the opportunity to come clean himself. The fact that he hadn't kept you up at night, but you promised yourself—and Sylvia—that you would bring it up after the party.

"Just one more night of normalcy before we have this conversation," you assured her. It was all you wanted. Just one night where this cloud wasn't hanging over your head.

So you went. Harry picked you up in a sports car that usually sat in his garage, practically mauling you when he saw you in your dress. It was simple, but you felt great in it—a short black number with white ruffles at the top and bottom. With your hair blown out and curled to perfection, little pearl droplets hanging from your ears, you felt like a dream, and every time Harry's gaze fell on you to track your figure up and down, your entire body was filled with butterflies.

And the night carried on perfectly. You and Harry sipped on champagne and kept to yourselves most of the night. You didn't really know anyone, and he was perfectly happy to keep you all to himself, kissing your cheeks and neck whenever he could, his hand never leaving your waist for a moment. It was exactly what you needed to take your mind off everything that had been swirling around in your head the last few days. When Harry was dancing and spinning you around in and out of his arms in a corner of the event space, it felt like you were the only two people to exist. There was no way he had any lingering feelings for his ex when he was smiling so brightly and laughing as you spun him out and back into your arms.

And then...it all just fell apart.

"Harry?"

At the sound of the woman's voice, Harry dropped your hand, coming to an abrupt halt beside you. You looked up, confused by the tension that suddenly lined his shoulders, but when you looked at the women who'd come up to your little corner, you just knew.

"H—Hi." Harry sounded breathless, his eyes never leaving hers once. All you could do was watch it all unfold in slow motion, all you could feel was the loss of his touch now that his hand was no longer in yours.

You cleared your throat when Harry didn't say anything. It was as if you had to pull him from whatever trance he'd fallen into at the mere sight of her. Dread filled your belly as he seemed to remember where he was, as he remembered you were there, blinking as he embraced his ex and introduced her to you.

"This is my friend Y/n."

His words felt like a sucker punch, all the air stolen from your lungs. You knew you and Harry hadn't put a label on your relationship, but to hear him refer to you as his friend right in front of his ex was devastating.

Your heart was glass, I dropped it.

Was this what it felt like? You never imagined you would be in this position, you never thought you would love someone enough to feel like you were coming undone at the seams at this kind of rejection. But perhaps that was just the universe coming to collect after thoroughly breaking someone else's heart yourself.

"I—I need some air," you heard yourself saying, not even looking to see if Harry noticed you leave or if he was too caught up in seeing his ex.

You didn't just get air, you Ubered home, unable to handle everything rushing through you. That was when you texted Evan, who merely responded with, I'm on my way, and twenty-four hours later, he was there, along with Hayden and Andrew.

You explained to your brothers what happened briefly, doing your best to not go into detail so you wouldn't start crying uncontrollably, though you'd be surprised if you had any tears left. You mostly just felt defeated, almost as if deep down you knew the happiness wasn't meant to last.

"He's an idiot, Y/n," Andrew said, resting a hand on Buddy's head to scratch him behind the ears. Your dog had been resting by your side since you came back last night, somehow sensing your despair. "Don't let him steal your happiness."

You nodded, but only because you had nothing else to say. You knew your brother meant well, but you just didn't believe him. This was par for the course in your eyes. Of course, when you fell for someone, they chose someone else. Maybe you were destined to be on your own, maybe love was overrated.

"Do you need anything?" Evan asked you, Hayden standing next to you. You could tell that they didn't really know what to do in this situation but that they wanted to be there for you. It was sweet, but there really wasn't anything to do.

"I'm okay," you said, convincing no one. "I think I might just take a nap."

"We can take Buddy for a walk. Maybe grab some food while we're out," Evan said. "Andrew, why don't you stay here and make sure she doesn't text him."

You rolled your eyes. "I literally just said I was going to sleep—"

"On it," Andrew said, hopping up to take your phone from where it was resting on your kitchen counter and slipping it into his pocket.

It was utterly ridiculous, but you were sure that was what your brothers were going for. The four of you weren't the touchy-feely type, you never had been. But one thing your brothers could count on was their ability to make you smile, make you laugh. And that was maybe exactly what you needed.

Making good on your word, you retired to your room, but you didn't sleep a wink despite how exhausted you were. Instead, you stayed up listening to records, shared favorites of yours and Harry's, the ones you bonded over together. It was hard to imagine that after such deep connections, the number of stories shared and late nights talking over bottles of red wine. Harry meant so much to you, and it killed you to think you didn't mean as much to him.

At some point, you must've dozed off—your eyes fluttering shut to the sound of Joni Mitchell—because suddenly you were jolting awake with a start. Muffled shouts could be heard through your closed door, which could only mean one thing.

Taking a couple minutes to wake up a little more and bolster yourself for unwanted confrontation, you finally stepped out of your room. The voices grew louder as you walked down the hall—Andrew kept telling Harry to leave while Harry claimed he just wanted to talk to you. You weren't sure if you were ready for this conversation yet, but it was here whether you liked it or not, and it would probably be for the best before Evan and Hayden came back or the argument happening at your front door drew unwanted attention.

"You can let him in."

Your voice was quiet, but not unsteady, which came as a surprise to you. It surprised your brother and the person who would've been your boyfriend too, their argument ceasing immediately as they looked over at you.

"Y/n," Harry breathed.

For better or for worse, he looked about as awful as you felt. There were bags under his eyes, and he was in the clothes he wore to the party last night. His tan trousers were rumpled, belt missing; his satin shirt was heavily wrinkled, the buttons mismatched in the wrong holes. His hair was a mess too, as if he'd been tossing and turning all night.

You didn't like seeing him like this, hated it, in fact. This wasn't supposed to be yours and Harry's story. You thought both of you had experienced the heartbreak and had found each other on the other side of it. Now you felt like you were right back where you started, and you hated it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Andrew said, glancing warily between you and Harry. "Hayden and Evan will be back soon—"

"It's fine, Andrew. I promise," you told him, stepping closer to the front door cautiously, worrying that getting too close would ensnare you in Harry's magnetic pull. One whiff of his cologne might send you right into his arms, where your heart still thought it was safe. "Keep them occupied for me?"

It was clear that Andrew didn't agree with you on this decision. He stood there by the door for a long while, trying to assess your mental state. But he finally relented, taking a few steps toward you to hug you tightly. "Don't be afraid to give him hell," he murmured in your ear. Then, after passing back your phone, he left, but not before glaring murderously in Harry's direction.

When you and Harry were finally alone, your apartment was silent for the first time in hours. Almost too silent. Harry just stared at you with this broken look in his eyes, and you...you couldn't dredge up the energy to start this conversation. It was clear Harry didn't either. You watched as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, but you had no desire to help him out.

"Can we sit?" he finally asked, his voice sounding tired and raw.

Unable to handle the look in his those devastated green eyes, you looked down at where your sweatshirt engulfed your hands. "I'd prefer it if we didn't."

Sitting meant forced proximity, and you were already pushing yourself to have this conversation. This distance between you and Harry would be where you drew the line.

"Oh," Harry said, sounding surprised. "Okay. I—I don't know what else to say other than I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Y/n."

"For what exactly?" you asked, not expecting the bitterness in your tone.

"For making it seem like we were just friends in front of her, for freezing last night. I—She'd been texting me the last few days and I've ignored her, but I didn't expect to see her."

"I know about the texts," you found yourself saying.

It was clear Harry hadn't expected that. A look of confusion passed over his face as he asked, "Wh—Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" you said, unable to hide the hurt, the betrayal.

"It was nothing, and I didn't want to bring any attention to it. I thought if I just ignored her enough, she would stop, and she did eventually stop, but then I saw her last night, and I didn't want to make her feel worse by showing her I'd moved on—"

"But you haven't," you said. "You're...protecting her. Sparing her feelings while fucking me over. I—I could've gotten over the texts. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt because you hadn't responded to her. But watching you call me your friend was such a slap in the face."

"I'm sorry, I fucked up. I know I did," Harry said, tears pooling in his eyes.

You could tell he meant it. You knew he realized what he'd done was shitty, but could you move on from it?

"I believe that you're sorry," you said. At that, something like hope flickered in his face, but you snuffed it out just as quickly as it came. "But I also think you still have unresolved feelings for her. And I—I don't want to be second to you. Not in that way."

"So that's it?"

You knew Harry like the back of your hand. You knew what the little quiver of his lip meant, understood the tight clench of his fists around the hem of his shirt. You could read every line of emotion on his face, and you wondered if he could pick you apart the same way.

"You know, all this time we've bonded over our respective heartbreak as if our pain was the same," you said, more to yourself than to him. "But what I'm realizing now, what I started to realize last night, was that mine stemmed from feelings of inadequacy, of never being enough for someone. I broke up with someone because I wasn't in love with them, and that devastated me. But you...no matter how the relationship fell apart or who ended it, you loved her, and she loved you. That feeling doesn't just wash away with the evening tide."

"Y/n—"

"And that's...that's okay, you know?" you continued. "You loved her. Love her. That's not a bad thing. But—But I'm in love with you too, and I can't—I'm not going to compete with someone who already has your heart. I won't."

Tears kissed your cheeks as you blinked. Your hands shook, but your voice was clear. Harry could deny it all he wanted, but you saw the truth laid bare before you. You weren't the only person occupying space in his heart, and after everything you'd been through, you didn't want to settle for anything less than what you deserved.

"That's not true, Y/n," Harry implored. He looked a little frantic now that he knew your mind was practically made up. "I fucked up, I know that. I saw her, and I froze. It was just—"

An instinct, a gut reaction, that was what he didn't want to say. "I don't want someone's initial reaction to be to let go of my hand," you said softly, wiping away a tear with a sleeve-covered hand. "I want—"

Your mom's ring in your pocket, my picture in your wallet. That song you'd written all those months ago, the one that held your deepest regrets and insecurities, all the little things you'd run from. You didn't want to run from it anymore. You thought you found someone to run toward, but you were wrong.

"I don't want what we have to be over, Y/n," Harry pleaded.

I don't believe you, you thought, and you couldn't be with him if you didn't trust his sincerity. "I think you need more time," you said instead of voicing what you felt.

"There's no convincing how much I feel for you, is there?" he said, sounding resigned to the fate that had come to pass.

You shook your head, your heart begging you to hold onto him and not let go, to drag him to bed and sleep until you both forgot. But you didn't do any of those things. "No. Not right now."

Harry finally bridged the gap between you and him. He kept a sliver of distance, the only contact he made being gentle fingers tilting your chin so you'd meet his eye. There was so much emotion swirling there, and you longed to kiss away all the anguish and pain until only love was left, but that wasn't in the cards. Not today, or in the days that would follow.

"I promised you that I wouldn't leave again," Harry said, his gaze unrelenting. Your brow furrowed, not recalling when he made that promise, but he continued before you could ask. "Not in the ways that count anyway, but I intend to keep that promise, Y/n. If you want space, I'll give it to you, but don't think for one second that I won't spend every single moment we're apart wishing we were together. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if that's what it takes."

It was a surprise your body didn't turn to jello on the spot, that Harry couldn't hear the steady thump of your heart as it beat wildly in your chest. He said all the right things, every perfect word, but right now, that was all they were. And you didn't have it in you to believe him.

"I'm sorry that I did this to us, to you," he said. "I'll never not be sorry. "

Harry stood there, his fingers gingerly holding your chin, for a few moments longer. It was as if he was imploring you to read the message in his eyes, to understand everything he wasn't saying, but you just didn't have the energy.

When he finally left, one last promise that wasn't giving up on you and him yet on his lips before the door clicked shut, all the warmth in your body went with him. You briefly thought of all the times you clung to him to warm up, slipping his hands beneath his shirts and sweaters and nuzzling your face in his neck.

That last touch of Harry's fingers to your chin wasn't enough, not nearly enough, and now he was gone. The person you fell in love with, who knew you better than anyone else in the world, walked out the door, head held high as if this wouldn't be the last time you'd be standing so close.

You weren't convinced. Not when all your mind wanted to replay was his hand dropping yours, his dismissal of your relationship, and his disregard for your feelings to protect those of his ex.

*.*

You didn't see Harry in the weeks that followed, but you weren't sure if that had more to do with him working on his album. Sylvia kept you semi-updated, even though you insisted you were fine with not knowing what he was up to. It was a lie, of course, and she saw right through it, letting you know when Harry was gone for music video shoots, recording and producing music, album cover shoots, and meetings with his label.

Part of you was grateful he wasn't around because it made keeping your distance easier. After everything that happened, you convinced yourself Harry didn't know what he wanted, even if he claimed he was. The proof had been right in front of you, though, clear as day. There were unresolved feelings lingering in the corners of Harry's heart and mind, and he needed to deal with them or get back together with his ex, but you wanted no part of it.

That wasn't to say Harry wasn't on your mind. He was there constantly, taking up space and making you lose focus while writing or walking your dog. You'd never been in love before, and now that everything had imploded, you didn't know how to make it stop.

“Y/n?”

Blinking, you looked up to where Mitch stared at you, an acoustic guitar in his lap. You weren't sure why you agreed to meet with him for a writing session. You hadn't written much since everything fell apart, save the occasional depressing poem, but when Mitch reached out, you figured it was as good a time as any to get back to work and start writing again.

In theory, it was a good idea, but your heart just wasn't in it. It was thousands of miles away shooting a music video.

"Sorry, I thought this would be a good idea, but my head is just all over the place," you said, closing your notebook that only had a few disconnected lines written down.

"I'm sorry about everything," Mitch said. "I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but he really does care about you. Like a lot."

"I know," you said dejectedly. "But he...he still loves her, I think. Or cares for her more than he lets on. Maybe even more than he realizes."

That night, you realized you had a losing hand. You didn't want to run like you'd done with Gavin, but you didn't want to fight either. You just felt...defeated, as if the fickle promise of love had bested you again.

"I can promise you he doesn't, but I know that's between you and him," Mitch said. Nodding to the journal in your lap, he asked, "Can I see?"

Shrugging, you handed it over. At this point, Mitch had learned a lot about you by being your writing partner, so you didn't mind him flipping through it. And honestly, there wasn't much to show anyway. A couple of measly lines did not a song make.

Mitch was quiet as he looked over the few things you'd written down, his expression gloriously passive as always. Since you started writing together, you'd struggled to read his expressions, not knowing what he thought until he voiced his opinion.

"Well, shit, kid," Mitch murmured on an exhale.

"What?"

Mitch looked up, one brow raised. Then, he began to read lines from your journal. "You've got my devotion, but man I can hate you sometimes...My hand's a risk I fold...Test of my patience, there's things that we'll never—"

"Hey wait a minute, that's not from today," you said, reaching for your journal. Mitch managed to land on one of your poems from a few days ago. That definitely wasn't meant to be part of today's writing session. "Give that back."

"This is good, Y/n. There's a song in here," Mitch insisted.

"Oh please. That's a terribly depressing poem fueled by a bottle of wine."

He pinned you with a stare, but you ignored it, and he eventually let it go. You didn't stay in the studio much longer after that, realizing that not much was going to come out of this session. And Mitch had to leave too, having to catch a redeye to London. "We're finishing up the album there," he explained.

It dawned on you then that you would be alone again. After becoming so used to having a partner of some kind while writing, too. It shouldn't have affected you so much, but it did. Somehow you'd grown to appreciate company while you were writing, and now your two favorite writing partners were leaving. They were the only two you'd ever had, but as history had shown, you weren't a huge fan of change.

You'd grown comfortable, but now the ground was shaking and crumbling beneath you. Though perhaps that should've been the familiar feeling.

"Can I keep the song?" Mitch asked on your way out of the studio. "I have an idea."

This time, you could read what was on your friend's face. And you could sense it, somehow. He wanted to show it to Harry. For the album, or because Mitch felt Harry needed to read the words. At this point, you were emotionally drained, and you weren't going to be there when Harry read your little poem, anyway. What did it matter?

"That's fine," you said, tearing the page out of your journal. "Don't be a stranger, okay? We can still collaborate over the phone or voice notes or whatever."

You thought that was where you and Mitch would leave things, but then he asked, "Do you think you'll ever write with him again?"

Harry was so much more than the person you were in love with. He was your friend, your first ever writing partner, someone you'd confided in. But he was also the person who made you feel betrayal and heartache. You didn't know how to reconcile those two people.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I hope so."

*.*

There wasn't a single moment where Harry didn't think of Y/n while they were apart. He'd done what she'd asked of him, gave them the space to heal and settle. Harry understood where she was coming from, and he knew that he'd hurt her more than he ever imagined he would.

Everything fell apart so completely, too quickly for him to even pick up the pieces.

He knew he should've told her about the texts the minute he received them, and he couldn't really pinpoint why he didn't. It was in no way to hurt Y/n, or to protect his ex; honestly, he should've just deleted them as they came, but he didn't, and things only went downhill from there.

Harry didn't want space, he knew what he wanted, who he wanted. But he also knew that what he'd done, how he behaved, gave Y/n every right to push him away and not trust him. All he knew was that he'd never regretted anything more than seeing the devastated look on her face when they ran into his ex.

He couldn't take back what he'd done, all he could do was try to make things right the second Y/n gave him the opportunity. Thankfully, recording and producing his second album kept him busy enough to give her the space she'd asked for. Had he liked being so far away from her, both physically and emotionally? No. Hell no, but he just put everything he was feeling into his music, let it fuel him as he and his team found the sound he was going for with this project.

It wasn't until weeks after they'd ended things that he heard from Y/n. Really, Mitch had passed a folded up piece of paper with song lyrics on it and said it was Y/n's, but Harry was so desperate to get something from her that he'd counted it. "I have an idea for it. I just need you to finish it," Mitch had said.

"Finish it?" Harry asked as he unfolded the paper.

To him it looked like a poem, but Mitch seemed to be convinced it was a song. He read over it briefly, then again, and again and again until he was standing in front of his friend for an awkward amount of time.

"She's speaking to you in this," Mitch explained. "It could be a kind of conversation."

The idea had perplexed him, and at first, Harry had said no. It wasn't until the next evening when he was alone in his flat that he considered the folded piece of paper. He thought about all the songs he'd written with Y/n, the thoughts and feelings they'd shared with each and every lyric and melody. This wasn't the same, not even close. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted to relive the moments where Y/n would sit with her guitar, her journal and his in his lap as they compared notes and ideas.

But this would have to do for now.

He didn't try to get in Y/n's head, to try to understand what she might've been feeling at the time she wrote the poem, though he had a pretty good idea. Harry merely did what Mitch suggested and responded to the lines already written down, adding them in where he saw fit.

"Put a price on...emotion, I'm looking for...something to buy," he murmured, quickly scribbling the words down before he forgot them. "I don't want to fight you, and I don't want to sleep in the dirt."

Writing this song gave Harry the opportunity to finally let go. Through it he was able to admit that he had been clinging to a crisp trepidation, a fear of giving all of himself over to Y/n with abandon. For a number of reasons—that things with Y/n would end up in flames like all his other relationships (check), that he didn't even know what love looked like anymore after so many failed attempts at finding it, that he wasn't good enough to be someone Y/n deserved, , that he was going to lose her forever if he didn't pull himself together enough for her.

By the time Harry was done, he felt dejected. The finished song was sad, too sad. It was about heartache and fear, it sounded finite. And that wasn't what he wanted his story with Y/n to be.

We'll be fine, he wrote before quickly crossing it our. Fine. Fine. Finefinefinefinefine—

"We'll be a fine line," Harry finally murmured.

He spent the rest of the night figuring out arrangements and melodies, all of it coming together in his head almost faster than he could write it all down. The album was pretty much in the final stretch. At this point, he and his team were finishing up recordings and working on the promotional aspects of the release, but he knew it down to every atom of his being that this song had to be on the album. It was the culmination of everything he'd experienced and felt, every emotion he'd embraced and shied away from. All of it crashed into each other in a blaze of horns and strings.

And maybe when he finally finished working through the main melody on his guitar, something soft and melancholic, yet soothing and hopeful, he should've gone right to sleep. He honestly should've been exhausted after the emotional whirlwind he'd been wrapped up in. Yet he somehow had his phone in his hands, his thumb hovering over a contact before he eventually hit the call button.

"Harry? What—Isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

Harry couldn't stop his breath from hitching when he heard Y/n's voice. He'd missed her so much it physically hurt sometimes. Part of him thought she wouldn't answer his call, but when she did, his entire body sagged with relief.

"I miss you," he said, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I know I messed up, and I know I hurt you, and you probably were just being nice by suggesting the whole space thing when you really want nothing to do with me ever again—"

"Harry," Y/n said, her voice gently but firm. "Slow down, love."

Harry could've cried at the softness in her tone let alone the term of endearment. All he'd wanted for the last few weeks was to just hear her voice, her his name on her lips in a way that didn't sound hurt or disappointed.

"You were right," he told her. "I—I was holding back from you, and that wasn't fair to either of us, but especially to you. Y/n, I—I'm so sorry."

"I know you are," she whispered. "I think...I think I just wanted you to want me as much as I did."

"I do," Harry promised. "I know I haven't given you much to believe me, but Y/n the way I feel about you is so different than I've ever felt about anyone, and I think part of me was scared of that too after such a tremendous breakup."

For a moment, Y/n was silent over the phone, her breaths filling up his ear and making him long for the moments they spent huddled up in bed together.

"I know...I know we've been here before, but do you think we could try things again?" he asked. He almost didn't want to know, believing that perhaps ignorance really was bliss. But Y/n had put herself out there so many times, had taken so many risks despite everything she'd experienced. He could be brave too.

"What if—What if we started over?" she said.

"Start over?"

"I think we need a clean slate. If you're really and truly over your ex—"

"I am. I swear, Y/n," Harry said, not wanting hope to spark to life in him just yet.

"Then we need to put all of this mess behind us and start fresh."

"I—I'd like that." He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. When he called Y/n, he worried he'd come off a little crazy due to lack of sleep, but now he worried he might've fallen asleep in a songwriting craze and was now dreaming.

"I, um, I know you offered a few months ago, but if you were still looking for someone to join your band...maybe I could fill that spot?"

"You want to work for me?"

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but I guess technically yes," Y/n said. "I feel like you would pay a fair wage."

Harry chuckled, a satisfied sort of exhaustion taking over him now that he felt like his life was getting back on track. "I'll give you whatever you want if it means you'll join."

He just wanted her close, and if this was what a clean slate looked like to her, then he would oblige. Having her close, playing music together, being surrounded by their friends, it would be exactly what they needed to find their way back to each other.

"You should probably go to bed," Y/n said, breaking the content silence that had settled over them.

"Yeah, probably," Harry agreed, running a tired hand over his face. "So what have you been listening to recently?"

For a moment, he thought she would insist he get some rest. He supposed he'd be okay with it, finding peace in the fact things were finally looking up for them. But then she answered, and Harry was sure he'd never be able to wipe the smile from his face as he listened to his girl.

*.*

Months later

"Are you in love with Harry?"

The question wasn't directed at you, but you felt your cheeks redden immediately.

Sarah, who was much more quick on the draw than you would've been, smiled and said, "We all are, yeah."

You forced a soft laugh, unsure of where to direct your gaze. This whole interview had been one huge vat of chaos—and blatant misogyny—from the start, but Harry had conducted himself well so far, not balking or raising his voice once at the invasive and downright rude questions that were thrown at him. Perhaps you should've expected a question like this today, but you still struggled to keep your face neutral.

"So there's nothing going on romantically with Harry and the ladies?"

You suddenly found the keyboard in front of you incredibly interesting. What you really needed in this moment was a reassuring glance from Harry, but that would defeat the purpose of keeping your budding relationship a secret.

Attention from the public was still something you were getting used to. You'd gotten into songwriting because it was out of the public eye, but being with Harry would eventually lead you right into it. Not that you minded, you'd do whatever it took to be with him. But interviews like this one still left you feeling flustered.

"And who's back there on keys?"

Even though they were all your friends, you still felt your face flush as red as the leather skirt you wore for the interview.

"Y/n."

"That's Y/n."

"How are you doing back there, Y/n?"

"Fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a squeak.

Risking a glance at Harry, you met his gaze. He gave you an encouraging smile, and it bolstered your confidence the slightest bit. Just enough to get you through this brief conversation.

"Just fine? Does Harry make you nervous?"

"Maybe Y/n's the one who's in love with him."

"Or maybe she just wants to fuck him!"

An awkward silence fell over the room after the interviewers' comments and questions. You didn't even know what to say, or how you were expected to respond. Feeling the sympathetic stares from the rest of the band, you took a deep breath and tried not to cry, feeling extremely embarrassed.

Harry's jaw ticked, and you were pretty sure you were the only one who noticed. It was the first time he'd reacted to any of the questions asked today. And you could see it in his face that he was beyond pissed off.

This wasn't what you expected, and clearly Harry hadn't expected it either. But you also didn't want him to storm off and make a big scene. You just wanted to get through today and go home and rest with Buddy and Sweet Pea while you and Harry watched a movie together in bed. That thought kept you grounded, and you tried your hardest to convey to Harry that you were okay without saying anything.

"I, um, I met Harry in the studio in LA," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Really?"

"Yeah, Y/n's a songwriter, but she's generously lent her fabulous keyboarding skills to us this year," Harry said.

"A songwriter?" You felt the interviewer's gaze sweep over you, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

Another tick of Harry's jaw.

"Yeah. But I've enjoyed doing this too. Traveling and performing with Sarah's band," you said, a meek attempt at a joke.

"You must be getting laid a lot on the road as a proper rockstar now. You could probably get whoever you wanted. Well, maybe not Harry, but close to anyone. Are you taking advantage of being on the road with Harry? A new man every night?"

You swallowed thickly, the will not to cry hanging on by a thread. "I—I don't think my brothers be cool with—"

"Shut the fuck up, mate."

Shocked silence filled the room. Clearly, the interviewers didn't expect someone as laid back as Harry to speak up that way. A mix of relief and unease washed over you, unsure of how the rest of the interview was going to pan out now. But you couldn't say you didn't feel relieved that he'd spoken up.

"Harry, we're only—"

"You're being fucking disrespectful to the members of my band, and I'm not fucking putting up with it. Either ask me your fucking questions or let me go. My band and I aren't putting up with your bullshit."

Harry hadn't wanted to come here. He knew the reputation of the interviewer, but it had still somehow made it onto the list of interviews and appearances to promote the album. You'd watched as he grew more and more irritated with each question, but he seemed to take them in stride. But the minute they were directed at you, he'd snapped.

A brief break in the interview ensued, producers suggesting that a couple minutes to regroup would do everyone some good. When everyone was ready to record again, a stilted topic change led Harry to introduce and talk about the Peter Gabriel song they were about to play. The rest of the interview teetered between overly professional and awkward. You could tell by the tense line of Harry's shoulders that he wanted to be anywhere else.

At some point while Harry was talking, Sarah looked over at you. "You okay?" she mouthed, and you nodded subtly, giving her a tiny thumbs up from behind your keyboard setup. Everyone in the band knew about you and Harry. It was hard to hide your relationship when he was by your side whenever you weren't rehearsing a song, and like Mitch and Sarah, he was almost always facing you during rehearsals. It was sweet how he was always pulling you aside during lunch breaks and sitting beside you on the piano bench. One time, when Harry had a film crew film a performance of each song on the album, he asked if the recording of "Fine Line" could just be you and him. Both of you sat on stools with your respective guitars as you performed a stripped-back version of the song, your voice supporting Harry's with a soft harmony occasionally. It was a special moment for the two of you, especially because the song meant so much.

After that, there were no questions about what you meant to each other.

At the end of the interview, Harry was quick to leave, hardly sparing anyone a glance as he stalked out. You stayed back to break down your equipment like you normally did, your hands shaking a little as the desire to comfort Harry took over.

"Go, I got this," Mitch said, coming over to help.

"Really?"

Mitch nodded before bumping his shoulder against yours. "Yeah. We still on for dinner tonight?"

You nodded. "Might have to be at my apartment, though. I don't think he'll be up for going out."

You left soon after that, walking out of the recording room where the interview had taken place. The green room was down the hall, and you entered despite the closed door. "It's me," you said quietly before entering, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

Harry was already out of his blue sweater and green trousers, a pair of brown corduroys on as he shrugged into a yellow t-shirt. He looked up briefly, then looked back down again as he slipped a pair of Vans on.

"How are you feeling?"

"Mad, upset, guilty," he said with a shrug.

"Why on earth do you feel guilty, love?"

"That never should've fucking happened," he seethed, but in Harry fashion, it just meant his voice was clipped and low as he tried to get a handle on his anger. "You didn't deserve that. I should've stood up for you."

"I...You did, H." You didn't want to say that it was okay, because obviously the whole situation wasn't, but you knew he wasn't to blame. The topic of him sticking up for you was a touchy one. "You were put in a tough position, yet you still put those assholes in their place. Let's just go home and forget about all this shit, okay?"

Harry nodded, but he still wouldn't meet your eye, which wasn't going to work for you one bit.

"Hey," you said, tilting his chin up with your fingertips. "Don't beat yourself up. Please? For me?"

For the first time since the midpoint of the interview, Harry grinned. He threaded his fingers through yours before giving you a kiss, his lips soft and familiar against yours. You felt some of the tension leave his body until he eventually pulled away and draped an arm over your shoulders, your hands still connected.

"Never fucking coming to this place again," Harry murmured on the way out, keeping you tucked closely to his side.

"Amen to that."

Harry looked down at you, the anger and frustration finally clearing from his eyes. When it came to you, to your feelings, he was very protective. And you were too, in your own way. You leaned on each other, supported each other, and spent time together without ever being sick of one another. There was no doubt in your mind that he loved you, and even though it might put him in hot water with his management or the interviewer, it meant a lot to you that he stood up for you the way he did. You didn't need him to throw punches or push people up against walls—honestly, that was what your brothers were for—but when it all boiled down, he put you and your feelings first, always and without question.

"I love you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing circles over the top of your hand.

"Even with my crazy brothers?"

"Even with your crazy brothers."

"Hm. Even when Buddy steals your spot on the bed?"

"Even then."

"Even in the mornings when my feet are cold and they brush up against your legs?"

When Harry didn't answer right away, you playfully pinched his side until he laughed and kissed the top of your head. "Babe, I'm gonna love you on your worst day, you know that."

And even though you did, your cheeks became rosy, your whole body tingling with warmth. "Good. Because I love you too. So much."

So much pain had been felt, so much devastation had been endured before you and Harry fell into a perfect rhythm. It wasn't easy, and if you were to look back at the girl who believed she was fucked in the head and incapable and undeserving of love and being loved, you would still think it was all worth it. You would endure it all again if it led you to this moment, if it ended up with Harry cradling your heart of glass in his hands and protecting it as if it was his own.

Hand in hand, you went home and didn't look back at the shattered glass you'd long since left behind.

[yelena-bellova]

Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven: Movin’ On Up

Plot: Y/n receives some surprise visitors on moving day, and Richmond suffers a shocking blow to their lineup.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: f!reader, language, (16+)

A/N: I really don’t know how I’m managing to crank these out so fast. Maybe shorter chapters? Anyway, this one was fun. We’re getting into the meat of the story, so hold onto your butts, and enjoy!!

(Forgive any typos, I wrote the bulk of this one at midnight 🌙)

——————

If there was a magical force at play in Richmond, it had made Y/n its latest target.

Not only had she found the perfect apartment, she’d toured it, signed the lease and booked movers in the same week. In all her post-university years, she’d never seen real estate move quicker.

Y/n wandered the flat, directing the men and whatever piece of furniture they were holding to its corresponding room.

A knock sounded from the stairs.

“Oh, the dresser can go to-“ Y/n spun around to help guide the mover she’d just seen downstairs, only to find the last person she expected.

“Hey, there, neighbor,” Ted greeted, standing at the top of the steps.

Y/n quickly plastered on her Monday-Friday grin, “Ted. What are you…how did you…?”

“Well, you said you were movin’ into your new place this weekend,” Ted hopped a step inside the apartment to let one of the movers pass by, “Took a guess that the van that came through this morning was probably yours.”

Y/n tried to laugh off the intrusion. The safety of living thirty minutes away was long gone…

“Brought you a little ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ gift,” Ted held up a little pink box and set it on Y/n’s kitchen counter. It was the same one that he dropped on Rebecca’s desk each morning.

“Thank you,” Y/n replied while pointing one of the movers in the direction of her bedroom.

Ted stuck his hands in his pockets and took a look around the living room. He let out a whistle, “I wish you’d’ve told us you were movin’ in sooner. Coaches and the boys coulda saved you some money, get you settled ourselves.”

That was exactly why she hadn’t told anyone she was moving until the day before. She knew Ted would have assembled the Greyhounds and she would have had 15+ footballers funneling in and out of her apartment, invading the little bubble she had left.

“Oh, I wasn’t gonna inconvenience you guys,” Y/n replied, watching Ted as he maneuvered around the boxes, “Especially with the match tomorrow.”

Ted made a raspberry, “Pish posh, Oshkosh. Woulda been happy to help. Hey,” Ted swirled a finger toward the ceiling, “This place got A/C?”

Y/n nodded.

“Whew,” Ted exhaled, “I gotta tell you, biggest surprise comin’ over here.”

“You get used to it,” Y/n replied, a deep double meaning to her words.

“What about you? What was the biggest shock for you, movin’ here?”

Y/n thought back to when she was eighteen, fresh out of high school and starting a brand new life in another country. Even if it had only been a few years, it felt like a decade ago.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, “Probably the difference in English. Chips versus fries, that sort of thing.”

“Man, I still slip up,” Ted said, “Took me months to get the football lingo down.”

“I still call the pitch a field sometimes,” Y/n admitted, settling on one of her barstools.

“Well, now I don’t feel so bad,” Ted chuckled as he came to sit across from Y/n, “Hey, what’s the thing you miss most from home? Just a little thing, y’know?”

Y/n sighed, thinking about the region-specific foods she couldn’t find in the international section of the market or the channels missing from her television. Truth be told, there wasn’t anything she missed so much it could be considered missing.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s been so long since I’ve been home.”

“When was the last time you went back?” Ted asked.

“Uh…” Y/n traced back the list of holidays, “My sister’s birthday…two years ago?”

Ted whistled once more, “That’s a long time. Bet your folks miss you.”

On cue, Y/n’s muscles tensed. Her smile returned to conceal her discomfort. “My sister visits,” she said, “Every year.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” Ted cooed, “For me, it’s gotta be good barbecue. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they do food dang well over here, but I miss a good southern BBQ, y’know?”

“I actually do,” Y/n admitted with a small laugh, “4th of July’s always weird.”

Ted smacked a hand against the counter. “Thank you,” he said loudly, “Last year, we had a game. Felt like Beard and I were betrayin’ our ancestors or somethin’.”

Y/n chuckled, Ted struck her as someone who went all out for Independence Day.

“Hey, truth time,” Ted continued, the humor draining from his face, “Yea or nay on tea?”

Y/n shrugged, “I like it.”

“Dang it,” Ted bobbed his head, “Beard, you…us ex-pats keep droppin’ like flies.”

“It takes some adjusting, I’ll admit that,” Y/n raised a finger, “Not exactly a frappachino.”

“Mm-mm,” Ted shook his head, “I have tried and tried with that tree piss. Warmth ain’t goin’ anywhere north on that one.”

Y/n snorted a little, imagining what that might look like, Ted sipping on earl grey.

One of the movers asked Y/n where she wanted a bookcase and she gave him directions. For once, Ted sensed the moment.

“Well, I’ll get outta your hair,” he held up his hands and hopped off the barstool, “But I’m just down the street so you ever need anything, don’t be a stranger.”

“Good to know,” Y/n watched Ted walk away, “Ted?”

He stopped at the top of the stairs, “Hmm?”

While Ted was still a lot, after all her years spent as the foreigner, it was almost…nice to talk to someone from home. Someone she didn’t need to explain her references to or rearrange her vocabulary for.

“Thank you,” Y/n said, quickly concealing the truth of her gratitude, “For the biscuits.”

“Anytime,” Ted saluted before heading on his way.

Y/n let out a loud sigh once she was sure he was gone. She wandered back over to the counter and opened the pink box, finding the signature biscuits Rebecca raved about. Out of curiosity, she broke off a bite and ate it.

“Shit,” she mumbled, they were better than anything she’d ever found in any of London’s cafés.

Despite his line-crossing, Ted was good-natured. He had a heart of gold and tried to make sure everyone he encountered felt like they had one too. Y/n could call it tolerance or simply learning to deal with him, but deep down, Ted’s efforts were starting to poke and prod a little harder at her walls.

—————————

That evening, after the movers had finished and Y/n had gotten the basics unpacked, she started on the non-essentials. She was stacking dishes when the doorbell rang.

Y/n was perturbed as she descended her stairs, there were exactly three people who had her new address, the absolute minimum. Lisa, who handled payroll at the club, Ted, who’d stumbled upon her apartment by sheer luck, and her sister.

Looking through the peephole, Y/n sighed. She’d forgotten there was a fourth on the list.

Jamie smiled smugly as Y/n opened the door, “You went with mine.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “I didn’t ‘go with yours.’ I was the one who found it, you just deemed it worthy.”

“And I was right,” Jamie stuck his neck out and lifted off his heels.

She’d never give him the satisfaction of knowing, but Jamie was completely right. The night of the West Ham match, the two of them had stayed at the Crown and Anchor till Mae kicked them out, pouring over each apartment until they’d eliminated 75% of the stack. The one Y/n had settled on was also the one that Jamie had decided was the best.

Jamie held up a plastic takeaway bag, “Come bearin’ sustenance.”

Not only was Y/n tired, she didn’t want to entertain anybody else from work. But, starving as she was, she was in no position to turn down free food.

“Entry permitted,” she snatched the bag from him, “Barely.”

Jamie took an exaggerated step over the seal and passed Y/n. They’d gotten to know each other better over the last few weeks, Jamie stopping Y/n anytime he saw her to ask about the apartment tours she was taking on the weekends. They’d gotten many laughs out of the stories of Y/n going against Jamie’s advice and visiting the properties that did indeed turn out to be crap.

In another world, they’d almost consider each other friends.

Upstairs, Jamie swung his arms as he took in the living room, “Not bad.”

“‘Not bad?’” Y/n turned around from where she stood in the adjoining kitchen, “You pick this place out and then it’s just ‘not bad?’”

Jamie cackled, spinning on his heel and pointing a finger at Y/n. “That’s an admission.”

Y/n internally cringed, her sharp edge was dulled by exhaustion. She could usually keep up with Jamie. “If you want any of this,” she unpacked the styrofoam container of kebabs, “You’ll stay on my good side.”

“Can’t have any,” Jamie replied, coming to lean on the bar, “Diet, ‘member?”

Y/n shook her head, popping a stray piece of chicken into her mouth. “I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”

“You know why,” Jamie crossed his arms on the counter, “Gotta get back to being the best.”

“Yeah, but is being better than Zava worth missing out on things like food and sleep?” Y/n asked. She could appreciate Jamie’s drive, but this dedication seemed overboard.

“It’ll be worth it,” Jamie stated.

Y/n decided to play the asshole, sliding across the kitchen to wave the kebab box under Jamie’s nose. She watched his willpower waver ever so fleetingly.

Jamie glared up at her, “You’re evil.”

Y/n snickered as she went back to her spot, stealing a bite before going back to unpacking. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Roy?”

“Night before a match, I’m off,” Jamie swung around the bar to the kitchen.

“So shouldn’t you be resting?” Y/n asked as she un-bubble wrapped a stack of plates.

“I will,” Jamie shrugged, bending over to peel the tape off a box.

Y/n glanced over, watching as Jamie began to unpack various glasses. He didn’t offer, he didn’t ask, just went about it as if it were his business. It was slightly intrusive…and also kind.

Jamie Tartt, Y/n had come to learn, was nothing and everything like what she’d thought he’d be. He had more depth than he let onto and he’d shown a side of it by trying to help her find a place. And though she knew the Zava battle was a personal thing for him, she also knew how much Jamie cared about his team. He wanted to be at his best for them just as much as he did for himself.

Unlike Keeley, who announced her efforts to get Y/n to crack at every turn, or Ted, who went overboard, Jamie hadn’t tried to enter into Y/n’s life. He had simply occurred.

“Do you get nervous?” Y/n asked out of pure curiosity, “Before games?”

“Not really. I mean,” Jamie answered, lining up coffee mugs in a cupboard, “Sometimes. Depends.”

Y/n stretched on her toes to put away china she never used, “On?”

“I dunno,” Jamie replied, a particular trigger or two popping up, “Lots of things.”

“So what about tomorrow?” Y/n continued.

Any slip Jamie’s mind had made was caught with quick footing. “Nah,” he said confidently, “Nah, we got that.”

“Well, good,” Y/n exhaled, setting the empty box on the floor, “It’d be nice to get a win. And hey, if it doesn’t work out and you’re forced to retire after this season, I’m sure the reality tv world is still thriving with opportunities.”

Jamie managed to grimace while smiling, “How the fuck did you find out about that?”

“You thought the PR department wouldn’t know about that?” Y/n strode past him to get another box, “I also live in England.”

“You at least vote for me?” Jamie asked, a playful lilt to his tone.

Y/n hoisted another box of kitchenware into her arms and balanced it on her knee. “Yep, you caught me,” she sarcastically grunted, “I have a weakness for crap tv featuring mediocre footballers.”

Jamie set down the mug in his hand with a particular harshness. Mediocre footballer. “Now, hang on-“ he began.

“Less talking, more working,” Y/n cut him off, she stopped to check out the cupboard he was finishing. “That’s also not where they go.”

“What?”

“The mugs,” Y/n gestured to where her coffee maker was, “Disrupts the flow if they’re all the way over there.”

Jamie rolled his eyes, only playful annoyance accompanying. “God forbid we disturb the flow,” he lamented, grabbing a mug in each hand and heading to the correct cabinet.

They unpacked in comfortable silence a minute more before Y/n decided it didn’t matter if Jamie wasn’t nervous about the match. They needed all the encouragement they could get.

“It’ll happen tomorrow,” she said, referring to their recent losses.

Regardless of whether he was hiding any feelings or if they’d pop out the moment he stepped on the pitch, Jamie stopped what he was doing to absorb the kind words. Y/n was a recent addition to his life, certainly an unexpected one, but she felt…safe. Like even if they didn’t know anything about each other past their mutual taste in real estate, he didn’t have to act so much around her.

“Thanks,” he replied, making effort to meet her eyes.

Y/n gave a small smile, “It will.”

—————————

It didn’t.

Over the next month, Richmond’s lack of luck turned to a 7-game losing streak. Some weeks were better than others, but they all ended the same way: with the Greyhounds leaving the pitch with their heads hanging in defeat.

Luckily, Y/n was kept occupied on the eighth week. Jack Danvers was coming into the office for a meeting and Keeley had asked Y/n to be there as well.

“You’re all business-y,” she’d said, “You know way more than I do, plus, Jack really likes you.”

Y/n sat on one side of Jack, with Barbara on the other, as she and Keeley recounted the conversation and clash of opinions they’d had recently.

“I completely understand where Barbara’s coming from,” Keeley said, keeping a kind tone as she turned to her CFO, “But as I was explaining to you, I’m worried that by adding more clients that could mean less attention paid to the wonderful people we already represent.”

“And then,” Barbara chuckled, though she lacked any humor, “I reminded Keeley, as you’ve said so many times, Jack, that if it does get to the point where we feel we’re spreading ourselves thinly, then we’ll hire more people,” she grinned politely at Keeley, “It’s called ‘growth.’”

Y/n and Keeley glanced over at one another fleetingly, the tension was so poorly concealed, it was getting uncomfortable.

“I’m sure you can see that as well, Y/n,” Barbara gestured towards Y/n.

“Actually, Keeley’s absolutely right, in my opinion,” Y/n answered, spotting her boss a smile, “There’s big firms, there’s small firms. Both have their allure, but I think our personability is the biggest thing we have going for us.”

“Oh,” Barbara’s grin grew scarier, “Wonderful, wonderful…”

Jack looked sweetly towards Barbara, “Okay. Let me weight in here.

“Oh, please,” Barbara obliged.

“I agree with Keeley,” Jack finished.

“Oh, that’s great,” Barbara beamed.

“Being a small boutique firm is exactly what sets you apart, like Y/n said,” Jack went on, “You want a restaurant to look successful, you take out half the tables and you have a line out the door. I say, let’s go for it.”

Keeley and Jack shared a smile.

“No, that’s wonderful. Yeah,” Barbara forced out as she rose, “And instead of salaries, we can give away the tables we threw out.”

“Don’t worry, Barbara,” Jack called, “It’ll be great.”

Barbara mumbled some dishonest agreement as she left the room, leaving it open on her way out.

Jack turned to Keeley and Y/n, “Do you ever think sunshine gets jealous of her?”

The women shared a laugh just before a knock at the door revealed Shandy. “Knock, knock.”

“Hi, babe,” Keeley greeted her friend.

“Now that your little cool girls meeting’s done,” Shandy leaned on the empty chair, very visibly unhappy, “Just wanted to share the exciting news that I’ve started an app.”

“Oh,” Keeley replied.

“It’s like Bantr, but it’s better and cooler,” Shandy’s tone was even and icy, “And actually cares about helping people have sex with celebrities.”

Y/n kept her head down, sharing an awkward glance with Jack. This was strictly Keeley’s business to handle.

“What? Shandy-“ Keeley began.

“It’s called ‘Star Fuckr,’” she announced before looking to Jack, “And yeah, we are looking for investors.”

When Jack didn’t offer to write a multi-zero check right then and there, Shandy stood tall, shot daggers at Keeley and strutted her way out of the room.

“I take it she’s still angry about the whole Bantr thing?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yes,” Keeley nodded, “Shandy does not have a good relationship with rejection, or her ex, or with her workplace, or most nouns, really.”

“‘You are so passionate, but I have to let you go,” Jack said, pulling Y/n and Keeley’s attention, “‘I’m sorry, but I know someone as brilliant as you will land on their feet.”

Keeley struggled momentarily, “What did I do?”

“No, no, no, no,” Jack reached out across the desk, “Keeley, sorry. That’s what you say when you fire Shandy.”

Y/n and Keeley both exhaled forcefully, laughing after.

“Sorry,” Jack apologized.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Y/n’s hand was pressed to her chest, “I just saw my lease flash before my eyes.”

“It’s called a compliment sandwich,” Jack explained, “You give someone bad news, but to soften the blow, you slap it between two delicious slices of compliments.”

Keeley nodded, “But I can’t fire Shandy. She’ll hate me. And she really thinks she’s killing it.”

“I am sure she does,” Jack exhaled, “The worst people often think they’re the best. My dad calls it ‘talent dysmorphia.’”

Keeley laughed while Y/n stayed silent, knowing what was coming next.

“What do you think?” Keeley turned to her hardest worker, “Do you think it’s the right decision?”

Y/n looked down at her notebook, taking a deep breath to see if it would help the force of what she wanted to say dissipate. Jack was waiting on her too, and she couldn’t lie to her or Keeley.

“I think…” she started slow before shutting her eyes and letting it fly, “Keeley, if you don’t fire her, she will literally run the company into the ground and strut over its mangled corpse.”

When she opened her eyes, Jack and Keeley were leant back an inch or two as if to avoid the splash of her opinion. Before she could try and explain it more eloquently, the two women started laughing.

“No, no,” Jack chuckled, “Don’t hold back.”

Y/n exhaled with a small smile, turning to Keeley, “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Keeley reached a hand over and poked the back of Y/n’s, “That’s why you’re my best. You don’t hold back.”

It was ironic, they both knew, considering how withdrawn Y/n kept herself. But with Keeley, it seemed to be a bit of a joke between the two of them.

“You two wanna get some lunch?” Jack asked when the giggles had died down, “My meeting just got pushed.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Keeley smiled, “Yeah, my stomach started grumbling when you said ‘compliment sandwich.’”

“You guys enjoy,” Y/n rose with them and collected her purse, “I’ve gotta get back to the office.”

“Oh,” Keeley reached back over her desk and handed Y/n a sheet of paper, “Give this to Zava. A couple more people called requesting interviews.”

Y/n glanced over the list she’d originally made, it seemed like the Zava craze still hadn’t died down. In fact, the more Richmond lost, the more people wanted to hear what he had to say. “Are we sure it’s a good idea to do so many interviews on a seven-game streak?”

“That’s the thing,” Keeley grabbed her coat, “The press eat up whatever Zava says. Can’t get enough.”

Quirking an eyebrow in understanding, Y/n tucked the list in her book and tried to imagine the ridiculous headlines that would be tied to Richmond this week.

—————————

Returning to the office after having taken lunch by herself, Y/n rapped two knuckles on the open locker room door. She still knew to wait for the all-clear.

“Everybody decent?”

A chorus of various ‘yeses’ were her key in.

“Zava,” Y/n turned to the star player, “Here’s your interview schedule. The press is really eager this weekend in particular. Let me know if there’s any changes you want to make.”

Zava pressed a hand to his heart and touched Y/n’s arm with the other. “Thank you,” he said softly, before looking to his teammates, “Men.”

Taking hold of both her shoulders, Zava guided Y/n to stand in front of him. “Okay,” Y/n stuttered as she was stood in front of the entire team. Seated in the middle of the room with Isaac, Jamie matched her confused gaze.

“This is what your hearts should be seeking,” Zava began to wax his odd form of poetry, “Brains, talent, warmth-“

Y/n’s brow creased, what the fuck had she walked into?

“Outer beauty will fade,” he continued, “But a smudge like this,” Zava smiled down on Y/n, “It will last forever.”

Zava patted her shoulders once more before throwing his towel over his shoulder and exiting the room. Not only was Y/n left with every Greyhound staring at her, contemplating Zava’s words, but with his schedule still clutched in her hand.

“Can someone make sure he gets this?” Y/n asked, failing to keep her tone even.

“Oh,” Dani raised his hand and climbed over Jamie’s leg to get to Y/n, “I will.”

Y/n willingly handed it off, “Thank you, Dani.” Not caring to spend another second in the room, she turned on her heel and left. She backtracked her steps quickly, “Is a smudge a good or a bad thing?”

Colin scrunched his face up, “It’s not…not…a good thing.”

Pressing a hand to her temple, Y/n decided she didn’t need to know any more about whatever conversation she’d interrupted and left the locker room.

—————————

The Man City match came about like every other one, but the air of anticipation heightened with each week. Would this be the day Richmond finally broke their streak? Or would they take another step towards double digits?

Not more than a second after Y/n had parked in the car lot, her phone rang with a call from Higgins.

“Hi,” she answered, “What’s going on?”

“Are you here yet?” Higgins asked, his tone nervous.

Y/n shut the door to her car, striding towards the back entrance to the stadium. “I just pulled in.”

“Could you pop into the coach’s office?”

“Yeah,” Y/n hung on the syllable suspiciously, turning in the other direction and swinging the door to the office building open. “Be right there.”

Y/n took long steps down the hall, passing by the locker room and heading straight for Ted’s office.

“Hey,” she said as she entered. Coach Beard, Roy and Higgins were standing around the desk clump, huddled together in conversation. Ted was already on the pitch. “What’s wrong?”

Beard kept his hand pressed to his mouth, Roy scowled at the air.

“It seems that Zava hasn’t showed up yet,” Higgins answered, “No one knows where he is.”

Y/n’s lips parted in confusion, “He’s just…not here?”

“Apparently so.”

Setting aside her annoyance, Y/n snapped into work mode and pulled her phone from her coat pocket. “Alright,” she scanned her contacts, “Let me get on the phone with some people. See if I can track him down.”

“He’d better fucking be here,” Roy growled at no one in particular.

Y/n raised her phone to her ear and pointed to Roy and Trent’s office, the former nodding for her to take it. She started at the top of the list of Zava’s personal team he’d given to her, Keeley and Higgins. Why a fecalist needed to be considered an emergency contact, Y/n would never understand, but she’d try whoever she had to…

Except the fecalist hadn’t heard from him.

Or his agent.

Or anyone Y/n dialed.

Defeatedly, and beginning to grow anxious, Y/n rejoined Beard, Roy and Higgins. “No one knows where the fuck he is,” she answered.

“Fuck,” Roy muttered.

“We got three minutes,” Beard shrugged, “What the fuck do we do?”

“Start Colin,” Roy resolved before looking to Y/n, “If you track that prick down, I don’t care, you fucking get on the pitch and tell us.”

Y/n gave a definitive nod, “You got it.”

With not so much a plan as a temporary fix, Roy and Beard left for the locker room while Y/n and Higgins headed for the hall.

“I told everyone to call me if they hear from him,” Y/n reported as they walked.

“What could be so important to make him miss a match?” Higgins pondered as they made their way to the stadium.

“I don’t know, but so long as his wife and kids are breathing and in possession of all their limbs,” Y/n practically growled, the cheering of packed house of Greyhounds growing louder with each step, “I’ll drag him onto the field myself.”

—————————

Rebecca took to the news…as expected.

“Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Y/n sat on one side of her boss, raising two fingers of the hand rubbing at her temple, in agreement.

“So just, no one’s heard from him?” Rebecca asked.

“No one,” Higgins grimaced.

“Well,” Rebecca let her palms fall against her legs, “There goes any chance of a win.”

“Let’s pray otherwise,” Y/n scanned her phone for the fifth time since she’d sat down. It was then that she realized there was a very vocal presence missing. “Where’s Keeley?”

Snapping out of her most likely violent thoughts, Rebecca unlocked her phone and held it up to Y/n. She found a text thread from Keeley including a message that said she’d be missing the game. Below it was a picture of a baby lamb standing on the table of the KJPR conference room, surrounded by its own feces.

Three months ago, Y/n might have had a question or twelve. Now, she simply nodded and sat back in her seat. “So Shandy’s gone,” she mumbled to herself.

The game went as well as the last ones had. Colin, though talented, couldn’t rival Zava’s skill. Jamie’s extra training wasn’t the solution either, and Man City walked away with a 4-0 win against the Greyhounds.

Rebecca retired to her office while Higgins and Y/n headed to touch base with the coaches. Trent met them along the way.

“No one heard from him?” Trent asked Y/n on their way.

“Not a single text or call during the game,” Y/n scrolled her phone as they walked, an Instagram notification popping up, “Shit.”

Higgins looked over, “What?”

Y/n stopped midway to their destination, hitting play on the video.

“Hello, how are you?” Zava spoke, dressed in casual wear, “I’m just - I have to share something with you, my friends. You are not my followers. You are my believers.”

Trent and Higgins came to stand beside Y/n, expectantly waiting for an answer.

“And so it— I have to tell you,” the man paused, “Zava has played his last match. I will now dedicate all of my time and all of my energy to my family and my avocado farm.”

The rest of whatever utter nonsense Zava had to spew, Y/n didn’t listen. She was infuriated, partially because of his actions, and partially because they’d all allowed themselves to think it was ever a good idea to hire him. He’d fed the Greyhounds to the wolves with no regret and it affected all of AFC Richmond.

When the video ended, Trent, Y/n and Higgins shared a hopeless look.

“We’ve got to tell the boys,” Higgins finally spoke, shrugging slightly.

The three of them made their way down the rest of the hall where the locker room door hung open. The scene inside was dismal, each of the men sat on the benches with their heads hung.

“Hey, guys,” Higgins greeted in an attempt to stay positive, “Good effort today.”

“Mr. Higgins,” Colin spoke up from his seat, “Is it true about Zava?”

Y/n cast her gaze downwards, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

“I’m afraid so,” Higgins replied.

Dani, cradling a towel to his face, began to weep into the fabric.

“Maybe some tissues for Dani,” Higgins muttered quietly.

“Hey, hey, guys,” Sam stood with his phone in hand, “Zava just posted a video.”

“Oh gosh,” Y/n grumbled under her breath as the Greyhounds circled up. Everyone except Jamie, who remained sat on the floor.

The boys watched the video, clinging to every last word at the start, and walking away with mumbled curses and shakes of the head. Any love or respect they had for their former teammate had been lost within thirty virtual seconds.

Y/n snuck a glance over at Jamie, expecting to see him struggle to keep his joy under wraps. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Even he was in shock.

“Gentlemen,” Ted said as he entered, quickly noticing Y/n’s presence, “And lady. That was a tough one tonight. Okay? Man City has still got our number. That’s all right. We gonna get another crack at ‘em later in the season. Uh-huh,” Ted looked to Beard, “Coach? No practice tomorrow.”

Beard nodded, “That’s right.”

“Okay,” Ted looked back to the team, “Well, I’ll see y’all on Monday.”

While the rest of the team began to talk amongst themselves, Sam looked up confusedly at Ted. “Hey, hey. Hey, Coach,” he called till the manager stopped in his tracks, “What about Zava?”

Ted glanced over at Zava’s multiple lockers, his empty chair.

“He quit the team,” Sam stated, as if it unheard news.

“I mean, technically he retired from the whole sport,” Ted clarified, “Which makes it feel a little less personal, yeah? You know, like if your girlfriend runs off with some dude and it turns out they were soulmates.”

The Greyhounds replied quietly in agreement.

“But look, look, look, look,” Ted redirected their focus back, “I hear you, okay? Zava is gone. And you know what? I think it’s a good thing.”

The boys began to argue back in shock.

“Well, I do. Okay, look,” Ted spoke over his players, “Do I wanna win? Heck yeah. But I also wanna do it with folks that wanna be here. It’s not like we could handcuff him to his locker and make him love us.”

“We could have tried,” a desperate Dani replied.

As the initial surprised faded, Y/n was beginning to match Ted’s opinion. Zava may have taken them for a temporary ride to the top, but this ultimate insult had shown that his heart was next in Richmond.

“Hey, guys. Guys, look,” Ted held up a hand, “We got a good thing going here. All right?” Ted’s eyes fell to his left, meeting Jamie’s, “We didn’t need Zava. Yeah?”

No one dared disturb the silence as the truth washed over each of them, including those who weren’t players.

“Yeah,” Ted said quietly, “All we need to win are the fellas in this room, right now,” he pointed to the men on the benches, “And all you fellas need to do is believe it.”

No sooner than when Ted had uttered the last two words did the bright yellow ‘Believe’ sign hanging over his head split itself down the middle. The Greyhounds jumped to their feet and cried out to various degrees. Even Y/n gasped a little, having learned of its significance.

“It’s a sign,” Bumbercatch called out.

“That’s it,” Colin held up his hands, accepting fate, “We’re doomed.”

As the locker room grew louder, Ted held up his hands and attempted to settle things down.

“Now hold on. Hey, knock it off, okay? We’re not doomed. No one is doomed. But Bumbercatch, yes, you’re right. It is a sign. I agree, Yeah.”

Ted turned around and removed both halves of his handiwork, folding them together. “In fact this, it’s just a sign.”

Without any hesitation, Ted tore the paper into four pieces, sending the locker room into chaos again.

“All right, guys, listen to me,” Ted commanded the room, “Belief doesn’t just happen ‘cause you hang something up on a wall. All right? It comes from in here,” he touched his chest, “You know? And up here,” he touched his temple before hitting his stomach, “Down here. Only problem is, we all got so much junk floating through us, a lot of times, we end up getting in our own way.”

Y/n had yet to be present for any of Ted’s locker room speeches, as she had no reason to be. But immediately, like some spiritual presence moving through the room, she felt his words take hold of her.

“You know, crap like envy or fear, shame,” Ted continued, seemingly speaking to himself as well, “I don’t wanna mess around with that shit anymore. You know what I mean? Do you?”

He wasn’t speaking to her, but the question still penetrated Y/n all the same. She could feel a familiar ball of anxiety beginning to build in her stomach.

“No, me neither,” Ted shook his head after the boys answered back, “Hell no. Well, you know what I wanna mess around with? The belief that I matter, you know? Regardless of what I do or don’t achieve.”

One blade inserted itself into Y/n’s gut, the omnipresent pain causing her heart rate to speed up.

“Or the belief that we all deserve to be loved,” Ted went on, “Whether we’ve been hurt or maybe we’ve hurt somebody else.”

A second blade settled in Y/n’s chest, this one causing the muscles to contract. She closed her eyes in an attempt to keep the rising emotions at bay.

“Or what about the belief of hope?” Ted asked, “Yeah? That’s what I wanna mess with. Believing that things can get better. That I can get better. That we will get better.”

Better, Y/n thought on the word. Better. Did things ever get better? Or did ‘bad’ just shapeshift into something else? Did it just wait along the road in the shadows, waiting for ‘better’ to come merrily on its way?

“Oh, man,” Ted sighed, “To believe in yourself. To believe in one another. Man, that’s fundamental to being alive. And look. Yo, hey. If you can do that,” he pointed to each player in the room, “If each of your can truly do that-“

Ted made one more rip down the sign’s tatters, walking to the center of the room. “Can’t nobody rip that apart.”

As the remains of the sign slapped against the metal bench, Y/n’s anxiety reached its brim. She placed a near shaking hand on Higgins’ shoulder to signal she was leaving before slipping out the back door. Blearily, she made it down the hall and outside, the fresh air of the parking lot slamming into her.

Once in the safety of her car, she allowed herself to weep.

Zava was the furthest thing from her mind. The incoming headlines, another loss on the scoreboard…all of it. She couldn’t have cared less if she’d tried. All she could feel was the crippling ache in her chest, the sting of her tears, the overwhelming feeling that came with being utterly alone. When a person became aware of just how much bigger the world around them was and how infinitely small they really were. The pain that could be remedied with a simple hug or a comforting word.

Y/n let out a silent sob, the familiar ache of all she wanted having taken a new form, once again. It would certainly kill her to allow herself her basic needs, to walk back in and hurt with the people inside. And it would break her all the same to continue hiding.

————

Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities

[mysteryshoptls]

R Leona Kingscholar - Outdoor Wear Vignette

"Beside myself with worry"

To the requestor: Outdoor Wear voice lines can be found here.

[Dwarfs' Mine – Campsite]

―First Day of Vargas Camp

Epel: Woah, here come the fairies again for our campfire! Everyone, be on your guard so it doesn't blow out…!

Spelldrive Club Members: YEAH!

Leona: ….Tch. Yer all so noisy.

Epel: Oh…? Leona-san, you're out of your tent already?

Epel: It was only 20 minutes ago that you said you were gonna take a nap…

Leona: This time of day's got sun so bright it's even lighting up the inside of my tent.

Leona: And right whenever I feel like I could get to sleep, there's you lot all yappin' about them fairies every time they show up...

Leona: There's no way I can grab a few z's like this.

Epel: I'm sorry… Oh, what about heading to the mine, then?

Epel: Just a bit ago, Ruggie-san said something to that regard as he was leaving the campsite.

Epel: He said, if you were to wake up saying it was impossible to sleep here…

Epel: That a "secluded, quiet, and dark mine would be the best place for a nap."

Leona: Ugh… I'm betting Ruggie's planning on roping me into something annoying.

Epel: Huh…? Something annoying?

Leona: Whatever, I guess I'll bite.

Leona: I'm heading to the mine. Don't let those fairies run you ragged.

Epel: Yessir, we'll definitely protect our campfire!

[Dwarfs' Mine – Interior]

[clank, clank, clank!]

Jack: Whew… I can't find a single magestone… What about you, Deuce?

Deuce: I've tried picking all over the place, but… No luck here.

Deuce: Looks like the Spelldrive Club down the way is having trouble too… Guess collecting magestones is actually pretty difficult.

Leona: Can't believe you're all getting tripped up by something this easy. You're all so pathetic, huh.

Spelldrive Club Member A: Oh, Leona-senpai! Did you come to check up on your club members?

Leona: Oh, yeah, sure. I was just so beside myself with worry, 'cause it was taking you all too long to get back.

Leona: …Hey! Listen up, each and every single one of you here! I'll teach you all the trick to finding magestones.

Jack: Eh, you are…?

Deuce: Every one of us…? Does that include all us other clubs too?

Leona: It's just a waste of time if you're just randomly swinging your pickaxes at the rock wall.

Leona: Don't you guys even know how magestones are made?

Leona: Basically, gemstones absorb power from its surroundings and become magestones.

Leona: When you're mining for 'em, you want to locate the faint traces of magical output from those magestones, and start digging in that general area…

Jack: Oh, right. Now that you mention it, we learned that in class. Guess I didn't look over it enough to remember to do that.

Deuce: I see!! Then, I'll get down to it…!

Leona: …Buuut, that's just what they say in the textbooks. That's just what inflexible blockheads would do.

Leona: If you just use your brain, you can get it done faster and easier.

Deuce: Huh? Faster and easier…?

Leona: Just think about what kind of "power" turned those gems into magestones.

Leona: For the Dwarf Mine here, that's "volcanic activity." You shoulda learned that in history of magic.

Leona: So, you just gotta look for tuff in the walls that show evidence of volcanic activity.

Deuce: Tuff?

Leona: It's a type of rock that's built up from an accumulation of volcanic ash. It'll look whitish here.

Deuce: Uhh… So basically… If we can find some white bits in the wall and dig, we should find some magestones!?

Leona: Sure, that's probably the simplest way to put it. It's probably more of a reliable method to find the locations to dig, than to ask some untrained novice to try and trace magical energy.

Leona: I'll even show you how as an example. Hey, you, Spelldrive guy. Come dig where I tell you.

Spelldrive Club Member A: Yes, sir!

[clank, clank, clank…]

[…thunk!]

Leona: …See, there it is. A piece of a magestone.

Deuce: He found one in 5 minutes, even though we had been digging for 2, 3 hours and didn't find anything…!

Deuce: Hey, Jack! Your Housewarden's amazing.

Deuce: Plus, he helped all of us, not just the Spelldrive Club guys. He's a real nice guy.

Jack: Y-Yeah.

Deuce: Hm? Something wrong? You're looking grim.

Jack: No, I mean, I know that Leona-senpai is a amazing, but…

Jack: I always thought he wasn't the type to just proactively help others out, so I was just a little surprised.

Jack: But yeah, you're right. He really is someone worth looking up to!

Deuce: Yeah! Alllright, I'm gonna try looking for a magestone using the method he taught us!

Deuce: Kingscholar-senpai, I successfully found a magestone.

Deuce: THANK YOU VERY MUCH, SIR!

Leona: Well, ain't that good for you.

Deuce: Yes, sir! We're going to head out to receive our badge from Vargas-sensei now. Excuse us.

[Deuce and Jack leave]

Spelldrive Club Member A: Leona-senpai～ Why'd you help out those guys when they're not even a part of our club?

Leona: Don't be stupid. It's not like we're competing against each other or anything. Ain't worth gettin' all heated for nothing.

Leona: No one wants to see their club get abolished. Doesn't that mean we're all on the same team?

Spelldrive Club Member A: You're thinking on a completely different level, Leona-senpai! I should've been as compassionate as you!!

Leona: Hmph… If you've gotten your hand on a magestone, go and collect our badge already.

Spelldrive Club Member A: Yes, sir!

[Spelldrive Club Member leaves]

Leona: …Finally, they're all gone. Ugh, what a pain having to help out all those dunderheads.

Leona: Yaaaawn......… Now I can get some quiet shut eye, at last.

Leona: …Zzz…Zzz…

Requested by Anonymous.

[doll-elvis]

PRISCILLA (2023)

~ my thoughts as an elvis fan

(credit to @urpinkstargirl for the photo)

WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD:

so I saw it last night and I’ve been stewing on it ever since as I wanted to be 100% sure in myself before saying this publicly

**brace yourselves**

After just one viewing… I feel confident in saying that I preferred this film over “Elvis” 2022 🤧. It was just so immersive and so deeply intimate that I walked away from the theater feeling like I had just lived a life with Elvis, and experienced all the ugly and wonderful things that came with it

I am seeing it again tonight and possibly tomorrow just to recapture that feeling (which made me cry… three times…)

And although I’m not the biggest fan of Sofia Coppola, there is simply no denying that she has perfected showing “girlhood” in film, and making the most unique experiences, like being Marie Antoinette and being Priscilla Presley, somehow universal to everybody. I haven’t felt being “14” since I was 14, which was a whole 5 years ago, but WHEW… I most definitely felt 14 again when watching Priscilla navigate life in Germany

Also- we all saw how Austin Butler was completely cheated out of an Oscar and so I’m begging that we do not do that again. Give the Oscar to Cailee Spaeny (who played Priscilla) right now 😤 There are no words besides “immaculate” to describe her performance. Her future is so bright as an actress, I just cannot wait to follow her career + she just seems like the sweetest person ever??

And I know it might seem insane to say that I preferred “Priscilla” over “Elvis” and some of y’all might crucify me for that take but my preference solely comes down to the fact that I appreciate Priscilla’s perspective much more so than the Colonel’s, who to me, has always been the least interesting aspect of Elvis’ story

My biggest gripe with having the Colonel narrative/tell Elvis’ life in the 2022 film is the fact that it made the film feel rather impersonal to Elvis as I don’t think the script or the storytelling ever fully allowed for Austin Butler to explore what he was like beyond the stage

And personally speaking, I have a much deeper love for Elvis the person as opposed to Elvis the performer, and I think that “Priscilla” showed the human side of him far more than “Elvis” ever did (like y’all we actually get to hear and see him reading his philosophy books in this!!!)

But before I get into what was actually depicted in film, and all my praises, I thought I would briefly state what I thought could have been done better. Don’t get me wrong, this movie was beyond amazing, however, it was definitely not without its’ faults:

1. If you have seen a lot of reviewers talk negatively about the pacing in this film- just know that they are unfortunately, completely right in that assessment. The whole timeline of Germany felt literally five minutes long, and the 70s also, felt maybe 10 minutes long which just made both the beginning and end feel rather rushed. Also there were at least 5 scenes that just faded to black before going onto the next one, and some very abrupt cuts in scenes which felt a bit awkward

2. Because this is a biopic, and because it’s based on a real life, there is no climax like you would be accustomed to normally in a film and so I think that the average viewer, like someone who may not really care about Priscilla or Elvis, will probably walk away from the film feeling unsatisfied- possibly bored. I saw it with my mom and my sister, and my mom was asleep in like 45 minutes 😭. The movie definitely got repetitive at some points but I acknowledge the fact that life is repetitive, especially for Priscilla in the 60s while Elvis was off making movies

3. While Priscilla (played by Cailee Spaeny) aged realistically and seamlessly, Elvis (played by Jacob Elordi) was essentially the same person (physically) for 95% percent of the film. For some reason, his hair was already dyed black in the Germany scenes, although we know it was brown at that time, and so there was no real transformation for him until Lisa Marie is born. The height of the actor was definitely jarring at first but eventually I got used to it…however…I damn near busted out laughing when they showed him in the Comeback special outfit 💀 His performance was nothing but incredible (ESPECIALLY THE VOICE) and so I learned to get over the physical disparities rather quickly

4. The ending of this film, particularly the song, was overwhelmingly sad and impactful but I was really disappointed that we didn’t get to see Priscilla’s and Elvis’ relationship after the divorce. This film ends with Priscilla leaving Graceland, starting her “new life”, which didn’t make much sense to me considering this movie was adapted from her book, which very much explores that part of her life, especially with Elvis

I would have really love to seen moments like this from Priscilla’s perspective ⬇️

excerpt from “Priscilla, Elvis and me” (avoid this book)

5. NO CIRCLE G RANCH!!! It is borderline criminal to make a film about Priscilla and Elvis and to not include their time spent at Circle G ranch ** which Priscilla has always said were their happiest times together **. I assume that this was likely an issue because of the budget and the fact that they only had 30 days to film but god… I would have really appreciated some of the domestic bliss that Priscilla and Elvis shared while living in the trailer on the ranch. There were many happy moments/sequences (y’all are going to die when you see the rollerblading/go cart scenes) in this movie, but I think their gradual separation/withdrawal from one another (post marriage) would have hit harder if we saw how happy they were together during their ranch phase

6. For those who have read “Elvis and Me”, we all know about the famed LSD scene that takes place and unfortunately, Coppola heavily missed the mark on it. We don’t see Lamar Fike making out with a tree, we don’t see Jerry Schilling in a closet- instead we see Priscilla and Elvis just kind of rolling around, laughing amongst themselves while the room around them turns different colors

There were definitely many key moments/stories like that missing from the film, and I honestly wish that the movie was an hour longer so that we could have seen the book more fully fleshed out

Lastly, here’s just a general synopsis of the scenes in Germany… I was going to do the whole movie but I don’t have the stamina to type it all out 😭. If y’all want to know something specific please feel free to comment below and I will let you know <3!!

After the beginning credits are shown, the film starts with Currie Grant (who was renamed as Terry West) approaching Priscilla in a diner, inviting her to a party at Elvis’ house. After talking with her parents and assuring them that Priscilla will be looked after by him and his wife, it cuts to her in the back of a car, on her way to meet Elvis. The scene is exactly like how it is in the book, Elvis asks her how old she is, he remarks that she is “just a baby” and so on- Elvis then plays “a Whole lotta shakin” at the piano and that is one of three musical performances we see from him

Priscilla is then re-invited by Currie aka Terry via Elvis to comeback to the house again. Elvis invites Priscilla up to his room, she looks around and sees letters from Anita Wood, and a poster of Bridgette Bardot just like in the book. After Elvis talks about Gladys and how he is still reeling over her death, and how lonely he has felt since then, they share their first kiss to the song “Crimson and Clovers”

There are some scenes of Priscilla at school and some scenes of her sort of convincing her parents to let her continue to see Elvis. And they do agree, but just like in the book, they want to meet him first. Elvis is questioned by Priscilla’s father on why he wants to be with her to which Elvis replies that she is very mature for her age and that he likes talking to her since she is from home aka the United States. He then assures Priscilla’s father that she will be taken care of. After that we see them going to the movies where Elvis expresses how much he wants to be a serious actor, and then they share another kiss on the car ride home. It then cuts to Christmas time where we see Elvis giving Priscilla a watch and then BOOM- Elvis and her are on the way to the airport where they say their final goodbyes as he leaves for the United States

The film really does follow closely to the book (at least from 59’ when they meet to 69’- again the 70s were really rushed) and so I really recommended to read that prior to watching the movie

As for the more sensitive scenes-

There is no explicit sex, no graphic nudity, and no scene where Elvis forces himself upon Priscilla. He does say “this is how a real man makes love to his woman” but all he does is kiss her before she pushes him off. There is a rather long “polaroid-taking” sequence where it shows all the outfits that Elvis would Priscilla dress up in but other than that, we only see Elvis and Priscilla make out

And it did show when Elvis accidentally hit Priscilla in the eye during the pillow fight scene in her book, along with the scene of him throwing a chair in her general direction after she expressed she didn’t like a demo of one his songs, and the scene where he grabs all her clothes from the closet and tells her that she should go visit her parents. I don’t think that the scenes made Elvis look abusive: Coppola was surprisingly nuanced in showing that he had reasons for his sometimes bad temperament i.e the pills he took along with the fact that he was frustrated with his film career

It also shows Elvis’ infidelities but really only through movie magazines that Priscilla sees. So it’s never explicitly shown, I would say it’s more hinted at than anything

And there are two scenes of Priscilla with Mike Stone but again, nothing that is explicitly shown, it’s just hinted at

Finally, to finish this up, this is what I wrote on my Instagram account which I very much stand by ⬇️

Just please give this movie a chance y’all, it was so beautiful and so sensitively done… I cannot wait to watch it again <3

[parisiterileymoon]

1610 miles morales x male reader

Your just cuddling and talking about hair:)

~~

You lay there, your legs tangled with his as your hand is buried in his hair. Your free hand is rubbing circles on his back. His hands are placed on your back, but not too low because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You take one of Miles’s right curls and stretch it to its full length(right above his chin) and then let it go, watching it spring back up. “Your hair is getting long, you wanna do anything with it? I think you would look nice with braids or cornrows.” He smiles at you and his pretty brown eyes soften as he makes eye contact. “I actually been thinkin’ about braids. I uh…saw this guy who looked like he stole my face or somethin’ and he had braids. He looked pretty good.” He trailed off a bit near the middle. You nodded and traced two lines down the back of his head to the middle of his neck. “I’m thinking right here.” He smiles at you and pulls your hair into two little pigtails “oh I think you should do your hair like this.” You laugh and kiss him on the nose. “That’s gay” he jokes. He’s not wrong. You kiss him. He kisses you. You bury your head in his shoulder.

That’s gay. Your gay.

~~

Whew I haven’t wrote a fic about miles in a hot minute! Sorry it was short. Feedback is encouraged.

[katerina-marie]

Don't Go Slowly, Tell Me If You're Lonely (Series)

Chapter 5

Gojo Satoru x Reader & (Past) Geto Suguru x Reader

Your relationship with Geto Suguru came to an end somewhere between the day of his betrayal and the day of his death. Your relationship with Gojo Satoru began somewhere in the midst of it all, even without you realizing.

WC: 11.8k (whew)

Content: Canon Divergence, Gojo x Female Reader (referred to as such but left descriptively vague), (past) Geto Suguru x Female Reader, Geto's canonical death, friends to lovers, angst, eventual happy ending, fluff, reader is a sorcerer (left vague tho), no use of y/n, vaginal sex (though not super explicit) so please avoid accordingly! More notes below.

Chapter Count: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3, Chp 4, Chp 5, Chp 6 (Final)

Notes: Peep the cw, because in case you missed it there will be 18+ content in this chapter. But warning, I do not have the talent to write explicitly detailed sex so it's more narrative/vaguely described. I applaud all authors that have that ability! Also, this is 99% fluff and vibes because that's what we all need, right?

P.S. If anyone recognizes where part of the title/included line is from.....no you don't and I'm sorry, not sorry lol

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

Chapter 5: Heart of None, Heart of One (Don't Be Afraid, I Feel It Too)

Neither you or Suguru were dressed for the affluence of this particular part of the city, the two of you wearing light and airy clothing to help ward off the oppressiveness of the summer sun. Names of restaurants and boutiques that you hardly recognized lined each side of the street full of ostentatious vehicles, and you couldn’t help but wonder why exactly Suguru had dragged you to a place neither of you had any real business being in. His fingers were twined through each of yours and had been since the two of you hopped off the train to begin your stroll towards a destination unknown. You weren’t sure if he was being intentionally vague with where you were going, or if Suguru had failed to think any further than necessary and inform you of your day’s plans. 

Men and their inability to consider five minutes ahead of themselves for anyone else’s sake. 

You passed a building with black bricks and golden writing emblazoning its name above the door, and you felt your mouth begin to water as you recognized that the style of the restaurant lended itself to your favorite foreign food. A certainly more upscale version of it anyway, if the valet’s podium and immaculately dressed patrons were any indication. 

“We should come here one day, Suguru,” you told him wistfully, inhaling deep the scent of rich food before it faded from your nose as your steps took you further and further away. Suguru huffed a noncommittal chuckle and gave you an incredulous look of question. 

“Sure, I’ll just swipe Satoru’s credit card when he isn’t looking and we’ll have ourselves a night out.” His voice was full of sarcastic humor and you rolled your eyes at him, because of course you were aware that your meager student allowances couldn’t afford such luxury, nor would Satoru be willing to part with his card without an invitation to join what would have been a date night for the two of you. The idea of it was fun to imagine in the least, and you filed the name of the restaurant away in the back of your mind for an unspecified day in the future somewhere. 

“So what are we doing here?” you asked, peering around the city as you both came to a crosswalk and minded the traffic currently flowing through it. “I can’t say that I have a suspicion, and I would like to enjoy the last afternoon of the weekend together if you don’t have something already planned.”

Suguru was quiet as he glanced up and down the street once the vehicles cleared the road, and he tugged at your hand to spur you into movement once the signal had been given to ensure your safe crossing.

“We are having to make a quick stop to retrieve something,” he said, intentionally avoiding your narrowed eyes by keeping himself one step ahead of you. You’d yank your arm back and hold your ground in a juvenile display of defiance at his reticence, but you didn’t favor being run over in the middle of the street, nor were you confident of your victory in strength should it be put up against his; you’d count on being pulled along no matter how hard you dug your heels in. 

“And what is it that we are retrieving?” You grew annoyed at Suguru’s reluctance to speak anymore than what was barely necessary, and now that the two of you were again on the safety of the sidewalks, you had half a mind to start testing his patience as he was doing yours. Your boyfriend must have been able to pick up on the change in your disposition, and he turned to you with a weary sigh as the two of you came to a stop. 

“Satoru called me earlier,” Suguru admitted, and your face dropped into distaste, mouth open to offer your dissent for whatever moronic task your boyfriend’s best friend has saddled the two of you with, but he shot you a warning glare that stayed your tongue. “He’s still on that assignment, but he forgot to finish up his reports for the last one and Yaga’s going to have his ass if he doesn’t turn them in first thing tomorrow. I told him we’d take care of it this once.” 

You scoffed, offended disbelief fueling your ire for the white-haired sorcerer, and you fixed your withering look on Suguru.

“You coddle him,” you hissed, promptly snatching your hand from his and marching forward on your own even though you hadn’t the faintest clue to where you were. The surrounding buildings were no longer fancy restaurants and expensive retailers but instead towering, dark-windowed monoliths with impressive double glass doors at their entrance. Still swanky, but more unassuming. 

“I’m helping,” Suguru argued, jogging up to your side to keep pace with you. “Friends do that for each other.” 

“I mean, yeah they do, but this feels more like Satoru is intentionally being lazy, unable to deign himself to possibly do his own work and would rather put it off to the less fortunate of us.” Your tone was scathing and your words mean for meanness sake, even if they held a scant bit of truth, and from the look on your boyfriend’s face he didn’t appreciate the disparaging of his best friend’s character. You supposed Satoru could now be considered your friend as well, now that nearly a year and a half had passed since you met your significant other’s “other”, but it had been slow building between you and Satoru, if not for the complete opposite personalities and upbringings you each had then for becoming accustomed to sharing Suguru. 

“Cut him some slack,” Suguru said, his expression knowing and slightly irritated, but his voice for you was softer than it was moments ago, and he brought you to a halt with a hand on your shoulder. “I’m not ignoring the fact that Satoru is not the most apt student when it comes to his paperwork or always considerate of other people’s time, but he has a full plate and even heavier burden attached to his name, so I’ll let it slide sometimes.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d agree, but you didn’t want to taint the afternoon with Suguru just because of your disdain for Satoru’s lack of planning, so you gave him a half-hearted shrug and glanced over his shoulder at the building the two of you came to a stop in front of.

“This it?” 

Suguru nodded and took your hand again to lead you through the frosted glass doors serving as the entrance. “He has an apartment here for when he wants solitude, so we’ll just pop in to grab the reports and then be on our way. We’ll stop for lunch after, how about that?” 

The noise of affirmation you made lacked enthusiasm, mostly because you had been thoroughly chastised by your boyfriend and not because you didn’t want to share a meal out with him, but Suguru was undeterred and you turned your attention to the details of the front lobby. The high walls were painted alabaster and arched over certain hallways you guessed lead to various amenities. The slightly darker beige floors gleamed under rich lighting, leaving the forest green and muted mahogany fabrics of plush looking couches and other luxe decor to stand out in their superiority. You and Suguru continued through an archway and came upon an older man situated at a stately wood desk sandwiched between floor-to-ceiling glass doors that prohibited your entrance. You bristled at the idea of having to convince someone to allow you through to somewhere the two of you didn’t look to belong, or worse, have to stand by the desk as other residents came and went while Suguru beckoned Satoru to pick up his phone and petition you two through. However, to your shock, Suguru simply smiled and waved at the gentleman—who returned his greeting in kind—and he had the glass doors sliding open with a touch of a button just in time for the two of you to walk through them.

“A silver spoon Satoru does use,” you commented wryly. The two of you stepped into an open elevator, and you were pleased to see a stifled grin on Suguru’s face. 

“That I won’t deny,” he said, pressing the button for an obnoxiously high floor. You chattered between yourselves about lunch options and other plans for the rest of the day whilst traveling up, and your arrival to Satoru’s floor was announced with a pleasant trilling of a bell. As you walked down a hallway, you took notice of the distance between the doors of each dwelling, marking the considerable size of each one. Suguru came to a stop at the very end of the hall and pressed a series of numbers into a shiny keypad before motioning you through the now opened door. 

Satoru’s apartment was as beautiful as you imagined, with its sprawling living area and enormous windows the first thing to appear after making it through the entrance, and then an extensive gourmet kitchen was located on the left. There were a couple other hallways you assumed lead to various rooms, and you had a thought to explore (snoop) when you felt a hand at your back.

“Satoru should have some sweets in his fridge,” Suguru said, dropping a brief kiss at your temple and then another at your cheek as he brushed by you. “I’m going to his office right quick if you want to help yourself. It’s the least he can offer.” 

That brought a grin to your face, and you immediately turned towards the kitchen as Suguru’s footsteps faded in the opposite direction. Satoru’s fridge was nearly twice your height and the stainless steel was polished so perfectly that you could nearly see your reflection in it. It was all so grandiose, but the excitement immediately abated when you opened the fridge and saw nothing but a couple bags of sweets and water bottles taking up a minute amount of its expansive capacity. You grabbed one of each and brought them to the large island across from the fridge and tucked into your snack. As you munched, you let your eyes drift from space to space, everything meticulously placed and artfully decorated. Though you couldn’t help but notice the absence of anything that made it personal. There were no photos or cookbooks or trinkets of any kind. The copious amounts of furnishings and state of the art appliances all made up an impressive looking home anyone would be thrilled to make use of, but there was not one sign of usage or life that would indicate that Satoru did anything of the sort. The thought humbled your opinion of him a touch, and the quiet melancholy of his apartment made the sweet in your mouth taste oddly of cardboard.

How lonely. 

Now, years later, as you marveled up at the building that scraped the sky, you wondered if Satoru was sitting in the quiet of his apartment cutting a lonesome figure and feeling as such. 

You had taken most of the morning to scour the school grounds in pursuit of him, but no evidence had turned up to support his stay there. Megumi had confirmed it when you ran into him in your frenzied search and mentioned that Satoru had texted him to cancel their end-of-week training because he’d be off campus. The thought of having to transport yourself all the way to that part of the city where his apartment was located felt daunting in your exhaustion, but when you closed your eyes or let your mind wander, the images of Suguru and Satoru walking away from you after turning their backs superimposed over each other and sent a new wave of panic over you every time. 

So you cleaned yourself up the best you could in the least amount of time you were willing to give, and then set out on a train. After that, the walk from the station to his apartment was about ten minutes, but you had only been there once, and you had started to worry when recognition of the area still hadn’t struck. You were only half certain you had found the correct building until you made your way inside the lobby and found familiarity in the arch of the walls and luxuriousness of the furnishings. Ahead, still seated at the same wooden desk, was the gentleman from the one time you had visited with Suguru. Age had greyed his hair and added lines under his eyes, but you recognized him the same. As you walked up to his desk with a nervous smile, you hoped you looked more put together than you felt, and you had just opened your mouth to try and convince him to let you up when he grinned at you. 

“For Gojo, right?” 

You were taken aback at the friendliness in his voice and the expectant way he looked up at you from where he was seated, and you were sure your mouth had flopped open inelegantly. “Uh, yes, but how did you—,” 

“Years ago, he left me a photo of you and a man with black hair and explicit instructions to let either of you up at any time without questions asked.” The gentleman glanced down at his desk and you could just make out his hand scribbling at a large notepad. When he looked back up at you, his gaze was inquisitive. “I just barely remember you from the one time you came with him—the boy appeared often enough that I recognized him—but I haven’t seen either of you since.” There wasn’t any judgment in his voice, just simple observation, but the whole encounter was picking at the fraying threads of your already frail emotions. 

“Yes,” you bit out, swallowing to clear the hoarseness of your voice, “it’s certainly been, uhm, a long time and…” There wasn’t anything you could come up with to fit into a brief enough explanation, and thankfully the gentleman picked up on that fact. 

“Would you like me to call up to him and let him know you’re here?” He offered, his hand already drifting towards a phone on the edge of his desk. You shook your head and flailed your hands in an effort to dissuade him from doing so. 

“No, no, please. I’m…surprising him.”  

The man smiled gently and gestured with his head towards the glass doors as he opened them with a push of a button. “Off you go then.” 

You gave him a hurried thanks and rushed off through the doors before you could lose what little courage remained in you, and when the elevator shut just after you stepped through it, you leaned back against the wall of it to take in large mouthfuls of air. Satoru was definitely home, and you maybe had two minutes to compose yourself into something presentable before you were face to face with him. You took it as a positive sign that he hadn’t immediately revoked your extended invitation into his building (unless he had simply forgotten to and now you had another idea to fret at) and you hoped that when you knocked at his door he would neither ignore you entirely or answer and then proceed to slam it shut in your face. If you made it far enough that he welcomed you in, you had absolutely no idea what you were to say to him, and the pinging of the elevator bell signaling your arrival to his floor made it clear you were running out of time to come up with anything. 

Your steps on the tile echoed loudly in the empty hallway, and you were positive it was your tired mind that made them sound reminiscent of Satoru’s name. By the time you came to his door, it was ringing in your ears and beating to the same rhythm of your pulse, and you wondered if Satoru could hear it from wherever in his apartment he remained hidden from you. The stress of it had you wanting to linger outside to come up with a speech or some kind of plan before you knocked on his door, but the thought that he could sense you waiting—hesitating—drove you deeper into embarrassment, so you lifted your hand to knock your knuckles against the door without a second consideration. The time it took for him to answer left your thoughts to scramble. 

Would he look at you with the same anger he surely saw reflected in your own eyes just hours prior? You figured you both had a right to feel such a way, but whereas you had hurled word after word of condemnation at him without ceasing, regardless of their truth or lack thereof, he hadn’t been given a moment to offer scant more than a stuttered reply. Was it presumptuous to have the hope that he would repay you in kind? That he would offer what you hadn’t and listen to what you had to say? Never again did you want to live with the regret of last words unspoken.

The beeping of his door unlocking snagged your attention, and you inhaled sharply when the knob began to turn. Through a small crack in the door, you saw Satoru peer his head around it, just offering you a sliver of a singular blue eye and the glimpse of a closed off expression on his face. You tangled your fingers together in the hope he didn’t see them shaking, and you gave him the barest of contrite smiles.

“May I come in?” 

Satoru didn’t hesitate to give a single nod of his head and you took a step back when he pushed open the door wide enough for you to walk through, murmuring a small ‘thank you’ as you passed by him. You didn’t wait for him to continue further into his apartment, eager to get out of the small entryway and into the openness of his living space if only so you could feel slightly less confined. In a quick glance around, you noticed that Satoru’s apartment looked nearly identical to how it did the one and only time you visited it. There was still a museum-esque quality to the cleanliness of it, but you could see a half-full glass of water on the island in his kitchen, and you had spied his pair of black shoes by the door next to where you had toed yours off. 

The susurration of his house shoes on the wood floor could be heard coming up behind you, and you turned slowly to face him. You took in his casual clothes, a dark grey sweater and navy lounge pants, and noticed him doing the same to your similar but more feminine outfit. When your eyes met, it pained you to see how his were guarded, lacking their usual brightness and enthusiasm, and you knew it was somewhat your fault. 

“I should have let you talk more,” you blurted, head cleared of any logical thought. “I was within my right to be angry with you, but I should have heard you out, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” 

Satoru’s expression eased and you wrung your hands. “I want to respect your space. I’m willing to give that to you, but I’m afraid of leaving things unsaid and—,” 

You were horrified when your eyes began to sting and the inside of your nose burned. You flicked your focus down to the floor in the hopes that not looking at him would keep you composed enough to get the rest of your words out. “If you’re willing, I’d like to talk this out with you. I would hate for things to end the way they did.” 

When you looked back up at him, his eyes were wide, and Satoru shuffled forward to reach a hand out to press against the back of your arm. “Of course,” he said, his voice so emphatically eager that it panged your heart. “Of course I’ll listen to you.” 

The pressure of his hand guided you towards the ample seating in his living room, and the two of you made yourselves comfortable on the sofa placed in front of a massive entertainment system. Satoru sat just far away enough that two of you wouldn’t touch, but he laid out his arm along the back of the sofa, turned on his hip, and leaned forward slightly on his thigh so he could face you. You mirrored his position but kept your hands in your lap. 

“I don’t hate you. I never could,” you breathed out, and a part of you died inside when relief slackened Satoru’s features and his shoulders lowered as tension bled out from them. “I was angry, and maybe even felt a little betrayed, but it wasn’t you I hated.” 

There must have been a stricken look on your face, because his hand that rested on the back of the sofa lifted and hovered in the air for a moment before he moved it close enough that he could just graze his fingertips along the top of your arm. 

“I think I hated him. I hated Suguru in that split second.” The words felt heavy and disjointed in your mouth, not quite understood by your brain, but you felt palpable liberation once they were out. Satoru kept his eyes on you attentively, and you were powerless to the words that spilled from your tongue. 

“I hated him for what he did. I hated that he left me, and I hated that he chose to speak with you one last time instead of me. I hated that you had to kill him, and that we have to wake up everyday to live in the aftermath of it.” You were interrupted by a hiccuping cry that forced its way through your teeth, and when you looked up at Satoru helplessly, his hands shot out to take yours into his own. 

“But not you, I would never hate you,” you said once you had regained your composure, “and I would like to hear what you have to say. To help me understand what you were going through and why you made the choice to keep what Suguru said a secret until now. I’d like us to be completely understanding of the other, with the intention of being able to move forward.” 

Feeling much like you had just finished a sprint, you drew in a few deep breaths to steady the racing of your heart and calm the adrenaline running through your body. Satoru didn’t look angry or upset. He had an open, albeit cautious, look on his face and he studied your hands in his grasp momentarily before gently releasing them, and you both withdrew your hands to let them rest on your respective laps. 

“It was panic,” he started, pausing to meet your eyes. “I was so panicked that evening, about what I had just done and how I was supposed to reveal that to you. I could barely think straight enough to tell you I killed him, and I couldn’t stomach the idea of having to relay to you what Suguru said when I could hardly make sense of it myself.” 

You watched Satoru closely as he wiped his hands down over his legs and you both heard and felt the stuttered breath he pushed out from deep in his chest.

 “I’m not saying that to excuse my behavior, but it felt like the easiest thing to do for myself at that moment, and I regret it. If I could go back…well, I don’t actually know what I would have done.” Satoru inched a little closer to you and raised a questioning brow. “Would you have been okay if I had told you that he had said something, but couldn’t yet share it with you? Would have it been better to tell you everything he said, but warned you that I didn’t have the capacity to explore the implications of it right then with you? Or—god—I should have told you at any point between then and now.” 

The ideas Satoru was presenting caught you by surprise. You hadn’t ever really considered before what you had wanted to hear in the moments when your entire world was collapsing around you. Surely you would have wanted to know, but the anticipation of waiting to hear what those words would have been had you chosen the first option probably would have driven you to madness. In regards to the second, knowing what Suguru had said would have prevented the whole mess the two of you were in now. However, knowing yourself, you very well might have fled the school like you did to avoid discussing things with Satoru once he was ready, keen on never once touching such a topic for the rest of your life, and who knows what outcome would have resulted from that. And him revealing what Suguru said any time after that day and between now would have mostly likely played out the same way it did last night.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly, and you couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh. “Either alternative has its merits and its corresponding negatives. In the future, I think open communication would be best, but for things past I don’t see much point in dwelling on what should have been.” 

Satoru nodded, seemingly agreeing with what you had said. You chewed your lip, considering the weight of the question you wanted to ask him before ultimately deciding that he deserved the chance to let himself be heard. 

“How have you been?” Your inquiry had his mouth opening to respond, but he was silent in the aftermath, and you assumed that he needed time to condense his thoughts into words. 

You empathized with that particular plight.  

“Tired,” he said finally, solemnly, and you moved closer towards him until your knees knocked against each other. “I would give anything to have a night’s rest where I didn’t dream about killing my best friend.” This time, you reached out your hand to grip his fingers in yours, and his answering smile was full of gratitude. “Or have a nightmare where you hate me,” he added, squeezing your hand to balm the sting of his words. 

The two of you were silent after that, each of you taking turns glancing at one another and then back at your tangled hands before focusing on anywhere else in the room. However, there was a collective sense of expectation hanging above you both, and you had a good idea of what topic was waiting to be broached. 

“Satoru,” you murmured, biting down on the inside of your cheek as he lifted his head to listen to you. There was trepidation in the way he held himself, and you wondered if he anticipated what you were going to say next. “I tried to kiss you.” 

He was rapt in his attention on you, his face giving away nothing as to what he was feeling, but he fiddled with your fingers and ran his thumb along the inside of your wrist. He ducked his head just barely, and when his hair shifted over his forehead, it was just enough to conceal his eyes from you. “You did.” 

Satoru’s evasion grated you, but you set aside your frustration to focus on what you were trying to convey to him, to get him to understand what you couldn’t even quite wrap your head around fully. 

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to me because of what Suguru said.” His head snapped up and his brows furrowed at your words, but you kept going before he had a chance to interrupt. “I think you probably have an idea about what I feel for you, but I don’t expect you to reciprocate just because you might have some misguided sense of duty or responsibility towards me, and I can forget about that near-kiss if that’s—,” 

“I want you,” Satoru said on a exhale, and he looked to be fighting a bashful grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth. Your noise of surprise filled the heady silence following his declaration, and you felt as though the two of you teetered on the edge of some great precipice. 

A quiet “oh,” was all you could get out, breathless in a mounting giddiness, and he chuckled at whatever flush warmed your cheeks before his features smoothed out into something more solemn. 

“I do,” he insisted, and you could sense the ‘but’ following his statement and it made all the butterflies that had erupted in your chest fall leadened into your stomach, “but I can’t help feeling a little…unsettled about it, maybe? Not in a bad way necessarily, never with you—,” 

Satoru stammered, an overwhelmed breath heaving his shoulders, and you watched him with a pang of sympathy as he struggled to grasp at the words clearly evading him. “I don’t want you to think I feel entitled to you, and I don’t feel like I’m betraying Suguru by wanting you. I don’t even think I need his permission or anything like that. In fact, he seemed to give it in his own twisted way that night, and it’s just…you were his, once, and now you’re…” 

He trailed off, at a loss for the proper words to adequately explain a concept you both seemed to wrestle with, and the look he gave you was helpless and beseeching in a way that was delightfully captivating to you: eyes wide, lips slightly parted, and if his gaze could be anymore adoring you’d melt into the fabric of his fine linen couch. 

What was previously off limits had become an alluring possibility. A person who had always occupied a strictly friendly role had begun to appear in a way not thought of before. It was overwhelming, exciting, terrifying in what it could mean to want someone who had once been unobtainable, who you had not once considered for yourself before the loss of someone precious to both of you. But Suguru was gone now, and what more could be owed to the two of you than indulging in a shared happiness?

You giggled, catching your bottom lip between your teeth to try and contain the smile that was surely about to overtake your face, and you tugged on Satoru’s hands to pull him in close to you. 

“Don’t be afraid,” you whispered, your voice light and playful while the blue of his eyes danced and his cheeks went round in elation, “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Later, as you contemplated your existence in the quiet sanctuary of your room, you would berate yourself for not taking the opportunity to kiss Satoru senseless. Alas, you had remained dutiful to your mutual agreement to let the enormity of the morning settle before getting carried away with frenzied touches and the mingling of panted breaths. Instead, the two of you stayed seated on his couch for another hour, close in the way you had both drifted to lean against the other while chatting idly about anything ordinary. 

You had taken moments to gently lift strands of hair from his eyes, goosebumps erupting over your skin when his focus couldn’t decide whether to fix on your face or follow the movement of your hand. When you had later regaled him with a forgotten tale from your time abroad, Satoru had spent his time listening by swirling a finger over the top of your kneecap before letting it drift just slightly over your thigh so he could squeeze it gently. The pressure had you stuttering over your words, and you used the increased need to jump from your skin as an excuse to leap from the couch and beg for a glass of water. Satoru smirked at you in that annoyingly smug, but persistently charming habit of his, and had simply sauntered off to his kitchen to leave you to follow in his wake. 

When the afternoon sun began to push shadows further into the depths of his apartment, you begrudgingly announced your intended departure, pointing out to Satoru the exhaustion that clung to you both when he began to protest. A much-needed nap was in order, and he only surrendered his disagreement when you let out an exaggerated yawn. He followed you to the door with your sleeve caught between two of his fingers. The two of you stared at each other after you had slipped on your shoes, neither quite ready to bid the first goodbye. You eventually took the initiative to rock onto the tips of your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder as you squeezed him to you. Satoru arms circled your waist and after nudging his nose against the top of your head, you heard him breathe in deeply before letting it out in a long exhale, and the yearning of it made you ache. 

You had to pry yourself from him, and you didn’t turn to look back as you walked down the hallway lest you lose any remaining self control and skip your way back to Satoru. It was only once you crossed the threshold of the elevator that you heard the click of his door closing shut. If you had a dopey look on your face as you made your way home, evidenced by the knowing grin on the mouth of the gentleman working the door in the lobby, then who were you to deny it?

As you lay in your bed, huddled under blankets and your head cushioned by pillows while waiting for the swiftness of sleep to weigh down your eyes, you stared at a couple of pictures now decorating a small cork board hanging above your desk. None of them contained a singular person more present than the others and were all full of various friends and toothy grins. For once, the appearance of black hair and pierced ears didn’t evoke a dull throb in your chest at a future lost, but instead welcomed a feeling of contented nostalgia for memories treasured. When your eyes started to flutter and you sensed that your battle against sleep was coming to an end, the sight of brilliant blue from the corner of one photo held your fading attention and beckoned the prospect of enduring happiness by a relationship newly minted. 

————————————————

A dreary midmorning wasn’t something that could keep you cooped up on a Saturday free of obligation, and in an endeavor to make the most of your spare time, you busied yourself with errands in the city. If you found yourself standing in line outside the building of your favorite sweet shop, you would insist it was only to fill your own belly. Any extras that made it into your bag would surely serve as a snack over the rest of the weekend and not linger in your room in the hopes a certain white-haired man would make an appearance and find them. 

The thought of Satoru had you reaching for your phone as you shuffled another step further in line. You had texted Satoru a simple ‘good morning’ right before leaving your room then promptly threw the device into the bottom of your bag to be forgotten until after your errands. Otherwise, you would have worried yourself beyond what was considered healthy about whether or not that message presumed too much in light of yesterday’s breakthrough. 

Maybe overkill would lend itself to your passions too. 

To your dismay, your phone remained disappointingly devoid of new messages, but the sudden appearance of small raindrops on your screen took your attention before you could waste more time wishing it would flash with Satoru’s name. While the sky looked quite grey in your perusal of it, the drops never fell faster or increased in size while you waited for your turn to step into the shop, and you hoped the weather would stay its course until you returned home. Because you, in your distraction, had forgotten to snag your umbrella as you scurried out the door that morning. Instead of dwelling on your possible misfortune, you gave a cursory glance at the shop’s menu board sitting by the door and when you were nearly halfway through reading it, a shadow came over you. 

“Dessert for breakfast again?” 

You jerked your head towards the familiar voice and came face to face with Satoru. He hovered close enough to you so that the large umbrella he carried could shelter both him and yourself from the faint pattering of rain, and you met his beaming smile with one of your own. 

“Satoru! What are you doing here?” His arrival wasn’t at all expected, but you drank in the sight of him no less, pleased to see him in casual clothes instead of his uniform and sporting a black coat to ward off the last of the morning chill. 

“You know, just out and about,” he offered, and mischievousness made the corners of his mouth twitch. You suspected his eyes would twinkle just the same if you could see them through his blindfold. 

“Right,” you drew out, not quite sure if you believed that he just so happened upon you by chance, but you were too preoccupied with the fact he was standing in front of you again to question it any further. “Are you busy? Or do you have time to join me?” 

He was quick to nod, and you reached out to wrap your hand around his bicep when someone cleared their throat pointedly from behind. You jolted, heat flushing your neck and cheeks when you realized that there was a large gap in between you and the door to the shop, and you scurried forward. Satoru beat you to the door, swinging it open for you before you had a chance, and you ducked in while he sat his umbrella off to the side. 

You came to a stop a reasonable distance from the person in front of you and crossed your arms with a small huff as you pretended to study the variety of different sweets sitting in their display cases. Satoru’s coat brushed against your back as he came up behind you, and you prayed he didn’t notice the shiver that shook your shoulders when he leaned down to whisper right by your ear. 

“Distracted?” he asked, voice deeply flirtatious, and a scent a bit spicier than the mild soap you recall him smelling of wafted to your nose and made your thoughts hazy. 

“Nope,” you said as casually as you could manage, trying your best to make a mental note of what options you wanted to order so that you didn’t look like a bumbling fool when it was your turn. His answering chuckle was not only heard, but felt against your back. 

“You sure about that?” 

You whipped your head to the side to glare at him out of the corner of your eye, and your cheek nearly made contact with the tip of his nose. “Positive.” 

There would never be any certainty with his eyes hidden, but you swore you could feel his gaze on your lips, and if you ignored the thought and turned your attention back to what was in front of you, it was only because there was nothing you could do about it in a crowded little sweets shop. 

Thankfully—begrudgingly—it was your turn to order, and you stepped away from Satoru and approached the counter while taking in a much needed deep breath. He didn’t stray far from you, however, and you were conscious of how he lingered at your side while you ordered a couple things for yourself and one or two for Nanami in exchange for the few times he had bought you something from the bakery. 

You were just about to pay for your portion when Satoru came up and bumped you aside with his hip and a smirk on his face, and you watched with mild horror as the employee set down a bag of sweets nearly bulging in its fullness. 

“You have a problem,” you commented warily, imagining the amount of sugar in that bag alone and feeling phantom pain in your teeth. You eyed Satoru as he placed down his card to pay for both orders. 

“If you say so.” His shrug was light hearted and drenched in boyish charm, and you shook your head at him. Before he could find any more opportunities to indulge random acts of chivalry, you swiped your bag off the counter and made haste for the exit, pausing only to throw a wink over your shoulder as you stepped outside the door. You barely caught his indignant protest as he finished up his transaction but paid it no mind as you bent down to grab his umbrella and trotted off down the sidewalk. You only made it to a cross walk a couple yards down and had to come to a stop before he was jogging up to your side. 

“Rude,” Satoru pouted, sidling up next to you to slip the opened umbrella from your hand. 

“I can’t let people think I willingly associate myself with someone who has the taste buds of a child.” You giggled and snuck your hand in the slim space between his side and his arm to curl your fingers into the crook of his elbow. Something fluttered pleasantly in your belly when the action softened the deepening frown on his face. 

“Not all of us can have such sophisticated palettes,” he grumbled, but you could see the hint of a smile on his cheeks, so you leaned just a little further into his side. The delicate kiss he dropped onto your temple had you choking down any retort you were prepared to give him back, and the two of you stood in shy silence until the traffic signal changed in your favor. 

“Follow me to the school?” you asked, already in motion by the time the words left your mouth, and the answering look Satoru gave you made it clear that he never intended anything else. 

————————————————

Twenty minutes later had the two of you back at the school and seated on Satoru’s coat under the large tree nestled in the corner of the campus training grounds.

“Leave my bag alone,” you hissed, slapping at the wandering hand Satoru kept trying to sneak into your own stash of sweets. 

“I wanted to try one of yours. They’re different,” he whined. He stretched over your lap in an attempt to grab said bag from where you had moved it to your other side, but you stopped his progress with a hand on his chest. You pushed back against him until he was seated again. 

“No, what’s left are mine and the ones I bought for Nanami.”

“Nanami?” he asked in offended disbelief. “And you didn’t think to get any for me?”

“I’m surprised they aren’t already in your bag, Satoru. I think you bought the whole store,” you said, feeling a little sick to your stomach when you took note of the dwindling size of his own purchase. He scoffed in disapproval and hunched down further against the tree the two of you were resting against. His antics had your eyes rolling, but you went ahead and pulled one of your treats out from the bag as you had intended to do before he decided to try and pilfer them on his own. 

“Here,” you told him, feigning the exasperation in your voice. You held the treat out in your hand, expecting him to take it from you with his own, but Satoru—with uncovered eyes gleaming—leaned forward and ate the snack right from your fingers. You had a brief second to register the heat of his lips and the way his teeth had just grazed your skin before he was sitting back with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. 

“Tasty,” he said, looking all too pleased with himself, and all you could do was sit there with your heart pounding. The thought of kissing Satoru had been plaguing your mind since even before the two of you had fought, and now, when his lips were flushed pink and there were crystals of sugar caught on a corner of them, you were weak in your resolve. 

You curled your fingers into the neck of his shirt and pulled him in to meet you, eyes already closing so you didn’t scare yourself out of the idea if there was a shocked look on his face. Your lips met his with an urgency, but you were mindful not to clash teeth or press too hard, and you felt marginally better when Satoru knocked his nose against yours in order to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. His chilled fingertips were a shock to your skin when they settled on the edge of your cheek and under your jaw, and he hummed pleasantly into the kiss when he felt you jump. Satoru’s other arm came to wrap around your back, and his fingers dug into your shirt when you used the tip of your tongue to swipe away any remaining sugar on his lips. 

You were vaguely aware of Satoru pressing closer to you, inching you back incrementally, but you were too lost in the feel of his mouth moving against yours and slipping your arms up and around his neck to pay much mind to it. So when you felt yourself falling back against the ground with Satoru’s hand bracing the back of your head it didn’t trigger the urge to stop, especially not when his free hand landed heavily in the dirt next to your head so he could lower himself down and chase after your lips. However, you could only avoid the cold wet of the ground seeping through your collar for so long, not to mention the fact you two were in public, and you ducked your chin slightly to break away from Satoru. 

“It’s unlikely,” you murmured, feeling him trail his mouth over your cheek to press a kiss just below your ear, “but any of our students—or our peers—could walk by at any given moment.” 

The noise of disagreement he made tickled the skin under your ear that he was nibbling at, but you didn’t have to tell him twice before he was pulling away just hair. All you could see above you was white eyelashes framing bright blue eyes, and the tips of his hair tickled your forehead when Satoru lowered himself just a little so he could nudge his nose into your cheek affectionately. 

“You’re not wrong,” he sighed, sitting himself back up and tugging you along with him by your arm. You pat down your hair and brush some dirt from your sleeves while keeping a watchful eye on his expression from your peripheral. Satoru didn’t seem particularly disappointed or upset at your words, but you, in your habit, worried about the implication of them anyway. 

“I’m not embarrassed,” you reassured him, drawing his focus as you hurried to get your thoughts out to him. “I’m not ashamed to be seen with you either, but this is…” you trailed off as words failed you. 

This was new and something precious to you. For the first time in years, you had someone by your side that cared to know everything you thought and longed to be near you. It was all a touch overwhelming to fall for someone you hadn’t ever pictured in a romantic role, and you were eager for the time to understand it fully yourself before allowing others to fix their attention on it. 

“Don’t worry,” Satoru said, and he was cheerful and giddy in the way he smiled while he dragged a finger across the back of your hand. “I feel it too.” 

————————————————

Your burgeoning relationship carried on in secrecy for the next three months. In between classes and training of students, you and Satoru would find yourselves in an obscure hallway or forgotten classroom to share whispers and fleeting touches. It was nothing torrid or salacious as of yet, but everyday you longed for the moments you had alone with him to bask in muffled laughter and give in to lingering kisses that he would pull you into when you would try to leave for the umpteenth time. More than once you caught his head following you as he and the students walked by you on school grounds, and the previous week Kugisaki had commented on how keenly you studied Satoru while he demonstrated a fighting technique to Itadori. 

And now, when the school day was long over and the sun was beginning to set, you felt at ease walking through the door of Satoru’s office door to surprise him with spoils from your day. 

“Knock, knock,” you called out gently, peeking your head around the doorframe to find Satoru already looking up at you, blindfold nowhere to be seen. Fatigue clearly was gnawing at him. His head dropped from where his chin was propped up in his hand, and there was the faintest hint of purple under his eyes. A pen was clasped in his right hand where it rested on a large stack of paperwork, and you took notes of the various others crowding his desk as you walked in. “How are all the reports coming along?” 

Satoru groaned and threw himself back against his chair. “It’s been terrible! I’ve been stuck here finishing these reports since this morning. I didn’t even have lunch!” 

You laughed at his plight as you came to stand next to him and lean back against his desk before pulling a small brown sack from your bag. “Here,” you said, passing it to him, “I got you something while we were out today.” 

His face lit up in excitement ,and he eagerly snatched the bag from your grasp and buried his hand in it to pull out the pastry located inside. “You’re incredible,” he said, pausing to express his gratitude before he shoved half of it into his mouth. 

“You’ll choke one day,” you warned, vaguely impressed when he ate the other half in just as big of a bite. Satoru shook his head, and his grin told you he was proud of himself. 

“Was that from our bakery?” he asked, and you were grateful he had swallowed before speaking. 

“Yup. The first years did so well in training today that Nanami and I decided to end things early and treat them. We ended up running into the third years on the way, so they joined us and we all had a happy time together.” Satoru’s face fell somewhere in the beginning when you started talking, and by the time you were done his mouth was turned down into a full blown frown. 

“Without me?” He pouted, and the sad, puppy-esque face he gave you would have worked if you didn’t know what would be awaiting you if he didn’t finish his reports. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted, shaking a finger at him, “you needed to get these done, or else it would have been me taking over the extras and then we would both be miserable.” Satoru scowled, but the sigh he let out was resigned. 

“You’re not wrong.” 

You reached out and ruffled his hair. “Of course I’m not,” you teased, “but I brought you a treat to make up for it.” 

Satoru cocked a brow and stood from his chair so he could take a step towards you. Your lower back was already pressed into the edge of his desk, so you had to crane your head back to meet his eyes. “That’s true,” he said playfully. “You do make everything better.” He closed the space between your chests and the audible hitch in your breathing made him smirk. 

“Cheesy,” you muttered, but exhilaration flowed through you when his hands came up to cradle your jaw and he lowered his head enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your nose. Satoru hummed an amused sound before finally taking your bottom lip between his. You tucked your arms below his so you could fist your hands into the fabric of his uniform as his sides and a fluttering burst into your chest when he started stroking the apples of your cheeks with his thumbs.

It wasn’t wrong to say that Satoru had transfixed you. Everything about him—the way he smelled, the depth of his laugh, how his fingers felt when they danced over your skin—was alluring to you, and you couldn’t help but clutch him closer as your lips moved against his. In response, Satoru’s hands dropped down to grip at your waist, and you let out a noise of surprise in the brief moment your lips disconnected when he lifted you up, only to set you back down on his desk. He was quick to kiss you again, chasing you when you leaned back to make space for him in between your legs.

His hands seemed like they were everywhere at once: between your shoulders to press you into him, cupping your chin to angle it up and allow his lips to ghost over your neck, and then spread over your thighs to grasp and knead. The room was quiet except for the heady exhalations and gasping breaths of the air you shared, and you heard the rustling of paper being scattered as he cleared a spot behind you. 

Somewhere deep in your mind, your brain supplied you with the thought that Satoru’s office was not the ideal first place to do this—to have him. Certainly not as his hand started to sneak under the bottom of your shirt or your fingers toyed with the button on his pants, but every inch of him was plied against you and it would take something monumental to separate—,

“Ahem.” 

As it turned out, your principal clearing his throat outside of the wide open door of Satoru’s office was catastrophic enough for the two of you to spring apart at something close to the speed of light. You propelled yourself off Satoru’s desk to stand rigid at the side of it while turning your head to gawk accusingly at him, because surely the honored one should have sensed Principal Yaga way before he ever arrived. But from the way he immediately dropped straight into his chair to conceal himself from the waist down proved that, astonishingly, Gojo Satoru could be caught unaware. 

 Neither of you three said a word. Principal Yaga eyed you and Satoru with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, and you couldn’t decide whether hurling yourself out of the window behind you would be less painful than the scrutiny coming from the large man at the door. 

“There’s paperwork for this. You two can each get a copy from my office tomorrow,” he said eventually. You were relieved to hear a lack of judgment or disappointment in your principal’s voice and decided you could live with the resigned finality that colored instead. He didn’t offer anything else and had just begun to turn away with a shake of his head and a hand rubbing at his temple when he spun back around suddenly, making you flinch from where you were still rooted next to Satoru’s desk. 

“I want those reports finished and on my desk first thing in the morning, Satoru.” His tone brokered no discussion and—in all the time you’ve known him—you witnessed the loud-mouthed sorcerer at an apparent loss for words. He simply nodded in agreement and then Principal Yaga was gone. 

“Well,” Satoru started slowly, turning to face you in his chair, “I think that makes things official.” His mouth then tilted upwards into an unbothered grin, and he looked at you expectantly. Strained laughter died in your throat. 

“I guess so.” 

————————————————

In an effort to help make up for last week’s incident , Satoru called you midway through the Friday afternoon to, not ask, but summon you for a late night dinner date. In exchange, you got to pick where the two of you would eat and what dessert you would share at the end. It had taken little to no convincing on your part to get you to agree, and when the name of a restaurant in the upscale part of the city near his apartment slipped from your mouth, you were surprised to find that no guilt came along with it. 

Once upon a time, you might have wistfully imagined yourself seated and dined at that particular restaurant with Suguru, as you had told him when the two of you first passed it on the street. However, that daydream never came to fruition, and you refused to let a faded prospect with your long-lost ex-lover get in the way of creating new memories. So, in order to do just that, you took time getting yourself ready and slipped into a new dress before taking a train to the city to meet Satoru. 

The restaurant was everything you expected, and you took in with a small smile the low light atmosphere and your secluded table illuminated with flickering white candles. Waiters bustled to and fro, and the soft plinking of a lounge piano underscored the muffled murmurings of the restaurant’s patrons. You and Satoru talked about anything and nothing as you looked over the menu. The establishment wasn’t overabundant in the options it provided, instead taking great care to provide a few exceptionally well crafted meals, but you still had a difficult time making your decision nonetheless. Satoru offered to select one of the two dishes you went back and forth between for himself so you’d have the opportunity to try it, and while the idea melted your heart into a little puddle, you urged him to pick what he wanted for himself. 

A waiter came by and presented you with an extensive wine list, and while Satoru didn’t partake, he guessed with unbridled enthusiasm at which type you’d choose. His answer had been wrong, but the determined gleam in his eyes told you he’d never again make that mistake. After eventually making up your mind and successfully placing your order, the rest of the dinner flew by. The two of you spent time exchanging bites of each other’s food and sharing stories about the progress of the first year’s training. 

When you were brought the dessert menu, you both leaned over the table towards each other to look over it together, and when the two of you couldn’t decide on just one, you suggested ordering two. Satoru had raised a brow at you, having already heard twice by then how you were too full to have your own dessert and, despite his protest, insisted on sharing one with him. He relented, and you ordered two. When the waiter was out of earshot, you told him in a pointed few words that you had every intention of sharing that second dessert with him as a middle of the night snack. Satoru immediately sat straight in his seat, eyes flashing with heat and want and a whole other amalgamation of emotions that set your blood alight. 

By the time dessert came, you were two minutes shy of snatching the check and hauling him out the door, sweets be damned. But Satoru simply laughed and passed you a spoon while he situated the plate of dessert halfway between you two. When you were two bites in, stomach protesting and your eyes feeling just a bit heavy from the dimness of the restaurant, you tucked your foot under Satoru’s to rest it against his ankle. His answering smile was tender and maybe a little bashful, and while it could’ve been the second glass of wine that caused the stirring in your chest, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was your heart expanding enough to make room for him. 

————————————————

“I want to go there again next week,” you said blissfully, both satisfied from a delicious dinner and feeling relief from the cold floors of Satoru’s apartment on your sore feet. If you never again picked up the heels you had kicked off at his door, it would be too soon. You meandered into his kitchen and plucked a water bottle from his fridge to down in just a few swallows. 

“I suppose we could go back once a week until we finish trying every dessert and dinner option available,” Satoru responded, coming up behind you to curl one arm around your waist and press a kiss into your hair. “Thank you for being my date.” You lifted your arm to reach behind you and drape it around his neck, and he let his mouth glide across the skin that he could touch. 

“Always,” you murmured, and while the implications of the word felt a little heavy and maybe a bit presumptuous for the early stages of your relationship, it didn’t diminish the truth of which you spoke it with. Satoru didn’t seem to have an objection to it and merely pasted every inch of his front against your back. 

“If you’re tired, or if the second glass of wine was too much, I’m happy to lend you a change of clothes and offer you a guest room for the night. We can make breakfast in the morning if you’re willing to supervise.” His laughter tickled your skin, and you were quick to shake your head and turn in his hold.

“No to the guest room, but yes to breakfast.” 

He smiled into the kiss he placed onto your lips and you fisted your fingers into the collar of his shirt in an attempt to keep him against you when he stepped back and nodded in the direction of a hallway. You caught his hand from behind when Satoru turned to walk towards what was presumably his bedroom and held on to it as he led you. He glanced back at you over his shoulder, eyes promising and mouth slightly parted, and when he whirled around completely to tug you through the open door of his room, you caught yourself on his chest and giggled. 

While Satoru busied himself with nuzzling his lips against the curve of your shoulder and fiddling with the various clasps and a zipper at the back of your dress, you peeked around his arm to study the vastness of his bedroom. It was as expertly put together as the rest of his home, but still mostly lacking in its signs of life. The high beamed ceiling and towering window framed by lush dark curtains created a feeling of openness, but the plush comforter on his bed and the stone fireplace set across from it helped cultivate a sense of coziness. You spied his uniform draped over the back of a chair nestled under a desk, and a thrill went through when the computer sitting atop it flashed a screensaver familiar to you—the picture of your dessert from the cafe a thousand miles away. 

You had the mind to ask Satoru about it, but before you could he was peeling your dress off your shoulders and down your arms. His eyes flicked up to yours in silent permission and it only took a subtle dip of your chin before he was pushing it the rest of the way down your torso, and you squirmed when his fingers danced over your ribs in a way that tickled. Hands started to move in a hurry after that point. Yours flew to the buttons of his shirt while his traveled up your arms to cup your cheeks so he could kiss you again. When you divested him of the fabric concealing his chest, seeing it land in a flutter next to your dress on the floor, you immediately started in on his belt, taking pleasure in the stuttered breath Satoru let out above you when you yanked on it in your efforts to get it off. 

As soon as he stepped out his pants, Satoru was turning you to the bed and he just barely caught himself above you when the two of you fell back against it. You grinned up at him as you shuffled up towards the pillows, and he followed obediently to settle between your legs when you opened them for him. It wasn’t until Satoru had already shimmed your underwear off your legs and did the same to himself did you feel a prickle of nervousness in your belly at the sight of him. There had been a few others in the time between Suguru and now, but they all had blended into faceless bodies and blurred memories of dark bedrooms, none ever so important that you bothered to recall them in times of loneliness. But this—Satoru—would be different, and you had only ever known one other man in such a deeper level of intimate feelings.

“Comparing me to someone?” The sarcastic quip from Satoru reclaimed your attention and nearly had you leaving the bed altogether, but the hidden undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice kept you under him. One day, the two of you would have a discussion about appropriate boundaries and how to express one’s emotions with proper words, but for now, you would reassure him that he would not have to spend his entire life worrying that he would never be enough for you. 

“No,” you said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at him, and he actually looked chagrined. “I was actually thinking about how you were longer than I expected.” You punctuated your words by reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, and all the air rushed out of his lungs in a forceful exhale. It wasn’t a lie on your part. Where Suguru had been impressive in his width, Satoru excelled in his length, but that wasn’t any of his particular business. 

“I always thought you’d wear some expensive cologne everyday,” you continued in a whisper, tightening your grip around him until he sagged against your chest and let out a low moan in your ear, “but you smell faintly of clean scented soap and that surprised me.” You trailed the hand not currently occupied over the ridges of his spine and had to bite at your lip when Satoru shuddered against you. “Your skin doesn’t run as hot as I imagined it would, but I don’t mind it.” 

He chuckled a bit at that, and the breathless sound of it made you shiver. In a strained voice he asked, “anything else?” You let out a questioning hum, feigning your need to contemplate the idea, and Satoru nipped at your neck in retaliation. 

“Okay, okay!” you squealed, wriggling under him as he continued his assault up over your ear before replacing them with soft kisses over your cheek. “Your hair feels as soft as it looks and not a day goes by that I don’t think about running my fingers through it.” To emphasize your point, you raked your nails over his scalp and a pleased grumble sounded low in his chest. You debated sharing your next thought with him, but he was searching your eyes in a way that was a little desperate and heart wrenching, so you obliged. 

“The night of that failed date, right before we fought,” you began quietly, tracing your finger over Satoru’s cheek and the bridge of his nose, “I spent the whole time wishing it had been you.” 

The admission must have taken him off guard because his eyes widened and a pink flush took over his cheeks. His chest brushed more firmly against your breasts as his breathing accelerated in the slightest, and you reached up to nudge the tip of your nose against his. You didn’t bother waiting for his reply, and arched your hips upwards to grind them against his, this time you both let out echoing moans. Much of what came next happened in blurs of frenzied movement; his hand slipping between your legs and moving about in a way that had you throwing your head back into his pillows until his room was filled with the sound of you chanting Satoru’s name. When you were breathless and panting, he trailed back up your body with his lips straying to the dip of your waist, the curve of your breast, and then back to your mouth. 

When he finally made space for himself inside you and pulled your thigh higher over his hip, all you could do was grasp at his back and grip at his arms while he murmured your name into the crook of your neck. His movements stole your breath and overwhelmed any other thoughts in your head, but you didn’t mind how much room Satoru took up. Not when his fingers traced your features in delicate awe and wonder, and not when he had you calling his name in response to the sudden burst of warmth that poured over you a second and third time before he followed in kind. 

Satoru rolled the two of you over when your chests were still heaving and limbs were trembling, wrapping you up tightly in the breadth of his arms so you could rest your cheek just under his collarbone while he whispered soft affirmations and praises in your ear. You decided then, when he was still nestled inside you and spoke excitedly of a midnight snack in a plastic to-go bag and of shared breakfast in the morning that Gojo Satoru would never be too much for you. 

————————————————

When Satoru blinked awake, the first thing he noticed was the calmness with which he came out of sleep. His skin wasn’t slicked with sweat, nor were his blankets tangled around his legs. He hadn’t thrashed into consciousness, tormented by an endless loop of nightmares filled with his dead best friend’s face or your vehement ire. Instead, his eyes opened drowsily to take in the blue-black of twilight peeking through his curtains and became instantly aware of the sound of rhythmic breathing to his left. You slept soundly on your side facing away from him, but with your back pressed against his arm. Satoru let out a long breath, feeling more rested than he had in months, but he was in no hurry to find his way out of bed and away from you. In an attempt to coax his mind back into slumber, he shifted onto his side and wiggled down into the bed until he could snuggle his face against the back of your neck. You made a sleepy noise of annoyance when he wrapped his arm around your hips to pull you against him, but you didn’t wake and Satoru sighed in contentment before letting his eyes fall closed.

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

I hope y'all enjoyed this sweetness as much as I did!

The next chapter with be the last, but will not be nearly as long and will wrap things up and give a happy ending to our couple. I'm excited to share it will y'all soon<3

Have a good weekend!

Taglist: @paprikaquinn & @kafanizdakicokiyi

[mountainscouts]

I think Gary shouldn't be just a perfect overachiever gentleman that soothes Stan's depression. I don't dislike it but I also want to see Gary not have everything in his life in order, allow him to get angry, question Mormonism (racism, homophobia), pressure him with familial expectations (don't set bad example for his siblings, must marry a woman, etc), let him cut loose and party. Conversely, Stan isn't 24/7 doom+gloom. He can be stable, proactive and self-reflecting even before dating Gary.

WHEW. OKAY THIS ASK HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY ASK BOX FOR A WHILE NOW BECAUSE ITS JUST SO. SO PERFECT. where do i even begin?

okay, i have such a specific view of gary that is essentially this, seriously. when it comes to stary, people tend to gloss over gary as a character and while i can't really blame them for doing that, considering that gary is just a guy who has in total less than 3 minutes of speaking roles in his only episode, it's something i've noticed. while i wish that more people would explore him as a character with as much depth as stan, i've kinda just accepted that it won't ever be the case. BUT because of that, i've sort of hyper focused on these types of details about gary and built on his character more in that regard, going that exact direction you went in your ask.

gary, to me, is a well-polished & put together mess when he gets older. the church is such a fascinating and important facet of his life, and the fact that his character is so inherently & quintessentially mormon is a very accurate portrayal of a lot of mormons from SLC. with that, any type of interpretation of him that deviates from typical norms and values in the church is actually asking for a lot of character dissection. i understand that a lot of people would rather not, but i WOULD. and HAVE BEEN...

gary to me is gay, and i can't really see him otherwise. he finds this out– or at least has a feeling that he might be at a younger age, so already his sexuality giving him leeway in questioning the church and its beliefs. this starts leading him to be more self-aware of his societal and familial role, juggling his own beliefs, the church's, and by extension his family's. with this baggage, i guess, i'm sure it'll extend beyond that to his sense of self. what does he want to be? what does he want to make of himself? how can he feel so trapped, but by the loving arms of his family? so much to build and unpack here!!

speaking of his family, i truly believe they're ignorant folk, conservative, and traditional (inadvertently confirmed by how many children they have and how they all interact with eachother- even if that's just a joke, it proves my point that the harrisons are a decent portrayal of mormon families yet again). gary, being the middle child and if one wanted to write him as "the special one", makes for these dilemmas even more interesting honestly. from setting a good precedent for his siblings, following the path of his older ones, cramming extra-curricular activities as a means to both please his parents and even distract himself from his issues, to having to attend church meetings— it all piles up, all while his own contractions are fed more and more at the incessant exposure of daily life.

the reason why he's considered a polished mess is because he's your typical "looks like he has everything under control, actually under insane amounts of stress" character. i firmly believe that the harrisons have no ill-will, but i think the way that they raised their children falls strongly on the line of emotional neglect. their children were never taught any life lessons that'd help actually help them like- you know, regulating emotions. i've mentioned this in a previous post (and also elaborated on gary showing anger specifically) but i personally believe that while gary is a kind, and generous person to his core, there is an incredible amount of repression deep within him— a product of being raised with many, "boys dont cry"s, "love thy neighbor"s, and "forgive and forget"s. kindness specifically is actually an incredibly important aspect to mormonism, as it's a key part of the lifelong and ever present journey to celestial afterlife. but that's the thing: objectively speaking– this is just a way of control.

so when one wants to break free from this way of thinking, to lose this control, to break away from all they've known— their very livelihood— it's not going to come in the form of an overnight epiphany. in gary's case, considering how tight he is with his family versus his budding progressive views and drive to have more free reign over his self, it's going to be one hell of a struggle.

to touch on your point of him not getting everything he wants, i think that's another fundamental reason why he would question his standing in the church as well— depending on What he doesn't get. perhaps he doesn't want to serve his mission, but does so anyways. or maybe he simply had a bad day, but he can't allow himself to get upset, convincing himself that "things could be worse" as a way to make himself feel better, barring himself from healthily expressing his feelings. repeatedly saying "its okay" is going to be his downfall lol

and, i too would love to see him cut loose and party eventually- without a second thought that he'd be disappointing anyone.

okay now for stan. oh yeah that guy— no i'm just kidding, i'm also actually very picky about stan as well. :P most of your points about him align perfectly with mine. i don't like it when people woobify him to a point where his only/a major part of his character is his pessimism and depression, and while they are a part of him, it seems to be a big theme when people talk about stary. i definitely love the whole "i can fix him" thing gary has with him (because of gary's primordial urge to "fix" things and be persistent until he can't anymore) but that's definitely not all that they are!! (also gary's initial thought of "fixing" stan would already be faulty from the get-go anyways- but he will learn)

with stan, i think people tend to make him already pretty "helpless" in general fandom, and while he has shown to be more vulnerable than his peers, hes still pretty resilient. i do think that he would need a little bit of a push when it comes to his mental health, but that's only because he's found a way to cope with these issues- none of which are truly healthy. he's moreso content with being in a stalemate with himself and while he does wish he could do more, it takes a lot out of him to get out his more personal comfort zones.

kinda gives him another reason as to why him and gary are narrative foils, i just realized :P!!

but yeah!! i really loved this ask, and i probably really should indulge more in this aspect of gary >_<. its something i truly think about, and those who are close to me DEFINITELY know this! thank you for the ask and sorry it took so dang long haha. also thank you to those who read this behemoth, genuinely didnt expect to yap this much

[tainted-liquor]

'Cuddle Monster(s)☾‧₊˚ ⋅

E42!Miles Morales x Witch!BlackFem!Reader ┆˚✧Ingredients: Crack, kisses, and a lil bit of smiles! ┆∘⋆TWs: Cursing, Reader being a menace, n I think that’s it? ┆⁺˚⋆W/C: I’ll fix this later😭 ┆`✦A/N: I lowkey used this as spanglish practice

"Miles? Can you get me some basil and patchouli while you're out?" You called from your bathroom as you heard your front door swing open. "I'm only going to the bodega, but I'll see what I can find Mami!" he shouted back from downstairs before swiftly exiting out your house. You smiled to yourself, thinking about just how much you loved your boyfriend as you threw a slew of items and herbs into a small jar. For the past 5 months, you've been perfecting your new craft of spirit-raising, the art of manifesting a living vessel from the hole between your world and theirs. These spirits, or "monsters" as many people would call them are...usually grateful when you raise them, often repaying your kindness by offering protection and energy in exchange for being their path to this world and theirs.

Since these spirits can be seen as an extension of you due to bringing them into this world, they tend to be in tune with your emotions. When you cried, they cried, when you yelled, they yelled, and when you loved, so did they. When Miles first learned about your ability to pull spirits through that invisible portal, he didn't really care. He's murdered people before, so what's a little witchcraft? After all, he hadn't actually seen exactly what came through that portal just yet.

You casually dumped more herbs and tiny crystals into your jar, maintaining perfect focus on the task at hand as you slowly dumped almond oil into the jar. When everything was finished, you sealed the jar with purple wax before throwing it rather aggressively into your full bathtub. You closed your eyes, silently hoping that you didn't do shit wrong as you kneeled down next to the tub, dunking a hand into the numbing and cold water for a couple of minutes. When you didn't notice anything happening, you sighed to yourself and went to pull your hand out of the water. But no sooner than you moved, you felt something unfamiliar and cold grab your hand.

You felt a harsh tug, then watched as what appeared to be an all-grey horned creature emerged through the tub. It was around 8 feet in height and looked like something straight out of a horror fantasy movie. It had no face, only one massive pitch-black eye where what would be a nose. It stared at you unblinkingly, processing its surroundings before emerging from your bathtub and standing behind you. It looked more afraid of you than you were slightly of it, so you gave it a small wave and a pat on the...knee? to calm it down.

It sat down motionless and limp in the bathroom, radiating content as you heard the front door open. It wasn't even a fraction of a second before the creature came darting out of the room, you following quickly behind it as it advanced toward Miles. Miles didn't even get the chance to scream before it scooped him up, hugging him like the tiniest of babies as its eye closed in joy. "WHEW. OKAY. MAMI, QUÉ ES ESTO?" He shouted with wide eyes. "It's...my new protector! I just raised it...It's not gonna hurt you it just loves you" you quickly explained as Miles froze up in the monster's hands. "Shit...warn me next time" he huffed, slowly relaxing as he processes what was happening.

From that day forward, he learned to accept the sudden appearance of various creatures in his house. A bone dog, a very very long horse, several people that weren't quite people, and various spirits that took on many many forms. He wasn't gonna pretend like it never caught him off guard or scared him, occasionally stepping out of the shower to see a monster or two staring at him silently always managed to raise his heart rate by a couple beats per minute. He knew they loved him with the same affection you always gave him, so he was never truly terrified by them. He had been told it was rude to not speak to them, so he always gave them a rather quiet and shaky "Hola..." whenever he saw them.

"Mama, te amo tan mucho...pero, por favor dime cuando tus 'spirits' will be watching me shower."

"Sorry love!"

And it never quite stopped there. Whenever you were outside of the house and a few entities decided to loom and fawn over your boyfriend, he always knew how you felt in the moment. There were times when he would be sitting on the couch, eating a nice bowl of cereal and a sea of non-human crying could be heard. He immediately jumped up from whatever it was he was doing, running to his phone to check on you. Whether you were minor stressed or full-blown crying, he was able to tell how you truly felt at the drop of a hat. In some sense he was grateful because it allowed him to further understand and navigate...you!

"Mami are you mad at me?"

"...no"

"Tell me the truth, c'mon muñequita"

"What makes you think I'm mad?"

"You deadass?" he huffed as he pointed at the strange thing hovering above him, staring at him with crossed arms and an annoyed grimace.

"okay maybe..."

[catboydogma]

years of nothing have subsided

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

@codywanweek 2024 day 8 prompts: 5th anniversary

notes: title is, of course, from anniversary by autoheart (The codywan band of all time). this concludes my contributions to this year's codywan week. whew! i haven't written this much in consecutive days in a long time lol. thank you very much to everyone who has taken the time to comment, i couldn't have made it to all eight prompts without y'all. thank you to the mods as well for running the event + the wonderful prompts. here's to another successful year of being Normal about Those Old Men!

wc: 1,823

cross-posted to ao3

The weekend came upon Cody with a vengeance. Before he knew it he was watching his class of younglings—Jedi Junior Padawans and clone cadets alike—filter out of the training salle with a sense of acute exhaustion. They were good kids. Mostly. But, hells, Cody was sure he hadn’t had that much energy as a cadet. The hand-to-hand module was progressing right on track—mostly due to Cody’s own diligence and rigor, and partially due to Obi-Wan having an uncanny sense of when to show up with a round of snacks and odd tasks to provide breaks.

A text alert made his comm chime from where Cody had left it half-buried in his bag. He started in on unwrapping his hands and slung a towel over his shoulders, blotting the side of his face against his shoulder. He had just enough time to grab a shower and change before—

OWK: Dinner tonight with Rex, yes? I can turn the heat down on the roast if you are indisposed

C: Yes. Class finished. ETA 5. Do not forget the paprika. And stir. The fond is key to the flavor.

C: None of your peppers.

OWK: They might add a nice kick

C: You will put the entire pepper in after alleging that it will be quote a shame unquote to let the rest quote simply lay around unquote. No peppers.

OWK: Ah, if you insist…

With a new sense of urgency rising, Cody decided his normal cooldown stretch could be cut short by a few minutes. It could be said that he trusted Obi-Wan with his life. But he did not trust the man with his recipes.

Cody’s shower was blessedly free of any and all interruptions—Obi-Wan had tasked himself to making some steamed buns. He had to go down the hall to Quinlan to source some eggs for the filling, which resulted in Quinlan following Obi-Wan back into their apartment like a stray massiff. At least by then the roast had finished and Cody could more successfully fend off attempts to add things even if the attempts were now on two fronts.

“So, who else are you expecting?” Quinlan asked as he eyed the fourth plate Cody put down.

“Rex will be joining us,” Obi-Wan said with a fond smile sent Cody’s way. “He’s back on-planet refueling for the time being. Cody’s been trying to angle for getting him set up somewhat closer.”

Cody just shook his head. Rex had always been a stubborn kid. Yeah, maybe Cody had hinted a couple times that now CoCo Town had a nice little ujalayi and specialty sweets store that stocked just the kind of things Rex was obsessed with. And maybe he had casually let Rex know that Ahsoka Tano was back on Coruscant and working closely with the same relief group that Fives and a recovering Echo had attached themselves to. But the man was free to come to his own decisions.

“He’ll always find his way back to you,” Quinlan said to Cody, reaching out to steady the wide dish of slow-cooked roast still simmering in its own juice. Cody looked up at Quinlan, startled by the strangely—for Vos—earnest comment.

“Thanks,” Cody said. For the comment or the help with the dish—he wasn’t sure yet.

Quinlan just winked at him and lounged back in his chair again. “Hey, good thing the kids aren’t in-Temple, actually. You’d have randos just dropping in all over the place once they get a whiff of this. Cody, you’re wasted on this guy. He thinks raw crab is a culinary delicacy.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said drily, looking over Quinlan’s head to meet Cody’s eyes. “What a terrible thing, to have uninvited guests dropping in without prior notice or warning. I can’t imagine what one might do in such a scenario.”

Yeah, that was Vos in a bucket. Insightful and touchingly reassuring one moment. Clever asshole in the next.

A polite knock sounded at the door and Obi-Wan—who had been pretending not to be standing around and waiting for this exact thing—waved a hand at the control panel.

“I come bearing gifts!” Rex announced hastily. Smart. Cody would have to bide his time to get his mandatory headlock in before Rex left for the night.

“Oh, this looks lovely,” Obi-Wan said in delight. “Did you go all the way to Little Keldabe for this?”

“Nah,” Rex said, grinning at Cody over his sheet pan of ujalayi. “There’s this new place down in CoCo Town that Cody recommended to me a bit ago. Figured I’d go over and see what all the fuss is about. They’ve got a good selection on hand.”

Little shit.

Obi-Wan cast an all-too-amused look at Cody as he relieved Rex of the tray and set it down on the counter further into the kitchen. “Sit down, you came just in time. The nai wong bao will take a bit longer, but that’s for the best.”

Cody accepted compliments of his cooking with good grace and the four of them passed most of the meal in peace—for a given value of sharing a meal with Quinlan and Cody’s vod’ika. There was some inherent property to Quinlan that made Obi-Wan operate on 20% more smug when they were in close proximity.

And then, just as Cody was beginning to get suspicious at the noticeable lack of overt shit-stirring, Rex gave him a jaunty little grin.

“Happy anniversary to the both of you, too. I would’ve thought the two of you’d be doing something with just the two of you tonight, so I appreciate you making the time.”

“Oh, shit! You didn’t say anything, Obi,” Quinlan said, shaking his locs back and eyeing Obi-Wan with vicious glee. “That’s so sweet! What is this, six years? Seven years?”

“Five,” Cody said automatically. He wasn’t one for anniversaries. It was a date on a calendar. There was no reason for him to assign some arbitrary importance to a day and celebrate his relationship with Obi-Wan when he could celebrate their relationship any day of the week. Anytime. Any place. In the main room. The shower. Over the counter, a couple memorable times.

He’d assumed Obi-Wan felt the same way—the man never brought it up.

“Is it really today?” Obi-Wan asked, looking much too invested in this. “I hadn’t thought it was such… public knowledge.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Rex showed Obi-Wan a still from a datapad he’d had tucked away somewhere and Cody blinked as a wash of recollection swept over him.

One of their first engagements together—not just a ground skirmish or a dogfight above atmo, but a real drawn out battle with both Obi-Wan and Cody commanding from the frontlines—had been a turning point in the regard Cody had held for his General. Somehow Rex had gotten his hands on a holo of the two of them afterwards. They were both covered in blood and sweat and Cody thought that the fuzzy dark spots on Obi-Wan’s robes had been charred blaster holes at the time. They were tucked away next to a holo-table with a map of the enemy forces the 501st and 212th had been routing, heads bent together, shoulders brushing. Even more damningly, holo-Cody had a faint smile on his face as he watched his General gesture about the table.

“Oh,” Quinlan cooed at the same time Obi-Wan let out a faint “ah.” Cody, whose senses were now finely attuned to this sound from Obi-Wan, instinctively turned to look at him.

“You didn’t forget our anniversary, did you, Cody?” Obi-Wan asked plaintively.

“I should be asking you that question,” Cody said. He could not let this slander go on unchallenged. “You didn’t even mention it this morning.”

“—really heartwarming stuff,” Rex said to Quinlan as he swiped across his datapad and showed Quinlan another picture. “Look at that. Five whole years, wow.”

“Does our anniversary mean so little to you?” Obi-Wan asked. His eyes somehow got rounder and he laid a hand over Cody’s. “Five years is a significant milestone, Cody. I can’t believe this from you…”

Cody turned his hand over to trap Obi-Wan’s fingers in his. “I made you dinner, sweetheart. I can’t believe it took a reminder from Rex, of all people. And you didn’t even get me anything—”

“—‘s a good one.” Quinlan nodded approvingly and poked a finger at the screen of Rex’s datapad. “You should send that to Dex. He’ll get you free lunches for the rest of your life for that one.”

“Do excuse me,” Obi-Wan said cordially to Cody. He turned and lunged across half the table for Rex’s datapad—Rex turned out of the way just in time and Quinlan cackled, throwing his head back and eyes squinting shut in mirth.

“You two saps are disgusting,” Rex half-shouted at Cody as he skipped back from the table to escape Obi-Wan’s clutches. “Really, neither of you remembered your own anniversary? Prime’s tits, Cody. You really do deserve each other.”

“Show.” Cody pointed a threatening finger at Rex and smoothed his other hand down Obi-Wan’s back soothingly.

Rex gave Cody a shit-eating grin and flipped the datapad around to reveal a holo taken of Obi-Wan asleep on a fully-armored Cody’s shoulder. His hair was messily tangled over half his face and the light caught on a line of what was quite clearly drool dropping from the corner of his open mouth to Cody’s cuisse. Holo-Cody had his helmet off, glaring bloody murder and pointing two portentous fingers at the viewfinder. There was a telling patch of lines and imprints on one of holo-Cody’s cheeks—like he’d fallen asleep on the shoulder of someone wearing Jedi tunics.

Obi-Wan let out a sound of devastation and half-heartedly tried to make another grab for Rex. It was clear his heart wasn’t in it. “And you would do this to us on our very important fifth anniversary, Rex…”

“If it were that important, you wouldn’t have gotten it from me,” Rex said.

Cody let himself get a good chuckle out of that as he turned his head to press a kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Yeah, alright. I was under the impression that you didn’t care for anniversaries.”

“I don’t,” Obi-Wan said with stiff dignity as he pushed himself to his feet and retreated into the kitchen to check on his steamed buns. “And I was under the impression that you had no strong feelings about them, either.”

“Five years is a long time,” Cody said thoughtfully. Maybe they could do something just this once. Just the two of them. Obi-Wan smiled at him over as he returned to the table with a tray of sweets and Cody couldn’t stop himself from smiling back. Yeah… maybe the two of them could try out having a special occasion just for the two of them. Nothing fancy. All he needed was Obi-Wan here with him.

[belliesandburps]

Demonic Belly Love (Sadao x Ashiya Stuffing Fic)

Been a minute since I posted a kink fic, but here's another late December reward I just wrapped. This time, focusing on Sadao binging on a whole lotta Mgronald's because no self-respecting demon is gonna let all that junkfood go to waste.

The end result of which is a very bloated and burpy Sadao, which Ashiya doesn't mind one iota. ;)

“Sire, is this truly wise?” Ashiya asked while scratching at the back of his neck uneasily while the sound of munching and gulping filled the air. He watched as his young master sat on the ground, dressed in his usual T-Shirt and boxers combo, greedily munching away on burgers like the end times were fast approaching.

Sadao swallowed hard, sending a sizable lump down his throat before he huffed to himself and licked his lips. “Look, we had a huge takeout order that had to cancel after everything was already made. I wasn't about to let all this stuff go to waste. Plus, it tastes like crap if ya leave it in the fridge and reheat it,” Sadao insisted before taking another hearty bite of his burger. “So, unless you wanna jump in and help me eat more-”

“-Sire, truly, I simply cannot eat another bite before I start to experience digestive discomfort,” Ashiya chimed in, holding his stomach protectively with one hand. Though it wasn't visibly bloated the way Sadao's stomach was starting to get, it was nonetheless pushing against his shirt slightly.

“Well, there ya go then,” Sadao remarked with his mouthful before swallowing heavily, huffing, and going right back to munching away. “Besides, how often do I get to chow down like this?”

“...About once a week...” Ashiya muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Sadao asked a little sharply.

“Nothing!” Ashiya said with an all too sweet and innocent smile, one Sadao didn't buy for one second, but nonetheless, let go so he could go back to his binge-eating.

The young demon ate at a rapid rate. His sharper, inhuman teeth made quick work of every burger or handful of fries he shoved into his greedy maw, causing every mouthful he gulped down to send a sizable bulge down his neck. Ashiya watched as Sadao continued to voraciously wolf down all that fast food, having been given a front row seat to Sadao's gluttony on numerous occasions, especially whenever there was left over food at MgRonald's in need of disposing.

Granted, both young men were demons, so even a whole lot of fast food wasn't even close to the most either of them could wolf down. But even though their appetites were unmatched compared to any other humans, in these young, lean human bodies of theirs, they did have their limits. Especially when it came to junk food.

Though, with Sadao, Ashiya could never gauge just what those limits were. When it came to free junk food, Sadao was a bottomless pit...

Sadao just ate and ate, sending more of that greasy, salty goodness down his gullet; devouring all he got his mitts on at a feverish pace. Ashiya was kind of astonished at how fast that pile of burgers and pepper fries was vanished. Honestly, if they ever held any cash-prize eating contests in-town, Sadao could probably clean out the competition with ease.

As time went on, Sadao's gorging slowed down; the sheer volume of food filling him up was starting to take its toll. Taking a break from stuffing his face, Sadao leaned back and groaned. “Whew, oh man, I'm gettin' pretty full...” Sadao moaned, rubbing his belly with one hand while the other rested against the ground for support. The usually flat organ had grown quite bloated at that point, rounding out beneath his shirt by over a foot, stretching his shirt out to the point where Ashiya could see a clear outline of Sadao's bellybutton.

Ashiya couldn't help but notice a sliver of flesh exposing itself from the bottom of Sadao's shirt, and blushing a little at the sight of his masters smooth, tanned flesh.

As Ashiya was about to suggest that maybe Sadao call it a day, a prolonged, gaseous gurgle erupted from Sadao's heavy belly while he rubbed it. Sadao grimaced with discomfort for a moment, until he lurched his head back and let out a big, rumbling belch. The abrasive sound echoed throughout their tiny apartment and could've easily been heard from outside.

“Sire, honestly...” Ashiya muttered, shaking his head.

But Sadao just sighed with relief and gave his belly a couple of hearty pats of satisfaction. “Oof! Damn, did I need that, heh...” he moaned out, giving his round gut one last relieved smack and ushering another burp in the process. “Hehe, think I made a lil more room there too.” Sadoa's grin turned impish with that as he turned back to the remainder of his fast food feast, and went back to chowing down.

As more and more burgers vanished down Sadao's gullet, his midsection continued to steadily swell out, growing rounder and heavier with each juicy, greasy burger he greedily devoured. Ashiya watched in real time as Sadao's already bulging belly expanded more and more. The blood rushed to his cheeks as the bottom of Sadao's shirt continued to ride up higher and higher, exposing more of Sadao's burgeoning bare belly as it grew weightier.

Sadao was getting so bloated that he had to scoot back just to keep his globular gut from pushing against the little table they had on the floor.

The young, overstuffed demon lord just kept on packing it away, eating more fast food than any being on this planet could ever justify wolfing down. He paused periodically to catch his breath or to rub his ever-expanding gut.

Sadao also found himself burping more frequently, both to make as much room in his heavy gut as he could manage, but also because of just how gassy all that junk food was making him.

The young demonic frycook kept at it, powering through his dwindling pile of burgers and fries, all while his growing gut gurgled and churned the more Sadao filled it up. Until finally, a long last, every last scrap of food was churning away inside of Sadao's utterly enormous stomach.

Ashiya honestly couldn't recall the last time he'd seen his liege so stuffed before. Sadao's gut had ballooned out by over two feet, riding his shirt up just below his chest, exposing the entirety of that dome. Not only were his thighs spread out to give that fleshy beachball of a belly some desperately needed breathing room, but Ashiya couldn't help but notice that Sadao's hefty gut was weighing his boxers down, showing off more of Sadao's hips in the process.

Sadao just sat there, groaning in an overstuffed daze for a few moments, before a long, rumbling belch erupted intensely from his maw for a good five or so seconds straight. When it ended, Sadao huffed breathlessly, then, using his hands against the ground for support, he slumped back, his huge belly wobbled from the motion while everything digesting within Sadao sloshed noisily.

“...Urrrgh, dude...I'm gonna buuuUUUUUrrrrrrrst...oof...” Sadao tried to speak up, only to cut himself off with another overstuffed burp that left him huffing and hitting his chest a few times to clear his windpipes.

“I'm kind of amazed you haven't already, sire,” Ashiya mused as he ogled his master and roommates' girthy gut with a hint of lust.

Muffling a rather deep burp behind his fist that puffed out his cheeks, Sadao exhaled the gas off to the side and grunted out, “Mph, y'mind doin' something about this, man...?”

Ashiya's eyes practically bugged out of his skull.

“...I...uh...w-why, of course, sire...i-it'd be my pleasure!” Ashiya insisted, swallowing thinly as he sat directly behind Sadao and, all too eagerly, wrapped his arms around Sadao's sides and placed both of his hands on Sadao's big, bubbling belly.

The big, churning organ felt so unbelievably soft to the touch, and so invitingly warm. Due to his demonic digestive system, everything Sadao ate churned away so much faster than it would for an average human. The result of which left Sadao's ample midsection much softer and jigglier than it would otherwise have been, being left so stuffed.

Ashiya practically shuddered at the sensation, but not as much as Sadao did when those long, delicate fingers began to gently stroke every inch of that vast belly.

“Groooaaaahhhh...hoooooly crap, that feels incredible, dude...” Sadao all but purred as Ashiya gingerly rubbed his belly.

“I live but to serve, my liege,” Ashiya replied, letting Sadao lean his back against his broad chest while he kneaded and caressed that big ball of flesh.

Ashiya kneaded into Sadao's belly, using his fingertips to really work out any knots in Sadao's stomach muscles that he could feel. All the while, Ashiya ogled Sadao's belly, marveling longingly at the swollen mass weighing the otherwise skinny demon lord down. He especially couldn't take his eyes off of Sadao's bellybutton; tightened yet a little deeper than usual.

As Ashiya rubbed, he looked down from past Sadao's shoulder and just took in the sight of the young demon lord's belly in his hands. He bit his lower lip and remarked, “I must confess, sire...unhealthy though your eating habits may be from time to time...this look suits you quite nicely...”

Even in his overstuffed state, Sadao managed a weak but cheeky smirk back at Ashiya from overhead and said, “Heh, what, ya wanna see your demon lord turn into a giant fatass now?”

“I confess, there is something rather...appealing, seeing your belly take on such a...corpulent state...” Ashiya conceded, stroking his hand down the side of Sadao's glutted gut, and starting to caress his oh-so-tender underbelly, before gripping at the soft underside and giving Sadao's belly a slight jiggle.

The jostling disrupted another pocket of gas within Sadao's gut, prompting him to push a fist to his mouth again and just barely manage to muffle another sizable belch. “Easy there, jeez...” Sadao muttered, palming his chest and letting out a smaller burp that he didn't bother muffling that time.

“My apologies, sire, how's this...?” Ashiya asked as his long index finger started slowly and faintly caressing the rim of Sadao's tight bellybutton.

Almost immediately, Sadao moaned with delight, especially when Ashiya's fingertip dipped into his navel and started to knead around inside. He slumped back even further against Ashiya's chest, making his hefty gut jut out more in Ashiya's grasp. One hand continued to gingerly stroke the soft, delicate underside of Sadao's belly while his other continued to finger his bellybutton.

Sadao huffed with euphoria, his tongue hanging out of his maw in an almost suggestive manner, the deeper Ashiya kneaded into his bellybutton. Both their cheeks were going flush at this point as Ashiya continued kneading his navel.

Ashiya couldn't get enough of the way he felt Sadao's entire belly slosh and jiggle whenever he pushed in and out. Sadao's digestive system really was working in full throttle to break down all that junkfood.

However, Ashiya might've pushed a little too deeply, because as he pushed into Sadao's bellybutton hard enough, Sadao's stomach gave an especially deep burble. Like clockwork, Sadao winced, then threw his head back as a big, raunchy belch rumbled out of him. Ashiya could actually feel Sadao's belly physically ripple in his grasp and around his finger as Sadao burped.

Sadao huffed when it finished and sat up a little, prompting Ashiya to pull his finger out of his bellybutton. The look on Sadao's face indicated he still felt another pressure pocket brewing. He gulped down some air, causing his throat to gurgle lowly as he gave the side his weighty belly a few firm slaps, making it jostle in his (and Ashiya's) hand, before Sadao burped again. It was another loud, obnoxious sound with some heft to it, but still not one that gave him relief.

“Oof...dammit, there's a big one stuck in there,” Sadao insisted as he smacked his fat, jiggling belly to try and knock it loose.

“Sire, if I may?” Ashiya insisted with a roll of his eyes.

He once again pulled Sadao back down against his chest and let his hands roam up and down that vast, smooth beachball of flesh. As he felt Sadao's belly up, he felt a particularly tense portion around the upper side of his stomach. So, Ashiya dug his fingertips into that portion of Sadao's soft flesh and pushed down firmly; a large, guttural belch bellowed loudly from Sadao almost immediately.

Sadao huffed breathlessly, but before he could finish catching his breath, Ashiya grasped that area just above Sadao's bellybutton and squeezed down. Like clockwork, another huge burp blasted past Sadao's lips, followed by a sharp afterburp.

Ashiya kept caressing Sadao's belly, feeling for any tense portions before pushing down and forcing Sadao to belch with ferocity. After an especially rumbly burp, Sadao was left panting like a dog with his tongue hanging from his maw while Ashiya continued to feel his belly up with dissatisfaction on his face. “Hmph, I can still feel all that pressure. We need to up our strategy, sire, and I think I know what to do.”

Before Sadao could ask what he meant, Ashiya grabbed either side of Sadao's big belly with both hands, and began to shake it up and down. Sadao's eyes widened as his bloated belly jostled aggressively; the digesting contents within him sloshing around heavily, and stirring up tons of gas in the process.

“Sire, refrain from belching at this time. No matter how badly you want to, hold it in for as long as you can,” Ashiya insisted firmly as he continued jiggling Sadao's belly.

Sadao winced painfully, but nonetheless complied, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. His thrashing belly churned and bubbled noisily and painfully. He could feel all that gas building up within him, begging to be released. Sadao had never needed to burp so badly in his entire life.

Ashiya jiggled away, blushing at how much he was loving this feeling of Sadao's big, soft belly quivering in his hands. But eventually, he felt enough gas build up, causing that bloated organ to grow slightly taut from the sheer volume of pressure now quite loudly gurgling away. And when he felt Sadao had finally had enough, he wrapped his arms firmly around Sadao's belly, grabbing it from the dead center, and squeezing down as hard as he could; hugging Sadao against his chest tightly to apply even more vice-like pressure to Sadao's gut.

Sadao's eyes bugged out for a moment as a rush of pressure rocketed aggressively up his gullet. Until finally, from the belly of the beast, exploded forth an utterly COLOSSAL belch!

It blasted from Sadao's maw with such ferocity that not only did his belly ripple intensely with the expulsion, but Ashiya could feel the ground itself quiver from just how strong that eructation was. The sheer volume was eardrum-shatteringly loud, to where it was all but certain they'd get a noise complaint for this one. And the burp didn't let up either. Ashiya squeezed on Sadao's belly even harder as he burped, causing Sadao's throat-abusing eruption to rattle out of him for a painful nine straight seconds. It seemingly just got louder and stronger as all that gas exploded past Sadao's rippling lips, with several strands of saliva spewing along with the gas.

After what felt like an eternity, Sadao was left utterly winded. Even with how enormous his gut was, he felt deflated. He panted and huffed, appearing dazed as he slumped back in Ashiya's arms in exhaustion. “Hah...hrraaaah, hooooooooly crap, dude, that was...” Sadao started to say, but paused, clenched his eyes shut, and let out one last big, throaty afterburp, too winded to even speak at that point. That, plus his throat actually hurt after that one.

Ashiya simply smirked and fanned the air around his nostrils and uttered, “Sire...I believe the correct words you were looking for were, 'excuse me'...”

But Sadao was simply too winded to say anything at that point. He just slumped onto his back, until his head was on Ashiya's lap and his enormous belly was jutting up like a fleshy hill. Ashiya simply rolled his eyes yet again, but blushed at the sight, and resumed rubbing it with one hand. Sufficed to say, Ashiya definitely wouldn't mind Sadao indulging more often...